#dark side of the silver spoon

[maddytheweird]

Dark Side Of The Silver Spoon - Palaye Royale

[proteus-no]

Unfortunately for Gortash, my Durge imprints on the first pretty man that tries to murder him, and he did get pinned to the ground and threatened with a knife by Astarion so.....

[cryptidcasanova]

Lover Boy

Mob!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: It's the Bridgerton carriage scene, but make it mob!Bucky.

Warnings: Angst, light Smut, Language, Possessive Bucky.

3.5k

The poll results are in, and I couldn't help but think this might be a good way to remedy both sides.

You were mortified.

One hand fisted against quivering lips, and the other gripped at your clutch. As if anything else could go wrong tonight. Shaky steps guided you down the carpeted stairs.

There was another gala, another meeting of the power players in town. And it was another night wasted at the hands of James Barnes.

You hated how much you cared for him. You still cared for him even after all the stunts he pulled to pull you away from the Maximoff heir. Always had.

Ever since you were kids, you remembered having that love-sick look in your eyes. You grew up with inner-circle families and were friends with Rebecca, Sarah, and their brothers. And Bucky? Well, shit, he was always there with his dark hair and curious eyes. It was hard not to fall for him.

Even as you grew up, numbing yourself to the reality of the business and the choices that came with it, you couldn't ignore him forever. You knew that Bucky was raised to be powerful, honorable, and frightening. You knew the stories – of all the beautiful women who couldn't tie him down longer than a night or two. You knew how he flaunted some new girl at every event. It was hard not to overhear them whispering among the men.

'What about her?' and the laugh on his hips saying, 'She's just a family friend. Don't worry about her; I'd never be with her like that.'

You knew he would break your heart, and still. You loved him.

Again, mortified.

He was your first kiss on some lonely night when you couldn't help but ask him. But that had been ages ago. He was grown now, the head of the family and the king of his empire.

But there was something different about tonight, something predestined that started long before you stepped outside your door. It started out as Sam's idea weeks before, in the same bar where you ended up every weekend.

He wanted to try and get you to mingle among the local 'rabble-rousers' as if he pretended not to be one of them. Your laugh at his suggestion pulled Steve and Bucky's attention from across the bar.

"You want me to do what, exactly?" You teased. "Throw myself in the way of wealthy investors and scout out the competition? That's much more up Nat's alley; there's a reason why they call her the Black Widow, you know –"

"No, nothing like that," he shook his head, that charming grin on his lips. Once Sam got an idea, it took a lot of work to dissuade him. "Look, there's more to this life than watching shipments and making small talk with the hens in town." He paused, knowing all the time you spent logging backorders and saving face with the mercs' wives. "I want you to be happy. We all do."

You leaned against the bar, pressing your palms against the hardwood.

"So you think it's time for me to settle down?" You challenged with a smirk. "Get married to some silver-spoon jerk upstate?" Sam's smile turned close-lipped as he noticed the other's approach.

"We could help you find a good one." At least he sounded hopeful.

"In this town?" Steve overheard, tapping his beer on the hardtop. "You're gonna need all the help you can get."

Your sneaking suspicion grew as they hounded like vultures. You looked from Sam to Steve with weary eyes. The only one with less enthusiasm was Bucky. Bucky, who usually was primmed with pressed shirts, was tired. His hair fell into his face, his shirt wrinkled, and his tie long discarded at one of the tables.

"You want to help me find a man?"

Bucky looked to his friends with a hooded expression, letting his hand reach out before him. With the click of his tongue, he softly smirked.

"We'll help you find a man. Have we got a deal, doll?"

It was a business handshake, one full of promise. And as soon as you grasped Bucky's hand, one you'd come to regret.

You didn't expect their advice to work so well…or so quickly.  

At the gala, Bucky strolled over with that sly walk and pressed navy suit, conveniently carrying your favorite drink in hand after Pietro ordered you both dirty martinis. You never cared for the drink, but you weren't about to tell him that. But trouble started when Bucky slid between you with that close-lipped smirk.

"They must have made a mistake at the bar," He explained with a shrug. "I remember you liked these. Here, doll." Bucky said, swapping out the drink in your hand before sliding away. No one could fault you for your eyes lingering on him as he walked back to Sam and Steve.

Later in the night, when you were dancing along and finally falling into a rhythm with Pietro, Bucky interrupted again. It was the turn of the tides, the slow pace of the music building, until it felt like one of the underground clubs.

All the weeks spent flirting and learning more about the Maximoff family were crumbling before you. You were a fool to think it would last.

The music built to the familiar strum of old songs you used to listen to, and before you knew it, Sam, Natasha, and half the crew surrounded you on the dancefloor, pulling you away from your date. And it was all orchestrated by Bucky, leading them like a pack of wolves. You knew that look, the suave pull of his hand through slicked-back hair. And then, before you knew it, you were dragged away from the dancefloor.

"Hey," Pietro called over the music, pulling you to the side. "I like you. I do, but this isn't working."

"Wait –" You tried, reaching for his arm. But he was quick to deflect, and embarrassment warmed your cheeks.

"Whatever you're looking for," his eyes moved from Bucky and dropped when you noticed. He looked down with a sad smile. "Whoever you're looking for, I hope you find it."

It felt like a knife twisting in your chest.

"Please don't go."

But it was too late. Your plea was lost as he pushed himself away. Everyone saw it. All your friends' efforts and your attempts to find the one were wasted. Your feet carried you away too fast to notice the somber look Steve gave Bucky.

"You're running out of time, punk."

The city lights passed in a blur as a taxi drove you farther from the gala. The searing ache in your chest left you confused.

For years, you dreamed of Bucky Barnes, hope a dangerous feeling companion of yours. But you knew how he felt. You were nothing more than a friend; he had made that abundantly clear. But you couldn't cut the tether, even while someone else caught your interest. Pietro Maximoff was handsome and kind and loved his sister more than the world. But with Bucky's interruptions, it was no wonder why he didn't want to get involved.

But it still hurt.

A sob was swallowed back, but you couldn't stop the tears from rising. You were pitiful. It was the last time you'd ever ask the guys for help.

But the thought was gone with the sudden screeching of brakes. It made you hold on to the headrest in front of you. Trying to peer around at the commotion, you didn't expect to be cut off by two black SUVs. A moment later, a ringed hand banged on the taxi's hood.

"Get out of the car."

You knew that voice. And as you looked through the windshield, you could see Bucky Barnes peering back.

He was as poised as he was at the party, and the sharp look had you bracing the seat. The bitter spark of rejection caught the light, burning into brutal frustration. You didn't want to talk to him. You didn't want to see him. Not now.

"No."

He tilted his head to the side at the challenge.

"Get out of the fucking car." Bucky gritted. "I need to talk to you."

His voice was teetering dangerously into territory you had only heard about. It was his back rooms, no nonsense voice that snapped you back into the moment. Like hell it would work on you. So it was to be a standoff, one that that you weren't ready to back down from.

Once Bucky realized your position, he took a new approach. You could hear his intentional steps against the pavement as he reached the driver. He didn't say anything but dug into his pants pocket, his fingers flicking through his wallet smoothly.

"Unlock the car," Bucky ordered, pressing cash bills against the window.

The immediate click of the locks didn't help your bellyache, nor did the split second of peace you had before Bucky forced the door open and pulled you out of the cab.

"Are you crazy?" You barked, forcing him to release you as the cab sped off in the other direction.

But you were left in the middle of the road in Barnes territory, the sweep of their dark SUVs cutting off any chance to get out of this conversation.

"What's gotten into you?"

"I didn't want you to leave the party." He explained, his words softer now. "Not like that."

You couldn't believe him. You followed their advice to try and bag a good guy, but to what end?

"What?" You dared to challenge. "I don't know what you want from me. I'm not in the mood, James."

The curl of his name lingered, making your intentions clear. You never called him by his first name. And Bucky didn't like it one bit.

"Let me take you home."

As if you had a choice.

You choked on a frustrated snarl, wanting to hide and cry away your worries and wanting to claw at him like a villain. You hated it. You hated the pressure of his eyes, blue and dark against the night, to get in the car.

So you lifted your head high, took a steeling breath, and walked ahead of him. You were separated from the rest of the world in the backseat of his company car. The divider was a saving grace. You didn't want one of the drivers to see you like this.

But Bucky followed behind so quickly, getting in and closing the door before you could protest for space. You chose to stare out the window instead of looking back at him. The car lurched forward, and you took a moment to find balance.

"You're unhappy."

"No shit."

"Please," He started, turning his shoulders in toward you. Even out of the corner of your eye, you knew he wouldn't let this go. "Please talk to me. Don't close me out. I hated seeing you leave like that. Whatever Maximoff did, I'll fix it."

"You can't fix it!" You finally said, turning to him and gripping his shoulder in frustration. "You say you want me to be happy, to find someone, and then manage to scare off anyone that has the potential to do it." As your voice raised, heat radiated from your cheeks down your neck. His eyes were wide, listening to your grief. "He left because of you. It's not like you have feelings for me. What's the matter with you?"

You couldn't stand to look at him, not when he was so close. His cologne burned your nose, and you desperately needed him to get out of your system.

"Doll," Bucky breathed. He inched his way closer, not letting the anger of your words settle over him. "What if I did have feelings for you?" You would almost call his stare desperate. And then you confirmed it as his shoulders dropped, turning toward you. "It's all that I've wanted to tell you. And I can't see you with him." He admitted.

He moved with purpose all night, not intending to ruin your time with Pietro but to show you that he was the one who needed you. He should have been the one to hold you between dances and order you fine drinks. He should have picked you up so that you would never dare to get in a yellow cab.

But you weren't some wilting flower. You knew the risks of your following words.

"We're friends, Buck."

You held yourself together. You were strong and brave and gripping your heartstrings.

"Yes," He agreed. "But we…"

And for once, he was at a loss of words. The years wasted pining after him would finally be out in the open. You could finally be free of his torment. His eye contact was overwhelming; if he looked away, you would disappear.

"Look, We've been friends for a long time." And with an ounce more of bravery, you sighed. "But I'd like to be more than friends." You admitted. "I want to be so much more than that."

You were waiting for the other shoe to drop. But Bucky leaned closer in earnest, over the seat and bringing his face close. There was no teasing, no torment in his expression.

And with the tip of his chin, you were lost, pulled tight into a kiss and letting it blossom as cold metal snaked around your waist. You dreamed of his touch, and it burned down your throat like honey whiskey.

When you opened your eyes, Bucky had moved. He was no longer in the seat, now chest to chest with you. He was kneeling in the cramped space, the divider shielding you from the driver and the outside world.

"Do you know why Sam offered to help in the first place?" His words were slow as he pulled away, loud enough to hear. "Do you know why Steve jumped on board and corralled us to join? It's because he is tired of me dragging my fucking feet."  

"Bucky-"

But he closed the space for another set of slow kisses, deep and intentional.

"I've been an idiot." He admitted. "The guys know how I feel about you. I think they've always known." Another kiss as you pulled back, gripping the shoulders of his jacket. Expensive fabric under your fingertips, hot breath against yours. You were dizzy.

"And you agreed to help with this idea." You noted.

It wasn't a question, no challenge in your words. He agreed to help find you a man. Bucky took a hefty exhale.

"You know the business. It's not safe –" but you raised your hand with a groan, not buying his excuse.

Your fingers brushed over the curve of his chin, the sharp line of his beard a welcome sensation. God, you only ever dreamed of this. You savored the feel of him, your hand moving up his ear and combing your fingers through his air. Buck's eyes were darker than you've ever seen, his open mouth curving up in awe.

"'s not safe." He whispered. "I'm not gonna put you through that."

It was a weak defense. You knew the coterie of mercs, the warehouses, the shipments. You knew all of it and were aware of the danger. But it wasn't like you could cut ties and leave your life behind. You weren't sure you even wanted to.

"You wanted me to find someone else?" You dared to ask. The whisper died as he shook his head.

"All this deal did was make me jealous." He affirmed. "And tonight," His eyes raked down your frame. He never did finish his thought as lust washed over him. A breath passed between you two. "I never meant for you to hurt over it."

The limited space lets you mimic his actions, noting his heaving chest, blue eyes, and the pout of his kissed lips. How he kneeled down in front of you, crowding your space, made you dizzy. While your mouth curved up into a wanton grin, you couldn't help but chase another kiss.

Each touch melted the last of your anguish. The night was long forgotten as soon as he pressed forward, flattening you against the back of the seat. While you pulled up for air, his other hand moved to cup your chin. And then, with your eyes locked on his, he tilted your chin, eyes staring into the roof of the sedan as you felt lips against your jaw.

Hot, languid kisses burned against your pulse. The scrape of his teeth and burn of his beard drove you wild. And as he pulled back, his hand released your chin, following a mesmerized pattern down your skin.

The palm of his hand cupped your neck, down your shoulder, pulling down the thin strap of your dress. Your soft skin was on display, and Bucky's expression was wonderous. But his hand continued mapping, cupping the curve of your breast. A tactful squeeze left your head falling against the seat, a soft gasp on your lips, and your hand blindly reaching up to cover his. With a sharp breath, you found his eyes again. His pink lips were parted, eyes pleading with you.

You knew Bucky was a man of action, but this was uncharted territory. Your nod and an affectionate squeeze of his hand pulled him from his reverie.

He needed more, craving your skin. And as his hand fell from your chest to a solid grip on your ankle, you craved his exploration.

Shallow breaths were traded for deep, hungry kisses. Years of longing, of yearning for his touch and affection, finally were coming to a head. The brush of his tongue left your mind reeling, and regardless of the heat, a trail of goosebumps followed the path of his hand. Under your dress, he lingered over the smooth skin of your calf, over your knee, up your thigh, and to the meat of your hip. Rough, dexterous fingers carved prints into your skin hot enough to burn.

You refuse to miss a moment, eyes fixed on Bucky's as his palm covers the top of your thigh, the intention sitting heavy in your stomach. A live wire of nerves, you can feel him from the heat of your cheeks buzzing down to your toes.

And then, palming where you needed him most, your mouth dropped open with the softest of moans.

Bucky's eyes are wide, but it doesn't last as he finally lets himself get lost. As his eyes close, you admire the curve of his nose and his soft, dark eyelashes. But Buck is greedy, and as he peels his way under the cloth of your panties, you, too, close your eyes. Fingers are nimble, caressing your dripping seam under the dress.

You're a vision.

Convulsing under his touch, rogue pulls off his fingers drip honey down your thighs. Your breath is heaving, and your chest is dangerously close to falling out of the dress. Bucky finds refuge by rubbing slow, devastating circles against your clit. Every hitch of your breath and moan spur him on until you are staring at him with such reverence he thinks he'll collapse.

There's a magnetism, the long-lasting chemistry drawing you nearer to him. He swallows your moan as he slides a finger inside. You're in a desperate frenzy, pulling him close and arching into his body. He spurs on a need you've never had, demanding his smoldering kiss as you shake in his arms.

He's all you've ever wanted. You're crazy to think it could have ever been anyone else.

And then the car jerked to a stop.

There's a breathless laugh as he pulls away, Bucky's forehead resting on yours. You kept a hand on his cheek, thumb brushing his chin. Maybe, if you just ignored it, the outside world would go away.

That is, until you see a porch light turn on from your periphery. You try not to let embarrassment flood your system as you realize your situation, with one of your closest friends knuckle deep in the back seat.

Bucky doesn't share your distress.

He pressed a kiss to your cheek, finally pulling his head back. Bucky smiled. His fingers lingered longer before pulling away, leaving you empty and wanting.

You must have looked as desperate as him, finally looking down at the brutal strain in his pants. But you had no time to overthink as his fingers carefully plucked at your dress strap. He was putting you back together, smoothing out the burn of his touch as he sat up.

If you begged, you were sure that he'd ravage you right there in the seat. But you tilted your head to look outside. You needed a distraction, anything to regain your good sense.

As you focused on the brownstone, you knew where he took you. You were in front of his house – the Barnes family house. He said he was taking you home.

"This isn't my place."

His smirk reached his eyes, and as he pulled open the door and jumped out, his gaze was fixed on you.

"For fucks sake, doll," Bucky's eyes were soft, still blown out. He held a hand out. "We've known each other our whole lives. I'm crazy about you. Are you gonna come up with me or not?"

And with an ardent stare, as if he hung the stars himself, you reached for his hand.

[amoscontorta]

Sylus gets a headache | ao3 | other fics in this 'series'

Summary: Sylus has secured the promise from you that he can use your place as a safe house if he's in the area and needs it. Sylus's definition of "need", it turns out, might be different than your own, as illustrated by the first time he shows up unannounced at your door.

Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, no use of y/n. This story contains: fluff, banter, Sylus has a hard time keeping his hands to himself, legal arguments, bad puns, self-indulgent writing, repetitive finger caressing, insomnia that Sylus is determined to vanquish by any means, Xavier is an innocent victim in all this and has no idea, except has Xavier ever been innocent in his entire life? CWs: insomnia, consumption of alcohol, profanity SFW, mostly. With some filthy innuendos at the end. It's Sylus, after all.

It has been a few days since you had the best night’s rest you can remember on the back of a certain miscreant crime lord’s motorcycle, and you’re once again preparing for a long, torturous night of staring at the ceiling and trying to catalogue all the classes of wanderers in an attempt to lull yourself to sleep—Nero’s suggestion. You have your doubts about whether it will work, but he gave the advice so earnestly after overhearing you talking to Tara about your insomnia that you feel obligated to give it a go. Sylus would probably scoff and say something about ‘people pleasing,’—you shake your head. That man does not get to live rent free in your brain, no matter how suspiciously kind he was the last time you saw him.

The kettle squeals, and you pour the boiling water into your chipped “World’s Greatest Hunter” mug that Caleb had gifted you once you were admitted into the Association’s ranks. The hot liquid steams soothingly into your face as it drowns a chamomile teabag, and you try not to think about the last time you saw him, when he was smiling. Patting your head. Whole, and so, so vibrantly alive. You take a deep, shaky breath.

After a suggestion from Tara, you add some honey and then slice a lime and squeeze the juice into the tea, absently stirring the spoon and gazing out your balcony window. You’re home early for once, and the sun is only just setting. You can’t see it through the high rises around you, but dusk filters down into the streets below your flat. The gentle sounds of the city moving into late evening drift up, the traffic like waves crashing on the shore, laughter and shop bells tinkling, a dog barking somewhere.

Suddenly, your doorbell chimes through your apartment and startles you out of your reverie. Did you forget that you had ordered something to be delivered today?

Without thinking too hard about it, you take your still piping-hot tea and pad to the foyer to answer the door.

Only to have your sense of calm shattered as you fling the mug out of sheer, instinctual self-preservation that Zayne accuses you of not having, when you see who is standing on the other side.

Quicker than your brain can actually process Sylus’s presence outside your flat, scarlet-night tendrils have prevented the mug from shattering on the floor, but have failed to stop the liquid from continuing its projectile path right onto his red, standing collar shirt and black vest.

“The fuck, Sylus?”

“You really, and I mean really, need to work on your greetings, kitten,” he tells you calmly, evol delivering the mug into his waiting hand while he holds the suitcase he has in the other hand away from his body to avoid being dripped on by his now soaked torso.

“Sorry, you were the last person I was expecting.” You wince, heart still threatening to beat its way out of your rib cage.

“Oh, expecting someone, are we?” he lifts a dark silver eyebrow.

“No, but least of all… you.” You flap your hand in his general direction. “What are you even doing here?”

“How about,” he drawls, “you let me in, and I’ll tell you. You wouldn’t want your neighbors to get curious and come to inquire about the mess I’m making on your doorstep, would you?”

You stare at him for a moment longer, trying to think of a way out of having him in your space, again, but you’re tired at the end of another long day, another long week, another long month and this whole entire fucking year. Trying to get rid of him will take more energy than just letting him do what he wants so that he’ll go away again. You run a hand down your face and shuffle aside.

He enters, and the scent of him fills the small foyer, warm and mouth-watering. He sets the briefcase and mug on the floor, removes his dress shoes and places them neatly by your own hastily-kicked-off boots next to the step leading into the rest of your flat. He then picks the mug back up and reads what’s written on it.

“World’s best hunter, indeed.” He snorts softly, eyes flicking from your face to your thin tank top and sleep shorts covered in grinning little bounce, bounce planet blobbus, to your bare feet. “Is this how the world’s greatest hunter always answers the door to unknown visitors?”

“It was a gift,” you say defensively, snatching the mug from him and cradling it to your chest. “And the only people who would be at my door this late is Xavier borrowing a cup of sugar for some doomed baking experiment, or a delivery person. I’m sure they’ve seen much worse than this,” you sweep your hand down your body in a dismissive flourish.

“Oh, I’m sure they’ve seen much worse.” Sylus frowns slightly.

“Yeah, so if they don’t like it, they’re welcome to move on to their next delivery.”

“Or buy their own sugar,” Sylus murmurs, reaching out to run a finger along your knuckles as you clutch the mug. “And who gave you this highly accurate mug?”

You hesitate, knowing that his face is going to do something complicated, like it always does, when you mention your family. But fuck it, he asked. If he doesn’t like the answer, he can also move on to whatever his next nefarious errand is. “Someone who was like a brother to me.”

“Brother, huh,” he says softly, still gently stroking your skin. “Well, he wasn’t wrong in this.” His hand falls back to his side. “Invite me all the way in, kitten. With your words,” he commands.

“And why should I do that? The deal was to let you come in. You’re in now. You don’t need to come in any further. Now it’s your turn to honor the deal. Why are you here?” You glare up at him, your foyer feeling minuscule with his big body and presence filling it.

“You offered me your place if I ever needed it,” Sylus narrows his glittering eyes. “I needed it today before you flung steaming liquid all over my clothes. And now I need it even more.” He looks pointedly down at the still-dripping clothes in question.

“What did you originally need it for?” You stall, the guilt of throwing a mug full—half! Half full! of tea at him starting to creep in.

“How about you invite me all the way into your home, with your words, help me take care of this mess you caused,” he waves a lazy finger at his torso, “and I’ll tell you.”

“But you already promised to tell me why you’re here in exchange for the initial value of me letting you in, and I let you in. I already paid. You can’t make me pay twice for the same goods,” you protest.

“Remind me to take you with me the next time I have contract negotiations. You’re more useful than my own legal counsel.” He pauses, considering you. “Circumstances have changed. Force majeure prevents me from fulfilling my original promise without requiring additional time and means to fulfil that promise. You owe me the opportunity to successfully deliver what I owe you.”

“What, exactly, is preventing you from telling me why you originally came to my home right here in my entryway?”

“The consequences of an unforeseeable natural disaster,” he answers with a little helpless shrug. “Namely, the trauma of nearly getting drowned in tea following almost being taken out by a mug launched with your god-like strength. Kitten, your assault is the equivalent of an act of god, and I can’t be responsible for the fact that I now need a dry shirt and a safe place to recover from the shock of almost being murdered by your tableware.”

You can’t help it. It has been so long since you’ve actually laughed out loud, so the noise that comes out of you doesn’t even sound human. You’re laughing, and you can’t stop. The affronted look on Sylus’s face in response to your ugly-snorts, causes you to laugh even more, and you’re suddenly bending over, holding your knees, laughing like you might die if you stop.

After a long moment, when you are finally able to breathe again, you straighten and find Sylus looking at you with a soft expression, one corner of his wide mouth slightly lifted… which is alarming. But you’re too filled with gratitude for the relief of laughing that his absurd exaggeration just gave you, so you refuse to think about anything at all too hard right now. You give in.

“Sylus, would you do me the honor of coming into my home? You can tell me what the hell you’re doing here after I find you a dry shirt.” You sarcastically bow as low as you can, your arms uplifted to gesture him forward.

“I suppose I can’t refuse such a graciously extended offer,” he says, as if resigned to a terrible fate, but his smile is smug and he wastes no time striding into your living room while unbuttoning his vest. He gently lays it over the back of your couch, and begins unbuttoning his shirt. You force yourself to stop staring as the pale skin slowly being revealed with each flick of his long fingers and head to your bedroom.

You paw through your chest of drawers, trying to find a shirt that will fit his broad shoulders and chest, but all you manage to do is make even more of a mess in your barely organized drawers. You stand, remembering the hoodie Xavier leant you after a recent, particularly messy battle on a chilly night. You move to your closet where you had hung it carefully to remind yourself to give it back to him after having washed it. You pull it from the hanger, turn around, and squeal loud enough to shatter glass.

Sylus is standing right behind you, chest bare, black slacks hung low around his narrow hips, and you did not heard him come in.

“I thought we were past the terror stage of our friendship, sweetheart,” he says, cocking his head, the same ruby stud earrings he was wearing at the club flashing in the light. “But that’s twice today that I’ve frightened you to the point of violence. Am I really that scary?”

“You keep… appearing, out of nowhere. A little warning would be appreciated,” you huff, heart pounding. You don’t know why you’re so nervous around him. Really. It has nothing to do with the broad expanse of creamy skin and pillowy man-tits shoved in your face at the moment. “And honestly, considering the fact that our friendship started with you choking me out and keeping me captive for days, it’s a wonder that I’m not more scared of you,” you flare, because yeah, how dare he act like you should be over the absolute shit-show of your first encounter, when you’ve hardly had any time to get to know him. That’s why you’re nervous. There is no other possible explanation. A couple friendly interactions do not make up for how much of an evil bastard he was when you first met him.

“Would you like me to wear a bell when I’m here, then?” he asks, conveniently ignoring the reminder regarding how he treated you not so long ago.

“How about you just stay out of my bedroom and stay where I can see you at other times,” you snap, feeling violent again at the intrusive thought of Sylus wearing a collar around his thick neck, cute little bell dinging every time he moved.

“I’ll do my best,” he says absently, clearly distracted by his thorough inventory of your bedroom as he takes in the tumbling plants in mismatched pots on floating shelves hanging over the unmade bed, the army of plushies scattered over the bunched up mountain of duvet and pillows. Your bed used to be your sanctuary. The place where you could find rest and relaxation after exhausting battles and long days squinting at the computer filing incident reports. Now it just gives you anxiety. You try to pull his attention away from the chaos of your former safe space by holding Xavier’s hoodie out for Sylus to take.

“Here, this might fit you.”

Sylus looks down at your offering, crosses his arms, and takes a step back, as if the hoodie is so offensive that it warrants recoiling physically from it. “That’s quite a big hoodie for you, even for days when you want to be comfortable,” he says evenly.

“It’s not mine, but it’s clean, and I’m pretty sure it’s the only thing I have right now that will fit you,” you say, shaking it a little in the universal, impatient gesture of just take it already for fuck’s sake.

“And who is its actual owner?”

“Xavier.”

“In the habit of wearing your partner’s clothing, are we?” he asks, still staring at it, the disdain now plain in his assessment of the sweatshirt.

“Uh, sometimes? We were on a mission recently and my jacket got torn to the point of uselessness, and it was cold. He let me wear his hoodie so I wouldn't be cold. It's been washed since then, so it's clean. I’ll just wash it again when you’re done using it before I return it. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

After what seems like a ridiculous amount of time for him to apparently make some mental calculations that only he will ever understand, he finally takes the soft hoodie from you, fingertips brushing yours as he grasps the fabric. You can’t figure out why he he suddenly looks more smugly evil than you’ve ever seen, with his lips curved up in a sardonic smirk. “Oh, of course, I’m sure he will not mind at all.” He pulls the hoodie over his head and shimmies a little as he drags it down is body; it’s a little tight around the shoulders, but you don’t think it’s tight enough to permanently stretch the fabric.

After it’s on, he tugs the collar up to his nose and inhales deeply.

“What are you doing?” you ask, as if you can’t see perfectly well what he is doing.

“It smells like you,” he answers, shameless, as if that is a perfectly reasonable answer to your question.

“Well, I did wear it, and wash it with my normal detergent and it has been hanging in my closet for a while, so…” your voice trails off.

“And soon it will smell like me too,” he continues, letting the collar fall with a satisfied flick of his fingers.

What even is this conversation? “Can you just be normal? For once?" A look of boredom is all the response you get, so you continue. "Now get out of my bedroom. Come tell me why you’re here in the first place.” You stride past him, making your way into the living room.

He follows you obediently and plops down on the couch, and just like last time, spreads his legs wide. This time, he is able to rest his arms on either side along the back of the couch, effectively occupying the whole damn thing. He sits quietly, looking at you expectantly.

You stand, arms folded, a safe distance away from the couch near the kitchen island.

“Well?” You prompt.

“It’s customary to offer your guest a refreshing beverage upon receiving them in your home. I believe I offered you wine the first time I hosted you in my own home.”

“Hosted?” He can’t be serious. “What a generous euphemism for ‘unlawfully imprisoned,’” you bite out.

“Po-tae-to,” he says serenely, “Po-tah-to.”

“Sylus,” you warn—about what, you’re not sure. He wants a beverage? Okay, perhaps you’ll fling more hot tea at him if he doesn’t start talking.

“Kitten.” He continues gazing at you, clearly in no hurry to move things along.

“If you don’t tell me, right now, why the hell you showed up at my place unannounced, I will report you as a burglar and have you removed by the authorities.”

“But then how will you explain to Xavier why I’ve been arrested wearing his sweater?” he asks, eyes wide, all concern for what your partner’s thoughts on the matter would be, and what they would mean for you.

“Burglars have been known to be creeps and go rooting through their victims’ closets and wearing their clothes! I’ll just say you were wearing it when I got here. Maybe he’ll be worried that it’s him you’re actually interested in harassing,” you snicker, trying to picture Xavier’s reaction.

As you’re speaking, Sylus pulls out his phone and fiddles with it with a bored expression on his face.  

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I boring you? Perhaps you should go find something more interesting to do and leave me in peace,” you grind out after you’ve finished and notice his complete lack of attention.

Your irritation is interrupted by a notification on your phone. Since Sylus is so busy messing with his, you grab yours from where it has been lying on the counter since before Sylus interrupted your peaceful evening staring out into the city. You see that you have a new message from… the man currently oozing across the entirety of your couch, head lolled to the side and watching you with a hint of amusement curving his mouth.

You open the chat, and your eyes widen at the conversation that never fucking happened currently loading into your chat history, with time stamps corresponding to when Sylus showed up at your door.

You: Oh Sylus, my big, handsome partner in crime, I think there’s an intruder in my flat and I’m so scared!

The Sytuation: What makes you think theres an intruder in your home, kitten? Im on my way.

You: There is sugar missing from my pantry! I just bought a new bag yesterday, and it’s gone! Oh please, my dark knight, come protect me from the sugar thief who should buy his own sugar and stop coming to my place to pilfer mine!

The Sytuation: Of course, sweetie. Go wait by the door, Ill be there in 5.

“What. Is. This. Fuckery,” you demand, thrusting your phone in his face.

He shrugs. “You threatened to lie about why I’m here in a bid to get rid of me. Did you not expect me to counter your move to ensure that no one will believe you?” he pauses, and then narrows his eyes. "Did you really save me in your phone as 'The Situation,' with a Y?"

"Punny, right? My phone doubles as my work phone. You really think I'm going to save your real name in my contacts? I might as well just save you as 'Sylus Qin, leader of Onychinus, most wanted criminal in the N109 zone," you grumble. "And trust me, that's the nicest name I could come up with."

"Punny," he repeats derisively, unimpressed.

“And don't derail. What is this nonsense about a sugar thief?” You wave the phone again.

“Your colleague should learn to stock his own pantry if he wants to engage in… what did you call them? Doomed baking experiments?”

“How did you even… why does it look so real?” You gaze down at the texts that look so authentic that if they hadn’t been filled with such bullshit, you’d be doubting your own sanity about whether the conversation had really happened.

“You’re really surprised that faking evidence, alibis and dirt on my opponents is a part of my vast skill set? I’m hurt that you underestimate me so.” He looks at you like he’s disappointed, a little pout pulling down his stupid beautiful mouth.

“For fuck’s sake.” You’re done. The longer you resist, the longer Sylus will be in your flat, driving you up the wall. “Fine. Fine!” You set your phone down again and throw up your hands. “What do you want to drink, Sylus?”

“Two fingers of gin, if you have it. Or brandy. Or vodka.” He thinks for a moment. “I’m not feeling too picky tonight.”

“I don’t keep hard liquor in my house, you alcoholic. I have a half-open bottle of rosé in the fridge. Will that satisfy his lordship?” You turn resignedly to trod your way to your fridge.

“What vineyard and vintage?” he asks, perking up.

You open the fridge and pull out the bottle. You squint at the label. “I dunno. It has a cute fish on the label, so I bought it.”

He looks at you like you just murdered Mephisto, and you begin pouring the pink liquid into another mug. This one says UNT on the side in big block letters, matching the size of the handle so that when you hold it, the handle looks like a matching C. You walk back to where he’s sitting, and you think that maybe your smile looks as smug as Sylus’s usually does when you hand him his drink.

He takes the mug from you, snorts when he reads the side, and then look at its contents dubiously for a moment.

“You taste it first,” he finally says, looking back up at you.

“Worried I poisoned it?” You’re still grinning.

“As you say,” he says, tilting his head.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t demand beverages from people you don’t trust then.”

“I trust you, just not your taste in wine after learning you choose bottles based on the cuteness of the label. Indulge me,” he murmurs. “Prove to me that you’re willing to drink it, and that it’s not just swill you’re trying to get rid of by offering it to me.”

You take the mug from him and lift it to your lips, taking a sip, watching him over the rim as you swallow. His nostrils flair, and he lifts his hand in a gesture for you to return it to him. Instead of giving it back, you take one more big gulp, and his brow furrows. Only after you've slowly swallowed again do you comply, relishing the warmth spreading through your body as you lower the mug for him to take. He brushes your fingers again as he takes it back. He turns the mug, so that his mouth hovers where yours just was. He then closes his eyes and inhales, gently swirling the liquid inside. Eyes still closed, he takes a sip.

After a moment, he sighs. “Thank you. This is actually not bad, for a rosé.”

“You’re such a snob,” you smile down at him, irrationally pleased that he seems so pleased.

“Life is too difficult, and too short, to waste on inferior experiences. I only like tasting the best,” he says, bright red eyes opening and fixing on you.

He looks up at you like you should be able to draw some deeper meaning from his words, but you’re tired, warm from the wine, and despite how much he winds you up you were just moments ago, right now you’re strangely relaxed for the first time in days.

“Tell me why you’re here, Sylus,” you say quietly.

“You told me I could use your place when I needed it,” he says, just as softly. He takes another drink, rolls it around in his mouth. Swallows, his adam’s apple dipping.

“And why did you need it this evening?”

“I had some negotiations regarding a business acquisition that I’m considering in this part of Linkon City, and they were abhorrently boring. By the time they were over, I had a splitting headache, and the sunlight didn’t help. It would have been unsafe to operate a motor vehicle under those conditions, so I thought I’d come and wait for it to pass in my newest ‘safe house,’ he answers gravely, as if getting a headache was a perfectly logical reason to crash your evening and take over your couch. “Wouldn’t want to endanger the innocent citizens of Linkon City with reckless driving, now would we?”

“Aren’t all of your shady business deals done under the cover of darkness? Why were you here at a meeting during the day?”

He’s holding the mug in one hand by his fingertips now, along the rim, slowly swirling it. He crosses one long leg over the other and answers languidly. “You’re assuming that today’s business was ‘shady.’”

“So your business today was legitimate?” You’ve been standing for awhile now, and begin to shift from bare foot to bare foot.

He hums in acknowledgement. “My business interests are as varied as they are successful. You insult me by looking so surprised.”

“Well I would never want to insult you,” you drawl. “So that’s it? You got a headache and decided you’d crash my evening?”

He nods, touching his temple and grimacing. “It’s still pretty bad, to be honest.”

“The daylight bothers you that much?” you ask, genuinely curious. You have always assumed that it was the nature of his occupation and perhaps just a proclivity for being a night owl that explained his nocturnal existence, but now you’re wondering if it’s not something deeper that has him avoiding it as much as possible.

You finally decide to give your tired feet a break and perch on the little corner of couch cushion that has been freed for use by Sylus crossing his legs. “If sunlight bothers you that much, what could possibly be so important to come out in it today?”

“Are you really asking about the details of my business ventures, sweetheart?” he asks in what you suspect is feigned astonishment.

“And if I am?”

“Then I’ll tell you,” he responds easily.

“Then I am.”

“I’m in discussions for acquiring a chain of entertainment venues in Linkon City.” He leans his head on the couch’s backrest and lets it roll to the side to keep looking at you. He catches the look of disgust that is no doubt obvious on your face.

“Entertainment venues,” you say flatly.

“Yes. Is there something wrong with that?”

“What kind of … entertainment venues?” you ask, hating yourself for wanting to know. It’s his business if he wants to buy porn shops, or strip clubs, or brothels—your stomach twists, and you refuse to consider why.

“What kind of ideas are racing through that fascinating brain of yours?” he asks, reaching up and running two of his fingers along your temple, brushing your hair away from your eyes.

“Nothing,” you bite out, turning your face away from his touch. You normally dislike how you have a hard time concealing how you’re feeling, but you particularly hate it right now.

“Mmhmm,” he murmurs. “Then, to answer your question, it’s a chain of arcades.”

Your brain grinds to a halt. Did he just say—

“Arcades?”

He nods, and winces, closing his eyes. You’re starting to believe that his head is actually hurting him, and you feel bad for throwing dishware and hot tea at him and refusing to offer him more than the one drink he asked for.

“Why would you be interested in acquiring an arcade chain?”

“Even for odious crime lords, it’s always wise to have a diversified business portfolio.”

You have called him a lot of things both out loud and in your head, but you’d never call him odious. Odorous, perhaps, when he’s sweating heavily after being riddled with bullets. But you have to suppress the urge to chastise him about talking about himself that way.

“Which chain is it?”

“You probably don’t know it,” he says, as if bored with the question. “It’s not a very large chain, but large enough for my interests.”

“Try me! I love going to the arcade when I have some free time. I mean, you’ve seen my plushie collection now that you invited yourself into my house,” you bounce a little on the couch.

“You invited me, kitten. You’ve had a choice, each and every time.”

“Don’t deflect! Answer the question!” You’re quite excited about this. Maybe if it’s a place you know, that has a location nearby, he’ll give you a discount if he ends up buying them? Like an employee discount or something. Is that ethical? You should check the Association’s employee handbook for conflicts of interest.

He squints, as if preparing to evaluate your reaction, and names your favorite place to play the claw machine.

“For real? You’re really going to buy them?”

“I still have to review the contract that was proposed during today’s discussions with my legal counsel, but if negotiations are successful, then yes,” he says, casually examining his nails.

Your excitement is hard to contain, but you suddenly have a troubling thought. “You’re not going to change anything, right? Like, that place is perfect as it is, and the employees are all really friendly and helpful and clearly work hard to keep it really nice,” you rush out, worried that he’s planning to reduce the staff  or try to jack up the prices for a larger profit margin.

He turns to look at you again, and doesn’t answer for long enough that you’re really starting to worry. But then he says softly, “No, I’m not going to change a thing.”

“Oh? So they’re doing well? It’s a solid financial investment?” You’re so relieved, safe in the knowledge that your plushies will continue to be accessible, insofar as claw machines by design allow them to be.

Sylus laughs softly. “Yes, the financials all look good. Considering your interest in the nature of binding agreements, would you like to look over the purchase agreement with me? I have it with me.”

“I’d actually really like to, but I’m starting to get really tired,” you yawn, the relief you were just feeling—the relief of knowing that Sylus wasn’t up to anything that would leave a blood trail today, relief that he didn’t come tonight to try to force you to resonate or finally kill you for refusing to do so, and most importantly, relief that he wasn’t going to acquire and ruin one of the little pleasures in your life—all of it is now drowned out by a heavy feeling of pleasant drowsiness.

“Then I’ll read it to you, until you fall asleep.”

“Huh? You want to stay?”

“Yes,” he says, hauling himself to his feet and offering you his hand. You take it in confusion, and he lifts you to your feet as well. He sets the now empty mug on your coffee table, and then places his hands on your shoulders, gently guiding you from behind to your bedroom.

“Why?” you ask, not even thinking to object.

“Headache, remember?” He pushes you gently by your shoulders so that you’re sitting on your bed.

“How can you review legalese when you’re suffering from a headache?” You sink into the softness of the mattress.

“Why don’t you let me worry about that?” he says, nudging you until you’ve scooted to the middle of the bed. “Don’t move. I’m going to get my tablet out of my briefcase.” He disappears through the doorway, and you’re left sitting on your bed, surrounded by all of your plushies, and you have no idea what’s happening. You’re just too tired to argue with him. You really did miscalculate by spending all of your energy trying to get rid of him when he first arrived.

But just because you’re bone-tired, doesn’t mean you’re going to let him boss you around. You get off the bed and pad into the kitchen, passing him as he snaps his briefcase shut, tablet in hand.

“I distinctly recall telling you not to move,” he gripes, pushing up an elegant set of gold framed glasses perched on the uneven bridge of his nose with a middle finger. Huh, you didn’t know he needed glasses to read. He looks almost … cute wearing them, a little less feral. Like a leopard wearing a monocle.

Suppressing the thought of Sylus and cute in the same sentence, you ignore him, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water. Then you rummage through your most chaotic kitchen drawer for a few moments, before triumphantly pulling out what you were looking for.

You pad back over to where he’s still watching you, and offer him the glass and the half-used blister pack of over-the-counter painkillers you fished out of your chaos drawer. “Here.”

He looks down at your hands, offering him what you hope is some relief from his headache. His face is impassive, and you’re worried he assumes you’re trying to poison him again. But then he tucks the tablet under one arm, and reaches out with both hands to grasp the glass and the pill pack—except he doesn’t take them from your hands. He envelops yours with his, and pulls you gently closer to him. He somehow manages to pop two tablets out of the pack with his thumb, and they drop into your curved palm. Still holding your hand, he leans down to sweep them from your skin with his tongue. In a complete daze, you watch him lift the glass that you’re still holding to his lips, and he takes a long pull of water, washing the pills down, all the while holding your gaze with his. When he’s done, he slowly lowers your hands again.

“Thank you,” he murmurs “For the benevolence of your heart.” He says it gravely, as if you’ve just saved his life instead of giving him some headache medicine.

“You’re welcome,” you whisper, feeling like you’ve been struck by a truck after… whatever that was, feeling the warmth of his tongue in the palm of your hand like he was still licking it. Sylus then turns and heads back to your bedroom.

You set the glass and the now-empty pill pack on the kitchen island, thinking you’ll clean up tomorrow if you manage to sleep tonight, and follow him.

In the bedroom, Sylus sits, leaning back against your headboard, having needed to gently scoop some plushies out of the way to make room. He stretches his legs out in front of him with a sigh. He looks so soft, wrapped in the white hoodie, silver hair rumpled, surrounded by pillows and cute little plushies.

It’s getting increasingly difficult to remember that the man currently sinking into your duvet and wiggling his sock-covered toes in contentment is the same man who straight up exploded the man who dared kidnap you, and then proceeded to kidnap you himself after choking you to the point of passing out. You try to hold both of these truths about him in your mind at the same time, but the image of Sylus dancing you gently through a press of bodies, of the way he caresses your fingers at every opportunity, the soft slide of his tongue along your palm—these images are conquering every other version of him that you know to be true in your mind. You wonder briefly if this is part of some larger scheme of his, and what his endgame could possibly be. But right now, you’re too fucking tired to care.

“What is even happening,” you ask. You’re exhausted, but you still have enough mental reserves to question how you got here, in this situation, with this man migrating from vanquishing your couch to a large part of your bed. “Is the coffee table, or kitchen table insufficient for your needs? Why are you going to review the paperwork here, on my bed?”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice how quickly you fell asleep on my back on the motorcycle the other night, sweetheart. I’m just reading you a bedtime story featuring limitations of liability and allocation of risk so that you can finally get some sleep again.” He pats his thigh. “Here.”

You just stare at him. “Don’t make me repeat myself,” he warns, tapping his thigh again with one long finger. Just for that, you glare mutinously at him and fold your arms over your chest.

He sighs again, this time in exasperation, and leans over, firmly lifting you and setting you down so that your head is pillowed against his meaty thigh. He begins to run his fingertips gently up and down the middle of your back. He returns his attention to his tablet. “Now listen carefully,” he commands, before flicking the screen with his thumb and beginning to read in his softly in his deep, rich voice.

But of course you don't. You fall asleep as the skyscrapers light up like a dragon's hoard of jewels in the night sky outside your window, to the sounds of Sylus’s quiet recitation of indeed, a terribly boring contract, and the whisper of his fingers along your skin.

When you wake up, there is another black feather on your pillow, and you are alone. You yawn, once again feeling unbelievably rested despite the chaos Sylus always brings to your door and into your life. You stretch leisurely, spreading your arms wide and turning your head on the pillow, when something catches in your earlobe. You reach up and run your fingers along a stud earring that was not there when you fell asleep. You feel your other earlobe, but it's empty. You grab your phone from the nightstand, knocking over a semiautomatic hand pistol with scarlet flames engraved along the grip that you also don't remember owning onto the floor. You stare at it briefly, ready to commit murder if you check it and find that the safety isn't on. But first things first: you put the phone camera in selfie mode and lift it to your face, but quickly lower it again after confirming that it is indeed a ruby stud in your ear, sparkling cheekily in the morning sunlight.

Later, you're relieved to find that Sylus did actually leave the safety on on your new little ... toy, and you'll find that the mugs have been washed and set neatly away, the empty pack of painkillers placed in the recycling bin. You also see that various takeout containers and other debris that had piled up on a lot of surfaces in your place are also gone, and the countertops are clean, the coffee and kitchen table gleam in the early morning sunlight. You don't notice that the white hoodie is nowhere to be found, until you meet up with Xavier later in the day. He's wearing one that looks exactly like it.

"Thanks for returning the hoodie," he yawns. "But you really didn't have to."

You pause, feeling a thread of panic start to wind its way through your stomach. You decide to just... go with it. "Oh? You found it okay?"

"Yeah, but why did you just leave it hanging from my door handle? You could have rung and come in. I had a new limited edition bag of those cookies you were looking at in the corner store last week. I would have shared some with you... but now I've eaten them all," he admits sheepishly, big blue eyes shimmering with guilt.

You try to think fast. Did Sylus give back the hoodie without washing it? What the fuck was he thinking? He could have been seen! Does this flat have surveillance footage? Does Xavier suspect anything? You realize that you still haven't answered Xavier's question as your panic spirals. "Oh, you know, didn't want to wake you up," you flap your hands, as if you can flap this entire situation right out of your messy life.

"Well, I don't know what you did to it, but it feels brand new. As if it's never even been washed. And you somehow got out the bbq sauce stain that no matter how much I sprayed it with that stain remover stuff would never come out. So you're going to have to teach me some of that laundry magic," he says contentedly, snuggling further into the entirely new hoodie that you now realize Sylus must have somehow, over the course of the night, had hand-delivered to Xavier's place. "Uh huh," you say absently, pulling out your phone to furiously text Mr. Asshat when you see that he has also changed his name in your contact list.

You: What the hell did you do with Xavier's hoodie?"

My Sy: It doesnt matter who it belonged to before me. All that matters is that its mine now.

You: It doesn't even fit you properly! You're too big for it!

My Sy: Nothing a little size training cant fix.

Your jaw drops. He cannot be implying what you think he's implying. This is your filthy mind at work. You decide that you will simply pretend this conversation never happened. Absolutely nothing good can come from trying to figure out what the fuck is going through Sylus's head at any given moment.

You: And 'My Sy?' Really?

My Sy: Its not punny, but it rhymes. And its accurate. Gotta put the phone down for a bit, kitten. Business requires my attention. Ill be seeing you soon.

You stare at his last message for long enough that Xavier asks if you're okay. You're not. You're not okay. You couldn't even bring yourself to ask him about the other earring, or the gun. You just slowly slip your phone back into your cargo pants pocket and try very hard to stop thinking, for the rest of the day.

[baby-yongbok]

Remedies

OT8 x Reader

Genre - Comfort WC - 746

Summary - These are ways that I think the boys would help you to get over your mental and/or physical struggles Content Warning - Themes of mental and physical illness/struggles, mention of hospitals, mentions of medications/needles, mentions of food

A/N - I wrote this on my living room floor just now because I’m sick of being sick. I’m sick of being chronically ill, and I needed some comfort, so I thought I’d share it for anyone else who could use some comfort, too. I based these off of my experiences with my illnesses/disabilities. If you can relate then I just wanna say that i see you and you're strong. Keep fighting 💕+ I tried to write this to be gender neutral, I think I nailed it

✧ Masterlist ✧

Hugs from Jisung when your panic attacks have subsided. He whispers sweet praises of “You're okay” and “You're so strong” while he rocks you in his lap. You're still on the floor where he found you. His shirt soaks up every tear and his soft kisses on your forehead bandage every wound. You tell him that he can go, you apologize for causing a commotion, but he just holds you closer.

Laughing with Changbin while he tries to distract you from your symptoms flaring up. He's loud and silly on the couch with you. He's careful not to go overboard, he watches you to make sure that you're still comfortable while he makes silly voices and dances around for you. He's not ready to watch you cry yourself to sleep from the pain but he'll be ready to make you laugh again when you need it most.

Kisses from Chan while you're at your doctor's appointment. Your leg is shaking and he's soothing gentle circles into your back while he kisses your knuckles. He knows that you're scared, he is too. You have no idea what the doctor will say but he knows one thing for sure, no matter what the results are he'll be right by your side. He'll fight with you every single day and he'll kiss the pain away.

Adventures with Hyunjin when he realizes that you're avoiding going outside again. He knows that you get paranoid. He knows that every corner that you turn feels unsafe so he holds your hand. He skips across streets with you and dances on the white lines of the cross walks. He pulls you into shops that you've been too scared to visit yourself and buys you everything that you touch. He molds new memories with you with his bare hands. He'll do it everyday if he has to.

Cooking with Minho when he sees that you've been watching your diet too closely. He's gentle with you. You taste test everything together, he feeds you with silver spoons and kisses your nose with every hesitant swallow. He stands behind you while you stir the contents in the pots and plucks flour at you to see that pretty smile that he loves so much. He feeds you from his fork and he wipes away the mess. He makes it feel like it all goes down easy.

Reading with Seungmin when he comes to visit you in the hospital. He knows that you feel like you're going mad in here. He knows that you want to get up out of bed and walk out of here with him, that's what he wants too. Instead he holds your hand while you rest your head on his shoulder. He reads you each word with a softness that somehow drowns out the beeping of your monitors and the commotion on the other side of the curtain. He transports you to a place where you aren't sick. To a place where it's just you and him.

Cuddling with Jeongin when you feel that dark cloud consuming you again. He knew what was wrong when you let your alarms ring on for the third day in a row. You're huddled under blankets together, unmoving and quiet. His arms circle your waist and he pulls you closer. He weighs you down to reality. He makes you feel something besides the bubbling emptiness in your chest. He hums to you when the tears start to fall. He hums and holds you tighter. He won't let you drift away.

Singing with Felix while he helps you with your medication. There's so many to take that you've been overwhelmed with it all so he puts on a playlist and grabs all your pills. He lays them out and organizes them just how you need them. He uses the TV remote as a microphone, passing it to you when he sees you staring at the medicine littering the tabletop. He has you sing for him when he gives you your injections. He makes them as quick and painless as he can, always joining you for a high note as he sticks the band-aid on for you. He spins and hugs you once you're done for the day. He doesn't have to give you any praise, you can feel the love in his touch. You can hear it in his voice and see it in his actions. He's always going to be there to make it all feel easier.

If you liked this and wanna see more of this content let me know!

Thank You For Reading! Please Reblog or Comment to let me know how you liked it! It makes my day! 💕

Perm. Tag List:

@kayleefriedchicken

@compersian @kibs-and-bits @lixiluvs @armystay89 @lghtdarling

@teddy-stay , @baconcupcakes123, @moonchild9350 ,

@krayzieestay, @soulsbbg , @stay-bi , @yzsqu , @gho-ster , @lghtdarling

[hbdttg]

“Hold the elevator!”

The elevator doors are mere inches from closing, but Steve dutifully shoots a hand out to stop them. They slide back open, revealing a flustered-looking man about Steve’s age on the other side.

He’s dressed head to toe in black, decked out in a simple black pullover with a modest V-neck, snug black jeans, and all-black leather Chucks with a messenger bag slung across his chest. The messenger bag is, unsurprisingly, also black, but covered in a collection of tough-looking patches and pins in varying shades of—well, it’s mostly red, dark red, white, and some yellows, but the pops of color still stand out against his otherwise monochrome ensemble.

His dark, curly hair reaches a little past his shoulders and he’s got this frankly outdated fringe that, despite its very 80’s vibe, frames his face perfectly. His eyes are large and expressive, and he’s got this frantic energy about him that reminds Steve of a live wire. He’s nothing like the buttoned-up suits Steve usually shares his elevator rides with each morning, and it’s a refreshing change of pace.

The man gives Steve a thankful look before stepping into the elevator and leaning against the side wall. “Thanks,” he says, a little distractedly. He’s got a pair big of headphones on and Steve realizes he’s in the middle of a phone call when he adds, “No, not you, Gare, I was thanking the guy who held the elevator for me. Yeah, this building’s crazy. There’s a whole-ass sixtieth floor—guess I’m kind of a big deal now.” He lets out a small, self-deprecating chuckle, reaching for the panel beside him.

As the doors close and the elevator starts to slowly ascend, Steve notices the man pressed the button for the floor above his. Both the fifty-second and fifty-third floor buttons are lit in a halo of green.

“You know I didn’t want to leave you guys,” the man continues, a bit more quietly now that he and Steve are sharing the same small space, “but shit, I couldn’t turn down the pay.” He scoffs. “Ugh, listen to me, just another cog in the capitalist machine. Man, if high school me could see me now. High school Eddie used to talk big about forced conformity and rising up against the man, and now here I am—”

Steve tries not to listen to the one-sided conversation going on beside him, but it’s difficult when a moment later, he hears his own name.

“—clocking in for my first day at fuckin’ Harrington Hargrove Hagan. The pretentious bastards can’t even shorten it to an acronym or something. God forbid they have to miss out on the sound of their own names.”

Steve manages to hold in the obnoxious snort that threatens to escape him. He’s starting to think he might like this guy—Eddie, his mind supplies helpfully—but Eddie’s next words have him freezing in place.

“And it’s nepo baby central. Yeah, pretty sure all the H kiddies are hotshot brokers with the company. All the biggest accounts—gee, I wonder why.”

Steve can feel the back of his neck burning hot with a mixture of annoyance and shame as Eddie cracks a caustic joke about silver spoons and trust funds.

“You’re kidding, one of them works at this branch? Damn, I guess I’ll just keep an eye out for the guy who most looks like he’s got a giant stick up his ass.”

This is quickly becoming the longest elevator ride of Steve’s life. He grits his teeth and stares fixedly at the floor display panel above the elevator doors, watching the numbers climb higher and higher. Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight.

“Listen, I should go, but let’s grab a drink at the Hideout later. Cool, see you then. Bye.”

Forty-one. Forty-two.

Eddie removes his headphones and shoves them into his bag, angling slightly toward Steve. “Sorry about that, man.”

“You’re good,” Steve says shortly, not looking away from the changing numbers. They reach the forty-seventh floor, and all the while, he feels Eddie’s gaze on him.

It’s not like he’s openly staring, but there’s a certain weight to his furtive glances that completely counteracts his attempts at subtlety. It’s the type of gaze Steve’s familiar with, one that he’s been on the receiving end of since his sophomore year of high school when he hit a growth spurt and actually learned how to style his hair. Assessing. Appreciative. Interested.

And in any other situation, Steve would gladly engage. He’d turn on the charm, quirk the corner of his lip up in that way Robin always rolls her eyes at but reluctantly acknowledges as ‘passably effective’, and maybe even make up an excuse to sidle a bit closer.

But he’s not giving this guy his A-game.

Instead, Steve waits in stifling silence until the fifty-second floor is announced and the doors slide open. He steps forward to exit, but at the very last moment stops in the doorway.

He initially wasn’t going to say anything—though, a past version of himself would have definitely spat something biting and bitchy to Eddie about his snark, would have snootily told him to take his little assumptions and shove them where the sun don’t shine—but sooner or later Eddie’s going to realize he and Steve are colleagues, and he’s going to remember shit-talking him in an elevator on his first day of work, and it’s going to be awkward and uncomfortable.

Steve’s just speeding up the timeline, pushing for the sooner rather than the later, when he decides to spin around and fully face Eddie.

“I think you pressed the wrong button,” he says, all sweet and helpful like he’s talking to Dustin’s mom over a sink full of soapy dishes. “Couldn’t help but overhear that you work at Harrington Hargrove Hagan. It’s on the fifty-second floor, not the fifty-third.” Then he takes a small step backward, moving out into the carpeted hallway.

“Oh.” Eddie scrambles for his phone, unlocking it and scrolling quickly until he finds something that has him straightening up and smiling gratefully at Steve. “I guess I remembered it wrong. Thank you.” He pushes away from the wall, takes a step forward to follow Steve out, but then stops dead in his tracks.

Steve gleefully notes the line of Eddie’s gaze, how it lingers at the breast pocket of his shirt, where, clipped to a retractable badge reel, his building keycard hangs. Eddie evidently hadn’t noticed it during the elevator ride up, but he’s certainly fixated on it now.

Perhaps on the abstract yet easily recognizable Harrington Hargrove Hagan logo in the top right corner.

But more likely, based on the positively mortified look growing on Eddie’s face, on the name clearly printed underneath Steve’s photo in bold, black lettering: STEVE HARRINGTON.

Slowly, Eddie drags his eyes back up to Steve’s face. He stares in silence, eyes bugging nearly out of his head, face turning a concerning shade of pink, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, and his reaction is extreme enough that a small part of Steve is almost inclined to take pity on the guy and laugh it all off.

Unfortunately for Eddie, a bigger part of Steve thinks Eddie looks kind of cute all red-faced and embarrassed like this. So he glances down at himself thoughtfully before turning his attention back on Eddie. “Wow,” he says with exaggerated astonishment, “now that you mention it, I guess I do look like I’ve got a giant stick up my ass.”

As if on cue, the elevator chimes in warning. The doors begin to close, but Eddie just remains rooted in place with that same wide-eyed, horrified expression.

When it becomes clear he has no intentions of actually exiting the elevator, Steve chuckles and wiggles his fingers in a cheeky little wave. “Welcome to the team,” he says airily, before Eddie’s still-blushing face disappears behind the elevator doors.

/ Now with a Part 2!

[chlorinecake]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐏’𝐒 𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝟒 — a yang jungwon fanfic

𖤣 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: after betraying his trust, yandere!yang jungwon tries his best to maintain a forgiving heart towards you, but things only take a turn for the worse when you foolishly refuse his rules again…

𖥧 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: mild-nudity, insinuated food poisoning, abduction themes, suggestive (mentions of self/pleasure and cnc themes), swearing, violence, slow burn, crying, angst

𖡼 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.8k ~ Previously ⊱✿⊰

✎ note: In no way does this fanfic intend to romanticize unhealthy relationships or abusive behaviors. I write purely for entertainment and creative purposes. Reader discretion is advised

TWO DAYS HAD passed since Jungwon first confronted you about sneaking out to the greenhouse while he was away at work.

You’re certain your heart nearly pumped out of your chest once those ominous words escaped his mouth, sending a valley of chills down your spine.

Tracing back the steps you took in your mind, you’re not entirely sure how Jungwon even found out about your little adventure anyways…

Still, your soul contented itself to some degree in the simple fact that he hadn’t asked you anything about what you saw in his greenhouse…

Or better yet, what you weren’t supposed to see.

The only time you saw Jungwon in between those days were whenever he brewed you a cup of tea in the morning, or came back home from work to prepare your supper.

A suspicious inkling in your heart remained concerning his reasons for wanting you to drink the mysterious herbal concoction so routinely.

Out of paranoia, you would instead pour the shimmery liquid into the ivy plant on your nightside table, hoping that he’d never find out about it…

At the end of the day, you really did want to trust Jungwon… not that he deserved it or anything… you just felt that trusting him was the very least you could do in return.

…Especially ever since he vowed to never hurt or touch you against your will again…

“I’m sorry,” your voice began at a whisper, somehow sounding loud in the quiet of Jungwon’s presence.

You were currently in the kitchen with him, sitting at the round wooden table while he prepared you a bowl of fresh fruit from his garden.

He turned to look at you over his shoulder, eyes barely visible through his shaggy bangs as his grip around the bowl tightened slightly.

“Sorry for what?,” he asked, not sure as to why you were apologizing.

Did you do something bad without him knowing?

Did you somehow manage to go against his rules right under his nose again?

You could tell from the sudden feeling of tension in the room that Jungwon’s mind started to wander in dark places, so you knew you had to speak fast.

“M-my little incident with the greenhouse… I hope you find in your heart t-to forgive my curiosity…” you stuttered nervously, picking with your nails in your lap.

He remained quiet, breathing pattern still like a wind chime frozen in time as he turned on his heel, eyes still not meeting yours.

You watched as he reached for a spoon to drizzle honey on your breakfast, “Would you like any yogurt or granola with your fruit, love?”

You couldn’t believe he just asked you that, of all things—

“Jungwon, I’m trying to apologize here…”

“I know,” he hummed sarcastically, “and I’m trying to prepare your breakfast…”

“I… I know…,” you repeated with a sigh, hanging your head low now as the tension only grew thicker, “thank you, Jungwon… just the fruit and honey is fine…”

He was pleased with your obedience to his subtle cues, bringing the bowl to you with a silver spoon perched in its side, “You're welcome…”

And with that, the stale morning continued as usual, you and Jungwon barely exchanging any small talk as the nearby sun rose to its fullest extent.

He never explicitly said that he forgave you for sneaking out into the greenhouse that day, but it elated him nonetheless that you took a small step to compliance.

About another hour had passed after you both finished breakfast together before Jungwon received a call from his boss, saying that he could have the day off because of a blackout in the city.

That meant you and him would be spending the entire day together, an occurrence that rarely even happened on the weekends given his busy work life.

Jungwon was always busy, so he claimed… which only made you question how he was able to stalk you all those months before abducting you.

You quite seriously couldn’t believe a single word that escaped his serpentine mouth—

“I want to show you a creative piece I've been working on in my greenhouse for you,” he began with gentle enthusiasm as you two spent some time rearranging the bedroom.

Or more accurately, while you sat on the bed, watching him add three extra locks to your bedroom door.

You didn’t respond yet as you didn’t know what to say, so he busied himself with neatly putting away his work tools before standing up from the ground to meet you.

“I hope you don't mind that I kept the dress you wore on your first day here,” he continued bashfully, “I used it to come up with your measurements for the dress.”

He also used it to please himself in eery hours of the night while he thought of a whiny you squirming beneath him, but he'd rather keep that part private for now...

His freshly calloused hand found yours as he joined the spot beside you on the mattress, pulling you back into the moment with a pleasant expression on his angelic features.

It was a shame how someone so demented could be so beautiful.

“What's wrong, my love? Did you spoil the surprise for yourself that day you went snooping around without my permission?” Jungwon interrogated frantically, worried that the blank expression on your face had something to do with his mentioning of the dress.

And it did, but not for reasons he assumed.

“God, you saw it already, didn't you? Please don't hate me ____, I know it didn't look like much at the time, but—”

“Jungwon—”

“I made a few finishing touches since then, but it looks way better now, I promise... I'm so sorry for not hiding the surprise from you better—”

“Wonie,” you said a little louder this time, making his guilt-stricken eyes soften slightly at your use of a nickname.

He let out a sigh, shaking his head with a light-hearted chuckle before running a hand through his thick brown locks, “Guess I kinda rambled a bit there, didn't I?”

“Just a little,” you agreed, patting him on the back as he rested his elbows on his thighs while sitting.

If only you could feel the way his crooked heart fluttered at your simple initiation of physical touch.

“And I didn't see your project in the greenhouse, by the way... only a naked mannequin and some plants… so please, don’t stress yourself out over that,” you reassured in a soft tone, almost as if cooing to the hurt child inside him…

“I appreciate everything you do for me, Jungwon… you know that…,” you confessed in the stillness, an odd sincerity behind each word.

“Thank you for saying that, my love... but as a committed pair, my duty is to please you, and that's all I could ever aspire to do so long as you keep pleasing me...” his voice trailed off ominously, your eyes watching as little sighs kept leaving his body…

It was a strange thing, really...

Seeing such an intimidating person falter to reverence… insecurity.

You wondered in your mind exactly what Jungwon meant by you pleasing him, but you decided to keep quiet for the meantime instead of asking.

Suddenly, he lifted himself from the bed, turning to face you with a seemingly restored countenance as he spoke, “I can't wait for you to try on the dress though, ____... I just know you'll look absolutely divine once its on you... Ready?”

“Ready,” you smiled, taking his extended hand in yours as he guided you out of the bedroom and to his forbidden greenhouse.

YOUR BODY STIFFENED as stone, your lungs hardly remembering to breathe as Jungwon’s cold hands stripped you of your clothing layer by layer.

You stood in front of him, now only in a washed-out pair of lace panties and thin bralette, a wooden stepping stool placed beneath your feet which strangely resembled a pedestal.

The sound of metal clothes hangers sliding into each other hit your ears as he rummaged through the wardrobe in between one of his gardening shelves.

Meanwhile, your eyes scanned the room before inevitably falling back onto the sight of two mannequins, one whole and another headless.

From the looks of it, you almost couldn’t believe that Jungwon had designed either of the pieces himself, let alone crafted them by hand.

Despite how Jungwon had proved to you multiple times that he was a jack of all trades, his array of skills never seeming to fail.

The red dress you watched him carefully remove from the mannequin was the one that belonged to you.

It’s neckline was made up of fancy lace, dried out field flowers trailing the accented seams.

The waist of the dress was decorated similarly, an array of gorgeous flowers with warm hues floating idly atop the skirt of feathery fabric, ballon-like sleeves completing the look with a mocked neckline.

The piece, in short, was lovely, Jungwon having brought with him a pair of silk white leggings and sliding them up your dainty ankles as would a servant before his queen.

It was evident all over his face that he took such delight in dressing you, hands respectfully adjusting your undergarments and fastening the makeshift zipper up your spine.

With delicate hands, he straightened out the fabric over your shoulders and down your waist as needed before stepping back to get a full look at you.

“My precious blossom...” he began adoringly, observing how the thin material draped over every ethereal curve of your body, and how the coloring palette complimented your natural one as if it were the only dress you were ever meant to wear.

"You're glowing," he almost whispered this time, voice so light that it tickled you when it touched your skin.

“Thank you,” you replied with a similarly gentle tone, not quite sure on how to respond to his enamor for you.

Pacing back towards you, he took your hands in his, looking almost as if he was holding back tears once his feline eyes met yours, “What do you think, my love? Did I do a just job for you?…”

“It’s perfect,” you smiled, abandoning one of his hands so you could swipe the moisture from his eyes, watching as he nearly purred at your action, “I love it…”

“And I’m so happy you do,” he replied, gentle touch grazing your wrist as he continued to admire the view of you in his unique piece.

“I have a question, though,” you started shyly, still watching his face in case there’d be an unpredictable change of emotion.

He simply nodded, feelings as though he was in a sleep-like state from how lovesick he felt right now, “You may continue, my love…”

“Okay,” you went on, swallowing any nerves building up in your throat before speaking, “What compelled you to design such a dress for me in the first place?”

A prolonged silence meddled between you two at the question up until he giggled slightly to himself, confusion washing over you at the sight of his now full-smile.

“Has it really been that long, love,” Jungwon asked in a half-serious tone, “for you to not even remember anymore?”

“Remember what?” You asked back, using the most polite voice you could muster.

“Remember that you’re my little flower, silly,” he smiled eerily, pinching one of your cheeks in a way that triggered a fear response within you.

Fortunately though, you did a good job of concealing it this time…

I’m not a flower, Jungwon, a voice similar to your own weakly choked out in desperation, trying to trigger a memory.

“I…. I’m not sure I fully understand,” you admitted, not even aware of how your legs stiffened, or the way your heart started to pulse as if you’d just been in a fight.

“Your rebuttal,” he clarified, “in the woods that day… it rang true to my ears,” he said, still tracing your skin with his touch.

“Jungwon—”

“Let me finish… please,” he interrupted sternly before tilting his head at you. “You brought something very important to my attention that day… and it was that every flower ought to have petals…”

He stopped in his words, hoping that you would understand, and to some degree, you did.

All of this, from day one… was to make sure that you, as his flower, blossomed accordingly…

The tea he ‘watered’ you with every morning…

The rays of sunlight he valued synonymously with any other form of nutrition you received…

The dress he designed for you with his own hands…

And the initial nickname he graced you with since as long as you could forget…

Jungwon loved you from the depths of his stony heart, and he had a very strange way of expressing it to you at times.

Though, now that you were complete with a set of more petals than he could possibly count, the last step was for Jungwon to make sure he took good care of you so you wouldn’t wither away…

So you wouldn’t have to perish like the last girl did…

THAT EVENING, JUNGWON brought you back to the garden just outside the main cabin on the land lot.

You sat quaintly, hands folded in your lap as he toiled in the flower bed, the knees of his dark blue jeans turning dark with moist soil.

"You look rather bored," he started, a glint of playfulness in his eyes, "care to give me a hand?"

"Sure," you replied apprehensively, getting up from the wooden bench you sat at and joining him at the seedling patch.

"See that shovel over there," he asked, directing your attention to its auburn handle a few feet away from you, "use it to sprinkle a bit of fertilizer over these here flowers, please."

"Okay," you obliged, a little grunt escaping you as you reached forward to grab the shovel, Jungwon's eyes trying their best not to follow the curve of your outstretched figure, the sounds you made doing enough to tingle his imagination.

"Is everything alright? You look warm," you said, observing the slight hue rushing to the apple of his cheeks.

"Oh- No, I'm alright," he said with a reassuring smile, reaching in his side pocket to pull out a pair of gardening scissors.

You busied yourself with sprinkling the flower bed with fertilizer, meanwhile, the distant sound of Jungwon snipping a few plants filled your ears alongside the peaceful melody of songbirds.

Your mind couldn't help but think of the day he made you kill one of their kind... the day he made you steal another creatures freedom, just as he had done to you-

"What're you picking?" You asked, not meeting his eyes as you dusted a bit of dirt from your hands.

"Just some herbs for your tea," he answered in a quiet voice, focusing most of his mind on the task at hand, "the ones in my greenhouse withered out somehow, but I'm glad I had a few back-up plants out here..."

Your eyes followed as he continued to snip, colorful leaf and flower bud remnants falling into the mini mortar bowl he held in his free hand.

"Do you recognize all the plants you farm by name?"

"Pfft... of course I do," he chuckled, "I've been a man of the garden my whole life," he added. "These purple ones here are called valerian, the vibrant ones passion flowers, and the red ones are poppy's... though, I often mix these with berry brews in your tea..."

You took a mental note of the names he listed, "And do you have a botanical book by any chance-"

"You're asking a lot of questions again, love," he said, voice sounding a bit cold even though his face remained just as friendly.

"S-sorry," you apologized timidly, hanging your head low as the evening wind picked up, blowing sprinkles of wildlife into the air as Jungwon turned his head to avoid getting anything in his eyes.

"Let's head back inside now," he said softly, "it's getting late."

You got up from the ground, holding your day-dress at either side of you as if it already hadn't been soiled from the soggy flower bed, Jungwon guiding you back to the cabin with a protective hand around your waist as the wind continued to beat at your backs.

Promptly upon being met with the warmth of the main cabin, Jungwon locked the door behind you two before making his way to the kitchen where he set a kettle on the stovetop.

Meanwhile, he had ran you a bath so you could get washed up in the nearby restroom down the hallway, cleaning yourself with haste and changing into a fresh pair of clothes.

The tea kettle was whistling angrily in a matter of minutes, Jungwon having crushed the collection of herbs and berries with the pestle in his bowl and pouring the scalding water right over it.

With a skilled hand, he drizzled a bit of honey at the bottom of your teacup, transferring the brew right over.

Clink... clink... clink.

Jungwon gave the mixture a few stirs with a metal spoon before deciding to himself that it was ready.

"____," he called after you from your bedroom in a sing-songy voice, waiting for a now-refreshed you to meet him on the mattress.

The feline eyed boy held the warm cup tenderly in his grasp just as you returned with a damp head of hair and natural glow.

"It's time for your tea, love," he reiterated, scooting over on the bed as you didn't hesitate to join the spot beside him.

He opened your hands before placing the cup within your grasp.

There was something about the expression on his face in this moment... a knowing look displayed on his cat-like features as he eyed you fiercely, waiting for you to take the first sip.

"I added a new ingredient to it this time, too," he went on, breaking the odd silence, "not that you'd even notice a difference in the taste since you never drink it despite my instructions to."

Your heart nearly rolled from your chest and onto the prickly wooden floor at his sudden words.

"W-wha... what did you say," you stuttered nervously, tightening your grip around the teacup.

"Oh, please... you didn't think I'd catch on to the ivy's pot and soil being over-soaked so frequently?" He challenged, shaking his head at you in disappointment that you even thought you could get away with lying to him.

Again.

"The poor thing almost died because of you," he continued, taking in your anxious body language even though your eyes failed to meet his daunting ones.

"I... I don't know what to say," you admitted with a shaky voice, knowing that with Jungwon, it was better to say something, even if it was stupid, instead of saying nothing at all.

He hummed at your reply before speaking again, "So I'll ask you a question instead... how come you never drink it? I mean... you're not a picky eater, so there must be some other reason... isn't there?"

You let out a hesitant breath, "Jungwon, I don't know what you want to hear, but-"

"I don't want to hear anything but the truth, ____," he clarified with an exhausted huff, keeping his eyes on you as if pleading.

"Now don't keep me waiting with your nonsense because you already know how I get when you do that to me..."

“I…I just,” you stumbled over your speech, struggling to maintain eye contact with him as his gaze practically pierced you.

“You don’t trust me,” he finished for you, shaking his head at your failure to even deny it. “You genuinely think that I’d do something bad to you,” he scoffed while clenching his jaw, “even after that pathetic little promise I made to you…”

That’s when you felt the cup harshly leave your grasp, a bit of its liquid spilling onto your lap as he abruptly stood up from the mattress.

A scornful look took over his delicate features, throwing his head back before drinking the tea in one big gulp, wiping the remaining residue from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, “There… you see?! Not that hard, right love?”

You meant to respond but he already paced out of the room by now, coming back in less than a minute with the kettle in his hand, refilling the teacup he’d just drank from.

Smiling facetiously at your nervous frame, Jungwon pushed your legs open with his own, now standing dauntingly between them.

You were still sat on the bed, legs trembling at either side of his thighs as his broad shadow nearly consumed your lesser one, eyes rising to meet his nightmarish face thanks to his hand guiding your chin upward.

You didn't like this one bit, the cold air of the room hitting your core now that your legs were spread open, nor his body being positioned right between you.

He tilted his head, your eyes brimming with fearful tears that every bone in your body tried to push down with the growing lump in your throat that you couldn't swallow.

“So do it then,” he went on sternly, voice not raised but just as impactful, “Take the fucking cup and drink it.”

There was a certain beast imbedded behind Jungwon's contrastingly angelic face... it was always hungry, waiting for whatever enticing peep-hole of a chance was provided for him to squeeze through.

And as perverted as it sounds, that same hole of temptation laid right within you, hidden behind a dainty nightgown that acted as wrapping paper to a precious gift.

With every day that passed, Jungwon could feel himself crawling despairingly closer and closer to its rim, praying that he might someday spill over the edge and be basked in all its glory...

The very glory he placed on your purity since day one, seeking after it as if it'd rescue his corrupted soul.

You had no other choice but to heed to his words, parting your lips with a broken whine as his grip on your face tightened.

He refused to bring the cup to your lips, watching as if entertained once you lifted the cup over his hand, letting the tea meet your dry tongue.

“Swallow it,” he ordered, looking into your eyes before the feeling of warmth hit your stomach almost instantly, the teacup now being empty.

“Wonie,” you choked out, a single tear gliding down the supple curve of your cheek as his free hand set the cup on the nightstand, only to find your lips and toy a thumb at it.

“What is it love?” He whispered in a hoarse voice, peering impossibly close to your face as his grip remained tight.

“I’d like to go to bed now,” you yelped weakly, lips twitching with fear that only continued to multiply within you now that he'd pushed your back against the mattress, caging you beneath him.

“And without supper?” He taunted, whispering these words right under your ear as your hands trembled at his chest.

“Yes,” you blurted out with heavy breaths, “I’m no longer hungry, Jungwon…”

He let your words sink in, taking in just how scared you seemed when he hadn't even done anything yet.

The way you feared Jungwon used to bother him, but now he started to see an advantage in it... an advantage in the way you crumbled into submission before him.

“Very well then,” he said, hands finally leaving your chin with a few red marks still remaining on your skin from the pressure, “sleep well, my love...”

☆ Thank you all so much for reading this piece! I always love how interactive you guys are in the comments with this story and it truly brings a smile to my face !! On a side note though, this part turned out much longer than expected, so apologies for the cliffhanger ;-; ... to be continued hehe ;)

☆ taglist:  @squoxle @ashgonedash @yourmomscuntis2tighy @kaykay11sworld @gigiramirezsblog @hoonsyo @en-thralled  @night-en-shining-armor @cutiejseong @j-wyoung @nikisvanillaccola @bambangan @wonbyf @4imhry @zhangyi-johee  @valhrts @lisaaannna @lovelycassy @addictedtohobi @gardenwons @nikipedia07 @tubatusoobs  @clarisabutterfliescupcake @yevene @heecries @rosiemiayyxy @jungwonieee @edgykoo @luvmlkw @idkhoomanmaybe @sunsinmyskies @guessm0del @ayadikreino @destairea @jakehooni @jjungwonss @nikilvr @jays-property @moonchus @angelicjungwon @wonniesdoll @rosiemiayyxy @rinirumi @noviadebeomgyu @pochacco-o @hapeynaaa @ikngh @maspire @mamuljji @hnnhj @legendarycowboywinnerlawyer @enhypenlovre @stxrboyjae @f4irynono @03sunoos @itwasrem @laurradoesloveu @lalalalovelalalasworld @honestimage @ro-0327 @stwberrykooki @heelvrr @wonbinisbabygurl @jungwonloveer @jungwonsmybf @kayoiw @lovelycassy @mrswolfhard3 @theothernads @junieshohoho @wonheartz @jongsbie @candewlsy @kotazuken @moonchus @laurradoesloveu @millieinyourarea @straightondryland

[trancylovecraft]

Since you do VERY dark subjects and such, do expect me to request for Mammon often LMAO

Okay so--

General HC's for Mammon with reader who is his GF?

(HELLUVA BOSS) YANDERE! MAMMON x GIRLFRIEND READER: Headcannons

RECEIPT ✂- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

BARISTA'S NOTE: EEEEEE! sorry this one took so long!! i'm happy you requested this cause AGHHHHH I LOVE THIS PINE TREE MAN!!! favourite character frfr. if you ever do request when open then PLEASE go as dark as you like, trust me, i enjoy writing it :D

FANDOM: Helluva Boss

Thank you for ordering!

Come again soon!

• Oooh! Intresting!

• I headcannon Mammon as a possessive, Manipulative and controlling kinda yandere. Mostly coming from his position as the King of greed.

• Especially once you’ve gotten in a relationship with him these traits are tenfold.

• Mammon views you as his possession, And a valuable one at that. You are his, He likes showing you off too as he brings you around his workplace and flaunting you like jewellery

• If anyone dares to touch what is his, Mammon would not hesitate to absolutely crush them. It doesn’t matter if its a creepy fan or a close family member. He doesn’t care, They’re getting obliterated.

• Mammon doesn’t show his care for you, Deeming it as unprofitable. But he does care even though he insults and berates you often, Even when it gets physical, He does love you.. He does! Don’t you realise this is all because he loves you..?

• He manipulates you into staying with him by promising you mountains of luxury. Whatever pleasures and desires you may want will be served on a silver spoon, Especially after a physical argument (Though you don’t know that its solely so you don’t leave)

• No one really knows how you two got together, One day you just showed up sitting next to him while watching one of his shows.

• You could’ve started out as a performer trying to get to the face of his brand, And Mammon, Somehow grew a liking for you more than just your monetary value.

• You could also have been a PR stunt, Him paying you to be his partner. Mammon, The King of Greed getting in a relationship? Preposterous! It would only drive more people to his shows just to see if they were true, Making more money.  

• But he doesn’t know what attracted him to you. Maybe it was your cunning nature, Your lust for more and more. Or maybe it could’ve been your genuine creativity, A want to make out of passion and not pennies.

• Either way, You’re both in a relationship now, Hooray!

• Though the quality of your bond really depends on how you react to his rather unsavoury tendencies.

• If you’re fine with it/have Stockholm syndrome then its gonna be a much easier time with him.

• You’ll be taken out with him more, Mammon likes boasting about you and how much of prize you were to have as a girlfriend. He’ll tone down his insults to banter and the amount of gifts you get will be increased tenfold.

• Mammon enjoys taking you out on expensive dates, Restaurants in the lust ring with a bottle of their most fine wine being opened in your favour. It’s only on these dates you can really see Mammon have something of a soft side, Giving disguised compliments and maybe even a genuine smile or two.

• You’ll be much more free, Being able to roam around his place of living freely, Ability to go out shopping without him (But, With a good few bodyguards, That is) And the right to go do what you want.

• Though Mammon does dictate what you wear and will order you to come to certain events, You don’t mind as you believe you’re just spending time with the Christmas tree you call your boyfriend.

• Physical touch is also a big thing for him, Also being a display of ownership. An arm around you, You on his lap or simple goodbye kisses are all too common for the both of you.

• Its sweeter, Even though the glasses you buy are rose-tinted, You enjoy the nicer moments.

• However if you’re considered unruly, Actively don’t reciprocate his obsession and god forbid try to escape..

• You’ll be tossed into a cage, One of the carnival trailer ones where they keep animals. That's where you stay, Not his expensive condo. You won’t be spoiled with rich foods and pleasures beyond your imagination, Only being served with what the show dogs are being fed with.

• If you want to act like a bitch, You’ll be treated like one. That’s what Mammon thinks. He’s pissed that you don’t appreciate him for everything he’s given you! All the money he’s spent! You’re his girlfriend, Why the hell are you acting like this.

• You won’t be taken out, Not until you learn how to behave. Mammon still visits you daily, No sweetness in his voice as he insults you and breaks you down with your biggest insecurities. He wants to break you, Just so he can build you back up into the perfect partner, Both for his reputation and his own selfish desires.

• If this process takes too long then Mammon will get angry and ramp up his abuse, Resorting to beatings or even torture just to get your mind into a mouldable state.

• Mammon is a horrible yandere to have, If you couldn’t tell.

• Sometimes when he’s in a better mood, He might toss you his leftovers or actually give you a blanket to sleep with instead of the horse hay you were using. Though he really does care, This is more of a manipulative tactic to get you to act better in order to get more stuff.

• If you ever do give up and give into him, Mammon would be stoked. He’d treat you as if nothing ever happened while you just had the worst experience of your entire life.

• You’d be absolutely traumatised, Even though Mammon does feel only the tiniest bit guilty, He ignores it in favour of just forgetting that it ever happened.

• The only way I ever see you escaping him is if you have connections with any other of the kings, Especially the more powerful ones like Beelzebub. If they care enough or you have a certain relationship (Platonic or otherwise) they could probably bail you out, Secretly of course, You’re going into hell’s witness protection after this.

• Mammon would be pissed, Yelling and destroying everything around him as he demands his employees to find you. Basically having the biggest tantrum of his life.

• When he finds you with the money he bribed people with, It really depends if you do have a connection to one of the kings because if so that would stop him from taking you back. Leaving him to absolutely explode over what happened, Just fuming and scheming a way to get you back.

• If you don’t have a connection to one of the kings, Then he’ll drag you back to the greed ring screaming. He won’t hesitate to yell obscenities and break your legs, Throw you into the trailer cage and start the torture all over.

• But hey! What can you expect?

• This is the king of greed, Of course he’ll never let you go.

• Not for a very, VERY long time.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

[steebharringt0n]

dangerous liaisons

summary: he was sent to protect you, infiltrate your family as your personal bodyguard, but instead he plans on defiling you. pairing: mob!steve harrington/fem!reader warnings: SMUT (18+), innocent!reader, dom!steve, a lil bit of mean!steve, masturbation, religious talk, slight age gap. a/n: MOB!STEVE MOB!STEVE! Anyways these will purely just be smut fics involving Steve and you, maybe one day I’ll go more in depth with it but for now this’ll do :) also reader is 18 years old btw! and if you saw any mistakes no you didn't.

“Steve, what do you know about anatomy?”

Your legs swung lazily in the air, your white knee high socks still on your feet. You were laying on your bed, biology textbook open wide in front of you. You glanced up at the dark haired man sitting in the corner of your room, his arms crossed against his chest, looking incredibly bored.

You watch as a muscle in his jaw twitches, his eyes gazed off to elsewhere.

He heard you tsk, head shaking in disappointment, “Nothing? Ah, you’re no help Harrington”

Harrington. He wanted to laugh.

That wasn’t his real name. It was his fathers, the name his mother took to protect herself, protect her family.

Angelica Harrington, born Angelica Costello, was daughter of Frank Costello, the Don of the Costello family. Steve grew up surrounded by his Italian side of the family. Sunday dinners, catholic school, and a tight knit family who kept to themselves in Hawkins, Indiana.

Sure, Hawkins was ways away from New York where the majority of his family lived but he was sent here with a mission in hand, specifically set by his grandfather who he regarded in high respect. A frail old man now, whose sun spots and wrinkles covered most of his face. Steve would have never guessed that his favorite family member had blood on his hands, the infamous Costello family was known for quick hits and brutal tortures.

After his father passed away, his grandfather decided it was time to show Steve the business - much to his mothers' despair. She didn’t want her only son wrapped up in the business, but Frank knew his grandson had it in him. He was a Costello, it ran in his blood.

So one day, shortly after turning 21, he followed his grandfather into his study, a dark wooden room with bookshelves and family pictures littered across walls.

“Steven, do you know why we moved to Indiana, left everything behind?” He began, pacing the room as he gazed at the family photos.

Steve took a seat on the leather chair, his eyes following Frank’s move.

“No, grandfather”

Frank chuckled, shaking his head, “Well Steven, it’s time I introduced you to the family business”

Steve was then slowly introduced to that side of the family. Meeting Frank's 'associates', learning how to shoot a gun, learning about the underground drug trade that ran through Hawkins that Frank was certain his family was going to take it from the Messina Family.

That’s where you came in.

The Messina and Costello family had been feuding for over 50 years. A rivalry that began in Italy and continued into New York and had now spilled into Indiana.

A drug trade that was snatched from the Costello family. The Messina's' then fled New York, moving the entire family to a little town known as Hawkins, where no one knew them, of their crimes, and what they were capable of.

The Messina’s had one daughter, the pride and jewel of the family, the baby of the family. Your father was the Don of the Messina family, having taken over the business from his father. You grew up with a silver spoon in your mouth, never missing anything in your life.

And you were the key to bringing your family down.

The plan in itself was simple. The Messina’s would hire Steve as her bodyguard, Steve would infiltrate the family and take the business back. The plan seemed simple enough, Steve didn’t raise any eyebrows with the last name Harrington. He had an extensive resume created for him because the Messina’s only hired the best for their baby girl.

Then he met you, you all in your catholic school uniform, a tight white blouse with a checkered pattern pleated skirt. Knee high socks that made your legs look longer than what they are. You were coy, quiet, watching Steve through long fluttered eyelashes.

Steve was instantly attracted to you no doubt, but he wasn’t here to fuck around. He was here to get the job done and move to New York.

But the longer he stayed around you the more he couldn’t control himself - especially when you would act like a brat around him, which was most of the time.

Steve’s eyes shifted back to you on your king sized bed, you were starting to annoy him with the loud, incessant smacking of your gum.

“Could you chew any louder?” He snaps at you.

You look up from your textbook, eyebrows knitting together in annoyance. You slam your book close, eyes zeroed in on Steve. You didn’t say anything, you just stared at him and continued to chew loudly.

You watched as the vein in his temple throbbed, you loved getting under his skin, watching him get flustered under your teasing words.

“C’mon, quit it, you’re being annoying and I have a headache” he hisses.

You turn over on your back, throwing your books off your bed. “Aw poor baby” you mock, “Does the baby need someone to hold him?”

“Shut it”

“Make me”

He turns his head to give you a glare, you were hanging off of your bed, head dangling off on the edge, your vision all topsy-turvy. He shoots up from his chair, charging towards your bed. You watch him amusingly, until he yanks your leg towards him.

You make a yelping noise, surprised at how quick and how strong he is. He then crawls on your bed, hovering over you, one of his knees makes it in between your skirt.

You watch him with a grin as he forcefully grabs your chin to look at him. He looks pissed, annoyed, irritated, but you could care less. He inadvertently moved his knee a little too high up your skirt, hitting your sensitive area. You let out a soft moan by accident, the sensation sending tingles all over your body.

That moan didn’t go unnoticed by Steve.

One of his eyebrows shoots up, he pulls away from you, letting you come up on your elbows.

“What was that?” He questions.

You suddenly become bashful, tugging your skirt down, but Steve’s leg stayed right in place. You shrug, “I - I don’t know, your knee …” you trail off, avoiding his eyes.

A wicked grin starts to spread across his face, he notices as your demeanor quickly changes. He purposely tenses up his knee, nudging it against that sweet spot.

“S-Steve…” you breathe out heavily.

“What is it? What do you feel?” His voice is soft, quiet like.

“Y-your knee, when you …” you trail off, not sure how to word it. While you could be a brat, anything sexual was off the table for you. You were as pure as pure can be, catholic school drilled it in your head that any impure thoughts would send you straight to hell.

But at this moment, being sent to hell didn’t make any sense, especially when it felt that good.

“Do you like it? Does it feel good when my knee touches you there?”

He starts hovering back over you, like a cat stalking its prey, his mouth widens into a shit eating grin. He’s got you in the palm of his hands.

“N-no, it’s a sin, masturbation is a sin” you utter out.

Steve cackles, as if you had just said a joke. You suddenly feel small against his presence, he was so much bigger, stronger than you. His hand starts to slowly skim its way up your face, his thumb coming up to rub your cheek.

“Oh honey, you’ll come to learn in life that everything that feels good is a sin” he whispers against the shell of your ear. You swallow thickly, your heart feels like it’s about to beat out of your chest.

“Do you want me to do it again? Learn a little anatomy?”

Your eyes lock onto his, his pupils are blown, wide with excitement. You lean into his touch and utter a small “Yes”

“What a good girl, now open wide”

He shifts his thumb from your cheek down to your bottom lip where he slowly pries your mouth open, he rests his thumb on your pink tongue.

You're quaking in his arms, feeling your wetness pool around in your underwear. It’s a sensation you’ve never felt before, like a live wire was sent throughout your body. It’s intoxicating, it’s sinful. Steve readjusts himself, angling his knee to better hit your clit.

“Hnng, Steve … keep, keep, doing that” you moan out, arms splayed out on the bed. The top two buttons of your white uniform pop open as your back arches, displaying a red lacy bra underneath. Your gold cross necklace sits right in between your breast bone, catching the sun's reflection on it. Steve almost wants to laugh at the irony. The bone of his knee hits right on your clit, pressing on it gently.

He wants you to cum on him, he wants you to know how good it feels to be sinful.

“You like how that feels huh? Look at you, dirty girl rubbing your clit on my knee” his voice is richer, an octave deeper than what you usually hear. It sends goosebumps down your body. How easily you melt with just a nudge of his knee, but god you’ve never felt this good before.

Your wetness starts seeping out of your underwear, staining Steve’s pants but he doesn’t care, he just wants to destroy you.

“S-Steve, I - I feel weird, like, like, like …” you can’t finish your sentence as your brain becomes mush. Your chest is heaving heavily, he continues to rub your clit gently with his knee, going around in small circles.

He shoves his thumb back into your mouth, shutting you up. Your eyes roll at the back of your head, pleasure shocking you through your core. His pants have become unbearably tight, his thick member creating a tent in his pants. He grabs a hold of his cock through his jeans, trying to release some of the pressure.

He had finally found your weakness. Your innocence is your weakness, and Steve was going to break down those walls. He was going to absolutely defile you.

“You’re about to cum aren’t you? Yeah that’s right, you see my knee is hitting your clit. Those little bundle of nerves were made to make you cum. That’s the only thing it’s good for” he leans down and nips at your earlobe.

You moan loudly in response.

“Shhhh, you wouldn’t want daddy to interrupt our anatomy lesson now do you?” He softly scolds you.

You shake your head, eyes glossy and his thumb still in your mouth.

“Good, because I’m going to fucking ruin you”

His knee starts rubbing your clit faster, with more urgency. You’re an absolute mess underneath him, sweat sticking to your skin, hair a tangled mess. Your arms shoot up and grip his brown hair pulling him down to your chest

“Oh, you like that huh? I want you to cum, I want you to come all over my knee” he commands you.

All you can do is give him a nodding of your head because words cannot properly come out of your mouth. He continues to press against your clit and he sees that you’re close. Your heavy breathing turns into whimpers and you feel like you’re about to hit a tipping point. You’ve never experienced an orgasm before but if this is what it feels like, then you're aching for more.

Steve moves his thumb from your month and wraps his hand around your neck, squeezing gently.

And that’s all it took.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod … “ your back fully arches off the bed as you cum all his knee. You let out a loud moan, eyes tightly shut. You feel like you’ve reached heaven, like you’ve been injected with pleasure from the gods. Steve doesn't stop though, he continues to work you through your orgasm but once he sees how tears begin to prick at the corner of your eyes due to the overstimulation, he pulls his knee away.

He glances down at his pants, a large wet spot now stains his knee, and his pants are still (and unfortunately) uncomfortably tight. He lifts up your skirt, glancing down at your underwear where it's become wet with your cum. He swipes a finger over your throbbing clit, collecting the juices that spilled from you.

"I want you to taste yourself, see how sweet you taste"

You lazily lift yourself up, eyes still half lidded. Your whole world has been turned upside down and you've become addicted to the sensation. You're at the mercy of your bodyguard and you want him to make you feel good over and over again. You grab his hand and take his finger into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the wetness.

"Look at you cleaning my finger, such a fucking dirty girl. Tell me, how good to you taste?"

You take his finger out of your mouth with a loud pop,

"Like candy"

[cambion-companion]

I am mind blown at how good your writing is! Absolutely mind blown! Your portrayal of Aemond in every single piece is just 👌🥹

I do have a teency little request if you’re still taking them and that’s Aemond all frustrated with you, seeing as you’ve been teasing him constantly throughout a feast, which is when he demands/drags you away into a dark corner which he then proceeds to absolutely annihilate you from behind, I’m talking slapping your ass, literally pounding you that hard you’ll have fingerprint bruises all over your hips and thighs, wrapping his hands around your neck and making sure you realise that you BELONG to him. No one else… Please excuse me as I go and fan myself 🥵🔥

Hi!

I hope this is what you were thinking of!

Pure filth

I held off tagging anyone because I won't do that for nsfw fics

Word count: 1233

Aemond x f!reader | smut | lots of smut | possessive Aemond

You were dreadfully bored.

The dinner was dragging on longer than you had the patience for. Hours seemed to have passed since you’d finished eating. The droning conversation around the long table sounding much like the buzzing of lazy bees.

You glanced at your husband out of the corner of your eye, mischief twisting in your pleasantly full stomach.  He certainly looked polished, poised, and ever so handsome.  His long silver hair falling over his shoulders, glimmering in the candlelight.  His violet eye, surveying the chattering crowd with mild disinterest; the other side of his face covered by a leather eyepatch, giving him a roguish appearance.  You wished to run your fingers along his sharp jawline, gripping his strong chin with your fingers and…ah he’d caught you staring.

Aemond’s eye had alighted upon your face, seeming to sense the intensity of your gaze.  His curved lips quirked slightly in a debonair smirk.

He could see right through you.

By the dilation of his pupil, he was feeling much the same upon surveying your own alluring features.

Under the pretense of raising your goblet of wine to your mouth, you reached with your free hand under the table, caressing Aemond’s knee.  He shot you a warning glance, but did not move away, enabling you to continue tracing a wandering path higher up his leg.

You felt his long fingers grip your playful hand as you reached toward the inside of his upper thigh, stilling your progress.  You pouted at him over the rim of your glass.

His eye smoldered violet fire, grip tightening.

You moved your foot then, gently rubbing it up and down his calf. Aemond looked briefly up to the ceiling, as if searching for strength amongst the vaulted beams there, before moving just out of reach of your exploratory foot, his hand still restraining your own.

Servants approached, bringing with them desserts which they placed on the table before you.  You returned your hands to where decorum dictated, helping yourself to a portion of chocolate pudding.

You caught Aemond’s gaze as you raised a spoonful to your lips, making sure not to break eye contact as you slowly sucked the delectable mousse into your mouth.

His lips parted, the prince was barely able to conceal the desire and aggravation warring across his face.  His hands, resting now beside his plate, clenched into fists.

Abruptly, he stood.

You glanced down but his tunic was long enough to conceal any evidence of your hard work from prying eyes.

Aemond extended a hand to you. “May I have a word, dear wife?”

“Of course, loving husband.”  You took his proffered hand, his fingers instantly vicelike upon yours.

With barely restrained haste, Aemond practically dragged you from your seat and out the door into the cooler air of the empty corridor.  

It was a large, long hallway, framed on either side by stone columns, behind one of which your husband pulled you.  The breath left your lungs in a rush as he pushed you roughly back against the cool surface, his lips hot upon your own.  His tongue forced its way into your mouth, tasting the dessert you had sampled.

You returned his embrace with fervor, tangling your fingers into his long hair, pulling him harder against you.  

Aemond broke away to look at your face, his hands gripping your waist. “You think you can torment me, and suffer no consequences?”

“I was actually hoping there’d be some repercussions.”  You breathed out, gasping as Aemond spun you around, your hands rising to support your weight upon the red stone pillar.

You felt his body curve against your back, greedy hands pulling up your skirts as you bent over instinctually, rubbing your backside against his obvious arousal.

“So wanton and needy.” Aemond purred in your ear, his breath stirring the strands of hair coming loose about your flushed face.  

“Speak for yourself.”  You moaned as his dexterous fingers found the heat of your wet core, dipping in between your slick folds.

You bucked against him, eliciting a sharp hiss from the man.  Aemond wrapped an arm around your torso, his fingers making lewd noises as they worked inside you.  “How long have you been so wet for me, hmm, my love?”  He bit gently at the exposed flesh of your shoulder. “We could have left sooner, had I known you desired to be the main course.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth, stifling your cries of pleasure as Aemond’s slippery fingers massaged your clit.  You rode his hand, your hips desperately rocking as you sought your release.

“I would love to drink you down, my head buried between your thighs.”  Aemond nibbled at your ear, causing you to shudder, a fresh wave of warm arousal dripping from your cunt as he whispered more filth to you. “Hidden underneath your skirts, I wonder if you could remain standing as I lapped up your sweet nectar, until you came undone just by my tongue.”

“Aemond…”  You tilted your head back, turning into him as he captured your lips in a searing kiss.

“Alas, we don’t have that kind of time.” He murmured into your mouth.

You spread your legs wider, bending lower as you felt the tip of Aemond’s leaking cock brush against your center.

You reached back, gripping his thigh as he slowly slid into you.  Aemond gasped against your neck as he drove deep within your heat, his hand coming to cover your open mouth as you moaned.

The fingers of his free hand gripped your hip with bruising intensity, pulling you back against him as his thrusts became faster.  The sound of the crackling torches upon the wall barely concealed the slapping of flesh as Aemond pushed you further down, bending over you and driving into your cunt with long, hard strokes.  

“You belong to me, Y/N.”  His voice was velvet, you could smell spiced mead upon his breath.  He sucked marks onto the soft skin of your throat, causing you to whine into his hand.

The feeling of his cock moving with reckless abandon inside of you, his body pressing hot against your back, your skirts bunched around your waist, the electric feeling that came with knowing you could be caught in the act at any moment, all combined into such a heady feeling of lust you felt your climax swiftly approaching.  

Aemond’s thrusts became more erratic, his breathing heavy against your neck.  Your fingernails scraped against the column as you came undone around him. You pressed the top of your head against the cold stone, your clenching walls milking his seed deeper as Aemond came with you.  He rested atop you for a moment, still moving his hips lazily against you, relishing the feeling as your cunt spasmed with the aftershocks as you came down from the high of your orgasm.

He squeezed your neck gently before relinquishing his hold on you, allowing you to straighten.  You smoothed out your skirts the best you could, feeling Aemond’s hot cum running down your leg.

“Now.” Your husband tilted your chin up to him with a forefinger. “We will return to dinner and finish the evening without further insolence.”

“Aemond, I’m a mess!”  You protested, keenly aware of the sticky state you were in beneath your heavy skirts.

“Hmm, I intend to help you with that later.  For now, we are expected in the dining hall.”  He grasped your hand, leading you firmly back toward the feast.

He leaned into you, kissing your temple lightly, tugging the collar of your dress down a bit to show the bruises he’d left with his mouth. “Next time, don’t start something you know I will finish.”

[maddytheweird]

Dark Side Of The Silver Spoon - Palaye Royale

[johnwickb1tsch]

Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 6

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, eventual dubcon/nsfw.

one. two. three. four. five.

Six. 六

Your dark mood lasts for days. You do not shirk your duties, but you definitely brood, hating everything, most of all yourself. A part of you hopes that Donaka decides you’re not worth the trouble after a glimpse of this other side of you. He does not prod you further, seemingly steering clear of you. He had his fun taking you down a peg–what more could he want with you? Surely he has better things to do… The more time goes on, the more certain you are that his proposition was mostly in your head.

Amusingly, it’s little Mrs. Wong who gets you out of your funk, yelling at you in Cantonese and smacking you with a wooden spoon when (maybe?) you didn’t move out of her way fast enough in the kitchen. You are determined that someday she’s going to let you call her Auntie, but apparently you still have some distance to cover. Her temper is like a firecracker, loud but shortlived. She’s adorable and terrifying, and it’s all so ridiculous that you cannot stop laughing as you flee, and the shroud of your depression lifts again like the sun penetrating through the clouds.

The absurdity of life has always saved you in times like this. What do you have to be sad about, anyway? You are healthy, you are housed, and you are fed in this beautiful place. You are having an adventure. So what, if your diabolically handsome employer does not approve of you? You’re just here to clean his floors, for fuck’s sake. 

Maybe Donaka Mark is rich, but that doesn’t mean he has all the answers to the mysteries of life. You find your mental state improves, when it seems like he’s ignoring you. 

Flirting with the cute gardener’s assistant doesn’t hurt your state of mind either. His name is Jun, he has an infectious laugh, and he offers to show you around the city on your next day off. Thinking some down time with someone your age will do you good, you are set to meet him at the bus stop down the hill from Mr. Mark’s house. 

However, he never shows. You try not to take it too hard, but it still bums you out. 

He does not return with the gardener the next week either, and then you start to worry. The kind old man who tends Donaka Mark’s plants just shrugged at your inquiry and said, “He quit.” 

It seems odd, but you brush it off. You suppose you’ll just have to explore the city on your own. You ask for the day off for your birthday, wanting to go do the touristy things, like ride the historic ferry and take the tram up to Victoria Peak. Maybe visit a temple, do some shopping at the Night Market, and definitely indulge in some local eats. Something about living in Hong Kong has you dreaming about noodles. It’s an affliction. You want to try them all. 

On your day there is a little carved wooden box on the table where you usually partake your breakfast in the common area of the servants’ quarters. You’re not sure why your heart falls to your feet with something like dread, but somehow you just know that Mr. Mark has not forgotten about you after all. 

With a forbidden thrill you flip the lid carefully, finding a domed-link silver filigree and enamel bracelet set with dreamy jade cabochons. The little details are exquisite, and you’re instantly enchanted. When you look carefully at the bauble, you realize the stylized blue designs aren’t flowers–they’re bats.

He remembered that conversation you’d had, that very first day. It warms you to your toes, and maybe scares you too. He's good to the staff, but you don't think he usually buys them jewelry.

Goddammit.

You just know, deep down, that you shouldn’t accept it. You even set it back down in the box again, just looking at it with hands on your hips. 

But therein lies the crux of temptation: you want it. It’s pretty and well made, not cheap tourist junk, and…he’d put thought into this gift for you. 

This bait for you, you remind yourself. It’s still hard for you to believe that he’s propositioning you, if for anything, because a man like him could have a supermodel on each arm if he wanted. What the fuck would he want with a girl like you?

Maybe…it’s just an apology?

Not likely, but surely he’s not going to expect you to sleep with him for a silver bracelet??

You have a problem, and possibly, a screw loose. You know this is a flame you should not play with. You are toeing the line, dangerously close to falling in.

What if…you just wear it today, then give it back? It’s not like he’ll know. You doubt you’ll even see him today.

It feels like a guilty secret, as you pick it up again, clasp it on your wrist, and set out for your big day. You like the weight of the heavy silver on your skin–worse yet, you like knowing that Mr. Mark selected this bauble just for you. It feels…like a badge of honor, and you know it’s stupid, to feel proud of yourself for catching the attention of a man like him–but you can’t help it.

You are smart, but sometimes? Your heart is really really stupid.

You do not return to the house until well past after dusk, nearly midnight. You made a day of it, actually able to enjoy the city since Mr. Mark pays so well. You will remember the hand pulled noodles with beef you had for dinner in the Night Market for the rest of your life, they were so delicious. Watching the chef stretch them out from a lump of dough was like a religious experience. 

Having your fortune told in the Night Market was memorable too, but maybe a little unsettling. Squatted on a stool in the older woman’s stall, you paid 100HK dollars for her to look at your right hand and frown. She told you that money would never be a problem for you, but the men in your life would always cause you difficulty. Looking at your relationship with your father and every man after that, you reckon she was probably right. You know you should take it with a grain of salt, but you can’t quite shake the hum of unease in the back of your mind.

On tired feet you walk through the garden, around to the entrance to the servant’s quarters. 

"Did you have a nice day?" asks a voice from the shadows. You start, then realize Mr. Mark is sitting on the carved stone bench, on the path to the servants' wing of the house, tucked back in the manicured trees. 

Fuck.

Immediately you tuck your wrist behind your back.

“Mr. Mark?”

“Come here.”

His voice is deliberately neutral–you can’t quite gauge his mood as you approach, feeling like a teenager caught staying out past her curfew. You have no way of knowing he has been waiting for hours, growing more and more annoyed that you are away from him, not under his watchful gaze, where you belong.

He knows where you were, if not exactly what you did. Unbeknownst to you, there is a tiny tracker inserted in your new bracelet you wear with such foolish avarice. 

“Well?”

“Yes, I had a wonderful day,” you confirm, coming to stand before him, committed now even if you are walking into the lion’s den. You find it odd he’s waiting up for you, but it is a beautiful night to be out in the garden. A cool breeze is coming off the water, lifting your hair.

“Let’s see it then.” He points at your hand so casually held behind you, and you know you are caught out.

Almost guiltily, you extend your arm to show off your new acquisition in situ. 

He props your hand with just the tips of his fingers, his touch maddeningly light on your sensitive palm as he turns your wrist to inspect the bracelet, sending a thrill down your arm. He likes seeing the gift that he selected upon you.

“It suits you,” he finally assesses, though you still can’t tell if he’s displeased. “Do you like it?”

“Yes,” you answer, barely above a whisper, feeling as though you are sealing something between you as you admit it. 

“Well, that’s convincing.”

Your heart feels like a sea urchin lodging in your throat. You’re not sure what it is about this man that makes you want to please him–and tell him to fuck off–all in the same breath. 

Then he gets to the fun part–for him. “You shouldn’t have stayed out so late alone,” he scolds you. 

You cant your head and press your lips, holding in the smart remark that burns on your tongue as his coal-black eyes bore into you, settling for, "I didn't mean to worry you…but it is my day off. I think I'm free to do what I want." You just can't stop yourself from adding the last bit, and you wonder from his darkening expression if it will be your undoing.

He imagines in that moment what it would be like to reach out and put you over his knee. Instead, he stands abruptly, startling you into taking a step backwards. 

He likes that. 

It irks him, that you dare defy him, like he doesn’t know what’s best for you. If you insist on acting so tough, he’s tempted to throw you over his shoulder and show you just how little it would take to actually break you. 

"Were you drinking?" he asks darkly, hating the thought of you out in a bar, with other men, enjoying yourself. Laughing, like you were with the young gardener not so long ago. The moment he saw that on his camera feed that he constantly watches of you, Donaka saw red. You should not give your joy to others so freely. You sprinkle it around everywhere you go, and he covets it all for himself.

That boy had to go.

"No," you defend, and you’re telling the truth. "I just...walked around." There was plenty to see in Kowloon district. 

Donaka takes another step closer, his body almost pressing against yours, the heat of it warming you. He watches your reaction as he speaks, his voice low and firm. “You should have let me arrange a driver for you.”

This again. It feels as though he wants to cloister you away from experiencing the world, by shoving you in a car. "Donaka..." you sigh, slipping into using his first name for the first time ever, because you’re tired, and your feet hurt, and he is standing very close, talking to you like he has a say in what you do…

It’s maddening and arousing all at once, rubbing with a velvet touch against some long long cavewoman instinct in your brain, and if you’re not careful this just might be the night he outmaneuvers you. 

Donaka’s eyes narrow at hearing you dare to be so familiar with him, even if deep down he secretly loves it. He takes another step into you, crowding you against the stone wall, caging you in with an arm. He’s blocking your path to a quick exit into the servants’ quarters, you can’t help but notice. Your heart pounds in your ears–but you’re not half as afraid as you should be of this man. 

“Hong Kong is pretty safe, as it goes…” you continue to protest around the sound of your heart drumming in your ears, earning a scoff. 

“You have no idea, the sorts of things that could happen to a girl like you in this city.”

You can’t help but think you’re not sure if you feel safe here at home now. 

“If something happened…I would have called you,” you offer up, appealing to his ego as protector, the role he’s apparently decided to take on for himself without asking you. 

However, he sees right through you, rolling those beautiful dark eyes. “You should have let me take you out,” he suggests in a low tone that curls your toes in your sandals. He says it like it had been some option on your menu that you’d rejected. Never in a million years would it have even occurred to you to ask. 

You find yourself doing your best impression of a fish out of water, like the ones you’d seen stacked like cord wood in the market. His other hand lifts to touch your chin lightly, closing your mouth. “Would you have liked that?” 

You honestly don't know the answer to that. 

This man fascinates you and repulses you. He's handsome and commanding and oh so forbidding. He scares you, but he draws you like a moth to a flame. Having these little flirtatious interactions around the house are one thing. Going out with him would be...something else entirely. The thought of what it could mean to socialize with a man like him, where you are so far from being equals, makes you uneasy. It's much safer to just...write about what might have been in your journal, later. 

"I'm not sure that would be appropriate," you finally answer breathily.

His smile for you is nothing less than the wolf baring its teeth. “Why not?”

"You're my boss..." you try to defend. You scare the shit out of me is the real answer you don't dare say aloud.

Donaka can’t help the dark laugh that falls from his lips at your answer, the way you flounder as you grasp for a defense, utterly drowning. A part of him wants to claim you right here and now, for being such a sweet, soft, naive little thing in his claws. 

He leans down closer to you, his head dipping down to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Is that the best excuse you’ve got?”

For a moment, you think your soul might evacuate from your body. 

"Pretty sure it's a good one," you barely manage to reply above a whisper.

“You still don’t understand what I’m offering you, do you?” he asks, his voice deceptively gentle, a dagger clothed in velvet.

You love it how he makes you out to be the obtuse one, when he is the one who has spoken so cryptically.

“I…might,” you answer. You’re not a complete innocent, or a total philistine.

What would a VIP experience on the arm of Donaka Mark be like? Although he can be charming when he wants to be, it makes you feel more anxious than intrigued. You imagine a dinner at some high-end restaurant you could never afford. Somewhere people go to be seen, more than to eat, though the food would undoubtedly be amazing. Somewhere you would feel incredibly out of place. Then what? A ride in one of his ugly but wicked fast sports cars? A night of hedonism at some exclusive club for millionaires only? And what would he expect as payment for all this? You can’t even say you wouldn’t be willing to give it. You want this man with a voracity that is–frankly–terrifying to you. 

You’ve never felt anything like it. 

What you wouldn’t like is the inevitable aftermath of later: he's offering you the opportunity to give yourself up–then get thrown away, with the enjoyment of some perks in between. You could repeat your mother’s history all over again, a thing you always swore up, down, and sideways you would never do.

Donaka watches all these thoughts play across your face, without a word aloud to accompany them. You just stare, unable to speak, and he narrows his eyes at you.

“Say one sentence of the novel you just wrote in your head out loud,” he challenges.

You open your mouth to try, but nothing comes out. All you can do is look up at him with what you are sure is a pathetic expression on your face, paralyzed. He is so close, and your eyes fixate for a long, damning moment on his mouth. In the end you have to close your eyes against that laser-like stare, shaking your head.

“You know something I find interesting about you,” he goes on. You open your eyes, though your tongue is still tied. “I think if I made you choose between an Hermès purse or that cheap bauble on your wrist this morning, you still would have chosen the bracelet, wouldn't you?”

“Yes,” you answer immediately, maybe not to your advantage. Then you feel a little relieved, glad it didn’t cost a fortune.

“Comparatively cheap,” he clarifies, as though he doesn't want you to feel too at ease. How did he know? 

You narrow your eyes, lifting your wrist towards him. “Maybe…you should take it back.”

You think you might die of a heart attack, when he folds your smaller hand in his, and kisses your knuckles lightly. “It’s too late for that.”

You’re not sure what that means, but as he strokes your thumb lightly with his, you start to tremble.

“Sir…” 

He pins you with his stare, looming over you, but makes no move, waiting. 

“It’s getting late…and I have to work tomorrow.”

He lifts an eyebrow, smirking down at you. “And whose fault is that?”

“Mine…though it’s starting to be yours.”

He snorts. “Then ask me for the day off again,” he dares you. When you answer him with yet more paralyzed silence he gets frustrated, tilting your face up with his huge hand engulfing your jaw. For a man who works in tech…his fingers are calloused, and strong, and your legs just might go out from underneath you.  “Ask me. Say it out loud, y/n. Tell me what’s going on, behind those big eyes.”

You, however, just shake your head against his masterful grip. “You don’t want to know.” 

“I like secrets, y/n. I want to know everything.” You suppose that is his bread and butter, with his security business and all his cameras…you don’t know why it never occurred to you before now, that it could be a personal obsession, as much as professional. 

You’re tempted. God, are you tempted, with this beast of a man looming over you, touching you, looking through you with those piercing dark eyes. Like he wants to eat you as much as he wants to fuck you… 

Somehow you know if you dare go down that path…there will be no turning back. 

You choose the coward’s road.

“Please…I think…it would be best…to call it a night.”

He weighs you with a heavy gaze for so long that you start to doubt he will let you go–in the darkest dungeon of your heart, you know that a part of you doesn’t want him to. It would be convenient, if he would make the choice for you. Let you taste the forbidden fruit with none of the blame…

You are losing your goddamned mind over this man. You need to stop.  

You never really know why in the end he releases you, pushing back from the wall to give you space. You side-step towards the door of the servant’s quarters, afraid for the predatory look he’s paying you, that he might change his mind.

 "Good night, Mr. Mark," you say quietly, before disappearing into the little building where you sleep. A rush of frustration flares inside him as you scamper away–again. He narrowly resists the urge to kick down your door and show you who you belong to.

“Good night,” he answers back through gritted teeth, only the crickets left to hear him. He’ll have your secrets, one way or another. He can genuinely say he tried–a first, in so long he can’t remember when. For what happens next…you will only have yourself to blame.

[lainalit]

A Father's Promise

I made a post yesterday about a Darkbringer being denied to purchase sweets and toys in Velaris for his daughter. I couldn't let the Idea go so I wrote a little scene where the father comes home to his family with empty hands.

Disclaimer: English is not my native language so I apologise for any errors upfront

Edit: Story is now available on ao3 and any future chapters will be on there

______________________________________________

The thick air of the Hewn City clung to Cadell as he walked slowly through its shadowed streets, the jagged stone walls pressing in on him from all sides. The flickering faelights cast their cold, eerie glow, as the weight of the day bore down on his shoulders.

In his hand, he clutched the empty bag that should have been filled with caramel bonbons and the pink teddy bear he had promised his daughter. But it was empty—just like his heart feels now.

He had traveled to Velaris, the secret city, which not long ago only a few in the night court knew about. The city itself radiating with vivid colors, creating a striking contrast to the darkness and gloom of his home city.

Keir’s agreement with the High Lord, in which nobles and Darkbringers where allowed into the blessed city, had granted him this rare opportunity to leave the oppressive confines of this mountain, and he had hoped to bring back something special for his daughter Trina—a taste of freedom, sweetness, and warmth that felt increasingly elusive with each day they spent beneath this mountain.

As he approached the small alcove he called home, which is tucked away in a quieter, less-trodden part of the city, he hesitated.

The familiar scent of his wife’s cooking filled the air, usually a comforting reminder of home, but today it felt almost stifling. With a deep breath, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The modest space was dimly lit by the soft glow of faelights. Enid was at the hearth, stirring a pot of stew over a small, magical flame. Her chestnut hair was tied with the silver hairpin he gifted her on their wedding day, which reflects the warm light, a stark contrast to the cold, hard stone around her.

Trina, his six-year-old, was playing nearby, her black hair that she inherited from him in pigtails as her small hands carefully arranged her few toys: a second-hand doll named Lucy with one eye missing, a stack of building blocks, and Mr. Starfall, a star-shaped plushie made from the scraps of their blue-white dotted tablecloth and named after her favorite day of the year.

“Daddy!” Trina’s voice broke through his thoughts, her eyes lighting up as she ran to him. Nearly knocking him over before he could kneel and pull her into a tight embrace.

She looked up at him with excitement, her face bright with anticipation. “Did you get the bonbons and the new friend for Lucy and Mr. Starfall?”

Cadell’s heart clenched at her words. He had promised her those things—something special and new just for her, not borrowed or second-hand. But now he had nothing.

He felt the weight of the day pressing down on him, every step back from the shops and the words spoken to him replaying in his mind as he answered his daughter, “I… I’m sorry, princess. I couldn’t get them today.”

Trina’s face fell, her lower lip trembling slightly as she looked at his hands, where he clutched the empty bag. Her voice was small, laced with confusion and hurt.

“But…you promised.”

Enid, who had been watching the exchange, set down the spoon she was using and walked over, her brow furrowed with concern.

She knew her husband well enough to see the strain in his posture, the way his shoulders sagged under a weight that he couldn’t shake. “Trina,” she called gently, her voice calm but firm, “why don’t you go pack your schoolbag for tomorrow in your room? Dinner will be ready in a minute.”

Trina hesitated, her gaze flicking between her parents. She sensed that something was wrong, though she didn’t understand what. With a reluctant nod, she turned and walked towards one of the small adjoining chambers, casting one last look over her shoulder before disappearing into the other room.

As soon as Trina was out of sight, Enid turned to her husband, her concern deepening. She reached out, brushing her fingers lightly against his arm. “Cadell, what happened?”

Cadell let out a heavy sigh, standing up and running a hand through his hair, the tension in his body palpable. He felt the sting of humiliation and anger, emotions that he rarely allowed himself to dwell on but that now threatened to consume him.

“I went to five different shops, Enid. five. The first four wouldn’t even look at me. I waited and tried to get their attention, but they just ignored me like I wasn’t even there. And the last one…” He clenched his fists, his voice trembling with frustration and hurt.

“The last one, the owner saw me, made eye contact, looked at me as I was dirt under his shoe, and they…they said they don’t sell to fae of ‘our kind’.”

Enid’s heart ached at his words. She had always known their status as residents of the Hewn City made life difficult, but hearing the hurt in his voice brought the harsh reality into sharp focus. She stepped closer, placing a hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm. “Honey, I’m so sorry…”

He shook his head, his jaw tight as he fought to keep his emotions in check. “I just wanted to bring her something nice, something that would make her smile. But they wouldn’t even give me the chance. I hate that I failed her…again. Because of who I am.”

Enid tightened her hold on him, her eyes reflecting a mix of sorrow and anger. She knew all too well the cruelty of this city they call home, and it pained her to see him suffer because of it.

She had chosen Cadell precisely because he was different, because he was kind in a place where kindness was rare. And because he was not like the others—not like the male she had once been betrothed to.

Enid’s betrothal had been a match for power and influence, a union that should have secured her and her family a life of privilege in the Hewn City.

But her betrothed, a lord of considerable rank, was notorious for his torture methods, especially towards females. The stories of his cruelty had reached her ears long before their engagement was made public, the whispers of the unheard brutality had chilled her to the bone even in a place like this where the darkness inside these mountain walls was never-ending.

But then she had met Cadell, at the time a quiet novice Darkbringer with a gentle heart who conceals it behind a facade of seriousness in front of the other males.

But in the privacy within their walls, he treats her, and later, when Trina came along only with tender hands, something she had never known was possible.

She had fallen in love with him, drawn to the very qualities that lay beneath his made-up appearance. And with that realization, she could not bear the thought of marrying her betrothed; she had made a desperate decision.

She had convinced Cadell to take her virtue, knowing full well what it would mean. It was the only way to escape the fate that awaited her otherwise—a marriage to a monster who would have destroyed her.

Cadell, too, had his own scars, though his were not just emotional. He had fought in the war with Hybern, called to battle alongside the rest of the Night Court’s forces.

He had seen the horrors of war, felt the bite of steel and the crush of magic against his body. His broadsword that he wielded had saved him more than once, but it had not protected him from the memories—the screams of dying comrades, the blood-soaked fields, the weight of loss that clung to him like a second skin.

He had returned to the Hewn City a changed man, quieter, more reserved. The war had left him with a deep sense of weariness, a bone-deep exhaustion that no amount of rest could erase.

And though he rarely spoke of it, Enid knew that the memories of the battlefield still haunted him with the way he rises at night to visit Trina’s room, watching over his daughter like a fallen angel poised to confront death itself if it dares to breathe in her direction.

“Honey,” Enid whispered, her voice fierce with emotion, “you are worth so much more than they will ever understand. You are a good father, a good male. We’ll explain it to Trina, in a way she can understand."

she looked at him with a small smile when she spoke, "And tomorrow… tomorrow, we’ll find another way. I’ll ask Nemain to see if she still has the soft fabric, so I can sew the teddy myself and try of dyeing it pink. For the caramel bonbons, my cousin has a butterscotch candy recipe that I can use. I simply shaped the candy into rounds instead of rectangles, so Trina wouldn’t notice the differencee."

Cadell smiled back a little while he nodded slowly, her words seeping into the cracks that the day had left in his resolve.

He pulled her into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around her as if she were the only thing keeping him grounded in the quiet darkness of their home.

“Thank you, my love. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Enid held him close, her head resting against his chest. For a moment, they simply stood there, drawing comfort from each other’s presence.

She knew the weight he carried, the burdens of being a lowborn Darkbringer in a world that valued power above all else. And she knew the guilt he felt, knowing that she had chosen him over the luxurious life she could have had.

She pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, her eyes filled with the same fierce love that had driven her to choose him all those years ago.

“We’re in this together, Cadell,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Always.”

They stood in silence, holding each other closely, before parting ways as Enid headed to their daughter’s room to announce that dinner was ready, while Cadell looked to the small family portrait that stands on their living room drawer.

The Hewn City might be cold and unforgiving, but within the walls of their home, they had each other—and that was enough to keep the darkness at bay, if only for a little while longer.

[dabisbratz]

fiendin’ for that sweet spot — choso x male reader

w.c: 3.2k

WARNING: dirty talk, bondage/restraints, edging, slight feminization, creampie, panty-stuffing, d/s undertones, bottom!male reader, amab aligned, praise, degradation, mocking, established relationship, short aftercare, cmnm (clothed male, naked male), use of the word ‘pussy’

a/n: why did this render me speechless… once again waiting on tumblr to fix the read more command ):

There’s a lot of things preventing you from focusing. For one, the quirk of Choso’s pink lips makes your thoughts linger to his soft kisses and gentle embrace. His lips are always so warm and comforting against your skin, he’s always so tender and gentle when it comes to you. But it’s not just his lips that leave a dizzy daze in your head, that clouds your vision from the walking dream in front of you. There’s his hair, that you love to tug on and braid, rubbing miscellaneous shapes and patterns into his scalp. There’s his eyes, deep and dark, but kind and beautiful. His eye contact lights you on fire, burns you from the inside out.

Then… There’s his hands. Large and well taken care of, fingers wrapped around a silver spoon as he digs into an appetizingly saturated tiramisu. His clipped nails shine in the dimly lit restaurant, leading up to his knuckles that look much better when they’re not swollen and blood soaked, but rather kissed or buried inside you. The tendons in his hand flex and flutter when he twirls the spoon, dipping it into the white, creamy topping that sticks to his lips.

He’s too perfect. Everything you weren’t, with a blood mark decorating his cheeks and a smile brighter than the moonlight outlining the city buildings. If you saw muted hues of gray and blue, he’d make up the specks of magenta in between. You saw the love in his eyes, extraordinarily bright and homely, unconditional and unrelenting. You return it and so, so much more.

You sigh, dreamy and enamored with your boyfriend as you push your cheek into your palm. Choso catches the sound almost immediately, straightening up and nearly smacking his back against the polished wooden booth. His lips curl into a frown, pulling at his decorated cheeks until you’re snapping back to reality.

“What’s wrong?” His eyebrows twitch, but he doesn’t look angry. It’s not like him to remain very expressive facially anyway, but you find a smile threatening to spread across your face. As if he’s discovered the answer himself, he scoops up a generous bite of the sweet and pushes the spoon into your face.

“What? No, it’s nothing, I just— thank you — I’m just thinking,” The dopey smile on your face is telling, even as your eyes focus on the spoon in front of you. It’s way too big a bite for you to chew, and you’re not even interested in the sweet, but the gesture is kind and thoughtful. One hand hovers below the spoon, careful to catch any fallen cream. You almost feel bad for stiffening up at the view of his hands in your face. “There’s something else I’m hungry for.”

Oh. There it is again, that breathy tilt to your voice that you’ve been pulling all night, paired with the lingering touches to his body or the brushing of knees under the table. Your boyfriend clears his throat, letting his hand drop to the table with a fairly loud thud. It’s hard for Choso to remain stoic under your gaze, under your warm hands that rub his skin juuust right, under you as you bounce on his cock like your life depends on it.

“Choso.” Your voice sounds whiny now, as if you’ve given up trying to keep your composure.

He imagines the sound of his name on your tongue. Light and heavy, sweet and savory. He imagines you moaning his name right against the table, his warm hands cupping your cheek as he pushes it into the wood. He imagines spoiling you. Right here, right now.

You’ve always been spoiled. You’re his spoiled boy, constantly showered with gifts and doted on. When he’s not chasing the high of vengeful fights or treating contusions, he’s by your side. Tonight is a great example of that, a lavish dinner at a lavish restaurant where only the most lavish of people attend.

Be patient.” Can’t have everyone in this restaurant knowing you cry like a whore the second you see cock, can we? Electricity shoots through his pants as you whine again, squirming in your leather seat until your shoe is pressing against his crotch and your arms are straight in front of your own, almost as if you’re rutting against them in your chair.

At least the bill had already been left.

You were quite a simple riddle. You’ve always had a few twists and turns, but once Choso’s lips were on yours you were so easy to figure out; so welcoming as if you wanted to be figured out. Choso had you mapped out the best, with every nook and cranny and divot of your body. With every spot that made your eyes roll so prettily into your head, with every spot that made you jolt forward and needy.

You might as well tackle him onto the bed, watching him bounce on the springy mattress with wide eyes. You’re stripping before he can process, pulling your tie over your head and hastily undoing his own, unbuttoning your dress-shirt until it’s discarded somewhere on the floor, and unzipping your increasingly tightening slacks. Choso watches you, his hands now resting on your hips so he can lift you up when it’s time to shimmy out them.

His eyes catch lavender under your fly, then speckles of your warm skin, like it’s not completely covered. He holds you by the back of your thighs once they’re under your buldge, but he can’t help but flip you down into the bed when he realizes what he’s looking at. The air is punched out of your lungs the moment you hit the mattress, arms splayed out angelically while Choso tugs down your pants, and leaves one sleeve stuck at your ankle out of impatience. It makes you feel like a slut. Like you’re easy.

“Holy shit,” He marvels, thumbs tracing the lavender lace pattern that covers your cock and makes you look even prettier. He thought that was impossible. There’s a wet patch that darkens the rest of the underwear, a deeper purple that makes him lick his his lips. And finally, there’s a matching, twinkling plug nestled deep inside you, with a pretty heart-shaped handle that’s perfect for pulling on. His sweet, perfect boy had gone out and got himself panties, decorated his pretty body and even prettier cock, just for him. Plugged himself up, just for him. Because he loves cock— his cock —that much. He wants to fuck you in these. He wants to digest you. “Holy shit.”

“Do you—”

“Yeah,” Is all he says, but you can see his ponytails vigorously bounce as he massages the head of your cock through the underwear. Before your legs can close around his hand, he places the other on your thigh, holds you down into the soft mattress so you can’t escape. Your body feels warm already, igniting under his touch as the excruciatingly soft lace dips into your slit and strokes your cock. You can’t help but start to spread your legs wider, a slutty reaction to a slutty sight, and you feel your face heat up when Choso smiles up at you. “I love them. I love you.”

Maybe you’re in way over your head. Maybe you should’ve never got the damned things, they feel way better on your dick than you’d anticipated, clings too tight, folds just right, rubs against it like heaven. With every squirm the plug shifts inside you, your insides twitch and clench around it but there’s nowhere for it to go, just stuck inside your warm, used hole. You won’t be able to survive the next ten minutes at this rate.

“I love— fuuuck, Iloveyoutoo.” Your eyes flutter closed, just to open back up when Choso’s thick fingers toy with the plug, pushing it deeper inside you through the panties. Your moans are slutty and satisfied, like you’ve been waiting for this all day.

It occurs to him that you’ve been fucking yourself in front of him the whole night, playing with the pretty hole that belongs to him. You’d probably fingered yourself before leaving, got your fingers nice and wet to cum until you get that stupid, fucked-out face you always get after cumming, by yourself. You played with what was his to touch, his to fuck, his to use and leave puffy and sticky and stretched out and swollen. Choso growls.

“My pretty puppy’s been keeping secrets?” He can’t help but feel overprotective and jealous. Jealous of your fingers, which were deep inside you not too long ago. But never as deep as he can get, never as good as his. You just can’t reach the same spots Choso can, you can’t milk the cum out of your cock like he can. You need him to cum just how you like, hard and mind blowing until you can’t form coherent sentences. Overprotective for that very reason, what if you’d gone and hurt yourself trying to make yourself cum like he can? The plug gives you away, twitching violently along with your hole. He frowns, small and tiny as he pulls his hand away from your cock, instead resting it on your corresponding thigh.

“Answer me, sweetheart.” There’s an increasingly rapid shake to your head, though you both know that’s a lie. You want to whine, it’s a gift for our anniversary, you want to grab his hair and bury his face between your cheeks so he can focus on something other than your flustered face. “C’mon, you can do it. Don’t go dumb on me now.”

Your whole body shutters, your hand reaching down to squeeze at your balls to satisfy the ache, but Choso’s swatting your hand away, shaking his head disapprovingly. You almost wilt under his gaze, but the aching is just too much, so you try again. Before you know it he’s tying your hands above your head with— when did he take that off? — his tie and your own to hold together both your wrists and the area where your legs bend.

You’re exposed on your back. legs spread and high against your shoulders. The stretch is delicious, if you weren’t wearing those damned panties you’d be completely exposed, your hole stretched out and plugged, your cock peeking out from the band if the lace. You moan in protest, but it comes out more wonton and slutty as he starts to pump your cock.

“Just couldn’t wait, always so needy. So slutty, so impatient,” He’s focused now, pumping you with the lace separating your skin. The material stretches with every stroke, a wet sound bouncing off the walls as your thighs tremble and your body writhes against the restraints. “A brat, too.”

His disregard for your response makes your cock jump, his grip tightening as the panties shift with the tightening of your balls. You’re close. He watches your face, watches your eyebrows knit together until you’re looking at him like a puppy, whining high and loud in your throat until you’re trembling, a thin layer of sweat making your skin— and especially your nipples— glow. He groans, watching precum pool on the panties until your moans suddenly stop, a silent scream about to leave your mouth as he strokes you closer, and closer, and closer—

Nothing. The pleasure leaves just as fast as it arrives, your hips bucking uncomfortably under your boyfriend's weight. Tears prickle your eyes, and you find yourself shaking your head in protest before he can even speak, “I know, baby, I know. It hurts, you just wanna cum so bad.”

His mocking could make you cum alone, but the feeling of his lower half pressing the plug into your prostate is driving you crazy, rubbing that bundle of nerves and over and over, your eyes roll back and you drool as you pant.

“Nuh-uh, no, honey,” His grip around the base of your cock is impossibly tight, basically strangling it, as he watches your balls contract in an attempt to cum. You’re such a slut, it doesn’t take much to get you to cum. A few nice words here, a few tugs and licks there, and you’re crying for more. “Take what I give you, be my good boy. I know you can, know you will.”

You’re a good boy. A very good one at that, and you find yourself echoing his words with less coherency than most, nodding with a gasp as he takes your cock in hand again and presses the plug further into you. But it’s too good, Choso knows what he’s doing, he always does. He knows all your buttons, how to play with you just right. It’s excruciating, trying to hold onto your orgasm just for him. His fingertips tap the heart shaped handle when you moan particularly pornographic, like he’s coaxing a load out of you.

“Look how ready you are for me. Patience is a virtue, you know.”

Evil bastard.

So you suck it up, squealing when he shoves the panties to the side and tucks it underneath your cock, prods at the plug with his tongue and buries his face between your thighs until his only truly distinct feature is his blood mark. It’s a true, honest shame you can’t grab his hair now, but you don’t think you would’ve been able to hold on even without the restraints. Your begging is jumbled, more breathy ‘mhmmm’s than pleas, but it’s good enough for you.

“Choso— Choso, fuck, fuck me, please. Mhmmm, wan’ you inside. G’v’it t’me, fuck your cum ‘nto me!” Tears stream down your pretty face when he touches your sensitive dick without the confines of the lace, precum now pooling on your lower abdomen and squelching with each speedy stroke. Your toes curl, thighs trashing against the fabric until you’re cumming, clenching around Choso’s tongue and the pretty plug keeping you full. You can’t stop spurting, not when he starts alternating between the plug and his tongue, both setting punishing pressure against your prostate.

“Pretty baby,” The plug is out, and your hole looks lonely. It’s puffy and swollen, shining with spit and lube as it clenches around nothing. Stretched out like it’s been used, it takes fingers like it’s natural, sucks in Choso’s digits and flutters around them in thanks. Despite preaching patience and the joy of delayed gratification, he’s not sure he can wait anymore. So inviting, so needy. For his cock and his cock only, who is he to deny that? “Gonna let me breed you? Gotta watch this pussy cum on my cock while I fill you up, let me have it, honey. Please?”

“Uh-huh, mhm,” You don’t hesitate, not once, tilting your hips up as he slaps his cock against your rim a few times. You’re not sure when he took the time to free himself from his slacks, but you don’t care. A string of his precum keeps you together, falling onto your hole as he sighs in content. You can barely contain a long whine as he pushes inside, inch by inch disappearing inside you and pressing straight into your prostate as the curve of his cock punches air out your lungs. Your hands fight against his tie, curling up the fabric as you ball them into fists and moan when he bottoms out, his balls slapping against you. “Please?”

He fucks you like he’s desperate, large hands digging into hit thighs as he ruts his hips with a rushed, sloppy pace. There’s still so much lube nestled inside your warm walls, pulling him in as he slides in and out, loud and sticky as he pounds himself into you. He chases the warmth, the feeling of your gummy hole struggling to keep him where he belongs— deep inside you. You can feel his cock twitch inside you, hard and throbbing and leaking, getting you ready for the loads he plans to fuck into you. Choso’s handsome face is all the more expressive, his lips parted as he pants and groans with each thrust, hurriedly untying your hands and setting you free to lace his fingers with your own.

His eyes close briefly, as if he’s trying to focus on not cumming, trying not to think of what it’d look like to see his cream oozing out your insides.

But it’s hard not to, especially when his pretty thing is crying on his cock, punching out loud but tiny ‘uh-huh!’s with each thrust as drool slides down his chin, bouncing happily without a single thought in his head. When his pretty boy clenches around his cock, pretty decorated thighs open like a whore and stained in his own cum. He feels himself getting closer, roughening up his pace until you can’t breathe, squeezing his hand impossibly tight while he fucks you like his life depends on it.

“Oh, fuck, Jesus Christ. There you go, baby. Ask me for it, ask me to cum in this pretty boy pussy,” His deep voice makes you soar, jumbled moans and sentences leaving your lips as Choso frees his hand for only a moment, to rip away the lacey panties that somewhat obstruct his vision from your used hole. Your gasp is soft, but powerful enough to egg him on. “S’hole’s so needy, all mine. My job to take care of, t’fuck, t’finger and— oh, God, use like a toy.”

“Don’t— I don’t, Choso, don’t think I—” Can hold on much longer, you want to say, but warmth blooming in your stomach renders you speechless, the now ruined panties sliding under your ass and bunching up beneath your backside.

“I know, baby. You don’t think,” He groans, cock aching as he delivers a few more hard and deep strokes, eyes clenching closed at the sound of your hole sucking him back in with vigor. He can’t help himself, pumping your cock to match his thrusts until he’s shouting inside you, warm and sticky and thick. You can’t handle the sight of him crumbling inside you, hips rocking desperately as he fucks the cum deeper. “Don’t need to. Not with a hole like this.”

That’s it for you, the final blow, game over. You’re cumming before you can correct him, spraying hard onto your stomach and making your hole achy. Choso helps you ride the wave, pumping your sensitive cock until you weakly push his hands away, rocking back against his dick until you feel it soften inside you. “Good boy, my good boy. Need one more thing from you.”

His smile is small and genuine, and despite the sleepiness washing over you from such an intense orgasm, you lull your head to the side, watching him pull the lavender lingerie (more like a piece of fabric, now) out from under you. He glances at your face, gauging a reaction from you as he slowly stuffs your hole with it, watching it convulse with sensitivity. He hushes your whines with a kiss, melting against you.

He holds you for a minute, gives your cheek a soft kiss, and wipes away the cum on your tummy with your discarded shirt before it can cool and harden uncomfortably on your skin.

[palayeroyales]

PALAYE ROYALE ♦ DARK SIDE OF THE SILVER SPOON

[crow-raven-crow]

Heyyy, love your writing!

It’s a bit specific but I was wondering if you could do a Larissa x reader fic where reader takes antidepressants but stopped taking them for whatever reasons then decided to start taking them again and gets really bad serotonin syndrome as her body gets used to the meds again? And Larissa is just concerned. Like just a cute fluff kinda type vibe???

Much love and take care x

𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞

𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 - [𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝟏𝟖+]

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

𝐋𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐟!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: ~1.8k 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: FLUFF, serotonin syndrome (symptoms and definition below), numbness, emptiness, ungrounded feelings, restlessness, crying, soft love, literally so soft i melted writing this i love larissa

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: see ask above

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

AO3 link in title ✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

Serotonin Syndrome - a potentially fatal drug-induced condition caused by too much serotonin in the synapses in the brain. This is caused by a medication or mix of them building up high levels of serotonin.

Signs and symptoms include: restlessness, insomnia, confusion, rapid heart rate, high blood pressure, dilated pupils, loss of muscle coordination, twitching muscles, muscle rigidity, nervousness, sweating, nausea, blurred vision, feeling like you're in a dream like state

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

The covers gave you no comfort tonight - fabrics and scents you usually melted into only stuck to your skin like static. The darkness of the room was casted away by the welcomed silver light of the moon, but the clouds at the edges of your vision only fed restlessness and frustration to you by the spoonful as you turned over for what felt like the thousandth time that night. Your body felt stiff, stuck, tired as you continued to beg it for some rest.

You were back on your antidepressants after long days of contemplation. You didn't think it would be this hard, things never seemed this hard.. The blankness, the dullness that compressed your mind being oh so silent yet all too loud at the same time - the overwhelming presence and lack of your thoughts that stood stationary at the front of your mind pressed on with no will to stop. Your body felt heavy, your bones carrying an ache you wished to forget.

You moved to her side of the bed, bringing your knees close to your chest as you inhaled small pieces of her perfume. For how exhausted you were, the rapid hammering of your heart only served as a reminder of how much longer you could be awake tonight. The pounding in your ears didn't settle no matter how hard you tried to calm your breaths, and the constant inhale and exhale was taking much more out of you than you'd like to admit. You moved the covers off of your body, upset at the layer of sweat that covered your skin, and forced the cool air of the night to shock your system.

As waves of goosebumps appeared across your skin and shivers ran through you, your eyes wandered over to the golden light seeping in from underneath the bedroom door. Your lover sat beyond those walls, a goddess of comfort, a source of haven that you were so grateful to have. You longed to forget this heavy feeling. Running your hands over your legs, you thought of the comforting warmth that sat just past those doors, the gentle kisses, the softest touches, the sanctuary that was just feet away.

You breathed in through your nose, feeling the air swirl in through you until you felt your lungs max out, hoping that the action alone would calm the newfound pit growing in your stomach, and stood as you pushed the air out of your mouth. The long night had slowly turned into a dream to you, the chill you felt under the moonlight only adding to the pull that the golden glow gave to you. You felt weightless as your feet sunk into the rug underneath you, yet the weight in your chest was ever present the closer you got to holding your hand out towards the handle.

Wood, dark and ancient and carved and worn - the only thing that separated you from something you wanted so badly, from someone you wished to melt into. The doorknob shocked your fingertips as you took hold of it, the small spark of light being enough to cause your heart to rage on again. Your lips formed into a thin line, your mind blanking as the sudden thought of going back to the bed faded from your mind - you pushed forward.

The heavy door creaked as it moved, showing its age as your wish to walk into her presence quietly slipped away from you. Your mind acknowledged the fact that you had entered the space completely, but you couldn't help but feel disconnected from yourself - knowing that you had entered a new room, touching the cold planks under your feet, feeling the heat from the roaring flames greeting your side, yet not knowing if you were truly awake.

The door to your shared quarters shut with a click, and your eyes slowly made their way to the concerned figure presented at the desk. Her hair was pure white as the moonlight guided though each strand, but the flames that burned in front of her painted her features in a caramel hue. Her eyes, capsules that carried the ocean in their blues, wandered over your tired figure in growing worry - gliding over your wrinkled, oversized shirt, to the fidgeting of your hands, to the small heaves of your chest. She took in every ounce that you offered her, and damn did she read it all like a book.

"Darling.. Is everything alright..?" Her voice cut through the air like a hot knife to butter, her accent coursing through the room and wrapping you in its safe hold, the love, the worry dripping from it completely unhidden from your soul. It was hard to focus, your eyes moving in slow, blurred circles around the room that made the cloudy edges of your vision ever more present.

"U-Um.." You didn't mean for your voice to crack, didn't mean for it to break and weaken and fade out and run from you since you never wanted anyone to worry, since you never wanted her to worry… But you were hers.. and she was yours, so she knew the truth without asking.. So of course at the first sound of your voice escaping your lips in such a small way she was already up to her feet.

The soft pads of her heels stepping onto the large rug beneath her desk soon faded into heavy clicks against the dark wood floor, growing louder until they stopped in front of you. Her fingertips, gentle and soft with their touch, traced over the curves of each of your wrists. They circled around and traced their way up your arms, the touch grounding you and bringing you back to her.

Your eyes slowly focused on hers as one of her hands came to rest on the curve of your waist, the other moving to cup your cheek. It was easy to melt into her touch, to melt into the present when you were with her. Her thumb traced back and forth against your cheek as her eyes jumped from every little bit of your features, scanning your face with a quiet worry.

It was like your body allowed everything to crumble as you stood there in front of your love, the adoration and true care that radiated from her being all it took to let your true exhaustion show. A shaky sigh left you as your body felt heavy again, and your eyes, now glossy, finally opened again to meet hers.

"Darling..?" You didn't know if it was the way her thumb stopped moving against your cheek as she saw the true emotion in your eyes, or the way that her other hand sprawled out to touch more of your skin, or the way her voice got evermore quieter as she looked at your fragile being, but a choked sob broke through you with no restriction.. then another.. and another.. and suddenly you found the stream near impossible to stop.

"Oh, my love.. Come here, darling - I've got you, I promise.." Her voice lifted you into her trance, safe and warm, as she pulled you into her arms. She pressed small kisses against your hairline, her hands tracing patterns along your back as you pressed into her. Your hands were quick to grab onto the fabric of her dress, holding on as though your life depended on it, to find some sense of reality again. Your crying was quiet, yet wrecked your body with a release it needed as your tears soaked into her grey dress.

You listened as her rapidly beating heart came to a slow, the rise and fall of her chest becoming an easier task to follow as she asked you to breathe with her. Soon, the lightness that you were missing, that you seemed to be begging for, rose to your chest, your breaths matching and mixing together as the fire crackled on next to you, as the moon grew evermore present in the sky.

You felt her pull away, but before you could move, her rose painted lips were pressed against your forehead. It was gentle, full of adoration, full of pride… A blush was quick to grow on your cheeks as you watched the goddess pull away to meet your gaze, the smallest of smiles coming up to curl her lips. She understood every part of you, and seeing her acknowledge something so small yet so hard for you only made love settle in your chest.

"Why don't we get to bed, hmm?" You knew it wasn't a question, especially when she saw the exhaustion in your eyes, the heaviness in your stance, especially when the release you had just overcome started to present the toll it really took on you.

She was an easy woman to follow, a better one to try to please, so when her hand glided over to the small of your back with a small push towards the bedroom, it was as though your legs moved on their own. The haze that was over you was different than the one you had felt when you left the room, and you were so grateful that she was able to help you change that with just her company alone.

Your body sunk into the mattress, the foam latching onto your limbs and pulling you into it's welcoming hold. The covers were cold as she pulled them over you, something you appreciated when your head met the pillow. Your eyes were quick to close, the weight of your lids making itself known, but you still tuned into the rustling you heard throughout the room.

Just as the small sounds became white noise to you, they stopped completely and nearly prompted you to open your eyes, but the opportunity was taken away when you felt the mattress dip on the other side of you, replacing a hope with a lovely fact. Arms, hushed and secure, were quick to wrap themselves around you after you felt her body settle. You turned in her hold, your own arms coming to rest on her waist as you buried your head in the crook of her neck, your fingers lightly tracing the expanse of her porcelain skin.

The lingering smell of her perfume filled your lungs, and the soft hum of her heartbeat was something easy for you to sink into. Her hand pushed underneath your shirt, smoothing over the skin of your back and traced mindless patterns there. With another sweet kiss to your head, her voice, low yet soft, rang out in the new lightness of the room, "Sleep well, you sweet thing.. I promise, I've got you.."

~~

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

𝐚/𝐧: CRYING SOBBING BANGING THE WALLL

I LOVE WRITING LARISSA FLUFF COME ONNN

this one was very healing for me to write. i've been feeling a lot of emotions lately as i've forced myself to work through things and being able to have something like this was really helpful.

larissa is a comfort character to a lot of us, and i am so honored that someone trusted me to write something that can be so personal sometimes. we all need a person like larissa sometimes

im so sorry ive been mia LMAO so much is going on. im officially a double major (yippie lol) and im looking for a house with some friends and its midterm season andddd i increased my hours at work aaannnnddd ya know life LOL

BUT

im glad you all are so understanding <3 it warms my heart when you all still think of me or mention me because this is a really nice part of my life that i am soooo grateful for :)

here you go anon :) sorry it took so long - thank you so much for your patience <33 i hope you liked it!

xx,

~ 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: (tagged anyone who asked/wanted to be on the "all works" taglist)

as always, feel free to ask to be added :)

@autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze @weemssapphic @readingtheentrails @finnja555 @barbarasstar @vendocrap8008 @lilfartbox1 @agathaandgwenslesbian @lvinhs @elvira-dear @kimiinou @ladybathoryy

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧