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poisonf0rest · 16 hours ago

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Between Flames and Shadows

♱⋅── sylus x reader x rafayel

♱⋅── about: Rafayel agreed to smuggle you into the N109 Zone, unwittingly thrusting you into danger and the arms of an even more dangerous man, Sylus— who you promised your soul to long ago. Just as you had promised Rafayel your heart. And now they both want what you have so cruelly denied them.

♱⋅── word count: 10.6k

♱⋅── warnings: mdni, smut, threesome, pwp, enemies to lovers, jealousy, bondage, exhibisionism, voyeurism, size kink (sylus is big), mating bites/bond, double penetration, minor breeding kink, another horribly nasty duo~

art credit to @/sakimenz on x, dividers by @cafekitsune

It’s been six days, fourteen hours, and three minutes since you’ve last contacted Rafayel.

Not that he’s been counting.

Again, he flips his phone around, scrolling through dozens of notifications, and not bothering to read a single one as he fails yet again to find your name among them. A scowl, and he tosses his phone across the couch. Insane doesn’t begin to describe the spiral Rafayel has descended into since you infiltrated the N109 Zone— since he reluctantly agreed to set you up as bait and watched you get taken away.

Since he made a deal with the devil on your behalf.

“The Nest, you actually got it? How?”

“You doubted me, cutie?”

“Doubt?” You snort, rolling your eyes as you yank Rafayel closer by the collar, gaze flickering from his lips, eyes, and back again. Leaning in closer, you wait until Rafayel’s eyes nearly flutter shut before pulling back, snatching the invitation from his hands with a smirk. “Never, fishie.”

Rafayel now wishes you had. Wishes he finally kissed you, wishes he never let you go. At least, not alone.

The memories and regrets tug at him so violently that he can’t stand it, every “what if” fear blending in with shattered memories of you dying before him in lives past, bloody and heart torn from your chest as he’s doomed to chase after you again and again and again.

Rafayel stands abruptly, chair falling back with a bang.

Fuck it, he’s going after you.

The damned N109 Zone never changes.

Different venues, different gang names, different “world-ending” weapons. But even after several millennia, the greed and stupidity of humankind remains forever stagnant and forever their greatest weakness. That, and the nauseating smell of gunpowder and whiskey.

It all makes Rafayel’s stomach roll, and he thumbs at his tie, slacking against his neck before he snatches a glass of champagne from a waiter. Unsurprisingly he does recognize a handful of faces, some from his own gallery exhibitions, others as past targets, or grandchildren of someone he used to know. Not that any of them mattered.

He walked down a hallway filled with Protocores leading up to the banquet hall, and yet strangely enough every last one was bought for an exorbitant amount, even the smallest fragment that barely emitted any kind of energy. What kind of idiot…

Rafayel’s frown deepens, and he shoots down yet another glass, moving from champagne to whiskey as he winces from the burn.

Then, Rafayel spots you.

You’re alive.

You’ve alive and you look absolutely fucking gorgeous, prowling across the auction in a cocktail dress, fabric dark enough that it only shimmers a deep red when you dance from spotlight to spotlight.

Before he even realizes it, he’s running. Trying and failing for it to look as natural as possible,, slamming into a waiter and mumbling out an apology as he rushes to your side, nearly dashing onto the dance floor when the shadows seem to lunge– growing and shifting and laughing in an ancient language Rafayel can barely understand as something else steps out from them. And wraps a clawed hand around your waist.

Another man, infuriatingly tall and reeking of the sky and ashes, his hair bleached the same pale color, leans down to whisper something into your ear as you laugh. Laugh.

And gods new and old, Rafayel sees red.

Rafayel’s breath catches, chest tightening with a fury so raw it feels like it might crack him open. The din of laughter and clinking glasses becomes a dull roar in his ears, drowned out by the pounding of his heart. He barely registers the heat raging down his veins, a warning that his restraint is fraying faster than he can piece it together.

An uproar of murmuring steals your attention away from Sylus, and you finally allow your fake smile to drop. Only for your jaw to fall entirely as you see Rafayel standing only a couple of meters away, violent white flames licking against his fingertips as other guests begin to gather.

What the fuck is he doing here.

“Rafayel.” Your voice cuts through him, hissing in warning. But the sound of it— alive, steady, and wholly unimpressed— does nothing to soothe him. If anything, it stokes the fire.

Sylus turns slowly, his lips curling into a lazy smile. When his eyes land on Rafayel, something flickers in the depths of his right pupil. “Oh?” he drawls, voice dripping with amusement. “Looks like you picked up a stray, kitten.”

The nickname grates against your nerves, but it’s nothing compared to the way Rafayel reacts. His flames flare brighter, casting eerie shadows across the room as his fists clench. “Take your hand off her.”

More patrons are beginning to notice.

Sylus’s grip on your waist doesn’t waver. Instead, he tilts his head, “Her? Oh, you must mean my companion for tonight.” He shifts slightly, leaning down as if to make a point, his hands brushing against the small of your back, right where the silk meets bare skin. “I think you have it mistaken though, she’s the one who practically dragged me here. Isn’t that right, sweetie?”

Your pulse spikes, a mix of anger and frustration coursing through you. You force yourself to step between them, planting a hand firmly against Rafayel’s chest before he can close the distance. Thankfully, it makes the flames sputter down to a dull glow in his palms.

“Stop,” you hiss. “What the hell are you doing here, Rafayel?”

His eyes lock onto yours, wild and burning with an intensity that makes it impossible to look away. “I came for you,” he snaps as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Well, congratulations,” you snort, “You found me.” Glancing over your shoulder, you catch the glint of recognition in the eyes of more than a few guests. “And so has everyone else I’ve been trying to avoid.”

Rafayel doesn’t flinch, his gaze darting briefly to Sylus before returning to you. “I don’t care about them,” he mutters, brows furrowing. “I care about you. I never should have left you, let you go. Come back with me.”

Before you can even respond a deep chuckle cuts through, Sylus stepping forward as he tucks you into his side and reaches around to place a hand on Rafayel’s shoulder. Pinning you between them. “Touching. But you should know better than to interrupt our business, artist.”

Rafayel’s flames reignite instantly, searing white-hot as he shoves Sylus’s hand off his shoulder. “I already told you to get your hands off her,” he growls, stepping forward, entire body radiating heat as he’s mere inches from Sylus’s face.

“Or what?” Sylus taunts smoothly, something in his eye flashing with amusement. “You’ll set this whole place on fire? Very subtle. I can see why you’re such a popular target.”

Target? You linger on it longer than you should've, pieces about Rafayel’s surprising knowledge about the N109 Zone and Sylus’s insistence on resonating as your partner begins to swirl around again. That is, until you physically feel the heat from Rafayel’s flames begin to char into the wooden floorboards.

“Stop it, both of you!” Snapping, both of their heads whip down to you as you struggle to shove them apart. “You’re drawing attention. Do you want to blow this mission completely?”

“Mission?” Rafayel scoffs, his gaze snapping back to you. “If this was a mission, why would you agree to work with him?” He tilts his chin to Sylus, who simply shrugs, shadows flickering and rising at his back. Shit.

“Her choice, really,” Sylus interjects, voice dripping with false sincerity. “Not that I blame her. All bark and no bite, aren’t you, puppy?”

Rafayel goes deathly still.

So Sylus allows himself to step closer, chest now pressing up against your bare back, the gesture irritatingly casual. Intimate. “It must be exhausting,” he continues, “Running around, chasing after scraps of attention. Does she even notice? Or is this just another case of unrequited devotion?”

“Say that again,” Rafayel growls, flames licking up his palm.

Sylus grins wider, clearly enjoying every second. Enjoying his reactions. “Oh, I’m sorry, did that strike a nerve? You must be used to following orders by now, so tell me, does she ever let you off leash, or do you only bark when commanded?”

“Sylus,” you snap again, cutting off whatever retort Rafayel has ready. You glance around, realizing the murmuring crowd has turned into a full-fledged audience, their gazes sharp and curious. “You’re both acting like children. The target—”

The sound of shattering glass cuts you off.

You whip your head around, just in time to see a hooded figure perched atop an overturned table. A small, cylindrical case glints in their hand, and your blood turns cold as you feel the overwhelming pulse of an unleashed Aether Core.

“Run!”

The word barely leaves your mouth before the world explodes.

A deafening boom shatters through the venue, blast wave throwing you backward. The force knocks the air from your lungs, glass and debris raining down like jagged confetti. You hit the ground hard, pain shooting through your side as the heat of the explosion sears your skin.

Through the haze of smoke and ringing in your ears, you catch fragmented images: chandeliers crashing to the floor, tables splintered, and guests scrambling for cover and weapons as gunshots ring out.

Sylus is a blur of movement, his shadows coiling and slashing through the chaos. Rafayel is kneeling beside you, flames erupting instinctively to shield both of you, looking down with wide eyes.

“Get—” you try to shout, but another powerful wave of the protocore squeezes your heart, and your vision blurs as you heave for breath.

The last thing you see is Sylus stepping over Rafayel’s crumpled form, hauling him over one shoulder before beginning to carry you, too.

Then, nothing.

It’s cold.

The explosion. The Aether Core. Sylus. Rafayel.

A gasp tears from your lips as you jolt awake, your body reacting before your mind catches up. The world spins in protest as you try and sit up, chest heaving like it’s trying to claw back air that’s been ripped away. Spinning, the world is still spinning as control of your body returns to you—pain prickles along your limbs, your skin freezing against the stiff leather beneath you.

Blinking hard, you push up on trembling arms, the faint scent of dust and something metallic clogging your nose. The ache in your skull is relentless, pulse hammering against your temples. You’re not in the banquet hall anymore. There’s no fire, no rubble, no echoing gunshots.

Instead, shadows claw at the corners of a room you don’t recognize. Empty walls of an office greet you, dark and seemingly abandoned with an unlit fireplace, heavy drapes smothering the windows, and a lavish seating area you’re in the midst of with a couch, coffee table, and—

Someone’s there.

Slumped in a leather chair near the fireplace, head tilted at an unnatural angle, is… “Rafayel.”

You call out to him in a gasp, a raw mix of relief and dread. His head hangs low, chin brushing his chest, his arms seemingly tied behind his back. For one desperate, fleeting moment, you think he’s asleep. But the light catches on something wrong, something warping along his body.

Shadows.

They slither down his now bare chest and around his legs, dark, writhing tendrils of unnatural energy that pulse and coil, anchoring him to the chair. They’re the only thing keeping his unconscious form upright, taut and unyielding, glowing faintly at the edges with an unmistakably familiar red glow.

“Relax, he’s not dead.”

The voice is a smooth drawl, and your head whips around to find a heavy desk in the center of the office, and of course, the origin of the voice seated at the head of the desk, arms crossed as he watches you with an amused smirk.

“What did you do, Sylus?”

Your hands instinctively go for your guns but only brush against empty holsters instead. Weaponless, you stumble off the couch, placing yourself between Rafayel and the still-seated man as you glare down at him.

Sylus doesn’t even flinch. If anything, your anger only seems to amuse him further.

“We had a chat while you were sleeping.” With a sigh, he rises from his chair, every movement exuding practiced ease as he encircles the desk, making his way to you. A crow circling a corpse. “Turns out you’ve been keeping more from me than I thought. That, and your memory truly is terrible.”

Sylus stops just short of you, tilting his head back as his eyes roam your face, his grin growing sharper, fang peaking out. “Not one but two immortals? You certainly are greedy, aren’t you, kitten?”

Your stomach twists.

Nothing he’s saying makes sense, but the words cut into your gut regardless. Like a broken promise, like an old wound. “Let him go, Sylus. Now.”

But Sylus doesn’t move. He stands there, tapping a hand to his chin, studying you with a look that makes your heart throb, his right eye beginning to glow a crimson red. Amusement flickers behind his eyes, but there’s something else, too. Something darker.

“Twice,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you, his gaze slipping briefly to Rafayel’s bound form. “Twice, you’ve cursed those who thought themselves unstoppable. Twice, you’ve bound your heart and soul.” His eyes snap back to yours, glinting with a sharp, cruel edge. “Not that you’d remember.”

Almost like he’s in pain. You stiffen, breath catching in your throat.

“Humans,” Sylus continues, the word dripping with scorn. “So quick to lay claim to what they desire, so insatiably greedy.” He leans closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, heavy with mockery, hands ghosting down your side as you shiver despite yourself. “And you, sweetie, are no different.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

A chuckle, “Of course you don’t.”

Sylus fights the urge to laugh. No wonder the god of the ocean itself followed you around like a lovesick puppy— Sylus was hardly taking it any better, but at least he just had the self-control to hide his obsession.

A strained groan echoes through the room, low and guttural. Your head snaps toward Rafayel, the sight of his head lifting weakly making your heart lurch. His hair is matted with sweat, and when he looks up, his sunset eyes are furious blue, darker than the ocean itself, narrowing to slits as the shadows twist tighter around his body.

There’s a moment, just a heartbeat, where you see something raw in his gaze. Relief. Desperation. And then, it’s gone, replaced by a scowl that’s as sharp as any blade.

“Well, look who’s awake,” Sylus hums, and you nearly collapse in relief, turning to rush to Rafayel’s side when something stops you halfway.

Two simple threads of shadow chain you down, dragging you back to Sylus as the other binds your hands behind you, unaffected by your sudden thrashing. In faux comfort, Sylus curls an arm around your waist, pulling you into his embrace as the other rests against your ribs, drawing comforting circles against your tattered dress—the once pristine silk only just gifted to you destroyed with gashes and holes from the explosion.

Rafayel’s lip curls, his voice a growl despite the rasp of exhaustion. “Should’ve known a snake would take a deal and twist it. This is your plan? This is what you call a friendly competition?”

Sylus tilts his head, his smirk turning predatory. “Careful, puppy. You’ll get your turn, I never specified who went first.”

Silence.

You feel like you’re playing catch-up, each word only adding to the confusion as the tension grows thick enough to choke on.

And then Rafayel laughs. His entire body shakes with it, head thrown back against the chair he’s still bound to, laughing and laughing until he’s all but spitting flames. They erupt from his palms, climbing down the marble floors, vibrant pinks and reds curling into empty air as shadows dance to put them out.

Sylus doesn’t release you, though his fingers twitch against your ribs as the flames light up the room. His smirk falters just slightly, replaced by something harder to read—a flicker of recognition, perhaps, or respect.

Rafayel’s laughter fades, his head rolling forward again as if it took everything in him to laugh at all. When his eyes meet Sylus’s, they’re cold and dark, an abyss in the ocean.

“You really think this will win her back?” Rafayel spits, tremors of barely-contained fury ripping through him as he struggles against the tendrils that hold him. The shadows only tighten in response. His glare cuts to you, begging. “Don’t listen to him. He’s a liar, a snake. All those ugly cold-blooded beasts do is lie.”

Sylus snorts, hugging you closer as the low scoop back of your dress causes your skin to brush against his chest. “Lie? Are you always this dramatic?” He tilts his head, mocking. “Perhaps you should’ve asked about the rules before we began. Backing out already?”

Flames spark from Rafayel’s body again, this time uncontrolled, swirling in frantic spirals like an inferno around him. His body trembling against the leather. “Release me then! Let me go first, let me show you she doesn’t need you. She’ll remember me.”

“You’re awfully bold for someone tied to a chair.”

Sylus leans down to graze your neck with his lips, tilting his head like he’s savoring the sight of Rafayel’s frustration as he whispers into your ear just loud enough for him to hear. “Your puppy never stops barking, does he.”

Rafayel takes the bait, fire searing through wood, flickering in and out. “She’s not yours to take,” he seethes, shadows and flames casting violent shadows across the room. “Not yours.”

This is beyond ridiculous.

You try and jerk away from Sylus, forgetting about the shadowy tendrils also holding you in place. Instead, you settle for pushing Sylus back with your bound arms, glaring at the both of them bickering like feral cats once again. “Both of you, stop! Whatever grudge you have with each other, leave me out of it!”

Sylus chuckles, the sound low and unnerving. “Leave you out of it? Oh, kitten, you’ve always been at the very center. You just don't remember yet.” His hand slips from your ribs to lift your chin, tilting your face toward his as he gazes down at you with something almost… reverent. “But don’t worry, we’ll help you remember everything.”

His words send a pang through you, a strange and unbidden ache that threatens to consume you from the inside out. You’re left suspended between them, chest heaving, mind a whirlwind of confusion and doubt. And yet, somewhere deep inside, you can feel it—an echo of something ancient and unshakable, something you don’t understand. Something they both seem to know.

That alone seems to calm Rafayel, at least, for long enough that Sylus can bind his hands together, unable to conjure any more flames before gagging him with a veil of shadows too. Something that immediately sends the man into a frenzy as he curses and squirms against the restraints.

“What are– Sylus, release him right now—”

“Relax.” You’re also being hoisted higher up into the air, feet barely touching the floor as your arms strain above your head. “He’s simply upholding his part of the deal. Besides, he’s not the one who deserves to be punished tonight. That, sweetie, would be you.”

But before you can rebuke, a huff of hot breath caresses your neck, Sylus humming against your ear as you shiver involuntarily. “You can’t blame me. After all, you’re quite cruel to curse both of us and then go about forgetting entirely.”

Sylus drags his hand down your ribs, thumb catching a rip in your dress as he tears it all the way down until his fingers reach the bare plush of your thigh. His grip tightens, and your sudden moan startles you nearly as much as it does the other two, shaking and needy at barely a touch, your body pulled upwards by Sylus’s shadows as you’re now balanced precariously between his hold and the brush of your toes against the floor.

“Tell me, does it hurt? That part of you that used to belong to us?”

The sensation is so foreign, the warmth and gentleness of his touch such a contrast to the cruelty he's displayed, but your traitorous body welcomes the contrast, leaning into his palm. “What are you talking about?” Your voice is shaky, unconvincing even to yourself. “I don’t—”

“Oh, you don’t remember,” Sylus cuts in, mockery dripping from his words. “But your body does. That’s the funny thing about bonds, darling. They don’t care about your memories. They care about promises. The ones you made. The ones you broke.”

You can feel the heat of Rafayel's gaze on you, watching as Sylus slowly runs his hand up your leg, the heat of his touch deliciously contrasted by the cool iron of his rings, making you shudder as they circle the tender flesh of your inner thigh. You fall forward, pulling against the restraints, unable to resist the urge to push into his touch.

Behind you, Rafayel lets out a muffled roar, thrashing against his binds. His fury burns through the room, flames licking at the air around him, casting wild, flickering light that illuminates the shadows writhing against his skin. Even gagged, his expression a storm of conflict, boring into Sylus with a fire that refuses to be smothered.

“See how desperate he gets?” Sylus laughs, his breath hot against your ear. “Always so loud, so needy. So quick to burn himself, like that’ll make you notice him more.”

Rafayel’s muffled snarl grows louder, and the flames around him surge, threatening to overwhelm the shadows keeping him bound. He jerks forward, the chair groaning under his strength, his entire body trembling with the effort.

Sylus smirks, unbothered, even amused. “Careful, puppy. Else I might think you’re trying to cheat.”

You wrench yourself away from Sylus’s grip as much as the shadows will allow, suddenly aware of how exposed you are with your torn dress.

“Cheat at what?” Thrashing, you try to slip from the restraints, which only has Sylus’s Evol squeezing tighter, pulling your wrists from behind your back to up in the air. “Let us go, now.”

“Feisty,” Sylus purrs, hand moving from your thigh to your jaw. Squeezing your cheeks between his forefinger and thumb, he wrenches your gaze off Rafayel, forcing your neck to crane up to look him in the eye as he presses up against your back.

“That’s always been your problem, hasn’t it? Always resisting, even when you don’t know why.” His lips quirk into a wicked smile. “In that case, say no.”

And then Sylus’s lips are on yours, warm and insistent.

Your eyes widen, a muffled sound of surprise rising in your throat as the warmth of his kiss spreads across your lips. It’s instinct, the way your body immediately leans into his embrace, desire and confusion tearing at your chest.

The logical part of you wants to pull away, but oh, something deep inside you sings so sweetly at his touch, making your mind fuzzy and body hot as Sylus tilts your head to the side. The angle has your neck screaming in protest, trapped between Sylus’s possessive grip on your neck and his chest, yet you swear it’s the dichotomy between the pain of his grasp and the devotion of his lips that has you addicted.

This close, his scent is entirely intoxicating, a heady mix of spices and smoke, breath hot against your mouth, his lips surprisingly soft, gentle against yours. He doesn’t rush, a low, contented noise humming in his chest as you deepen the kiss, already licking against his bottom lip as you crane your neck for more, grinding back against him as best you can with your arms now bound above you.

You don’t even realize you’re doing it.

The bond with Sylus purrs in realization, and he has to summon up every ounce of strength and control left to break away, groaning into your skin as his lips trailing along your jaw, down to your neck, teeth grazing every spot that makes you shiver, and yet refusing to sink in. Refusing to mark you as his own. Not yet.

When Sylus finally pulls back, you're panting, flushed and breathless. An absolute mess.

"You're fussy, kitten," he murmurs, panting, his large frame practically surrounding you, heaving as you stumble forward under the weight. "But if you want more, you need to answer me."

"I don’t understand.” You’re panting, and fuck, it’s hard to breathe. ”What does this have to do with…"

The hand not busy laying claim to your throat travels down to meet the rip in your dress, brushing across your bare ribs. You feel Sylus smile into the nape of your neck as you moan at the icy burn of his rings caressing the flushed skin of your chest, his hand large enough to cup the entirety of the poor, sensitive flesh.

That is, until his touch retreats entirely, the searing heat of his presence replaced with an empty chill.

“Yes or no?” Sylus’s voice is low, rough, and commanding, but there’s a crack in his tone that gives him away. “I need to hear it, kitten. I need to hear you say you want this.”

You groan, head lolling forward, feeling the last shreds of your resolve crumble. It’s almost too much to bear, shadows coiled around you like velvet chains, holding you upright even as your strength falters.

Why were you even fighting in the first place? The thought slips from your grasp, fleeting as a wisp of smoke. You can barely recall why you’re mad at them, at Sylus, at Rafayel. The failed mission, the target slipping away…it all feels inconsequential now, eclipsed by the molten desire in your chest. Did you not want them both? Did you not dream of this? Did you not die for this?

The flicker of Sylus’s red eye pierces through the dark, pulling you out of your own thoughts and anchoring you back to this reality as you feel the rumble of his laugh vibrate through your chest even though he’s no longer touching you. You wish he were.

“Then say it.” You hear him step closer, but still refusing to touch you. “Say you want this, or else it stops.”

And then it’s back.

A violent surge tears through your chest, flashes of color—of memories—fluttering by in a tempest, in an unintelligible inferno as the burning within your heart returns tenfold. Images flash too fast to comprehend, but the feelings linger: love so deep it swallowed you whole, betrayal like a knife twisting in your ribs, desire that turned your world to ash.

They ripple through you, each thread of memory, each red string of fate tying itself tighter to your soul.

You’re gasping, trying to grip your chest as it feels like your heart is going to burst from your chest, desperate for relief. But Sylus’s Evol makes it impossible to move, snaking down your body instead as it anchors you against the pain attempting to seize your entire being.

You want them.

You need them.

After all, they were always yours.

"Yes."

The word tumbles out, barely audible, a whispered confession that feels like release and surrender all at once.

Control returns to you in waves, your body trembling as if it’s been dragged from the brink of collapse. Your thighs quiver, and even the hold of Sylus’s Evol isn’t enough to stop the shuddering. Everything burns. Gods, everything burns.

Behind you, Sylus makes a low sound that only makes the shaking worse. It’s raw, guttural—a noise you feel rather than hear. His control is unraveling, and for the first time, you realize he’s as close to breaking as you are.

He’s trembling.

Even with his iron control, even with his Evol wrapping around you like armor, he can’t stop the way his fingers hover just shy of your skin, tracing the curve of your neck, your spine, your waist, like he’s memorizing you. And he’s close—too close.

His breath is hot against the nape of your neck, and you can feel the tension radiating from him, maintaining that invisible barrier as he replays your ‘yes’ in his mind again and again and again.

“What was that?” His voice is a rough whisper, but the challenge is clear. “I don’t think I heard you.”

“Yes!” You nearly yell it this time, humiliation burning across your cheeks, but it’s dwarfed by the heat of your desire. ”I said yes.”

Sylus lets out a broken sound, somewhere between a groan and a growl, and every reason he’s had to hold back shatters. His Evol ripples, shadows weaving around your body in a dark embrace. Hands fly to your hips, a palm squeezing your thigh as your left leg is lifted completely off the ground.

Sylus inhales you in greedy mouthfuls, lips dancing down your neck, your shoulder blade, nipping into the skin, reverent and desperate in equal measure. This new position was beyond vulnerable, Sylus forcing your quivering thigh higher and higher until it presses into your chest, the crude slice in your dress providing absolutely no resistance or chance for modesty, allowing everything to be exposed to the chill of the office’s midnight air.

And to the hungry gaze of the man seated before you.

"So needy, kitten. Are you finally remembering?” Sylus coos against your ear, but his smirk is fixed on Rafayel, looking directly at him as his free hand trails down between the slits of fabric, toying with the lace band of your panties, long, rough fingers slipping under them in teasing circles. “Beg.”

“What?” You hate the way your voice quivers as Sylus teases your cunt through the thin, already-drenched fabric. “You’re out of your—ah, fucking—mind, Sylus.”

“Quite the opposite. After all, we have an audience to impress.” A sudden slap against your clothed pussy has you moaning, jolting against your restraints, futile, and yet the disturbance is just enough for the left strap of your dress to slip off your shoulder, exposing the swell of your breast just shy of the nipple that was no doubt already hard enough to peek through the sheer silk all on its own.

“Go on, beg for me.”

You don’t even get a chance to argue, not when Sylus delivers another harsh slap on your clit, soothing it with a cruel swirl, just enough to have you chasing the friction, grinding down against his palm with a choked sob. His middle two fingers tease against your slit, teasing but never breaching as the soaked fabric is stretched around his digits. He’s breaking you, and it’s working.

"...Please." It comes out in a whine, and you bury your face in his chest as you feel yourself burn in embarrassment.

A hum and Sylus’s hand leaves your cunt, making you whine at the loss. That is, until it's replaced on your neck, pushing your head up. A squeeze. "I said beg."

The pressure of his hold and the sweet demand of his voice only makes you wetter despite yourself. "Please," you repeat, shaking, each breath cut off just slightly by his thumb. "Please, Sylus, need it."

At first you think the bastard is doing this for himself, but as soon as you finish gasping out the words, his hand moves from your neck to your hair, pulling your head back and forcing you to look across the room.

Forcing you to look right at Rafayel.

Still bound and gagged, desperate doesn’t begin to describe him. Straining against his bounds, Rafayel’s entire body is shaking, trembling from either need or fury, gripping the leather until his knuckles turn white. Sunset eyes are glassy, blown out with unshed tears as they struggle to focus on everywhere Sylus touches you, the bruises against your neck, the quiver in your leg, the slick dripping down your thighs up to your clothed cunt.

Fuck, he’s hard. Rafayel’s cock strains painfully against his pants, an obvious dark spot tented up against his trousers, rocking against empty air with a muffled sob.

He looks more wrecked than you, and he hasn’t even been touched yet.

And that realization does horrible, terrible things to you.

“Please. Need you, need it s’bad it hurts. Wanna cum so, so badly, please,” you whine, deliberately sweet, locking eyes with Rafayel as you drag out your moan. “Sylus.”

There’s a click of a belt buckle and you’re being lifted up into the air. Sylus holds you up by the backs of your knees, completely at his mercy as your hands flail against the restraints pulled taut above your head. Your legs are spread wide, hugged tight to his chest as you feel his length, hot and desperate, pressing into your ass.

"Hold her down."

The shadows pull taut, wrapping around your knees as they allow Sylus’s hands to wander elsewhere, suspending you against him. At the same time, his fingers are hooked against your panties, snapping them against your weeping cunt and giving Rafayel the perfect view as the two men lock eyes.

Rafayel’s reaction is almost immediate, falling forward in the chair, moans stifled against the shadows as he watches Sylus push your panties to the side and then, without warning, thrust two fingers in knuckle-deep.

"You're so sensitive, aren't you, sweetie? Or is it because he’s watching?" As you cry the man simply drags you flush against his chest, forcing your legs higher as he drives you closer and closer to the edge. And looks Rafayel dead in the eyes. “She’s taking me so well, isn’t she?”

Sylus follows Rafayel’s gaze, unfocused and starving as he watches the two of you, more specifically, where your cunt greedily sucks up Sylus’s fingers, meeting every grind and curl of him deep inside you as you writhe against his chest.

Rafayel hates it, he hates it, and he hates how turned on he is at the sight.

You’re so easy, walls clenching around his digits, obscene suck following each and every movement as clear evidence even as your words fail you. With another curl of his fingers, Sylus twists his wrist, admiring the glint of your slick dripping down his palm and forearm. So wet, even as he purposefully avoids giving you what you’re seeking, planning to drive you insane before fucking you in any way that matters.

A particularly deep thrust of Sylus’s fingers has him grazing that sweet spot, and your entire body convulses, your cries echoing across the empty room in time to the lewd, wet squelches of Sylus’s ministrations. You're sobbing, struggling to find respite from the sensations as your legs tremble and familiar heat coils in your core embarrassingly fast.

"Ah, ah," Sylus chides, and his touch disappears, leaving you empty and unsatisfied as your head lolls back against his shoulder. It takes all of your willpower not to beg him to keep going, but the look on his face makes it clear you're not allowed.

"I need—”

"You need," his grip is firm, "To learn patience. Aren’t you forgetting something? If you cum so quickly, do you really think you’ll be able to handle the both of us?"

Sylus says that, and yet he’s not exactly helping. Finally giving attention to your clit, his pace is merciless, the slick sounds of your pussy sucking his fingers in making his cock twitch in his pants.

"Yes. Yes, Sylus, I want ah– wait," you gasp, unable to move, squirming in the air as you look directly at Rafayel, almost in a plea. But that only makes the poor man almost cum at the eye contact. His entire body flushes an erotic pink at the sight of you, pathetic whimpers and unintelligible praises muffled into the shadows.

Sylus smirks, feeling you clench around his fingers, and grinds forward, your protests dissolving into static as you feel his cock grind between your thighs. Fuck, you’re close.

But Sylus isn’t looking down at you, not anymore. He’s rather focused on the poor man looking nearly hypnotized at the show you’re so generously putting on.

So why not take it further? Sylus directs his Evol down, ripping Rafayel’s shirt and squeezing his thighs as they tease and tighten against his trembling muscles, grinning at the man practically falling apart without so much as a touch.

"You want a taste, puppy?”

Sylus smirks, kissing down your neck, finally undoing his Evol gagging Rafayel’s mouth as a pathetic whine echoes across the room alongside every heaving breath. “Ask nicely, and maybe I'll let you. If she cums, she’s all yours."

Rafayel has never wanted to burn a building down so badly before.

He's a god for fuck's sake—he, the bringer of tempests, the master of tidal waves, and the keeper of fire, unable to even fucking breathe at the sight of you. This is not desire; this is sacrilege.

But then he hears it. His name. Shattered, trembling, falling from your lips like prayers ripped from a throat too broken to care—Rafayel, Rafayel, Rafayel—your thighs quivering in the air, your body offering to something you don’t fully understand, each syllable searing through him like molten iron, branding him, unmaking him.

Rafayel’s fingers twitch with the need to destroy—burn, drown, something. But when you scream his name once more, cumming around Sylus’s fingers, the god inside him shatters.

"Please," his throat is raw from cursing through the gag, each word tasting like ash and salt on his tongue. "Please, Sylus."

It’s not enough. Sylus tilts his head, amused. Rafayel sucks in a shuddering breath, nearly falling from the chair to his knees as the restraints loosen.

"You want a god to beg?" Rafayel laughs, fury crackling beneath his desperation. "I’ll beg. I’ll kneel. I’ll crawl to her. Please, just let me taste. Don’t make me wait anymore."

“Then crawl.”

You’re only just coming down from your orgasm, bits of Rafayel’s and Sylus’s nth argument flickering through your mind— before you’re suddenly gasping for breath.

A silent scream rips from your mouth as the restraints above you flicker with every tremor that seizes your body, knees buckling as a searing sensation against your leg bites again.

You didn’t even see Rafayel get off the chair, let alone process when he got on his knees beneath you.

“Rafayel!” Looking down through tear-lined lashes, you watch the man lick his lips, his only apology a wet, messy kiss to the violet bruise already blooming against your inner thigh. He’s whimpering apologies into your leg, tongue slipping out to meet your quivering skin, collecting your sweat and dripping slick, smearing it higher and higher along your inner thigh. You swear no human tongue is that long.

As if coordinated, the moment Sylus releases your leg from his hold, Rafayel drapes it over his shoulder, your body suspended between them. Your hands writhe helplessly above your head, desperate to lace themselves into the man's hair and pull— closer or further, you do not know.

Rafayel’s yanking you forward, moaning into your cunt as his lips meet your own swollen ones—too hasty, too depraved to even think of pulling aside your sticky panties. He’s eating through the fabric like a man starved, teeth grazing your clit as his tongue slips under, burying himself between your folds, tongue fucking up into you as his moans and whines are muffled only by your own and the wet squelches of your cunt.

"I— R-Rafayel—Sylus!"

Your head rolls back, falling onto Sylus’s chest as you feel Rafayel moan, the vibrations sending a shockwave up your spine. Your cum is dripping down his chin and chest, and he’s lost in the heat and taste of you, head spinning as he makes out with your pussy, sucking the drenched fabric of your panties, his poor neglected cock straining against his pants, begging for attention. In truth, Rafayel doesn’t think he’s ever been this hard in his life.

Rafayel presses closer, nose brushing against your clit in sync with the curling and twisting of his tongue as it reaches that spongy abused spot deep inside you, the hot friction enough to send your eyes rocking into the back of your skull.

Now you’re certain, the way it writhes inside you is most definitely far from human.

Sylus is more than content to just watch over your shoulder, transfixed. Watch as the god kneels beneath you, head moving in a frenzy, desperate for more, a slave to his own hunger. When you try to writhe away from Rafayel, overstimulated, Sylus merely wraps his burly forearms around your waist and neck to pin you in place, the squeeze of Sylus’s biceps and Rafayel’s kissing to your cunt making you gloriously light-headed.

Sylus watches your muscles begin to tremor, thighs locking around Rafayel’s head, and he brings his palm down to curl his fingers up into you alongside Rafayel’s tongue.

“My, just look at you.” Sylus chuckles against your forehead as you bury your face into the crook of his neck, stifling your moans as you bite—hard—down into his sweat-slicked skin. “So needy for the both of us. Do you remember now? Do you realize the only thing your body craves is us, that we will be the only ones ever able to satisfy you?”

"Sylus, oh god, please," you moan, already delirious as you beg.

Rafayel's head snaps up, panting between your legs, your wetness shining on his chin. He glares at the man above him, his eyes alight before pressing a rough kiss to your clit.

"I’m your god. Do not speak to him while I'm touching you.” Rafayel’s mouth is back on your cunt, sucking, biting, and he reaches a hand up to rip the remaining fabric of your dress, squeezing your breast. "You're mine, You’re mine too. You were mine first, don’t forget that again."

Rafayel feels the way you tense around his tongue and Sylus’s fingers and frowns, sucking harder, faster. You are a symphony in their ears, a drug in their veins, and gods, Rafayel has never felt so high.

"Say it. Say my name,” he whines, drooling against your folds, "you're mine. All mine."

You can barely breathe.

"Say it."

"Yours, Rafayel," you cry out, your entire body shaking, "I'm yours."

"Again," he’s pleading, a growl, and you can feel it inside you, the vibration and the desperation. Ignoring the ringing in his ears, the dizziness in his vision to kiss your clit—missing, placing wet, opened-mouth kisses against your thighs and cunt a few times instead. "Say it again."

"Yours, always, always," you can feel the tears running down your cheeks, a sob wrenching from your throat as the pressure grows, "yours, Rafayel, I'm yours—"

You’re babbling, so, so fucked out you don’t even recognize the familiar letters Rafayel presses into your clit with every swirl of his tongue—R-A-F-A-Y-E-L-R-A-F-A-Y-E-L—spelling his name as if in reminder. In possession. In worship.

The two of you are practically overstimulating yourselves, and Sylus can see the moment your eyes roll back, your lips parting with a moan, and moves his fingers to curl against your g-spot at the same time Rafayel goes back to licking up into your cunt. The god growls at the interruption and nips Sylus’s fingers almost on instinct, causing Sylus to hiss as you jerk in his hold.

Immediately, Sylus is reaching down, yanking on Rafayel’s hair, forcing his head out from beneath you. “Ah-ah, no biting.”

But, gods, does Rafayel fight it. Whining, Rafayel reluctantly slips his tongue out from your cunt, dazed and addicted, eyes half-lidded as he attempts to find his way back to you, finally forced back onto his heels.

"The fuck do you think you're doing? Sylus, I swear to the seas I’ll set everything on fire and let it all burn," Rafayel snarls, his body shaking with desire.

Sylus laughs. "Is that how a good boy asks?"

Neither of you misses the full shiver that races down Rafayel’s spine at the pet name. Sylus forces Rafayel’s head to the side with his grip on his hair and the god snaps out of it, smiling with the promise of blood as your cum drips from his canines.

"I have killed for less."

"I’ll make it worth the effort, puppy. I promise."

Sylus's eyes burn into him, a silent dare. A challenge. Rafayel's gaze shifts back and forth between Sylus and you, his teeth grinding together as his cock strains against his pants. There are only two choices left, and he knows it.

“Will both of you stop fighting and please—” you scream at their stupidity, “Please just fuck me!”

Their hands are on you in an instant.

Sylus drags Rafayel up by the hair, pushing the man back as he stumbles backward onto the couch, you falling on top of him as Sylus bends you over the leather arm. Immediately, you feel the hot press of Sylus against your ass, his body caging you between them as his arms rest on the back of the couch and right beside Rafayel’s head.

“Make him come, and I’ll fuck you,” Sylus whispers into your ear, guiding your back into a deeper arch until your breasts graze the cold leather.

He doesn’t even finish talking before you’re pawing at Rafayel’s pants.

You don’t need the extra motivation, not really, not when you’re already salivating at the sight of Rafayel’s pretty length, heavy and leaking as it snaps up to his abdomen as soon as you shove down his boxers.

Overly eager, you thumb at his slit, collecting the copious amounts of sticky pre-cum dripping onto his stomach as you drag your hand up and down, watching anger fade from Rafayel’s expression entirely as he writhes against the couch.

You’ve barely even touched him and he’s falling apart. The sheen of sweat makes his muscles stick to the leather as he bucks up into your touch, babbling pleas as he watches you lean down to kiss the tip. "Poor baby. You’re this hard from just watching?"

"Please," Rafayel begs, gasping as your hand squeezes against the base of his pretty cock. "Wanna fuck you. Wanna be inside you. Please."

You hesitate, almost looking over your shoulder at Sylus for permission when you’re lifted up into the air with a yelp. Sylus only needs one arm to hoist you over the arm of the couch, dropping you onto Rafayel’s lap as the both of you moan at the mere contact of skin on skin.

It should be embarrassing, the fact that you’re so wet that at the first few attempts, Rafayel’s cock merely slides between your thighs, grinding into your clit before trying again, Sylus cooing sweet nothings to the both of you as he purposely slows you down.

One of his large hands begins grinding you onto Rafayel’s length, letting you take him inch by inch, the other moving to stop the man beneath you from squirming, pinning him down.

"Mhm fuck, Raf, feels so good." Relishing the stretch you finally, finally, get. Greedily sinking faster as you chase the addictive feeling, down until your ass hits his pelvis with a lewd squelch.

"Ah," Rafayel tries to meet you halfway, tries to thrust up into you but can’t so much as move with Sylus’s hand and Evol holding him down yet again. “Sylus, please, let me. Need it, need it so bad.”

The sound of Rafayel moaning Sylus’s name really shouldn’t be that hot, and yet you feel your pussy flutter, Rafayel’s cock twitching violently in you as he groans from the sudden pressure, throbbing in time to your heartbeat. Rolling your hips, you chase the friction of his pelvis against your clit, grinding back and forth as your breathing reduces to small cries of their names.

"You can do better than that," Sylus scoffs, hand squeezing your hip, pressing down onto your lower abdomen before dragging you all the way off Rafayel’s length and slamming you back down. Again. And again.

Both of you lose your minds a little at that. Your moan is muffled as you collapse down onto Rafayel’s chest, panting, drooling at the pace Sylus is setting for you, still moving your hips as you try to distract yourself by placing messy, opened-mouth kisses up Rafayel’s heaving chest. Biting his nipple just to watch him arch into your mouth with a sob. Wanting, needing more.

Sylus rocks you forward just a bit more and you scream, the fat head of Rafayel’s cock now ramming into your g-spot, raw and sensitive.

"Please, fuck," Rafayel gasps out, shaking at the change in angle. His jaw hangs deliriously open as he looks down, greedy eyes locked on the way your cunt was swallowing him whole. “Don’t stop, m’close. Please, ah—shit, don’t squeeze me like that— don’t stop.”

Sylus’s low laugh makes your cunt throb, gushing around Rafayel’s cock as the sticky, creamy strands begin to pool where your thighs meet. Still guiding you up and down, Sylus moves to finger at your clit, smiling as the both of you tense up immediately, smacking up once, twice, onto your oversensitive nub.

“Very well then, make him cum. Poor thing deserves it, right?” Sylus whispers into your ear, spreading two fingers across the glossy mess between your bodies, watching your combined slick drip down his wrist. You watch him withdraw his glistening fingers with a smug, feral grin, immediately leaning down to press the digits into Rafayel’s open mouth.

Every sound is unrestrained now, Rafayel’s eyes rolling back at the taste of you coating Sylus’s fingers, sucking diligently as his pace speeds up into brutal, frantic thrusts. Rafayel’s hips freely jerk up as he plants his feet into the couch, new leverage letting him ram himself deeper, barely pulling out before rolling his hips back into yours. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes, fuuuck."

"Cum, puppy, I know you're close."

You swallow your cries just long enough to lick across Rafayel’s blushing red ear and whisper, "Be a good boy and cum for us, Raf. Come inside me, please?”

It hits him so hard it hurts.

Rafayel cries as he cums, loud, sweet moans garbled against Sylus’s fingers, drooling around him nearly as much as his cock is drooling in you, the sheer heat of his release filling you to the brim as it squirts down your thighs and up his abs in thick rivulets. But he’s still grinding up into you as he cums, fucking his release deeper, arching his muscled back into a gorgeous curve on the soaked leather, and you feel your own orgasm quickly approaching.

"Rafayel, Sylus, wait please, too much, I’m gonna—"

"You can take it, kitten.” Sylus cuts you off, retracting his fingers from Rafayel’s mouth before tapping them against his cheek, smearing the wetness of his digits down his jaw.

Rafayel gets the message, still thrusting, hands squeezing your breasts, waist, down to your ass, spreading your thighs until they shake, all as Sylus keeps moving your hips. The two of them working together as your body shudders, orgasm hitting you without any other warning.

Sylus hums sweet praises as your head floats in and out of reality, still deliciously stretched around Rafayel’s still-hard cock. The couch dips as Sylus settles in behind you, the heat of his bare skin caressing your back as his hands massage comforting little circles into yours and Rafayel’s hips.

“Good job, baby.”

Both of you shudder at the praise.

Sylus’s voice acts as little more than an aphrodisiac, all low and rough with a teasing chuckle, and the way you feel Rafayel twitch inside you makes you think he feels similarly.

“Hey,” Rafayel’s already embarrassingly close to coming again, your every movement tightening and rocking against his length. He pushes himself up onto his elbows with a whine, nuzzling into your touch with each slow, deep thrust. “You’re taking too long. Hurry up, a deal is a deal, so hurry up already and fuck her.”

You can’t see it, but the sight of you and Rafayel still subtly grinding against each other, panting and breathless, makes a dark flush spread across Sylus’s cheeks, his own body betraying him as he smiles. One thick arm anchors you to his chest as the other pulls Rafayel up. “So needy, aren’t you?”

You don’t know who he’s talking to— you don’t particularly care.

Not so long as both of them were inside you within the next five seconds.

“Shh,” Sylus kisses you quiet, silencing the whines you didn’t even realize you were letting out, "Don't worry, kitten. We're gonna take real good care of you, aren't we, Rafayel?"

Rafayel only nods, eyes half-lidded and teary as he looks down to where you and him are joined. He's still buried to the hilt, throbbing against your walls, and you both moan at the overstimulation from every movement, hissing at the cool air as Sylus slides his hands down to pull you apart, fingers pressing against his cock inside you.

"Just relax, alright? Deep breaths. This'll feel really good soon."

Slow. Torturously slow. Sylus retreats his fingers and replaces them with his weeping tip. And then he’s pushing in alongside Rafayel’s cock— careful, deep grinds of his hips that have you and Rafayel moaning, every heartbeat pulsing against your walls in violent thumps.

"Relax."

"I am relaxed."

"Breathe, Raf."

"I'll burn you alive."

Sylus laughs at Rafayel's pained whine, and he takes that moment to tighten his arm around your waist, forcing you steady before thrusting in one brutal push. The sheer size of them, the combined pressure, and the very fact that you can feel them both rocking and throbbing against each other is enough to have you losing your mind.

Dropping his head to kiss your shoulders, Sylus almost looks apologetic as he turns your head to the side, messily licking into your lips as he says, “M’sorry, just a bit more. Just a bit- hah fuck- a bit deeper—”

Oh fuck, he’s not even in all the way yet.

Rafayel is moaning nonstop now, his hands finding yours and squeezing, the two of you trembling. You're a drooling, overstimulated mess between them, but all you can do is nod, a garbled, “S’okay, keep- keep going.”

That's the last warning you get before Sylus pushes deeper, until you can feel him in your throat, pound after heavy pound that shakes the entire damn couch. Holy fuck, it might break.

They’re caging you in on either side, rhythmless, bouncing you like little more than a toy, pressing closer as the pressure grows against your walls and around your hips, reminding you of just how small you are to them in every conceivable way and how far they’re willing to go for you. How willing of worship they are. How desperate they are to prove it.

You can feel everything, so full you can barely breathe, can barely think. Shaky fingers claw down anything you can find, digging into hard planes of muscle, and Rafayel makes a sound against your mouth like it hurts. But he isn't holding back either, the grip on your thighs bruising as he fucks into you, every thrust a sharp shock of pleasure as he and Sylus rock against one another.

The room is filled with the lewd squelch of their cock fucking into your wet cunt, taking turns in deep, uneven tempos, and the heavy, ragged sounds of your breathing.

Sylus suddenly moans, loud and unrestrained against your shoulder, and you look back to see Rafayel’s hand squeezing the pale column of his neck, the slow lick of flames leaving bright red marks against his skin in the shape of Rafayel’s palm. The pain only seems to set Sylus off further, a harsh thrust into your ass forcing you forward and deeper against Rafayel as well, nearly delirious as you’re stuck between their silent competition yet again.

Rafayel’s mouth gasps open in a feverish puff of your name over and over when you already begin clenching, practically milking them back in, pace stuttering as his swollen tip takes turns colliding with Sylus’s own and your cervix. Half-delirious, his palm comes up, pressing right where he could feel both of their cocks making a mess of you inside.

“Ah! W-what-”

“Mhm, you deserve a reward don’t you cutie?” He’s panting against your mouth while Sylus bites the filthiest of words into the crook of your neck. The lovebites they’ve swathed across your skin will take days, if not weeks to disappear, but you’re far too gone to pay them any mind. “Take it, take our cum then. Right here.”

Rafayel’s palm digs into your lower stomach, hard.

His thrusts are short and frantic now, his face pressed into the crook of your neck as you tighten impossibly around him. The pressure builds until you can't breathe, your body shaking and toes curling as you scream out little ah’s of their names.

"Wanna-" Rafayel can barely finish his sentence, punctuating each word with a sharp thrust, the head of his cock knocking against your cervix. "Wanna fill you up, make sure you never forget. Never forget us again.”

Sylus on the other hand almost looks pained at the idea, and the sudden rush of possessiveness makes his thrusts harsher, rougher, and the sound of his hips colliding with yours fills the room.

“Yes yes yes- hah- want you to cum inside.” Arching between them, grappling pathetically for more. More. “Both of you inside, want it.”

"Careful." Sylus growls, forcing himself to breathe. To think.

Rafayel only grins, a wicked edge to his fucked-out smile. “It’d be our mark. All ours. Our love, all full of us, our cum. You'd look so good like that, our sweet darling.”

You cry, burying your face in Rafayel's neck, his hair, the smell of him, of Sylus. "Wanna- want—ahh—want it, Sylus, please- want to feel it, want to be both of yours.”

“Don’t.” Sylus can't help but hiss, his cock swell violently inside of you, the telltale heat pooling in his stomach of a dragon marking his territory. He’s so close it’s embarrassing.

Instead, his mouth finds your throat, sucking more bruises into the side Rafayel hasn’t completely marred. "Do you really want this? Think about it, kitten."

Rafayel laughs, squeezing your face in his hand as a low trill sounds from the back of his throat. “You believe—mhm, fuck—she can think right now?”

Sylus chooses to ignore him. Gently taking your face from Rafayel, he covers your eyes, whispering into your ear, "One more time, kitten. Do you want this?”

“Yes.”

There's no response, but the sudden, painful press of Sylus's bite makes you gasp, the sharp sting a pleasant contrast to the sweet ache spreading throughout your body. A hand pulls against your waist, another flicking cruelly across your nipple, pain and pleasure bleeding into one as you nearly collapse, two sets of hands immediately steading you instead. Rafayel moves to the unoccupied side of your neck, matching Sylus’s marks, the vulgar sounds of their tongues and sucking of teeth between moans fills your ears, just above the slap of their rough thrusts.

Twin marks, the jaws of a Lemurian and the canines of a dragon, glowing a dull blue and red, claiming your body and soul in a way that their bonds sing.

Sylus immediately retracts, kissing away the few escaped droplets of blood in apology while Rafayel lets them run, licking up your collarbone as the blood smears across your heartbeat, frantic under his tongue.

Rafayel's tongue soothes the pain as he kisses the mark, hissing a soft, “ours,” into your neck.

The possessive edge in his voice sends a shockwave through your body, and you can't help but shudder, walls spasming around him and Sylus as the pleasure nearly blinds you, every sense heightened by Sylus’s palm still covering your eyes.

Without sight, every touch, every shift of their bodies against yours, in yours, is overwhelming. And you’re crying out into the darkness as they tease and drag you up, forcing you closer and closer—

Fuck, you’re squirting everywhere. Each thrust now punctuated by wet slaps as your hands claw and slip against the drenched muscles of Rafayel’s abs and Sylus’s chest, unable to anchor yourself as you continue to cum. Shaking with it.

They barely notice, the sudden vice of your cunt sucking them inside as they fuck into you in shallow, desperate little grinds. Anything to get deeper and deeper still, one kissing you as you feel their tongue lick up into you and the other playing with your clit, all three of you quickly losing your minds.

It’s impossibly messy, desperate. Neither of them has any control left, both cumming inside you as you continue to convulse around them, Sylus's hips stuttering as you feel the full, hot press of his release. Rafayel isn't far behind, whining and twitching, filling you up as their combined release gushes around your thighs, staining the leather couch below with dripping pools of it.

The feeling of being so full is enough to prolong your orgasm to the point of pain, and you scream their names as best you can when you can’t feel your tongue anymore, body convulsing.

You're still dizzy when Rafayel finally pulls away, a soft whimper escaping his lips at the feeling.

“So good, so pretty for us cutie, our sweet darling, you did so well." Rafayel’s babbling to himself with a lopsided smile, guiding Sylus’s hand to your navel. "Look, look. She's so full."

Sylus pulls back, heaving, his eyes immediately falling to where Rafayel's hand rests. He can feel it, can feel both of their releases seeping out, but Rafayel is right, your lower stomach is swollen. Not quite enough to show, but definitely enough to make them both moan, and the sound draws your attention back down to earth.

“Again.”

It's the first demand you’ve given in a while, and it’s not what Sylus expected, not with the way you barely seem lucid, but there's a bright flush to your cheeks and an excited glint in your eyes, and it's so fucking hot he can barely breathe.

What Sylus also didn’t expect was for you to immediately lift yourself off his dick, busy watching your combined spend trickle down your thighs before both you and Rafayel knock Sylus onto his back, looking equal parts feral and furious as the two of you work together to pin him down.

“You really didn’t think I’d let you get away with everything you pulled in the beginning, did you?”

You nod, biting into Sylus’s neck as you whisper in faux anger. “This is entirely your fault.”

Sylus could barely manage to hide his smile.

Who knows if any of you will make it out of this alive. The only lasting truth you know now is that they’ve irreversibly claimed you. That you’ve claimed them.

Your dragon and your god.

This is all for @jayhyunglover who sparked this obsession while I was stuck in NYC's airport-- what a way to start 2025. Regardless, a month later this was born, so thank you, darling for feeding my delusions. This one's for you~

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andvys · 3 days ago

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The edges of your soul (I haven’t seen yet) ⭐︎ chapter two

⭐︎ can you see right through me?

Warnings: angst, misunderstandings, post apocalypse, gore, mentions of death, grumpy!steve, grumpy x sunshine

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 5k+

Summary: You didn’t think that trying to get close to Steve would end up hurting your feelings — but you also didn’t expect to get a glimpse of who he once was, before the darkness of this world dimmed the light in his eyes.

Authors note: Buckle up for the next chapter y’all, it’s gonna be something. always a shoutout to @hellfire--cult who always takes her time to edit and write with me 🩷

⭐︎ series masterlist

⭐︎ prologue ⭐︎ previous chapter

☀︎

On the first day of your official stay in Hawkins, Nancy took you to the greenhouse, you spent all day gardening, taking care of the crops, watering vegetables and fruit, picking the ripe ones and planting new seeds – it amazed you how well everything was growing, you didn’t think that it would be possible after seeing the effects this world had on nature but you suppose that miracles exist after all.

By the end of the day, your knees hurt, your hands felt sore and there was too much soil and dirt under your fingernails, not that you would ever complain, you haven’t felt as much happiness as you did when Steve told you that you were allowed to stay since… well, since your college acceptance letter and that is too long ago.

On your second you cooked french toast with leftover bread that Nancy had made the day before, using fresh eggs – you were surprised when you found out about the little stable with chickens behind the garden, you thought most animals had died. You made ratatouille for dinner, using the freshly picked vegetables from the greenhouse. Nancy and Eddie had complimented your cooking skills, though the reaction you were mostly looking forward to was Steve’s, he only hummed in approval and he got a second plate, you took that as a good sign.

Today, you haven’t been assigned to any tasks yet and you don’t exactly know what to do when you walk down the stairs to find the house empty, well, mostly empty. There are no signs of Eddie and Nancy, you don’t hear him humming, you don’t hear her walking around in the kitchen or somewhere else, the only one around is Steve. He is in the living room, standing in front of the window, holding a cup in one hand while the other is propped against his hip.

The smell of coffee lingers in the air, it must be his third cup, he already had one before breakfast, another during it. You wonder if he is just addicted to the bitterness of it – it certainly matches his attitude. Or if he is just tired and in need of something to keep him awake, you have a feeling that he doesn’t sleep much.

“Where’s everyone?”

Steve doesn’t even flinch, he heard you walking down the stairs, he felt your eyes on him.

“Eddie is working on the RV,” he grumbles, still not fond of the idea of leaving, nothing will change his mind, he is just waiting for his friends to drop it. “Nancy is with him.”

You nod even though he can’t see you. You look around, still holding onto the railing of the stairs. The house is spotless, clean, not a single grain of dust lying around. Eddie is cooking dinner tonight, so there isn’t anything for you to do around here.

Steve takes one last sip and then he puts the mug on the coffee table, not even glancing at you as he turns around and reaches for the gear he had left by the doorway. He puts the gun into his holster, secures the walkie into his belt and lastly he picks up his rifle before he starts making his way over to the door.

“Wait, where are you going?” You ask, not hesitating to follow him.

“Patrol.”

You furrow your eyebrows at him, shaking your head, “I thought you said it’s a two man job.”

He rolls his eyes and stops walking, turning around, he looks down at you, “Eddie and Nancy are busy–”

“I’m not,” you shrug, giving him a smug smile, knowing that he isn’t fond of your company. “I’m coming with you.”

“Can’t you find something else to do–”

“No, I cannot.” You interrupt him as you reach for the door knob and open it, “can’t let you break the rule and let you go out there by yourself, who knows what you might run into. I’m gonna keep an eye out for you, maybe you’ll get distracted with your shoelaces again!”

Steve huffs, clenching his jaw. His eyes move up and down your body, eying your belt, the knives tucked into it, the gun in your thigh holster – he has a hard time believing that any of those things have been used by your hands, you couldn’t even kill the man that had attacked you when you had the chance to – he heard your conversation with Eddie that night, heard what happened, what almost happened to you, you could have killed that man, you should have, but you didn’t.

People like you are not made for this world, it will get you sooner or later.

“Like you’d be able to do anything,” he murmurs under his breath as he steps out onto the porch and shuts the door behind him.

“What was that?” You turn around to face him.

“Nothing.”

Steve brushes past you, not glancing at you but motioning with his hand for you to follow him, “c’mon.” He makes big steps, fast ones too, forcing you to catch up with him when he is already past the gate and out on the road, walking down the empty street, he ignores the way your footsteps get louder as you hurry to get to his side.

“Jesus, slow down, cowboy.”

Steve scrunches his nose up, furrowing his eyebrows at the nickname you have just called him by.

“Cowboy?” He scoffs as he turns to look at you to see you nodding already, a small but smug smile on your lips, though you look right ahead and not at him. “Why, cowboy?”

“You’re so grumpy and brooding.”

He scoffs again, like you said something crazy, like you didn’t say the truth.

“Who says that cowboys are grumpy and brooding?”

You shrug, “there’s two types of cowboys, the flirty funny ones and the grumpy, brooding ones!”

Steve looks away from you, shaking his head a little. He can’t fight you, knowing you’re right about one thing, he is grumpy. He no longer is the guy he was before all of this, this world that has changed him, and not for the better. He was forced to kill the boy in him when he realized how much he was hurting someone he once loved dearly, he became better, he became a good guy but that guy got his heart broken – that was for the better, as much as it hurt at that time, it was for the better. He became better, he stopped caring about what other people thought of him, he found new friends, he found a best friend, his soulmate.

Robin.

Robin made his world a better place, she fixed his broken heart, she taught him what it was like to have a real friend, an actual best friend. She taught him that love didn’t always have to be romantic, that it could be platonic and that this love could be just as strong as any other.

They had so many plans for the future: leave Hawkins, live in a big city, get a place, figure out a future together.

But then this happened, the world got uglier than before, evil. Their plans got crushed and they were ripped apart. She changed and he did too, and now he can’t be with her whenever he wants, too many things are in the way.

This world had forced him to kill the person he was before all this, he was forced to kill himself a second time.

Steve looks back at you, you don’t seem fazed by this world at all. You’ve been attacked not too long ago and not even that has fazed you, he doesn’t know you, doesn’t know half of your story and all the things you have been through since the day the world had gone to shit but from what he heard, you have seen – encountered some ugly things out there and yet there is something about you, something pure, something… good, something he didn’t think was still out there but he can see it.

He can see it in your eyes, no ounce of hatred resides in them, only goodness, hope that should not even be a thing in this world. You are the complete opposite of him, you are bright, so bright that it almost blinds him, you are all smiles and giggles – and you are so goddamn talkative.

Thirty minutes into patrolling and he fears his ear might fall off from listening to you jumping from one topic to another. So far you have talked about all your favorite movies, bands and books, told him of a specific cowboy character that he reminds you of before saying how much he looks like Patrick Swayze or well, how much his hair looks like Patrick Swayze’s.

You are chattering away, not minding the huffs and sighs that keep falling from his mouth, a signal for you to just shut up. He begins to regret his decision to let you stay.

“I think I made a grave mistake.” He murmurs as he looks around the empty neighbourhood, looking out for any signs of monsters or sick ones.

“What?”

“Nothing. Do you ever shut up?”

To his surprise, you do shut up and for a moment the only thing heard are yours and his footsteps and the leaves rustling from the wind. With a heavy sigh, he turns to look at you. You are pressing your lips together, looking down at the asphalt. He turns away again in satisfaction, enjoying the silence… the silence that doesn’t last long.

“You called the monster demobat before, what does that mean?”

He restrains his eye roll, tries not to clench his jaw.

“Uh…” He pauses, he keeps forgetting that the world doesn’t call the monsters by the names the teens have given them. “Eddie is a fan of a game and he used a name from there to name them…” He cringes at himself.

“Oh!” You say in that voice, the one that pisses him off, the cheerful one. “What game?”

“Dungeons and Dragons.” He replies, hoping that answer is satisfying enough and you finally give him some peace.

“Do you play?”

Steve sighs, tightening his hold on the rifle in his hands. It was a mistake to let you come with him, he hates talking, hates answering questions, hates company.

“No.”

You furrow your eyebrows, tilting your head at him.

“Why not?”

“I don’t have the patience to learn all of that,” he shrugs.

“Why?”

Steve takes a deep breath, he is getting irritated by all your questions but he still turns to you, scrunching his face up as he shrugs again, “I-I don’t know, I don’t wanna be a nerd like him?”

You raise your eyebrows, lips parting, your head is still tilted – you look like a fucking curious puppy, he has to look away. He almost sighs in relief when he sees the house at the end of the road.

“It’s a nerd game?”

He huffs loudly, glaring at nothing in particular, “seriously, can you keep quiet for more than two seconds!?” He snaps at you, forcing you to be quiet… for a moment.

He counts the seconds, one… two… You are quiet, it’s almost nice to enjoy the silence again, almost.

He hears you taking a deep breath.

“What was your job before the world ended? Cop?”

Three seconds. Three fucking seconds.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmurs under his breath and he finally stops walking, looking up at the sky, he places his hands on his hips and takes a deep breath before he turns to face you.

You halt in your tracks and turn to face him as well, taking in the sight of his deep frown, of the irritation in his hazel eyes and the annoyance that radiates right off him. You almost get nervous, almost.

“What the fuck,” he grumbles at you, “are you always this talkative?” He asks, stunned. He will be forced to get used to this.

“You don’t ask me anything, so I have to make conversation,” you shrug, pulling your hands up in front of you, “I haven’t had a good talk in months, I have pent up words.”

And you chose him out of… three people – that is… he doesn’t know what to think of this.

“Yeah, Eddie is the best choice for this, not me.”

The frown on your face says otherwise, your eyes move up and down before they stop at his face again, he doesn’t know what you are exactly looking at or searching for but he needs you to stop. He shifts and huffs again, tapping his fingers against the rifle that he holds on for dear life.

“But I want to talk to you.”

He blinks, staring at you like he didn’t understand what you just said, he tries not to look at anything but your eyes.

“Horrible decision.”

You break eye contact, looking away to take in the view around you, you sigh at his words and shrug before you continue walking, making him follow you this time.

“I don’t think so.” You pause and look back over your shoulder to see if he is following. “Don’t you have any questions for me?”

“Uh…”

He does.

But he won’t ask. He can’t. He just can’t, the less he knows the better.

He looks down awkwardly, clearing his throat, “how old are you?”

This time you scoff and shake your head at him, “seriously?”

“What?” He frowns, looking up to see you staring at him with a confused pout – jesus christ.

You sigh and roll your eyes, of course he asks the most boring question.

"Twenty-two."

His eyes widen and his lips part – this might be the first other expression you see on his face other than the constant frown. He stares like you have grown two heads.

“You’re a fucking year older than me!?”

Oh.

Oh…

You didn’t expect to be older than him either, though you aren’t as surprised as he is, he looks shocked even. He stops walking again, you do too.

“So… what about it…?” You ask quietly, lifting your shoulders.

Steve notices the unsure look on your face, the way your eyes move back and forth between his own and the ground, the way you cross your arms over your chest, like you are suddenly insecure.

He clears his throat, straightening up as he blinks himself out of his stupor.

“I… nothing. Nevermind.” He retorts, ready to drop that topic.

“No, tell me.”

For some reason, he can’t look at you when he opens his mouth again.

“You don’t act your age.”

“Oh?” Your voice is suddenly higher than before, hopeful, “do I act older?”

He pulls his brows together, not looking at you yet, finding the ground beneath him very interesting all the sudden.

“...Sure.”

You don’t reply this time, don’t say anything to it, don’t ask any more questions, you simply turn around after a beat of silence, you start walking again, giving him your back.

He counts the seconds, one… two… three. You give him the silence that he wanted this whole time. You don’t look at him either. He got what he wanted but when the awkwardness fills the space between you both, he suddenly feels a sliver of guilt rising up in him, he knows he must’ve hit a sore spot and he can’t help but kick himself for it.

A part of him wants to apologize, the other wants him to stay quiet – the stronger side wins though.

“I uh–”

Though you don’t give him the chance to keep going, you pick up your pace when you see Nancy on the porch, walking away from him quickly, not wanting to spend another second beside him.

He watches you basically flee from him, it makes him sigh and it makes him halt in his tracks. Frustration bubbling up inside of him, a voice in his head calling him ‘dumbass’. He sighs softly, brings his hand up to his head, he runs his fingers through it nervously.

He hit a sore spot, one that made you stop talking to him, one that prevented him from finding out more about you.

It’s for the better.

Yeah, he knows it’s for the better.

Eddie cooked dinner and Nancy set the table tonight, neither of them noticed the lack of attention you were giving to the man sitting across from you or how he kept looking at you, not with hatred or anger in his eyes but with guilt.

He hates that feeling, he hates feeling guilt or regret towards someone he barely knows, towards someone he does not want to let in. He knows that he hurt you with what he said, with how he reacted, he didn’t mean to, he couldn’t have known either – he didn’t react badly, he thought, and yet it shut you up and it made you stop looking at him.

It’s for the better. He kept telling that to himself, kept repeating it in his head, over and over again until he could no longer stand these words.

He notices that your plate is still filled with food, you only ate half of it. The whole time you sat there and pushed around the vegetables on your plate, you looked a little lost, your eyes were troubled, you looked far gone, like you weren’t at the table. Nancy and Eddie didn’t notice as they were busy talking about some news Dustin had shared from the radio station earlier.

“You’re gonna like Dustin,” Eddie says, nudging your shoulder.

Steve watches the way you blink, the way you plaster a smile on your face before you look at Eddie.

Nancy hums, nodding, “yeah, he was always my favorite out of my brother’s friends.”

You squint your eyes, like you are trying to remember something, “your brother is… Mike, right?”

“Yeah, hold on!” She gets up all the sudden, walking away from the table and out of the room, she comes back a moment later with a book in her hand – a photo album. She sits back down beside you and pushes away her empty plate before she slams the album on the table and opens it, flipping the pages, she furrows her eyebrows as she looks for a certain picture, “wait… there it is!”

She points at the picture of a group of four boys, dressed in Ghostbusters costumes. A smile instantly appears on your face and your eyes light up, “aw! They’re little Ghostbusters!”

Eddie chuckles at the picture, even Steve smiles but you don’t notice.

“That’s Mike,” she points at her brother, before she moves her finger to the boys next to him, “that’s Will and Lucas, and lastly that is Dustin!” She points at the curly haired boy.

“Adorable,” you smile, thinking of your own brother. “My brother loves Ghostbusters too, although he’s way older than they are.” You chuckle.

Steve’s eyes are back on you, he didn’t know you had a brother… but then again, he doesn’t know anything about you. It’s for the better.

“Well, that was a few years back, they’re not the tiny humans they used to be,” Nancy laughs sadly. She flips to the next page, “that’s them now – or well, that was them before the world went to shit, I’m sure Mike is even taller now and his hair is longer too.”

The picture shows them at a skatepark, Dustin is grinning into the camera, Mike’s arms are crossed, a grumpy look resting on his face, Will is smiling, Lucas is looking down at the girl leaning into his side.

“That’s Max,” Eddie points at the redhead, “she’s kinda scary.”

You giggle at the serious tone in his voice.

“I have to agree with that.” Steve snorts, earning a short glance from you. He pulls his sleeves up and leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest.

Your eyes lock with his for a moment, though you quickly look back down.

There is another picture of Mike and Dustin, both of them wearing the same shirt – The Hellfire Club.

“What’s that?” You point at their matching shirts to which Eddie straightens up in his seat, already grinning.

Nancy and Steve groan at him, causing you to frown.

“I’m glad you asked, sweetheart.” He pauses, looking at Steve smugly.

“That was his nerdy game club that I told you about before,” he rolls his eyes.

“You didn’t tell me he had a club!”

“Shame on you, Harrington. It was the best thing to ever exist beside Corroded Coffin, of course.”

You know all about Eddie’s band already, he told you about it on your first night here, and showed you pictures of his sweetheart.

“I beg to differ–”

Nancy sighs loudly beside you, leaning back in her chair as she prepares herself for their banter.

“Dustin, my buddy, was very passionate about the club.” Eddie grins.

“Oh yeah, that little nerd you stole from me?” Steve retorts, squinting his eyes at the metalhead.

“I didn’t steal him, I’m just cooler than you, Harrington–”

“You– You literally play a boardgame, how is that cool? I was prom king!”

“Oh my god,” Nancy mumbles, shaking her head.

Her reaction tells you that she is used to this, and sick of it.

You though, you can’t help but be amused, looking back and forth between them.

“Cry me a river, Henderson thinks I’m better, in fact, all teens do.” Eddie shrugs and reaches for his beer.

“Except Lucas,” Steve smirks.

Eddie nearly chokes on his beer when he straightens up in his seat, “I apologized!”

Steve shrugs at him this time, taking a sip of the whiskey he poured himself earlier.

“What about you, sweets?” Eddie asks, turning to look at you, “what did you do in high school?”

Nancy turns to you, as well as Steve – and suddenly all eyes are on you and you can’t help but feel a little flustered beneath their gazes.

“I uh… I was prom queen…” You admit shyly, not looking at the hazel eyes that stare at you intensely.

Eddie’s eyes widen, “oh, we have royalty up in here, Wheeler.”

Nancy giggles at his reaction, more so at the look on your face. She’s not surprised, you’re beautiful and sweet.

“You were prom queen?”

Out of the three people around you, you least expected him to ask you anything, but just like before, the tone in his voice, his reaction leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You slowly look up at him.

“You sound surprised and I’m kinda offended. Am I that ugly?” you joke but he notices how your shoulders fall a little.

His cheeks heat up and he wants nothing more than to roll his eyes at Nancy’s and Eddie’s judging faces towards him. He shakes his head at you, “I– no, I didn’t mean that… I mean it’s not all about looks anyways.”

You purse your lips and furrow your eyebrows at his words, taking a deep breath, “...so I am ugly?”

Nancy huffs beside you, glaring daggers into Steve.

“I didn’t say that, I’m just saying that apart from looks… people vote for nice people,” he mumbles, shifting in his seat and under your gaze.

Nancy is back to pinching the bridge of her nose, begging him with her eyes to just shut up.

If only you looked to your right, you would have seen the stunned and comical look on Eddie’s face.

“So you’re saying I’m nice?” You tilt your head at Steve, growing a little satisfied with the way he is squirming around.

He sighs, clenching his jaw and turns away from you, “I’m done with this conversation.”

“...You were a fucking asshole in high school. You got prom king because Billy was a bigger asshole.”

“Were?” You blurt out, making him look back at you stunned.

Nancy hides her giggle with a cough, earning a glare from him.

“He redeemed himself at Scoops Ahoy,” Eddie smirks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Scoops Ahoy?”

Steve shakes his head at him, if looks could kill, Eddie would be lying on the floor, right now.

“Mhmm,” Eddie nods. “He was an ice cream man, and wore a sailor outfit too.”

“Wait, what?” You ask, stunned. You can’t even imagine that. “I refuse to picture him in a silly sailor outfit, I need proof or else I won’t believe it.”

“Too bad. Every picture of me in that outfit is burned.” Steve declares, looking very convinced until he sees the smirk on Nancy’s face.

He clears his throat before he leans closer to the table, “Nancy Wheeler… do you have a fucking picture–”

“No, I was just smiling,” she shrugs but pulls out two pictures from the album and hands them to you, giving him a smug smile.

“No way,” you mumble as you take a good look at them. There he is, the man you thought had a serious job before all of this actually worked at an ice cream shop, wearing a sailor outfit, in the first picture he even wears a silly hat as he serves ice cream to someone not part of the picture. His hair was much shorter back then, so different from the mullet he now has. His eyes are crinkled, his smile so big and bright, his cheeks slightly pink, unlike the pale color in them now. He looked so different, he looked happy, he looked like a different person.

You glance over at him to find him staring at you already, watching you. His hazel eyes are cold, the frown on his face so deep you are surprised there aren’t any lines on his skin yet, the light in his eyes has faded. There is nothing left of the guy he was before, at least at first glance.

You look back down and focus on the second picture, placing it on top of the other – it turns out to be a mistake because for some reason, your eyes like what they see, a little too much. With his hands behind his back, he stands against a brick wall, wearing the same sailor outfit, though this time without the hat, his hair styled yet messy, a hint of a smile pulling at his lips. You don’t know what it is about that picture, perhaps it’s his broad shoulders, the blonde highlights in his hair, the tanned skin or the way the golden light shines on him but he looks handsome – it’s something you haven’t noticed before, you aren’t blind, he is a good looking man but you couldn’t really see it before, not this clearly at least. His rude and mean attitude made it impossible to see, you couldn’t look past it.

Your cheeks heat up a little, your ears do too, you sink deeper into your seat, hoping that none of them notice how flustered you feel.

But Eddie does, he notices the way your eyes are basically glued to that picture, Nancy notices as well – they both glance at each other, amused. And Steve, he notices too, of course he does… The Steve from back then would have loved it, the flustered look on your face.

As you hold the picture, you notice that the sides are frazzled, like a part is missing, like something or someone was cut out of both pictures. You look over them, taking a look at all the pictures lying around, of the teenagers, of other people you haven’t anything about yet, of Nancy’s family, of Eddie and Dustin and it only now dawns on you, that you stepped into something, that these people haven’t found each other in this world but in the one before – a tight circle, a family.

A family you don’t belong in, you intruded – and now even more than before, you understand why Steve didn’t want you here, it wasn’t only about him not trusting you, it was about you stepping into something he didn’t want you to be a part of.

This is his place of comfort that he didn’t want to share with a stranger.

You hand the picture back to Nancy and reach for the wine Eddie had poured for you earlier, you take a big sip.

Maybe you should have left when he told you to, maybe you should have done him a favor, you shouldn’t have broken into someone else’s home.

“Is your brother older or younger?”

It wasn’t Nancy’s voice, nor was it Eddie’s.

It’s Steve’s.

Not only do you look at him in surprise but also Nancy and Eddie. He ignores them though, keeping his eyes on you.

You blink, putting the wine glass back down, you lick your lips.

“Uh… he is older, he’s twenty four.”

“Is he with your parents?” Nancy asks.

You nod.

“Yeah, he was home from college when it all… started. That idiot broke his leg during lacrosse, I don’t know why he kept trying with it, he was never the most athletic,” you chuckle.

“Yeah, me neither. I always hated anything sport related,” Eddie says with wide eyes, earning a snort from Steve.

“You’d get along well, he’s a major nerd.”

“Are you calling me a nerd, sweetheart?” Eddie pretends to be offended.

“Uh,” you look him up and down, “yeah, major nerd just like my brother.”

He nudges your side with his elbow, chuckling at the look on your face.

Steve hides the smile on his face, looking down at his hands.

“I’m hoping to get home, see a big gate surrounding my house, and I bet that asshole has a semi-automatic somewhere and is pretending to be in a zombie movie or something,” you chuckle. “He always dragged dad and me to the theater and forced us to watch the goriest shit. I used to hate it, now I want it back more than anything.”

“Hey,” Eddie says softly, smiling at you. “Maybe you’ll do it again someday, maybe not at the theater but you could do movie nights with your family.”

And his smile slowly fades again, he doubts that you will see your family again, he doubts that you’ll find them how you want to. He thinks it’s wrong of Eddie to fuel your hope, he is doing more damage than anything else and it’s gonna hurt even more when you find your family dead.

There is no hope for anything or anyone in this world, it’s a foolish thing to have.

You shrug, a smile on your face as you get up from the table to rush upstairs. Everyone just sits there wide eyed, looking at each other, hearing how there’s some stumping and then, something falling, and then you are cursing. Two seconds later you are coming back downstairs with something in your hands.

“This is my family.” You put the polaroids on the table, the ones you took back to camp so you would not miss your family so much. “That’s my mom, my dad, and the idiot of my brother.”

They all grab a picture each. Eddie’s picture was of the four of you smiling while camping. Nancy’s was a picture of a family trip to the grand canyon, but Steve’s picture was something that made his heart shrink for some reason. The four of you were laughing, surrounding a christmas tree. You were younger, probably a teen, and it made him think of how now your personality made sense.

You were never shown anything but love. Something he never experienced from his own family. He was slightly jealous at your picture, and he knew you were the only one between the four of you that had a normal and loving family. Nancy’s parents didn’t seem to love one another, Eddie’s father was an abusive asshole that ended up in jail and his mother passed away, and then there was Steve. Even with the apocalypse happening, his parents didn’t even care to find him. Find out if he was dead or not.

His eyes moved upwards to find you looking at him, and he wondered why you had a frown on your face. It wasn’t a second later that he felt his eyes burning and you could see the glistening of tears forming. He can’t cry. It’s stupid to cry about his family now. It’s stupid to cry about something he knew all along. It’s stupid to cry over people that he knew never cared for him.

“Your brother looks like Eddie.” Nancy suddenly speaks, making him look at her as well as you and Eddie. The metalhead tilts his head as he grabs Nancy’s picture and–

“Ha, ha, very funny.” Sure, it was a picture of you four in the grand canyon, but it was your dad’s birthday, and your dad has a fear of pigs. Your brother had the greatest idea to put a pig's head over his head for the picture, and your dad was simply screaming bloody murder while you and your mom laughed.

“I mean, my brother doesn’t play that game you do, but he is a fan of star wars, and he read a lot of books! He liked one called The Hobbit?” Nancy and Steve groaned loudly at your words, which made you confused for just a few seconds and then you realized your mistake when Eddie was talking your ear off about why your brother was so cool, and the reason for that was because the plot for the hobbit was incredible.

And he explained it bit by bit and you didn’t know how to escape him. He was still talking about it like a kid on christmas as Nancy and Steve started washing the dishes, and you wanted to hit yourself for your big mouth. In all fairness, you didn’t know Eddie was gonna get as excited as he did.

“Anyways, what matters is, your brother is cool, so is Dustin and the other teens and Steve sucks.” At the sudden insult, Steve turns around with his hands covered in soap.

“What?” Eddie opened his mouth to probably repeat his words, only for Steve to shake his hands on his face, making the soap fly all around as well as water, and getting into Eddie’s mouth.

“GOD–” He screeched loudly as he got up from the table, rushing towards the sink to try to wash his tongue with the water while Nancy screamed at him to not waste it. Steve was smirking and all you could do was just stare at him. He was being playful. He was being more than the grumpy self he claimed to be with you. You started laughing loudly when Eddie insulted Steve with his tongue out, trying to not taste the soap anymore.

Steve shrugged as he wiped his hands away, turning to look at you doubling over in laughter and it made him feel less guilty for his actions of before. You weren’t immature. Your world was just always filled with love and affirmations, and you just wanted people to feel the same exact way you felt. It was a lost cause for him, but he felt good for making you laugh like this. It’s been a while since he made someone laugh.

It’s a good sound.

☀︎

taglist: @prettyboyeddiemunson @thecreelhouse @tvserie-s-world @thesickestqrmydcll @crispystarfishhottub @sophal22 @definitionwanderlust @talkativecarnation @mysticalwoolenfroglegs @ariesandwolves @mortqlprojections @sattlersquarry

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things angst #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #grumpy x sunshine #found family

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leighsartworks216 · 2 days ago

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Claw Machines

Sylus x gn!Reader & MC

Raven deserves the world and more and I need to heal their inner child so so bad and who better to help than MC?

Warnings: fluff, silly, growing friendship, arcades, healing their inner child, kissing, swearing, banter

Word Count: 1,678

Main Masterlist

The Raven Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Third Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Sylus was 'busy', but you're dead certain that was just an excuse to nudge you into bonding with Miss Hunter. When she'd called to invite him out, you saw the smirk that curled his lips. You'd glared at him when he said you'd take his spot. You'd even been tempted to ditch her, but you couldn't in the end, knowing how much she means to him.

The claw moves around the box, following the movements of the little joystick. She looks as if she's facing down a Wanderer, not a stuffed koala with a teddy bear. Her tongue pokes out of her mouth, head swivels to the sides of the box to make sure she's lined up properly, fingers tapping impatiently on the machine before she hits the button. The claw descends. Closes. And as it rises, the koala is stuck in its grasp.

"Yes!" Miss Hunter laughs giddily as she bends down and grabs her prize from the chute. She squishes its face, eyes shining brilliantly with glee. Suddenly, she turns to you. "Have you ever played before?"

You shake your head, appearing quite bored with the whole thing.

"Do you want to try it? I can give you some pointers!"

A relentlessly stubborn part of you wants to refuse. Stand around like her own personal bodyguard while she travels from machine to machine with tokens purchased with Sylus's card and a bag full of toys.

But... you're also curious. You'd peered through shop windows and seen kids with toys your whole childhood, without any hope of having one to call your own. You'd made peace with that a long time ago, aided in the fact you now have plenty of money to live comfortably, though you keep that money close to your chest. Now Miss Hunter's barging through that peace, eyes shining and full of childish energy. And you give in.

You step up hesitantly to the controls. She squeals in glee and stands right beside you, nearly leaning on your arm. "Okay, this is the joystick! You use it to move the claw around. And then when you're lined up with something, you push this button and it'll try grabbing it."

You quirk an eyebrow at her. She smiles deviously. "It's a lot harder than it looks, trust me."

You should have listened to her. She makes it look so easy; you have to wonder if she's somehow using her Evol to cheat. No matter what target you went for, it always slipped through. Sometimes in the most ridiculous ways - bouncing off the edge of the plastic surrounding the chute or flipping off into an unreachable corner. You're not usually one to give up on a challenge, but this is getting ridiculous.

Miss Hunter smiles apologetically at you after your target falls over, just out of reach of the claw. "Maybe this machine isn't calibrated well," she suggests, but it's a half-baked excuse. "Let's try another one."

So you do.

And another.

... And another.

It's agony. She'll take over, pleading with big round eyes and a pout that works like a charm on Sylus to play a round, and get a plushie on her first try. Her bag is almost overflowing. She considers asking for a second one, but she looks sorry when she says so out loud.

Another machine catches her eye and she dashes over like a child. You watch her go.

It's... confusing, contradictory, to see someone like her be so carefree and childish. Her life has not been a cakewalk, and she's been through things normal people would never recover from. Yet here she is, squealing and giggling with delight, while you stand amid the flashing lights and chiming bells, arms crossed and frowning.

You hate to think you could ever possibly be jealous of her. Jealousy was unnecessary when you had all the means to get what you wanted so easily. Still, it's difficult not to envy in some ways the ease with which she enjoys such simple things.

You sigh. You damn Sylus for having you take his place on this little playdate with Miss Hunter. Damn the machines and their stupid claws. Damn all the plushies that seem to hate you.

The arcade is relatively small. When you begin walking around the various machines, it's easy to keep an eye on her. After all, if something happened to her here, it would be your fault. And you don't exactly want a repeat of last time.

It's by pure chance you happen to glance over. Pure random chance that your eyes slipped onto a series of miniature claw machines, stacked 3-on-3 in an alley between the bigger machines. You would not have stopped if you hadn't then done a double-take to make sure you saw what you thought you saw. And sure enough, as you step up to the small machines, you see in one a tiny keychain in the shape of a crow.

It's adorable. Big eyes that take up half its body stare longingly out at the arcade, half-closed with an air of disinterest. A little white ruff wraps all around its body. Two little feet with three toes each stick out the bottom.

You glance around to find Miss Hunter. She's moved on to the Balance machines, where her skilled fingers shift the two-pronged claw to nudge the box off the poles. An employee already stands there, waiting to re-setup the machine, as they chat with familiarity. She seems safe enough...

After a moment of watching to make sure the employee doesn't try anything, you reach into your pocket and pull out the tokens she gave you earlier. You insert one, and a small LED display counts down a timer.

The joystick is tiny in your hand - you can only imagine how it would fit in Sylus's. You shift it over top the crow. After spending however long failing on the other machines, you don't have much hope, especially when these are designed to give the impression of being easier so people will want to try them even more. You push the tiny button, and the claw lowers. The crow is picked up, shifting slightly in its loose hold. It's carried to the chute...

A tiny jingle plays, similar to the one that follows Miss Hunter around every machine.

You... you did it?

You hesitate before opening the little hatch, as though you just imagined all of that and you're going to be woefully out of luck when you reach in to find it empty. But no. You reach in and your fingers touch soft fur. You pull it out. There he is - your very own tiny crow plush.

The crow's big eyes seem to stare up at you, unimpressed. But your mind says he's happy, free from his cramped little prison.

Footsteps approach and you're immediately back on alert. You'd been smiling without even realizing it, but that is wiped away for neutrality. Miss Hunter doesn't seem to notice, gushing over the prize in your hand.

"Awe, you won that! It's so cute!" She pokes its cheek with her finger, giggling. "I've never been able to win anything from these machines. How many tries did it take you?"

Something flutters in your chest. A feeling you'd only felt when Sylus praised you - pride. You really managed to do something she couldn't? It sounded impossible after seeing her win over and over again without fail.

You hold up a finger. She gapes at you.

"What? It only took you one try?!" She looks at the machines, and all the cute mini plushies within. She frowns, considering something, before pulling out a handful of tokens. "Maybe they made these easier, somehow? Let me try."

"Have fun?"

You dangle the toy in front of Mephisto. He stands in your lap, playfully pecking and nipping at it. He's careful not to damage or tear it - he's always such a good bird.

Sylus wraps his arms around you from behind the couch. His chin rests on your shoulder, large hands massaging your sides. He kisses your cheek. "You're smiling."

Your first instinct is to turn away, but he stops you. Fingers grab your chin and turn you to face him instead. Crimson eyes, smug and teasing, meet yours.

You sigh. You have to admit that it was fun, even if you'd love to be stubborn and say it wasn't. Maybe if you hadn't won anything, you wouldn't have to pretend you hated it. Unfortunately, the toy that dangles from your finger is evidence to the contrary.

"She's a menace on those machines," you say, voice low, like it's a secret.

He chuckles. "How many did she get?"

"I lost count."

You glance back at Mephisto and shift the toy to rest in your palm. He grabs it in his beak, cawing around the object in his mouth, and flits off to go put it with his little hoard. Or, well, you thought he would. Instead, he flaps off to his perch and, using his foot and beak together, manages to hang it by its chain on the end of it. They look like a matching set as he fluffs up and settles down to rest

Sylus kisses the corner of your smiling mouth. You feel exposed. How is it possible for something so small to catch your emotions off guard?

"I'm glad you had fun," he whispers sincerely. "If you'd like, we can go together sometime."

"We wouldn't win anything," you tease. You rub your nose against his, drawing out a soft look of love from his eyes.

He shrugs. "Then we'll steal one."

"How criminal. This may be your most dastardly scheme yet."

"Mhm. And I'll need my best man on the job to help me pull it off." He closes the small gap to kiss you. His thumb rubs over the ball of your chin. Another kiss and his hand shifts to your jaw. Another, then to your neck. He draws you in, over and over, languidly savoring you, like you have all the time in the world.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one

#fanfic #fanfiction #sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads x reader #lnds #lnds x reader #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader

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astarless-fights · 15 hours ago

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A question I have always had: Do people care about the border because someone tells them they need to be concerned? Do they ever see proof? Or speak with someone who lives down there? Is it actually an issue or are people coming in and paying taxes, beefing up towns, and taking a part in the community? Is illegal immigration actually bad or is it a complex issue that is both good and bad and non local medias are just giving you a basic interpretation to have a talking point? Let’s dive deeper.

I have heard OP’s thoughts here before and it’s always come from border towns and border city limits. Which always tells me something else is going on.

Because here’s the thing, media reports and political agencies always misreport and misrepresent things that happen across the country. I have a couple examples as someone who comes from the East Coast but has had the pleasure of working in western states.

1. Remember when they introduced the wolves to Yellowstone in ‘95 and the media updated us back in 2016 “oh there’s wildflowers coming back! And the water is clean again”? I got that propaganda too on the East Coast. And sure, the good stuff probably happened. But wanna guess what I found out that year when I eventually shipped out to Idaho and spoke to wildlife biologists on the rivers?

They introduced the incorrect subspecies of wolf. Instead of using the historic Northern Rocky Mountain Wolves, they introduced a much larger, well traveling wolf called the Northwestern Wolf. The NRM wolves were small and tended to stick to a territory which would have been perfect for what they were trying to do for Yellowstone and the area surrounding. Instead they added a much hungrier wolf that follows its meals across the region, fucking up the ecosystems and wildlife patterns in surrounding states. Wyoming, Idaho, and Montana already had a pretty decent Rocky Mountain Wolf population that could no longer source its meals consistently due to wildlife patterns shifting dramatically, so they started going after the farms. Which if you are not someone who pays attention to wildlife laws and regulations, is the worst thing that could happen for them because farmers hold a lot of political power and often lobby local governments to increase population regulation (ehem, kill em).

2. When that kid died at Disney World… the one with the gator attack? Yeah, that was awful. I come from the southeast and growing up with gators nearby was a common experience for me. I was out in Idaho watching the news when it hit breaking news. The western media proceeded to push ideas that gators are controllable, it’s Disney World’s fault for not putting gates around the whole property to keep them out. It’s Florida’s fault for allowing this to happen.

Sure, should a gate have been placed around that beach? Totally. From working in tourism my whole life, the number one thing I have learned is that tourists are generally ignorant of local knowledge and common sense. I don’t mean this in a horrible way… but people forget they can die on vacation and tend to act as if it’s not possible so they disregard a lot of warnings. The gate would have been specific to people though. Gates don’t stop gators.

In fact they can climb. They can climb over a wooden gate, a chain link, climb up a tree, climb up the stairs… they are the largest vermin. They know no rules or boundaries. If there is water, they are there and they will find away to be there. It is common sense for those in southern coastal states to not go near the water at feeding times, watch the water, maybe keep your distance. If there are warning signs, then there’s definitely a gator that frequents the area but if there’s no sign, then there still is when no one’s watching. Western US media made it sound like they should have killed all the gators off and that just is so ignorant of the sensitive Floridian habitat. We need them there and in georgia, in south carolina, in Louisiana, and alabama. We need them in that ecosystem.

I remember listening to my boss at the time and my coworkers who had just listened to what I had were already shooting off the mislead comments of what the reporters had brought to light. Mostly because they didn’t know gators. They didn’t know Florida. None of them had ever been down there so when information is presented by a trusted source, why not trust that it’s correct?

Yes I explained to them before the topic left. But my observation still stands. Media that is not local to the topic will misconstrue the topic.

So when I see the LA fires and the east coast media telling everyone “the reason is due to them not taking control of their wilderness”, I want you to think of this post, what I have heard and seen with my own eyes, and search for a local reporter to the topic. Because I guarantee it is more complex than that.

Or when you see the border crisis and you aren’t from the border and neither is your favorite news channel… find a local news report to the topic.

If you see something being reported on from across the nation and you are not local, do yourself a favor and check out local to the topic reports. You’ll get more correct information instead of talking points used for political needs.

there is no border crisis. there is no immigration crisis. there never has been. it’s fear mongering, xenophobic, racist propaganda.

sincerely,

a life long borderland resident

#us politics #media literacy #media #local news #politics #border control #yellowstone #disney #florida #gators #wolves #local vs national #the difference between local news and national news

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dear-satan · 3 days ago

Text

Beginning Of the End III

player 230/Thanos x Reader

★ word count: 10K

★ CW: fem!reader, reader is a player 457, funding issues, fraud, mention of cigarettes, alcohol and drugs, mentions of death, blood, normal squid game stuff

★ previous part, next part

Player 001's voice changed everything.

You stood there, even though the voting had ended a moment ago. You felt like you were still dreaming. Like the nightmare you woke up in would never end. You even pinched the bare skin on your hand. The momentary pain only confirmed your belief that it wasn't a dream or a nightmare, but a terrifying reality that you were stuck in by your own will.

Tomorrow more innocent people will die, and you didn't have the strength to keep playing.

You didn't want to keep playing.

So tomorrow you'll die too.

"Is everything okay, honey?" his voice brought you back to earth. His shaking hand gently touched your cheek. "Are you feeling bad? Why are you ignoring me?" the questions he asked you made you angry and feel helpless. You looked at his name tag first - a blue O. Looking at it, you felt like he betrayed you in the worst possible way. But then you looked at his face, his eyes. His dilated pupils almost covered his unique, for an Asian, blue irises.

It was too much.

"Are you kidding me?" You said it quietly at first, far too quietly for Su-bong to hear. "Are you fucking kidding me?!" You pushed him away, your chest moving at a rapid pace. "You're high." It wasn't a question. "You're fucking high, having the time of your life when people around you.. When WE almost died and you're asking me if I'm okay?!"

His jaw clenched. You watched as he swallowed the unspoken words, a lump growing in his throat. He always acted like this when he was high. He couldn't get a word out when you first screamed at him not to take.. To be clean. But he never listened. Never. And you knew he wouldn't listen this time either. That your words will only echo empty, one he wouldn't remember when he sobered up.

That's why you didn't continue.

Barely holding back tears, you shook your head. You turned around and walked away, leaving him in the middle of the hall. You sat down on your bed with a loud sigh. You felt helpless against everything - the world, life, your boyfriend.. And your love. You thought Su-bong would press X with you. That he would follow in your footsteps just this once, when you were playing for your life together, and not for money.. Not anymore.

But he didn't go.

You weren't even disappointed, because he hadn't done it in a long time. Su-bong had disappeared somewhere, along with his stupid jokes, songs written just for you. It's funny that you only noticed it now.

Damn blue O.

・・・・★・・・・★ ・・・・

The morning was really hard. If you could, you would stay under that thin blanket all day. But you couldn't, and you knew it.

Players, another game will start soon. Get ready and remember to follow the rules.

“I wonder what's in store for us today.” a foreign girl crouched next to your bed - a 380 player with a blue O on her right chest. She looked in front of her for a moment before turning her head toward you and bestowing a small, but really sincere smile. “I hope there won't be that big doll. Disgusting, it will haunt me every night.”

For the first time in a long time, you laughed. “Yeah, me too.”

“You are with player 230, right?” She asked “Sorry, I don't want to be nosy but…I saw your argument yesterday…. And, he's really an asshole.”

Your smile disappeared as quickly as it appeared. You started searching with your eyes for purple hair. He was sitting on his bed with player 124. “He quickly found a friend,” a lump appeared in your throat, but you ignored it. “Yes, we… We have been dating for a long time. We live together but…. You know, debts came up. Senseless investment in crypto, loans, loss of work…. You know.”

“You agreed to invest in crypto? You seem more reasonable than him.” was curious, which you couldn't blame her for.

“Yes.” the lie was heavy ”We let ourselves be made like children.”

“I see.” The 380 player only nodded, looking ahead again.

“But you're right, he's an asshole.” You added quickly, at which she laughed quietly..

“You know, if you want we can stick together.” She looked at you again. You saw the warmth in her eyes and the will to survive that you lacked. “Me, you, and player 125 - we'll make a nice team.”

For a while you steamed at her without any response. The thought of the team filled you with some form of hope. But what about Su-bong? You couldn't leave him alone, you weren't a horrible heartless girl thinking only of herself. “I…” you looked at Thanos once again. You were angry, so terribly angry at his behavior. But something inside you told you that he could handle it and, despite everything, he would be beside you. “Gladly.”

“Great!” she got up from the floor and extended her hand toward you, ”I am Se-mi.”

・・・・★・・・・★ ・・・・

Going through the pastel corridors again was much worse than the first time. Guards stood in every possible place, guarding you with guns in their hands. It's funny how false a sense of security they tried to give you at the very beginning.

You entered a huge square, similar to a classroom for kindergarten children. Two large rainbow circles were painted on the ground. Everything about the messy place was candy, looking seemingly safe. But wasn't that exactly how you were supposed to feel? Safe?

Players, you have ten minutes to assemble a team of five.

The announcement was loud, too loud for you. You immediately looked at Se-mi and Min-su with whom you formed a team of three. You started looking around for potential companions. Unfortunately, people matched up in teams really fast leaving you with fewer and fewer options.

“Damn, I didn't find anyone,” you groaned disappointedly. Time was slowly running out.

“I didn't manage to find anyone either,” Min-su also said, still looking around.

Se-mi opened her mouth, but before she could say anything a familiar voice interrupted her, causing all three of you to look toward its owner. “Señorita, excuse me.” Thanos' smile widened as your gazes met, “I noticed that you were looking for two players. Here we are, Thanos will grace your team with his presence.” he couldn't be serious..

You rolled your eyes amused when 380 commented on his artistic nickname. When Su-bong greeted Min-su then approached you. The warmth of his body eminated enough to send a shiver through your body.

“Still angry?” he asked, cautiously nudging your hand with his finger as if he feared your repulsion.

“Still high?” you answered with a question to a question, but did not move away.

Thanos laughed while shaking his head. His hand grasped yours and lifted it to place a gentle kiss on your skin. “Don't be angry, this is the last game.” you didn't know , whether to believe him. “After it, I'll vote for X, you'll see. We will return to our home. Safe and sound with our money.”

The time to find a team was over, and all the teams were sitting in the middle of two rainbow circles. The game you would play was titled Six-Legged Pentathlon, during which you would play five, smaller games - ddakji, biseokchigi, gonggi, paengi chigi, and jegi. You started to determine who would play what - you chose ddakji. You were really good at it, considering that you won over the recruiter almost immediately. Se-mi chose biseokchigi, claiming that in childhood she had won against every kid in the yard. The boys divided among the other three games, each choosing what they felt most comfortable with. They were, after all, games from your childhood, nothing new so theoretically winning was really easy.

The game had begun. You all sat close together. Thanos' hand was on your knee as you watched with precision as the guards pinned the legs of the first two teams. They had five minutes to pass each competition and reach the finish line. That complicated things. Five minutes is really not a lot of time, considering the possible failures with each game.

You swallowed saliva, squeezing Thanos' hand. Fear set in your body again. “I can't handle it, I can't do it.”

“If you talk like that, we'll definitely lose.” Nam-gyu looked at you, and more at the red X on your chest. You saw something along the lines of contempt in his gaze, and you didn't know why. After all, you had never spoken to him before. “Get it together.”

"Nam-su-"

“I'm Nam-gyu.”

“After all, I did say that.” Su-bong clenched his jaw. His hand squeezed your knee. “Change your tone when you speak to her. Is that clear? Because I don't like to repeat myself.”

Player 124 only muttered something under his breath, turning his head away. “Sure, bro.”

・・・・★・・・・★ ・・・・

The paper square seemed extremely heavy when you held it. Your ankle was pinned to Thanos' ankle. The black material was fastened far too tightly, bruising you with every step. You took a breath and threw at the pink square - it didn't fall over You bent over picking up the blue square and threw again - this time it hit next to it. Your breathing sped up, you heard Nam-gyu's nervous voice and Se-mi's disappointed groan. Your hands began to tremble.

“Hey hey hey.” Su-bong leaned over and handed you a paper square, “Relax. You can do it. . Take a deep breath and throw it again.” His tattooed hand stroked the top of your head.

You nodded and closed your eyes. Time seemed to stop as you took air into your lungs. Your heart slowed down and when you were ready, you opened your eyes, throwing the paper square once more.

You've succeeded.

Joyful cheers spread through the room and your team moved on. Se-mi handled the biseokchigi effortlessly, as did Min-su in the gonggi. At the spinning top there was a problem, but Nam-gyu turned it around on his second attempt. You were at the very end, Thanos' game remained. By the high he was on, he seemed not to notice the time pressure when the last 40 seconds. But he bounced the damn ball five times. Crossing the finish line was like having a weight lifted off your back. Your legs were splayed and you immediately hugged Thanos standing next to you.

“Thank you.” You groaned inhaling his scent.

He just picked you up and turned you around, hugging you as if he had completely forgotten how soft and comfortable your body is. “It's all right now señorita, we're going home.”

taglist: @ttokyocat @itsvaleriegarza @jdbxws @hyunjinieandlix @chrisstyle @the-iridescent-phoenix

#thanos squid game #squid game thanos x reader #player 230 x reader #player 230 #squid game x y/n #squid game #choi subong #choi su bong #choi su bong x reader #x reader #thanos x reader #squid game thanos #thanos #se mi squid game #nam gyu #min su squid game

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yuyusshinelight · 2 days ago

Note

Can I request a smut with Dom!Jongho and pregnant wife reader? She’s always so needy especially when Jongho comes home from work/practice and he gives in everytime 🥹

Hi my shining star! Of course you can. It’s a really good scenario that I will gladly write for you🩷. I don't know if that was what you were expecting but I really hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it🫶🏻

Warnings: established marriage, pregnancy sex, reader is so needy, fingering, breast playing, lactation kink?, use of pet names, dom-sub subtle dynamic.

It is common knowledge that during pregnancy, women can experience an increase in their sexual desire, attributed to several physical, hormonal and emotional factors that vary from woman to woman. That's what the doctor told you in your first check-ups. Also all those books of pregnancy and parenthood. And the warnings his hyungs that already had children gave him as soon as they found out he was going to be a father too. What Jongho didn't expect was that it could become such a fervent desire, able to make you throw yourself into his fly as soon as you heard the front door. In the first trimester you were already showing signs of needing him closer than ever, but now, just entering the second trimester of your pregnancy, it seems as if all you need to live is to feel him as deeply as humanly possible. Oh, and your chocolate dipped pickles.

Seeing you so desperate to feel every inch of your hot, needy body covered with his love to the point of begging him with those teary eyes makes Jongho give in and indulge you with exactly what you're asking him: satisfy that fiery, burning passion that has you so unhinged.

So, as he has been doing those last two weeks, Jongho is already preparing himself to welcome you into his arms as soon as the door opens. He can even feel your hands wrap around his waist while your lips beg for his. The surprise he ran into when he didn't find you running towards him. Your absence in his arms even worries him badly. Aren't you at home? No, you would have told him if that was the case… What if you are not feeling well and you've decided to lie down for a while?

Leaving the things in the doorway as soon as he closes the door without worrying about how they are positioned or whether it is the right place, Jongho goes into the darkness of his house, making sure you are not asleep on the couch, only to go straight to your bedroom and finally be met with the gratifying surprise of hearing his name in soft desperate sights accompanied by those lovely moans of pleasure with which you drives him crazy every time since your very first time together. All his previous concern quickly fades away, making place to a burning desire to make you scream his name at the top of your lungs.

Not wanting to make neither of you wait a single second more, Jongho opens the door of your shared bedroom, making you stop whatever you were doing instantly and get partially up on your spot for the surprise, one of your hands as your support. You were so immersed in making yourself cum that you haven't heard the door “Jagi…” it's the only thing you can say, the embarrassment of having been caught and his heavy gaze on your half covered body make your heart race enough to be unable to utter anything else. Although there's no necessity to say anything. It's obvious what you were doing as it's also obvious from that look Jongho is giving you that those blankets that are covering you up and not allowing him to see your glistening, slippery cunt have to be removed from you now.

“Hi, Y/N-ah. How was your day? Has our little one been giving you a hard time today?” He says like he does every day, as normal as if he wasn't about to make you cum on his fingers right now. With a calm step he approaches the bed, sitting down next to you to caress your growing belly properly, his eyes fixed on that place even when you answer him that you have had a hard day with the increasing breast pains and sudden fatigue that should have appeared later in the pregnancy “Sorry to hear that, babe” he says before leaning towards your belly and press a soft kiss on it just to look up at you “Want me to take care of those pains?” And, knowing the true meaning hidden in those tenderly recited words, you nod desperately.

From the moment your insatiable clit has been practically crying for attention, you have wanted your husband to be the one to take care of it, and now that he can touch you, you are not going to say no. Obviously.

“Please” your voice comes out like a thin, fragile thread while one of your hands drives his free hand to your breasts, squeezing one with his for a brief second “I need you so bad” Your voice is almost trembling from the sudden contact, your legs squeezing together in a pathetic attempt to give some relief to your demanding cunt. Everything in you screams how desperate you really are “I know” his voice sounds calm, the proximity of your faces now warns you of what's to come “That's why daddy is going to take care of everything now” with a comforting gentleness, Jongho moves the hand you have put in your breast to take your chin between his index and thumb “Mommy only has to worry about enjoying every single moment, okay?” His body leans gently towards yours to pick your lips one brief time, whispering against them “Lie down for me”.

With such a clear command and the promise of making you feel better than your fingers in his voice, you do exactly as he says, settling back into the pile of cushions you had prepared earlier. Your gaze is fixed on your husband, following his every move carefully calculated to capture your full attention. Normally you would be the one doing it, there is nothing you like more than to undress Jongho slowly while giving a special lovely treatment to every new bare part of his body you see. But he has been quite clear when he has told you to just relax and disobeying him has never been an option for you, so you just stay there, delighting in watching how he slowly peels back layer after layer of cloth covering his body until he is left alone in his underwear.

“I will need you to take those out of my way, babe” he suddenly says, pointing at the blankets you still have covering your body just for you to almost kick them off, making Jongho laugh cutely. He knows pretty well that you would have done it without blinking if it weren't for your lovely, bulging belly “Someone is desperate, uh?”.

“I am, yes” you say with a pout, your tone sounds comically annoyed which makes Jongho laugh again “I can't leave you like this, can I?” Question that you answer with a childish shake of your head. Being careful not to press too hard on your belly, Jongho lies partially on top of you, kissing you on the lips before lowering his head to your breasts which he discovers when he removes the shirt without breaking eye contact with you “Are you already producing milk?” He asks absentmindedly, all his attention on how soft and round your boobs look today until his intrusive thoughts lead him to bury his face in the soft valley of your breasts to leave butterfly kisses all over the surface, drawing tiny, tender sighs from you with each kiss “As far as I know, no, but we can always discover it now” your hand is comfortably placed on the top of his head, caressing carefully his hair while he keeps kissing your breasts indistinctly. And from the way your husband suddenly looks at you, he seems to love the idea “Then let's discover it”.

Without even a second thought, his tongue is already playing with your sensitive, erect nipple, slowly preparing it for what is to come. But, as the soft sounds you're giving him don't seem to be enough for the already horny idol, Jongho brings one of his hands down slowly, taking his time to caressing your bulging belly gently. Feeling his baby on your tummy under the palm of his hand is something that fascinates him, he still can't believe that you two made that tiny life that is growing inside you. Jongho is looking forward to finally holding your baby in his arms.

Following its previous path, Jongho inserts his hand inside your now wet panties. With his tongue on your sensitive nipple and his fingers subtly brushing your slippery folds, a shiver runs through your extra sensitive body from the exaggerated amount of increased hormones like an electric current, making you even sob in pure excitement. But that's not sufficient. You really are desperate either for his fingers playing with your cunt or his cock splitting you deliciously good.

“Jagi, please” in an attempt to erase that burning sensation inside your hot body, you lift your hips just a few centimetres to press his fingers where you need; but it doesn't go beyond that, an attempt, thanks to the extra weight of your baby and the father lovingly forcing your hips back to their previous position “Let's go slow babe, let me prepare you well for me” Jongho's hot breath against your now wet nipple when he cuts his task to answer you instantly makes your skin crawl, closing the hand that grips his hair with a certain force “I have prepared myself enough already. Please, skip the teasing”.

You know perfectly well that this attitude usually doesn't work with your dominant husband who doesn't like to be told what he has to do, but lately he has been spoiling you a little too much so, maybe, he will let it go this time. Also, he has to take responsibility for your neediness, it's his fault after all. Jongho is so deliciously addictive that you can never get enough of him, especially now with your hormones revved up by pregnancy, forcing you to want to have him inside you all day long.

And that's precisely the reason Jongho nods to your request, giving you a short kiss on your sternon before taking your lovely pink mound back into his mouth to suck at his whim and stick two fingers at once into your tight, slippery pussy. He may not like it when you tell him what to do during sex but, being aware of such a change you are undergoing in your body because of your baby, the least he can do is to give in and do absolutely everything you want. Not like he doesn't like spoiling you.

The way in which your husband is taking care of your needy, hot body has you in cloud nine. With just the swaying of his fingers in and out of you, alternating between scissoring and pressing upwards on your fleshy wall to find your sweet spot, he has you completely immersed in a wave of intense pleasure that makes your body tremble. Now add that the delicacy with which his mouth is stimulating your boob. You could die of pleasure right now.

It is truly fascinating as well as chilling how Jongho has the ability to induce you in such a high that can make you lose your mind completely with just a few minutes of that melodic movement of his fingers combined with his tongue.

The gentle movement of his body over yours only increases your already agitated breathing, you can even hear your heart pumping in your ears. You can't stop that string of moans with his name that cascades from between your lips, it's not like you want to stop it either. You know perfectly well what effect each of your sounds have on him, especially how crazy it drives him when he hears you meowing his name in such a blatant and pornographic way like you're doing right now.

But then Jongho stops sucking on your nipple with a really cute pop, his lips leaving that boob to go to the other, brushing gently over your unattended mound which makes you whimper in a needy sob “Feels better, babe?” his fingers keep moving on your cunt, his thumb going to give some attention to your clit ”I know your breasts have been hurting so much lately” for the pleasure he is giving you, you can't pronounce anything but his name so you just nod ”My poor girl” his lips leaving a trail of kisses from your breast to your jaw, making you sigh with each sweet touch ”Don't worry, love, I'm going to make sure they don't hurt anymore” and with that said, he gives you a tender kiss on the lips to which you respond more than delight, entwining your fingers through his locks while his free hand gently trails down his torso until it reaches his boxer line, wanting to go lower to make him feel as good as he's doing with you but Jongho has another plans on mind “Don't, babe” his hot breath against your lips when he breaks the kiss “Today it's all about you”.

“That's not fair for you” you reply between soft sights, his fingers never stopping playing between you wet, gummy walls and throbbing clit. But Jongho shakes his head, picking briefly your lips one last time before going down again “So sweet of you, love, but I'm fine” he says, stopping at your neck to leave a little hickey, his thumb circling your clit a bit harder when he feels how your walls start to squeeze his fingers with more force, warning of your impending orgasm “Now, let's make you cum”.

Without giving you time to reply to him, Jongho lowers his head to your breasts and takes your nipple on it one more time, sucking deliciously hard on it while his fingers speed up in your cunt which makes you burst into screams. You're madly in love with the aggressive sweetness with which he is giving you all this overflowing pleasure. And then you get that familiar, longed-for feeling in your belly, making you squirm. You are very close to reaching your climax and Jongho obviously knows it, so he increases the speed of his fingers, gently biting your sensitive mound as he knows you like it before flicking his tongue around it and sucking hard again. You are there, right there, just a few strokes more of his thumb on your clit and you finally come with a loud pornographic moan of his name.

Your expressions, your sounds, your walls contracting so intensely around his fingers, the amount of delicious fluid gushing from your churning pussy. Your orgasm has been so intense that Jongho has become extremely aroused. His cock demands furiously to bury itself to the hilt deep inside your heat.

“Everything good, babe?” You just nod at him, still trying to catch your breath “Feel good?” And, again, you just nod at him but, this time, you take his gorgeous face between your hands to approach him and catch his lips in a deep, messy kiss to which he clearly responds. And you stay like that for a long time, your tongues intertwined in a passionate and loud kiss until your lungs beg for a breath of air.

“Well…” he starts, completely breathless after almost eating your mouth "you don't seem to be producing milk yet, babe. I'll have to check again tomorrow” that comment makes you laugh, making you blush a bit embarrassed. But Jongho knows that smile, he knows you're looking forward to it already. Like him, let's not lie "But for now, spread your legs wide” he puts one of his hands on your inner thigh, spreading it a bit while he moves from his spot at your side to get between your legs "I'll give you mine".

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez x reader #ateez smut #choi jongho #ateez jongho #jongho #jongho scenarios #jongho smut #lusteez #fluffteez

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nakylvr · 3 days ago

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wdyt would manon’s reaction be if katseye!reader (possibly her roommate- sorry dani) were to accidentally walk in on her fucking herself? and do u think she’s a finger girlie? toy? pillow? etc…?

ohhhhh...

firstly i think she would only do it if she thinks she's completely alone in the dorm, but then you happen to come back and she doesn't realize or hear cause she's too lost in what she's doing. secondly, i think she's more of one to use a vibrator or ride her pillow and doesn't realize how loud she gets. the second you open the door both of you freeze, but when the short-lived embarrassment washes over manon she's pleading for you to help her. she doesn't care at that moment, saying that it'll just be this one time and that no one has to know, she's basically begging you at that point. you give in when you see the tears in her eyes as she begs, ultimately moving the pillow from between her legs and eating her out until she's overstimulated to the point where she's nearly crying and pulling on your hair.

now, she said it would just be that one time. but for the next few weeks after it you can tell the difference in the way she looks at you, like she wants to say something but she won't. until one day it "accidentally" happens again and you know damn well she did it on purpose knowing you were the only one in the dorm. it's only then when you make her cum for the third time that instead of begging you to just "help her out", it switches into her begging to be yours, to have you only for herself. she doesn't even notice that she's saying it until afterwards and you ask her about it, and she admits what she was saying was true, proceeding to apologize for even thinking it. needless to say she's shocked when you actually kiss her and tell her that it's okay and you want her too. but the smile that grows on her face is worth it and she's kissing you over and over again.

#katseye thoughts 💭#manon bannerman thoughts 💭#nsfw.

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lexirosewrites · 2 days ago

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An ask abt nugget #5 for slick sunday in the same universe as my new year's birth nugget #4

The Munsons live in Chicago, Eddie both co-owns a landmark music store & co-founded a small record label tht is growing by the year. Steve is THRIVING as a stay at home mom who gets to write fun kid friendly fantasy novels on the side & has had a number of them printed to a resounding success with his latest being the 1st of a kid friendly horror book series titled "The Strange Times Files"

Steddie got married/mated January 5, 1988 when Steve was already pregnant w nugget #1

The names & birthdays of the 4 Munson nuggets are as follows:

Nugget #1: Joan Riot Munson (May 4, 1988)

Nugget #2: Lennon "Lenny" Eagles Munson (August 15, 1992, 10:23am)

Nugget #3: Stevie Jett Munson (August 15, 1992, 10:25am)

Nugget #4: Jim Hendricks Munson (Jan 1, 1996)

(I did actual math to make these birthdays make sense so I can get the age gaps right & yes Lenny is going to b very obnoxious about being older than Stevie around their 12th birthday)

Steddie decide to hold off on nugget #5 for a few years. Then in 1998 when baby Jim is 2 years old, the twins are 6, and Joan is 10, they decide to start trying for #5

For their anniversary tht year Lucas uses his professional basketball player money to get them a private jet to Amsterdam, Will uses his art connections to get them a whole townhouse not far from the Van Gogh museum, and El makes Steve an entire bespoke wardrobe just for the trip (including lingerie).

They'll b gone for the rest of January (enough time to encompass Steve's upcoming heat) & while there is nervous energy tht they're leaving their pups for so long they know that their pack will take good care of them. Eddie provides a binder on each of the pups likes & dislikes & any allergies (Joan can't have shellfish & Lenny can't have mushrooms) along with a rough outline of the usual schedule of their days during the school week & weekends as well as any & every phone number they might need (poison control, pediatricians, school, and the number of the townhouse they'll staying at) & last but not least is what to do when each pup can't sleep (Joan goes down after a short game of scrabble because tht kid is a voracious reader w a vocabulary to match, Lenny & Stevie get tired after a cup of warm milk with honey extra points if Wheel of Fortune is playing on the TV, and Jim usually just needs to b allowed to get excess energy out then given warm milk with honey of his own)

The trip is wonderful!

Steve's mom visits for a few days from Vienna, she brings the famous sachertorte w her (which steve "sweet tooth" munson ends up loving) & invites them to visit her in Austria for the Christmas season next year in 1999 insistent tht she will pay for everything & tht she doesn't care tht Eddie makes good money producing music in Chicago she got an amazing divorce settlement & as a result owns half of Richard's more lucrative investments as well as her own newer investments. Amelia Harrington extracts a promise from the couple to be in Austria for Christmas 1999 then bids them goodbye & returns to her apartment in Vienna wishing them luck on making nugget #5.

they smoke weed in coffeeshops, they see an NSFW art performance in the red light district, & wander the museum & streets & generally be in love. Steve's heat comes on schedule near the end of their trip & it's a beautiful experience of reconnecting as people not just as parents or a couple. By the end they miss their pups, have fallen more in love, & r ready to be home again.

A few weeks after getting home Steve feels a little weird like he might b coming down w something, he's more easily nauseous & having body aches but cannot figure out what exactly is going on. He goes to their doctor with an inkling but wants to rule out all other possibilities, his blood test comes back telling them he's not only healthy but pregnant again w nugget #5!!! Steve is ecstatic & when he tells Eddie the alpha starts crying from how in love he is with his mate & how grateful he is tht Steve has given their family 4 healthy pups & is now pregnant w #5

Nugget #5 is a textbook pregnancy, so much so the doctor jokes abt it. Steve is glowing by week 5, baby #5 likes tumbling around more than their siblings, his cravings r different on the whole except he still craves pickles tht r as crunchy as possible like he did w his previous 3 pregnancies. Nugget #5 is due around October 29th but all baby does is drop into Steve's pelvis around tht date.

Then... October 31st arrives & Steve wakes up at 5am from a contraction. It isn't quite go time yet so the family goes abt their day w the exception tht Steve pauses to breathe thru contractions every now & then, steddie get their pups ready for school complete with costumes & makeup & promises tht when the day is done they'll have a new baby sibling in the world, Eddie takes the day off & takes baby Jim to Wayne's (who lives 2 doors down at steddies insistence) who then starts the phone tree to let everyone know nugget #5 is on the way today. By the time Eddie gets back home Steve has timed the contractions closer together but his water hasn't broken quite yet so after Eddie gets the hospital bag in the car along w his mate they go to portillo's for some French fries & a chocolate cake shake. It's as they get back in the car with Steve happily dipping his fries into his shake tht his water breaks. The hospital knows they're coming & so there's almost no chaos to speak of.

Steve gets hooked up to machines & Eddie gets scrubbed in so he can hold his mates hand as it comes time to push. He's pushing well but something feels wrong the longer he goes on, he doesn't feel weaker but something isn't right. & steddie realize at the same time as the medical team tht the babies heart rate is dropping with every push. Then there's a lot of movement really quickly as the doctor is suddenly prepping for surgery while a nurse explains tht an emergency c-section is going to be necessary & tht Steve will need to go under anesthesia. Eddie is doing everything in his power to maintain his own calm while thru the bond he feels Steve's anxiety mounting into panic as the information sinks in, he promises to not leave his side & tht everything w b okay & tht c-sections must not b a big deal bc already the doctor is ready & the anesthesiologist is entering the room & did Steve know tht Shakespeare mentioned c-sections so tht means they've been around longer than anesthesia & then Steve is breathing in the gas & counting backwards from 10 but only gets to 8 before he's closing his eyes

The surgery is indeed not a big deal, there's a lot of blood & he peeks to see they had to move Steve's organs around & Eddie's heart drops into the basement when he sees how blue his baby girl was because the umbilical cord had wrapped around her neck but soon they unwind it & she's breathing in big lungfuls of air & crying at the injustice of leaving her warm home of the past 40 weeks & she's laid down under a warming lamp before they even wash her because her temperature wasn't what they'd like

While Steve wakes up baby #5 is weighed & measured & she's healthy all around except the scare she gave them all because of her propensity for tumbling around in the fluid filled womb. Once she's washed her scent blooms milky but sweeter than any of their pups & after a blood test the doctors confirm she's indeed an omega (Joan was born with a milky but spicy scent & dual sex anatomy so a blood test confirmed tht she's a girl alpha, and its very likely the twins will b betas)

Steddie name her Siouxsie Robin Munson, Robin begins blubbering immediately when Steve tells her this. She gets baby Siouxsie a stuffed Robin bird for her crib tht the pup holds onto well into adulthood

Siouxsie goes home from the hospital & about a year later proves to b the water baby of the bunch. taking to the infant swimming classes at The Y like a duck to water. Eddie jokes she was tumbling around so much in the womb to prepare for an Olympic career.

((Indeed, 18 years later, following a lot of hard work & a lot of tears & a lot of moments of almost quitting but persevering anyway, in 2016 the entire upside down pack (+ pups & spouses & the list goes on & even not-so-baby-anymore Jim took a break from his latest filming schedule to b there) are all cheering wildly in the stands of Rio de Janeiro while Siouxsie Robin Munson wins gold in the women's 400 metres freestyle swim event, it is the first of many Olympic games she will attend & the first of many gold medals she will win))

(i was indeed impressed with the dates but also laughing because steddie have the same anniversary as my mom and i who are both divorced from the curse of our january 5th weddings😂)

#slick sunday #steddie #steddie omegaverse #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #steve x eddie #omegaverse #a/b/o #my asks #mpreg #cw mpreg #tw mpreg #childbirth #cw childbirth #tw childbirth

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lizzybeeee · 1 day ago

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Just my opinion, but if your Order is bringing back a species who is the literal icon of your entire existence you may want to name them something a little less 'How to Train Your Dragon'. Because I hear the rest of these griffon names and they're on the same level as Hagrid naming a hippogriff 'Buckbeak' or literally any of the dragons from HTTYD.

Beaktooth? Stormwing? Rumptail?

They're a new hope of your Order! This little sliver of the past that was protected through the ages and somehow managed to live despite all the odds! I can see them being pet names from trainers but...I dunno, I think there should be more to it than a cute name because of how significant it is?

Personally, I think it would be cooler (and way more fitting!) to name some of them after notable Grey Wardens as some recognition of their sacrifice and enduring legacy after all these ages. And not just a 'choose your birth month + day' and that's your griffon name combo.

Anyway, this is just some brainstorming :)

Warden's Who Killed Archdemons:

The Warden who killed Dumat is unknown but it happened at the Silent Plains in the Anders -> my suggestion is to name one 'Aria' after the Felicidus Aria or the Silent Plains Rose. The only plant to grow there a thousand years later, in honour of whomever made the blow.

Corin - the Hero of the Second blight who killed the Archdemon Zazikel.

The Warden who killed Toth is not named (but we can grab his sword that was split into three pieces and became three daggers - the Thorn of the Dead Gods) -> just give him a name. Possibly make him a surface dwarf? (we have a human in Corin and an elf in Garahel, after all. It would explain why he was buried at Weisshaupt too.)

Garahel - the Hero of the Fourth Blight who killed Andoral.

The Fifth Blight

The Hero of Ferelden - a griffon named after the Warden, regardless if they make the killing blow. (have them always off screen of just cut off when someone says their name lmao).

Alistair/Adalla - the warden who slays Urthurmiel can also be Alistair or Loghain. Alistair...for Alistair. I was torn on Loghain and whether or not they'd name a griffon after him, all things considered. Instead I chose the name of his childhood mabari (assume that Anora suggested the name). I feel it suits better than using his name - and I think Loghain would prefer it too.

Here Lies the Abyss

Alistair, Stroud, or Hawke - name a griffon after whomever sacrificed their lives at the battle of Adamant!

Again, uncertain about Loghain, but I believe that after a decade of service to the Warden's it's far more understandable that they would name a griffon after him. A true testament that you can join the Warden's from the lowest of lowest points and still make something of yourself.

Other Notable Wardens

Duncan - the man who worked so hard to establish the Wardens in Ferelden after 200 years of exile. The same man who recruited the Hero of Ferelden/Alistair, who led the Warden's at Ostagar.

Riordan - in honor of his sacrifice at the Battle of Denerim in the Fifth Blight -> in all versions of the FIfth Blight (codex entries, dialogue etc...) Poor Riordan is always left out. It would be nice to acknowledge him - the man crippled Urthurmiel, after all!

Isseya - they did you so dirty in DATV. Let her fly high in the sky once more ;_;

Neriah - Corin's lover, who sacrificed her life and allowed him to kill Zazikel. (they can be together again! As griffons!)

Non-Warden's / Acknowledgements

Moroc - a dwarven paragon, present at the founding of the Grey Warden's -> thanks to him a dwarf does not lose their caste if they join the Grey Wardens.

Assan - or another Dalish name. An acknowledgement of the Dalish's part in fighting the Blights. (We already have humans, city elves, mages, and dwarves represented.)

That's 12 names (13 if Loghain or Alistair slew the archdemon) and all I can come up with. The last one can be Bob or something.

#I call my cat all manner of names but when I take him to the vet he has a proper name - not saying they can't have cute nicknames #more joplin/fix it ramblings but i thought I'd share because I think its cool lmao #setting up a blue print for what happens in each world state depending on decisions etc...#a Warden Alistair obviously has Duncan as his griffon <3 #(King Alistair sends him treats)#i guess you could add in Warden Grey for the first qunari? if you liked that lore addition?#this game did Isseya so dirty ;_;#i remember the fucking silent plains rose because of that achievement in DA2 - trying to get every reagent/ingredient #bane of my existence #I was playing on xbox and I remember the despair when I got 5 hours into act 3 & realized i'd lost out on some spindleweed in act 2 #curse you spindleweed!#dragon age

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nilsavatar · 2 days ago

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DAY 23 - BITING part 3

Parings: Neteyam x Fem!human

PART 1, PART 2

Genre/Warnings: fluff, ANGST, introspective, delicate themes (hibrid pregnacy, political and ideals conflict). All characters are AGED-UP. This the sequel of the @layla2-49 request used to fullfil the promp day 23 of lunakinktober 2023

Summary: Following the unexpected pairing that occurred at the Tree of Souls, after connecting as only two Na'vi normally could, Celeste and Neteyam entertain a clandestine relationship. Several times they have discussed coming out, but the girl is too prey to her insecurities as a human to do so. It is Eywa who will decide for both of them with a disconcerting revelation: they have conceived a hybrid child.

Word Count: 4,2k

Masterlist - Request a fic

The two lovers stood at the base of Kelutral (Hometree), its massive, ancient roots twisting into the earth like the very veins of Eywa herself. The light of Pandora’s bioluminescent flora pulsed gently around them, illuminating the somber expressions of the assembled Omatikaya—warriors, elders, and family—who had been summoned to hear the truth. Something that couldn’t be avoided any longer.

Beside them, Kiri and Spider remained close, silent pillars of support before what was sure to be an overwhelming revelation. Lo’ak stayed slightly apart, arms crossed, shifting his weight uneasily, torn between loyalty to his brother and the growing concern about what this revelation would mean for their people.

At the center of it all, perched upon a woven platform of vines and wood, was Mo’at. The tsahìk, Nawna Sa’nok’s voice among the clan, studied her grandson with inquisitive intensity. Though she had lived long enough to witness many great changes, there was something about the tension in the air that even she could not ignore.

“Grandmother,” Neteyam finally spoke, his tone firm but weighted with hesitation. “We come to you with a truth that must be shared. A truth that will change everything. She did not respond; only tilted her head, watching, waiting. He exhaled sharply before forcing the words aloud, under her scrutiny now concentrated on how his hand found Celeste’s—so small in comparison, yet she could sense a proud energy vibrating beneath her skin.

“Cel is with child."

A silence fell over the gathering, heavy and suffocating. For a moment, it seemed as if the planet itself had stilled, holding its breath. Then, commotion spread like wildfire; gasps, words of disbelief and shock contorting their features. “That’s impossible,” one of the hunters muttered. “She is tawtute (human),” another scoffed. “Such a thing cannot be."

Mo’at’s look remained unreadable, though her grip tightened on the staff she held. She finally rose to her feet, her presence commanding even in the face of such upheaval. “Is it true?” Her voice was steady, but a flicker of concern, doubt, and awe altogether crossed her visage. Norm, who had accompanied the young couple, stepped forward tentatively. “It is, tsahìk,” he confirmed. “We ran every test possible. She is pregnant. There’s no mistake."

A deep, disapproving growl rumbled from the crowd. It came from Tsentey, one of the oldest and most traditionalist warriors among them—a Na’vi who had long been wary of human influence. He had opposed Jake Sully’s leadership in the past, even if he had ultimately submitted to the clan’s will. But now, his old grievances resurfaced like poison in an open wound.

“An abomination,” the man spat, his voice rough with disdain, his knife-like gaze fixed on Neteyam. “First, we accepted a sky demon as our olo’eyktan. Then, his children, the offspring of an unnatural vessel. And now, this? A half-blood brings forth a child with one of them?” His nostrils flared, his disgust well displayed. “I must have been blind to believe you wouldn’t follow the same path as your parents.” The prince bristles, his tail flicking vehemently. “Watch your mouth, sempul,” he warned, tone filled with controlled fury. Tsentey’s lips curled. “You are not son of mine,” he hissed, dismissing the familial and courteous term with venom.

Lo’ak marched forward, but Kiri grabbed his arm, holding him back, intimating him not to worsen the already tense situation. Others in the clan began whispering, and it became clear that while many were simply stunned, there was a portion of the elders who were truly disturbed. “This must be a trick of the vrrtep (demons),” someone said. “Or a corruption of Eywa’eveng (Pandora) balance."

Pey’lan, another warrior—older than the Sully brothers but still young enough to be more prone to novelty and renovation than others—frowned deeply but did not immediately brush off the news. “If this is true, then perhaps it isn’t simply corruption, but an… evolution. One the Great Mother has allowed.” Tsentey grunted once more. “Nawna Sa’nok would never allow this.” “And yet, here we are,” Neytiri countered at last. “Do you truly claim to understand all of Eywa’s will?”

His eyes darkened as he turned back to the reason for such tumult and hate. “And what of your leadership, ma’Neteyam? You were to lead our people. But now? You are tainted by human touch, and now your little mate carries a curse.” “What are you trying to say?” intervened Jake, who had been silent thus far. His expression was heavy, his gaze piercing and aggravated. “Perhaps your son was never meant to rule. Perhaps your decision to give your bloodline a place among us was a sin."

A murmur rippled through the crowd. It was a dangerous thought, one that had lurked in the minds of some elders for years but had never been spoken aloud—until now.

“Enough.” Neytiri's voice cut through the sillness like a blade before anyone could speak again. As the weight of the accusations against her son and mate pressed down upon them, she could no longer hold her tongue. “My husband fought for this clan. Bled for us. Abandoned his tawtute self for us. He has honored the ways of the Omatikaya. If you question our son’s right to lead, then you question his right to have ever led.”

The warrior squared his shoulders. “In fact, I do. I questioned your mate when he was made olo’eyktan. And now I question the half-blood who will take his place with a demon woman beside him.” “So you also second guess Tsu’tey’s choice when he accepted Jake as Toruk Makto. And my father, who let him gain his place among us. And yet, my husband led us through war and saved our People.” “This is not war, Neytiri,” Tsentey countered, his voice hard. “This is our way of life. Your son—our future leader—has brought something into our world that was never meant to be.” “My son,” the woman said, stepping closer, her posture rigid, predatory, protective, “is Na’vi. He was raised in our ways.” Her voice trembled with emotion, but her eyes never wavered. “You question his blood? Then you question mine. You question me."

Tsentey faltered for the first time. Neytiri was a daughter of Eytukan and Mo’at, raised in the oldest tradition of their People. To call her son unworthy was to suggest that her lineage had been spoiled. That she, too, had been polluted. Nobody could deny the dismay when she chose one of them as well. Still, Jakesuli has an avatar, he looked like them, but Celeste? She was, in all respects, human. A constant reminder of their suffering, of what they went through. Of the man who was the hand in much of this pain.

Miles Quaritch.

“I question the Sky People’s hold on us,” the elder corrected, though his voice had lost some of its fire. “I ask what happens when we forget who we are.” Neytiri let out a harsh breath, her fists clenching at her sides. “And what are we, Tsentey? A People so afraid of change that we turn away from Eywa's will?” Her own tone dropped lower, more dangerous. “Do you think I wanted this?” She gestured to Celeste, to the young human woman carrying her son’s child in her womb, her voice raw. “Do you think I wished for my son to love one of them? I wanted him to find a strong mate among our People and lead with the pride of our ancestors. But he chose this path, and Eywa allowed it.”

The girl felt her stomach twist. Neytiri’s words stung, but she couldn’t blame her. All Na’vi stirred at their meaning. Eytukan’s daughter had never been one to embrace transformation, nor had she ever fully trusted humans, even after decades of peace. If even she had come to accept what had happened, what did that mean?

Tsentey’s jaw tightened. “Then perhaps Nawna Sa’nok has abandoned us.”

A horrified murmur rippled through the clan. Mo’at’s eyes darkened. “Mind your tongue, Tsentey.” But he did not back down. “We have strayed too far,” he pressed on. “How do we know this unnatural thing will not bring disaster upon us?” Neteyam’s patience snapped. “You speak as though my child is a monster to be feared.” His tone was a deep snarl, his tail lashing behind him and his ears glued to his skull. “The only ones acting like monsters are those who refused to listen to the Great Mother’s will."

Pey’lan nodded, stepping forward once more. “Eywa does not make mistakes. She is showing us a new path.” But for every voice that rose in their defense, another rose against them. “This is a betrayal of our ways!” “This child is an aberration.” “If we let this happen, what comes next?” The divide in the clan had never felt so real.

Jake took a slow breath, stepping beside Neytiri, his face hard. “I know fear when I see it,” he said. “I know what it does to people. It makes them lash out, makes them desperate. But fear isn’t a reason to reject something we don’t understand. It’s a reason to learn.”Tsentey scoffed. “Learn what? How to forget our ways? To let the Sky People infect us further?” Neytiri stepped forward again, her voice sharp. “You have always hated my mate,” she hissed. “Do not pretend this is only about my grandchild. This is about you. Your pride. Your unwillingness to see beyond what you know.”

Tsentey’s ears flattened, but he did not deny it. The clan murmured again, torn. A weight settled over them, a fracture that had long been forming, but now, with news of Celeste’s pregnancy, the crack had splid wide open. The tsahìk, who had been obeserving quietly, lifted a hand with a pained but determined expression. The crowd fell into hushed susurrations while her eyes lingered on her daughter before shifting back to her grandson. “You believe the Great Mother has decided this?” She asked, the tone in her voice grave. “I do,” Neteyam answered right away. “She led us to one another, guided our connection. This child is not an accident: it’s a sign.” The old woman took a long breath through her flat nose, her look indecipherable. “I must speak with Nawna Sa’nok,” she declared as to shut any other opinions. “This is beyond my knowledge. Come.” His mate faltered, “Come where?” “To commute with Eywa.”

A ripple of uncertainty passed through the gathered Na’vi. Some nodded in approval, believing that only Eywa’s wisdom could determine the truth of this unprecedented event. Others remained tense, fearful of what it would mean if the Great Mother did not respond—or worse, if she rejected Celeste entirely.

Neteyam’s grip on his mate’s hand tightened. “I will go with her.”“No,” his grandmother said firmly. “She must do this alone.” The girl’s stomach twisted with unease, but she nodded. “If this is what it takes to prove my child belongs, I’ll do it.” Kiri rested a hand on her shoulder. “You are strong, sister.” She offered a weak smile at those words before following Mo’at. As they disappeared into the glowing forest, the clan remained divided. Some whispered words of hope. Others steeled themselves against what they saw as a decay of their people.

And all the while, a windstorm gathered over Pandora, ready to reshape the world as they knew it.

The journey to the Tree of Souls was made in silence. Celeste followed Mo’at through the bioluminescent undergrowth, her heartbeat loud in her ears. The deeper they ventured into the sacred forest, the denser the air felt—charged, alive, pulsing with something beyond comprehension. The tsahìk moved with the certainty of one who had walked this path countless times. The human girl, however, felt like an intruder, like a shadow in a place that had never been meant for her. Yet, she was here. Eywa had brought her here.

As they emerged into the clearing, Cel’s breath caught in her throat The Tree of Souls towered before her, its luminescent tendrils swaying as though sensing their arrival. The atmosphere was thick with the hum of life, a presence so vast and encompassing that it pressed against her skin, wrapped around her like unseen hands. She could feel it—not just see it or hear it, but feel it—something ancient, grand, noble.

Mo’at turned to face her, her gaze honed yet not unkind. “You step before Eywa now, child,” the tsahìk said. “You will ask, and she will answer. If she chooses to.” Celeste swallowed, hands instinctively drifting to her abdomen. The thought of what she was about to do sent a shiver up her spine. This was more than just a ritual. It was a plea. The woman motioned for her to lay before the great tree, the ground beneath was soft, warm, almost pulsing like a heartbeat.

Then she reached forward, grasping one of the glowing tendrils and offering it to the girl. “Take it,” she instructed. “You must connect.” Celeste hesitated only for a moment before reaching out with trembling fingers. As soon as she touched the vine, something cold and electric rushed up her arm, her breathing hitched as she carefully guided the glowing tendrils toward her nape.

As the connection was made, the world around her vanished. Only the purple hues of dusk, which softly spread between the foliage of the great sacred tree, remained vivid in her now closed eyes. Mo'at, her face marked with wrinkles and wisdom, dipped her hands into a pearlescent solution taken directly from the heart of the trunk, intoning a prayer, then gently placed them on the girl's belly.

The girl was no longer in the clearing. She was standing in a vast, endless space—a sky without stars, a sea without water. A place of nothing, and yet, everything. She turned, searching, calling out, but no voice escaped her lips.

Then, a presence. A whisper in the void. A single breath of wind, stirring the silence like ripples on water. And then she saw her.

A woman, Na’vi in form but glowing with a light that was not of this world. Her form was woven from strands of living energy, shifting between physical and ephemeral. Her eyes—vast, knowing—pierced through her as though seeing not just her body but her soul, her very essence.

Cel knew, without needing to be told, who this was. “Eywa,” she whispered. The Great Mother did not speak in words, but she felt the response deep inside her, as though the very air was communicating with her thoughts.

Why do you come, child of two worlds?

The human breath trembled. “I seek answers,” she admitted. “I carry life within me, but it should not be possible. I am not Na’vi.” Eywa was silent for a long moment, her glowing form pulsing with a rhythm she could not understand. Then, like a whisper against her skin, came the response.

Life finds a way where it is meant to.

Celeste frowned. “But… how? How is this possible? No Na’vi and human have ever…” Eywa’s light shifted, and suddenly, Celeste saw. A vision unraveled before her—fragments of moments that did not belong to her, yet somehow, she felt them. She saw herself beneath the Tree of Voices, joined with Neteyam, their connection deeper than flesh, deeper than thought. She saw the glowing roots of the tree wrapping around her, pulsing, binding. She saw the strange, tubular growths that had formed at the base of her skull in those sacred moments, the fleeting connection she had barely understood at the time.

And then she saw her child. Not yet born, but already a part of something greater. A thread in the great weave of life that Eywa spun across Pandora. The Tree of Voices had not merely connected her to Neteyam. It had changed her. Maybe not in form, but in body and in something deeper, in a way no human had ever been before. In spirit.

She gasped as the realization struck her: her baby was not a mistake. Not an anomaly. Eywa had allowed this. Eywa had willed this. “Why?” she whispered, voice raw. “Why me?” The presence of Eywa did not waver.

You were chosen, as all life is chosen. You have walked the path, become part of the song. Your child is not the end of balance, but the beginning of a new one.

Tears welled in Celeste’s eyes. “But the People… they fear this. They will reject me. They will reject my child. They already have.” Eywa’s form pulsed, and for the first time, Celeste felt something like a sorrow so vast it spanned lifetimes.

Change is always met with hatred. But balance does not exist without it.

Her heart clenched. The deity had not said that the People would accept her child. She had not said that there would be no hardship, no pain, no struggle. Only that this was the path, that it was meant to be.

Celeste’s vision blurred with tears. “Will my child survive?” she whispered. Eywa’s light dimmed slightly, as if the answer was not hers to give.

You must walk that path to know.

Celeste felt her chest tighten, but before she could say more, the vision shattered.

Though I’ll tell you this. You may not be Na'vi, but you were born here. You are part of my beloved children even if appearances say otherwise.

She gasped as she was thrust back into her body, the connection with the Tree of Souls severed. Her body felt heavy, as if she had been drained of something vital. She collapsed on her side, breathing hard, with one last sentence chanting in her ears.

Trust who you are, ma’ite.

Mo’at knelt beside her, eyes sharp, searching. “What did you see?” The girl swallowed, her entire body trembling. “Eywa… she planned this.” She pressed a hand to her abdomen. “My child is meant to be.” The old woman studied her carefully before finally nodding, as though she had already known the answer. “The People will not all believe,” she warned. “There will be fear. Conflict.” Celeste looked up, her eyes filled with something new—not just conviction, but welcome. “I know,” she whispered. “But I will fight for my child, for my mate. For this new future.”

Mo’at let out a slow breath, then helped her to her feet. “Then we must return,” she said. “And you must prepare yourself for what comes next.” Celeste nodded, wiping the last of her tears. She did not know what the future would bring, but she knew one thing for certain.

This was only the beginning.

A whisper went through the living net as the two re-emerged from the forest under the glow of Pandora’s night. The bioluminescence pulsed around them, yet to the sky girl, the forest no longer felt like a place on uncertainty. It was alive in a way she had never fully grasped before, as if she was noticing just now its true beauty, its essence. She carries the weight of their deity’s message in her heart, and, as she stepped into the gathering once more, she soon realized with even greater force that knowing the truth and making others embrace it were two entirely different things.

The moment Mo’at took the lead in front of her, with Neteyam besides her, the murmuring crowd fell quiet, a demonstration of her absolute authority; all eyes were on her. Still not a silence of peace—it was the calm before the storm. The tsahìk's eyes, wide open and tense, swept across the People. “Eywa has spoken,” she declared in a tone full of reverence, her voice strong, echoing through the assembly. “Celeste brings life. A child of the bond between heaven and earth. The first sign of a path Nawna Sa’nok set for us many cycles ago.” Her wistful gazed darted to her own daughter.

The revelation fell like lightning. The crowd exploded in an uproar of emotion. Some clan members knelt, seeing the event as a divine sign; others cried out in fear and bewilderment, claiming it was an affront to the natural order. Neteyam stood up, his face alight with determination. “If Eywa has chosen this, then it is her will. We cannot defy her.” But his words did not quell the chaos. “This is corruption!” Tsentey broke the agitation, his deep voice thick with anger, while a devious glare landed on Celeste, fill with something more than just disapproval. It was bare, irrational phobia, disguised as something worse than simple rage, shadier, brutal only as when self-preservation animal instinct rises to the surface, overriding rationality.

What might have sprung from that primal emotion chilled the blood in Spider's veins, as he pushed himself just in time between his sister and her mate, to shield her as the latter responded to the threat with equal aggression. A single quick vocalization exhaled from his open mouth, his jaw tense, his teeth clearly in view. His ears were folded and his nose curled up as he leaned forward menacingly, still hissing, his hand ready to adversely grip the hilt of the knife hanging from his chest. Tsentey was a seasoned warrior, but age had slowed him down; he could have done nothing in a physical confrontation with a brawny youth, forged by a lifetime of training mixed with youthful prowess and the drive that only protecting his mate can trigger.

The elder had to rely on intelligence rather than strength. He already overstepped by challenging both the olo’eyktan and his son's role, he couldn’t afford duel with the next in line to the throne without risking been exiled. That would be too much even for a clan as democratic as the Omatikaya was. “Don’t you see? The alien is already turning us against each other. This is not the will of Eywa—it is a deception, a sickness brought by those demons. It threatens everything we are!”

Celeste flinched at the venom in his voice, but Neteyam took a step forward, guarding her from the weight of Tsentey’s words. His tail flicked in agitation, but his voice remained calm. “She’s pandorian just like us” he stated, his golden eyes locking onto the older warrior’s. “She has been raised in respect of our customs. If even the Great Mother acknowledging her as her daughter is not enough, tell me—what else must she do to earn your approval? What have she not yet given?”

Tsentey did not respond immediately, but his silence spoke louder than his words. “Get rid of it.” A murmur of agreement rippled through some of the warriors and elders. Others shifted uneasily, torn between respect for the leading family and their own deep-seated beliefs. “We can tolerate half-bloods with Na’vi features, even close an eye on your repulsive relationship, but an off-spring generated from the of you? No, we can’t let such a monstrosity live among us, grow alongside our children.”

Another snarl escaped Neteyam’s throat and this time, if it wasn’t for his father grip on his arm, the situation would have escalated into tragedy. “Calm down, son. Don't give in to his provocations or you'll play into his hands,” Jake wispered in his ear. “He's tryin’ to make you lose control so he can prove that my legacy is infected with humanity. That Cel is deviating you with her sinful nature.” The prince was desperate to retort, but he gritted his teeth and nodded dryly; his father was right. That was all Tsentey’s plan to destroy the Sullys.

“You are so blinded by your sky demon girl, ma’Neteyam, that you do not even realize that you are endangering her. Is that what true love is? Making her meet something unknown, uncontrollable. It might even kill her, ‘itan (son).”

What a sly bastard.

Kiri exhaled slowly, then turned to Mo’at. “Grandmother,” she said, his voice quieter than usual, steadier, “Eywa has spoken. What must we do?” The woman's gaze fixed on the ones who were uncertain, the ones who were afraid, and the ones who were ready to embrace what had come to pass. She let the silence stretch, forcing them all to sit with their thoughts. Finally, she spoke. “Change is not a choice,” she said. “It comes whether we will it or not. We have seen this before. When the Sky People came. When they destroyed our home. When we fought. When some of them chose to stay. When some of them were born here.” She looked at Spider and Celeste now. “This child is part of that change. It is neither a blessing nor a curse. It simply is. Not the end of our People, only the beginning of something greater.”

The clan listened, the weight of her words settling into their bones. That child was a bridge between two worlds, two species, two opposites; something that could lead to understanding, a future where humans and Na’vi were no longer enemies.

Mo’at turned back to Tsentey. “You do not have to welcome it,” she told him. “But you will respect it.” The man jaw clenched, his tail flicking sharply. But he did not speak.

The stillness that followed was not one of agreement but of division. The clan was fractured. Some would support them. Some would oppose them. And some, like Tsentey, would never accept them. Mo’at exhaled deeply. “The People will decide,” she said at last. “But Eywa has already.”

And with those words, the future of the Omatikaya hung in the balance.

Taglist: @minnory

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crowsofdarkness · 17 hours ago

Text

Vaz Prizrak: Chapter Thirteen

-gif not mine. credit to owner-

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Agent! Reader.

Content Warnings: language, 18 + implied smut, angst, fluff, violence, mentions of losing a pregnancy, thoughts of taking one's life, an attempt to take one's life. I will give another warning when that chapter is posted.

Summary: Bucky and Reader have been in their own solace while in Wakanda for years. They were finally happy to create the life they wanted and deserved. That was until a new foe came along to dust it all away.

Authors Note: This takes place during Infinity War and Endgame! If you haven't yet, please read Soldat and Dorogaya beforehand.

Slight mention of someone taking their own life in this chapter, please read with caution!

Tags: @globetrotter28 @sakuracyberhex @chinggay85-blog @bookofriverr @misatxox @that-blonde-girl @cats-chaotic-mind @wintrsoldrluvr @sebastians-love @pumpkin-babydoll @ordelixx @starfly-nicole @j23r23 @baw1066 @capswife

Soldat Masterlist | Dorogaya Masterlist | Vaz Prizrak Masterlist

A soft breeze blew through the redness of my hair as I ascended up the stairs to my home. The front door was freshly painted yellow, one of my favorite colors, and when I stepped inside everything was not how I expected.

The furniture that cluttered the home, in the best way possible, had brought a homey feeling deep in my heart. Music played from down the hall and my heels clicked alongside the refinished wood floors and when I came to a stop in the doorway, the man turned and smiled deeply at me.

“Hey beautiful.”

I laced my fingers with his extended ones and felt my body gliding into his open embrace.

“It’s our song,” he muttered, lips ghosting over my forehead.

“Till the end of time. Long as roses bloom in May. My love for you will grow deeper with every passing day.”

The beautiful lyrics of our song played through my ears and it was then that I realized I hadn’t heard the soft melody in so long.

“May I have this dance?”

I nodded, while brushing the lone strand of hair from his face as it fell out of the bun.

“You can always have this dance, Bucky.” I spoke softly.

Our bodies swayed together in perfect harmony, the song replaying over and over, this dance becoming second nature to us. We would do this almost every day when we lived in Wakanda and Romania.

As my cheek was against his chest, I could feel his heart beat in rhythm to the beat of the song. My own heart, however, was beating a mile a minute when I suddenly remembered how I had gotten to this moment, this memory.

“Bucky,” I looked up at him. “I need to talk to you about something.”

He immediately hushed me with a firm kiss to my lips.

“Let’s enjoy this moment, doll.” He said, ignoring me.

“But I need to tell you,” I started.

Bucky spun me in his arms and dipped me low, placing another loving kiss against my lips.

“I can’t wait until we can do this every day. I’ll dance with you until I’m grey and old,” Bucky vowed, pulling me back into his arms.

Our hips swayed together once more and I realized that no matter how hard I tried to tell him what I needed to talk to him about, he would ignore it.

“Is this another dream or am I actually dead and in my own kind of heaven?” I wondered out loud.

The music faded out low and Bucky stepped away from me, his eyes looking deep in my soul.

“Why would you be dead, Y/N?”

My head cocked to the side, eyes staring back into his own. “You’ve been watching over me, Bucky. You had to know what I did.”

“Restoring my old childhood home?” He pointed throughout the bedroom we were in.

It was then that I noticed the wide variety of photos that hung on the walls of the room; pictures of us together and alone. There were also pictures of us with our friends; Steve and Bucky from back in the 40’s, Steve and I when I first joined his team with Shield, and Natasha and I on one of our spontaneous girl weekends.

Pieces of my heart shattered and fell into the abyss of my stomach as I took in our genuine smiles in the photo. We were so happy that weekend, becoming incredibly close. We both said the weekend was when we became sisters.

“I miss you so much, Nat,” my voice broke as I traced over her smile.

“She wanted you to have the life you deserve, doll. She sacrificed it all for us,” Bucky came up from behind, placing a kiss on top of my head.

“She deserved it more than I do,” I stated.

Bucky gently pulled me into his arms, forcing my face to look at him. “Why do you think that?”

A soft sob shook its way from my throat. “You’ve seen what I’ve done, Buck. I’ve killed, tortured, and mained people; all for you.”

“Sleeping with Steve was for me?” He questioned, anger far from his voice.

Suddenly the room shifted around us and we were now standing in Steve’s room in the Avengers Compound. Two bodies laid together in the sheets, chest rising and falling in sync, and I then noticed it was Steve and I after our night together. He had his arms wrapped around me while my head was laying on his bare chest.

“Steve?” Bucky wondered with his voice wavering.

My lips trembled as I tried to hold back the sob. I could hear it in the way he said his name that Bucky was heartbroken at my decision that night.

“I wasn’t in the right place. We had all just lost Natasha and I felt like it wasn’t worth it anymore. I felt numb all over and no matter what I did, I couldn’t feel anything. I needed to feel something and Steve was there,” I admitted.

We both continued to stare at the two bodies in the bed. Bucky was standing behind me and I felt myself jump in fear when his cold, vibranium fingers traced a scar on the side of my forehead that reached the top of my ear.

“Why did you do this?” His breath was warm on my neck.

The room shifted around us again and this time we were standing on the pier on the lake. A few feet in front of us stood another me, gun clenched tight in hand.

Bucky had wrapped his arms around me from behind, knowing what was about to happen, and when I jumped in his embrace after the gun had gone off, he held my crying body while we watched my other self fall into the lake.

Blood streamed the waters and I tried to get out of his grasp but Bucky held on tight.

“Watch,” he spoke firmly.

Both of us watched as Steve ran from the compound down to the pier, sheer panic and fear on his face.

“Y/N!” He yelled before diving into the water.

The way he screamed my name pained me to the core, realizing how broken I had made Steve because of my decision. Time had passed incredibly slowly as Bucky and I both waited for what was going to happen next.

Would Steve resurface alone or with my body? And would I be alive or dead?

“Your decision affected everyone, dorogaya.” Bucky spoke.

Suddenly, Steve had resurfaced from the water, carrying a limp body in his arms. I gasped when I saw the large wound on the side of the head, blood continuing to pool from it.

“You’re not leaving me, Y/N. You don’t get to leave me too,” Steve cried before running back inside of the compound, yelling for Bruce.

“Am I dead? Did I die?” I sobbed, turning in Bucky’s arm to face him.

He looked at me with a broken expression and cupped my cheek with his flesh hand. His thumb brushed against my cheek bone, wiping away the tears.

“I’ll see you soon, doll.”

With a fast and firm kiss on my lips, I gripped tightly onto him, not wanting to let him go.

Sitting up in bed with a loud gasp, I looked around my surroundings but suddenly groaned in pain when I realized how fast I had sat up.

“CAP! She’s awake!”

Looking at the doorway, I saw Bruce yelling into the hallway.

“What?” I asked, my voice coming out raw and broken.

A new man entered the room and when I took in his disheveled look, my heart hammered hard in the cage in my chest.

“Y/N,” he breathed a long sigh of relief.

“Steve.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan #bucky barnes and reader #the winter soldier #marvel #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier smut #bucky barnes x agent!reader #james barnes smut #james barnes imagine #james bucky barnes #james barnes #james buchanan barnes #soldat bucky barnes #vaz prizrak bucky barnes #dorogaya bucky barnes

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fairestwriting · 10 hours ago

Text

title: next time you’re free

ೀ pairing: vil x gn!reader

ೀ summary: With the end of the school year approaching, you begin to reconsider whether you’ve truly been living up to your role as Ramshackle’s dorm leader, eventually deciding your future juniors deserved better than a broken down mess of a dorm— And while fitting the renovations into your already packed schedule wouldn’t be easy, you’re sure you could manage, you’d just have to try a little harder…

ೀ word count: 4,364

⋆˙⟡♡ commissioned by a really sweet person who wanted to stay anonymous! i’m still really honored to be the first person you buy from TvT thank you so much for the support!

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ if you’re interested in my commissions you can read my guidelines here ! ⊹ ࣪ ˖

Setting down the stack of notes in your hands, you lean back on the couch of the Ramshackle common room. That really took a lot more writing than I thought, you think, slight aches poking at your wrists and neck — The couch is old and kind of saggy, not providing much support to your body, but you welcome the feeling anyway. Besides, you think, we should be getting a better one very soon...

“Grim?” You tentatively raise your voice to call for him, looking towards the hallway his room was located in. “Are you still up?”

You wait one, two, three seconds. Then more, eventually losing count.

“I guess not…”

Murmuring to yourself, you let out a sigh. Well, it’s not like he would have helped much, but…

Your mind wanders as you glance to the side, at the big window on the wall showing the pitch black of the night, then at the ceiling. One of the lights flicker a little bit, struggling to fight against the sheer weight of the night, you notice. It blurs on the corners that are farther away from it. You hadn’t noticed that earlier today—

Frowning, you take your planner back from the coffee table.

You take that extra note, fitting it at the bottom of a page. When you close it, swallowing your growing unease, it snaps shut neatly, making a satisfying click noise. The royal purple cover stands out among the muted colors of your dorm.

You take the moment to just stare at it. So fancy, you think as your fingertip runs over the firm cover, feeling the texture of the metallic arabesque designs on the corners. It’s essentially just a notebook like any other, and yet...

Well, it couldn’t really be a notebook like any other. It was a gift, first of all.

It’s only been a few days since you started using it, receiving it directly from Vil after a meeting with all the dorm leaders — The meetings always left you feeling restless, like you should be doing more than you actually are. But this specific time, the determination you got was way stronger. Special, really...

You’re not even sure if you could consider him a friend, you never guessed he thought of you at all— You two did speak semi often, since you’d visit his club to help out every once in a while, but besides that, not much. So, to think he would be the one person to take interest when you brought up Ramshackle needing renovations…

It’s not like you had ever been a slacker in the first place, but you weren’t really keeping up with everyone else either. You helped out with many clubs, you were very involved as a student, but as the year came close to ending, you started to feel the weight of your role as a dorm leader, too.

Fixing the dorm was the bare minimum. Your possible future juniors deserved more than just that— And now you knew, too, that you weren’t the only one who believed this, either. You’ve heard it from Epel, you knew what catching Vil’s eye meant… more or less.

╰┈➤ you can read the rest on ao3 here!

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader #twst imagines #twst scenarios #lis writing #commissions tag

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salparadiselost · 2 days ago

Note

For the ask game, magic girl bruce intro 👀

Magical Girl AU

This was developed with @jube514 a bit, though this writing is mine.

TW for mentions of spinal injury

It had a price.

Bruce had so easily paid that price when he was younger. It had felt light. A dangerous life for dangerous power. The possibility that he could be killed at any moment in exchange for the possibility of being so much more than himself.

His parents had died.

What had he had to live for anyways?

So he paid.

He didn’t feel that price until years later when he was crawling through rubble and ash and calling his name over and over and over again. Broken glass cut into his palms, and he hadn’t even felt it over the shattering pain from within his heart.

He had screamed his name until his pleas became sobs, and the truth of it sank in.

It was a heavy price, after all and here he was considering on whether he should make the small body in the hospital bed pay it too.

“What’s his prognosis?” he asked the nurse who was not-to-subtly gaping at him from a few feet away.

He was used to the stares at this point.

He had become a Magic-Given almost two decades ago and wore all the trappings that came with it when he donned his magical Ensemble. “Magic-Given” was a more modern term, especially as it became clear that magic could be given to both males and females. The phenomenon was originally discovered in Japan and passed between young girls until eventually it was spread out into the rest of the world. “Magical girls” they had called them, a cute name that didn’t fully capture the amount of danger they were plunging into. Their Magical Ensembles, so iconically clad with bows, ribbons, and corsets, were just pretty frosting on lots and lots of pain.

Bruce’s Magical Ensemble was a revealing number that showed a large amount of skin to signify both his maturity and power level. Ensembles tended to do that, starting as very modest little outfits for the younger Givens and eventually becoming tighter and scarcer as their bearer grew more mature. Bruce’s Ensemble was a collection of luxurious blacks and golds that twined around his body. Ribbons and lace cut across his body like lingeries, curling along his curves and hinting at the pale skin underneath. His pants were tight, and cut-outs were strategically stretched across his hips, exposing the v of his bones and the expanse of his muscled thigh. His stomach was basically completely bare, only covered by sheer fabric that really left nothing on his top half to the imagination. His shoulders were covered in armour (because, of course, that’s what deserved armor) and dripped gold jewelry down his chest. A long cape flowed out from his shoulders and rippled around his ankles, even when there was no wind. It started as a pitch black near his upper shoulders and then gradually lightened into a gold that dispersed into glimmering stardust that trailed behind him wherever he went.

It was a powerful Emsemble and the skin exposure spoke to how much time Bruce had had to grow into his abilities. Many of the Given would have killed to don such an Emsemble.

It was also lewd and Bruce hated it. Especially when he was supposed to be taken seriously like in this moment.

He crossed his arms over his chest, covering his nipples with his arms.

“His spine was broken in seven different places,” the doctor said softly at Bruce’s elbow. She was a tiny Black woman who was probably about two feet shorter than Bruce. Her hands, though, had so much power. They had tried so hard to knit the boy’s spine back together. “He should be dead,” she added after a few breaths. “It’s a miracle he’s even alive but…” She trailed off, worrying her lip with the coming bad news.

“But what?” Bruce prompted. He felt so out of place in the sterile theatre of the hospital. Everyone was bustling around with coats, gloves and masks while his belly button and hipbones were on display. Not for the first time, he wished his Emsemble came with a hoodie. Or even just a shirt.

"He will need attendant care for the rest of his life. The fall affected all of his lower half, so he will be bedbound and need help with the toilet. He will be incontinent so the care will need to be constant to keep him clean. He won't be able to walk again."

Would an orphanage even pay for that amount of intense care? Certainly not the ones in Gotham. Not the one the boy was scheduled to be transferred to in a couple weeks time.

Being a Magic Given was no life for a child and yet... and yet...

#kay speaks #bruce wayne #dick grayson #magical girl au #wip tag game

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tboyfromthewoods · 1 day ago

Note

How the hell have you been on t since you were 13 and had top surgery at 14?

I get this question a lot, and I totally understand why. I had the stereotypical trans masc childhood of growing up wearing boys clothes and developing extreme anxiety once I hit puberty, and it was very noticeable to the adults around me. Around age 11 I learned what being transgender was and it obviously resonated with me deeply. I didn’t know it at the time, but my mother was doing her own research about what it means to be transgender. When I came out to her at age 12, she already had background knowledge of different aspects of transitioning and supported me 100%. We booked an appointment at the pediatric endocrinologist about an hour away from us, and their waitlist was booked 6 months out. I decided that I wanted to cut my hair and start going by my current, masculine name in between seventh and eighth grade. That way, I would be used to the adjustment by the start of school. I had my consultation at the endo in early 2019 (before my social transition) and had my second appointment 6 months later, right after I began my social transition. My mother was still on the fence about letting me start T since she was afraid of the permanence of the decision to start it. A few months later (right before my 14th birthday) she signed the consent and surprised me by letting me start testosterone. I was overjoyed and have had zero regrets in the past 6ish years. Since I had been binding with tight sports bras for years before I came out, my chest dysphoria had caused me even more pain and anxiety than what going on T relieved. I was able to book a consultation with a surgeon in early 2020 2.5 hours away from my home. I had my keyhole surgery in summer 2020. Unfortunately, insurance did not cover it so I had to take money out of my what I inherited from a dead family member to pay for it. Both of these steps in my medical transition have been life-altering in the best way possible, and I appreciate that my situation is very rare. I was lucky in many ways, especially since healthcare for trans youth became heavily restricted in my state just a few months after my surgery. Keep in mind that not everybody’s trans experience looks like mine, and access to (or desire for) medical transitioning doesn’t make you any less valid than those who have undergone these procedures. I have experienced multitudes of transphobia and hurdles from medical professionals during this process and it is exhausting, to be quite frank. Trans healthcare saves lives.

#ftm #transgender #top surgery #testosterone #t shot #trans masc #transmasc #trans pride #transisbeautiful

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darklydeliciousdesires · 19 hours ago

Text

A Storm of Stars - Chapter Three.

I am updating a day early, besties, as I will be busy all day tomorrow. Enjoy!

Summary: The Targaryen twin stars. Two sides of the same coin. Aemond and Aemella Targaryen, second children of King Viserys I and his queen, Alicent Hightower, had spent their entire lives almost as one, the lines blurring where one twin ended and the other began. What started as an inseparable sibling bond eventually bloomed into a deep, limitless love.

A day would come, though, when their love story - famed for generations to come - would be tested by the one who sought to tear them apart. When the storm of stars descended, nobody who had wronged them would come away unscathed.

Words - 4,062

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added.

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Incest, mentions of child loss through miscarriage. Minors DNI.

Previous Chapters - One Two

As the afternoon drew into the inky dusk of evening, Aemond found himself grow weary after being summoned to the small council, his brother the king requesting his presence. It seemed though to be little more than to continually rebuke his practical advice, Aemond left wondering for what end he had been called there at all.

“That will be all, my lords,” Aegon spoke from the head of the table, the men present as well as the dowager queen all rising. “Not you, Aemond. Be seated.”

He waited until they had left the room, nodding to the royal cup bearer to refill their wine goblets, lifting the freshly topped up vessel to his lips. “I keep you here as a courtesy as my brother, to inform you firstly before the others of my proposal going forth in our war effort.”

Aemond looked a touch pained to have been kept behind, his thumb absently spinning the Valyrian steel wedding band upon his fourth finger, as he often did when keen to return to his wife. Most persons of nobility chose gold, but he and his beloved had sought something a little different for theirs.

“I am listening.” He would at least extend the courtesy of that much, not that Aegon often partook in offering the same token.

“Our alliances are so far yielding good success, but what I wish to secure will take a certain differing strategy,” he began, another mouthful of wine gulped back. “The pretender unfortunately has the greater advantage in so much as she holds the pledge and loyalty of the north, an alliance I wish to snatch out from beneath her.”

A challenging commission if ever there was one, Aemond recognised. It was well known throughout the Seven Kingdoms that House Stark embraced their loyalty to a fault. It would take much to turn the tides in their favour with Cregan Stark himself.

“And how do you propose such a task be accomplished?”

“That, Aemond, is simple,” he began, lifting his chin. “I will offer him a wife, and Lord Stark himself a seat at my small council. Men, even as noble as he, can always be seduced by the promise of power.”

He shook himself internally, not immediately able to recall an available Targaryen to offer as a bride. “How?” he questioned sharply. “The only women of our house who remain loyal to the Green and whom are of marital age are our own wives. Unless you seek to offer our mother, a proposition I cannot see her accepting.”

The king’s smile split his mouth almost sinisterly. “I do not propose such, but Aemella will be your wife no longer when I seek an annulment to your marriage, freeing her to carry out a greater duty for our side.”

Gods be good, the king could not be serious. Aemond balked, fury dancing in his eye. Was he dreaming? “You cannot possibly mean to use my wife as a mere pawn in your war effort.” he seethed, fingers clenching into fists on the table before him. “I will not allow it.”

Aegon’s expression remained unchanged, his demeanour disturbingly calm. “You misunderstand, brother. This is not a request. It is a command. For the good of our house, sacrifices must be made. You are loyal, are you not?”

“I am loyal to the Green,” he spat, “but even more so to Aemella. You ask too much of me, Aegon. This is madness.”

The king set his goblet down with a hard thud, his eyes narrowing. “Madness, you say? No, Aemond. Madness is you and Vhaegar chasing our nephew through the eye of a storm to his demise. This is strategy. Cold, calculated strategy. The north will not bend easily, but they can be persuaded. Aemella is our best chance at solidifying our power.”

Except that it wasn’t strategy. This, Aemond knew well, was not solely confined to their efforts to strengthen their seat. Nay. Aegon, as ever, relished in the opportunity to toy with him. He honestly could not believe his ears, that his brother thought a plan so feeble, driven by his own need to exact cruelty upon him and little more, was by any means viable.

“If you suggest this in all sincerity, then brother, you are unfit to seat yourself upon the Iron Throne. A king does not entertain such follies. Besides, however would it look within court, hmm? To break up a harmonious marriage simply to achieve alliance?”

Aegon shrugged, smirking. “Your marriage is childless. A sham of a union by that token, some might suggest. An annulment would not be frowned upon. Besides, I am the king. What I fucking decree shall come to pass.”

“By choice, we are childless. You know why,” Aemond gritted, feeling his temper flickering further into life deep in the pit of his belly. While their lack of children might have been a bone of contusion for him at present, he would not take kindly to his relationship being labelled a sham because they remained barren. “When Mella wishes it so again, I will grant her offspring.”

The king’s voice broke on a burst of mocking laughter. “Do you even fuck her, brother? Or is the marriage merely you hiding in the skirts of our sister, too terrified of something real? You cling to the one you shared a womb with because you fear anything else. Seven hells, you probably fear her just as much,” he drawled, circling the rim of his wine goblet with a pointed finger.

Aemond clenched his teeth, the grinding noise audible. “You speak in ridiculous assertions based in mere fantasy. As ever. Anything to demean me.”

Leaning forward, Aegon was enthralled to have received a reaction. His younger brother’s words were calm, but his demeanour lacked it. It there was ever a way to get to Aemond, it was through his twin. “You do. I see it in your eye. When you were thirteen, you refused my offer to take you to a brothel, so you might know what it is to wet your cock. You likely still do not. Tsk, tsk.”

And on he continued with his streaming torment. “Poor Aemella, shackled to a man who fears her cunt too much to go anywhere near it. Was there ever a child at all, or perhaps you arranged another to lay with her in order to sire the babe who was never to be?”

His nostrils flared, remembering the harrowing night, holding a bloodied, wailing Aemella in his arms after their loss, trying in some way to comfort the intense pain his darling wife had suffered. “I will not allow this to stand, Aegon. My marriage is not subject to annulment for political gain or otherwise. We need not forge any new alliances – northern or otherwise – through betrothal.

“Myself and Vhaegar, Aemella and Fyreclaw, we are the most competent dragonriders within the realm. Sending her north is an action with little merit behind it. She is needed here. Her place is here, at my side. As it always has been and shall be to come.”

Aegon lifted his chin, his top lip curling. “If I set the order that she is to be married to house Stark, then it is not for you to argue.” Oh, how his brother very much begged to differ, unable to truly believe this spite driven agenda was sincerely his plan of action.

“May I remind you that I was called to your council to do just that; counsel. Not to hear of ridiculous ideas cooked up in order to needlessly break up my marriage. Be honest, Aegon. You do not seek to marry off Aemella in order to forge stronger alliances in our time of war. You seek it to feed your own perverse interest in punishing me.”

Aegon laughed once again, lifting his wine goblet to his lips. “And to what end is this perceived punishment, dear brother?”

He did not hesitate in stating the obvious. “For my role in earning the title of kinslayer, first and foremost.” Indeed, Aegon could not argue with such an assertion, Aemond continuing.

“You also wish to keep me as far from the throne as humanly possible. The rest is mere cruelty, a twisted game. Rather childish, I find. And to think, I am the younger of us. Then again, I was always a threat, was I not? After all, you never sought this, never wanted it either.” He leaned forward in his seat, his eye narrowing. “Now is not the time to play your petulant games, Aegon. Now is the time for us to stand unified.”

With a deliberate, measured breath, the king considered his brother's words. He swirled the deep red liquid in his goblet, his eyes closing momentarily as he seemed to calculate his next move. Aemond's steadfast resolve was a formidable barrier, one that Aegon had tested countless times before. Most of the time as children, he’d broken it, but his brother was undoubtedly much stronger in character than he had once been.

"Do not mistake me for a fool, Aemond," he finally spoke, his tone laced with a blend of amusement and underlying threat. "Your love for our sister is undeniable, but love does not always align with duty. The realm demands sacrifices, and sometimes those sacrifices come at the expense of personal desires."

Aemond's gaze remained unyielding, his determination unwavering. "I will continue to assume you the fool if you let your hostility toward me drive your agenda. Especially at a time of war.”

“A war your foolhardy actions ignited,” Aegon spat, poking his index finger onto the table aggressively. “Would I be so wrong to punish you for that?”

“Yes, and I tire of having this thrown at me by you and our mother at every given opportunity!” he began, his words strong, voice set to the conviction he felt inside that no, he would not continually be blamed over the semantics of their current position. “Whether I had been the catalyst or not, we both know the pretender would never relinquish her claim. That is a given. War was inevitable!”

Leaning back, he picked up his goblet, draining the contents. “I will not sacrifice my love, my wife, for the sake of a fleeting political advantage. Our bond is unbreakable, and no decree from the crown will change that." Rising from the table, he turned, storming toward the door, beyond exhausted by the measure of his brother and his ridiculous games.

“I was not asking you, Aemond.”

Pivoting on his heel, he lifted his chin. “No, but I am telling you. If you push this ahead then you go to war with me, too. Distension within these walls will not lead to your victory. Only your downfall. Choose wisely.”

Returning to his quarters, he dreaded having to reveal the state of play to Aemella, knowing of course his usually calm and well-measured wife would likely - to put it mildly – be plunged into nothing less than tempestuous fury.

“Mella?” he called, entering the living area of their quarters, taking a beaker and decanting into it a large measure of rum, bolting it back in one gulp. Turning, he saw her move through the room, aiming a nod to where he poured himself a second measure.

“Your meeting with our brother went successfully, then?”

Her light sarcasm was met with a stony face, Aemond taking a seat. “Trust me. Once I have revealed the news I hold, you might find yourself in need of similar fortification.” He patted the space beside him, sipping his drink before placing the beaker upon the table. “Come, sit. You must promise me, though, that you will not fly into incandescence.”

Her heart jolted sharply, unsure she could uphold such a vow. “Well, husband. That all depends on what it is that I am about to learn.” Sitting at his side, her hand went to his thigh, resting atop the lean, hard muscle beneath his britches, ready to hear his news. Once it had been revealed, she did not remain seated for much longer.

“He cannot seriously seek to enact this?” she cried, her eyes wide and usual cool composure all but lost.

Aemond nodded. “He does, and he is a fool for it. I told him as much.”

“A fool? Brother, that is putting it in the mildest of terms!” Her voice cracked on a sudden gasp of laughter, throwing her hands to the heavens. “He will make himself a laughingstock! Annulling his sibling’s marriage in order to marry his sister off in hopes of a forged alliance with Cregan Stark? Has his lost his mind entirely?” She began to pace, Aemond leaving her to her need as he remained seated.

“He thinks that little of our union as to order its dissolution for political gain, a gain he isn’t likely to successfully attain? We all know how strong a bond is with the Stark’s and their word. Cregan will no more back away from his pledge to Rhaenyra with the promise of a bride and a seat upon the small council dangled before him than he would the threat of burning Winterfell to its foundations with dragon fire!”

Her husband sighed, sinking his rum. “Reason is lost upon him. He seeks this of course not merely as a feather in his cap for our war effort, but mostly to spite me. I instructed that this truly was not the time nor place for his games, to exact his personal vendetta against me further.” His mouth tightened, nostrils flaring. “He did that to me enough when we were children.”

Aemella's pacing slowed as she processed the weight of Aemond's words. Her eyes, once wide with fury, now narrowed with determination. "Then we must be ready for what comes next," she declared, her voice resolute. "If Aegon wishes to tear us apart for his own gain – or under the masquerade that this is to fortify alliances - he will find us unyielding. We will not be pawns in his reckless game."

He reached out, halting her pacing and taking her hand firmly in his. "You are right, my love. We stand together, and together we are stronger than he could ever imagine." He paused, a spark of defiance lighting his gaze. “Besides, there is a way we could make this ridiculousness cease before he truly has chance to set the wheels in motion.”

She caught his drift immediately, a flash of trepidation flickering in her eyes. She knew, though. It would kill his plan dead, should this preposterous scheme to have their marriage annulled ever come to fruition.

Aemella was not naive enough to think that Aemond wouldn’t personally relish in getting his own way by extension, too, but truly, the gravitas of the situation meant that she had little choice but to allow it. It was the only way to put a stumbling block before their brother.

“He cannot dissolve our marriage and send me north if I am carrying your child.”

Even though it had been his suggestion, he still looked upon her with care, remembering well her hurt after their very recent quarrels on the matter. “It is the perfect counteraction to his treachery. Are you quite ready for such, for us to try again? You made your stance very clear only this morning.”

He received his answer in Aemella lifting her dress, seating herself astride him, her skirts pooling in froth around his hips as she leaned to press her mouth to his. Her kiss was all honeyed embers, her tongue rolling slowly with his as his hands moved to bracket her slender waist.

“Take me to bed and fill me with your seed, my love.”

He did not need to be asked twice.

Clothes were shed, the alluring dance of hands delighting over bodies they knew inside and out, soft moans peppering the air between kisses borne of fever and need. There in his wife’s embrace, though, Aemond still struggled to truly shake the king’s words from his mind.

“He said I feared you, you know,” he muttered bitterly, his hands gliding her curves, one lowering to gently cup at her sex. “Your cunt specifically.”

Aemella snorted on a chuckle. “Oh, darling husband. For a man who fears it, you certainly do spend ample time within it.”

“Just as I plan to tonight, as I so sweetly task myself with putting a babe in your womb, my love.”

Even through his pledged resolve, Aemella still felt turbulence coiling through him. She always did read him flawlessly, sensing his need for her to take charge of him for a while, banish what haunted his thoughts like phantoms.

Turning him onto his back, her fingers weaved with his, squeezing his big hands in hers. “Lie back, my beloved. Let me show you how much I hunger for you at my mercy.”

Desire danced in his eye, as well as a little playful objection to countenance. “Oh, I am to acquiesce to your dominance, darling wife?”

“Yes, you are” she purred reaching to the bedpost, her fingers curling around the ever-present length of black rope looped around the heavy wood. “And if you do not,” she continued, threading it over his wrists, “I shall force it.”

A sharp tug had him sufficiently bound, a soft grunt of appreciation welling in his throat. “Then it looks as if I am without further option but to allow it.”

“I will untie you again,” she pledged, scattering a descending path of kisses upon his chest. “Eventually.”

His eyebrow fluttered. “You enjoy my hands too much to keep me bound for long, love.” He watched her mouth lowering, tongue licking along the thin line of silver hair descending his navel, leading to the thicker, but well-groomed thatch above his cock. As soon as her mouth closed around his hardness, his head rolled back onto the bed, a groan fluttering from his lips. He’d needed this for hours.

“Gods, Mella,” he panted, lifting his head once more to watch himself vanish into her mouth. “I... I... fuck. My words fail me.”

“Then for once, be quiet, husband. Not too quiet, though.” Indeed, he was not, the groans she pulled from his throat upon flickering her tongue over the very tip of his cock all smoke and grit, her mouth swallowing him back again tantalisingly slowly.

He was heavy and wide between her lips, the salty tang of leaky fluid mingling on her tongue as she slid her mouth as far as it would go, using her hand on the remaining inches. She thought herself the luckiest of women, married to a handsome man she not only adored beyond measure, but with a long, thick cock he knew exactly how to use.

The sound of the rope pulling as his arms tensed brought her delight, his hips shivering as pleasure corded through him. He twitched against her tongue as she tightened the pressure, her cheeks hollowing, watching the way all of his chiselled muscles danced beneath his pale, blemish free skin.

While the prince and princess spent their evening favouring the pleasures of one another, not much could bring the same to their brother. Aegon sat alone in his quarters, his hand steadfastly clutched around a wine goblet, drinking to his usual excess to quell his burdens.

He stewed in fury over the reckless tactics implemented by his brother, thinking Aemond should be lucky that marrying their sister off to a Stark was the only punishment he was receiving.

“A war criminal, instigator of this wretched mess we find ourselves in, and he can only continue to think of himself?” he gritted, draining the goblet. “Pompous fucking twat!”

More wine was poured hastily, Aegon feeling restless and prickled to his very bones. He did not trust that his brother might not once again show such abandon, be ignited by the short fuse of his temper. After all, the king knew well how powerful Aemomd was capable of being.

It was why he had always sought to make him feel less than, bring him down to a size he could more easily manage. He would have exerted much further cruelty upon him too, had it not been for Aemella standing so rigidity in her twin’s corner.

Without her there at his side, Aemomd would be half the man he was. To part them would destroy him, render him powerless in his quest to – as the king so asserted – usurp the throne from beneath him by devious means. What he ultimately failed to realise, though, was that the calming influence of Aemella was perhaps the only buffer that prevented Aemond becoming as unhinged as he probably would without her.

This aside, it was not solely his own paranoia over such that drove his decision, though. Within Aegon, a streak of envy ran just as deep as the gorge of inferiority.

He had never wished to be married to his sibling, the union bore him not one ounce of contentment. Witnessing his brother and sister in such matrimonial harmony twisted sharp in the pit of his guts. Aemond loved her more than life itself, was entirely happy with her, and there was he, betrothed to his oddity of a sister, without one ounce of Aemella’s intelligence or grace.

In short, he hated what they had, that fierce fury leaving him to sink so much wine within his quarters, he swayed in drunkenness while making his way to theirs. Nearing the guarded door, he could hear muffled noises from behind the heavy wood, ordering Ser Arryk to move aside before flinging the door open.

There on the bed, he witnessed the sight of his sister spread before Aemond, his mouth buried at her apex. Aemond jumped a little, freezing as embarrassment misted over him, Aemella covering her breasts with her arms.

That bashfulness soon retreated, though, when Aemond realised that on this occasion, he had the definite upper hand over his brother. Perhaps it was high time that the tormented become the tormentor.

Looking up over the rise of her covered breasts, he released his suck upon her with a soft little slurp.

“Can I help you, brother?” he spoke, the king staring piercingly at the scene, swaying as he grasped the door for support. At least Ser Arryk had the good grace to turn around and avert his eyes.

“I’ve... and you... I’ve...” he slurred, chagrin pinking his cheeks.

Aemond raised an eyebrow. “Allow me to guess,” he smirked, “you’ve come to witness for yourself how much I fear my wife’s cunt, hmm?” He placed a quick lick to her bud, making her jolt and gasp through her chuckles, her laughter aimed at the ridiculousness of their elder sibling. He then sat up, holding his gaze defiantly, steering his cock to sink into the cunt he so allegedly feared right to the very hilt.

It only added further insult to injury, for Aegon to notice that his younger brother also happened to be hung like a horse.

“If you’ll excuse me, your grace. I’d rather not make love to my wife with an audience. Unless of course, you wish to perhaps learn something about what it is to pleasure a woman? If so, then by all means, do stay.”

Having his shame tactics turned back on him to such an extent, Aegon felt his ire glow white-hot, only serving to embarrass himself further by releasing the door to storm over toward the bed, making it all of three steps before ending up in a drunken heap.

“Ser Arryk, if you would be so kind to escort the king back to his quarters,” Aemond called, lifting Aemella from the bed to protect her modesty in front of him, the knight entering and coming to the king’s assist. Aegon made little protest to fight, so annihilated he was upon the wine he truly did not have the stomach for.

The door closed softly, Aemond smirking. “Mittys.” he hissed quietly, turning his full attention back to his wife, who did indeed agree their brother to be much the idiot.

While the drunken ruler was taken to his bed, the love and passion shared between his siblings was ignited to roaring flame within theirs. And, just maybe, the beginnings of what would make his dastardly plans to part them an impossibility.

A/N - Now, did you enjoy what you just read? Please remember, this is not Instagram. Clicking that heart does little, but a comment? Your author will be rewarded. A comment and reblog? Your author is throwing roses at your feet! It takes less time to do this than it did for you to read the chapter, too. Please, be kind and help support the fandom! :)

#aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #HOTD #aemond one eye #aemond smut #aemond targaryen fanfiction #prince aemond #aemond and aemella #a storm of stars

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