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messenger-of-babel · 3 months ago

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Reborn

Summary: Jason did what he swore he'd never curse upon anyone. It just so happened to be you he cursed in the process.

Word Count: 2.3K

Notes: Character death, greivous injury, language. I was actually so happy writing this one, I was thinking I was going to struggle with the prompt but it actually came to me with a lot less struggle than I was expecting. I'm a big Jason girlie so maybe this had a trace of self indulgence in there.

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"Hurry the fuck up!" Jason yells at Tim, hands pressed on the centre of your chest, blood trickling through his fingers. He hates the way the warm liquid seeps into the fabric of his gloves, sticky and wet.

"I'm trying the best I can," Tim grits back out, relaying something through their coms line while he runs to your side, dropping to his knees beside your body in the car wreckage. "Holy…" he breathes out, eyes flicking over your form in concern. Your eyes are hazy and your face is ashy, paling from the blood loss.

"Jason, I don't think we-" he says, picking up one of your limp hands in his own, looking to his adoptive brother with pity.

"Shut up and do it." Jason grits back.

He wasn't going to lose you. Not like this. Not before him, not because of him.

Drop you to work, that's all he was going to do. That's all he was going to do. It was late at night, and he had patrol anyways. You were going in for a trial shift that night at the security company, something that could land you an executive manager role and get you out of that shitty job waiting tables. Something that could get both of you into a better apartment, more independent, the start of your life together. When you first started dating he was more than happy to throw Bruce's money around, the billionaire had more than he needed anyways, he wasn't going to miss it. Yet you had begun refusing after the first month, saying you wanted to be independent, and he fell in love right there.

And is this where it got you?

No. That was still all him. He had picked you up in a simple car since he was staking out some gang causing issues around West End and needed to go on stakeout. No reinforced glass, no secret bat gadget hidden in the glove compartment, just some tinted windows. So, who even saw you getting into his car? Well, what was supposed to be just dropping you at work turned into a car chase while you held onto anything you could, screaming in terror. It wasn't often that Jason would be the one getting chased, and under any other circumstances he would have thrown the car into gear and flipped the tables on them.

But you were in the car.

So, he threw it into reverse and ran as fast as he could. It had all been for vain, a burst tire and shattered windshield sent the car spinning out to a side street, flipping as it hit the curb. The screech of metal was deafening to his ears, the crunch of glass ringing out around him as the world flipped one… two…three…times.

His lungs burnt as he struggled to escape from the seatbelt, head throbbing from the collision on the dash before he looked over to you. His heart stopped in his chest, unable to even respond to the calls of Red Robin over his com link, who he had contacted the moment a gun had been fired at the two of you. "Sweetheart?" his voice cracked slightly, unable to go louder over the ball of fear in his throat. You didn’t respond as he clambered from his seat, arms coming around your back to support you and drag you from the car. he hated the way the image of you, splayed over the glass covered dash, had burnt into the deepest part of his mind. He had dragged you to the shelter of the car, blood boiling in his veins.

Anyone who had come to follow up was laid across the floor in seconds, Jason standing in front of your body like a guard dog. He blocked as much of your features as he could, taking out each gang member that came to inspect the crash with frightening efficiency. By the time Red Robin had arrived on the scene, Jason was already cradling your body in the shadow of the car, desperately trying to stop the bleeding from the bullet wound in your sternum. The bullet wound that he might as well have put there himself.

This was his fault.

"This isn't your fault, Hood." Tim says, laying his other hand on Jason's shoulder, muscled tensed and ready to snap. "None of us could have predicted-"

"Shut up and help," he hissed, fighting to stop himself from crying behind his mask. He hadn't felt this terrified since he was a kid, back in that warehouse. He was stronger than that now. Strong enough that surely, he could help you.

Jason wasn’t oblivious to the pained and pitiful look cast his way. "Hood, they're already gone." he whispers softly, hands coming down to gently cover his still compressed on your chest. Jason shakes his head. "No." he chokes out. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no."

"Yes." Tim says firmly. "I've…I've got the car. I'll bring it round before the GCPD shows. We can handle this. We can take them back to the cave, clean them up like they deserve-"

"I said No." Jason snaps, blood rushing in his ears. He knew you were gone. He could tell from the way your blood went tacky on your chest, the stream trickling into a standstill. The way your face was devoid of colour, making you look shades lighter than he knew you were. Your hands were limp, head tilted. What was the worst was the way your eyes stared up into him, glassy and fogged, as if cracking open his soul.

Why did you kill me?

Why me?

Why didn't you save me?

He knew you wanted to live, god, he knew you loved life. Loved life with him, and he loved it back in return. If only you had been given the chance he once was. "Bring the car." he chokes out, eyes burning with a fierce determination.

"What are you planning?" Tim asks, hesitant as he sees the way Jason's body is coiled, ready to strike.

"We're going to save them." He says softly, hand squeezing your lax one tightly.

God, he just hoped you weren't going to hate him.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

"So, you tracked us down to ask for our services?" Thalia scoffs, circling the two of them. "Didn't think I'd have two birds on our doorstep, didn't your mentor teach you better?" she says disdainfully, eyes raking over Tim and Jason. Jason just holds your body closer, wrapped in a white sheet and cradled in his arms. Tim shifts uncomfortably, making Thalia's eyes gleam when she detects the weakness. "Oh," she purrs, almost delighted, crowding into Tim’s space. "You're off the record."

"This doesn't involve Batman." Jason gruffly says. "This involves me. This is my request."

Thalia's eyes flick back to him, but Jason doesn't flinch. He'd dragged Tim along as an accomplice, going dark on the radar as he returned to the alps, the one place he had sworn to never return to. To do the one thing he had told himself he would never force on anyone.

But he couldn't lose you.

"So, you think you can just show back up and ask to use the pits?" She asks, eyes flicking to your form in his arms. "My, you really are as dumb as you are bold, aren't you?" She hums. Jason remains still, eyes focused on the hooded woman in front of him.

"I'll owe you a favour." he says, without a beat of hesitation.

Red Robin's eyes widen behind him, domino mask unable to hide his surprise. "Hood, are you kidding? you can't just-"

"Shut it." Jason hisses back. "This isn't your decision. This is mine, consequences included."

Tim backs down only slightly. "You know what Batman will say. We can't trust these people; they'll use that favour to burn down Gotham. Think."

Jason tries to, he really does. He tries to see the big picture, but all he can see is fragments of you and your life together that was smashed the second he put you in that passenger seat. "I am." he says softly.

He could walk away now and save Gotham for sure, or he could stay and save his world.

Thalia sidles up to him, lips pulled into a smirk, like a snake rearing its head. "I could do you a deal if that's the case." she says, eyes sparkling like emeralds. "But you have to make good on it. You of all should know how we handle broken promises in the League."

Jason considers it for a second, before steeling himself. There was no other option for him.

"You have a deal."

"I knew bringing you back would be worth it." she smiles, like a cat batting a mouse between its paws. She turns, gesturing for them to follow her with two fingers. "Come." she commands, beginning a clipping pace through the carved stone hideout. Jason follows wordlessly, and Tim soon does a moment after.

"How long have they been dead?" she calls, not even looking back.

"Less than a week." he replies almost immediately. Thalia smiles at that, dark and curious.

"Oh? Snappy, I see. Who exactly is under that blanket to make you run to this corner of the world so quickly?" she grins, stopping at the entrance of a deep set of stairs. She stalks closer, steps echoing and deliberate. With a quick motion she pulls back the sheet from your stiff corpse, eyes raking over your face.

"A lover?" she asks, eyebrows raised at the way Jason holds you closer instinctively.

"None of your business." he replies gruffly, making her roll her eyes.

"We should've taught you how to be subtle." she murmurs, beginning to descend the stairs. He follows into the darkness, shadows beginning to give way to a soft green glow, bouncing off the carved stone walls. Tim takes in the room they step in to at the bottom, a grand, ornate space, yet somehow still appearing crude. Death clings to the atmosphere, cold and uninviting.

"Hood, is this where-" he begins quietly, but Jason cuts him off.

"Yes." he says as he follows Thalia deeper, feet stopping by the edge of the glowing green pool. Panic swirls in his gut, making his senses set themselves on fire. His mind races as he tries to control his own fear, to stop the metallic taste from rising in his throat. Flashes of his own time in the pool pry themselves into the forefront of his memory, making his fists clench in your sheet. He pushes them all down, taking a deep and shaky breath.

This was for you.

"Don't forget, you owe me." Thalia warns, gaze haughty as he kneels by the pool, unwrapping you from your blanket. His heart wrenches seeing your stiff body, eyes still open as if to judge him. When he's untangled the sheet from you, he slowly begins to slip your body into the water, Tim running his hands through his hair in worry behind him.

"Jesus…" Tim breathes, anxiety radiating off him as he watches your body submerge under the green glow of the Lazarus Pit. Jason doesn't move from his kneeling position, Thalia beside him as he scans the water for a sign of life, a sign of movement. A sign of you. After a few tense moments, it happens. A hand breaks through the surface, making Tim jump. Your fingers are clawed in pain, but he chooses to focus on the way your colour returns to the digits. You appear from the pit like you're drowning, eyes rolled into the back of your head as you breach the water. Your mouth is open in a wide gasp, screaming in unmeasurable pain. His heart tears itself in two and his stomach is in knots hearing you make that kind of noise, writhing and clawing at your face.

Thalia watches you scream and double over in the pit, making a mocking pout as madness clouds your eyes. "Aww, how cute. You're just like each other, a match made in hell."

"Shit…" Tim exhales, pacing back and forwards behind him. "Batman isn't going to like this. This isn't right, this isn't right…" he mutters, panic written all over him. Jason drowns both of them out, extending his hand softly towards you, leaning precariously over the waters to gently grip your wrist and guide you his way. He could fix you. he could fix this. He could make it all better.

He guides you until you're in front of him, the familiar burning smell of the Lazarus pit stinging his nose, a smell he struggled to describe yet it haunted him on random nights. His eyes soften under the mask as he sees the panic in your eyes, the shock of coming back paired with the madness fighting to grip your mind. The sound of your cries and screams echoed around the room, a sound so full of pain and fear that he couldn't help but flinch.

He could teach you, the way he was taught. He could help you get your feet back the soft way, a way he wished he could have been offered. He'd do everything in his power to make your second chance as painless as possible. He'd nurse your mind back if that's what it needed, calm the rages late at night if you had them. He'd take you in any form you came to him, growing pains and all. He'd teach you how to live again.

He only hoped that you wouldn't hate him forever for bringing you back.

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eddiesghxst · 9 days ago

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CRUEL INTENTIONS - part three: eden

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: steddie x innocent/shy!reader

summary: you're a new student at All Saints Catholic Academy and Steve and Eddie have every intention to sink their teeth into you.

contains: enemies to lovers between steddie, blasphemy/religious talk, smoking and alcohol use, blood kink, chasing kink, masked man, depictions of a panic attack, depictions of a threesome, descriptions of heavy guilt, corruption kink, mentions of subtle bullying, mentions of shitty parenting, slut shaming, SMUT - 18+ , oral (m and f receiving), cum play, cheating (not on reader), NON-CON/DUB-CON, and stevie having gay panic <3

word count: 9.9k

WARNING: this fic contains dark themes including - NON-CON/ DUB-CON, manipulation, coercion, and corruption. Please fully read the content warnings before proceeding. Again, THIS IS A DARK FIC, do not read it if you're not comfortable with it!

I previous part | next part I

I series masterlist | -main masterlist- l

Steve has a very strict night routine.

Five days out of the week, Steve has rugby practice until 7. Most boys on the team simply take a quick shower and call it a night, but no, Steve has a step-by-step routine that he follows each night— not even Nancy could sway him from the path of his night routine.

Because you see, when Steve was younger, his parents were prissy and precise. Everything was done on time, and every hour had a task. If Steve were to ever stray from that schedule, he’d be made to feel like a failure. It’s ingrained in him, woven into his DNA, this life of doing things by order.

So it’s a little shocking (and concerning) that Steve immediately threw his nightly ritual out the window the second Eddie told him about tonight.

And it seems as if this will be a reoccurring theme with you— Steve altering his life just to get a glimpse of you. Because ever since you came along, it’s like Steve’s entire world has been flipped and lit on fire. He can’t stop thinking about you. Can’t stop wanting you. Has to hold your name on his tongue when he’s balls-deep in Nancy because, fuck, you’re the only thing he wants right now. He feels bad, but not enough to stop.

“You’re not fucking her yet, but she has to at least get used to you being around.”

Which is true, Steve supposed. Eddie is many things, but a liar is not one of them. If Steve hopes to ever swing his dick near the pot of gold between your legs, then he has to at least work a little bit for it. This way, he doesn’t have to worry about you running off and telling someone about it.

Trust. Though a distorted version from your point of view, it is still an essential part of this plan.

Steve doesn’t know much about said plan, which is kind of his fault. Because when Eddie approached Steve after a particularly rough day at practice, Steve kind of told Eddie to fuck off, so Eddie just left him with a quick, “If you ever plan on fucking her, then I suggest you haul your ass to my room tonight, asshole.” So, Steve had no choice but to follow through on that.

Because Steve will never get through to you without Eddie. Because Eddie is the catalyst. Eddie is the bridge that Steve needs to reach you— which is annoying because now when Eddie’s got his fist wrapped around his cock, and he’s thinking about you and how pretty you looked with his cum coating your lips, how good you taste, and how pretty you sounded— those familiar brown eyes slip into frame and suddenly Eddie is right there along with you— lingering. Like a phantom.

Steve can’t stand it.

But he needs you. He needs you almost more than he needs air. Because Steve usually gets whatever he wants in the blink of an eye, but you…

You’re forbidden fruit.

And sitting next to you, so close to you, with you squirming and avoiding the screen that displays some cheap porno— Steve thinks he might explode.

You turn to Eddie, shy and scared, digging your fingers into his shirt and tugging. “Eddie, I don’t—“ “Shh, bunny. We’re watching a movie. Didn’t I already tell you not to talk?”

You frown, big, wide eyes soft and wet with tears. You don’t like this; that much is obvious. And Eddie’s struggling to keep a grin off his face like a cocky bastard.

There are soft moans spilling from Eddie’s TV. Two guys, one girl, and oddly enough, the girl looks like you. Steve thinks Eddie did that on purpose, and he can admit it was clever, even if you might be slightly too dumb to notice.

They have the girl on a cheap leather couch, splayed out on her back, with one guy stuffing his face between her legs and the other guy thrusting his cock deep into her throat, wrapping a hand around the bulge in her neck.

You press your legs together, shifting in your spot again, and Steve catches Eddie’s eye. Eddie subtlety nods towards your lap, giving Steve the green light (not that he fucking needed one), and Steve scoots closer to you.

Steve places a firm hand high up on your thigh, fingers spread deep into the insides of your thighs as he lowly says, “Sit still, sweet girl.”

You frown, caught between two walls with nowhere to go. Nowhere to run— scared little thing, you are.

Steve smooths his hand over your thigh, gently squeezing and molding your skin to his touch, soft and firm yet not enough to bring you pain— Steve doesn’t think he could ever hurt such a sweet thing like you.

The porno is in full swing now, the two men fucking the lady like it’s the last thing they’ll do, and you have big, full tears running down your face as Steve pinches your skin to open you back up. He slinks his hand higher, the lip of your skirt kissing against his wrist, making way for him. His pinky dusts across the hem of your panties, wet as he had expected— all of you wants him, even when you act like it doesn’t.

You gasp and tremble between the boys; your eyes squeezed shut with tears rolling down your cheeks thick as rivers— you look like a small bunny cornered by prey. Precisely what you are.

Eddie coos, shifts so he’s facing you more comfortably. He gently holds your face and coaxes you into opening your eyes. “You like it when Stevie touches you, don’t you?” He says.

You open your mouth to respond, but Eddie quickly butts in, “Ah ah…” He raises a finger to his lips, reminding you that he doesn’t want a single word falling from your lips. And you listen so well— without a single protest— Eddie’s done well on you thus far, but Steve likes to believe you have an obedient nature either way.

Sentenced to silence, you shake your head no, and Eddie laughs. Soft and deep, brown eyes swimming with hunger and patience, “No?” He raises an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side. “You think I don’t know about you cumming on his tongue?”

You tense at that, body rigid beneath their touch as you turn to gaze at Steve with wide eyes, eyes swimming in guilt and the realization that Steve had lied to you. Your frown deepens then, more tears coming and Steve is now the one cooing. “Of course, I told Eddie, bunny. You knew that, though, didn’t you?” He teases.

You let out a muffled sob, squeezing your eyes shut again as tears fall. “You knew Eddie didn’t say you could open your legs for me, and I would have to tell him about your behavior.” He chastises. “So gullible, gonna get yourself in trouble being so stupid, sweet girl.” He gently coos. Your chest stutters with uneven breaths, and Steve’s cock throbs in his sweats.

With you being so unstable, Steve is able to slip his fingers past your panties without a fight. He slips his fingers through your wet folds, warm and sticky, leaning forward to press a kiss under your jaw as you twitch and squirm beneath his touch.

“Look at you,” Eddie prowls, “Shaking for his touch. Again. Did I ever say he could touch you?”

You huff, eyebrows pinched in frustration as you shake your head. “Then why do you want it?” Eddie asks. Steve sinks a finger into your warm cunt, wetness spilling around his knuckles as your thighs tremble. “I—” Eddie clicks his tongue, reminding you of his rule of no talking.

Steve crooks his finger up, searching for that gummy spot of yours, leaning forward to press a kiss to your neck as you struggle against him. “God, if I knew you were such a slut I wouldn’t have wasted this much time on you,” Eddie says.

You break your rules then, voice pleading and sad as you claw at Eddie’s shirt, “I’m not! I’m not, I swear. I didn’t know!” You sob. Steve watches in awe at the way you crumble for Eddie. You’re so desperate to please him, to be kept under his arm of security, unbeknownst to you that he’s the one you should be running from.

Steve is jealous… but he wants to learn.

“Oh, you didn’t know?” Eddie widens his eyes. You shake your head, hips twitching when Steve begins dragging lazy circles over your clit. “H-he told me you said it was okay.” You frown. “Who did? Stevie?” Eddie asks. You nod, and Eddie’s gaze flickers to Steve, a ghost of a grin dancing in his eyes.

“I don’t remember saying that, sweetheart.” Steve lies.

“Stevie never said that. So, either you’re lying, or Steve is lying. Are you calling Steve a liar, bunny?”

You look frazzled, seconds away from bursting into an uncontrollable fit of tears as Steve continues playing with you. And the truth is Steve is a liar. He lied to you when he said Eddie gave him the green light to get between your thighs. But you know better than to ever point fingers— again, a product of Eddie’s skilled teachings.

You shake your head no with a frown, and Eddie hums. “Well, did you like it? When Steve licked your slutty little cunt?” Eddie asks.

You’re visibly panicked, wide eyes darting to Steve, knowing he will tell the truth if you lie. There is no way out but through for you, and you know it. You shamefully nod, and Eddie hums again. He pets a gentle hand over your hair, letting you nuzzle into him when you begin to tremble with pleasure. “Would you like him to do it again, bunny?”

And if you’re smart enough, you’ll understand that even if you say no, Eddie will somehow coax you into splitting your thighs open for Steve again. You contemplate longer than Steve would appreciate, but the second he pulls his fingers from you and dips them into his mouth, your eyes flash with this little look that Steve has never seen from you.

Lust.

Steve sucks the juices off his fingers lewdly and greedily, never pulling his gaze from you. You watch, wide-eyed with trembling limbs and a pouty lip, Steve wanting nothing more than to kiss them until they’re sore.

Apprehensive yet interested, you nod your head shyly, and if the two boys hadn’t been watching you like a hawk, they probably wouldn’t have even caught it.

Eddie slinks his fingers through your hair, knuckles gently curling at the root as he drags you closer, kissing you filthy and raw. You whine, thighs closing around Steve’s wrist when he finds his hand back on your warm skin. It’s low against your lips, but Steve hears Eddie tell you, “Come here.” And you follow like an eager puppy wanting to please their owner.

Steve can taste you on his tongue, an overwhelming feeling to taste more as he watches Eddie move you around like you’re a lifeless doll. He places you with your back to his chest, your thighs pressed against Eddie’s knees as he gently tips your head back to kiss you again. Steve stands, shrugging off his jacket and letting it drop off somewhere he could care less about because Eddie is splitting your legs apart, presenting you nice and pretty for Steve.

Eddie’s whispering things in your ear, things Steve can’t hear over the low sound of sex from the TV, but he sees you squirm and pout, and he can only imagine he’s saying something about how dirty you are. How cute you are, all slick and ready for someone to put their hands on your greedy cunt.

Eddie’s eyes flicker up to Steve’s as his hands trail down your sides, thick and decorated fingers pushing your skirt up and petting over your clothed cunt before hooking his fingers in the of the material and pulling it to the side.

Steve’s hunger grows like an angry beast. Purrs deep in his chest, and puffs out so big it nearly breaks his ribs. He wants to take you right here and now. Press your thighs out as far as they’ll go, lick into your mouth and shove his cock deep into your cunt. It’ll hurt, probably be a fight to fit every girthy inches of him in, but he’ll make it work. You’re a fighter, anyway. Strong, even if you don’t know it.

“Well, don’t make her wait, Stevie. Look at her, she’s dripping.” Eddie purrs, fingers sliding through your wet folds, parting his fingers into a ‘V’ to show off your throbbing heat.

Steve dips his knee onto the bed, leaning forward to rest on his stomach between your thighs. He takes you in, just as he did that day in the locker room, eyes casting over every piece of your pretty cunt and saving it to remember when he’s got his hand wrapped around his cock. Steve can smell you, drawing him in closer as you throb and a drop of slick slips from you. He groans, fingers gripping the back of your thighs, squeezing and molding you to his touch.

“You want my tongue, princess?” He purrs. You whimper, shying beneath his gaze when he looks up at you from between your thighs. Steve blows cool air against you just to see you throb and squirm. You huff, lips pouting as you turn your head to look back at Eddie. Steve reaches forward, fingers gripping your chin to pull your face back down to look at him, “Don’t look at him, look at me.”

He runs a thumb over your lip, wet spit catching the pad of his finger. “Is he the one about to eat your greedy pussy?” Steve teases. You whine, shaking your head no. “Answer my question.”

Your hips squirm, halting when Steve’s fingers dig into your skin. Your answer comes shaky and shy, “Yes, please.”

“Good girl. Using your words,” Steve dips his thumb into your mouth, dragging it over your tongue, letting you get it nice and wet before he pulls away, pressing it to your clit. Your legs tremble, panting when he runs circles around the tight bud. Steve purses his lips, spit drooling from his lips to drip down onto your pussy before he leans forward and places his mouth over your pussy, hungrily lapping and sucking.

“O-oh! Steve, I—” “Shh, shh. I want you to watch them.” Eddie speaks up, leaning forward to speak into your ear, directing your gaze to the TV. “Look at them. See how they’re using her? See how deep they’re fucking her, bunny?” He asks. You nod, Steve’s gaze fluttering as he devours you, fucking his tongue in and out of your warm hole.

“You want us to do that to you?” Eddie asks, voice low and husky. It makes Steve’s cock throb in his pants. He thinks he hates it, but his mind is fuzzy enough with lust to ignore it. Steve grunts, nuzzling his face deeper into you, and your eyes widen at the words Eddie is saying. “I—” you huff, “I don’t know— s’so bad. It’s not right.” You slur under a whine.

Eddie hums with a low chuckle, “Then how will you repay us for making you feel so good, hm?” His hands slip up your shirt, kneading at your chest and cracking a smile when you arch into his touch. Steve’s hips roll into the mattress, eyes rolling back into his skull at the pressure.

“C-can’t, Teddy—” “But you want to. You want to be fucked, don’t you?” He purrs. You tilt your hips into Steve’s mouth, your body begging for more as you shudder between the two boys. You whimper, and Steve’s eyes are fluttering open, locking onto the view in front of him, your pussy fluttering against his tongue. You frown, your fists balled against the sheets as Eddie holds your chin, directing your gaze onto the TV. “See how much she’s enjoying it?” Eddie purrs into your ear. “See how thankful she is to be getting fucked well?”

You grimace at his words, your body melting into their hold with each passing second— Steve can practically see your brain melting out of your ears. You make the prettiest noises, and you move like you don’t know if you want more or less, but Steve doesn’t give you a choice as he tugs you impossibly closer, taking you for all you are. Eddie kisses your neck, wet and sloppily, and you whine like you hate it, but Steve can feel you pulsing around his tongue.

“You should be thankful too, princess.” Eddie drawls into your ear, his hands still working beneath your shirt. Steve can’t help it when he reaches up and yanks at the buttoned half of your shirt, groaning into your cunt when you gasp and squirm. The sight of your tits spilling into Eddie’s palms drives Steve’s hips into the bed once more, desperate for some sort of pressure.

Steve pulls away with a gasp, sinking a finger into your cunt as he looks up at you, his swollen lips parted and wet with your slick. “Go ahead then, doll,” Steve nods at you, “Thank us.”

Your chest rattles with a sob, and Eddie grins as Steve coos, “Say it, princess. Thank us for taking care of your slutty holes.” He demands. You cry out then, legs trembling when Steve brushes against that perfect spot, teasing it to keep you away from that release that you crave.

“T-thank you,” you breathe, eyes squeezed shut, your body tensed as you wriggle between them. Eddie growls, gripping your face, gritting into your ear as he speaks, “For what? What are you thanking us for?”

You gasp as Eddie’s teeth drag along your jaw, your eyes fluttering open to hazily look at Steve between your thighs, moaning when he slips in another finger. Your voice is heavy in shame, but you’re too fucked to refuse it as you say, “T-thank you… for taking care of my s-slutty holes.”

Eddie smiles, “Good girl. Let her cum, Stevie, she’s been so good.”

Steve’s mouth is back on you in record time, lapping and sucking and pulling you closer and closer to the edge until you’re crying out a sob so loud that Eddie has to slap a hand over your mouth. Your hips rise off the bed, and Steve pins them back down, groaning into you as he keeps licking you, your thighs closing around his head. And Steve loves it; he loves the feeling of your cute little thigh-high socks scratching up against his ears and your warm, wet skin on his tongue. Steve thinks he could die here, really.

Eddie’s cooing in your ear, telling you how well you did, how much of a good girl you are, and his gaze snaps down to Steve’s when he pulls away from you with a gasp, wiping his mouth and liking his lips like a lion that’s just demolished its prey. Steve sort of feels like one, honestly.

Eddie grins up at Steve, his eyes falling to the evident tent in Steve’s pants when he rises to his feet. You’re barely cohesive when Eddie lightly slaps your cheek a few times, “Wake up, bunny, we’re not done with your holes yet.”

Your eyes are blurred with pleasure when you blink them open, and Steve presses a palm to his crotch. You blearily blink at him, and he nods, “Come here.”

And like an obedient dog, you peel away from Eddie’s arms, your clothes disheveled and twisted as you crawl over to Steve. He reaches out, his hand slinking into your hair to drag you up until he can smash his lips onto yours, a hungry growl rumbling from his chest. Steve knows he should be more gentle with you, you’re such a fragile little thing, but the feeling of power that surges through him when he tightens his grip on your hair and leads you off the bed is damn near like a drug. He wants it in his veins all the time.

You stumble off the bed, your socked feet knocking against Steve’s— it’s so fucking cute, Steve nearly coos. “On your knees. Get on your knees.” He orders. And again, like you were programmed for this, you fall to your knees, your hazy eyes slowly blinking as Steve sits at the edge of the bed and tugs his pants down. You watch as he wraps a hand around himself, stroking a few times, his hand still stuck in your hair.

Steve’s voice is kinder than his touch when he asks, “You remember what to do, princess?” Nodding with you when you respond, “Good girl, go on. Show me how thankful you are for me.” He says, and you shuffle forward to take him in greedily and sloppy, Steve’s eyes nearly rolling.

You suck him just as you did the first time, though it’s a little bit better than before; Steve supposes you and Eddie have been practicing more than enough. Even though you’re tired from your orgasm and your actions are less calculated, Steve finds himself enjoying it as if you were a pro.

Steve’s groans and mumbles of praise get closer and more slurred, and he supposes it was easy to tell how close he was because Eddie, a presence he had tried (and failed miserably) to ignore, steps into view right behind you, looking down proudly at his perfect project.

Eddie’s gaze holds a devious glare when he locks eyes with Steve as he sinks to squat next to you. He coasts a hand up your back, his fingers firm but gentle when they grip the back of your neck, his gaze finally leaving Steve to watch as your mouth greedily takes Steve’s cock in and out. And Steve is so close, and his body is so hot that he almost misses what Eddie says to you when he leans in— but Steve hears it loud and clear, “Don’t swallow. I want you to keep his cum in your mouth and show me, do you understand?”

And god, you fucking whimper and nod as best as you can, and Steve is a goner. And Steve usually cums a lot, sure. Nancy hates it, says it’s an inconvenience, but god, you take it like it’s nothing but a gift. You sit there, tear-streaked face, droopy eyes, and an open shirt as Steve cums in heavy spurts, coating every inch of your mouth as he curses. It’s so much that some of it spills out the side of your mouth, and the little bit that dribbles from his cock when you pull away lands on your chin, and Steve can’t help but tap his sticky tip against it.

Steve watches, blissed out and panting, as Eddie turns your face towards him. “Let me see, open your mouth.” He says, grinning when your lips part to show the thick mess in your mouth. “Good bunny.” He lowly hums.

And then, in the blink of an eye, Eddie leans forward, drags his tongue along the spilled cum of your face to lap it up before pressing his lips onto yours. Steve hadn’t seen it coming. Not at all.

He didn’t expect that he would be watching Eddie Munson eat his cum off your face tonight. He can see his tongue dipping into your mouth, lewd noises emptying into the air as he pulls Steve’s cum from your mouth and into his own. Yeah, Steve really didn’t expect that. And he doesn’t expect to feel his cock twitch at the sight of it either.

It’s disgusting, is what it is. Disgusting and downright debauchery, but Steve can’t look away, not even when Eddie pulls away and turns to lick his lips while gazing at Steve, a shit-eating grin spreading across his lips.

Eddie brings his thumb to wipe at the drop of cum that had been on the corner of his mouth before sucking it into his mouth— and Steve nearly cums again, and his cock throbs, and Eddie’s gaze flutters to see the way Steve’s dumb dick has filled with blood yet again. A small smirk rises on Eddie’s lips, and Steve can feel the heat rising in his cheeks— which is surprising, honestly, considering most of his blood is flooding downstairs. Eddie’s gaze flickers back to Steve’s wide eyes, and he finally says— “Not bad, Harrington.”

Steve nearly passes out.

What the fuck?

“Halloween is of pagan origin— therefore, we, as children of god, do not participate in any form of celebration on this day.”

The week of Halloween has always brought an eerie feeling to you. Gorey movies and costumes of demons and distorted faces— it’s scary. Aside from the candy, you never understood why people loved the holiday so much. Your friends never understood your reasoning or why your parents would never in a million years agree to let you go trick or treating, but their judgment never bothered you enough to change your opinion.

The priest looks at the students, an unwavering expression of sincerity plastered on his face as he says, “Be wise with how you spend your time this weekend. There will be consequences for any of you who choose to participate in any activities pertaining to Halloween; am I understood?”

The room mumbles in agreement, as does yourself, and the priest nods before carrying on to close mass. Beside you, Nancy sits with her bible and journal in her lap; eyes cast forward on the priest. She’s been glancing over at Steve all night, watching him during prayer and nearly half of the service— you know this because you had been watching him right along with her, though your reasoning is not the same as hers.

Steve Harrington, star rugby player with his pretty brown eyes and honey-thick locks, was anything but kind when he pulled you aside before mass. He was greedy, possessive with his hold and grabby when he hiked your skirt up, pressed your face against the janitor's closet door, forced your thighs together, and rutted into them like a dog in heat. He had a rough practice, so he said.

He apologized for being rough, said he didn’t mean it when he squeezed just a little too hard around your throat, and you all but sniffled and nodded and told him it was okay even though you were scared and your thighs now sting with friction burn.

He had a tough day, and the least you could do was not make him feel bad about it. That being said, it doesn’t stop the stir of guilt that sat in your chest throughout mass.

It’s hard not to feel guilty when your roommate's boyfriend's spend is sitting between your thighs, warm and squishy and tucked safely against your folds. It’s sickening, and it nearly makes you dizzy with shame. But Steve said it was okay, that friends do this thing, and Nancy understands; she would just rather not discuss it.

You could barely focus during mass, too busy trying to grasp what you and Steve had just done and trying desperately not to show it on your face. Despite your efforts, you can’t help but feel as if Nancy can see straight through you, and that’s why she's been watching him all night.

As soon as you’re dismissed, you begin working up the nerve to ask her, the words rolling around in your mind as you rise from your seat, but the second you turn to Nancy, she’s turning to go after Steve and you’re being tugged back by a firm hand.

“Where are you running off to, bunny? Don’t we have plans?”

You gaze up at Eddie, glancing over to watch as Nancy slinks out of the pew, and you nod, “Yes, but I—” “Then let’s go. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Eddie all but drags you out of the chapel, tugging you along and slipping past the dark courtyard to get to the back of the dormitory. Nobody ever supervises the back of the dormitories. Eddie told you to always come through this route; that way, you can get into his room without a hassle.

The path is dark, nothing but the moon and Eddie’s firm hand to guide you, and you try to focus on anything else but the snap of twigs beneath your feet and the burn between your thighs. However, the only thing that comes up in your mind is Nancy.

“Um, Eddie,” you speak up.

“What’s up, bunny?”

“I think… I think I may have upset Nancy…” You frown.

Eddie slowly pauses, turning to look at you, lips pressed in a firm line as his eyebrows furrow. “Did you say something to her?” He asks.

He’s towering over you, the darkness swallowing you both, exaggerating his stance. You feel like you’re drowning beneath him, sinking into the mud beneath your feet as you hastily shake your head no.

Eddie is so hard to read in this dim lighting, though he’s never been all that easy to read anyway. You can still hear a slight tone of relief when he says, “Good.”

Eddie turns and pursues the path, leaving you with panic and a racing heart. You didn’t say anything to Nancy— you made sure of it after Steve specifically sat you down and said you could never bring it up. But then, why could she not look at you all through mass? Why does it seem… tense between her and Steve? Are you to blame? Did you do something that may have upset her?

How do you even ask without revealing the open truth?

The questions swirl in your head like a storm, grey and murky as they slink down your throat and spill into your chest, spreading and laying out with a weight that makes you feel as if the world has just crashed on you.

You don’t realize you’ve made it to Eddie’s room until a plastic bag is shoved in your hands. You gaze at it briefly, shiny material crinkling between your fingers as you blink and glance toward Eddie.

Eddie nods, “Put it on.”

You step over to Eddie’s bed, put the bag on the mattress, and open it up to pull out the items inside. It’s an outfit, three items to complete a set of what looks to be a bunny costume if the bunny ears are any indication. The only problem, though is the dress, the main piece of the outfit, is incredibly short.

“I can’t wear this.”

You hadn’t noticed, but Eddie was busy getting dressed on the other side of the room. You look over at him, taking in his all-black attire and heavily swallowing when he glances at your laid-out costume.

“Why not?” He asks.

You glance at the dress before looking back at him, gesturing down at it as if it’s obvious, “Because it’s revealing!” You exclaim.

Eddie rolls his eyes and resumes putting on the rest of his clothes, a long black robe-looking thing, “No, it’s not.” He responds.

Your eyes widen as you look at the short dress, “Eddie, I-I’m not sure this will even cover my entire backside.” You shake your head. And when you lift it and turn it around, you realize that it definitely won’t— at least not comfortably.

“You’ll be fine. Other girls will probably be wearing something worse.” He dismisses.

Your teeth gnaw into the soft tissue of your lip as you put the dress back on the bed, eyeing it with worry and dread. It’s… gross. Degrading and immodest in every sense of the word, yet Eddie, your friend, is asking you to wear it. You glance over at him, your world spinning again as you realize what this entire plan is: the costume and the urgency to leave all make sense.

You drag in a shaky breath, slinking your arms around your body as you take a step back, “I think,” you clear your throat before speaking louder to get your point across, “I think I’m gonna head to my room… Maybe study a bit and go to bed…” You softly say.

You step toward the door, not even glancing Eddie’s way because you know if you do, you’ll be stuck trying to please him. But Eddie moves quicker than you can, his hand pressing against the wooden door to stop you from opening it.

“The dress is fine, doll.”

Your gaze dances up his frame, miles of black leading to his dark brown eyes. You want to be strong, put your foot down, and tell him no, but your tongue is tied. As it always is when it comes to Eddie.

You softly say his name, and he tilts his head, an ice-cold glare stuck on your eyes, daring you to say something more. Gravity pulls on your lips and your eyes, water threatening to spill down your cheeks when Eddie lowly and steadily says, “Go put on the outfit.”

You want to cry.

You want to wail and kick and scream until Eddie has no choice but to let you run to your room and stay there until Monday morning. You don’t want to be here. You don’t want to wear this costume you’ve been forced into, and you don’t understand why Eddie, who is supposed to be your friend, is being anything but friendly tonight.

He doesn’t care that you didn’t want to wear the outfit. He doesn’t care that it’s revealing, that you feel uncomfortable, or that it’s hardly forty degrees outside and you’re shivering. He doesn’t care that you have to keep tugging the tiny dress down your thighs or that you’re practically stumbling over your feet with the heels he forced you to wear. And he doesn’t care to ask why your mascara is running when he looks over at you and wipes it away; he simply tells you that you look pretty, “Like a doll.”

You feel disoriented. Far from yourself and disgusted, and you can’t help the aching feeling in your chest when you think about how saddened your parents would be to see you like this. Half dressed in the middle of a Halloween party. They’d disown you, you’re sure of it.

Eddie’s hold is tight on you the whole night, whether on your hand, your waist, or his heavy hand resting on the back of your neck. He always has a hand on you. Oddly enough, Eddie’s touch seems to ground you despite how displaced you feel. It’s comforting to have something familiar while you struggle to grasp your morality.

What are you doing here? How did you get here? Do you like this? Do you enjoy Eddie’s company enough to brave through this?

You think you do.

The music is loud, and it’s packed with dancing bodies from wall to wall. You have to repeatedly tip the bunny ears on your head back into place from where they keep slipping, and you debate ripping it off every time. You can feel the bass of the music in your chest, the scent of liquor and smoke filling your lungs as neon lights dance across your eyes.

Eddie has softened through the night. You’re not sure what had him wound up before, but he is back to doting on you, occasionally turning to you and brushing the skin under your eyes as his gaze softens and he asks if you’re okay. And you’re not. You’re cold and uncomfortable, and you want to go home, but Eddie’s touch is kind, so you find yourself nodding each time. And then he smiles and presses a kiss to your forehead, cool lips brushing against your skin, and returns to whatever he’s been doing all night. Stepping off into corners and sliding these bags to people in exchange for something you can’t quite see in the dim lighting of the house, but when you asked him, he told you not to worry about it.

There’s a cup in your hands, a drink that Eddie gave you, which you have been slowly sipping for the better part of an hour. It’s sweet, almost too sweet, but there’s a bitter aftertaste that somehow balances it out enough for you to keep sipping on it.

Eventually, you find yourself squirming with the need to pee, turning to Eddie and leaning up to reach his ear and tell him. He squeezes your hip, “I’ll be here, doll.” And you had hoped that Eddie would tag along with you for your safety and comfort, but he only turns back to the secretive conversation he’d been having.

You find yourself wandering up the stairs, eyes dancing around searching for a restroom. It’s just your luck that the first door you open happens to be one, empty and surprisingly clean for the chaos unfolding throughout the party.

You try to be quick about it, eager to find your spot back next to Eddie, where you feel something along the lines of tolerable. You don’t miss the reflection of yourself in the mirror as you wash your hands, smudged mascara, taunting bunny ears, whorish clothing. You frown, tears pressing against your waterline as you gaze at yourself.

Wrong. Open, unrecognizable, and wrong.

Your shaky fingers grab at the bunny ears on your head, ripping them away and tossing them in the direction of the trash can, clattering to the floor in empty noise.

After having a moment to breathe by yourself, you think you’ll ask Eddie to leave now, the pending urge to leave only growing stronger by the second.

You flip the bathroom light off and open the door, stepping out without looking, only to slam into a body. Apologies roll off your tongue as you stumble back, nearly falling from your stupid heels. Through your tears, you look up at the person, dressed in black and tall, face covered with a mask of black, distorted eyes, and a wide black mouth.

You blink, stepping back as you mutter another apology, but they say nothing as they gaze down at you. Your heart races, fear seeping through you and staining like berries as you whip around and walk away— Eddie. Just get back to Eddie.

Unstable on stilts, you make your way back down the stairs and into the lion's den, crowded with drunk people dancing and talking, unmindful of where they go. And this house is big— too big. Big enough that when you glance around and realize you don’t know where you’re going, you start to feel even more panicked.

Every corner is different yet the same:: dark lighting, flashing lights, and the music is too loud. You don’t know anybody here, and you don’t know your way back to Eddie. A glance over your shoulder and the panic amps to the nines as you realize the masked man is just a few feet away from you.

Is he following you? Why is he following you?

Fear runs through you like a freight train. Your feet carry you faster, weaving through people as your weary gaze jumps from corner to corner. Masked figures, blood, and distorted faces meet you at every turn. You never liked Halloween; you think you hate it now.

Eddie is nowhere to be seen, and you’re scared. Every place you turn is empty of your relief, and every glance back is full of fear. And you don’t feel good. You feel sick. Detached from your hands and feet yet so stuck in the walls of your skin— where is Eddie?

Tears are streaming down your face, but you hardly feel them as you pace towards the sight of a door. You don’t look back anymore, too afraid to see the gaping face of a void staring back at you, waiting to eat you alive— the hungry wolf and the weak lamb— just as Eddie had said.

The clearing of the front door is near, and your legs hardly feel real. You should’ve never come here. You should’ve never put on this outfit. You should’ve never gone out on your own and lost Eddie. You are wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, and you’re scared.

And just as you come within a few feet of the door, a hand grabs your arm, and you jolt, pushing away until that familiar voice rings in your ear— “Hey, it’s me. It’s just me, where are you—”

You throw yourself into Eddie’s arms, tears falling in droves as you sob into his chest. Eddie’s embrace is like a nest— a warm, carefully crafted, and woven nest made to hold you and keep you safe. You should’ve never left his side.

His hand gently holds your head, soft coos seeping into your ear as he asks, “What’s wrong, bunny? What happened?”

You cry, body trembling in his hold as you try to piece your words together, “I-I couldn’t find you and somebody— that guy w-was following me,” you cry.

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, “What guy?”

Your words come out in choked sobs, a shaky finger lifting past Eddie’s shoulder, “T-the guy in the mask!” You stress.

Eddie turns, looking in the direction of your finger, confusion and something else etched across his face when he turns to you, “…There’s a lot of masked people here, bunny; you’re gonna have to be a little more specific than that.” He says.

You cry, disoriented and confused because the man is nowhere in sight. Eddie guides you outside with a gentle hand on your back, softly cooing as you sob. The air is cold and sharp against your barely covered skin, but you hardly feel it.

You’d been spinning all night, around and around in a foggy cloud of discomfort, and the crash hurts more than the fall. But Eddie is here. He is here, and he’s holding you, and he’s wiping your tears, and asking you to breathe, “Tell me what happened, doll. Describe the guy.”

And through wracked sobs and shaky words, you describe what you saw: black cape, white mask, two big black eyes, and a gaping mouth. Hungry and ready to devour you.

“Woah, what the fuck happened?”

It’s Nancy; you know it’s Nancy despite your inability to see straight. She steps into frame, a gentle hand on your arm as she looks at your distraught face. Not far behind her stands Steve, a look of concern on his face.

“Some fuckin’ creep was following her,” Eddie mutters.

Your breaths come in shaky gasps, trembling hands coming up to wipe at your wet eyes. You try to speak, but your words hardly make sense, so Nancy softly coos and tells you to calm down.

Another flow of tears fall, and you only want to wrap yourself back in Eddie’s arms.

“And where were you?” Steve snaps.

Eddie looks at Steve, expression unreadable when he replies, “She went to the restroom.”

“And you didn’t go with her?” Steve prods.

Nancy consoles you, wiping your tears and telling you you’re okay as Steve and Eddie bicker over things you can hardly manage to wrap your head around. Finally, Nancy turns to them, “Would you two shut up? It doesn’t matter. Let’s just get her home; I think we’ve all had enough of tonight.” She snaps.

And even though you’re upset that Nancy has taken you from your source of comfort, you’re glad she leaves no room for debate. Nancy leads you down the steps of the house and you catch a glimpse of Eddie and think tomorrow you’ll have to apologize for ruining the night. For losing him and making a scene of your own mistake.

As you fall asleep later, you can’t help the few tears that slip down your face and drop onto your pillow as you all but hope Eddie can forgive you.

Steve’s had a rough weekend.

What started with a small disagreement with Nancy over his schedule with rugby has spiraled into Nancy completely ignoring him. On top of that, Steve is furious with Eddie’s mistake of not protecting you, and Eddie doesn’t seem to care. And as if that’s not enough, rugby finals are just around the corner, and Steve’s team is falling short to fucking play like they mean it.

Steve woke up with a headache, a sign that today would be just as rough as the night before, where Steve spent the better part of an hour with his father nagging him over the phone. Steve’s not sure what his father wants from him: a college degree or someone to run his company— either way, he won’t get both.

So, with a pounding head and a deep sigh, Steve got out of bed and began his game day rituals.

Morning run, shower, finish assignments, roll out that stubborn muscle in his thigh, and head down to the field.

Practice runs short, as it always does on game day. Steve doesn’t want to waste any energy his players can use on the field, so he lets them off the hook earlier with a warning to not do anything stupid.

And usually, by the time the game is about to start, Steve is pumped and ready to win; he talks up a big game to his players and riles them up. But today, Steve is merely a silent brewing storm. He’s tense. There’s a chip on his shoulder, and he can’t fucking reach it, and he doesn’t even know where to begin to figure it out.

Because the truth is, Steve loves Nancy. And he wants you. And he wants to be the perfect son. And he wants to win every game. He wants, he wants, he wants. But how much of it can he actually get?

Midway through the game, Steve’s team is down by enough to put him in a bad mood. His storm is pushing and pulling, churning in dark clouds on the sidelines as he watches his team play like shit. Steve isn’t even here, he thinks. He’s somewhere else. Somewhere between space and the busy thoughts in his head.

And as if the other team making another score isn’t enough, Steve suddenly hears your name tumbling from the lips of another teammate— “Did you see her on Friday? I had a feeling that innocent shit was all an act— she probably fucks like she gets paid for it.”

And Steve bites so hard into his tongue that he tastes metal. Warm and bitter, inking across his tongue like spilled milk.

He shouldn’t say anything. He shouldn’t. Not when Nancy is already on his back, asking about his whereabouts and throwing fits over nothing— because the guys talk. They’ll open their mouths for any pair of walking tits, and Steve can’t afford that. Not now. He doesn’t need it.

But then— “Wait— Harrington, isn’t your girlfriend roommates with her?”

Steve glances at the two boys, snickering like thieves, enjoying the taste of berating you on their tongues. Steve can hardly hold back the snarl on his face when he looks at them and replies, “No.” Stiff and quick.

Noel, the boy who’d made the comment about you, is now sitting right next to Steve and looking at him in confusion, “But they’re friends, right? I see them together all the time.” He points out.

Steve can’t deny that because it’s true. You and Nancy hang out on campus often, so he curtly nods, “Yeah. They’re friends.”

Noel hums, spreading his thighs to take up space as he leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. He looks at Steve and tilts his head as if he’s thinking, which Steve is sure he can’t even do, “So, can you confirm or deny that she’s more of a slut than she lets on.”

Steve looks at Noel, imagining his hands wrapped around his neck as his face twists in distaste, “She’s not a slut.”

Noel scoffs around a laugh, “Sure as hell dressed like one the other night.” he snickers, nudging his other snickering friend, Barry. They laugh as if it’s funny, making a snide comment about how your ass looked in your dress. Steve’s tongue is nearly bitten off.

“That doesn’t make her a slut.” Steve snaps.

Noel and Barry glance at each other, and laugh in disbelief, “Relax, Harrington. No one’s gonna tell Nancy you cracked a joke about how hot her roommate is.” Barry teases.

Steve doesn’t say anything; just rolls his eyes and glares back at the game. But Noel is nothing if not a fucking test of patience. Steve never liked Noel, and honestly, if he weren’t a good stand-off player, Steve would’ve written him off long ago.

“Think you could put in a word for me, man?”

Steve doesn’t bother looking at Noel as he snaps, “No, dude. Fuck off.”

Noel nudges Steve as if pushing him closer to the line Steve has been dancing on all weekend, “Come on dude, quit being so uptight, it’s just pussy.”

Just pussy.

Steve doesn’t know what snaps in him, but the second he hears it— just pussy— he hardly thinks twice before standing and curling his fists into Noel's jersey to throw him down off the bench.

“What the fuck—“

Steve steps over him, reaches down to grip the front of his jersey, and pulls him up, anger pumping through him in droves as he glares down at the boy and snaps, “Say one more thing about her.”

Barry, Noel’s knight in shining armor, steps in and grips Steve’s shoulder, pulling him off his friend and shoving at his chest. He sizes Steve up, face twisted in annoyance as he seethes, “Dude— calm the fuck down.”

Steve shoves the boy off of him, “Fuck you.” He snaps. Steve steps up to him, “You wanna know a real slut, Barry? Ask your sister, I fucked her.” He spits.

The words slip out easily like water, inky black with leeches to stick to skin and drain his veins— and it fucking works because not a second passes before a fist drives into Steve’s face, blood pooling in his mouth like an open dam. It rings loudly and echoing, with radio static in his ears. Steve can hardly hear his coach yelling, marching over to grab Steve off of Barry.

Steve doesn’t feel the pain in his hand, but he will once the adrenaline wears off, his knuckles tapped from the hard bone of Barry’s cheek. He doesn’t even remember punching him.

The coach shoves Steve in the opposite direction of Barry, frustration in every vowel of his words as he spits out, “You’re out, Harrington!”

Steve doesn’t fucking care. He doesn’t care to be thrown out of the game, hell they were gonna lose anyway. He doesn’t care that he’s the captain and should be setting an example— Steve doesn’t care. He’s pissed off, and he can hardly think straight as he storms off the field.

Steve’s storm is windy and brutal, the anger so hot in his throat that he can barely swallow. Steve will regret what he did later; he knows he will, but how could he sit there and let them talk about you like that and not do something?

You, who is so kind and caring to assholes that don’t deserve a second of your attention. You, who has never made yourself a problem yet has been picked on since you’ve come to All Saints. You, who hardly knows right from wrong— because Steve is so, so, so wrong, and still you look at him with these soft, doe eyes that make Steve want to scream and cry simultaneously. You, who Steve thinks about as he falls asleep next to his girlfriend.

How could anybody speak lowly of you?

You’re worth every bit of regret Steve will face, he thinks. No matter how clouded his judgment is.

There’s blood in his mouth, and dull aching in his jaw that will soon become a throbbing pain, and one would think Steve has had enough fights for the night, but that switch is suddenly flipped yet again when a voice comes from a few feet away— “Rough night, Harrington?”

The locker room is just steps away, and the noise of the losing game is now distant. Across the carpool lane stands Eddie, a cigarette burning between his fingers as the city light dances across his figure. He looks so stupid, standing there like a shadow, taunting Steve as if this is some sort of joke to him.

Steve gazes at Eddie, watching as he brings the cigarette up to his lips, talking around a cloud of smoke when he adds, “You look like shit.”

Shaky breaths, radio static, warm metal. City light, cigarette smoke, stupid fucking shadow.

Steve’s jaw aches when he clenches his teeth before speaking, “Are you following me?”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, “Do you want me to follow you?”

Annoying. So fucking annoying, that’s all Eddie has ever been. An annoying asshole with something smart to always say.

“Why would I want you to follow me?”

Eddie shrugs, a hand in his pocket, “Some people like that shit.” He says.

Steve stalks over, unbridled anger in each step as he draws closer to Eddie. He sneers as he glares at Eddie, “The fuck is your problem?” He snaps.

Eddie blinks, brown eyes gazing at Steve as he responds, “I don’t have a problem.”

“Then quit being so fucking weird.” Steve spats, face twisted in disgust.

Eddie raises an uninterested eyebrow, “Wasn’t aware I was.” He coolly replies.

Steve’s fingers curl into his palm, an angry fist against his side as he glares at the boy before him. Eddie’s eyes drop to Steve’s fist, lips ticking up in a small smile as his gaze flickers back to Steve’s.

Steve’s face grows hot in anger. He leans in, venom on his tongue when he spats at Eddie, “Fuck you.”

Eddie, like the asshole he is, gets a glint in his eye as he quickly whips back, “Thank you.” As if nothing ever bothers him. Steve sometimes wonders if Eddie knows how to bleed. Does he know how to respond to a punch? A kick? A bite? Steve’s not so sure that he does.

Steve decides spending another second on Eddie would be a waste, so he turns on and walks away. He’s still hot with anger, still tasting blood in his mouth, still thinking about those assholes on the turf, still thinking about the asshole a few feet away from that knows how he tastes.

“And just so you know,” Steve whips around, storming up to Eddie again. Eddie’s gaze flickers back to Steve, tilting his head in interest. Steve feels a feeling he’s never felt before brewing in his chest— a deep anger that he’s never tasted and comes up sharp on his tongue.

“I’m not fucking gay.” Steve spits.

Eddie blinks and nods once, “Okay.”

Steve looks at Eddie, the other boys sharp features glowing under the lamplight as he says, “So don’t do that shit again.”

Eddie looks at Steve, stoic expression plastered across his face before he tilts his head, “Not sure I know what you’re talking about.” He says, voice low and gravely.

Steve’s blood boils. His fists clench by his sides, and he ticks his jaw, pain rising from the punch he’d taken not too long ago, “Fuck you,” he says, “You know what I’m talking about.”

Eddie’s eyes have an annoying glint when he responds, “Seemed like you enjoyed it, Harrington.” He says beneath a subtle smirk. Steve steps forward, fists curling into the leather of Eddie’s jacket as he leans in and seethes, “You’re fucking disgusting. Try pulling that shit again, and I won’t hesitate to fucking kill you.”

Eddie smirks, brown eyes dancing over Steve’s face, a halo of warm light around his curly hair. Eddie’s voice is like hot honey, “That a threat or a promise, captain?”

“That’s a fucking promise.”

Brown pools of earth swirling like a whirlpool stare into Steve’s eyes. Smoke and cheap cologne, hairspray, leather. Steve’s anger is so loudly rushing through his veins he can hear it, flooding through his ears like a river.

Steve is in the eye of the storm. The wind is still, the air is crisp, and the light overhead flickers.

Steve doesn’t know how it happens. He doesn’t know who invades whose space, but the taste of his blood mixes with the taste of cigarette smoke, dull with mint and spit. Eddie’s lips are warm and rough because Eddie needs some fucking chapstick, but Steve doesn’t complain. He can’t. Not when Eddie’s dipping his tongue into his mouth and tasting his blood, humming like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

Steve’s knuckles are tight in Eddie’s jacket, short nails carving into the leather. Eddie’s tongue is like a curious snake, running over Steve’s tongue, dipping through the valleys and ridges of his teeth, licking over his palate. Eddie’s tongue slinks back into his own mouth, his lips curving against Steve’s lips as his cold fingers brush against Steve’s hips— and suddenly, the winds are picking up, and Steve shoves at the curly-haired boy, stepping away with a heaving chest as he glares at the boy.

Eddie’s lips are tainted a faint red, brown eyes bright yet gloomy as they gaze at Steve. Steve grimaces as he wipes his mouth, spitting out blood onto the concrete as if Eddie’s spit is the worst thing he’s ever tasted.

Eddie smiles, looks at Steve like he can see right through him, and Steve fucking hates it. Steve turns, body thrumming in some sort of sick and twisted adrenaline, eyes cast ahead of him as he marches toward the door of the locker room.

“By the way, Steve,” Eddie calls out behind him, “It was me.”

Fuck him. Fuck him and fuck everything that he says and does— Steve hates that every word Eddie says leaves him questioning, hanging, wanting more. Steve turns and glares at Eddie, vitriol in his voice as he spits out, “The fuck are you talking about?”

Eddie’s lips tip in a smile, boot-clad feet clicking against the cement as he stalks over to Steve, “The guy following her. It was me.” He shrugs.

Steve looks at Eddie, dancing over his face, looking for a crack in his expression— he finds none. Steve feels… he feels stupid. Stupid for being blind to the little game Eddie is so easily playing, puppeteering you and him with an expertise that makes Steve wonder— how many times has he done this? How many people?

Steve spent the whole weekend churning in anger, only to be told it was Eddie the entire time. He feels naive and dumb.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Eddie snickers with a shrug, stopping in front of Steve, “Made it more entertaining.”

Steve swears he feels Eddie’s lips on his, and if it weren’t for the sight of them splitting into a shit-eating grin, he’d believe they were still pressed against that lamppost, swapping spit and blood.

“Fuck you.” Steve spits.

Eddie’s smile smears in Steve’s vision as he turns his back to him and walks toward the building, heart racing in his chest and bile churning in his stomach.

Eddie’s voice rings in his ears as Steve opens the locker room door, “Goodnight, Harrington.”

Steve hardly sleeps that night.

part four.

freaky lil cutie taglist: @gnrquinn @otterpop13 @sirensleepingsoundly @hugdealer @poppyseed018 @your-nightmaredoll @daysinthephoenix @chaiflvrd @daisy-munson @amira0303 @kellsck @eddiesguitarskills @peaches-roses-sins @ohmeg

@tellmealovestory @munsonsbtch @freak-of-hawkins @darknesseddiem @urdadsnewgiirlfriend @6ix9inewiturmom @shamelessandahs @subconsciouscollapse @sidthedollface2 @literalangels @tlclick73 @yarafae @lemme-slytherin-that-dick

@cherrymedicine13 @hanahkatexo @beeceedub @arthurcerverogf @itdobe-liza @littlered0000 @songbirdofthenight @sweetvalentineheart @rip-quizilla @munsonmuses @rockmusiciscalming12 @chelebelletx

@ratsematary @qtheressurections

a/n: HI HI HIIII !!! first of all, i am so incredibly sorry for how delayed this chapter was, i truly hope you guys even remember this story *cries*, either way, thank you for being so patient <33 this chappy was all about stevie battling his demons (bisexuality) soooo, not much established, but we're getting to the action very soon I promise!!

if you made it this far, thank u so much for reading, any and all feedback is appreciated and loved <3 I hope you all have a wonderful 2025 and stay safe; and as always, thank u and i love you always!!

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narcoticv3nus · 3 months ago

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Be Good to Me ❤︎ Arthur Morgan

Kinktober Day I: Edging

summary: reader gives arthur a hand tags/trigger warnings: 18+, f!reader, hand job, praise, a bit of degradation, edging (duh), fluff, dom!reader, sub!arthur, cursing, use of pet names ("sweetheart", "good boy", "honey", “darling”), author attempts at accents wc: 1.5k

MASTERLIST

It wasn’t every day you found yourself in this position, straddling your cowboy, his eyes glazed over and pleading as he gazed up at you like you were his goddess and he was your devotee. The top buttons of his shirt were left open, offering a teasing view of his broad, hairy chest while a sinful symphony of sweet temptation spilled from his lips. His large hands cradled your hips, and now and then, his soft caresses turned into almost painful clutches as he neared his release before you took it away.

“Please… sweetheart…” he panted desperately, his eyes squeezed shut as his hips chased your hand.

“Hm? Please, what?” You tilted your head to the side with a self-pleased smirk tugging at the edges of your lips.

“You know–” his warning growl cut off as you squeezed the base of his cock coated in endless amounts of precum that continued to leak from his tip.

“What is it?” You cooed with feigned sympathy, struggling to suppress the urge to display even a hint of mercy.

His long, dark eyelashes fluttered as his beautiful, clear blue eyes slowly reopened, appearing bleary and glistening with moisture. His slightly chapped, pink lips puckered, giving away his thoughts. As his arm encircled your waist, his fingers tightened their hold, sending a thrill down your spine. You noticed his jaw clenching, his subtle muscle flexing, and the intensity in his eyes.

“Just let me take care of you.” You purred, continuing the rapid movements of your hand before he could flip you over and have his way with you. Like you know he wants.

“You work so hard; let me do this for you,” you said, leaning forward and pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. As his lips met yours, the soft, velvety timbre of your voice and the tender touch of your lips against his seemed to satiate him, if only for a moment.

You moan into his mouth, tongues intertwining as his large, warm hand reaches up to cup your breast, squeezing affectionately as his chest arches into yours.

“Darlin’…” he groaned, tipping his head back, exposing his neck in submission, moaning as your lips descended, sweet and soft kisses turned into teasing nibbles to wet sucks and licks.

“Jus’ like that,” he whined, thighs spreading wider as his cock twitched uncontrollably, tip an angry purple as his hips constantly lifted and retreated from your torturous pleasure-inducing movements.

“Feels good, honey?” you teased, twisting your fist as you went upwards, soft fingers tracing the outlines of his veins running up-and-down his cock.

"Ahh fuck!" The words flew out of Arthur's mouth involuntarily as you twisted your hand in just the right way, sending a jolt of exquisite torment straight through his body. He arched his back off the bed, hands balling into fists at his sides as he struggled to maintain control. He could see the amusement dancing in your eyes as you watched his reaction, enjoying your power over him.

With a low growl, he replied, "Yeah, it feels good." He bit his bottom lip, trying to contain himself, but the sensation was almost too much. He could feel the pressure building inside him like a wildfire waiting to erupt. His eyes locked onto yours, silently begging you to release him from this sweet torture.

“Fuck… yes,” Arthur’s voice strained as he called out, his chest rising and falling at a rapid rate as he tried to regulate his breathing. His hands found their way to your hair, fingers tangling in the silky strands as you continued your delicious ministrations. He groaned your name, the sound deep and guttural.

Arthur’s mind spiraled into a whirlwind of pleasure and agony as he fought against the impending climax. His thighs tensed, and his body quivered beneath yours. He knew you could sense his desperation, the way his breath caught in his throat each time your hand moved, and how his cock pulsed in your grasp.

The combination of pain and pleasure made him feel vulnerable, exposed, and yet oddly safe with you. He craved this intimacy, the connection between you two that went beyond mere physical release. It was as if you were peeling back the layers of his hardened exterior, reaching the raw emotions buried deep within him. He didn’t understand it but couldn’t deny its pull on him.

“Are you going to make me beg for it, darlin’?” He asked through clenched teeth, his voice a rough whisper as he challenged you to push him further.

“You might as well start,” you giggled, your breath warm and airy as you leaned close to his ear, your eyes sparkling with mischief as you enjoyed seeing him squirm beneath you.

Arthur’s jaw tightened as your breath tickled his ear, your giggle sending another wave of pleasure coursing through him. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, trying to steady himself before opening them again to meet your gaze.

Goddamnit, woman, you know how to play me like a fiddle, he thought, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple as he felt himself losing control. He let out another deep groan, voice strained but filled with determination, the sound of your name reaching your ears, causing your thighs to tighten around him, “I need… ” He couldn’t bring himself to beg, but the words hung between you nonetheless. His hips bucked involuntarily, seeking relief that only you could provide. The intensity in his eyes deepened as he stared at you, silently pleading for you to end his suffering.

“Please,” he finally managed to say, the word torn from his lips as he swallowed hard. His hand moved from your hair to your cheek, gently guiding your face towards his for another passionate kiss. His thumb brushed across your bottom lip, urging it open as his tongue swept inside, mimicking the motion he wished you’d use on him again.

“Please, what?” Your words were soft as you murmured against his lips, but your gaze was hard and unyielding.

Pausing mid-kiss, Arthur studied your expression, seeing the playful challenge in your eyes. A corner of his mouth twitched upwards despite the torment you put him through. With a deep breath, Arthur swallowed his pride and let out a low moan. “Please…let me cum,” he finally uttered, the words sounding foreign yet oddly liberating on his tongue. He knew how much power he was relinquishing by voicing his need, but something about you made him want to give you that control.

There was something inexplicable about how you seemed to see past his flaws and still chose to stand by his side. It was as if you had formed an unspoken bond, drawing him in with an irresistible force. His longing for your touch and validation was akin to the desperate yearning of a person stranded in the arid expanse of a desert, utterly parched and in need of sustenance.

“Good boy.” you smiled, your leisure and methodical movements suddenly picking up in speed. The slick sounds of your hand jerking him off echoed loudly throughout the room.

“Go ahead…” you moaned, subtly grinding yourself over his thigh. “Cum for me.”

Relief flooded Arthur's system at your words, and the pressure within him began building rapidly. Finally, he thought triumphantly, his hips instinctively bucking upwards to meet your increased pace. The world around him narrowed down to nothing but you, your touch, and the exquisite torture you inflicted upon him. Every stroke sent bolts of white-hot pleasure coursing through his veins, and he could feel himself teetering on the edge of release.

Arthur’s grip on your shoulder tightened as his muscles tensed, and with one final, powerful thrust against your hand, he exploded. A guttural groan ripped through the air as his entire body shook with the force of his orgasm, every muscle contracting before gradually relaxing.

His head fell against the pillow as he struggled to catch his breath, eyes closed, and a satisfied smile played across his lips. Once he regained control, he opened them to look at you, the intense desire replaced with a gentler, warmer gaze.

"Thank you," he rasped, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "I needed that more than I care to admit."

As your hand slowed to a stop, Arthur let out a deep breath, feeling both spent and alive simultaneously. He couldn't remember the last time someone had such an intense hold over him, and the realization sent a strange mix of emotions coursing through him. He watched you with heavy-lidded eyes, his chest still heaving from the exertion. The room was quiet save for the crackling fire and your labored breathing, creating an intimate atmosphere that made him feel vulnerable.

Reaching up, Arthur gently pulled you towards him, wrapping his arms around your waist as he reversed your positions, his hands resting beside your head as he wolfishly grinned from on top of you. The weight of Arthur's body pressing against yours sent another pleasant shiver down your spine, his muscles still warm and taut from your shared experience. His intense blue-green eyes searched yours, a softness there that was rare to see. Despite the chaos that often consumed him, Arthur found solace in your arms, something he hadn't expected to see in this wild, unforgiving world.

“Now, darlin," he drawled, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards, "I believe it's my turn now."

main masterlist, rules

#tw:nsfw #tw:dom!reader #tw:sub!arthur #tw: degradation #arthur morgan #AHHH I made it just in time #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x f!reader #arthur morgan smut #kinktober 2024 #rdr2 arthur #kinktober #2024 kinktober #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 #rdr2 smut #venus.rdr2 #venus.arthur morgan

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cod-fishing · 1 year ago

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When the 141 finally gets some leave, or even just a few days at one base, Ghost can sometimes go a little…overboard…during sex.

He just so rarely gets the chance to truly be alone with Soap. So often it’s quick kisses exchanged before they drop into a mission, good luck wishes from his lover pressed against the seam of his mask, or spit-lubed jerk off sessions while waiting in a shitty bunker for exfil. It’s not even that Ghost dislikes their messy, incredibly unprofessionally little tristes - quite the opposite. But Soap’s tongue on his balls while he stays in perfect sniper position doesn’t exactly inspire relaxation.

And so when he can relax - truly relax, with miles between him and the enemy, a secure enough lock to take his mask off, and access to real lube - he sometimes looses control.

It always starts with Soap below him.

And isn’t that alone just ecstasy. Johnny MacTavish, all his. Splayed out underneath him, strung out on pleasure and sweat and spit, moaning like he’s being payed for it. Soap’s voice, god, he’s always had a mouth on him, and when they’ve got the luxury of a door he doesn’t hold back. Ghost drinks it up, lapping his gasps and hitched breath out of the air, licking them from between his lips. He keeps his hands busy, running across sensitive ribs and over nipples, or notched up to the joint in Soap’s delicious little hole.

And Ghost has so much patience. So god damn much, he doesn’t even know where it comes from, some endless well in his soul that only Johnny can tap. He keeps him like that for what feels like days, floating in a little pool of pleasure.

Until he just snaps.

Fingers are ripped free of his lover, murmurs of praise traded for wordless growls. Suddenly, Soap is gasping for a new reason as Ghost flips him over, pulling his ass up and planting a crushing hand on his spine to keep him in place. He barely had the forethought to slick his cock before he’s forcing his way into Johnny’s slick, gummy heat. Arms come up around his chest to hold him in place, teeth sink into his vulnerable neck, and he sets about thoroughly ruining Johnny on his cock.

It’s not that he means to be so harsh to his lover. Despite his reputation, he never wants to harm Johnny, could never imagine it. But in these moments…it’s like his patience implodes and he just needs him.

All of him. Needs to be in him, surrounded by him, needs Johnny in every cell. It's an itch under his skin, a thrum of incesant desire, a fucking addiction.

When he feels Johnny clench around his cock, he can't even hear him anymore. All he can do is chase it, mixing their bodies and soul, licking Soap into his mouth, crushing him to his chest. It doesn't take long until finally, finally he releases into his lover, and whatever insanity that takes him is broken.

As he drifts back into the present, Johnny panting against his chest, he's always terrified. Terrified that he has hurt his Johnny, his sunshine. Short of breath himself, he runs his hands over him, grimacing at scratches and softly blooming bruises, but every time, Johnny just catches his hand.

Shut that brain off, Johnny slurs, half-way to sleep already. I loved it, I always do. Now turn the light off.

And Ghost is brought right back out of his over-active thoughts. He has plenty of time to worry about Soap being hurt. He doens't need to do it now, in the little haven of their love.

#this was inspired by a bluegiragi post on patreon...i just love passionate ghost and soap who is ready to take it in #cod mwii #soapghost #ghostsoap #cod mw2 #ghoap #simon ghost riley #tf141 #john soap mactavish #codmw2 #mywriting #cod mw3 #cod mwiii

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knavves · 2 years ago

Text

˖ ࣪ ꒷ KNOW SHE'S SUCH A PRIMA DONNA ꒦

synopsis : you hate kaiser's guts but he loves to rearrange yours.

wc: 1.1k ノ cw + tw: nsfw (18+). fem reader. kaiser is rlly mean and kinda possessive. hate fucking. cursing. slapping. spit kink. degrading. choking. unprotected sex. use of petnames.

"why don't you tell me how good i'm making you feel?" the figure looming over you from behind rasps, a shiver crawling up your spine feeling his warm breath tickle your shoulder. it feels good, so so good. he knows all the right places to touch you, he knows what makes you moan, what makes you come undone.

and you hate that. you hate michael kaiser.

it irks you. he's the one making you see stars. you're suddenly aware that the man who you swear up and down you despise is the one buried balls deep inside you right now, fucking you with the mutual feeling of hate.

you sink your face further into the sheets, drowning out the irritating thoughts. you turn your head to make sure he hears every syllable laced with venom, "shut the fuck up." to tell him how good you feel would only feed into his ego that's already many sizes too big, you'd rather die than fuel it any further. you gasp when he lands a sharp slap onto the flesh of your ass, a warning. a reminder that he's the one in charge.

his slender fingers take hold of your throat, a suffocating grip restricting your air ways. he yanks you from the pillows where you were attempting to tune out your moans, to take that satisfaction away from him. his thrusts, cruel and merely chasing his own pleasure, don't relent as he speaks directly into your ear, "keep running your mouth, slut. don't you want to cum? i'll fucking leave you here." you whimper, a pathetic one that you quickly regret letting out especially when you can practically feel the smug smirk gracing his face.

"open." he commands, hands leaving your neck to grip your jaw. you do, for once not wanting to push him any further. he lets spit pool in his mouth before pursing his lips, allowing a fat glob to land on your tongue that's lolled out just for him. "swallow it."

your eyes widen and you don't know why but you listen, obediently swallowing what he gave you. your head dips and hangs low in shame at the way you're clenching around his dick. "oh? you like that, when i treat you like a good for nothing whore?" fuck everything he says irritated you as much as it aroused you. you grimace and shake your head. no, you're not a whore, especially not for the likes of him.

you whine, feeling him slip from the confinements of your walls. but not for long as he flips you onto your back, shoving all of his length back into your dripping pussy in one go. slap. dead smack across your face, not too hard but definitely enough to leave a sting. your eyes water and you stare up at him baffled, with uncontrollable tears starting to gloss over your eyes. what was he so-

"don't fucking lie to me. i can feel the way you're squeezing around me. you're soaked and it's all for me, sweetheart." so arrogant but you're still dripping, tightening even harder around his girth that's stilled inside you at his words. your body betrays you but you still deny it, "whatever. i could have anyone i wanted."

"that's why you always come back to me, right?" your face screws together, who did he think he was? is what you planned on telling him but the words are ripped from your throat almost as quickly as they formed in your head, replaced with a guttural moan. he grinds his hips into yours, pressing his cock into your sweet spot. your glare softens as your mouth hangs open, whining right there and yes, completely forgetting about what you'd said earlier.

"i'm the only one who gets to fuck you like this." he spits, thinking about you with another person agitates him. no matter if you aren't even technically dating, you belong to him. yeah you piss him off just as much as he does to you but he can't lie, he'll always crawl back to you.

he situates one of your legs around his waist, angling himself to reach deeper inside you. you sling your arms around his neck, raking your nails into his back. he groans at the slight pain that comes with the angry red marks dancing across his skin. and you hope it hurts, fighting back for some dignity because right now, he has you shamelessly bucking your hips to meet his thrusts halfway.

"feels good, yeah?" he mutters, hands digging bruises into the skin of your hips. you're close, you can feel your orgasm sneaking up on you. you have to bite your tongue. you want to swear at him, maybe even strangle him. he'll leave you high and dry and you know it, he's done it before after all.

"fuck off... y-you know it does, asshole." he settles with the fact it's the nicest you can be so he lets it slide, only humming in reply. your eyes sharpen, trying your best to show how much you hated him in them rather than vocalize it. "keep glaring at me like that, i'll cum." "y-you're disgusting." but you're not any better letting the man you loathe, michael kaiser, drill in and out of your cunt, greedily sucking him in for more.

you're breathless, each drag of his cock is followed by another sharp snap of his hips, efficiently knocking the air right from your lungs. that coil in your stomach is getting ready to snap, he knows it too. he takes one of his hands from your waist to use the pad of his thumb to smear your slick all over your messy clit. you're thrashing against the sheets, hands wandering your body, you were losing your mind. tweaking at your own hardened nipples and tightening your hand at the base of your neck, wishing, no pleading for him to replace his hand with yours.

he complies, groaning at the sight of your eyes rolling back into your skull at the way he squeezes your throat as the coil in your belly snaps with a gargled cry. he doesn't stop even with the white ring forming around him, the wet noises of his cock slamming in and out of your drooling pussy and the sounds of your skin colliding with one another fill your ears and do laps in your mind. you beg for him to slow down and spew a few curses at him, you were so sensitive and all he was doing pounding himself into your overstimulated cunt.

he swears under his breath, pulling away from you to jerk himself off, needily dragging his hand up and down his aching length before cumming all over your clit.

your body jumps in surprise when he slaps his tip onto your bud, smearing your arousal and his cum all over it. "fuck you, michael. m still sensitive-"

"i think you deserve a punishment for all that shit you were talking earlier. hm? sweetheart?"

#🔖: knavves #bllk smut #blue lock smut #blue lock x reader smut #bllk x reader smut #kaiser smut #kaiser x reader smut #michael kaiser x reader smut #michael kaiser smut #kaiser michael smut

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anonymous-dentist · 10 months ago

Text

Or: Soulmates share their dreams every night and can communicate in them, but it's Spiderbit

For day three of @smallchaoscryptid's Spiderbit Week - Soulmates

Dream One: How to Train Your Dragon

He blinks awake and finds himself far from the battlefield. His clothes are dry and not muddy, his skin is clean, his teeth feel dull in his mouth.

He's in a strange room: fireplace, stiff bed beneath him(but, really, any kind of bed is better than what he's had since the War started.) The smell of cooked fish.

He grimaces. He likes cooked flesh better, thanks.

This is a dream. He knows it's a dream, so he doesn't hesitate in hopping out of bed and stretching. There isn't a burn in his muscles, and the dull ache of his growing bones is finally gone. Heck yeah.

It's peaceful, in a way. Weird, but peaceful. Really disconcerting, but peaceful.

And then a monster screeches outside loud enough to shake the windowpanes.

He instinctively reaches for his sword, realizes that, right, dream. Of course he wouldn't have his sword in his dreams, that would be stupid.

He runs outside, anyway, because duh. If there's a monster, he wants to see it!

He sees the dragon first: large and yellow and missing one of its legs. It growls at him with a weird dragony smile, and he smiles back.

He sees the child second: short with messy hair and freckles. He gasps when he sees him and runs at him with a gap-toothed smile.

"Hi!" he chirps. He's speaking Portuguese, but that isn't what his mouth is saying. Dream stuff, huh, must be translating everything.

Neat.

"You're my soulmate, right?" the boy asks. He looks him over appraisingly. "You aren't that much older than me."

He scoffs, crosses his arms. "I'm literally so much older than you."

"Yeah? Well, how old are you, then?"

He blinks, throat dry. "I'm-" (He can't remember. But Bad always says that he looks to be about 13, so...) "-13. So I'm way older than you."

The boy puffs his chest out annoyedly. "Only by a few years. Screw you!"

The dragon flies off, bored. He would care more if there wasn't an annoying little kid in front of him pissing him off.

He takes an angry step forward, arms falling to his sides and hands balling into fists. He might not have his sword, but he can still beat up a kid easy.

"Screw you!" he shouts. "Get out of my dream! I wanna go hang out with the dragons."

"It's our dream, idiot," the kid huffs. "We're soulmates, duh. My grandpa says that everyone shares dreams with their soulmates, so we're obviously soulmates."

"What the fuck is a soulmate?"

The kid gasps, all anger pouring out of his tiny little body. "You don't know what a soulmate is?"

He doesn't know what his own name is, but he isn't exactly gonna tell some kid that.

He turns to leave and go find the dragon, but he's stopped by both of the kid's tiny hands grabbing his sleeve and pulling at him until he stays.

He turns to look at the kid, and the kid smiles and explains.

"Soulmates are, well, soulmates, okay? They're like super best friends, that's what my grandpa says. His soulmate is dead, but they still hang out in his dreams because that's where your soulmate lives until you find them. And after you find them, too, I think, but I dunno. He says he never met his soulmate before they died, but I think he's lying 'cause he's really silly sometimes."

"Okay, but. Us? You and me? You're a kid."

"You're a kid, too, you know."

"Nuh-uh. I'm a soldier."

"A kid soldier. But, anyway, we're soulmates! When we meet in the real world, we're gonna be best friends, I can tell!"

"Yeah? Well, don't be too sure. I don't do friends."

"Wow, you're emo."

"What the fuck did you just say to me?!"

Dream Thirty-Two: Cyberpunk

He laughs as he chases the kid through the slimy, neon-ridden back alleys of the city. He's on a motorcycle, because of course he is, but the kid is on foot.

"Just give up already!" he shouts.

The kid flips him off over his shoulder, grinning widely. He keeps tripping over his own shoelaces, because he's running like an idiot, but he's somehow still faster than the motorcycle.

He doesn't know the kid's name because the kid decided it wouldn't be fair to have a name when he doesn't know his own. Sweet kid. Shame he's annoying.

"Fuck you!" the kid replies. He then proceeds to trip over the cuff of his pants and fall right onto his face in a muddy puddle.

He cackles triumphantly and slows the bike to a stop. He hops off it and goes to poke at the kid until he gives up, but... but he's crying. Quietly, he's crying quietly, but his shoulders are shaking, and, oh, right, he's a child. He's the younger one.

His face falls. He kneels next to the kid and helps him sit up with a frown.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

The kid's lip wobbles, and his eyes shine, but he nods. "It's just a dream. It doesn't really hurt."

He isn't convinced, but, well. It is a dream. Nothing matters in a dream, right?

"Okay," he hesitantly says. "Come on, let's go play laser tag or something."

The kid's eyes light up. "Cool! I'm gonna kick your ass!"

"Oh, really?" he challenges. "You're on!"

And they run off, motorcycle forgotten.

"How did you beat me!?"

"I'm just a God Gamer, dude. Get on my level."

"You are so annoying."

Dream Seven Hundred and Fifty-Two: High School

"I think I'm going to give myself a name," he announces.

The kid's eyes widen. "Really? Took you long enough."

He rolls his eyes, but the kid isn't wrong. They've been meeting in their dreams for, what, two years? And they still don't have anything to call each other but "idiot" and "you" and "asshole".

But, well, it's about time, he thinks. The War is ending soon, he thinks. Bad says so, at least, and he's pretty good with knowing when things end.

With the War ending, he's going to have to go out into the "real world"... if he doesn't manage to follow Bad where he goes next. But where's the fun in that?

He shrugs. "I need a name. If I don't have one, I can't join the army."

"Why do you wanna join the army?"

"So I can keep killing people, duh. How else am I supposed to get food?"

"Uh, the store?"

"What's that?"

The kid rolls his eyes and pushes his shoulder. "You're literally stupid, what the heck?"

They're in some kind of food line, he thinks. They shuffle forward as the faceless teenagers in front of them get their trays and continue through the line.

He picks up his own tray and wrinkles his nose at the food he sincerely hopes isn't about to be placed on it. Where's the meat?

"What kind of name do you want?" the kid asks.

He's hit some kind of growth spurt, because he's finally up to his shoulder. Still short, though. Loser.

"Dunno," he responds. "I'll think of something later, probably."

"What about... Peter?"

"No."

"Miles."

"No."

"Miguel."

"No."

"Ben."

"No."

"You suck!"

Dream One Thousand and Ninety-Five: Mermaids

"Call me Cell," he says.

The kid- not quite a kid anymore, much closer to Cell's age when the soulmate dreams started- cocks his head curiously.

"Like, as in a cell phone?" he asks.

Cell grins as shark-like as the tail he's currently sporting.

"Exactly," he says.

The kid's eyes narrow. "Or, like in a prison cell. Did you kill someone again?"

"...Maybe, but-"

"Oh my God, how are we supposed to meet each other if you're in jail!"

The kid swims around in a frustrated circle around Cell, who just watches him, placid. Calm. Totally cool, definitely not at all sheepish over pissing his soulmate off.

That would be ridiculous.

Cell doesn't get sheepish, and he definitely doesn't feel regret. Not over some kid.

...Some kid who's his soulmate. They're best friends already, though, so he should be fine with Cell being stuck in prison for a bit.

Cell rolls his eyes and reaches out and grabs the kid and stops him from swimming. He looks him in the eyes, and he smiles, softer than intended. (He's Cell! He isn't soft. He's a killer!)

"Calm down," he drawls. "I'll be out of here before you know it."

"Really?" the kid asks. "Is your sentence that short?"

"Nah, I'm gonna break out."

He lets the kid go and starts swimming off in a random direction, not waiting for the kid to follow. (He does.)

"Must be a shitty prison, then," the kid comments.

"Trust me, I'll be out soon, and then I can try getting up to Mexico again to see you."

"Then I can teach you how to drive."

Cell flicks his tail at him annoyedly. "Shut up, I can already drive."

"No way."

"Yes way!"

They continue bickering and chasing each other through the coral until Cell feels consciousness tickling at him.

"Hey," he asks, "I told you my name. You tell me yours."

The kid smiles, and he does.

"My name is Roier."

"And my name is Cell."

"You already told me that, idiot."

"Oh, yeah."

Dream One Thousand, Eight Hundred, and Twenty-Seven: 1920s Mafia

Even in his dreams, he's dying. He's in a pool of his own blood with a couple dozen bullets plugged into his chest, but it doesn't hurt quite as much as the goddamn betrayal burning his skin from the inside out.

If he dies in the dream, he wakes up. Cell knows this, so he's more than a little annoyed about the whole dying thing. At least in his dreams, dying doesn't hurt.

The cops that killed him have already long gone. They may not have had faces, but Cell knows precisely who they looked like. All four of them were traitors, all four of them!

"Bastards," he spits. He groans as the movement of his tongue alone sets off flares of imaginary pain (because he can't feel pain in dreams, but he sure can imagine what it feels like) all throughout his body.

In the real world, he's starving to death in a cave. In the dream world, he's choking on his own blood.

Great.

His eyes slip closed, and he waits to wake up.

He doesn't react as a pair of heels click towards him.

"Cell?" Roier asks, but his voice is just the slightest bit off. But, then again, he is a teenager now. His voice is going to be doing all sorts of weird shit. "Oh my God, Cell! What the- hold on!"

Cell gasps as he's rolled onto his back. His eyes flutter open, and he sees... a girl? A girl in a really bad wig. With even worse makeup.

"Roier?" he mumbles. "What are you wearing?"

Roier looks down at himself- red sparkly dress and all- and blushes slightly. "I'm... trying something out. But what happened? You showed up in the dream and you ran off and I heard gunshots and you're so stupid, what the fuck?!"

He grits his teeth and smacks Cell lightly on the shoulder. But that's still enough to wrack Cell's body with pain.

"I'm sorry," he wheezes, eyes squinting closed once more. "I'm dying."

"It's a dream, Cell. I'm just pissed you're leaving this early. You just got here!"

"No, Roier. I'm dying. In the real world."

Roier goes quiet.

Cell swallows the blood in his throat and continues, "Pac and Mike and... and Guaxinim. They betrayed me. Left me on an island. I'm dying."

"You can't be," Roier faintly says. "We haven't met yet."

"Didn't your grandfather say he sees his soulmate in his dreams? We'll be fine."

"My grandpa is also senile. Cell, I- you're so stupid."

Something wet falls onto Cell's cheek, but it isn't rain. It never rains in dreams. It's always sunny.

Fuck. He made Roier cry. Maybe is a monster after all, and not in the good way.

The dream world starts dissolving, starting with Cell's fingertips. It... tingles.

Why can't real death be as soft?

"You better live, or... or I'll never talk to you again!"

"I... I'll try. Roier, I'll try."

Dream Two Thousand, Five Hundred, and Fifty-Five: My Little Pony

Tonight, he's a horse.

Why not.

It's his first dream in, what, two weeks? He hasn't slept long enough to dream. It's hard to sleep when all he sees until the dreams kick in is his own mistakes.

But, well. Cell turned 20 today (he thinks, he's still not sure about his actual age), and Felps got him drunk to celebrate. Drunk means sleepy, and sleepy means dreams, and dreams mean-

"Roier!" he calls, running through the streets of the pony town desperately. "I made it!"

Roier knows that he's been having trouble sleeping since his whole moral dilemma thing started after Alcatraz. He doesn't quite get it, but he's trying, and that's all that matters, right?

None of the faceless ponies pay Cell any attention as he goes, but that's fine. Fuck them. He promised his best friend that they'd see each other, and they're going to see each other.

He doesn't have to look too far, thankfully, because, a few moments in, a blazing red blur bolts out of the sky and tackles Cell to the ground.

"Happy birthday!" Roier exclaims.

He grins, wings flaring behind him. What's this called, a pegasus?

Roier's eyes widen, and his jaw drops in shock. "What the fuck, you're a unicorn? Lucky!"

Cell tries looking at his own horn, going so far as to go cross-eyed, but all he manages to do is make himself look goofy.

It makes Roier laugh, at least. That's good. He's been having... a rough time, Cell thinks. He's been quieter when they have been able to meet up. Something about his brother leaving to go to college: a child prodigy gone to an exclusive university and leaving his twin behind.

Cell can't imagine what it would be like to have a twin. Weird, right? Someone that looks just like him but is different? Yeah, no thanks.

(He gave up on any ideas of family a long time ago. Thinking about whoever he had before the War just makes him sad.)

"You're red," Cell intelligently says.

"And you're green. You look like shit."

Cell bites Roier's ear and smiles as Roier lets out an exaggerated scream.

"Missed you," Cell says, and he means it.

"Yeah, well, I didn't miss you at all," Roier sniffs.

But Cell doesn't believe him at all.

"I still can't believe your brother's name is Doied."

"Our parents weren't very original."

"Maybe you should do what I did and just pick a name."

"Fuck you, man, I like my name!"

"Lucky. I wish I could change mine. It's too... heavy."

"I mean, you already did it once. Just do it again."

"...You're right."

"I usually am."

Dream Four Thousand, Seven Hundred, and Forty-Eight: Medieval

Cellbit hasn't seen Roier for days, and he's maybe starting to freak out. Maybe. Just a little.

Just before he'd disappeared, Roier had mentioned winning some kind of lottery. He was excited, and Cellbit was excited for him. He'd been looking for his asshole twin brother for years, he deserved a break.

But then the break happened.

And Roier hasn't slept since, apparently.

But Cellbit sleeps every night, anyway, even if he'd much rather be spending his nights trying to figure out where the fuck his soulmate went. Because Roier's... Roier is his soulmate. They've been sharing dreams for thirteen years now, they're best friends, and Cellbit is dying without him.

Tonight's dream has Cellbit in a knight's costume drinking flavorless alcohol in a bar. Nothing has tasted right since Roier has disappeared.

He isn't dead, at least. If he was dead, then he would be in the dreams. So he's just... not sleeping. Somewhere. Somewhere not sleeping.

Cellbit's hand shakes with rage and fear as he raises his cup to his lips.

He isn't a killer anymore. Well, he is, but he only kills animals now. He's a butcher, but not in the serial killer way. In the... in the butcher way.

(His hands itch for more blood, but he's been trying to do better.

He can't meet Roier if he's in prison, after all.)

It's as he's drinking that the bar's door slams open and stumbling in comes Roier in fancy robes with a gold crown perched on top of his head.

Cellbit drops his cup and immediately gets off of his stool to rush to Roier's side.

"Roier, what the fuck?" he demands. "Where have you been?"

He pulls Roier into a tight hug, mindful of his armor.

God, is he crying? How embarrassing, but Roier's seen worse from him.

But:

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Roier asks.

And Cellbit's heart drops.

Roier wriggles free and looks Cellbit over. This... this can't be Roier, can it? Because there's no recognition in his eyes as he looks at Cellbit, and no slight blush as Cellbit looks at him.

Roier gasps. "Oh, wow. Are you my soulmate?"

Cellbit's eyes sting. "I- yes, Roier, are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Kinda annoyed that you took so long, though."

Roier smacks Cellbit's shoulder.

Cellbit can't breathe.

"I'm 21, motherfucker!" Roier shouts. "What took you so long!"

"I've been here," Cellbit faintly says. "Roier, I've been here. What happened to you? You said you- you got invited to some island? And then you disappeared? What happened?"

Something sparks behind Roier's eyes, but it's gone as fast as it appears.

"I've been alone for years!" Roier exclaims. He groans and runs his hands through his hair, almost knocking the crown off his head. "God, what is Spreen going to think?"

"Spreen? Who's Spreen?"

And then Roier blushes, and he grins, and Cellbit feels sick to his goddamn stomach.

"Spreen is my best friend," Roier tells him, and Cellbit wants to kill.

"Where are you? In the real world?"

"On the island. Where are you? Maybe Osito Bimbo can bring you or something. We have train stations, there's gotta be special tickets for soulmates."

"I'm in Brazil. What island?"

"Quesadilla Island, of course."

Reality: Day One

Cellbit's head is killing him. Fucking... what happened? He can't... he can't remember...

"Cellbit, you doing okay?" Felps asks.

He seems fine, sitting on the ground and not at all caring about the literal shipwreck they're stuck in.

"Oh, sure, as Cellbit if he's doing okay," Mike scoffs. He's still not over the whole prison thing, but he'd been angry enough when hearing about Cellbit's soulmate being kidnapped to help kickstart the whole rescue mission.

What a good friend.

Pac rolls his eyes. "He's literally bleeding, Mike. Look at him!"

Oh, shit, is Cellbit bleeding?

He raises a hand to his head; it comes away bloody, oh.

At least it's stopped raining outside. Cellbit can't see much, trapped with the others in what might be some kind of office space just below-deck. But he can't hear the rain anymore, and he can't hear any thunder.

"I'm fine," he sighs. "I've had worse. We should-"

He's cut off by a shout from outside.

Pac's eyes widen comically. "This island is occupied?"

Apparently so, because in comes a whole stream of people through a single door inlaid in the far wall. Tall man in what has to be anime cosplay, slightly shorter man covered in... green goo? Woman in purple. Man in bucket hat. And...

Cellbit's eyes meet Roier's, and the world slots into place around them.

Cellbit stumbles up to the glass wall and presses his hands against it. So close...

Roier is much more hesitant to approach (he still hasn't found that Spreen guy yet, of course he's hesitant...), but he offers Cellbit a small, genuine smile.

(He's so much more handsome in person, what the fuck? When did this happen? He was shorter than Cellbit just a moment ago, he swears.)

"Finally," Cellbit breathes.

The crowd around them is drowned out by the sound of Roier's voice as he says, awed-sounding, "You actually came for me."

"Of course I did," Cellbit replies. He smiles. "We're soulmates, aren't we?"

Tears well up in Roier's eyes- happy tears, Cellbit knows him well enough to be able to tell the different by now.

And then the door opens.

#a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose.#guapoduo #spiderbit #i feel like i must say that any and all romantic feelings form after they're both 18+#i tried making that clear but yk. this is Not the reading comprehension site.

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giggly-squiggily · 3 months ago

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A Chase To Start The Season (Bungo Stray Dogs) **Tickletober2024**

Hey guess what? LEE!CHUUYA! :D I wanted to say it hehe! Happy Tickletober everyone! I'm doing the weekly prompts because it's easier on me this year- what better way to start things off than some classic SouKoku? :D I hope y'all like it!

CW: Mild swearing

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps):

@myreygn @thatbigbisexual29 @dirtpie39 @duckymcdoorknob @cupcake-spice13 @rachi-roo @mystwrites @chibisstuff @imjusthere07 @sevenincubistolemyheart @riisada

“DAZAI!"

This wasn't the first time he’s done this. It certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Chuuya stormed down the hall in a fit of fiery rage, his apron dusted with a thin but prominent dusting of sugar- his hands tips of his hair stained with frosting. Just moments earlier he had a tray of 12 perfectly baked, masterfully shaped pumpkin spiced cookies ready to be decorated for the Halloween season.

Now there were only 11- the missing cookie being munched on by the scoundrel he called his boyfriend.

“Try to hide, you bastard- I’ll find you! This apartment isn’t that big!” He called out as he threw the bedroom door open, convinced this is where Dazai ran off to. He looked around, looking for the smallest of lumps, bumps or creaked doors.

Nothing. The room looked and felt untouched. Letting out a sigh, he turned to leave when he heard it- the faintest of crunch. His eyes shot to the closet.

In a matter of steps, a scrunched up Dazai was revealed. He stared up at Chuuya with big eyes, lips twitching around his stolen treat. The longer he looked up at the redhead, the harder it was not to start giggling. “Oo, you found me!”

Chuuya quirked an eyebrow. It was enough to get Dazai laughing properly now.

“Alright, you cookie thief- what do you have to say for your-” Chuuya reached out to pull him up, but Dazai was fast. With an unexpected tumble, he dived between the redhead’s legs, rolling into the room and scrambling out the door.

Chuuya blinked. Then he turned with a roar, flying after the cackling brunette. “DAZAI!”

Around and around they went, running into rooms and diving around furniture. Every time he was inches from grabbing onto Dazai, the brunette would avoid him. When he got enough distance, he’d stick his tongue out at Chuuya, sometimes adding a booty shake.

Oo, how Chuuya was gonna get him good when he caught up!

Their chase continued until Dazai suddenly took a knee, falling haphazardly into the tatami mats below. Chuuya saw an opportunity and took it, running over and wrapping his arms around his torso from behind-

The world suddenly flipped. Chuuya found himself on his back, Dazai’s cheeky grin looming over him. “Gotcha, Chibi! What, did you really think you had me?.”

The redhead gaped. His shock quickly turned back into rage. “You son of a bi-hehehehahhahahahahahahhach!”

“Aww, you’re so cute when you’re giggly Chibi!” Dazai laughed in his newfound power, positioning himself overhead with his thighs trapping Chuuya’s arms. Effectively pinned, Chuuya could only flail and squeal while Dazai dug into his upper ribs and armpits. “Come on- give me a smile!”

Chuuya was gonna give him a mouthful of bloody teeth in a second! Shrieking with mirth, he twisted the best he could given his predicament, his threatening kicks coming off more like a cat attacking a yarn ball. “Yoohohohohu’re sohohohohoho dheahhahahahd! Gehahahahah I’m goohohohohonna choohohohke yoohohohu ohohohout with my thihihihihighs!”

“Oo, hot. What else are you gonna do to me?” Dazai dropped his hands lower so they danced against his belly, making kissy noises at Chuuya’s reddening cheeks. “Talk silly to me!”

The scritches were bad enough, but the teasing? Oh the damn teasing! Chuuya’s laugh took on a squeaky noise as he tried and failed to activate his gravity control. Maybe he wasn’t focused enough, or maybe Dazai was cheating and using his own ability to stop him- but the cheeky brunette remained right where he was. “DAHAHAHZAI LEHEHEHET ME GOOHOHO!”

“Awww, already? And I was having so much fun too!” Despite his whine, he released the redhead, pulling his legs up to his chest and resting his chin on them all cute. “Better now?”

Chuuya groaned and gasped, arms coming down and tightly against his waist as he shot an upside down glare in his boyfriend’s direction. It only made Dazai smile more, softening Chuuya’s insides like butter. “Shuhuhut up.”

“I haven’t said anything yet.”

“You're saying things with your eyes- it’s making me feel things.”

“Oh?” Dazai’s eyes twinkled as he leaned in, looking down at Chuuya with twinkling eyes. “What kind of things?”

Chuuya didn’t bother with a response. Instead, he reached up and pulled the other man into a spontaneous kiss- gentle and passionate at the same time. When they pulled away, Dazai was flushed and a bit breathless. Chuuya could feel his heartbeat racing beneath his fingers.

“Did that answer your question?” He growled- smirking when Dazai nodded. He leaned in for another kiss, but Chuuya was quick- activating his gravity manipulation and sending him floating out of reach. “Do that again and I’ll make sure you’ll stay lightheaded for the next few months.”

“Aww, Chibi! You know I’m always lightheaded whenever you’re around.” Dazai fluttered his eyelashes with a swooning grin, crumbling near instantly when Chuuya grabbed at his suspended thighs, tickling with all his might. “Gheahhahahaha! Chuhuhuhuya! Cuhuhuhya- Chihihihihibi, pleahahhhahahahse!”

“You really didn’t think I forgot about the cookies, did you?” Chuuya growled, grinning from ear to ear as Dazai continued squealing out terms of endearment between giggle fits. “Time to face your just desserts!”

Thanks for reading!

#tickletober #tickletober2024 #tickletober 2024 #bsd #dazai osamu #chuuya nakahara #soukoku #fluff #tickle #tickle fic #squiggily writes the things #dorks in love #dorks #last year I think I did lee!Dazai so this year lee!Chuuya! :D #babies #precious boys

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circle-with-me · 6 months ago

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summer’s in the air, heaven’s in your eyes

pairing: matt dierkes x female reader

tags/cw: 18+MDNI!! unprotected vaginal sex, the tiniest bit of spanking, overstimulation, skinny dipping, teasing, angst, fluff, yearning, hurt/comfort.

word count: 3.3k

tag list: @deathblacksmoke @darksigns-exe @malice-ov-mercy @baddestomens @sitkowski @cncohshit @lma1986 @sprokat @rain-down-on-me @honeytama @thisbicc @blackveilomens

author’s note: this is the third installment of my summer series. it ended up being way longer than i intended but matt has rotted my brain so he gets a long one :)

dividers by @saradika-graphics

It was supposed to be a girl’s trip. You and three of your best friends decided to go to the lake for a week. Your boyfriend of three years broke up with you at the end of May. It was sudden and unexpected, but you both kept it amicable. It would take a couple of weeks before his new place would be ready so you allowed him to stay in the spare room until then.

Not even two days later you walked in on him and his coworker having sex in your room on your bed. After you chased both of them out of the house with a baseball bat, threw his things in the yard, and changed all of the locks, you locked yourself in your room for a month. Your friends eventually came to your rescue, dragging you out and forcing you to shower. Telling you that you desperately needed a tan and some social interaction.

The lake trip was branded as a girl’s trip but you knew your friends had plans to get you laid. You had no plans on getting involved with anyone. All you wanted was a relaxing trip and to forget about the break up.

Meeting Matt wasn’t a part of the plan.

It wasn’t your fault he happened to be in the cabin next to yours and his dogs just so happened to take a liking to you.

It was annoyingly cliche how you met. He threw a tennis ball too far and it landed between you and your friends. Not long after it landed, so did two very wet and enthusiastic dogs. They were suddenly enthralled to find themselves among new friends—making sure everyone else was equally as drenched as they were.

Matt came running over apologizing profusely trying but failing to wrangle them, who you later learned were called Boo and Zeus. Your friends huffed about how they were going to have to reapply tanning oil, grabbing their towels to dry off. Meanwhile, you were too busy having a rom-com, wind in your hair, “Take My Breath Away” playing in the background moment as the gorgeous man in front of you spoke.

He offers his hand to you and you gladly take it, admiring the tattoos that cover his arm. You ask about them and he promises he’ll tell you all about them if you accompany him and the dogs on their nightly walk. He works fast, you’ll give him that. He beams at you when you agree—nearly stumbling over Zeus as he backs away, nervously telling you what time he’d be by to get you.

It’s endearing how he shows up a few minutes early.

He stands outside patiently; Boo and Zeus wait excitedly by his side. He’s freshly showered by the looks of the still damp ends of his hair—black baseball cap sitting backward on his head. The nervous smile he gives you as he hands you Boo’s leash makes your tummy do flips.

Conversation with Matt is easy. He keeps his promise and explains the tattoos on his arms, utterly appalled that you’ve never seen Lord of the Rings and making you promise to watch them once you return home. He catches himself droning on (his own words) about it and apologizes but you think you could listen to him read an instruction manual and find it interesting.

You learn that he’s a tour manager for a band you’ve never heard of. He’s almost thrilled to hear this—telling you that once women hear that he works with Bad Omens they’re far more concerned with getting autographs or meeting their favorite member. He laughs it off but the way he chews the inside of his cheek tells you it bothers him more than he lets on. Fighting your nerves, you lace your fingers with his and squeeze his hand.

“Everyone knows that tour managers are the hottest guys in the industry anyway.” You smile at him. He laughs and you don’t miss the way his eyes flicker to your lips. It’s all a little overwhelming—after all you just met this man. He counters your claim with self-deprecating humor but the way his thumb lightly brushes over the back of your palm tells you that he’s smitten. Maybe a little summer distraction wouldn’t be too bad after all.

You weren’t sure how he talked you into it. It could have been the alcohol coursing through your veins that made you feel a bit brave. Or maybe it was how his arm wrapped around your waist, eyes sparkling even through the darkness, that made you agree. Regardless of the true culprit, you found yourself shucking your clothes off and running naked off the pier and into the water.

Neither of you accounted for the water being so cold. Matt’s teeth chatter similar to yours as he swims closer to you, angrily murmuring about the temperature. The giggles that escape you don’t help his mood. He starts to swim off but you grab him by the arm, wrapping your legs around his waist.

As you lean in to kiss him, your bare breasts press against his chest. You feel him suck in a breath and hold it when you tighten your legs around him, trying to maintain some self control. Smirking against his mouth, you drag your tongue across his bottom lip, and you feel the hands that were hesitantly on your waist shoot to your hips.

“Warm enough, yet?”

Matt blows out the air he was holding as he laughs. The open mouth kisses you leave across his jaw have his head tilting to the side so you have more access. You decide to test the waters, teeth scraping across the surface of his neck. He jerks a little, but the fingers now threading through your hair prompt you to continue.

“Yeah,” He finally responds in a breathy laugh. “Yeah—I, um… I’m definitely warm now.” His fingers flex into the meat of your hips, fingernails scraping against the skin. The hand in your hair pulls you off of his neck and kisses you harshly, tongue exploring your mouth. He squeezes you tight around him, pressing his erection into you. There’s no insistence behind it—he seems perfectly content rocking his hips slowly against you. Every gasp and mewl that leaves your lips is quickly devoured by his mouth on yours.

It’s comical, you think, how confident you were that you wouldn’t meet someone on this trip. You planned to enjoy your Fourth of July week with as much alcohol, sun, and alone time as you could get. Then, day one, Matt Dierkes comes along and ruins your plans in the best way—now you’ve spent every minute of the past four days together.

It was made known on day two when you would be leaving. He learned you lived several hours away, while you learned this was a regular getaway spot for him—his house being less than an hour from the campgrounds. He toured frequently with the band and wasn’t home that often. It wasn’t an issue. You’d spend some time together, maybe get laid, then move on with your life.

Except it became so much more than that.

Matt was kind. Kinder than you’d ever experienced. He held your hand everywhere you walked, thumb caressing the back of your hand like it did the first time you hung out. He took a genuine interest in your life and what you enjoyed doing for fun—and was so god damn adorable talking emphatically about his own interests.

The reality that you would ultimately have to leave him in a few short days loomed over you. The closer the day came the more the tension in the air thickened. You tried not to let it bother you, but there would be times where you would catch him staring at you—a somber look that screamed “please stay” but the plea was never spoken out loud.

It all hits you so fast and nearly knocks the breath out of you. The hands roaming your body, lips covering every inch of exposed skin, and the beautiful eyes that peer up at you like you’re heaven sent are all temporary. Somehow, losing a man that you’ve known for less than a week feels more devastating than the one you knew for three years.

Matt stops what he’s doing as your face contorts and immediately gives you space. He pulls you further up his torso and moves his hands back to your waist, stroking your back as he places your foreheads together. There’s no third degree, no sign of disappointment in his face. You think that somehow he knows exactly what is bothering you.

“Are you sure you have to leave on Friday?” He asks, as if you needed the reminder. The sadness in his voice is evident and you’re pretty sure ripping your heart out would be less painful. Your emotions overwhelm you so you nod meekly, afraid of your voice betraying you. Matt presses a kiss to your lips, whispering that it will be okay—that he’ll do what he can to make it work, and you think you believe him.

There was a plan set for tonight. A perfectly laid out plan:

Take the dogs for their nightly walk.

Have dinner.

Go watch the fireworks on the lake.

Easy.

The dogs got their walk. You were on time to go to dinner, but when you came out of the bathroom in a yellow floral sundress that hit just at the right spot below your knees, Matt's eyes darkened. He pulled you in by the waist and skirted his hands up your thighs. He kissed your stomach over the cotton fabric of the dress and when his fingers brushed over your already wet aching core, plans were instantly changed.

You did get to see the fireworks, kind of. From the window of the cabin—the one behind the bed that Matt had you on as he slid his cock in and out of you so agonizingly slow you thought you might crumble into a million pieces. Somewhere between rounds, you lost track of time. Each push inside of you reminds you that you’re spent but you can’t find it in yourself to care. As long as you’re with him, you’ll happily stay in this bed for eternity.

Matt picks up on it, though. The way your body shakes beneath him. How desperate your whines have become. You’ve been so good for him—cum so many times for him—he can’t believe you’re real and you’re his. Even if he can’t make it work after tonight. You’re his for now.

“I know it, honey,” He soothes you, softly kissing your collarbone. “I just want to remember every inch of you.” He slows his pace to a near stop and the sob that tears through you makes his brain go numb. You’re making that sound for him. For his cock. He buries his face in your neck, trying to will the throbbing away.

“Baby,” You pant, threading your hand in his blonde locks. “Please, please move.” The way you arch into him forces a groan from the back of his throat.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Matt whispers, kissing behind your ear.

“You won’t, need to feel you,” As your body writhes underneath him, he breaks—pulling out of you and flipping you over in one swift motion. He smacks and grabs your ass, kneading the plump flesh with his palms. He gives you a few more good smacks before he’s kissing and marking up your back.

“Get on your knees for me, baby,” He requests, but he’s already got his hands on your hips pulling you up to meet him. You feel his cock at your entrance and he doesn’t ease into you this time. The stretch and the ache hurts in the best way—you beg him to move faster.

If there was ever a moment that you wished you had eyes in the back of your head, it would be now. The vulgar noises Matt makes as he thrusts into you are so intoxicating you have to see his face. The reflection of him in the window gives you minimal help and the sheer force of his hips against yours make it more difficult to maneuver around… but you have to see his face.

When you turn and see him, he’s glistening with sweat— eyebrows scrunched together in concentration. His jaw muscles are clenched so tight they’re bound to snap any second. His eyes stay fixed on where the two of you are connected and you wish you could see it too.

Matt catches you staring and leans over, wrapping a large hand around your throat and pulling you against his chest. His hand stays only to keep you against him, the other slithering around to your center to circle your clit. He sinks deeper into you, so deep it feels impossible—hitting the perfect spot each time.

He recites the sweetest filth in your ear, every part of him working ardently to chase both of your highs. When you reach yours the dam breaks—the hold he has on you being the only thing that keeps you from collapsing into the bed as your legs give out. Matt twitches inside of you, filling you to the brim.

He guides the two of you back down to the mattress on your sides, your back held tightly against his chest. Aside from your heavy breathing and the fireworks in the distance, it’s completely quiet. He remains inside of you, unwilling to part from you for a second. You fall asleep like this—with him softening inside of you—and pray the morning arrives a lot slower than it normally does.

You’re awake long before he is. The desire to turn in his arms to admire him as he sleeps makes you ache. He’s sleeping so soundly you can’t bring yourself to disturb him. He softly snores into the crook of your neck, still holding you in the same position that you fell asleep in.

When he wakes up, he litters your neck and cheek with kisses. He doesn’t move from his spot, though—just tugs you even closer. He’s hard between your legs but makes no effort to remedy it. There’s no conversation. No tears. You stay slotted together until you’re dangerously late to leave.

Matt helps you pack your luggage and the car. He refuses to let the girls put their own bags in the trunk and if he had it his way, they wouldn't have carried it out of the cabin either.

“You have some stubborn friends,” He gripes, playing tetris with the last couple of bags.

“Independent is the word I think you’re looking for.” You smiled at him.

The two of you head back to your own cabin—the one you barely spent five minutes in the whole week. You wanted to do one last sweep of the place to make sure you hadn’t forgotten anything. Matt sits on the edge of one of the beds, quietly watching you. You ask him if he’s seen your sunglasses but he ignores the question.

“What if I don’t let you go?” Matt blurts out. Thinking he’s joking you laugh, but when you turn to look at him, he’s completely serious. “What if—ah, fuck—what if you tell your friends to leave without you? You call your boss at that stupid job you hate and tell him to go to hell. And you stayed.”

“Matt..”

“I know it’s fucked. We just met. If anyone else did this I’d call them a damn idiot but..” He pauses, lifting his hat to card a hand through his hair before placing it back. “There’s something between us. I don’t know what to call it yet, but I can’t stand the thought of you taking off and never finding out.”

“Matt, this all sounds wonderful but it’s not that easy. I have to work. I need a place to stay. I can’t just drop everything to stay here.”

Matt looks at you bewildered. “I know I just spouted out a lot at once but which part of what I said makes you think I’m not going to take care of you?”

All of the air is immediately sucked out of your lungs. You stand in front of him, staring like a deer caught in the headlights. Matt’s right, this is fucked. You just met. It would be insane to do this. This whole trip was to get over a relationship, not start a new one. Meeting Matt was not part of the plan! Yet—

What if it was?

“I was thinking—” Matt interrupts your thoughts. “I was hoping that you would stay with me. I have a house. It’s nothing special but I have a spare bedroom you can have if you’re not comfortable sleeping with me, yet.”

He closes the space between you, smiling as he takes your hand.

“A job I can help with too. You can come on tour with us and be our merch girl. Steve desperately needs help at the merch table,” He leans in and whispers as if there’s anyone else in the room that could hear you. “If you ever tell him I said that I’ll call you a liar.”

You slap his arm playfully as you laugh together. He takes your face in his hands kissing you through your giggles. You circle your arms around him and lay your head on his chest sighing. There’s so much to consider in a short time. The thought of uprooting your whole life to take a chance like this—it all seems impossible. The fear of leaving and never finding out, however, was devastating.

“If you’re not ready for all of this, I understand,” He confesses. “I still would like to keep in touch with you. See you when I’m not touring.”

The horn honks outside and your world closes in on you. Going home would be the safest option. You have a job, a home, friends, stability. You also hate that job, live in a townhome that holds nothing but bad memories for you, and have friends who are more worried about their tan than their friends’ wellbeing.

Staying with Matt meant taking risks. Traveling the world with people you barely know. A completely new job. Living in a tour bus and hotels for an unknown amount of time. You’re used to stability. There is nothing stable about this option.

Somewhere deep inside a new version of you creeps out and screams, “Fuck stability.”

Staying with Matt meant traveling the world. Making new friends. Friends that he’s spent the last week raving about and how much they’d love you. Learning a completely new job that sounds so much better than the crap office job you have. Being crammed in a tour bus or a hotel room is better than being reminded of a failed relationship day in and day out—not to mention being alone.

And the best part? You’ll have Matt.

The dread that covers his face when you shift to look at him turns to hope when he sees you grinning at him. He searches your face excitedly, eagerly awaiting for you to say something. You stand on your tiptoes, kissing the bridge of his nose, which he promptly scrunches. You think you can get used to this.

#matt dierkes x reader #matt dierkes fanfiction #matt dierkes fanfic #matt dierkes fic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fic #matt dierkes smut #matt dierkes fluff #matt dierkes angst #circ's fics

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 4 months ago

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thinking about ivy who runs hot but polyvessels !!! iii gets a cramp in his leg? he gets ivy to massage it out with his warm hands. vessel who has frog hands (hands that are always cold)? hes holding ivys hand or slipping his hands under his shirt at any given opportunity. ii who cant seem to get warm in the winter? finds ivy immediately and is cuddling with him naked to get as much warmth as possible. you have bad cramps? youre getting ivy to rub your stomach and back.

just thinking (i have an ivy bias)

All the sleep token x ivy x reader

Warm hands

Look, sharing is caring. And what kind of friend would Ivy be if he didn’t share a gift of warm hands with the ones closest to him? It started as a joke at first. It was Vessel who had been blowing at his palms for as long as you all sat around ii’s garage writing music. “Fucking freezing”, he had mused in frustration. “It’s not that bad”, Ivy chuckled but once he was met with all of you glaring at him, he simply lifted his hands in defense, “My bad, balls are shivering in my underwear”.

He watched III wrapping both of his arms around you and II, bringing you closer to his chest. All seeking that extra warmth. That left him and Vessel, Vessel whose hands were nearly turning blue. Ivy put down his guitar and stepped closer to him. Vessel let out a little hiss once the warm hands touched his freezing ones. “Should have said you were that cold”, Ivy muttered, rubbing both of Vessel’s palms between his. “It’s nothing”, the lead singer grunted, watching as Ivy reached for the hem of his hoodie, slowly moving Vessel’s hands to lay alongside his lower stomach. The two males let the eye contact linger as Vessel slowly let his fingers trace shapes on Ivy’s skin.

iii never asked for help. That was just how he was. He handled it all by himself. iii thought that no one noticed when something was wrong with him but he couldn’t be more wrong. “What did you do this time?”, Ivy muttered, stepping out of the shower after watching iii limping across the bedroom the whole time. “What do you mean?”, iii frowned turning to face his bandmate. “Don’t bullshit me, long John. I have two working eyes, while you have only one working leg” Ivy sassed back, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. “Well, you should see a doctor 'cause you are blind, mate”, iii grunted, turning away from him. “Iii, make it easier for both of us”, ivy cut in, walking closer to him, “sit”, he gestured to the bed. iii hesitated before following the orders. Ivy watched him trying not to frown as he sat down. Hands instantly reaching for the waistband of iii pants. “Hey”, iii grunted, wrapping his fingers over Ivy’s wrist. “Don’t be dramatic, I want to feel your thigh”, ivy rolled his eyes, fingers digging into the knots forming in the upper leg. “Fuck”, iii let out a deep sigh once Ivy’s warm fingers pressed into his flesh, “shit, that feels nice”, he whined, letting himself fall backward into the sheets. “Could have done it sooner if you weren’t acting like a little bitch”, Ivy snorted, making iii flip him off.

ii was a regular in Ivy’s bed. Just like iii he would go all mean about it. Bickering with ivy until he dragged him beneath the covers. Feral street cat ivy called him at times. Desperate for attention but not knowing how to ask for it. That’s how the two were now. With Ivy pulling the blanket higher up my shoulders. His cold feet pressed against Ivy’s warm skin. “Fuck you”, ii grunted, cuddling deeper into Ivy. “For what now?”, Ivy chuckled, rubbing his fingers through my hair. “For being so warm when we all are freezing all the time”, the drummer grunted, making Ivy chuckle, “I apologize, truly”.

You were as much of a regular as ii. Especially on your periods. By now Ivy knew your cycle to the tea so for most times even the pre-period cramps were chased away by his hands. But he was especially vital when it all got bad. He would slip into your room after you would miss dinner. And the sight of the dim room would tell him all that he needed to know. Making his way to you Ivy would slip into the bed, trying to disturb you as little as possible. Slowly letting his hands dig into your back at first, putting pressure on the lowest points.

“Ivy”, you would whine, face all scrunched up. “I know, gorgeous, I will make it all better”, he would breathe against your ear, slowly letting his fingers trail towards your stomach. Pulling the semi-warm water pouch away before replacing it with his palms. “Circles”, you mutter, leaning into him. “I know, baby”, he would do just that, putting that sweet pressure onto your lower stomach. “You try to sleep and I will be here”, kissing the side of your head, he would nuzzle closer, “No cramps will find you when I’m near”, and he would keep his promise, warming you up through the night.

#sleep token imagine #sleep token x reader #sleep token ivy imagine #sleep token ivy x reader #sleep token ivy x you #sleep token ii imagine #sleep token iii imagine #sleep token vessel imagine

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haveyouseenthisskeleton · 13 days ago

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Because it is currently hailing in my area, how would the main 10 skeletons react to experiencing their first hail storm on the surface?

( I know you are currently on Christmas break and I was planning on waiting till the 26 of December at least to ask but I am very forgetful so I had to ask before it slipped my mind hope you enjoy your Christmas though🎄)

Undertale Sans - He thought someone threw a small rock behind his head or something, but by the time he looks up to the sky, hundreds of tiny ice balls fell on his skull. Sans is confused and a bit scared and teleports back to his home where he feels safe. He immediately searches online about what the hell this is, and he's relieved when he sees it's normal. He's happy he didn't stay outside though. That hurts.

Undertale Papyrus - "MY CAR!!!!" Papyrus is screaming, trying to cover his car with his own body to protect it from whatever is falling from the sky. Well. That's not very effective, and his car still ends with a ton of impacts and now he's losing his mind, insulting the sky with all he has. Everyone is staring, wondering what the hell is that monster doing. He's so mad! He did nothing wrong, why the hell is the sky attacking him?!

Underswap Sans - It happened while he was chasing some criminal. Blue stops dead in his tracks, wondering if he got shot or something. ... How do you know if you're dead? Will he know if he even died? He was in the middle of an existential crisis when the hail started to fall for real, making him completely panicky. What's going on? Is he under attack? He's so confused. ... Wait, where's the guy he was chasing? Shit! He forgot!

Underswap Papyrus - He's not too sure what's going on, and he doesn't know if he really wants to know what going on. He crawls on the floor of his living room to his window and glances outside nervously. The floor is white like it's snowing, but everyone outside is screaming like they're getting murdered. Is the snow dangerous now? Should he block the doors? He decides to call his brother for help just in case.

Underfell Sans - He growls angrily and starts to look everywhere who attacked him. When his eyes fell on a random man, he grabs a rock and throws it at his face, pissed off. The guy turns around, NOT HAPPY, and asks what the hell is his problem. That's when it starts to hail and Red realizes he messed up big with a guy doing three times his size. Welp. He's out of here. He teleports the hell out of here.

Underfell Papyrus - He grabs Frisk by the head, lifts them above his head and runs for his life. He has no idea what's going on but if the kid has a scratch, Toriel will have his head and he doesn't want to die. He squeaks when he realizes he's covering himself with Frisk and that Frisk is taking all of the hits for him. Omg, he's so dead. He doesn't know what the hell is happening, but that thing falling from the sky just made a mortal enemy.

Horrortale Sans - He is standing still under the hail storm, kinda paralyzed and weakly asking for help. His head is full of ice. It hurts. He is scared to move to take it off in case it's something that will hurt him. He guesses he's just going to stand there and wait for someone to notice he's dying on the inside or something.

Horrortale Papyrus - He is offended. He was just singing to himself outside and apparently, the sky hates his singing so much it started to throw ice at him. He flips both his birds at the sky. No one will stop him. He will keep singing, and now he will do it even louder!

Swapfell Sans - He is standing guard while Toriel is taking cover inside some shop. She forbid him to go inside in case someone wants to kill her, so he is still under the hail storm, looking miserable. A random kid even finds him so pitiful they come to give him an umbrella and gently pat his hand to show some support. It's too late though. He's entirely wet and he's probably going to get sick for days by now. Stupid weather. Stupid queen. Stupid job. He won't stop complaining.

Swapfell Papyrus - He doesn't know what's going on but he was bored, not knowing what to do to piss off his brother today. He opens all the doors and windows and stares as the house slowly fills with ice, a big smile on his face. He can't wait for everything to melt!

Fellswap Gold Sans - He doesn't think much about this. It's just a weird weather. It uses to rain all the time in Waterfall and no one ever think it's weird. You're not special with your weird human weather. What will these ice balls do to him anyway? Wet him? Oooh, he's scared. That's so lame. Not ten minutes later, he's throwing a temper tantrum because there's a hole in the roof and he can't stop the hail storm just by screaming really loud.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - He was thinking about some ice cream when a random ball of ice fell at his feet. Uh. He picks it up and licks it, then shrugs. Wait, does it mean he has a superpower now? That's so cool! He lifts his two arms in the air and screams "ICE CREAM" and suddenly it starts to rain ice balls everywhere! He was so happy at first, but then the ice balls started growing bigger and crashing on his skull and now he's just running for his life, apologizing for using his power too much to whatever entity gave it to him. He's sorry, please stop hitting him!

#undertale #underswap #underfell #horrortale #swapfell #fellswap gold #sans #papyrus #undertale ask blog #undertale asks #undertale imagines #undertale headcanons

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starryevermore · 6 months ago

Text

the house of snow (25) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his.

chapter summary: coriolanus’s obsession brings distance, and you are not sure you can handle such a thing.

word count: 2,334

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: angst angst angst, pet name (petal), not proofread

Your work with Coryo had slowed rather drastically. Though there were days you had the energy to join him in the office, you had primarily distracted yourself with reading or the occasional nap. Much of your time, however, had been spent making arrangements for your babe’s nursery. It was one of the few times Coryo did not protest you doing any sort of work. If it was because this work only involved you flipping through catalogues, neither of you made a comment.

Things were…strange between yourself and Coryo. Ever since you had asked if you could give birth at the cottage, he had grown…distant. In the early days, you pretended you did not notice. But as time wore on, it became increasingly difficult to ignore.

Even now, as you sat across the table at him during breakfast, Coryo might have been stationed on a Peacekeeper’s base on the outskirts of Panem. When he might have stared at you as if you hung the stars in the sky, he kept his gaze to the newspapers brought to him. You had long since stopped eating, but he had yet to notice.

Where he might have once been asking you of your plans for the day, you found yourself being the one inquiring so.

Coryo finally spared you a glance. “Primarily answering demands for the Crown’s assistance, scheduling meetings with the Electors. And, of course, we have the ball we are attending this evening.”

You waited for him to ask if you were going to join him in the office, or if you are still well enough to attend the ball. He did not. You stirred your spoon around in your tea cup, the metal clanging against the porcelain. “Sounds eventful. I shall spent the morning, then, in the library.”

When you rose from your seat, you expected Coryo to rise after you. To pull in for a searing kiss before letting you escape to the library. In your mind, you imagined him chasing after you minutes later, demanding that you not leave his side for a long while. But as you watched him remain at the table, back to glancing at the papers, you knew he would not.

“I love you, Coryo.”

He looked up at you again. He smiled, but it did not quite reach his eyes. “And I you, petal.”

Ordinarily, such a response would send butterflies aflutter in your tummy. Yet, as he refused to say the word love, only bile began to rise from your stomach. You turned, and you did not wish him a good bye.

You never felt smaller than you did as you traversed down the halls of the palace. It no longer quite felt like a home to you. A part of you, the part that once thought that this marriage would be a loveless trap, wanted to run away to the cottage—Coryo be damned. If this was the manner in he was to conduct himself, you would stoop even lower. There was no one, after all, that could hit Coryo where it hurts harder than you. But the part that loved him still, the part that wanted him to stop whatever nonsense this was, desired to stay. For better or for worse, or however the vows went.

That did not mean, of course, that you could not make him squirm.

You passed the library and continued all the way down to the servant’s quarters, ignoring the strange stares you received. A passing maid gave you directions to the housekeeper’s chambers, and you entered without knocking. The woman jumped upon seeing you, quickly rising from her bed and sinking into a low curtsy.

“My apologies, Your Majesty. If I had known you were looking for me, I would have come to you with great haste.”

“If things do not improve between myself and the King by the end of the week,” you said, “you shall have my belongings moved to my personal chambers.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

“But not the ones across the King’s chambers. I think I would like to take up residence on the other side of the palace. And, of course, should I make this move, the babe’s nursery shall follow.”

The housekeeper fidgeted, but still maintains eye contact with you. A braver woman than the King, you mused. “Shall I inform the King of this move?”

“No. Let him come to his senses on his own, or else let him retire to his chambers without me by his side. Whatever shall happen shall be his decision alone.”

“How do you fare this evening, Your Majesty?” a lord, whose name you couldn’t be bothered to remember at the moment, asked as Coryo stepped away to fetch you a refreshment. He avoided looking you in the eyes—either out of fear of the King’s ire should anyone look at you too long for his liking or out of discomfort at your so-called “condition.” You knew the ton was not accustomed to pregnant women maintaining an active role in society. Though they could not ostracize you the way they could anyone else, you also knew they were waiting for a moment to whisper scandalized words about how a Queen should not conduct themselves in such a manner.

Your hand came to rest on your barely-there bump. In just your fourth month, much had already begun to change. Perhaps not physically yet, but things were changing between yourself and Coryo. He still worshipped the ground you walked on, to be sure, but there was an odd look in his eyes whenever he would gaze upon you. As though he was already trying to go accustomed to a life in which he loses you.

“I am quite well, thank you,” you said. Since the lord would not look you in the eyes, you took the time to glance around the ballroom. It was a standard ball, nothing out of the ordinary. Except for, of course, you. Bile rose in your throat at the looks people sent you when they didn’t think you were looking. You took a breath and, unable to hold your tongue, said, “Or at least I had been before I came to this sorry excuse of a ball. A shame, I think, that your wife is so uninspired by your love for her, or rather the lack thereof, to throw together anything worthy of my time.”

His eyes snapped to yours. “I beg your pardon?”

“You must be so unaccustomed to begging,” you said. You turned away from him. “I only mean that, if a woman felt the love of a man, she would be inspired to ensure that every aspect of their lives would be safe from tarnishment.”

“As if you have done anything but tarnish the Crown,” the lord scoffed. When your head snapped to look at him, he at least had the good sense to lose all color in his face. “What I mean is—”

“That you have chosen to disrespect the King and, more importantly, his Queen,” you said. You squared your shoulders and, though he was much taller than you, you looked your nose as though he was an ant beneath your shoe. “The Crown shall not forget.”

A cold glass was pressed into your hand. You did not have to look to know if your Coryo who had returned. Nor did you have to look to see the grin on his face as you threw the drink in the lord’s face. Gasps erupted around you, heads swiveling to see who had the poor sense to offend you. In the distance, you could see the lord’s wife pushing her way through the crowd. You turned to her as the lady reached you and held up your hand. She stopped in your tracks.

“Don’t,” you said. “I have no issue with you. Your husband, however, is daft and unworthy of a woman such as yourself. If he took offense of my recognition of such, then that is his burden to bear. If he decided to take that offense and hurl it into an insult at me, then he is only to blame for the consequences that followed.”

“I am so deeply sorry, Your Majesty—” the lady tried.

You raised your hand again, and she stopped. “It is not you I take issue with. I will, however, soon take issue if you don’t direct the band to begin playing again. I should like to dance with a man worthy of my breath.”

She gave a small nod and hurried off to the band. Slowly, the ton began to return to their own conversations, though their eyes still remained on you. You fought the urge to snarl at them.

“She provoked me,” the lord hissed to Coryo. If he thought your husband would take his side, speak to him man-to-man, he was sorely mistaken.

“And you must be so simple so as to take the bait,” Coryo said. He plucked the now empty glass from your hands and passed it off on a passing server’s tray. His fingers interlaced your own. “And simpler still if you think I would do anything but wholeheartedly support her in her scathing review of your character.”

The lord sputtered, but Coryo was too occupied letting you lead him onto the dance floor to care.

The two of you fell into an easy waltz as Coryo spun you around the floor. Finally, finally, the eyes of the ton melted away. You felt yourself relax in Coryo’s arms.

“Pregnancy has made you combative,” Coryo said, holding your body closer against his.

“I do not like the way the ton looks down upon me for being out, for showing that the love between us is culminating into beautiful life,” you said. You spared a glance out at the crowd. “The night of our wedding, I recall your ire at the lack of respect the ton showed me. It did not bother me so much then, when I thought our marriage would be a loveless affair. But now that I know your love, that you would do anything for me, it stokes this fire inside me to see the ton think I am the ruination of the Crown.”

Coryo smiled, the kind of smile that would look wicked to anyone else but so clearly reflected his love for you as you gazed upon it. You had missed this look. Why did you have to cause a scene to receive it? “I take this to mean you will allow me to force the ton to bow before you?”

You leaned in, pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips and ignored the increase of whispers around you. “Bring them to their knees.”

And yet, even still, as Coryo undid the fastenings of your gown in the comfort of your shared chambers, the ire still stoked a fire inside you. While your gown pooled at your feet, you found yourself pushing Coryo’s hands away from you. You stepped behind a privacy screen and finished undressing before slipping on a nightshift and climbing into bed. Coryo followed soon after.

When he reached for you, you pushed his hands away again and turned on your side, facing the wall. You could very nearly see his frown in your mind’s eye. Coryo shuffled closer to you. You moved closer to the edge.

“Alright, what is the matter? I did as you asked, my petal. I reminded the ton of the might of the Crown.” He reached out and ran his fingers through the ends of your hair. A shiver ran through you. “Did I misunderstand you?”

You swallowed thickly. “I fear I might be the one who misunderstands. Coryo, you said this was to be a marriage of equals, did you not?”

He was silent for a moment, as if trying to determine if you had any riddles hidden in your words. “I did, yes.”

“And you meant that, did you not?”

“I did.”

You rolled over. He was so close to you now that your noses brushed against each other. “Then why, I beg of you, have you treated me like a fragile little thing ever since we learned I was with child?”

Coryo’s jaw clenched and unclenched. “You know why.”

“History shall not repeat itself. And even if that should be my fate, why do you regard me as though I am already gone? If I am to die during childbirth—”

“—don’t say that. Please, don’t—”

“—then at least let me feel my husband’s love in whole. Do not deprive me of that. Do not make me beg for that.” You wiped your cheeks with the back of your hand, feeling the wetness upon them. “And do not say that you have been giving me such love. I know you, Coryo. I know how you loved me so fiercely at the cottage, and before, and after. You have seldom left my side, but you have never been more distant.”

“Petal…”

You squeezed your eyes shut and let the tears fall freely. You flinched away as his thumb stroked across your cheek, wiping them away. “I told the housekeeper to have my belongings moved to other side of the palace by the end of the week. In the morning, I shall tell her to hasten the move. And, at the beginning of my eighth month, I shall make the move to the cottage.”

Coryo sat up. When you looked at him, his eyes held more emotion than they had in weeks. Your heart ached, but you could not back down now. “Please, don’t.”

“I should like some space. Of course, it shall not be so different than how it already has been the last few weeks.” You rolled back over to your other side and faced the wall once more. “If you should choose to join me at the cottage, you may. I will not deprive you of that.”

“Petal, I do love you.”

“Then why can’t I feel it any longer?”

#the house of snow: a royal coryo au #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus snow x female reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x y/n #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fan fiction #coriolanus snow fanfic #coriolanus snow fan fic #coriolanus snow fic #starrywrites #starryevermore

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green-eyedfirework · 1 year ago

Note

Trick or treat! 💀

Look what I discovered lurking in a random Discord channel! This was based off of a scene from one of my original works that adapted nicely to SlaDick.

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"Heads up," Jason's voice came through the comm, low and clear. "Deathstroke."

It landed like a punch. Tim inhaled sharply, Cass stiffened next to him, and there was a burst of static from Bruce's end.

"Are you sure?" Tim asked, hurriedly flipping through camera feeds to find where Jason was. The crowd at the gala had only increased and there were too many people to sift through. "Maybe it was someone else--"

"How many white-haired guys have you met that have one eye and look like they could bench press a truck?" Jason snapped back. "It's him."

"Dick," Bruce's voice cut sharply through the squabble. "Abort. Get out of there."

Dick's voice came through, light and airy. "A bit too late for that."

And through his comm, echoing distantly, came a low growl. "Hello, little bird." "I'm sorry," Dick said, all patented confusion. "You must have me confused for someone else."

Tim finally found the right camera feed. Dick was cornered against a table, a tall, built man looming over him, keeping him trapped with nothing but sheer presence. Slade Wilson laughed in Dick's face.

"I can recognize those scheming blue eyes anywhere, kid. I don't need to know the name on the fake ID you're sporting. What brings you here?"

"Mark's leaving the room," Jason warned from his lookout post. Bruce cursed vividly.

"A mark," Wilson repeated, interested. "So you are running a con."

"He can--" Tim cut himself off and turned towards Cass. He can hear us?! he mimed frantically.

Super soldier, Cass signed back.

"And what are you doing here?" Dick snapped back, giving up on the lie. "Whose bounty will you be collecting tonight?"

"Maybe its yours." On the screen, Wilson reached out and grabbed Dick's jaw, keeping him firmly in place. Bruce and Jason both growled. "Can't fly from me forever, little bird."

Instead of leaning away, or maybe kicking Wilson in the balls to get some space, Dick leaned closer, face-to-face with one of the deadliest mercenaries in the world. "As long as I make the chase entertaining, hm?" Dick murmured, voice low and breathy, and god, Tim did not need to hear Dick's bedroom voice directed at Deathstroke the fucking Terminator.

But it worked. Wilson laughed and let Dick go, stepping back. "Always a delight, kid. Now go find your mark. I have a date and I wouldn't want to be late."

#green answers #trick or treat #my snippets #sladick #I'm aware we're well into November #but it's always time for a nice little treat #I think this was supposed to be a leverage au but I'm not sure

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vanfleeter · 24 days ago

Text

Home For Christmas

Summary: When the band gets stuck in St. Louis on Christmas Eve, Jake goes to extreme measures to make it home for Christmas. Characters: Jake Kiszka x Fem!Reader x Tommy x Lily Warnings: Extreme Dad!Jake fluff. Slight angst.

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Jake stares out the window of the airport at the fluffy white snowflakes as they float down from the clouds above. He used to have such a love for snow, and it only intensified when he had kids. Watching them run around in the snow, laughing and smiling as they chased each other and rolling up snow balls to launch at each other. At this moment, however, he absolutely despises it. His jaw clenched as he watches it constantly falling with seemingly no end in sight.

The flight home to Nashville from Seattle was grounded in St. Louis due to a heavy blizzard in Nashville preventing any incoming flights from landing. Now only did he curse the snow for potentially ruining Christmas, but he also cursed the band’s management for scheduling shows so close to Christmas. They’ve never done this before, all of their shows have always come to end at least three weeks before Christmas, with a small break for Thanksgiving.

So in the airport he still stands with his jaw clenched and his fists balled up tightly in the pockets of his coat. He feels his phone vibrate within the small inside pocket of his coat. Pulling out he flips it over to see your contact staring right back at him.

How does he tell you that he’s not making it home for Christmas?

And the kids.

He sighs, closing his eyes to brace himself for the disappointment that will lace your voice when he breaks the news.

“Hey baby,” He answers, trying to sound as cheerful as he can, despite his own disappointment fighting for dominance.

“Hey honey,” You say, sounding quite chipper. He feels a pang in his heart at the sound of it, making it even harder for him to have to tell you. “The kids were wondering if you were almost home?”

“And what about you?” He ponders, trying to keep the mood light.

“Well of course I am too,” You say with a giggle. He chuckles before inhaling sharply and releasing it. He knew you sensed it because the next words out of your mouth only made him feel worse. “You’re not coming home in time, are you?”

“Doesn’t look like it,” He says. “I’m sorry.. We left Seattle on time, but the blizzard in Nashville, our flight got grounded in St. Louis.”

“Crap…”

“Is that daddy?!” He hears Lily call out in the background.

“Yeah baby, it is.”

“Ooo! I want to talk to him! I have a very important question to ask him!”

“Sure baby..”

He hears the rustling over the phone before he hears Lily start talking again, “Daddy, when you get home, can we watch The Grinch first? Tommy wants to watch The Santa Clause first, but I really want to watch The Grinch. Please, please, please?”

It was a fairly new tradition they had begun when Tommy turned four. He loved watching The Santa Clause with Jake on Christmas Eve, and then Lily grew older and decided she loved The Grinch so they would end up watching both movies on Christmas Eve, just whoever got to go first was the always the hardest to choose because no matter who got picked in a random draw, the loser always pouted and got upset.

This year, with him being stuck in St. Louis, he can’t do the random draw to determine who goes first.

“You know we always do a draw, Lily.”

She huffs and he just knows she’s rolling her eyes. “When are you going to be home so we can pick?” She asks. “Because we also have to put out the cookies that we baked over the weekend before you left for your shows.”

“Why don’t you put them out anyways?” He says.

“Only you know where the special plate is, Daddy.”

“I could tell you.”

“Daddy..”

“Tommy can help you.”

“Help her do what?” Tommy says in the background. “Why do I need to help her when you’ll be here?” Jake stayed quiet, chewing on the inside of his lip as he tried to find a good way of telling them. “You are going to be here… Right?”

“Well, I-”

“You’re not coming, are you?”

“Bud, I tried.. But our flight–”

“I knew it..”

“Tommy, I’m sorry, I-” The line goes and he pulls his phone away from his ear to see the call ending and disappearing from the screen.

In the window, he sees his reflection as well as Josh’s as he walks up to stand beside his twin. “I take it the phone call didn't well?” He asks.

“Tommy’s upset.. Rightfully so.. I’m sure Lily’s the same way.. Y/N is disappointed.”

“I’m sorry,” He says. “Maybe we’ll get a Christmas miracle and the snow will lighten up and we can go home.”

Jake huffs and turns away from the window. Now he officially hates the snow. Truding back over to the seats, he slumps down in a chair and rests his head in his hand.

“We’re so damn close,” Sam grumbles beside him. “Heck, I bet we could drive home.. It’s only what–five hours?”

“We can’t drive in this weather,” Danny says. “That’s a suicide mission.”

The idea swims Jake’s head. He ponders it over and over again until he’s sitting up in his chair and slowly turning to face Josh. Josh’s eyebrows are pulled inwards as he stares at his brother. The realization soon hits him and he’s shaking his head. “Oh no.. No, no, no. Did you not listen to a single word Danny said?”

“Come on,” Jake says as he stands to his feet. “We rent a car and drive home.”

“This is risky,” Josh says, looking up at him. “Jake, I know you want to get home and I know it sucks not being able to be there with your family but risking your life to get home in this weather is just absolutely nuts.”

“Then you can stay here and I’ll drive home alone.” Jake grabs his bags off of the ground and starts heading off through the airport and towards the car rental company. “Is it possible to rent a car?” He asks the gentleman behind the counter.

“We do have a car available,” The man says. “But I would say that it is quite treacherous out.”

“Yeah well, I have disappointed kids at home that I need to get to.”

“Jake..” Josh walks up beside Jake and rests his hand on the counter.

“Josh, I have to get home.”

“I know,” He says. “But you’re not going alone.”

“Thought you weren’t coming?”

“Just get the damn car before I change my mind,” Josh says.

And within the hour, all four of them were packed into an SUV with all of their luggage and on their way home to Nashville. The snow was denser than Jake had anticipated so he crawled at a slow rate, which means that five hours will turn into seven hours. But he’s determined to make it home.

He could still hear the disappointment in Tommy’s voice when he learned Jake won’t make it home for Christmas. He’s determined to prove him wrong as well. His phone starts ringing and he looks at it on the dashboard stand. Your contact shows on the screen and he reaches forward to swipe his thumb across the screen to answer the call.

“Hey I’m glad you called, can I speak with Tommy?” He asks. “I need to talk to him.”

“It’s me..” Tommy speaks. “I wanted to call to apologize.. You can’t control the weather so I know I can’t be mad at you.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Jake says. “But I have good news. I’m coming home.”

“What? How? You said-”

“We’re driving home.” Jake says. “Slowly.. But we’re coming.”

“Really?!”

“Yes, but you have to keep it a surprise, okay?”

“Aye aye captain.”

“Good. Now go help your sister set out the cookies and I’ll be home before bedtime.” Jake ends the call and continues the steady crawl down the freeway.

–

Six hours and thirty minutes later, they’re finally reaching the city limits of Nashville. There’s still quite a few cars out on the road but the majority of the city looks like a ghost town. He makes it to Danny’s place and they bid their goodbyes before he makes the trek to Sam’s. One by one he drops them off before he makes his way to his own home.

Down the street he can spot the twinkling lights that decorate their home and he sighs in relief. Those damn lights he had to hang up on Thanksgiving the second dinner was over. For once he appreciates them despite the anger they’ve given him trying to hang them around the trimming of the house. The front yard is decorated with a few inflatables, a flamingo, a snowman, and a gingerbread man.

He was also relieved to see the driveway somewhat shoveled so he forced the vehicle up the slight incline and put it in park. Ditching his bags for the time being, he shuts off the car and gets out, being mindful of the ice and balancing himself as he carefully walks up to the front door. He can see through the front window the tree in the corner. The couch is in slight view and he can see Lily asleep, curled into your body as you too are asleep. He smiles to himself before sticking his key in the lock and twisting it.

Quietly he opens the door and steps inside the house, instantly feeling the warmth through his coat and his clothes. Shaking off the stray snowflakes that clung to him from outside, he starts to pull his coat when he sees Tommy step out of the kitchen. He quickly signals for him to be quiet as the still small boy rushes through the living room and tackles his father against the wall.

“I take it you’re happy,” He chuckles as he wraps his arms around Tommy.

“You have no idea.” Tommy says before tilting his head backwards and flipping his hair off of his forehead.

“Time for a haircut?”

“No way.” Tommy says.

In the midst of their hugs, Jake hadn’t noticed the littlest Kiszka waking up to find her father home. “Daddy!” She exclaims as she crawls off the couch and runs across the floor to throw her arms around his legs.

“Hey Lilypad,” He laughs as he sinks to the floor and lets her crawl onto his lap. “Did you put out the cookies?”

Lily nods her head, “And the milk!”

Hearing you groan, Jake looks to see you opening your eyes. You blink a few times and stretch out your body before looking over at the scene on the floor by the door. “When did you get here?”

“Just now,” He says. “Want to come join the cuddle party?”

“After you get in your pajamas,” You say. “You look a little out of place right now.”

After prying the kids off of him, he quickly brings his things in from the car and rushes to get dressed in the pajamas that match the rest of his family. Once he was good to go, he joined them back downstairs on the floor of the living room on the made up bed of blankets and pillows. Lily immediately takes her place on his lap and rests her head against his chest while you snuggle up to his side and Tommy rests on his other.

Lily groans when the opening sequence of The Santa Clause begins to play on the tv. “The draw was fair and square,” Jake reminds her with a soft tickle to her side. It wasn’t long before both kids were passed out on the blankets halfway through The Grinch playing.

Jake feels your hand rest against his cheek before turning his head so he’s looking at you. “Stop risking your life to make it home,” You say. “But thank you for making the effort.”

“I would do anything to be home with my family on Christmas,” He says as he gently kisses you. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” He gently pats Tommy’s back who simply snuggles closer to him. “I mean, come on. This is so much better than cuddling a pillow in an airport.”

You can’t help but to giggle. “Who doesn’t love children laying all over them?”

“Whoever doesn’t is crazy..” He chuckles before kissing you again. “Merry Christmas..”

“Merry Christmas.”

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@losfacedevil @writingcold @edgingthedarkness @i-love-gvf @katuschka @josh-iamyour-mama @sammysstolenbirks @asendingtothestarsasone @hollyco @musicislove3389 @its-interesting-van-kleep @katiegvf @tinydancer40 @gretavangroupie @lizzys-sunflower @fleetingjake @takenbythemadness @godly-sinsx @psychedelectable @dancingcarbon @cheersdannyx2 @piratejtk @katuschka @musicislove3389 @takenbythemadness @wildbluesorbit

add yourself to the tag list in my master list!

#jake kiszka #greta van fleet #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fanfic #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka fic #gvf #dad!jake #christmas #jake kiszka fluff

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