#hot oil spit fic

[hier--soir]

ripe

pre-outbreak joel miller x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: a night out with old friends helps you and joel realise what’s been missing in your relationship. warnings/tags: pre-outbreak, set in the early 2000s, early thirties joel my lover boyy, bisexual reader, established relationship, that one shit stirring friend, brief alcohol consumption and piv sex at the onset, brief masturbation [m] in the bath, a little ass eating and fingering, a little spitting, pegging, dirty talk, praise, dildo is described as "your cock" multiple times, reach around hand job you will always be famous, they talk each other through it, the word hole is used 11 times but it feels like 100, also they're in love okay bye. word count: 5.3k masterlist a/n: this is being posted as a part of the PMAMC organised by @wannab-urs ! if you wanna read more glorious pegging fics for pp characters, a masterlist of everything being posted this week will be shared by gin soon! <3 x much thanks to @bageldaddy for holding my dick while i wrote this, for the edit, and for reminding me that where there is gape, there must also be affection x

Oil Can Harry’s is dark and loud; packed enough that condensation drips off the walls around you and makes the hair at the base of your neck frizz.

Packed into a sweaty booth, Joel’s flannel amidst all the glitter and hairspray and fruity cocktails of the drag night makes you grin. Your oldest friends fawn over him, endeared by the way he talks, the way he stands, the way he looks at you.

He smiles, warm and sheepish as they regale him with stories from years ago. Blushes when they remind him that he’s the first cock in a long line of cunts. Squeezes your knee beneath the table when they assert that he must be doing something right to have been kept around this long.

He settles in fast, lips slick and eyes glazed. Stops flustering while ordering Wet Pussys and Cock Sucking Cowboys, but still raises an eyebrow when a friend asks you, isn’t there anything you miss about it?

About what?

Dating women.

You roll your eyes, the sharp tang of vodka beneath your tongue as you shake your head. No.

S’not all that different, Joel offers up, smiling easily. Right?

So you tell him, No, and then, I mean, it is. But good different.  

But your cheeks have gone hot, eyes downcast as you sip a pink drink and try not to think about what exactly you miss. But Joel, fingers firm on your thigh, knows. He always knows.

So later when you’re in his bed, thighs pressed flush to your chest and he’s sinking inside your wet heat, it’s clear he isn’t letting up that easily. 

“You jealous?” he hums, elated and almost taunting, revelling in the way you sound as he fucks you. “Miss being the one fuckin’ someone this good?”

“Oh fuck off,” you whine, breathlessly embarrassed, gripping his shoulder and rutting your hips up against his, chasing the high that’s already tingling in your stomach.

“Naw, I want you to tell me.” He leans in, all ears for the dirty confession waiting to spill from your lips, loving it. “You miss your cock, baby?”

His hips press deeper, and the confession leaves your lips in a gasp. “Yes, fuck, okay yes I miss it.”

“Mm, you gonna show me it sometime?”

You feel your face go slack, stomach tightening at the thought, and Joel pushes further, harder.  

“Yeah baby, that’s what you want,” he goads, reaching between your bodies to press his fingers to your clit. “Want to fuck me, yeah? Bend me over and show me how much you miss it?”

You come with blood rushing in your ears and your hand gripping his ass, mind a blur of images of you being the one fucking him.

The next morning, sorely hungover and still tangled in his bedsheets, he asks if you were serious.

“Serious about what?” you ask, throat hoarse, eyes still closed.

His hand slips down your back to grip the flesh of your ass, the tip of his middle finger pressing dangerously close to your asshole until your eyelids crack open and you look at him. Brain ticking over, catching up slowly, eyes widening when you understand his train of thought.

When you don’t respond, head pounding and heart racing, he says, “If that’s what you want I’d—”

But caught up in the moment, in your own bashfulness, you interrupt him. Face warm at the idea of him having to placate you the morning after a drunken confession, you kiss him and say, “Don’t worry about it, okay?”  

Joel goes a little quiet, but kisses you back with fervour. Sucks your lower lip into his mouth and rolls on top of you, not letting you get out of bed until well into the afternoon.

It’s not until a month later that it all finally becomes clear. 

The house is oddly quiet when you get home.

Your living room is lit up by lamps across the space, but the television is off, and the couch cushions look undisturbed.

“Joel?” you call softly, stepping into the kitchen, pausing in confusion when you don’t find him there either.

You drop your purse on the counter and rifle through it for your phone, pulling up your text thread with him to reread his messages from a few hours ago.

You staying out late?

Not tonight, AJ has work early tomorrow. I should be home by 9. Meet me there? x

Perfect. See you at 9 x

The clock on your microwave reads 9:24 but you can’t hear a peep from anywhere in the house. Not a creaking floorboard or a shower running or even a snoring boyfriend.

“Babe, are you here?”

Nothing seems amiss at all until you reach the bathroom and find the door slightly ajar, light spilling out into the hallway as soft little sounds float out to your ears. Quiet murmurs punctuated by water lapping against porcelain.

“Joel?” You crack a knuckle against the door, careful not to nudge it open without his permission. “You okay?”

A rough inhale sounds behind the door and you pause, heartrate spiking a little. But then his voice calls through the wood, a little stilted as he says, “You can come in.”

Joel Miller hardly fits in your bathtub. All the times he’d joked about trying to squeeze in there with you, or when he’d come over with a sore back but insisted on a shower instead. But seeing him now, torso submerged in the water, muscled legs propped up against the wall with his hand resting between his thighs… you certainly aren’t complaining to see your broad boyfriend cramped up in your bath, touching himself.

“Hello there,” you murmur, bending to press a kiss to his sweaty temple. The tips of his curls are damp, frizzing around his ears as he smiles up at you. “Indulging yourself tonight I see.”

“You got no idea,” he replies, chin tilting upward as he stares you square in the face.

You smile at his flushed cheeks, at the muscle in his bicep flexing as he touches himself. Your gaze follows the veins in his arm, the flick of his wrist, but when you look into the water you pause. His cock is a rich red colour, hard and throbbing where it rests, neglected against his stomach. His thick fingers disappear past his balls, curling slowly out of your sight.

“Joel,” you exhale, face warming as you watch, slowly understanding. “Are you…?”

A harsh stream of air bursts from his nostrils as he meets your eyes, cheeks burning hotter by the second.

“Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about it,” he admits gruffly. “Not since that night at the bar.”

“Fuck,” you shake your head, frowning a little. “I thought you were just��� Joel, I’m sorry I brushed you off that night—”

“Naw,” he tuts quickly, brushing the apology away with a jerk of his chin. “I should’ve said.”

There’s a brief silence, your brain racing to catch up, a slow smile slipping across your face.

“Read that a bath helps,” he says then, gaze heavy. “Soft and loose the website said.”

And whatever you’d been about to say, whatever thought was bubbling in your mind, slips away in an instant.

In its place, just a bone deep, aching love for this man. It’s clear in his eyes; tenderness, and care swirling in his stare. Endless brown, struck with adoration, clearly saying, I want to do this for you, with you.

Throat tight, you lower onto your knees beside the tub. “S’it feel good?”

A breath rattles through his chest, and he nods again.

You lean closer, craning your neck to try and see better. Find yourself wanting to catch the exact way he presses his fingers inside himself. How he curls them, massaging inside himself. But he notices and pulls his hand away, gripping his cock instead and grunting.

“Looked through your stuff.”

“Hmm?” You meet his eye again, mouth dry.

“The drawer in your closet,” he exhales, eyelids fluttering as he strokes himself. “Found your… I don’t know.”

“My what?”   

“The harness,” he grunts out, fist tightening around his cock. The tip rests out of the water, flushed an angry mauve colour, little beads of pearly come oozing from his slit. “All the… I don’t know what the fuck you call ‘em. You know what I mean, alright?”

“Joel.” You laugh a little, endeared by how bashful he can be, even as he touches himself in front of you. “Don’t get shy on me now, baby.”

“M’not.”

“No?” You smile, voice low and breathy now, liquid heat sparking in your veins the longer the idea percolates through your mind. “So you want me to fuck you?”

“You know I do.”

“You’re gonna let me put my cock in you, stretch you out just right for me, the way I let you do to me every night?”

“Fuck.” Joel’s eyes pinch shut, fist tightening around his cock.

You reach in and yank out the plug, watching as water begins to spin and gurgle, and Joel grips the edges to pull himself up. The water drips off him in thick beads, pouring from his fingertips, down the centre of his chest, keeping the curls at the base of his cock tight and dark. 

He’s over the lip of the tub in a second, crowding you against the sink with a thick arm on either side of you, wet chest darkening the fabric of your blouse, mouth slotting against mouth. Steam warmed lips smother yours, tongue snaking out to press inside your mouth, and he swallows down every little moan and gasp of excitement you feed into his kiss. His cock is warm against your stomach and his hips stutter back every time you grind the buckle of your belt against him, grinning into his mouth.

“Gonna make it good for me?” He grips your face in both hands. Tilts your chin up and smears nasty kisses over your jaw, down your neck to the collar of your shirt, skin smarting where his teeth snap at it. “Take care of me the way I do for you?”

“You know I will,” you pant, eyelids fluttering as he sucks at hollow of your throat. “Fuck, I bet you’re so tight.”

Joel releases a wrecked, gravelly moan against your skin and then he’s gripping your arm, nudging you forward, past the threshold and into your dimly lit bedroom. The closet is open, third drawer down hanging limply out from the chest. Inside you can see that things have been shifted around, looked at. And on your bed, there’s a dildo. Heat rises in your chest as you stare at it. Thick and long and red, with a curved tip and raised silicone decorating shaft to give the illusion of veins.

Joel drapes an arm around your waist, holding you back against his bare chest. The thick weight of his cock presses against the base of your spine and you sigh, grinding back into him.

“Remembered you sayin’ it was your favourite.” He nips at your neck, inhaling as his nose presses into your hair. Your chest swells at that, and you turn your head, let your lips find his in a soft kiss.

That hand on your waist drifts down until his palm is cupping your sex through your pants, fingers pressing firmly over the inseam there. You sigh into his mouth, hand falling overtop his to keep it in place.

“It is my favourite,” you murmur into the kiss. “But we’re gonna start much smaller tonight, hmm?”

Joel makes a vague noise in the back of his throat, dark eyes searching yours.

“Don’t think I can handle it?”

“You’d be cruisin’ for a bruisin’, baby.”

Somehow, he blushes deeper than before, and clears his throat.

 “Alright.”  

He watches on as you dip a hand into the drawer. You gravitate to glass. Thick rose quartz with a gorgeous, rounded base. But you push it away, knowing it won’t work with your harness. You trace the length of a pretty mauve cock, ribbed for your pleasure—or his—with preternaturally large balls. Still too long. Everything too long, too thick, too much. But then you see it. Pale blue silicone, nestled beneath silk rope ties and a set of handcuffs you guys hadn’t used in in a while. You shift things away and pick it up.

Soft and smooth; it’s maybe 6 inches long with a little curve towards the end, and it’s oh so pretty in your hand. You grab a bottle of lube and turn to put them on the bed, smiling at the way his dark eyes focus on the items. So curious, so filled with desire, with eagerness to please, to let you do this to him, for him, with him. The trust on his face warms your chest and sets your heart racing.

Joel lands softly on the mattress as you reach back in. Fingers meet leather and soon enough he’s watching as you peel your pants down your legs, your underwear. Undoing the buttons on your blouse as he strokes his cock, pupils dilated, mouth hanging open. Only when you’re bare do you slip your legs into the harness, sighing as black leather tickles against your skin on the way up, and situate it around your hips. Only a little shy under the intensity of his gaze, watching him see you like this for the first time.

Pulling and twisting straps until it’s perfectly snug, you crawl up the bed to straddle his hips. His skin is warm and wet against yours, and his hands fall to your hips in seconds, wide eyes admiring the contraption fixed to your waist. He toys with the straps, eyeing the little silver fasteners, and then glides a finger around the inside circumference of the o-ring, breathing a little deeper now.

“S’nice,” he compliments, looking back up at your face. “You’re… you…”

“What?”

He shakes his head, as if in disbelief. “You’re gorgeous.”

You stare down at him for a moment; the hard set of his jaw, the strong line of his nose. Lean in and kiss him, softly this time. Whisper, so are you, against his lips and smile when he laughs.

Tapping his side, you get off and urge him to turn over. “Let me show you.”

His broad body twists, falling to land on his front with his legs bent, weight balanced on his knees and forearms. You trail featherlight fingers over his thick shoulder blades, down the strong line of his spine. Touch the little dimples at the small of his back, and then lean down to kiss them. Slowly, one and then the other. You feel his breath hitch a little and smile against his skin, landing on your knees between his calves and letting your hands fall over the muscled cheeks of his ass. Squeezing, kneading the flesh there with tender hands, and then pushing them apart, baring him to you.

“Oh,” you breathe quietly, eyes trained on the dark hair on his skin, the tight little hole between his cheeks. “So pretty, Joel.”

You sigh into the crease of his ass, fingers digging into the firm flesh of his cheeks as your tongue flicks out to glide over his hole. Still wet from the bath, he tastes like soap and warmth and Joel. His body goes tense for a second, back muscles flexing as he adjusts to the new sensation.

“Y’ain’t gotta do that—”

“I want to.”

You kiss the base of his spine again. Give him a moment to tell you he doesn’t want it, or he doesn’t like it. But seconds pass, and he stays silent, so you grin and lean down.  Eyes closed now, you lick him again; soft little strokes of your tongue from his balls to his tight hole until his body goes soft and lax and he’s exhaling little sighs into the pillows.

“Fuck,” he says. “So this is what I’ve been missin’, hmm?”

You hum against him, the corner of your mouth ticking up into a little smile as you prod your tongue against his rim, urging him to relax more so you can press deeper. As he opens up for you, you squeeze his hips gratefully, fingers soft and kind against his skin.

“So good for me,” he continues breathlessly, almost babbling now, stream of consciousness pouring from his lips in between sharp gasps and low grunts. “Got the prettiest little mouth, I wish I could see it baby—fuuuck—that’s it, good girl.”

Your fingers flutter a steady rhythm over the skin of his thighs. Caressing the dark hairs there, the twitching muscles, humming when he shivers beneath your touch. The harness digs into the flesh at the inside of your thighs, at your hips, and you almost moan at the familiar bite of it. Relish in the way it pinches at your skin when you bend and raise your ass in the air, working him open around your tongue.

With your nose pressed against his skin, you lathe messy kisses against his hole. Feel the way it clenches beneath your tongue and whine, inhaling the natural musk of him as you go. Your mind a blur with soft skin and rough hair and tight tight tight around your tongue.

Drunk on the taste of him, you let your hand drift from his thigh around his waist. Float across his stomach, forefinger dragging over his belly button, his happy trail, down down until your fingers glide over the slick head of his cock. Joel jumps a little, hypersensitive, and exhales a rough moan as your fingers wrap around his length and slowly begin to stroke. With the steady movement of your hand his asshole begins to pulse beneath your tongue and so you pull back to watch it. Admire the way it flutters and clenches. Quick, so fast your mind can hardly process it, you’re collecting saliva in your mouth and letting it drool past your lips, wet and messy as it pools over his asshole. Joel’s cock throbs in your hand and he groans. You think he even arches his back a little, his entire body pleading for you to just put your mouth back on him. But you take a second; watch your slick spit turn his skin shiny and grin, raising hand to suck your fingers into your mouth and then press your middle finger against him.

The tip of your finger presses forward, working to relax that tight ring of muscle, and he exhales heavily.

“I wanna fuck you so bad,” you tell him, voice thick with want as you pull your eyes off his ass to meet his stare.

“Then quit playin’ around and fuck me.” He presses back against you and groans when your finger slips inside his ass.

“Hey,” you warn, curling it slowly inside him. So warm and tight, unforgiving at first as you try to stroke at his insides. “Slow, okay?”

“Just want to feel you.” It’s clear on his face too. Pupils dilated, vulnerability splashed across his features with nowhere to hide.

“You will,” you soothe, pulling your hand back only to work a second finger inside. Kiss his skin again. “Let me take care of you.”

He doesn’t voice any complaints after that. Too busy with his face pressed against the pillows, drooling and grunting as you stretch him out around your fingers, his tight hole clamped down around the digits. You don’t touch his cock again, too worried he’ll come before you can really give him your all, but he gives pitiful little ruts toward the mattress. Soon enough his movements become so needy, so often, that, with a pang in your chest, you figure it must be painful. You almost ask how long he was touching himself before you came home, but then he’s interrupting the thought, reaching back to grip your wrist, wide eyes pleading with you from over his shoulder.

“Alright, love,” you murmur, pulling your fingers back and nodding. “I think you’re ready.”

Resting back on your heels, you grab the dildo and work it into the ring on your harness. Checking once, twice, to make sure it’s stable, before opening the bottle of lube. You squirt some onto your fingers, some directly onto the tip of the cock, and begin working it over the length, admiring the way it turns shiny beneath your touch.

“S’a pretty cock baby,” Joel admires, cheeks flushed. He watches you over his shoulder, eyes heavy-lidded as you stroke silicone, lube warming between your palm and the shaft.

“You like it?” He nods and your chest warms with pride at the way his eyes darken, gaze darting continuously from your face to the piece between your legs. “Well, you’re gonna love how it feels.”

A fresh pump of lube onto your fingers and you’re shifting forward, on your knees again, lathering it onto his hole, smiling at the squelch as you pump your fingers inside him and push it in.

And then, soon enough, pale blue meets dark pink. Prods and presses, soft at first, and then firmer as he relaxes for you. Lube rolls down the shaft in rivulets, pooling against puckered skin, drooling lower to coat his balls, and a low sound rumbles from Joel’s chest. When you pause, his chin ticks to the side and he peers past his shoulder to look at you.

“You good?” he asks.

“Mhm. You ready?”

“Yeah.”

Joel shivers when your hand lands at the base of his spine, thumb resting in the cleft of his ass, right above where you’ve started to press the tip inside him. The skin beside his eyes tightens, and he nudges his hips back into you, almost imperceptibly. You shiver at the sight, a sharp flush of arousal sparking between your thighs as you admire the plump shape of his ass. Like a ripe piece of fruit, begging to be split open.  

Joel chuckles knowingly; can see it in your eyes, the way your mouth hangs open. “Come on now. I know you’re dying for it, baby.” 

You grip his hip to keep him steady, cock notched against his opening, and continue pressing forward. Just gentle rolls of your hips at first, making sure everything is wet enough, checking in every now and then. But once the rounded tip pushes inside, Joel starts to squirm. His skin is flushed a deep red, beads of sweat rolling down his back, and you stroke his skin to soothe him.

“Joel?”

“Need you inside me.” His voice cracks a little on the last word,

“Shit, okay,” you exhale, fingers tightening on his waist. Your eyes leave the side of his face, locked on where your cock is steadily disappearing into him, and you press forward, bottoming out in one fell swoop. Leather meets his skin and the sounds he makes are none you’ve ever heard before. Deep, rumbling groans that come from the base of his stomach and force their way out of his throat. Tanned fingers grapple with your bedsheets, searching for an anchor as you drag your hips back and little and then feed your cock into him again.

You curse under your breath, unable to look away from how his hole gapes around the silicone, opening up for your every thrust.

“So fucking tight,” you whisper, awed as he ruts his ass back against you. Your fingers dig into his flesh, holding him open so you don’t miss a thing. “You look so good this, baby.”

Words are lost to him though, only able to form incoherent grunts and mumbles of your name as you deliver steady, deep strokes into his ass. It’s a slick glide now, almost no resistance left as you pump your cock into him.

“Talk to me,” you urge, sweat dribbling down your temples and smearing across your neck. “Wanna know how it feels.”

“Feels—” Joel chokes out, voice a thin, broken rasp. “A lot.”

“Yeah?”

“So fuckin full,” he says. “God, you’re so good, feels—fuck, feels so good.”

You moan a little, eyes glazing over as you pick up the pace, fucking him harder, hand between his shoulder blades as you press him flat against the mattress. And those rough noises he makes only urge you on, encouraging you to press a foot into the mattress at his side and push a little deeper until he’s gasping, thighs spasming below you.

“Shit,” you whimper, face screwing up as you watch his hand drift beneath his stomach. “I knew it, knew you’d love this.”  

You tug on his hips, pulling him back onto his knees so you can force his hand away and replace it with your own. Slick fingers wrap around his cock, the two of you cursing in unison at the way he pulses against your warm palm.

“Turn over for me.” Your fingers prod at the soft flesh around his hip as you pull out. You stare at the way his hole gapes open for a second, fluttering around the empty space where your cock has just been, and feel your cunt clench in response. “Please, I want to see your face.”

He lets you guide him, careful hands on his arms, his waist, until he lands on his back. A little unsure, his thighs fall apart so you can rest between them, and you give him a reassuring nod.

“That’s perfect,” you say, rubbing his thighs as you tilt them open wider, caressing his balls as you line yourself up with him again. “Doing so good for me, you’re perfect.”

And when you make contact, slipping in easily now, his stiff cock jolts and he lets out a ragged moan, reaching out for you.

Joel’s heavy hand lands on the base of your stomach, fingers twitching against the harness there.

“Wanna touch you,” he says, eyebrows pinched with need.

“I know, I know,” you murmur under your breath, smiling down at him. “Just let me take care of you, I wanna make you come like this, okay? Need to see it.”  

In response he just tucks his fingers around the top of the harness, holding on as you fuck into him, hot and heavy. Long, strong strokes that have his cock twitching against his stomach, pre-come dribbling from his tip as he just fucking takes and takes and takes.

“Keep talkin’ to me,” he pleads.

“You’re taking it so well,” you say, watching him keen under your praise. The skin on his chest glows with sweat and you lean forward to kiss his sternum. In response his fingers card through your hair, holding you to him as you mould your hips against his over and over.

“I love you.” You kiss the words into his skin, mouth falling open when he groans and starts raising his hips to meet yours, thrust for thrust. “So good for me, I love you, baby.”

“I love you,” he repeats, dazed and out of it when you pull back to look at his face again. You can tell he’s close; can see it in the twitch of his fingers, the shake of his thighs. “Shit.”  

And so you grip his knee with one hand and his cock with the other, pressing him open wider and stroking his length in time with your thrust. His eyes sharpen and he cries out. A harsh, high noise that makes your stomach tighten and your hair stand on end. And then he’s panting, telling you, fuck, right there, right fucking there, keep goin’.

His chest heaves below you, soft stomach moving fast and hard as you hold his knee to the side, griding your cock against that perfect little spot. Joel’s jaw pulls taut, veins thrumming in his neck as he holds his breath, seemingly fighting against the intensity of the feeling.

Your back aches, muscles on fire, but you push through, desperate to see the look on his face when he comes like this for the first time. And Joel must sense your determination, that burning need inside of you, because he locks eyes with you and nods.

“That’s it, baby,” he tells you. “Fuck me like I fuck you, that’s—shit, that’s perfect.”

Spurred on, your fingers tighten around the base of his cock and you slow your pace to a steady grind, rubbing the tip against where you know it feels best. He tells you as much, with the way his breathing starts to stutter and his nods become slow, lazy drags of his head.

“Fuck yeah,” he groans, eyelids fluttering half closed. “Gonna…. fuck, I’m gonna come, baby.”

You watch the muscles in his abdomen pull tight, feel his hand land on your waist, propelling you forward to keep fucking him as his high creeps up and up inside of him, until you say let go, I’ve got you, come for me, and it all falls apart.

Thick white spurts from his ruddy tip, slicking your knuckles and painting your tits in pearly streaks that drip down your stomach. Joel’s groaning, teeth bared as his eyes loll back. The veins in his neck deep blue and pulsing, face a dark crimson as he shakes beneath you. Some of his come even lands on his own chest, and you moan at the sight, still fucking into him, trying to prolong it for as long as possible. He bats your hand away, fingers tangling tight and desperate around yours, and you watch in awe as come continues to dribble from his untouched cock. Streams of white that roll down his shaft, past his taut balls to where you’ve still got him stuffed to the brim.

“Ohh,” you murmur in delight, admiring the way his come looks on your cock, streaks of white on blue as you fuck him. “Yeah, that’s it, baby. God, you look so good right now.”

It all gets a bit too much for him after that. Fingers squeezing at your thighs, mouth twisted up as he murmurs, that’s it, baby, that’s all I got, and you ease yourself out of him, despite knowing you could probably keep milking him for all he’s worth and he’d just moan and take it because he loves you.

Instead, you watch as Joel’s legs go limp against the mattress, hovering over him, trailing your fingers softly against his hairy calves, catching your breath.

“Holy shit,” he rasps, reaching up to rub a hand over his face. You laugh quietly and press a little kiss against his knee.

A sticky mix of come and lube dribbles from the tip of the cock, dotting against his skin, and you apologise softly, fingers coming up to start removing the harness. He just smiles, body spent but eyes soft and loving as he watches you fret. Rapt beneath the weight of his gaze, you pause, cheeks aching as you smile down at him.

“Good?” you ask hopefully.

“Great.”

Pride sweeps through you and your smile only grows as you finally remove the harness, peeling it from your legs and nudging it away. You reach for his hand and he grips it between both of his, bringing it up to his mouth to lay soft kisses against your palm, the tips of your fingers.

“I love you,” you tell him again, and the feeling swims in your guts and burns the inside of your chest. It’s all you can think as he presses your hand to his cheek and nuzzles against it – that this is all you could ever hope to have and to keep. This beautiful, loving man who you want to make feel this good for the rest of your lives. He repeats the words against your skin, drowsy and earnest, and you know he must be feeling the exact same way.

“Don’t move. Let me get you some water,” you whisper, shifting to get off the bed, but he catches your wrist as you pull back, shaking his head lazily. 

“Don’t go far,” Joel murmurs. “Just gotta catch my breath, alright? And then I’m gonna make you come so hard you’ll be seein’ stars.”

thank you for reading! x

[howdoyousleep3]

Pairing: Daddy Steve/Baby Bucky Rating: E (Explicit) Word Count: 4.4K Tags: Porn Without Plot, Established Relationship, Drunk Sex, Daddy Kink, Light Dom/Sub Relationship, Brat Taming, CNC (Consensual Non-Consent), Dirty Talk, No Prep (there is an obscene amount of lube though lol), Spanking, Anal Sex, Manhandling, Feminization, Rough Sex, Light Exhibitionism, Light Subspace, Breeding Kink, Size Kink, Spitting, Coming on Face, Ruined Orgasm A/N: It's about time. The current state of my life and my mental health called for a mean and selfish Daddy Steve who doesn't give a fuck. In this fic, these two rely on their established relationship and deep understanding of one another. Daddy Steve has never talked or acted like this. Bucky loves it even if he is frightened by the thrill of it. I hope you trust them and love it too. ❤️

Read here on Ao3

“Listen, Buck— I’m going out to dinner with my friends and that’s that.” 

Bucky isn’t used to being told no. 

“I don’t know what else to tell you. You’re just going to have to deal with it, baby. I’ll be home later tonight.” 

Bucky doesn’t react well to being told no. 

“I love you,” Steve had told him to obviously end the conversation, something akin to annoyance evident in his tone, digging into and burning at Bucky’s skin. Being told no feels like rejection, feels like betrayal, feels like nothing his Daddy should be forcing him to feel. 

So, Bucky hung up without another word, without a proper response. 

Without giving Daddy his “I love you”. 

If Steve wants to be mean, Bucky can be mean too. He can be mean even through the tears and through the sting of rejection and through his admittedly unnecessary pouting. So, he ignores Steve’s calls, ignores his texts, ignores his warnings. 

Buck…

Don’t do this. You know this won’t end well. 

Pick up the phone, Bucky. 

He goes about his night alone at home, ignoring Steve’s attempts at communicating, at apologizing, at getting back onto Bucky’s good side. He orders takeout and ignores the immediate urge he’s met with to order Steve’s meal of choice as well; he doesn't deserve it. He drinks half a bottle of red wine as he scrolls through Instagram, watches reruns of Real Housewives of New Jersey, and waits for his food to be delivered. 

By the time he’s done with his meal, he’s finished off the bottle of wine and ignored three more of Steve’s texts and two more calls. 

Why are you being such a brat? 

Pick up the damn phone.

You’re fixing to piss me off, Buck.

Daddy’s been drinking. 

Bucky decides to shower. He takes a long, hot, luxurious shower. He shampoos his hair twice, uses his expensive body wash that smells like pumpkin cinnamon rolls. He drenches himself in the matching body oil once he’s done showering, takes the time to put on his best skincare, his favorite oil for his hair. 

He feels like he’s floating on a cloud as he falls into bed naked and wraps himself up in their flannel sheets and heavy duvet. He doesn’t even bother going in search of his phone; he has no plans to respond to whatever Steve sends him anyway. 

Steve can kiss his ass.

Bucky is pulled slowly from his sleep. 

It isn’t in an instant or a sharp awakening; it feels like he’s being pulled slowly through syrup from his dream-riddled sleep by something curious. 

Bucky furrows his brow. Is that—?

It’s a noise, a consistent noise. 

A familiar, wet noise that immediately sets Bucky on fire from the inside out. 

The recognition of that noise forces his body and mind into a state of almost panicked awakeness then. A sharp wave of premature arousal wracks his body, something of a Pavlovian response, and it sends his heart pounding against his ribs. He opens his eyes and blinks a few times in order to help adjust to the darkness of the room, the lights from the city just outside their windows helping to keep the room not fully encased in darkness.

Once his eyes adjust, he finds the source of the sound immediately. 

He was right.

Steve stands within reach of Bucky’s bedside, close enough to touch, his cock pulled through the zipper of his pants and held in his hand. 

Fisting it.

He doesn’t even say anything when he locks eyes with Bucky, his mouth slightly dropped open and a sharp gleam in his eyes just past his glasses that leaves Bucky on edge, curious and hesitant and hot. He tries hard not to let his eyes drop back down to the sight of Steve’s impressive cock, digs his fingers into the mattress in an attempt to ground himself, but it’s useless. It’s always useless. 

He loves his Daddy’s cock. 

Bucky doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word. He watches on as Steve reaches for an open bottle of lube he must have pulled out of Bucky’s bedside table, watches on as he squirts some messily into his palm before reaching for his cock again. He tosses the bottle onto the bed carelessly. 

Something deep, deep within Bucky begins to grow restless. 

“Still ain’t got nothin’ to say to your Daddy?” 

Steve’s voice cuts through the air and the tension like a hot knife through butter. Bucky feels the bass of it in his toes, the bite of Steve’s growl curling around his neck. 

He curses himself for once again not thinking his tantrums through to the end, for thinking he ever stood a chance against his Daddy. 

“Yeah, forgot how much of a fuckin’ punk you can be when you don’t get your way.” 

Oh.

That’s how it’s going to be? 

The thrill of uncharted territory skirts up Bucky’s spine, the nervousness of the same curling into a ball in his belly. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t spoil me so much then,” Bucky weakly tries, but Steve only scoffs and strokes his cock harder, the girth of him making Bucky’s mouth traitorously water. 

“I’m not responsible for your fuckin attitude, Buck,” Steve bites out in a tone Bucky has only heard a few times before. It nearly forces tears to spring to his eyes, nearly pulls a whimper from the back of his throat. It also makes his balls begin to ache. 

He chooses not to say anything in response, but Steve fills the silence after a minute or two. 

“Thought about comin’ home to just blow my load all over your pretty face while you slept before crawling into bed, but…don’t know. Think I want you to be awake when I take out my anger on your pretty body.” 

Jesus. 

“Andy said I should do it, mark you up all over your face, maybe smack you around a little. But James said I need to take it out on your ass. And I gotta say…I’m keen on taking it out on your ass.” 

Bucky’s head spins. He grows dizzy from where he lays, his jaw going slack as that dizziness morphs into fuzz, into familiar heaviness. The erotic image of Steve sitting amongst his friends and discussing Bucky’s punishment pulls his hips into the bed beneath him, forcing his next few breaths to grate against the front of his throat. His dick fills out, chubbs up, fattens between his legs and in the sheets. 

Steve talking about him, about something so sexual, seeking advice from his friends on how to handle his baby— it’s all far too much to process at once.

The added layer of them all drinking, of knowing what Steve gets like when he has amber liquid slipping through his system, intensifies Bucky’s reaction. 

He’s certain Steve was spewing filth, was sharing intimate details of their relationship. He was surely discussing Bucky, what he likes and dislikes, how he reacts to Daddy’s decisions and hand. 

Fuck, Bucky shouldn’t find it so hot, but he’s damn near drooling for it. 

“Yeah, that’s right— it was a group decision. Had to tell ‘em all how bad you were bein’, had to explain why I was so fuckin’ fired up when I got there. You don’t even want to know the fucked up shit Levinson and Walker said I should force you to do. So, we decided on your ass, that your ass deserves the punishment.” 

Bucky will never be able to look Steve’s friends in the eyes again. Or maybe he will, but he’ll surely pop a boner the moment he does.

Steve’s groan is somehow thunderous yet low, long and drawn out, as he resumes stroking his cock, as he reaches into his pants and pulls his balls out. Bucky barely has time to whine at the sight before Steve is speaking again.

“But that works out ‘cause if I’m making you fuckin’ take it, I’m gonna be selfish about it. Yeah sure, I’m your Daddy and I’m supposed to teach you a lesson and make you aware of the consequences of your actions, blah blah blah—” 

Bucky’s not once heard Steve talk like this.

“— but not everything has to be a fuckin’ lesson. Sometimes I just wanna…just wanna make it hurt, lay you out a little bit. Don’t wanna make your punishment about you; I want it to be about me.” 

Bucky thinks for a moment that he has no footing, has nothing to grasp at to ground himself in the slightest. But Steve is his safety, is his other half; he’s safe here. He’s safe with Steve and he doesn’t need to question that. And because of that, because of the foundation of trust and love they share, Bucky comes to the decision that this? 

This is hot. 

It’s hot as fuck.

“Roll over,” Steve sharply and suddenly demands. “I wanna see that boy pussy I’ve been thinkin’ about fucking all night.”

Bucky whimpers, his legs spreading on instinct, his next few breaths shaking loose from his lungs. His noises sound almost like a hiccup, like a set of sobs, and he’s rising up onto his knees before he can think twice about it. 

Where he’d normally receive a noise of praise or appreciation, he instead receives a bark of, “Turn the fuck around, show it to me the way I deserve.” 

Bucky scrambles. At least he feels as if he’s scrambling, as if he’s moving quickly and awkwardly, but if the thickness of his thoughts and the difficulty of thinking a second ahead is any indication, he probably looks as if he’s lazily moving through molasses. 

Bucky still doesn’t get the noise or words of praise he’s used to when he’s finally turned around, when he’s got his back in a deep arch and his cheek pressed against the sheets as he faces away from Steve. He instead soaks in the noises of the sound of Steve beating himself off, the slick noise of his fist as he drags it up and down his— 

“You’ve been a little bitch tonight. The guys made me promise them I wouldn’t give into you the moment I saw your pretty hole, but fuck me— that’s a pretty fuckin’ pussy.” 

Bucky does moan this time, loud and ragged with tight emotion. His dick hangs heavy between his legs, achy from the suddenness and surprise of his arousal, and his hole clenches easily and involuntarily at the compliment. 

“Fuck, look how small it is, look how little that fuckin’ hole is. It’s a miracle I can fit my dick in there, my big fuckin’ dick. Your Daddy’s got a big dick, doesn’t he?” Goddamn. Bucky wants to shuffle around on his knees so he can choke on his Daddy’s big dick. He wants it in his mouth, on his tongue, in his throat. He wants—

“I asked you a fuckin’ question,” Steve damn near growls, and the sharp sting of a slap on the meat of his ass shocks Bucky’s answer from him. 

“D-Daddy’s got a big dick.” 

“Yeah, that’s right— say it again. Tell me again.”

Bucky tucks his arms under his chest, spreads his legs even more, offering himself up. 

“Daddy’s dick is so big.” 

Steve chuckles into his next groan. “Fuck, I love hearin’ that.”

He listens as Steve moves next, hears him take a few steps, hears him shuffle around before Bucky then feels a cold glob of liquid hit his ass cheek. He gasps, jumps even, but Steve just moans and spreads the liquid across Bucky’s ass with his hand. 

Bucky doesn’t even have time to ask questions or think of how messy or obscene smearing his ass in lube is when Steve’s hands are on him like this. It’s as if Bucky isn’t there as a person, as if Steve is alone in this room with his ass, as if he were a toy. Daddy’s hand rubs the lube into the cheeks of his ass carelessly, smearing it around and covering him in the slippery liquid simply for the selfish enjoyment of seeing Bucky’s ass oiled up. 

So much for his luxurious, self care shower. 

Bucky’s head is so far in the clouds that he barely registers more of it being squirt onto his ass, the feeling of Steve’s hands rubbing and moving almost hypnotizing, but then Steve is rubbing it over his hole, circling it with his fingers and thumb, pressing his thumb into his hole as he moans. 

Bucky squeals.

These touches are indicative of Steve meaning what he said about this punishment being for him; these are selfish touches. 

The slap of Daddy’s big cock right over his soaked pussy makes him whine. But the feel of Steve then resting his cock between Bucky’s cheeks, of pushing his hips forward in a rhythmic motion draws his whine out further. 

“I’m gonna be mean about it because it’s what you deserve. What I deserve. M’gonna fuck this little pussy the way I want to, for me— don’t give a shit about you right now. You wanna come? Fine. But this ain’t about you.” 

Steve pulls his hips back in order for his hand to come down over Bucky’s wet hole hard, just the once and then three more swift times, spanking it and forcing another squeal out of Bucky’s mouth. 

“Fuck…!”

He’s barely able to jump away from the sting, barely able to feel the burn of such a harsh touch, before Steve is stepping close again and pressing the fat tip of his cock back against Bucky’s soaked hole. 

“You better bear down on it, baby— didn’t spend my sweet time training this pussy for nothin’.” 

Bucky’s body and mind come together for a moment of panic, mesh in an effort to preserve what they perceive to be Bucky’s safety that is in danger. It’s too fast, too quick; it’s not what Bucky’s used to. He gasps as he shrinks away from Steve’s touch, his thoughts getting the best of him and— 

Steve’s strong hand on his nape is like a warm blanket, like an off switch, even when it’s a touch that makes it difficult to breathe. 

“None’a that now. Bear down, here we go…”

Claiming. 

Breeding. 

Steve’s always shown mercy, is in tune with Bucky’s mind and body, holds Bucky as a priority in life and in the bedroom; that is what Bucky is used to. But that Steve is nowhere to be found in their bedroom shrouded in darkness tonight. That Steve has been pushed past the brink of the vast amount of patience he holds, has been filled with amber liquid that takes away his softness. He’s nowhere to be found as he spears Bucky open on his cock, as he uses his big hands to press into the deep arch of Bucky’s back and use it as leverage to fuck into him faster, harder. 

Bucky tells himself it’s a lot, that it’s overwhelming, but that it doesn't hurt. He’s used to sex; they have sex frequently. His body doesn’t need to be warmed up to taking Steve when he takes Steve on the regular. But rarely does he take Steve’s cock this fast, this quick, this harsh. His stream of noise is constant, is veering on feral in nature, and he all but thrashes underneath Steve’s hands and on his cock in response to being split open. 

“This is my fuckin’ pussy,” Steve grounds out between what sounds to be gritted teeth, and Bucky can’t tell if it’s a reminder for Bucky or filth for himself. 

Bucky can’t breathe. He chokes on his breaths, on his noises that won’t stop pouring out, his breaths caged up in his chest. Steve has his waist in a brutal grip, pressing his body further into the mattress, and with Bucky’s arms trapped under his chest it makes it cages his breaths up further. 

He wills himself to breathe, begs himself to focus and to open up his willing body to his Daddy. It’s not difficult for him to want this, even as they tread new waters together, but he is quick to come to peace with his body taking the brunt of this…whatever type of punishment this is. 

The only moment of mercy Bucky is shown is when Steve’s hips meet the curve of Bucky’s ass, and even then Steve only stills long enough to press and grind his cock impossibly deeper into Bucky. It’s as if he wishes to crawl inside of Bucky with a growl, as if Bucky’s body taking the entirety of his cock isn’t enough and he needs more than Bucky can give him.

Bucky feels drool on his chin. 

His blinks are slow and lagging, or maybe that’s his eyes rolling back into his head. 

“God fucking damnit,” Steve groans, his tone showing evidence of both relief and frustration, the smack he gives Bucky’s ass driving that frustration home. He jerks his hips back, pulls out of Bucky halfway before filling him up to the brim again. The lewd, wet noises of his pussy makes his cheeks burn in embarrassment, makes him moan at the easy slide and overwhelming sensation of stretch.

Bucky doesn’t know why he pretends to be a brat. A few harsh words and a smack on his ass and here he is face down, ass up for his Daddy. 

Steve pulls his hips back again, is quick to slide them back home, beginning to fuck Bucky in earnest. 

Bucky’s head spins. 

“Pretty fuckin’ pussy for a pretty fuckin’ boy,” Steve tells him in a rumble, rubbing his thumb around Bucky’s stretched and wet rim. 

On the other hand, maybe he should be a brat more often. 

Steve fucks him without mercy. 

Bucky is used to mercy.

He’s used to eye contact and pauses and little, “You good, baby”s. He’s not used to feeling the entirety of Steve’s strength pressed into his body, not used to feeling bruises form in the moment. He’s not used to feeling like Daddy is simply using him for his hole, for somewhere wet and warm to stick his dick and fuck into. 

This is different. 

This feels so good even if it is a lot. 

It has his emotions twisted up in his stomach. 

The way his body rocks forward with every brutal thrust, the force of the stretch of his pussy, the feeling of spreading his legs and being bent over for his Daddy; he’s almost embarrassed he can very realistically come from this kind of treatment. 

He doesn’t realize he’s saying things until Steve is laughing, groaning, the noise of it swirling around Bucky’s empty brain like a marble. 

“Oh sugar,” he moans long and slow, his hands coming down to cup Bucky’s ass as he fucks it, spreading it wide. “You got nothin’ to apologize for— none of that fuckin’ matters now that I’m inside’a you.”

Was he apologizing? He can hear himself now, the drawn-out, almost mournful noises he’s making as spit pools into the sheets underneath him. It’s all nonsense; he can tell that even though his brain is having a hard time processing his own words. 

“Stretch me out, Daddy,” he hears himself whine. “I’m sorry— M’so sorry! Make it better, Daddy.” 

Steve only fucks into him harder, the slick smack of his groin and his heavy sac slapping against Bucky’s lube-covered ass adding to the cacophony of noises swirling around the room and muddying up his brain. 

“Whatever you say, baby.”

“Daddy…” 

“Of course I fucking am. Who’s your Daddy?” 

“You are…you’re my Daddy.” 

Bucky feels a hand wrap roughly around his nape. His face is shoved further into the mattress. The force of the touch and the angle of his body makes him sob.

“Yeah? And whose pussy is this? Whose fuckin’ pussy is this?” 

Bucky hiccups, sputters.  

“Daddy’s! S’Daddy’s!” 

His balls begin to tighten then, his groin stirring, the moment his hole relaxes and embraces the obscene stretch of Steve’s cock in full. Steve has always told him he has a sensitive sweet spot, a sensitive pussy, and this example is his Daddy’s checkmate. 

He bucks against Steve’s harsh touch and thrusts when he feels his orgasm rapidly build and stir. 

“M’gonna come, m’gonna…come,” he hears himself slur, a pitiful warning that he’s almost certain Steve can’t hear. 

“I don’t give a shit.” 

Oh.

He was wrong.

Bucky says the only thing that makes sense to him in this moment— 

“Come in my pussy, Daddy.” 

Steve roars, shoving at Bucky’s nape before letting go and reaching for his hair, all without pausing his thrusts. 

“Don’t you fucking do that. You motherfucker. Don’t do that, Buck.”

His orgasm must possess him, push him into doing things Daddy said not to do, because he’s immediately defying his Daddy and pouting out, “Come in my pussy, Daddy. Fill my pussy up,” just as his first spurt of come hits the sheets. 

It’s the only moment of his orgasm he is allowed to enjoy. 

He’s still coming, dick continuing to shoot off and body continuing to ride the waves of a shattering orgasm, when Steve pulls out of Bucky’s body and drags him to the floor by his neck. 

He hits the carpet with a thud and a shout, knees knocking and hands flying out to catch himself. He whines, cries, at losing such a memorable orgasm, at being pulled out of the experience of such, and tucks his chin to watch himself experience the end of his climax between his legs. 

“Open your fucking mouth. Look up at me.”

Even with his ruined orgasm, he listens easily. He’s slow to do so. He turns his head up to do his best to look up at his Daddy, but the tears in his eyes make it impossible to see Steve. 

He can see his fist though, see his cock as he uses his fist to fuck himself as they nearly come full circle for the night.

“You don’t let me come on your pretty face enough,” Steve accuses, voice hot and low, labored and barely audible over the ringing in Bucky’s ears and the sound of Steve aggressively jerking off above him. 

Bucky doesn’t respond, can’t bring forth any words in his brain. He sits there with his tongue out, tears in his eyes, hips doing what they can to rock from the aftershocks of his shattering yet unenjoyable orgasm. 

Steve groans and the noise hits Bucky right in the balls. He feels the result of it in his bloodstream, in his being, a noise that, at its core, is centered around Bucky being good. It’s gluttonous and selfish and sexy and Bucky could weep hearing it. 

He thinks he is weeping at this point.  

When he opens his eyes again, Steve is coming on his tongue. 

And then his cheek.

And then over his other cheek, onto his forehead. 

All Bucky can do is sob and moan, an odd combination that makes it sound like he’s begging for his life while also in heat. 

“Fuck, that’s good. Fuck yeah, look at’chu. Look at my fuckin’ baby. My baby…” 

Steve’s come feels as if it scalds his skin, the warmth of it both a shock and a comfort to him. Bucky lets it slide from his tongue, down his chin, has to close one eye in order to avoid a painful mess. 

He does nothing to fight against the urge to pout when Steve feeds him the last bit of come from the swollen tip of his cock, letting it fall onto his bottom lip. Steve’s fingers immediately follow it, two of them reaching forward to rub the mess into his lip, then across his chin. Bucky watches from the floor as Steve’s chest heaves up and down underneath his crisp dress shirt, his thick fingers pressing and smearing his warm come into Bucky’s skin.

Bucky chases after his Daddy’s fingers like a starving animal, gasping and groaning, tongue lapping up whatever Steve has to offer. 

Does he have no pride? 

Daddy answers that question with two fingers shoved in his mouth, stroking the back of his tongue so harshly Bucky’s left with no choice but to gag loudly. 

He still moans.

Steve lets out a long, happy noise that sounds like a sigh but feels like another groan in Bucky’s balls. It’s akin to the noise he lets out when he stands to stretch as the halftime show begins during the football games he watches on Sundays, deep and satisfied. He follows the noise up with a tight grip on Bucky’s jaw from the inside of his mouth, a hold on his teeth as he pulls Bucky further towards him. 

Where Bucky expects a kiss, he instead gets no warning of Steve spitting down between his open lips.

“Fuck yeah…”

He uses his fingers to spread that around as well, allowing for the combination of his come, his spit, and Bucky’s spit slip over Bucky’s bottom lip and slip down his neck before letting Bucky go with a bit of a shove. 

Bucky’s not used to this. 

Bucky thinks he’s fallen in love with Steve all over again.

His spent and heavy cock still hangs from the open zipper of his pants, framed by thighs that Bucky swears are the size of tree trunks from down here, when Steve lets out one last, resigned groan. 

“That was exactly what I fuckin’ needed,” he casually tells Bucky with more than a tap on his cheek. He turns on his heel and begins to walk away from Bucky and towards their shared bathroom. 

Bucky can barely follow him with his eyes, can barely hold his head up.

Steve’s sharp whistle rings in his ears. 

“C’mon, sugar— let’s see if you can wring another one outta me,” he hollers from over his shoulder, not bothering to look back at Bucky. Steve almost sounds like himself again, as if he hadn’t just hate fucked Bucky to the brink of psychosis. Bucky thinks he hears the shower.

Maybe that was all Steve needed to get out of his system. 

Bucky begins to maneuver himself to stand, ass already sore and come still covering his face, when Steve snaps from the door of their bathroom. 

“Nuh-uh— you crawl to your Daddy, kid.” 

Maybe not.

[sourholland]

Guilty as Sin

CHAPTER ONE ; azriel x fem!reader

summary: the lost princess of the dawn court finds herself brazenly escaping her own personal living hell. seeking refuge, as well as peace to plot in the city of velaris—she meets azriel shadowsinger and through the throws of disdain and discomfort they are forced to work side by side, intertwined through their shared scars.

a/n: ok so this first chapter is literally all exposition and world building within this world, i’m so sorry :( i promise that it will very much so pick up. this series is mainly about me exploring different aspects of my writing, i’ve never written a long series before. my longest is 50k and each chapter was about 2k words so this is something i feel really proud to put out, even if it is just the first chapter. if you’d like to be tagged please let me know!! this fic isn’t necessarily inspired by, but is a lot like taylor swift’s new song “guilty as sin?”. feedback always appreciated:)

warnings: strong language, mentions of trauma regarding men, heavy themes of ptsd and suicidal thoughts

spotify playlist (unfinished)

wc: 5.4k

Run.

The word cut through your mind, slicing through each and every thought you possessed as you gazed downwards at your bloodied hands. There was so much blood. Hot, thick blood ran down your forearms, coating your face and the inside of your mouth. Your stomach lurched, however by the grace of the Gods, you fled.

In over fifty years, you had not left this camp. Since you were just a girl, at twelve years old, you had resided within the hidden stone of the warrior camp. Now you had no choice but to utter a quick prayer to the Mother and run fast and furiously forward without looking back. Only the knife you had just used remained sheathed at your hip as you felt the ground beneath your boot-clad feet. There was a cloak pulled around you, it covered your face well and kept you concealed. 

What was that saying, you thought silently to yourself in between painful dry heaves. ‘Feet don’t fail me now.’

It was nightfall and you ran tirelessly through the forest you had been warned to never brave on your own. As a child, your mother had warned that you must not meet what lurks after dark. She told you that not even those beasts would mind slaying the Princess of the Dawn Court. To them, the title was useless and your blood was just the same. Blood. You reeked of those warriors' blood and sweat and desperation. It was clad to your skin like a layer of oil or grime, the taste of iron making you spit. 

A part of you wondered if you would die out in this forest, no idea where you were or what place Cousin Thesan had brought you so many decades ago. Stopping to lean against a tree, you panted and let the silent tears flow at once. Where were you? For all you knew, he had dropped you within the Continents and only used very good wards to keep the camp hidden. Why had you let them take you? What hadn’t you fought harder against Thesan’s word as Amarantha began exercising power among Prythian.

You had no answer, but only began to run once again. There was no choice, unless you planned to slit your own throat and simply give up. No. You are a warrior, you are a fighter and nothing would keep you from finding your cousin and demanding answers for his crimes. That’s what his actions were to you, criminal and inhumane and you would not be surprised if in the end–you adorned his blood on your hands as well. 

“Who dares enter this part of my forest?” A voice drawled from nowhere in particular, causing you to flinch and raise the dagger shakily in defense. “What is your name, girl?”

The voice came from the trees, you swore to yourself. It came in whisps and wind, the blackness of the forest making it impossible for you to determine where exactly the source was. If there was a source. It omitted what you swore was a chuckle, an unfamiliar sound to you for so long. Sweat collected at the nape of your neck and temples, hair stuck down to your forehead and your skin blazed as you continued to rotate in full circles with your dagger pointed at nothing.

“Y/N, Princess of Dawn and Bringer of Light. What is your business in dwelling here? This is no place for a young Fae girl. Especially one so sweet as yourself, and you wear the blood of ten men. It is as if you hope to die tonight,” the voice whispered, a hot, invisible breath on your neck. “Do you hope to die tonight?”

“No,” you finally spoke into the abyss. “I hope to locate my homelands, I am in search of the High Lord of the Dawn Court. Show yourself.”

The voice ignored your demand, “leave this forest, Princess. For the ones hunting you are far worse than those warriors you slaughtered miles back.”

The stiff cloth of your dress began to itch beneath your robes and you stood taller than before as the voice surrounded you. Perhaps you would die tonight, at least you would have gone out thrashing and fighting until your final breath. There was a mild ache behind your brow and the night sky showed no signs of daybreak.

“And why have you refrained from killing me?” You finally asked, shifting back and forth and contemplating whether or not to begin running again. 

“I possess no body. I am nothing but the wind and the trees and the breeze against your skin,” it hummed, cynically. “Cross the river up ahead and veer left, the path will lead you out of the forest and into the countryside where at least you will not be hunted for sport and strewn up and cut open for the creatures that dwell here to eat you alive.”

A cold chill ran up your spine and left your fingers to form fists.The spirit-like being was gone as fast as it had stumbled upon you. How did you know, you wondered idly for a moment. Its presence was absent, the air feeling more desolate and empty than it had moments before. It could very well be a trick, a way to lure you into its very trap and do exactly as it said.

You continued on to the river and went left, just as the being had told you to, as it had cooed into the shell of your ear. It was only about a mile later and you were coming into a dark clearing where animals lay sleeping along large acres of land. There were cows and sheeps first, then you saw pens of pigs and chicken coops further. Looking back, you saw how truly terrifying the forest was in comparison to the moonlit field.There were a set of yellow eyes staring out at you, but as soon as you blinked they were gone as if they were never there to begin with. While you knew you would never know, you threw a prayer up to the Mother regardless and hoped that the breeze-like thing that had most likely saved your life was at peace.

There was very little you could do besides walk along the outskirts of the land and hope to find some inclination of where to locate your court. Your court. The Dawn Court was filled with your people, people who had not seen you in five decades. The memories of your childhood were like knives in your gut, twisting and turning until finally you expelled them from your mind and breathed in deeply. The trek was long and you walked all through the night with no direction of where to go or what to do with yourself. There were not exactly any signs pointing you towards your home, or once home. Now you had no home, the camp was much more like a prison than a home to you. 

“Are you lost?” A little Fae girl spoke, taking in your appearance as she found you still walking along the countryside that next morning. She did not appear to be scared, however she was very young and held a basket of wildflowers in her hand.

“Yes,” you almost cried at the sight of her, another human and a female at that. It had been fifty three years since you had encountered someone of the same sex. “Where am I?”

“I live just beyond that hill. You are in the Dawn Court,” she said wearily, pointing over and beyond the hill that sat a few hundred yards away. “Should I fetch my father to help you?”

“No,” you said, knowing well what you had done the night prior and how you appeared. “I am looking to get to the Dawn Court Palace, do you know where I might be able to find it?”

The girl, no more than nine, looked over you once again and it was as if she was assessing your soul. She drew her lips into a fine line and set the basket down to begin spouting off some directions. You nodded, taking in all of them with careful consideration and noting that the spirit had led you onto the right track for some odd reason. Once the girl had finished, she merely bowed her head and turned back towards her house. 

.·:*¨☆◦✦◦☆¨*:·.

The Palace was nothing like you had remembered it. It was so much brighter and broader than you recalled within the narrow escape of your child-mind. The Dawn Court Palace gleamed under the beaming sun that had been burning your skin for hours as you followed the little girl’s instructions. 

It was so vast and yet it seemed to call out to you, there was a long way to get to even one of the many stairs leading up to the Palace and so many guards standing tall at every entrance you could see. There was no way in, you thought. Not when you look as you do. Would any of these men even know who you are, you wondered. 

“Who goes there?” A loud voice bellowed, bringing you away from your thoughts.

Who says who goes there, you thought. Prick.

Well it looks like Cousin Thesan spared no expense in making sure no one went in unnoticed, you rolled your eyes internally and spun on your heels to meet the look of the brooding male who wielded his weapon against you. He did not recognize you, as you had expected. His eyebrow had a long scar going through it and he held a blade in his hand, waiting for an explanation.

“Stand down!” You matched his tone, standing tall while the male practically laughed in your face.

“You are lucky that I have not already gutted you for crossing into our territory–”

The sound of you swallowing hard could be heard from even where he stood. You planted your feet and let all of those lessons on looking the part of royalty run over you. The guard was cut off by your sharp and fierce voice, “I am Y/N, Princess of Dawn! Stand down or don’t. I can’t say that I really care either way, but you very well might when I cut out your tongue and feed it back down your throat.”

The man went rigid for a moment and he took in a sharp breath. He seemed to be assessing you, his eyes scanned your frame while his weapon remained as it was. A part of you wondered if he thought you were bluffing, however the dried blood seemed to tell him everything he needed to know. He maintained his authoritative stance, only drawing back to call over some of his men. He whispered something into one male’s ear and his face went blanche. He looked over you with such careful consideration and shock, his eyes wide open and doe-like from where you stood.

“You claim to be the Lost Princess?” He finally spoke, tilting his head to the side to expose a long, fleshy scar across his neck.

“Well the last that I checked–I am the only Princess of the Dawn Court, however I am most certainly not lost, sir. I do wish to speak to my cousin, though,” you requested, earnestly. “As soon as possible.”

The Lost Fucking Princess. Who even comes up with this bullshit?

One of the males who adorned guard-like clothing brought you into the Palace wearily. He did not lay a hand on you, but motioned you to walk in front of him as if you posed some sort of threat. Perhaps you did, killing Thesan had crossed your mind once or twice. The idea of watching him writhe excited you quite a bit. The thought nearly brought a smile to your lips, only managing to suppress it when you began climbing the steps.

.·:*¨☆◦✦◦☆¨*:·.

The male brought you to a throne room, sunlight dancing along the walls and spilling onto the floors. Everything was so magnificent, the aura of the room was nothing short of golden. Blood boiled within you as you recalled all of the years you had wasted away to nothing, hidden in that rotting, despicable camp where all you ate was leftover meat scraps and watered-down soup for over fifty years. 

Thesan sat at the forefront of the room, he wore a crown and spoke to the male at his right in a hushed whisper. It was almost as if he did not know you were here, like he was uninformed of your arrival in his court. When the male who brought you in nearly tripped over his feet to murmur into Thesan’s ear, you had your answer. Your cousin’s eyes snapped towards you in an instant, he rose to his feet immediately and you swore you could feel the blood pumping in your ears. With a hot face and white knuckles, you barreled towards him with the intent to kill.

“You promised me! You promised me!” Your magic rippled across the room as you shouted, pure rage causing the ground to shake. “You left me there to rot like vermin! How could you?”

With tunnel vision, the two men who had been holding you back were nearly invisible as the ground continued to shake violently. Thesan was silent, his eyes were wide with genuine revelation and disbelief. Thrashing and clawing and screaming was all you could do. He had taken years from you, good years that had been ripped away and stolen from you as a child.

“You’re nothing but a fucking liar, Thesan. We share blood! I am your family and you threw me out to the wolves. I was twelve years old and you abandoned me. I trusted you with my life. My life!” you cried and flinched at the guards’ hands. “Get your fucking hands off of me!”

The two men who held you were sent flying backwards by an invisible force, your magic had been provoked and was now rippling off of you in waves. Thesan approached with his hands out, he still had not spoken a word. With a wave, he cleared the room and it was only the two of you left standing.

“Y/N,” he said in a soft hush. “Please just allow me to explain–”

“Explain? Explain how you brought me to your sick fucking camp when I was a girl and lied to everyone under the guise of my protection? Explain how after three months, your letters and visits stopped? Oh, perhaps you plan to explain how you left me to live with ten cursed warriors for over five decades and I have to find out six days ago that Amarantha was defeated by a human girl years ago as I still sat by idly waiting for my dear Cousin Thesan to retrieve me from my own personal living hell?” The words were like knives, piercing Thesan one after another as you resisted the urge to rip out his throat. “Explain, go ahead.”

Thesan could not believe his eyes, nor the venom spewing from your lips. He surveyed your too-thin figure and cold eyes, how they had changed so much since he had last seen you as a small girl. Everything you said was true, to some degree. He could not deny any of it, however he had not realized how the camp had treated you. He had not banished you, but relocated you for reasons of his own before Amarantha could rise to full power. When Thesan caught word of what had begun under the mountain, he made rash decisions and sacrifices that he was not proud of and would have to live with for the rest of his immortal life.

“Y/N, I did send you away for your protection. Do you believe that my brother would have let me live if I sent his only child away to live in squalor while we all reside in a palace? I sent you away because my people were being ripped from their homes and your mere existence puts a target on your back,” he said, steadily. “A Princess, the sole heir to the Dawn Court. It is unheard of. When my brother’s mate–your mother–birthed a girl, our people were ecstatic. As years passed and Amarantha began her show of power, everyone grew antsy for my heir. I tried, I remain trying to produce an heir to this court.”

You shook your head, hot tears running down your dirt-crusted cheeks. “Not good enough,” your voice cracked.

“Please, just hear my words,” he begged you. “When you were twelve years old, I assumed tensions were at their height and our people grew restless. Amarantha had begun slaughtering innocent Fae across Prythian and with no heir, whispers surfaced of the Princess of the Dawn Court. A female heir, one who reeked of power at that. Males who would never kneel before a female began to place bounties on your head, terrified that I would be slayed and there would be no one but you to resume my place.”

Thesan breathed deep, but continued. “I told my brother that the safest option would be to make you disappear. We would claim that you were hunted by Amarantha’s loyal subjects, nowhere to be found. I gathered some of my strongest men who had committed wrongdoings within my court and banished them to the camp where they would be tied until I liberated you.”

“You locked me away with criminals!” You seethed, already knowing but surprised at his willingness to utter the words freely. “How do you think your filthy, touch-starved, vile men acted once I had first bled?”

“This is where I have committed wrong,” he whispered. “It was only supposed to be a year, maybe two while I gained footing and figured out a way to take back what Amarantha had stolen from me. Three months after I sent you away, she captured the entirety of this court. Every court, save for Spring, went Under the Mountain. You were concealed, hidden so well by my wards, that she never even bothered to go looking for you. She believed that her own subjects had killed and discarded you. That was the extent at which things had gotten, she merely trusted the death of the Princess of the Dawn Court was another insignificant casualty to her reign. Everyone believed you to be dead. My letters stopped because I was trapped, my power basically nothing compared to what it once was.”

The truth washed over you slowly, blinking away tears but staying put and shaking your head at him. It was still not good enough, it would never be good enough. For fifty-three years you had known nothing but scraps and gangly men and the dirt underneath your bleeding fingernails. 

“It has been years since Amarantha was defeated,” you gritted out. “Defeated by a human girl–”

“Feyre Cursebreaker, High Lady of the Night Court and human no longer. Myself and the other High Lords used our power to bring her back from death as High Fae,” he told you. “I know you will never forgive me for not retrieving you immediately, however we entered a gruesome war against Hybern and have only just begun to recover and rehabilitate. It is no excuse, I know this. I hoped by now that I would have an heir, nothing has changed in regards to how your existence might be received by this court.”

He had left you there while everyone rejoiced in their freedoms, fought on the frontlines of battle, and then even still once we had won. Nothing but pure, unadulterated rage consumed you and yet all you could muster up was a pathetic noise straight from your throat. He had done all of this because he simply was not capable of bearing a child and assumed that you’re suffering was all the more worth it if he could fuck his way to the ideal future High Lord of Dawn. All men are the same, you thought with a sickness churning within you.

“You are a sick excuse for a man,” was all you spat. “Where are my parents?”

“Dead,” he lowered his head. “They died swiftly, soon after we arrived Under the Mountain.”

The gift that just keeps on giving, you thought whilst holding back a near sob. He gazed upon you with pity, finally taking you in wholly. The blood. There was so much blood and he could tell from the scent that it did not belong solely to you.

“What of the men at the camp?” 

“Dead,” you replied, just as he had. “I cannot say they went swiftly, as I slaughtered them all.”

The images of blood spewing and spilled flashed across the forefront of your mind, the way that some of them went quick and others went begging for a semblance of mercy. You looked down at your palms, flexing your fingers and feeling the energy throughout your entire body. It pulsed at the tips of your fingers, throbbed in the heels of your feet, and thrummed at the backs of your eyes. Over the years, there had been no one to teach you to manage it so more often than not it consumed you whole. 

You could kill him, you let the idea wash over you. Or at least you could try. In his home with all of his warriors, it would prove difficult. He was the High Lord, your High Lord–no, death was too swift and simple. You would need time to plan out your next steps, you pondered whilst maintaining a stone cold facade. You would have to play your cards right, he would deal with you based on how you acted as you stood before him. Truthfully, the idea of living with him puts you on the brink of physical sickness. You would rather die than be forced to stay under the same roof, lips curling slightly with disgust as he gave you another look filled with shame and guilt.

“I will not stay here,” was all you spat at him. “Not here, not in this court with you, I wish to be sent elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere? Do you understand what will come of your sudden return to our lands?” Thesan’s eyes were fixed on you, his voice near hoarse. “Y/N, I know that–”

“I will not stay here. I ask this one thing of you. I will not spread word of your pathetic sterileness, nor my title to the Dawn Court if you will simply offer me this one thing. Do you not owe it to me?” 

While the immense grief and pain in your voice was authentic, you made sure to create the illusion of your complete and utter wreckage. Mustering up tears, you had to get out of this place. There was no possibility of your survival if not, not even at the hands of these so-called people out for your blood–but at the hands of yourself. Every bit of you was exhausted, conveying complete and utter devastation into your eyes as he debated your request. 

Do you not owe it to me?

Thesan rubbed violently at the bridge of his nose and nodded to himself, he squeezed his eyes shut and for a moment you remembered the admiration you once felt for him. Admiration turned into blazing resentment and rage that had nearly created an earthquake. He wouldn’t force you to reside here under him, would he?

“I will do my best at making other… arrangements,” said Thesan after a few moments of tense silence. “I make no promises, as we may very well be approaching the brink of another war, however in the meantime you should wash up.” 

A breath of relief escaped you, “what of the guards who know who I am? I told them.”

“I should like to call in a favor from Rhysand,” he murmured, almost as if he was speaking to himself.

.·:*¨☆◦✦◦☆¨*:·.

“Leave me, please” you said to the servants gently, thanking them for the filled tub and fresh gown that was laid out for you within the spare bedroom and adjacent bathing room.

Everything was so prim and proper and doused in sunlight, it made you nostalgic for a life that once was. The water was steaming, layers of blood and grime covering you as you sunk down into the tub. The magic of the tub was forced to refresh itself almost as soon as you sat, growing murky immediately as you began to scrub your skin raw. 

Would it be easier to drown yourself, you breathed a shallow breath. No, someone was posted outside of the bedroom door listening in. A guard, most likely. He would hear, putting an end to your pathetic excuse of a suicide attempt and then Thesan would never let you leave. Or maybe he would, perhaps your untimely death was just what he hoped for in order to rid himself of the problems you presented him with.

Getting clean felt impossible, even with the tub enchanted to replace its filthy water. Your hair was oily and your skin remained covered in a film of grease. It took over an hour just for you to feel somewhat clean. At the camp, there had thankfully been a tub with running water and an enchantment of certain supplies so you never went without. Food, however, was hunted for you and everyone else. As the only female, every night you received what was left on the bone of whatever animal they had slaughtered in the nearby woods, eating last time and time again. 

One of the servants came in to help you dress in the gown custom to the Dawn Court, it fell to your ankles and glistened with what you could have sworn was pure sunlight. The tall woman braided your hair back and applied rogue to your cheeks and an oil to your lips. As you gazed into the mirror before you, you could hardly recognize yourself for the first time in five decades. There was something so regal about you, a light cascading off of you like an aura of gold. Thesan possessed the same coloring, the light pouring out from him in bouts of power. 

The woman knew who you were, you could tell that much from the way her eyes danced across your reflection. She said nothing, though. You thanked her, smiling softly as if she had not just seen you covered in days old blood and filth. The Lost Princess, you recalled what the male had referred to you as outside. She has no idea what to think of you, it seems. Maybe that was for the best, perhaps you were better as the shadow of a girl who once was but no longer existed. Instead, some sort of killer prowled beneath your now eternally crimson stained skin. 

“The High Lord has called for you,” the woman said softly, pulling you from your thoughts and causing your eyes to drift to meet her gaze in the reflection of the mirror. 

Once you had begun your trek back to the same room as earlier, the sun had begun to fall and the sky was painted endless shades of pink and orange. There was so much open space, all of the windows gaping to allow for as much sunlight as possible during the daytime. You had never felt so exhausted, eyes burning from the lack of sleep you had acquired on your journey and the use of power earlier on in the day. 

When you entered the room, Thesan was in conversation with a man that you could only assume was Rhysand. He was attractive in an almost inconceivable way, like one of the Gods. None of the males at the camp had resembled anything like him, no one in the Dawn Court resembled anything like him. Lucky High Lady, you thought mindlessly. Rhysand seemed to chuckle at nothing, turning to meet your gaze.

“Princess,” he greeted you with the friendly upturning of his lips. “Welcome back from the dead is in order, I suppose. I’m Rhys.”

“Funny,” you huffed a stiff laugh at him and extended a hand for him to grasp. Power ricocheted off of Rhysand in a way that caused your stomach to flip. “Y/N.”

His eyes simmered with something like pity mixed with amusement, he was not blind to the fact that you still had not looked Thesan in his eyes. Rhysand had been steadfast in arriving at the Dawn Court, his solemn look told you that he had been briefed on some of what was going on. How much, though? What had Thesan deemed important enough to share and what was determined as insignificant. Clearly as you had been cast away as insignificant, he could not be trusted to relay information.

“Rhysand has consulted with his High Lady and they have agreed to offer you a place to stay in the Night Court for as long as you should require it,” Thesan informed you. 

“At what cost?” 

“No cost,” Rhysand assured you at once. “Thesan has… told me of your circumstances–”

“What circumstances?” You demanded, cutting him off. “What did he tell you?”

There was a tense silence as you grew flustered and aggravated by your cousin. Thesan knew nothing of your circumstances, he knew absolutely nothing of what you had endured. Rhysand had strangely given you a look of understanding, it was as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. Like he had been inside of your mind, reliving the experiences with you.

“He told me of your power, he told me you have yet to learn how to wield it as well. He says that he senses you may have inherited more than just his healing gifts, but that the nature of your identity is sensitive. I admit that I do have to agree with him in concealing your return, Princess–for now, at least,” Rhyand only looked to you, his words carefully chosen so as not to upset you. “I have a house in Velaris, the city where I live, it houses three people as of late. My two brothers, Azriel and Cassian, and my mate’s sister Nesta. You would stay there, it is secluded enough that you will have as much privacy as you desire. I spoke with my healer Madja, she has agreed to allow you to work under her in an apprenticeship of sorts. She’s one of the best, not just in Velaris but anywhere in Prythian. I feel you both may be able to benefit from each other, her experience and your magic. My cousin Mor has offered to train with you once she arrives home from Vallahan on business, until then one of my brothers–”

You cut him off again, “Training? I do not wish to offend you, but why should I need your family to train me?”

“Y/N,” he began, assessing how honest he should be. “You have no muscle built up whatsoever and considering the fact that you have no hold on your own power–I suspect that your ‘training’ consists of the intent to kill and luck. In Velaris you would learn to fight and hopefully hone some of that power.”

It was this or nothing, you knew that. Either you would remain in the Dawn Court, or you would go with Rhysand and figure it out from there. Thesan’s face was now unreadable as you looked between both of the High Lords. 

“All the while I hide away so that no one knows my true identity?”

“No,” Rhysand responded. “You have matured, when you left this court you were only a girl. No one in Velaris will question you once I dim some of that power coming off of you. My inner circle knows your true identity, however to everyone else you will be ordinary High Fae. This is partially why you’ll work under Madja.”

Nodding slowly, you consider your options or lack thereof. Rhysand seemed genuine enough, you thought to yourself and could have swore he smiled slightly. Giving Thesan a once over, you met those violet eyes and nodded slowly.

“Alright, I’ll go to Velaris.” 

[tangerinesgirl]

Unravel

AFAB!Reader x Mark Hoffman

Word count: 1.8k

Rating: explicit, 18+, no minors

Warnings: smut, masochism, size difference, some brief talk of weight, creampie, mostly Dom!Reader but some Dom!Mark, spitting, p in v

Summary: Your ex, Mark, has no where to go after the glass coffin trap and needs your help...even though you've been on a break.

Notes: I wanted to challenge myself to write a fic that has more detail this time. Reading my works back they all seem super quick to get into the action. So let me know what you think and I hope you enjoy!

You jump out of your skin at the loud bang against your apartment door. You begrudgingly roll over to the bedside table to check your phone: 1:03AM. Sighing, you put on slippers and stagger to the door. There's a more polite knock this time as you look through the peep hole: it's Mark Hoffman.

You and Mark had a rocky relationship ever since he became an apprentice for John Kramer. You found out from his clothing being torn, covered in oil and miscellaneous substances, or just straight up gone missing, and confronted him about it. He showed you the way of the traps and Kramer's ideology, part of you was sick to your stomach thinking about how many people have died like this, but the other part of you was seriously into how he would build the traps, brainstorming ideas and coming home all hot and bothered. But in the end, you had to take a break, Mark couldn't commit to a relationship as he was essentially married to his work. What you both had was fun, but you always wanted something more.

You unlock the door and Mark tumbles into your flat and walks straight into the kitchen. When you turn around you notice his once silk blue shirt is now red, full of cuts and glass shards. You don't quite know how he got to you; did he drive? Walk? Either way it was impressive how he's still standing. He swipes the kitchen table clean and dumps a first aid kit down. "Fix me", he demands of you. You sigh, thinking about how many months have passed without hearing from him and he turns up like this out of the blue, then inevitably grab some tweezers and sterilising fluid.

Nothing more is said after that, the only sound in the room is you cutting off Hoffman's shirt. Mark had actually trained you in first aid since he started up the traps, to cover for all eventualities. Things like how to stitch a wound, fix dislocations, and so on. You didn't think you'd actually have to use it when he left. It's not exactly like he could fish out the shards himself so it made sense in a way, even though it was painful for you to see him again. Maybe not as painful as the actual glass in his back though. You carefully start removing pieces from him, every so often he flinches but stays as stoic as ever. You put each shard on the table, disinfecting the tweezers as you go. It's painstaking, especially without a word being said. There's too many thoughts whizzing around your head, you wouldn't even know where to start, so you focus on your work instead.

You dab at the wounds with wipes, you notice a couple of particularly deep ones need stitches, and few more need steri-strips. You start to unwind your thread, and begin to close them up. He still flinches and groans occasionally as you fix his wounds. You're surprised you have enough steri strips for the rest. You give it one last glance over to make sure there's no more tint hidden pieces. Once you're happy with your work, you start to pack the rest of the stuff away.

As you reach for an unused bandage, Hoffman suddenly grabs your wrist. You turn to look at him, and he looks at you, deeply into your eyes, as if to say "thank you" without actually saying it, since that wasn't really part of his nature. He then glances down briefly at your lips. He thinks you didn't notice, but you did, and you look down at his too.

There's a lot of tension in the room, and you find it extremely hot that not a word has been said in the last two, maybe three, hours. You've lost track of time, you always do when Mark is around, because nothing else matters. You start to move forward into a kiss but you stop, inches away from him. Mark looks at your lips again. Then he suddenly puts his hand on the base of your skull behind your head and grips your hair. You let out a little surprise gasp.

Then everything happens so fast.

Mark slams his lips against yours, like a man starved, his kisses are desperate and all tongues. You both lightly moan through the heavy kisses, you sit on his lap and start to drag your hand through his hair in exchange, tugging occasionally. You start grinding while on his lap, searching for more. You can feel his member through his trousers. Then you accidentally knock one the cuts on his back and he groans out in pain, however you couldn't help but notice his cock twitch as you did so, now semi erect. You both stop for a bit and share a glance, not one of humiliation but of realisation. You raise an eyebrow, intrigued, and start to purposefully play with one of his stitched wounds. Mark moans and quickly grabs your other hand that's resting on his chest.

"Stop", he commands. There's clearly some unsaid things between you and Mark. You stop and look at him, you both look at each other with need and desperation.

"I don't know how far I'll go, I can't promise I'll be gentle", Mark has danger in his eyes.

"I know", you admit. Mark was always the kind to take out a rough day at work through sex, and you had a feeling tonight was no exception. But it somehow felt different. It could be the time you've had away from each other, or whatever he experienced that night had him particularly wound up.

"Same safe word?", you ask. He nods slightly, and in a flash he's back to passionately kissing you. He lifts you up, trying to walk you to the bedroom, but can't see where he's going as he's so tied up in the moment. He slams you into a wall, you moan as the air is pushed out of you.

You break the kiss momentarily to remove your top, you must have each other now and can't wait until you're in the bedroom. Mark removes your bra, his hands replacing it. His hands are so large, one hand seems to cover your entire chest. His rough skin feels amazing on your soft breasts. You moan as you remove your underwear. Mark breaks the kiss to kick off his trousers and underwear. He catches you looking at his erection, he walks back over to you and grabs your hair.

"How do I look?", he growls in your ear. You moan and start to kiss him again.

Without warning he pushes his cock into you. You forgot how well he filled you up. He was just the right size, but girthier than average. His thickness stung a little since he slammed into you without warning, but it's a good thing you were already slick with arousal. You hold him around his neck as he's lifting you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he's slamming into you against the wall.

With him still inside you, he then carries you over to the kitchen table. It's a good thing you packed everything away earlier. You put your feet on the edge, with your back on the table. Mark continues to push inside of you, sweat starting to glisten down his forehead, onto his large chest. Somewhat hairy, but oh so broad. His frame and arms have always been a turn on for you. Sometimes he was self conscious about his weight but you found it extremely hot. Especially the way it felt on top of you.

You sit up, breaking his momentum briefly, as you can feel the table shake, becoming more and more unstable. You push him to the chair where he was sat as you were cleaning his wounds, and motioned for him to sit down. You straddle him like before, only this time you were completely naked. You haven't felt this powerful for a while. You start to ride him, reaching behind you to start and fondle his balls. He tilts his head back in pleasure, mouth wide open. You stop briefly to hold his jaw open, you look over him as a dribble of your spit travels into his mouth. You forcefully close his mouth to get him to swallow, and continue to ride him.

It's not often you're able to take charge, but you were enjoying it. Hoffman, even though he wouldn't admit it afterwards, likes to think he's dominant at heart, but also loves it when someone takes control.

Your hands start to trail down his back once again. You could feel a few of his stitches had begun to unravel. Mark hisses as you trace your fingers over them. You stop briefly, making sure he was okay with you going further. After no safe word, you continue to pluck open a wound. Mark pretty much jumps out of his seat, slamming into you as he does so. You both moan, the lines of pleasure and pain blurring. You start to dip your finger into the warmth, blood coating your finger and travelling down his body.

"Y/N, I'm gonna-", Mark trails off. You remove your finger, and smear the blood as you caress his face. Around his lips, his jaw, down to his neck.

Mark is VERY into this, he's a massive masochist and seeing you like this has his mind going into overtime. What traps could you come up with? Maybe you could come with him during the next game, getting off on your hard work, putting each other in a trap, and seeing others in them. Watching them struggle in your game, totally oblivious to you and Mark having the steamiest sex of your lives over the monitor.

At this thought, he starts to cum inside of you. The biggest orgasm of his life. You continue to ride his orgasm out of him, the amount of cum you can feel inside you also triggers your orgasm. Mark slams you down by your shoulders to get you to stop moving as his penis slowly grows softer and twitches inside of you. You collapse into Mark's chest, both of you breathless.

You both sit there for a moment, taking everything in. Mark still inside you, his cum leaking out onto the chair, onto the floor, mixing with the blood from his wound that you opened.

You eventually move and mention that you should clean him back up. Mark reluctantly agrees. Neither of you decide to put your clothes back on, as you start to disinfect the table and open your first aid kit again. You mend his stitches and clean him up, and Mark is giving you that look again. Looking at your lips, totally helpless. You sigh as you realise you'll be stitching him back up once again.

[snorky]

I Won't See You Tonight

Hey y’all! I hope you are doing well and blessed, and I hope this angsty Alex Holtz story is enjoyable to read. My sister recommended the idea of Holtzy as a mechanic and I ran with it. The title is from a song by Avenged Sevenfold, which was lingering around in my head for a long while. Something something along the lines of comfort, angst, and a thing or two about needing to take care of someone. Speaking of which, I hope you all enjoy this fic, and remember to take care of yourself!

Pairing: Alexander Holtz x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Angst, Self-deprecation (self-bad talk), Comfort, Alcohol Consumption (of legal age), Mild jealousy (let me know if I need to add anything)

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“Crap, crap, crap!”

Her car slowed down to a halt, spitting and sputtering as she pulled over to the side of the long, empty road. Turning off her engine, she clasped her hands at the top of the steering wheel and rested her forehead against it, irked by the fact that she had work within a few hours.

The hot summer sun didn’t seem to help, quickly turning her, apparently now unreliable, car into a miniature oven. It hadn’t had any previous or any notable issues that would hinder the aging process of the car, but apparently something was off.

Stepping out of the car, she checked her surroundings, and sure enough, not a car in sight. She pulled her phone out from her pocket, sighing in relief that she still had data on her phone, and searched up the phone number for the nearest auto shop.

The dial tone could be heard one moment, and the next was a voice, of what she assumed to be, the voice of the front desk worker for the auto shop.

“Hello, welcome to Dave’s Auto, how can we help you today?”

“Yeah, uhm–” She paced around the side of her car nervously for a brief second before continuing. “My car broke down on the side of Earl road. Do you think that you could send out some help by chance?”

He chuckled at her, but in a lighthearted way. “By chance? Ma’am of course we can help you. One of our guys will be there in about five minutes tops.”

She thanked him and hung up the phone, sliding it back into her pocket. Walking around the car, she tried to analyze and see if there was anything visibly wrong with the car from the outside. 

Unfortunately for her, she couldn’t notice anything significant, and so her next thought was to check under the hood of the car. The engine seemed to look normal, and the oil didn’t have any odd coloration.

Everything seemed to be normal, and so she stood near the front of her car, waiting for one of the mechanics to arrive.

After a few minutes, a blueish tow truck with the auto shop’s logo could be seen driving closer to her, and she gave herself a lopsided smile of relief, and yet irritation from her car breaking down.

The truck parked and came to a stop in front of her car, allowing for easy access to actually move the car onto the platform.

“Hey, this your car?”

The man that stepped out the car was decently tall, wearing gray coveralls as his work uniform, and had wavy brown hair. As he stepped closer to her, she noticed his eyes, which seemed to captivate her the most.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” she laughed nervously.

He turned his attention to her after taking a quick look at her car, and smiled warmly. “You don’t gotta say sorry, miss. It’s my job,”

Hooking the car onto the tow truck, he fiddled with a pen and a notepad for a few moments before motioning for her to follow him.

Pausing, she looked at him nervously for a brief moment, and he read her expression before quickly apologizing. “Sorry, I should’ve asked, do you want a ride back to the auto shop or do you have someone picking you up?”

“Oh.” Her face flushed up in embarrassment for assuming that he was being odd, but was just offering a helping hand. “Yes I need a ride, sorry—” She quickly tried to read the name that was embroidered onto his coveralls. “Holtz?”

He opened the door to the passenger side of the truck, allowing her to get in. “Yeah, that’s my last name,” he smiled. “You can call me Alex though, promise.”

She smiled back at him, “Thank you so much for helping me with my car then, Alex”

His face warmed up a little, enjoying how her voice spoke his name so, perfectly. He got into the truck on his side, and they both drove towards the direction of the auto shop.

The drive remained mostly silent, apart from some small talk and the hum of the radio that was on. The view from her window was essentially just an empty road, which was unfortunately her only route to and from the bar she worked at.

“How’s your day been, miss?” His gaze was focused on the road ahead of him, but his mind ran rampant about her.

It was, most definitely, inappropriate to harbor such a childish crush for someone he just met, but he tried his best to ignore his feelings and keep it professional. After all, he didn’t have any high hopes that he’d see her again after this encounter.

“It’s been, well, regular—” she let out a soft laugh, the situation that she ended up in being not-so-regular. It was a sound that he could get accustomed to easily, wanting to hear it on repeat. “Besides my car breaking down three hours before work.”

He clicked his tongue against his teeth, feeling sympathy for her situation. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear about that,” he sighed. “I—we can get it done before that I hope, unless you don’t want to go to work?”

His joke made her laugh slightly, causing a small smile to appear on his own face.

She let out a breath and leaned back in the seat. “Ugh, I wish, Alex. But rent isn’t free unfortunately.”

Nodding his head in agreement, he continued to focus on the road. His fingers tapped along to the song on the radio on his steering wheel from the classic rock station. It had always been a favorite station of his, most likely from the fact that it was the only thing ever playing at his work.

Shortly after a few minutes, the truck, along with her car, arrived at the auto shop. Her broken down car was moved into the garage, while she was escorted into the main office area of the shop.

“So that car, the—Nissan Skyline?” The front desk worker looked up at her to confirm that it was in fact, her vehicle, and not the wrong one.

“Yes, that one.” She gave a half-smile, partly in pride of her car that was a little pricey in the market, but took good care of, and partly because now it seemed a little useless.

He scrawled down the name of the car on his notepad, before turning his attention to her again. “And the name or owner?”

She gave him her name, as well as her insurance information and phone number in case they needed to contact her.

Alex walked through the door that connected the office to the garage, a slightly disappointed look on his face. “Just a dead battery that needs replacing, shouldn’t take more than an hour,”

“That’ll do it,” she sighed. Of course, it was some basic issue that she had looked over and failed to maintain, most likely from the fact that she was extremely busy. “How much do you think it’ll be?”

“Three-hundred.”

“Two-fifty.”

Both Alex and the front desk worker glared at each other before he was shooed off back into the garage, leaving just her and the desk worker in the office.

“Three-hundred, and don’t listen to him, it sounds like a good deal but you’re not getting anything from some one-hundred dollar battery for the Skyline. It’s better to invest in a solid battery.”

She nodded suspiciously, disguising it as a nod of understandment, before handing the cash over to the worker, to which he then printed out a receipt for her to keep for records.

Moving over to the chairs in the waiting area of the office, she slumped down into it, letting out a breath of exhaustion. She pulled out her phone and texted her boss saying that she might be late for work, which was followed up by a quick response of something along the lines of take it easy.

For the next half-hour, she flipped mindlessly through the magazines that were on a small table nearby, and eyed the vending machines that had soft-drinks and beverages that seemed so tempting on a hot summer day.

A few more minutes ticked by, and Alex came through the door that connected the garage and the office area.

“You’re all set, miss.” He beamed proudly, having stuck with his word and kept the work-time lower than an hour. “Follow me,” he waved.

She followed him through the door, entering the garage that smelled like gasoline and car oil. Spotting her car, she walked over to it, talking a quick walk around to inspect his work.

“Yeah, so I just replaced the car engine—I mean, sorry.” He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck as he laughed, his error causing her to have a bewildered expression. “I meant the battery. The car battery. I did not replace your car engine,”

She sighed and wiped her brow in mock relief. “Whew, I would’ve called the manager on you, Alex,”

“Just a slight error, but all jokes aside, you should be all set and ready to go.” Alex spoke with a seemingly saddened tone, his mind accompanied with the knowledge that he might not get to see her again.

Her heart felt similar, eyes more tired, but still vibrant from the short time knowing him. “Thank you so much, I really do mean it,” she smiled. “I’ll see you later.”

She knew that she wasn’t going to see him later most likely, but she wanted to remain hopeful.

He gave her a final smile back, waving to her as she entered her car, and pulled out of the auto shop. Color seemed to slowly fade from his world, turning back into an ordinary life that he lived before.

A few minutes later, she arrived at the bar she worked at, and it was the usual shift of serving patrons their drinks and foods, friendly chats to wring out a tip or two, and anything else really to pass time.

Her own life seemed to be more dull without him, the neon glow of the lights in the bar barely enchanting anymore. Each shot glass seemed to have more lackluster with each passing night, filled up with vodka shots, gin, and what-other-nots that people drank to drown their summer sorrows.

That was, until, a familiar face showed up at her bar, those same gray coveralls and messy brown hair that held a glimmer in her heart.

“Just one uh—”

After he turned his attention to her, tired eyes refocusing, he realized who she was in the dim lighting.

“Oh, hi, miss.”

She softly looked at him, and smiled, which seemed to brighten him up a bit. “Hi, dearie.” Her hand held a towel and wiped the rim of a glass after she had washed it, putting it behind her on the counter. “What drink do you want?”

“Jagermeister, please.”

His voice was quiet, just as strong as she remembered, but this time, it faltered slightly, cracks in the crevices and deep details.

Grabbing a glass, she filled it up with his drink of choice, the dark, earthy color filling up to the brim. She held it in her hands delicately, his eyes following her movements. As she set the glass down in front of him, her gaze met his deep brown eyes, mirroring the liquor.

“Here’s your drink, be responsible,” she whispered.

He read her lips like a poem, understanding each word deeply, the last part like a promise that she didn’t want him to break. “Yes, miss,”

The night grew on, patrons leaving and coming in and out of the bar, and yet he remained there, in his seat, sipping away at his drink, a slight flush appearing on his face from the alcohol.

She looked back at him every so often, catching how his eyes lingered on her a little longer when she talked to other patrons, serving their drinks, accepting tips from guys that seemed to be too flirty for his liking.

Alex was never the jealous type, but perhaps he was when he was under the influence and in the same room as her.

He raised his hand up to try and get her attention, mainly out of wanting to just talk to her. “Hey uh, miss?” His voice slurred slightly, the effects of the drink slowly getting to him. 

Walking over to him, she rested her arms on the counter, lowering down to meet his eyes. “Yes, Alex? How can I help you?”

Her voice seemed to be smooth and sweet like honey, something that he wanted to taste so badly. He was stuck with her, enamored oh so deeply. All he ever wanted now was just her, and no one else.

“Hi.” A dopey smile was plastered on his face, hair tousled and messy.

She smiled at how cute it was that he called her over, just to say something so simple. “Hi, you holding up okay?”

He nodded his head, eyes slightly glossy, but it almost seemed like a mirage under the dim lighting.

And then, she was pulled away from him again, slipping away from his invisible grasp.

She laughed and playfully talked to others as he watched, and the night started to die down, the majority of large crowds leaving. It was just him and her in the bar now it seemed, aside from a few other workers and patrons at tables around the bar.

Wiping a wet rag along the counter, she saw that he was resting his head in his arms, almost dead silent aside from a slight sniffle that could hardly be heard.

“Alex?” She gently placed a hand on his shoulder, careful not to startle him.

His drink was unfinished, glass still half-full with the liquor. Picking up his head slowly, he met her with teary eyes, and her heart sank with sorrow.

Cupping his face gently, she wiped a tear that he shed away carefully. “What’s wrong?”

“I just—” He took a shaky breath inwards, avoiding eye contact with her. “Why does no one treat you right?”

It felt like a sharp pang in her chest, something that she had never spoken openly about, but he read her perfectly. “What do you mean? No one treats me right?”

“You. You’re so perfect ‘n pretty, and yet, all these guys just want to see you stroking their egos just for you to get a small tip that isn’t even fair.” He rested his head in his arms again, hiding his face from her. “It’s not fair.”

She was awestruck by all of this spilling from him, not believing that this is what he truly meant, but she knew, he was all raw and vulnerable before her gaze.

“It’s my job.” Her words came out empty, as if it was something that she wasn’t satisfied with. “I’m used to it, Alex, please don’t worry.”

He looked at her, eyes reddish and puffy, and pulled out his wallet. His hand held a fifty-dollar bill, and a twenty-dollar bill. “Please, take it. That greedy scumbag ripped you off about that car battery, and for the tip for the drink as well.”

She shook her head in denial as she cleaned up his drink, pouring the rest of it down the drain. “Alex, I’ll take the tip for the drink, but not the car, it doesn’t hurt me.” 

“Please, miss?” he pleaded. “It won’t hurt, I just hate seeing you be lied to like that,”

Looking at him again, she walked closer, moving her hand to his shoulder and rubbing it soothingly. “Alright, but the drink is on the house, okay?” She accepted the tip, sliding it into her back pocket as he smiled, still teary eyed. “How’d you get here?”

“A cab,” he responded. “But I don’t know if I can call a cab this late,”

“I’ll drive you home, if you trust me of course,” she offered.

“I trust you, and I really like you, ya’know, you’re so sweet and kind and beautiful. You’re an angel,” he rambled.

“You as well, Alex.” Her hands were occupied with counting the cash at the register, closing everything up before turning her attention back to him. “You’re so pretty.” She took her hand and held his face.

He leaned into her touch gently, eyes shut and relaxed. “I’m sorry you have to see me so—pathetic,” he sighed.

“You aren’t pathetic, promise you,”

It was now just the both of them, alone in the bar. Her boss was always last to leave, and it was only half an hour until closing.

Silence sat between the both of them, comfortable and yet uncomfortable. The air was all stuffy and the scent of alcohol, cheap and expensive, filled the air. 

“I should get going,” he said, getting up from the chair. “Don’t wanna bother you any longer,”

She reached out and grasped his hand softly, hoping to keep him a little longer. “No, Alex, I don’t—”

He shook his hand from her, vulnerability scrawled all over his face. “I want to let you be, I don’t deserve you,”

“Alex, no!” she shouted after him. “I want to make sure you get home safely,”

“I can take care of myself! I’m a grown adult!” he retaliated.

Her heart crumbled when he shouted, but she still tried. “I’ll take care of you, okay? Just one night, Alex.”

He looked back at her, seeing her teary eyes despite her strong face. “I’m sorry, I’ll wait.”

For the next few minutes, she gathered her bag and belongings, and walked out of the bar with him, his arm slung around her shoulders.

He was confused, but slightly sobering up from the cool night air. “Why do you want to take care of me? I’m just some guy you met,”

“Alex, you’re kind and sweet, you didn’t take advantage of my money, and you’re trying your best, alright?”

“But you’re so pretty,” he whispered, looking over at her.

She laughed softly, her smile vibrant and warm. “Alex, what does it take for me to tell you that I like you too,”

“Wait, what?”

Opening the passenger side door, she motioned for him to get in. “Yes, Alex, I like you,”

He smiled, with pure happiness despite being exhausted. “You, like me?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “I like you, Alex.” She got in the driver’s side of the car, starting up the engine. “Where is your address? We need to get home,”

“We? Like me and you?” he said dreamily.

“Well I said I was going to take care of you, so sure.”

He told her his address, and then she started driving. Cozying into the seat, he got comfortable and rested his eyes for a bit, which ended up being the entire ride. 

It was a quiet ride, comfortable, and only comfortable silence, with her looking over at him every now and then, smiling softly to herself.

When they both arrived at his house, she gently tapped his shoulder to wake him up, still in his gray coveralls.

He mumbled something, still in the process of waking up.

“Alex, honey.” She shook him a little this time, but not too rough. “Let’s get you inside okay?”

Nodding his head, which was now affected by a headache, he complied, allowing her to help him inside.

She kept her promise, making sure that he ended up in his bed, making sure that he had a bottle of water and some pain medicine at his bedside table, and making sure that he woke up with a note beside him, with her phone number and a sweet message for him.

[bellswlw]

mechanic!ellie telling off readers dad;)

i have mechanic!ellie brainrot… (cw: weird possessive parent, homophobia, ellie is 24) seriously thinking i need to make a neighbor-mechanic!ellie fic bc fuck..

Ellie was inside, her palms gripping the countertop from the underside of the lip, just coming in for her break and from the blistering heat.

It was particularly hot that day. Not unusual for the area, but still Ellie was sweating through her white tank top just at the start of 11AM.

“Okay, alright. Buh-bye. Yep, see you tomorrow. Yep… fucking dick.” and she reached up with one hand to remove the landline phone that was wedged between her ear and shoulder.

“What happened?”

Ellie scribbled down the customers details adding Tom L. — red hair, asshole before turning around toward her coworker. She sighed, folding her arms under her armpits and shaking her head.

“This guy fucking called asking why we thought it was okay to charge three times as much as his old mechanic?! Like dude I don’t fucking know who your mechanic was but he must’a been a shit one if he only—”

And Ellie’s speech was sliced right down the center when the phone rang again.

She huffed, wiping a hand across her face that was somehow already covered in oil and dirt. She noticed this and pulled the reg rag hanging from her back pocket and wiped her hands after answering the phone and shoving it between her ear and shoulder for what felt like the 100th time that day.

“Ellie, how can I help you?” and her tone immediately shifted when she heard the sound of your voice from the other end of the line.

“Hi, um— I came in for an oil change and uh… checked my tires, and you guys charged me $200? I was just calling b’cause um..” and Ellie’s coworker must have seen the look on her face when he whispered to her.

“Same guy?” with his hands pointing to the phone.

She shook her head, mouthing money before she was met with another 50 year old bigot who was either appalled with the prices or calling to tell Ellie off for supporting “that lifestyle”.

“My daughter came in yesterday and you charged her $200 dollars for an oil change?! An— what? Yes! and putting air in her tires! Which is usually free! She came to me after saying how expensive a mechanic was, only to find out you barely serviced her car!?”

“Sir—”

She let out an exhale, shoving the rag back into her pocket before she put the phone on speaker and actually sat down.

“No, I want to talk to your manager.”

“Sir, I am the manager… and we definitely didn’t service your daughters car yesterday. We were cl-.”

“I— no. You’re not listening to me… This is fucking bullshit,” and it was then that she was granted that sweet sweet sound of being hung up on.

“Dick.” her coworker said, leaning against the doorframe before shaking his head slowly.

“What I’m saying..”

Ellie pushed off the stool, her converse padding against the smooth concrete as she made her way toward the small back office that had just enough room for a desk and 2 chairs. Along with a mini fridge that hoarded her snacks and lunch pail.

She opened it from behind her seated position at her desk, leaning over to feel the cool air hit her exposed arm and a portion of her neck. She pulled out a snack along with a bottle of water, cracking it open and letting it settle into her burning chest.

A few minutes later, the knock on her open door made her brows shoot up from the paperwork she had been meaning to fill out all day.

“What’s up?” she asked, without looking up just yet.

Her head had slowly started to turn before her eyes had caught up with her, noticing the look on her coworkers face.

“Someone’s here for you.” is all he said.

Ellie scoffed under her breath and stood from her chair, dragging her feet until she makes her way toward the front counter and is expecting to see Tom, but see’s you there instead.

Along side your dad— who is visually pissed. “You work here?” he spits, coming up to the counter with you trailing slowly behind him.

“Yeah. I’m the manager.” and she prepares herself for the comment, but it comes out in a sigh from you, pinching your eyebrows together with two fingers and dipping your head down.

He turns to look at you before speaking. “My daughter came in here yesterd—”

“Sir— no. We were closed yesterday. Holiday.”

“Hol… what fucking holiday?!”

She sighs. “We were closed. We didn’t service your daughters car. I would have remembered.” and she looks at you when she says it, trying not to let her eyes still on you for too long.

You shuffled in your stance, fighting the low butterflies that started hatching in your stomach.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he looked over his shoulder at you— missing the arrow Ellie had so intentionally shot at you.

“Means I would have remembered.” that’s not what it means.

Ellie would have remembered such a pretty face, and such a sweet voice when you finally spoke up and look up from your phone with a horrored look across your eyes.

“Um… she’s right. I um, called the wrong place. Sorry.”

Your dad was appalled. Floored. Enough so that he draws all his attention away from Ellie and floods you with a tight grip on your arm and speaking with gritted teeth.

“The fucks wrong with you? You embarra…”

It takes the look in his eye when it’s off of Ellie’s face to make her feet shift against the tile floor and quickly make her way toward you. Speaking as her hand reaches out.

“Hey, hey— no. We’re not going that. Let go of her.”

He scoffs before he opens his mouth again. “Mind your business, girl.”

“This is my fucking business. If your coming in here with a problem, it’s mine. And if your coming in here thinking I’m putting up with that… no. Let go of her arm, please.”

“Dad, let go.” you whisper.

It takes the whisper of your voice to loosen his grip on you, leaving a trio of fingerprints against your skin.

“You know.. life would be so much easier for you if you would just find a nice boy. Finally settle down, a nice boy.”

“Dude. I’m gonna have to ask you to get out. We’re seriously not doing this. Get the fuck out of my shop.”

“I tried to be respectful, but that’s a two way street, yeah? Get out of my shop if you can’t use your goddamn manners.

He stared her down… almost as if he thought maybe she was joking.

It had only taken about a minute and a half to make him crack, sending him out the front door with a sigh as he muttered “Fucking bitch,” under his breath.

“I’m sorry about him, he’s…”

“Don’t apologize. He’s an asshole. And he shouldn’t put his hands on you, ever. You’re not a little kid.”

“Yeah… I guess so. Anyway, sorry; for the mix-up.”

Ellie waves her hand and makes a ‘psh’ sound. “Don’t worry about it. How about this? You sign up here and I’ll take a look at your car— no charge… and let me take you out to dinner as payment. That work for you?”

The smile cracks through your lips like a sunrise striking against the backside of a mountain, vibrant and real.

“Yeah, okay. That works.”

Before you know it, you have a new mechanic and a date with the same one next Friday at 6.

[smileysuh]

I've arrived to SVT fandom last week.

Any SCoups stories to recommend?

WELCOME!!! you can find all my Seungcheol fics here

My top 3 favourite Cheol fic's I've written & would reccoment are:

Ice Cold, Cabin Fever (ft. Mingyu)

🔮 preview. "come on, let’s just go back to snakes and ladders and you can pretend we’re not snowed in with no firewood and a dude you hate locked in the bathroom."

cw/ tw. threesome, daddy issues, mean/tsundere cheol, wet dreams, spanking, marking, dirty talk, choking, unprotected sex, pain kink, dacryphilia, breast play, praise, degradation, fingering, oral, hand job, blow job, multiple orgasms, overstim, edging, orgasm denial, manhandling, size kink, cumplay, finger sucking, spit roasting, hair pulling, voyeurism, I petnames. (hers) princess, bitch, whore, baby (s.coups) cheol, douche, dick, daddy (mingyu) gyu.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 25.9k

🍭 aus. e2l, s2l, step brothers Jihan, non idol, ski resort, roomies, etc...

Sapiosexual

🔮 preview. “You’re a beautiful, bright, young woman, and you’re agreeing to be a companion to some middle aged psych nut who hardly has enough time for you-” you both laugh a little at the way he refers to himself, “compensation is a must.”

cw/ tw. daddy kink/issues, size/shoulder/back kink, contractual relationship, unspecified age difference, unprotected sex, choking, semi bondage, multiple sex scenes, fingering, squirting, oral (m/f receiving), baby oil massage, praise, dirty talk, hair pulling, overstim, dacryphilia, slight orgasm denial, hand kink, etc... I pet names. his: daddy. hers: gorgeous, angel, darling, my love, pretty girl, etc...

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 18.6k

🍭 aus. psychologist au, non idol au, sugar daddy au, aged up/soft dom cheol, etc...

Blood moon

🔮 preview. “You know,” Cheol’s lips are feverish against your skin, and he kisses from your collarbone to your breasts, his hot breath driving you wild, “in some cultures, the blood moon is a sign that the moon needs to be worshiped.” His hand moves between your legs, deft fingers rubbing you through your panties while he lets out another groan of need. “Werewolves worship the moon,” he continues. “It’s what makes us who we are, but after I met you…” his other hand tears the front of your dress down, and his teeth graze by your nipple, “let’s just say, you’re all that matters to me now. And I’m going to worship you as if you were the moon.”

tw/cw. blood/claim biting, a/b/o, alpha cheol, big dick cheol, pussy worship, pussy eating, unprotected sex, fingering, squirting, exhibitionism, sex where his pack can hear it, praise, multiple positions, breeding kink, size kink, overstim, slight dacryphilia, sex on a car & the ground & under the blood moon, wet pussy kink, knotting, rough sex, dirty talk, hair pulling, etc… I pet names: (hers) princess. (his) alpha.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 5k

🍭 aus.a/b/o, alpha!Cheol, omega!reader, jealousy, etc…

[al-the-remix]

14, bucktommy!

This was a really good first roll... Good Hurt by Chappell Roan, this is definitely a Tommy coded song. Tommy Kinard all fucked up after the breakup because no one fucked him quick like Buck did, no one ever had his number in quite the same way, prodded Tommy into showing him what he wanted despite hesitation. Made him roll over and show all the messy vulnerable parts of himself that he's sure would disgust Buck but only proved to make him curious and enthusiastic instead. Who took him apart, figured out what made Tommy tick and applied himself liberally. And he definitely didn't think it would be as hard to go back to the way things were before, when he didn't have some one who not only knew how to satisfy him sexually but also cared so so much, who Tommy loved-- 😌

I haven't written a second person pov fic for this ship yet which I really enjoy doing from time to time, especially ones that focus heavy on internal reflection/character studies etc. Lol, this would probably turn into more tommy kinard pain kink of one flavour or another because that is my favourite thing...

///

(cw for breath play and dubious consent)

Most of all it was the scent that lingered with you. 

The acridity of lighter fluid burning as you sat on the sidewalk, heat bathing your face, the glowing eyes of your childhood home staring back. somewhere inside is your father.

Beside you your mother moaned. An animal sound hucked up between sobs. 

The smell of smoke clung to everything afterwards; your hair, the pyjamas you’d been wearing, the inside of the cherry red ford pinto you were now living in. It wouldn’t come out until a week later when you’d finally reached your aunt’s house and even then when you woke with a start in the middle of the night with the rest of your senses dulled you still thought you could taste it on the night air. 

Lighter fluid gets replaced with the scent of fry oil and burnt coffee, slow cooking on their burners behind the counter at the diner. You do most of your homework sitting there, when you bother to do it at all. 

There’s a lot you don’t remember: your first beer, your first kiss, or your first time, but you remember the scent of sweat and the close press of bodies in the locker room before practice and the color of the grout between the tiles in the shower, damp and a little moldy the way it tickles at the back of your throat. Football doesn’t lead to college–it leads to the army–but it prepares you just the same.  

He touches you like he hates you. Like it’s your fault he wants you the way he does. In close quarters of the broken down shower stall on the outskirts of the base, the air is hot and dry, it tastes like metal and you can barely breathe.

The emulsified night blankets you as you swallow him down. You think if you’re going to die anyway you might as well do it with a cock down your throat. You hate yourself a little bit too, for loving it as much as you do. Even when his fingernails scrap sharply against your scalp and his cockhead presses rudely up against your soft pallet.

You bury your nose in his pubic hair, wild and musky. The scent of the pair of you is pungent, you can practically taste it. Spit and come drips molten down your chin and you’re not sure if you’re ever been this hard. 

You leave not long after that and the scent of the crisp night air makes everything feel sharp and real in ways that you don’t want to acknowledge. 

You go back again the next night. It's someone different this time, you can tell by the grope of his hands and the sounds he makes as he ruts against you. His body molds to the contours of your side, pressed up all along your bare skin and hot, hotter than the fire at his feet which had burned down to ruby embers; a pulsing glow that penetrated the darkness not unlike the combustion of the burn pits that bleed heat in thick waves, dotting the border of base camp. The smoke that stung your eyes and the back of your throat and lit the bellies of the wheeling birds above like they were burning from the inside out.

The air is already so hot it burns and when he wraps a callused hand around your throat you think this time, this time you might actually die.

You don't, instead you paint the rusting corrugated wall with your release. It's going to be a while before you can feel heat on your face and smell mildew and not get a little bit hard about it.

It's a bad recipe for a first responder, but at this point you're running out of options and couches to sleep on. When you're not facing a wall of blistering heat, it's a mess of body fluids and dark, cramped spaces. All things that would put you on edge if you were wired properly.

Sal slaps what is probably supposed to be a commiserating hand on your shoulder after your first loss, a woman who the fire got to before you could. The sweet scent is familiar, comforting in a way you wont be mentioning to anyone any time soon. It makes you think of your father in your house, your friends you left in Iraq.

You skip the offer of a round with the team at the ladder bar after a rough shift in favour of a place you scoped out a week after moved here. Half an our later your face in pressed into a pillow and there's a large hand keeping it there, fingers webbed out against the back of your skull like impact fractures. You wonder if it would be weird to ask since he was already inside you rearranging your bowels he could to the same for your brain too, sink his fingers inside and pluck out the important stuff.

White starbursts break against the curtain of your eyelids as your breathing becomes laboured. You barely feel more than a prickle across your skin when you come, head filled with cotton balls and fingers clenching weakly at the bead spread.

You don't realize you've blacked out till cold water is being poured on your face and you're sputtering back into consciousness. A guilty looking man with a spent dick is apologizing because he didn't know what else to do.

After that you stop for a while because what haunts you more than the feeling of heat on your face and a hand around your throat is the thought of your colleagues finding your body, still hard, and your bulging tongue a telling purple.

///

When you first meet even he smells like soot and sweat. His fingers are long and tapered when he peels his gloves off to shake your hand.

(I'm stopping here because I'm literally falling asleep while writing this but I'll try and add a part 2 with Buck this weekend)

[medusapelagia]

WIP Wednesday - A Magnet For Trouble

I'm working on editing my @billybigbang2024 fic... so here it's a little snippet that makes me laugh XD

The restaurant is small and crammed with people. The air is hot but full of amazing smells that make Jason's mouth water. On the table is a little basket with some fresh bread, oil, and a little plate. Billy grabs a piece of bread, pours the oil on it, and offers it to Jason who grimaces, "It's good, trust me." Billy insists, while a little bit of oil dribbles down his fingers. Jason takes it and smells it, still unconvinced, while Billy licks the oil from his fingers with no shame.  With a big sigh, Jason opens his mouth and nibbles at the piece of bread, finding it really tasty. "Good, huh?" Billy chuckles, taking another piece of bread for himself. Not once in his life had Jason thought that some oil on a piece of bread would have tasted so good. "It's not any oil, you know? This is extra virgin olive oil." "What does it mean?" "No idea," Billy says so seriously that Jason snorts, spitting the water he was drinking. Fuck. Their first date and Jason already ruined it! "Sorry, sorry! I'm so sorry!" he mutters, trying to dry Billy with his napkin. "Oh, I see. It's that kind of date, huh?" an annoyed red-haired girl says.

[deadmenandthedivine]

DEAD MEN § the DIVINE

chapter nine: new leather boots

Maetilda Targaryen, First of her Name, was supposed to be many things. What she became was entirely different.

table of contents

trigger warning!!! this fic contains many graphic topics and depictions. such as but not limited to: dead parents, abusive parents, toxic family systems, incest, medieval misogyny, forced marriage, threats of assault (sexual § physical), actual assault, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, blood/gore, uxoricide, familicide, PTSD and other neurodivergence. i will do my best to update as i go along, but please let me know if i have missed anything!

word count: 3819

The next morning had been like harsh laughter spitting in her face. Not long after the sun had entered the sky, clouds had rolled in from nowhere. Thunder cracked and rain poured down heavily from the skies. From the moment she had woken up, all through the breaking of her fast inside her chambers — just as she had taken her meal the evening before. The rain never so much as lessened. The day had been dreary from its very start. Oddly enough, such weather had always been the princess’s favorite. She loved the cool mist that chilled her hot skin and the cover of clouds that blocked out the sun. Life slowed down, creatures sought dry shelter. She felt like she could relax, like nothing debaucherous would seek her out while the sky cried. It was after the storm when she would worry. That morning’s rain had been different. It only brought bad news, as if the Gods themselves did not christen their trip. The three sisters would not go riding that day. While their father would encourage it, Princess Rhaenys would never allow them to do so in such conditions. Much like with their family dinner that evening, there would be no argument. Like she had decided to do with dinner the night before, the princess quietly finished her meal in solitude. She watched the rain out the window and stewed. All through the night, she tossed and turned, not getting a lick of sleep. She had even slept with one of her pillows on top of her head to try and block out any distractions. Yet nothing was more distracting than the fear and anticipation that overcame her with the very thought of seeing her father again. Hearing of the men he had slain had been entirely different from seeing him kill a man before her eyes. He had done so with no hesitation prior and no regret after. He did not even break a sweat. It was normal to him. In fact, he took pride in it. Alone in her chambers, she could not help but imagine the body on the floor to be her own. The picture in her mind tortured her. She hoped with all her heart that he would not truly be capable of such an atrocity. But she could not change what had already been done.

After eating, her handmaids came to ready her. They were very focused that morning, starting with a full body exfoliation by using a special technique from Volantis. Maetilda had immediately recognized the smell of the scrub. Noarysa guided Adelyn as the younger diligently followed instruction. Together, they moved onto the princess’s hair. Adelyn threw in helpful tips to Noarysa as they braided the long silver honey locks into the cascading updo they had come accustomed to styling since their first day. It was a style that the princess found herself almost emotionally attached to. Even if she had originally chosen to style it in such a manner to subconsciously flatter the Queen. Normally, she would wear her hair in Valyrian braids. Her handmaids at Dragonstone would spend an entire morning working her hair into intricate weaved styles. They would always comment on how fun her hair was to work with. It was long and full and had been cared for with the most expensive oils and potions money could buy for the entirety of her life. Many would comment how it resembled her grandmother Princess Alyssa’s hair in curl, texture, and bounce. It was the one thing that Maetilda had always liked about herself. Whenever she had ever felt less than her sisters because everyone around them had always seemed to love them more than her, she would always tell herself that her grandmother would have loved her if the woman were alive. They misted her face with rose water before dressing her only in her undergown and stays. It was late in the morning, yet they did not move to dress her in any gowns. Instead they slipped a big slate blue and dusty jade quilted housecoat over her shoulders. One that she had never seen before. The princess looked at Noarysa and Adelyn in confusion.

“Princess Rhaenyra should be here soon with a dressmaker. My husband and another shoemaker in town are coming to measure for shoes.” Noarysa informed.

“New gowns and new shoes?” Maetilda asked suspiciously.

“I knew of the shoes last night, the dressmaker was sent for after the Princess and your father had breakfast with the King and Queen this morning.” The handmaid continued.

Information. Without any bribe. She had either made a new friend or owed a new debt. Regardless, she bowed her head in gratitude, “Thank you, Noarysa. I am excited to finally meet this husband I have heard so much about.”

“Your family has honored mine greatly, Princess. Thank you.”

“If your husband does well, I shall be ordering more and telling everyone else I know.”

“T-T-That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

“Fine work deserves to be finely compensated for. Adelyn, if there is anything I may do for you. I would love to extend my gratitude for the wonderful styling you have continued to do with my hair.”

The blonde smiled and she glanced at the floor, but she did not move to ask for anything. Instead she twiddled her thumbs and shifted her weight back and forth. Before anything else could be said, there was a knock at the door. Ser Eddrin stepped in and announced Princess Rhaenyra and the tradesmen. Maetilda watched her handmaid beam at her husband proudly as he tried his best to hide his blush under her gaze, his name was Syresso Stassys. The shoemaker was an older man, Dennas Shoer, and the dressmaker was a woman around Rhaenyra’s age, Josey Flowers. They all bowed to her with big grins, while Rhaenyra radiated anxiety. The future Queen refused to meet her stepdaughter’s eye. Immediately, the younger princess knew that she was in trouble. Her father was angry with her and she could tell by her stepmother’s demeanor. It made the hair on her arms and neck stand on edge.

“Good morning, everyone.” Maetilda greeted unsurely, “Thank you for braving the rains to come here.”

“Our pleasure, Princess.” Dennas assured.

“Let me get you a chair so we may begin.” Syresso grinned.

Soon, a chair was placed behind her so she could sit down without so much as taking another step. Noarysa began to massage her shoulders while the shoemaker grabbed a stool for her foot. The leathersmith pulled out a tape measure, charcoal, and parchment. As if they were old friends, Dennas and Syresso spoke numbers and units of measurement and construction techniques back and forth to each other like it were their own language. All the while, Adelyn poured Princess Rhaenyra a goblet of Maetilda’s tea from that morning. The Realm’s Delight accepted it and continued to ignore her step daughter.

“Stepmother, I must say. I am surprised and pleased you remembered what I had told you of my handmaid’s husband. Is there a reason father is suddenly having new things made for me?” Maetilda cautiously poked.

Rhaenyra’s shoulders stiffened before she finally turned to face the younger princess, “You certainly needed new riding boots, new ballroom shoes. You will be in need of new formal wear as well.”

“Formal wear?”

“Yes, your stepbrothers’ weddings and other affairs.”

The knife twisted in her gut again. Of course. All of her siblings were being wed off except for her. All of their futures and fates luxuriously secured except for hers. The younger princess tried to remain composed, “Are they all to wed soon?”

“Lucerys and Rhaena will wed first. Sooner if Corlys passes as expected.” Rhaenyra spoke gravely.

Maetilda nodded, “May the Gods grant him good health.”

“Yes, they have favored him thus far.”

After the shoemaker and leathersmith finished with their measurements, they bowed and collected their things. The princess was allowed to take her foot off the stool and the men exchanged information with the dressmaker in order to assure seamless collaboration between the garments. Syresso smiled to Noarysa as the two men said their goodbyes and left. The dressmaker remained. She had a satchel full of charcoals, parchment, swatches of fabric and more. The handmaids removed her housecoat, leaving her in her undergown and stays. She was instructed to stand on the stool. Each handmaid held one of her hands to help keep her stable.

“It is an honor to be making dresses for you, Princess. As I have said, my name is Josey Flowers. I have been making dresses for ladies at High Garden since I was a little girl. I hope you will enjoy what I create for you.”

“Thank you, Miss Flowers.”

“To start, you are a soft autumn. I shall stick with fabrics within those shades.” The woman scribbled words with her charcoals onto the parchment, “And you have quite beautiful shoulders and collarbones.”

The princess raised her eyebrow at the woman’s words. She did not expect such blunt compliments or descriptions of her body.

“I want to showcase that with some flattering necklines,” She began to sketch out a few different gowns, “The third one will be the most captivating with a wide boat neck. Perhaps off-the-shoulder, although that would be a bit scandalous for the Sept.”

“Do not be afraid to be scandalous, Miss Flowers. I would like to see Queen Alicent squirm,” Rhaenyra interjected.

“Off-the-shoulder it is. It shall be big and have a long train too.” Josey smiled smugly.

“I have had big gowns, but I don’t think I have ever had a gown with much of a train before.” Maetilda smiled.

“I will make it your most special gown, I assure you.” The dressmaker’s grin only grew, “What color are you thinking, your Grace? Red, ivory, perhaps bronze for her mother’s house?”

Rhaenyra answered quickly, “Make it black. Large red statements, bronze detailing.”

“Forgive the pushback, Princess. Black will not be her most flattering color.”

“While I trust and appreciate your knowledge, it must be black.”

“Yes, your Grace.”

“I like it when my dresses are not too tight on my arms.” Maetilda perked up.

“How about the bust?” Josey inquired.

“Yes, it must be.” Rhaenyra answered, looking away.

Knots tied within the younger princess’s stomach. She had never seen her stepmother speak in such a way. Even when her father was mad. He must have been livid beyond reason. As soon as the dressmaker finished her measurements, she was permitted to leave. She curtsied with a lilted grin.

“Thank you again for the opportunity.”

The door clicked loudly behind her. Rhaenyra stood at her stepdaughter’s window with the goblet in hand. She sipped at it again before once again allowing herself to glance at Maetilda, “I shall see you at dinner tonight. Look your best.”

The future Queen left without sparing her another glance. The door clicking loudly behind her. The handmaids helped Maetilda down from the stool as they began to ready her for the day. She was tied into a soft coral dress, waist pocket secured underneath. The satin dress had a square neck and leg of mutton sleeves. She slipped on simple bronze and carnelian rings and necklaces. She reimagined her stepmother’s actions and movements over and over again in her head. Rhaenyra’s behavior had been downright unsettling. It had to have been Vaemond’s murder or the state of the King. Her stress wore on her face and shoulders. It was worrying to witness. Especially while the future Queen was expecting. After the princess-by-title was dressed, her handmaids left with a bow. Maetilda had been alone once again.

The rain continued to pour from the sky. In her solitude, the princess moved the chair she had gotten her feet measured in over to her balcony door. As she sat, she opened the doors to allow the humid air in. The wetness from outside misted in as well. Comfortably on her chair, she sat and watched it fall. She wondered if the Gods were sending a message. Such heavy rains after the death of a distinguished knight had to hold some sort of significance. Vaemond had fought alongside her father in the War for The Stepstones. As he said, he had dutifully looked after Driftmark for almost an entire decade as his uncle had continued to wage war at various sea ports. Perhaps the Gods were disagreeing with the King or voicing their discontent with her father. She couldn’t help the suspicion that nestled in the back of her head. Instead she thought of the stones in her waistpocket. She wondered if Ser Gunthor had filled Ser Eddrin in already. Certainly he had. Ser Eddrin would know their meaning and significance far better than either of them. She prayed the knight would have answers for her, but she found herself scared to ask him. It would make the whole scenario all the more real — a mystery person pursuing her through binding spells. In fact, a large part of her wondered if it had been the ghost of her nightmare attempting to bind her to the land she had crashed into. Ever since the Manderly son, not a single lord had gone out of their way to show interest in her. It was not about to start in the middle of the night. Not to mention, how difficult it would’ve been for the suspect to enter her chambers. Nothing added up.

Eventually her afternoon meal was served. Yet it served as no distraction. Shepherd’s pie, more fruits, and breads. All she could think of were the stones and who had put them under her pillow. Her left hand played with them idly in her lap as she ate. Who would truly think such a stunt would work? The leg of mutton sleeves on her gown itched at her underarms. She barely tasted the food as she tried to imagine someone sneaking in from over her balcony. They would have had to climb one of the Keep’s many towers in order to do so. A feat she had long considered impossible, but had increasingly begun to consider. Perhaps with an iron arrow, strong rope, and good aim, the climb would be more manageable. But there seemed to be nothing off about her balcony, no evidence of an iron arrow or other anchor. Surely, it would have made enough noise to wake her. Perhaps a sleeping potion in her knight’s dinner, and her knights were too afraid to admit their mistakes. But she had seen no symptoms. No grogginess, no fog inside the head. She was at a loss. After the servants took away her food, the princess decided to call her knight into her chambers. Ser Eddrin toed inside carefully before shutting the door behind him. The princess offered him a goblet of wine, which he dutifully declined. His eyes were narrow and focused. She could tell he knew why she called for him.

“Do you know anything more than Gunthor, Ser Eddrin?” She inquired bluntly.

He huffed frustratedly, “I know you carrying those damn rocks around with you has only made things worse, Princess. Ser Gunthor informed me last night. Should have gotten some spices, a bit of your hair and blood, and a black candle the minute you found them.”

Panicked by the thought of anything worsening, the princess dropped the stones on the ground and they scattered. The knight dove to the ground to collect them. Her breath quickened with anxiety as she thought about how much harm she had already unknowingly caused. If only she had known more about the magic of her mother’s home.

“Certainly it’s not too late. We can still gather all that!”

“I’ll collect them while you’re at dinner. We can try to unbind you this evening.” He conceded.

“Do you think it is too late?”

“Perhaps not.”

“Thank the Gods. We shall handle this ourselves. I do not want to cause a fuss. We are capable without the Crown, Ser Eddrin.”

“Whoever did this may try again. It was done with intention.”

“How do we find the culprit?”

“How precious of you, daughter, to be carrying out justice. Just as your father would. Perhaps I should be proud of you after all.” His voice was a distinct sneer, sounding from the other side of her chambers.

Her blood ran as cold as the Land of Always Winter. The hair stood up on the back of her neck. She had not heard the chamber doors click. Neither had her knight. They had not heard his footsteps approach or enter. They both jumped with a startle as they turned to see her father. He stood in front of the floor to ceiling tapestry. It depicted a very high tower along the coast that sat atop distinct black rocks. The Hightower of Oldtown of which the Queen got her surname. Despite the towering image behind him, Prince Daemon looked menacing in his place. The princess swallowed the lump in her throat before she spoke.

“Thank you for your service, Ser Eddrin. You may return to your post.”

“Yes, Princess.” He croaked.

His armor squeaked as he stepped. The door creaked before softly clicking closed. All the while, Maetilda and her father held intense eye contact. Her breath shook as she tried to calm her racing heart. Her body itched with anticipation of what would come next. Would she run? Would she stand and take it? Would she cry for help?

“Do you know what you have done?” Daemon spoke lowly.

She tried to hide the shiver that ran down her spine, “I am sor—“

“Save your apologies. They will not change the whispers. You disgraced me in front of Court yesterday. You continue to disgrace me today.”

“I had never seen—“

The slap was hard and quick across her cheek. The force of it threw her to the side. Her entire cheek stung like thousands of needles. She cradled it with her hands as her eyes welled with tears. She felt her bottom lip tremble. She choked back any cries. He would only make it worse if she showed weakness. Targaryens were not weak. Especially not the women. He had drilled it into her from the time she was learning to read and write.

“You’re a thick-skulled little cunt, just like your mother, Maetilda.”

She bit on her lip so hard she could immediately taste the iron. She had drawn blood. She prayed it was not something that would be visible at dinner.

“Ever since you came along, every fat fuck in the kingdom has tried to take that castle from me. Think because you're a damn girl that they can have what’s mine. They look for every fucking excuse.”

Her heart pounded even harder in her chest, not knowing where his rant was leading. She prayed his slap would be the last of it, but his words continued.

“And you make it no fucking better!”

His growl was one sent straight from the Stranger as he grabbed a fist full of her cascading waves. She could not help the yelp of pain that escaped as the sting in her cheek transferred to her scalp. By his fist full of hair, he led her onto her wet balcony. The rain sprinkled their cheeks not quite as strong as it would have been in the morning. Her father tightened the grip on her hair. He forced her to look out at the bay. She could feel him pressed up against her back. The feeling was anything but a comfort. His breaths were shallow in her ear as he barely held back his rage.

“You see all that water? Those crashing waves? How deep it goes down? All sorts of unspeakable, bastardly monsters lurk below. And to think, I almost threw you out there as a babe when we flew dragonback… but I didn’t.” He spat, “I want you to know that.”

The princess nearly gagged as her stomach dropped. All breath escaped her lungs. She could almost see herself being thrown from the balcony already. There was no need to ask herself if he was being truthful, she already knew he was. There would be no reason to lie about such dark thoughts.

“I have shown you nothing but mercy, and you have repaid me with humiliation.” He seethed.

All she could think to do was nod in agreement. Anything to get it to stop, to go inside and crawl under her bed covers. The raindrops did well to disguise the few tears that had escaped. Her entire body trembled. His chest against her back made her skin crawl. She fought the urge to visibly cringe away from him.

“Of course, so pathetic.” He laughed dryly.

“I try my best!” She choked out.

He chuckled harder before shoving her back into her room by her hair. The warmth of the room felt better on her skin than the rain, but she would not be able to relax. With a hard push, she was thrown on the chaise. She scrambled to turn onto her back so that she could see him. His demonic face. Just like the cloaked figure from her nightmares, he loomed over her — effectively paralyzing her. Except at that moment, unlike in her dreams, she could actually move her mouth. She could scream for help if she wanted to. If someone would actually come.

“Please, father. We have dinner soon.”

He glared down at her as he straightened his surcoat. Once he was perfectly manicured again, he scoffed, “Yes, you need time, ugly girl. Shame you don’t favor your sisters.”

“Yes, father. I am cursed to look like you.” The words slipped out as soon as they came to her mind.

“You are a leech.” He spat at her feet before promptly departing, “‘Best watch yourself.”

The door clicked behind him unceremoniously. If she had not already been sat in the chaise, she would have collapsed on the ground. Silent sobs beat through her body like a maid cleaning a rug. Suddenly, she had felt the same as all those insects Helaena would embroider for her — small and insignificant in comparison to any leather boot. All of her suspicions had been confirmed, he was going to hold her hostage forever. She would be known to history as the Spinster of Runestone or the Rogue Prince’s Mad Daughter. They would laugh at her across the Realm as the bards wrote songs of her ignominy. The shame and despair tightened her chest like a manual crank. As she fought to breathe, an odd numbness began to spread throughout her organs. The realization that she was doomed either way, forcing her to resign to defeat. There was no one that could save her from her own father.

A/N: some more toxic daemon to stir the pot, he is not done throwing his tantrums yet. but i promise there will be an outcome to it all.

thank you to @imsoshygirl for your comment!! i’m so glad you like my series, it literally means the world to me.

i would like to apologize to @snh96 i just recently saw that you had commented and asked me to tag you. i will tag you moving forward!! i promise i’m not a boomer, i just haven’t used tumblr in years <3

xoxo messy

[dragonofeternal]

The Trigun Body Horror Week over at @organsoutsidelovinglydescribed is doing a WIP Wednesday, so here's a snippet teasing my Livio & Vash grief and cannibalism fic for day 3~

Livio walked back to the front doors like a sleep walker, followed the sound of cooking to the kitchen. He stared at Vash the Stampede’s back, watching him stir fry the bits of near-rancid meat with what else he could find in the orphanage’s pantry. Rice, some sad, wilted looking greens that were being revived by the hot, spitting oil, and bits of meat that made Livio swallow thickly to watch sizzle and sweat their fat into the oil of the whole thing. “Have a seat,” Vash said without turning around, his voice even and measured. “I’ll make you something to eat in a minute.”  “Stir fry’s fine.” Livio pulled out a seat at the table and sat down. Vash looked over, and, seeing his face, Livio could now tell that even more of his hair had turned black. Vash opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, and Livio just stared back at him, silent and grim. He hoped it made his understanding clear. Vash closed his mouth, his entire expression shuttering with it, and turned his attention back to the stir fry.  “Meat’s a little off,” Vash said mildly.  “That’s fine.”  “Don’t wanna give you food poisoning.” “With my body, I doubt it’ll be a problem. If I can handle getting my jaw blasted off, I’m not too scared of an upset stomach.”  “If you say so.”  Vash flicked the pan with his wrist, and the stir fry arced up in a graceful wave of rice and cooking flesh before landing back down in the pan with a loud sizzle.  “I guess bread’s more traditional,” Vash said, seemingly only to himself. “And the booze is all gone.” Livio just listened. Watched. Watched as Vash cooked the rancid remains of Nicholas D. Wolfwood into a stir fry that smelled so good it made his stomach rumble.

[angelic-omega]

A comprehensive guide to anal sex for fanfic writers

Hi I am gay and have had anal sex before…I read some of your fics and I need to say some things!

YOU NEED LUBE TO HAVE ANAL SEX!!! It doesn’t have to be honest to god lube but please for the love of god please mention SOMETHING slicking the way

Anal sex requires preparation and often requires washing the area out or eating lightly that day (unless you’re a freak of nature and have a weirdly clean colon like I do)

If someone is having anal sex for the first time THEY NEED WARMED UP!!

A first time bottom NEEDS A LOT OF LUBE!!

Re-Apply lube please PLEASE?! I’m actually begging you to re-apply lube

Gapes? Where are my post fuck gapes? Didn’t the sub just get fucked by a MASSIVE cock? Why am I not hearing about their slick, pink, gaping, rim??

Spit as lube only works if you’re very experienced or happen to have an ungodly amount of spit

Blood as lube?? I’m scared to even look actually you guys can keep that tag…

Some people can’t have hands free anal orgasms…please keep that in mind

If your character has a vagina please do not put a tongue in their ass then put that same tongue in their vagina!! This is very important!! I don’t care if it’s hot I’m still going to worry about your character getting an infection afterwards!!

People with vaginas can cum from anal! They can even squirt from anal?!

More trans men doing anal NOW

More big boys being bottoms and taking it up the ass! Big strong men like anal too!! Not everyone who take it up the ass is some effeminate twink…you’re stereotyping again straights

IF IT BURNS OR HURTS PLEASE STOP IMMEDIATELY!

I understand we can suspend reality for fantasy but I feel like I also need to talk about the risk of STDs and STIs…don’t believe your partners when they tell you they are clean! Anyway, I just thought it needed to be said because sometimes I’m reading fanfiction and my heart is going out to the poor bottom that has to handle a massive cock with only olive oil for lube! (I should make a whole separate post about lube but if you are in a kitchen can I say ✨coconut oil✨ before you scroll away)

[trashmouth-richie]

Based on “someone like you” by adele

there will be 3 separate versions of this fic

modern day au | 6k | steddie | warnings: no minors mentions of sexual acts, abusive behavior, underage drinking, drug use.

(coming soon)

[eddie x fem!reader version]

[steve x fem!reader version]

The crunch of the paper beneath Eddie’s grease coated hands is just loud enough to stifle the gasp and sob racking through his chest. Ink is smeared beneath his fingers as the sweat forms on his palms and the wave of nausea trickles through his body, a pile of bricks in his gut. He barely makes it to the trash can in the break room before he tosses his breakfast, wretching hard enough that his stomach feels like it’s going to collapse in on itself a pink inner tube deflated in his body.

“Christ.. y’ alright?.” Jim says, slapping Eddie on his back, “look like hell, why don’t y’ go home, I’ll finish up that oil change on the Jeep.”

Without a second thought, he stomps out of the break room door and through the large open bay door, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, still clutching the newspaper.

The steering wheel is beaten so many times it’s a wonder it hasn’t broke yet. Pens, lighters, and dnd dice are thrown at the windshield as Eddie comes undone. Letting the screams escape his strewn mouth as he sits in the driveway. Spit is flying from his lips as he screams.

Months had gone by. Not a word. Not a peep. Not a single fuck you, or a longing glance down a grocery store aisle since he had seen him after the fight they had months ago. Now all of a sudden there he was, looking like fucking Malibu Barbie and Ken smiling beautifully in black in white. Hugging her from behind as they both smile lovingly into the camera lense. A beach set behind them, a princess cut ring, from Tiffany’s no doubt, weighing down her left ring finger. Round glasses and the dusting of a mustache splattered on his upper lip, cover his once boyish features. His hair was more uniform now than what it used to be. But there he was, in a matching linen outfit straight from Tommy Bahama, holding his bride, Steve Harrington was married.

Harrington and his wife celebrate one month of wedded bliss in the Bahamas. [picture taken 6/5/2022]

The words bump against each other in Eddie’s brain. He’s reread it almost a dozen times now. Hours have gone by since he first saw it… the trail of spilt whiskey and beer cans littering the floor around him as a good indication of how much time has passed. Yet here he sits-- reading— contemplating—- furious. Eyes burning with tears as they slither down, foregoing finding a new path as the river of sorrow is carved deep on his face.

Steve Harrington..

Steve mother fucking Harrington is married.

To a woman.

The hot salt of heavy tears find their way into his mouth as he sobs again and again. His mind trying like hell to reject what is in front of him, the alcohol increasing his wallowing with every drop on his tongue. Steve. The name was bitter as he dialed the number, the monotonous ringing in his ear, praying the other line would answer. He was fragile, hanging on by a thread.

“Hello?” The voice croaked through the line, it was late, too late to be calling, but desperate times…

“R-Robs… I— I can’t— when did he!? — ” his scattered sobs are making talking almost unbearable.

“Oh Eddie, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” as her voice cranes into Eddie’s ear his mind is flooded with memories of Steve Harrington.

—

“Come on, you’re not afraid are you?” Steve said, ripping his shirt off over his head, and climbing the white steps to the high dive at the Hawkins Pool. It was well past open hours at the pool. Street lights danced on the darkened water, the red swishing fabric of Steve’s swim trunks stopped as he bent at the waist to lower down to Eddie’s face. “It’s not scary, I promise.” His lips turned at the corners into a smirk. He was beautiful, angel kisses splattered across his face. Green honeyed eyes the color of the woods, drank him in, enticing him with a flirty gaze. The smell of his carmex and his Farrah Fawcett hairspray lingering as he nudged his nose against Eddie’s cheek and suddenly retreated, tan legs climbing higher up the diving board. Muscles extending, legs bending and jumping as he dove perfectly into the water. The small ripples of water deepening as he came out of the water, whipping his brown locks around and pushing them back on his head. He waited in the deep end for Eddie, silently begging him. Never pushing, but telling him through his eyes, the way his hands swirled in the water, always flirting, that it was okay, to take the leap, indulge in something new.

Eddie had never been with a guy before.

He was unsure of his feelings. Not that he wasn’t pretty or handsome, he went on a few dates but each one ended the same way—he just found he would rather be them than be with them.

Taking that first step up the ladder was solidifying his feelings toward Steve. The weeks of longing glances in Buckley’s basement, going to the movies as friends but feelings erupting so strongly he didn’t know what they meant. The feel of Steve’s pinky finger grazing his as he dipped into the popcorn bowl. His lips covered in buttery salt, a single drop of Dr. Pepper dripping from his chin. Eddie couldn’t turn his eyes away from him. He shoved it down, suppressed it for as long as he could. And now, three months later, in the swelling blistering heat of the summer, Steve showed up to his trailer, daring him to come with him to beat the heat.

Each rung of the ladder, Eddie’s heart skipped in his chest, and it wasn’t from the height. He was about to jump into the unknown. His feet on the poky board, he took a deep breath, the guitar pic chain around his neck rising and falling with the inhales and exhales. Years of trailer park shenanigans led him to the teetering edge without fear, throwing his body forward into a tumble, flipping twice and splashing into the water, his pale form practically glowing under the water. Eyes burning with the sting of the chlorine, a price swimmers in small local pools have been paying for since the pool managers were every bit of sixteen years old. Steve’s tanned legs kicking delicately to keep himself afloat as Eddie popped up behind him, head breaking the surface as Steve laughs. His breathing evening out at the sight of Steve’s smiling face. Stomach fluttering with anticipation as to what was to come next. Steve’s eyes dance over Eddie’s face, locking on his lips as Eddie pokes his tongue out. Steve leans in, hands still swirling beside him. The warmth of his breath fans Eddie’s lips, warming the droplets of pool water. Lips connecting, eyes shut tight, the noise from Steve’s throat surprised Eddie as the kiss deepened, time non-existent in that moment.

“Told you it wasn’t scary,” Steve said, pulling away, splashing Eddie as he swam away. To date, it was the sweetest kiss Eddie had ever received.

-

“Take a deep breath, you’re scaring me.” Robin tried to gain some ground on the other end of the line.

“W-when! Steve, when—did—it?!” Spluttering through the void, phone pressed tight against his face as he sobs. His lungs feeling as if they would collapse from years of smoking.

Robin stutters on the phone, heart racing as she tries to explain, “it happened fast— they met 7 months ago— someone his dad had set him up with, she works in his office.”

The air from his lungs were frozen with shock, the phone tumbled down to his cotton socks as it fell from his grasp.

-

The summer air was thick and heavy, a blanket of humidity covering all of Hawkins. The back doors of the van were pushed open— a slow swirl of smoke drifting out as Eddie laid his head on Steve’s chest. Two pairs of legs hanging out of the back of the van, bare—shucked from denim shorts and black denim jeans. Boxers slung low on pale hips snuggled with boxer briefs on tanned legs tangled together like a twist cone in the darkness of the night. Lips bruised with kisses, hickies splattered across their necks, two lovers laid together. Drinking in the heavy air, breathing in the scent of one another. Every night since the first kiss in the deep end of the closed Hawkins pool, was spent this way. Eddie couldn’t get enough of Steve, he was beautiful to the perfect American boy standard, his lips tasted like milk and honey, sweet and lustfully warm. He brought out the best in Eddie. Sweet giggles shared between a joint, the flick of a lighter against hummed bated breaths against each others cheeks.

“I could stay like this forever,” Steve whispered into Eddie’s hair, kissing the top of his curls as their hands intertwined together, gaudy rings and calloused hands against smooth long fingers.

Eddie smiled into Steve’s chest, sweat coating his cheek. “Forever huh?”

“Doesn’t sound that bad, does it?” Steve cooed, wrapping a dark brown curl through his fingers, relishing in the softness of Eddie’s hair.

“Not at all.”

-

The next day brings little peace to Eddie’s mind. The pounding behind his eyes matches the rumbling in his stomach. He wakes on the carpet in the living room of his small apartment. The comfort of an empty beer can wedged under his waist, drool cold and thick on the corner of his mouth, a leg up on the couch. Sunshine is seeping through the blinds, a warm caress against the floor. He pushes himself into a kneeling position, the room spins as he stands, holding on to furniture and a thrifted standing light as he slinks to the bathroom. A look in the mirror reveals blood shot eyes and hair more than messily askew. He fell asleep in his work clothes, grease rubbed deep into the stains of the coveralls. Two Tylenol between his teeth and lips under the faucet make for the start of easing away the migraine.

He splashed water on his face, cleaning the sleep from his eyes and the drool from his lips, eyes swollen from crying, lips busted and swollen from sucking down beer after beer. A towel against his face dragging slightly on his five o’clock shadow he starts to feel a little better. A scan of the living room reveals the amount of alcohol he went through. Impressive to a frat house maybe but by himself alone? It was borderlining a problem.

He finds his phone on the floor, a long crack from one corner to another, a hairline imperfections. “Fuck,” he breathes to only himself. Unlocking it revealed something Eddie hadn’t wanted to see ever again. A selfie of him and Steve greets him. A costume party at Nancy’s for Jonathan’s birthday when they both dressed as nuns. The habits were tight around their faces. A secret between them both, sealed with love. He swipes up out of the photos app and opens his text messages. The red circle reading ‘10’ has his heart aching. Please dear god don’t let me have texted him, please. That was the last thing Eddie needed, a drunk text to his ex congratulating him on his pretty wife. But alas, karma kept herself in check, the ten texts aren’t from Steve.

9 from Robin and 1 from Jim reading, “hey man, you still sick?”

A quick reply back to Jim saying that he was indeed still sick and that he’d see him on Monday. The 9 looming texts from Robin still remain. He thumbed over her name and read through the walls of text.

Robin had been the only soul to know about Steve and Eddie’s relationship. Not ready to face the world with judgmental stares and harsh words they vowed to keep it private.

Eddie shoots a text to Robin, “I’m ok, just confused, and a little sad.”

8 months.

They had met and decided to get married in 8 months? The paper didn’t say what date they had actually gotten married but if the picture was in June it would have—- it didn’t matter. The timeline was muddy and confusing, Eddie was wondering if it overlapped.

Last time he had seen Steve was 7 months ago in December when he was home for Christmas break.

Surely this was the workings of Mr. Harrington himself. In all the time spent together Steve and Eddie were careful. Not that either of them were ashamed to be who they truly were but Steve’s parents were old school. Traditional in a sense that they were still members of a country club. Old money and the Harrington name ran through their veins and nestled up a grand spot of being somebody in Hawkins, Indiana. However, they were never home.

-

Eddie stayed at Steve’s place almost every weekend.

The domesticated feeling of having someone around made Steve feel wanted, loved, and safe. A feeling he rarely got from his parents.

They’d spend the weekends watching corny movies from the 80’s, perfecting recipes from Pinterest, and listening to Eddie play his acoustic guitar. Nights were spent in each others arms, rotating who was big or little spoon depending on Eddie’s nightmares. They young, dumb and in love. One particular Sunday morning—that would be branded into the flesh of their brains for eternity— Steve had woken up before Eddie. Eyeing the sizable tent in his boxers he decided to wake him up. Eddie could sleep through a house fire, he was all snores and mouth hung open wide. He didn’t feel the tickle of Steve’s knuckles as they coaxed the fabric down his legs, or the warmth of Steve’s mouth against his hardened length— at least not right away. The pool of saliva in Steve’s mouth as he sucked and twirled, adding his hands as Eddie bottomed out into his throat finally woke him up.

“Oh shit, mmm fuck Steve, thought I was dreaming this,” his dreamy muddy eyes latched onto Steve’s as they held hands while Steve devoured him. Their combined soft moans and the slurping noises had them in their own world, they didn’t hear the front door unlock, or the soft carpeted footsteps up to Steve’s room, or the soft knuckles knocking against the oak door. None of that was heard. Just the baritone yelling of Steve’s dad as he witnessed his son, the golden child, light of his life, suck the trailer park trash out of the Munson disgrace.

Fists were swung in every direction, one connecting to the side of Steve’s temple, knocking him out. Eddie clambered off the bed and stood his ground, begging Steve’s dad to take it easy. A second swing of a fist hooked into Eddie’s left eye. The swelling was immediate. Eddie pushed and shoved Steve’s dad with all his might, earning another munch to his mouth, splitting his bottom lip. Shrieking from Steve’s mother at the sight of the blood on Eddie’s face and her son lying lifeless on the floor caused enough of a distraction for Eddie to lock the bedroom door. He dressed himself quickly, throwing on whatever he could and slipping on his converse. Steve started to stir, groaning and throwing up on the carpet, tears flowing from his eyes.

“Steve!” Eddie cried, “we h-have to get out of here.”

Eddie helped Steve dress and he threw open a window, tossing his small duffel bag down to the ground, another bag for Steve. They climbed out of the window, Steve holding onto Eddie for dear life as they lowered themselves to the ground with the help of the tree branches nestled against the house. Eddie drove them to Robin’s. Steve falling in and out of consciousness as they drove. Eddie was pleading and crying for Steve to stay awake, his vision blurring, eyes not looking at the road. “Open your eyes Steve,” Eddie begs, “please, please stay with me!”

Steve opens his eyes slowly, blinking heavily at the boy frantically trying to stay on the road. Eddie's eye was swollen and huge, purpling marks painting his pale skin. Blood drying on his lips. “We’re almost there, babe.” Eddie says sweetly, “ju—just hold on.”

After cleaning Steve up and deciding he didn’t have a concussion, Eddie held him in his arms on the couch, lightly dozing off as Robin made breakfast. “I love you,” Steve whispered into Eddie’s chest. He didn’t hear Eddie’s reply as he slowly drifted to sleep.

-

A knock on the door to his apartment shook him from the daydream. He didn’t realize he had started crying again, the pain of the past weighing heavy on his features. “Come on Eddie, I won’t stop knocking til you open the door, and I’m sure I could find your building manager and tell him I smell gas so he has to let me in!”

The door swings open to reveal a lanky tall girl, freckles sporting her face in various patterns, her blue eyes gleaming as her smile fades at the sight of Eddie.

“Jesus Munson,” she berates, “you sure you’re alright?”

Their bellies full of McDonald’s breakfast and coffee that Robin had made in the keurig she had gifted Eddie for Christmas but was never opened, Eddie finally speaks, “thanks for this,” he gestures with the greasy McMuffin wrapper snug in his grip and the coffee tight to his lips.

“And uh— I’m sorry about last night— I was— shocked.”

The warmth of Robin’s hand on Eddie’s shoulder is comforting as she rubs gently, “Honestly, I was shocked too. Last I knew, he was excited to see you over Christmas break— I had no idea you weren’t together until a month ago when he called me.”

Eddie let out a large breath feeling his shoulders sag as he picked at his nails, “yeah, well things really changed after he went to college.” A single tear slides down his face, “he was— I’ve never loved, or been loved, by someone like that before, y’ know?” Eddie shoved the heels of his palms into his eyes, his vision clouded with tears and blackness. “I th-thought— God— ” he murmurs, pushing down the sobs, “I thought he loved me.”

-

Eddie made the day special, started off with a matinee and the same treats they had shared all those long months ago. They ordered from Enzo’s and ate under the stars on the top of Eddie’s van, lanterns lighting the plastic forks as they twirled rogue spaghetti noodles into each other's hungry mouths. The conversation was light, talking about the weather and the new tiktoks that were popular that week. He wasn’t sure when, but something had changed with Steve, he was quieter than normal. The light caring attitude he usually wore was now replaced with turned in eyebrows and nodding along to almost everything Eddie had said.

“Okay, what’s going on babe?” Eddie had asked, placing his fork down a little harder than he had expected, “you usually love the garlic bread and you haven’t even touched it.”

Steve’s eyes were turned downward, “nothing Eddie, I’m fine, just not that hungry.”

Eddie almost believed him, “don’t lie to me, Harrington, you forget how well I know you,” he nudged his shoulder with his own, “come on, you can tell me.”

Steve’s eyes spring with tears as he looks into the soft brown of Eddie’s, “I don’t want to leave you.” His shoulders shake as Eddie pulls him close and hugs him tight, his lips on his neck, kissing delicately at the small beauty marks that make up a vast majority of Steve’s skin. He moves his forehead to lean against Steve’s, the smell of spaghetti sauce on his tongue as he kisses him softly, holding his cheeks.

“I’m not going anywhere, I’ll be here, every break— every weekend you want to come home— I’ll be right here, forever.” He slips the guitar pic necklace off his head and places it around Steve’s neck. “Can’t get rid of me, that easy lover boy.”

Steve leans in and locks his lips with Eddie’s, tears fell from both of their eyes as their tongues dance together. “Come on, I’ve got one more place to bring you.”

The short drive to the Hawkins pool was filled with sniffles and holding hands, Eddie occasionally bringing Steve’s knuckles to his lips to kiss them each softly. They both get out and jump the fence, stripping down to their underwear and climbing the high dive. Steve dives in first and then Eddie.

“I brought you to all our firsts.” Eddie says proudly, wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck. “The first time I realized I was attracted to you was at the movie theater, you had Dr. Pepper dripping off your chin. Eddie kisses the same spot the soda had clung on Steve’s chin. And here,” he says, waving his arm around, “was our first kiss, and where I realized I wasn’t afraid to be myself anymore.”

Pain breaks across Steve’s face but he shoves it down for this one last night with Eddie before he moves to college in the morning. He smiles and kisses him. “I love you, Eddie Munson.” Steve purrs into Eddie’s neck.

“And I love you, Steve Harrington.”

-

Eddie had spent the majority of the day looking through old pictures and teaching himself sad songs on his guitar. Writing down his feelings were the only thing that helped ward off the hell of what Steve had put him through. The pen moved feverishly against the scratchy composite notebook he kept. Words flowing through him fluidly like a river against the bedrock. He allowed himself to think of that night. The last time he saw Steve Harrington.

-

The first week Steve was at school, it was almost as if he never left. He FaceTimed Eddie every chance he got, showing him around the campus, all the cool places to eat and his dorm room. Eddie would excitedly gaze through the screen at him, working on a car simultaneously. Jim’s Auto had taken him on and paid for his night classes for a diesel mechanic degree. He was happy for Steve, excited to hear all about the things he was experiencing. The texts from Steve got more and more scarce. Nightly FaceTime calls were few and far between. Eddie knew Steve had made new friends at college and he was happy for him. Happy that Steve was going to make something of himself and prove his dad wrong. But the sick inkling feeling that Steve had moved on all came to a halt when Christmas break arrived and Steve’s maroon BMW was parked in front of Eddie’s apartment complex on the north side of town. He was leaning against his door, a cigarette tucked between his teeth and the light blue denim of his jeans pressed against the door.

“Damn you’re a sight for sore eyes,” Eddie grins, as he reaches out for a hug. Steve hugs him cautiously, a feeling that is not reciprocated back as the bear hug Eddie has him in traps the air in his lungs. “Fuck, I missed you.” Eddie speaks into Steve’s neck. Kissing him feverishly.

Steve slinks away from him and grabs a duffle bag out of his trunk. “You too, Munson.” He says shyly, slinging the bag over his shoulder. A pained smirk upon his face. The toe of his Nikes kicking a small rock as they walked into the building, and up the stairs. The smell of fresh paint in the hallways and salt rock for icy sidewalks fills their noses.

“So I thought,” Eddie said, unlocking his front door and flicking the lights on, “we could order a pizza and maybe rewatch ‘You’ before the new season comes out in February. How does that sound?”

“Yeah man, that sounds great— but I’m only gonna be here for a little bit.” Steve says, eyes casted downward.

The air sharpened in Eddie’s chest as he froze, one hand still on the knob. “What do you mean, you’re only here for a little bit?” A look of concern painted on his face, as his eyebrows knit together. “Wh-what’s going on Steve?”

Steve adjusts his weight, hands on his hips as his eyes bore holes into the carpet, “listen man, I don’t want to make this harder than it already is.”

Eddies breath quickens, furious tears splash from his lashes, “I fucking knew it,” he spits, wiping a ringed hand down his face, “ya know what?” he says angrily, opening the door and holding it wide open, “just go, I don’t need a sorry fucking excuse about why you can’t do this anymore or how hard long distance is.”

“Eddie..” Steve tries.

“Get the fuck out.”

Steve steps around Eddie and leaves silently. Eddie doesn’t hear the sobs from Steve’s car as he drives away. The duffle bag full of Eddie’s belongings, including the guitar pic necklace, still sitting by the door.

-

Not wanting to let the boys down, Eddie goes along with the gig on Saturday. Corroded Coffin worked their way from Tuesday nights at the Hideout to Saturday nights, the bar was sticky hot and packed full of co eds home for summer break and trying to let loose. Gareth was a senior now while Jeff and Barry graduated with Eddie. Still doing covers but now venturing into turning pop hits into metal ballads, Corroded Coffin had become a regular house name, even booking gigs during the week out town.

Dustin had begged Steve to bring him to the bar, claiming the bartender wouldn’t card him if Steve was with him. Steve agreed, knowing that Eddie’s band only played on Tuesday nights. He hadn’t talked to him since that cold December night. In fact his entire life had changed. He finished his first semester of college and started working for his dad over the summerI, and that’s where he met you. His dad had been bothering him about the cute receptionist at work for months. Basically ever since he got to school. When he came home for one weekend weeks before Halloween, he had met you. You were pretty no doubt, a beautiful smile and witty humor, laying your charm heavily on the boss’ son in hopes to swoon him. And normally— any other boy would have jumped at the chance, following you around like a puppy dog.

But you weren’t Eddie.

That night at the country club with one too many rounds of scotch between Steve and his dad, Mr. Harrington promised Steve the world and more, taking over the family business, a personal jet to fly him wherever he wanted, all Steve had to do was agree to date the receptionist. Steve jumped at the chance to embarrass his father, he couldn’t wait to tell Eddie about it, how rich they would be, the trips they could go on, the house they could buy. But Steve never got that chance.

The bar was dim lit and stench filled. It smelled exactly like he had remembered. Remembering it was almost an entire year since he had last set foot here. The way Eddie’s bangs clung to his forehead as he sang to Metallica’s “Wherever I May Roam”. The muscles in his arm worked overtime as he strummed along with his guitar. God Steve had loved him.

“Two, no three Bud Lights please!” Dustin said as he sauntered over to the bar, head held high and a bravado to his voice. “Sorry, did you guys want something?” He grinned, all squinty and toothy— finally— his curls bouncing under his ball cap.

“Captain and Coke for me,” Steve began, “and Coke for the lady,” he says, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Thought I’d surprise you, I wasn’t sure if he told you or not!” Dustin gushed, one beer already have gone, suds spilled on his lips.

Steve’s brows furrowed, “who told me what Dustin?”

“Hey everyone thanks for coming out, I’m Eddie, and we are Corroded Coffin!”

Steve’s blood ran cold. His breath hitched into his chest as he watched an excited Dustin raise three beers into the air and yell along with the crowd. “This is great isn’t it!?” He yelled as Eddie’s guitar shredded to life, Gareth hot on the drums as “For Whom The Bell Tolls” blared through the small bar.

“Babe,” you said into Steve’s ear, “you know this band?” Your smile could melt the polar ice caps. Sweet, endearing and your sparkling eyes were glistening.

Tongue stuck to his cheek Steve fumbled over his words, “y-yeah, they were uh— big in our school.” Steve explains hurriedly.

“You’re forgetting your best friend is the lead singer!” Dustin’s says guzzling down more beer and banging his head to the beat.

“Best friend?” You ask Dustin, “I thought we met all of your friends earlier, Steve?”

“Haven’t seen each other in awhile— kinda drifted apart.” Steve faltered. Eyes glued to the lead singer as Dustin pulled you and Steve closer to the front of the stage.

Eddie looked exactly the same, months apart did him well, he looked stronger, the muscles in his arms bigger, his hair longer and healthier. Tattoos riddled his arms. Steve was mesmerized. Entranced by his beauty. It took six songs for Eddie to finally see Steve. And when he did he shook his head and punched his tongue practically through his cheek. “Thank you, this next one goes out to all the people who have ever gotten their shit rocked by a breakup.”

Adele’s lyrics cut deeper than any kitchen knife could puncture.

“I heard that you've settled down and that you found a girl and you’re married now.”

Steve’s stomach dropped, he knew this was meant for him to hear. Eddie’s eyes never wavered from Steve’s as he sang. The hurt of a year's worth of memories stretching from his chocolate eyes across the bar to Steve’s honeyed green ones. The memories of Eddie curled into Steve’s side as they slept in his bed, the way Eddie’s hair looked in the morning after Steve convinced him to put rollers in it. The way Eddie danced in the kitchen after making mac n cheese. His lips, the way they curved around his neck and his hands in his hair. Every emotion, every memory all at once, hit Steve like a freight train.

“I love Adele,” you said into Steve’s shoulder as watched Dustin wipe tears with the back of his hand, six beers deep and he was in rough shape.

“G-gotta pee,” Steve stuttered, squeezing your hand and walking to the bathrooms. Eddie sang the rest of the song and announced they were taking a quick break. Pushing his way to the bathrooms where Steve stood, hovering over the sink tears pouring from his eyes.

“Old friend, why do you look so shy?” Eddie hissed. “What’s the matter big boy, didn’t like the song?” Venom in his voice as his words stung into Steve’s heart.

“I didn’t know you were playing tonight otherwise I wouldn’t have came.” Steve blubbered, “Dustin wanted to surprise me.” He said, wiping his eyes with his shirt. The shine of a ring on his left hand made Eddie’s gut twist.

“Well I’m glad you weren’t the only one surprised this week.” Eddie said, crossing his arms over his chest, “please tell me this is a sick fucking joke— first I see about in the goddamn Hawkins post and the next day you both show up to see Corroded Coffin?! Real fuckin low Steve, even for you.” Eddie makes to leave but Steve crosses the dirty bathroom floor and follows him out. Where he runs right into you.

“Oh there you are,” you smile widely at Steve, “oh honey, are you sick?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and tries to leave, “I’m y/n, by the way, it’s so nice to meet more of Steve’s friends!” Eddie spins on his heel and faces you.

“Eddie,” he says holding out a hand and smiling a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes, he looks down and that’s when he notices.

You’re pregnant.

“Hope we’ll see you at the baby shower tomorrow,” you exclaimed, “excuse me, gotta dash to the ladies.” You step around the wide eyed metal head opening the ladies bathroom door and shutting it.

Fresh tears swell in Eddie’s eyes as his lip quivers. He looks to the ceiling and swallows roughly, choking back a sob. “Well isn’t that nice?” he rasps, tears threatening to spill over. Pushing past Steve he walks out the back door to his van, kicking the tires and throwing himself down on the ground, his back leaned against the front tire as Steve makes his way out of the back door.

Steve approached with caution, breath tight in his chest, “Can we talk, please? Like adults? Eddie, I didn't want to hurt you!” He begged.

“Didn’t want to? Or didn’t care about hurting me?” Because the Steve Harrington I know wa—wasn’t, oh who gives a fuck anyway?”

“Eddie please! Jesus Christ I’m trying to explain what happened!”

“What happened is that you are married!” Eddie mourned, tears flowing steady now, “To a woman, and she’s having your baby— and by the looks of it she’s pretty fucking far along! Seven? Eight months?”

Steve’s arms are crossed and he’s crying as he nods, brown tufts of hair glistening in the setting sun, “why do you think I came to visit you over Christmas break? I was trying to tell you then, but you kicked me out!”

Eddie’s head is in his hands as he shakes his head.

“It didn’t— goddamnit, we were drunk, we had gone on a date and we got hammered, the next thing I knew I was balls deep and coming inside of her. She wouldn’t get the morning after pill, and she works for my dad, which is how I’m in this mess to begin with. H—He told me that if I were to date her that he’d give me the business, jets, cars, anything I’d wanted, don’t you see Eddie!?” Steve lowered himself down to his level and put his hands on his knees, “I did it for us!” Steve’s eyes are pleading with Eddie’s as he looks at the moss colored eyes. “We can be free.”

Eddie peels his head away from hands, a look of shock on his face, “You’re fucking joking right? You got a girl knocked up, married her all because your dad promised you a fucking jet?” His eyes were red and angry as he pushed himself up. His tongue pressed to his cheek and his fists balled tight. “Go back to your wife, Steve.”

“Eddie, wait.”

“Get. The fuck. Away from me.” Eddie says, pushing Steve hard in the chest with every word. “You traded what we had for the promise of money, and rich bullshit. I never wanted any of that! I only wanted you!” Eddie lands one last shove into Steve, sending him to the ground, he wincing at the pain from the concrete, “You made your bed, now lie in it.” Eddie spat at Steve’s body laying on the ground and stomped back inside, the sound of his boots echoing against the brick building.

Years have gone by and the two lovers never crossed paths again. Eddie had heard through Robin and Dustin that Steve and his wife had four or five kids, he couldn’t remember. He took over his dads business and resided on the golf course in Hawkins, trophy wife and beautiful kids in tow living their life of luxury. Eddie and Corroded Coffin toured around America, even a short stint in Europe. No matter how many women he buried himself in, the staggering amount of mind altering drugs he consumed on an hourly basis— the pick necklace still hung around his neck as a reminder of the year under the stars with Steve Harrington.

[nariaein]

Some of My Scrapped Punkflower Fics Pt. 2

Exactly what the title says, but I don't want to let these go to waste

Hobie is exhausted.

He tiptoes, softly closing the door behind him, but a quick scan of the dorm room tells him he needn’t have bothered. Gwen isn’t in her bed — in fact, there are the faint sounds of water hitting tiles, coming from the washroom. Showering, then.

Not too bad an idea, especially after a grueling media ethics class. It’s already well into the evening, so he sets his messenger bag on his bed and calls, “Don’t use all of the hot water!” His roommate yells back a vague affirmative.

Hobie’s stomach growls, and he goes to check the fridge. Empty, as usual, save for a muffin from the dining hall. A search through the cupboards comes up with two cups of instant noodles.

It’s not exactly hearty, but it’ll do.

They eat on crisscross on the carpet, splitting the muffin. Gwen’s hair is dripping wet and smells like coconut shampoo. She spends most of it on her phone typing, probably the paper for their shared journalism class, one Hobie doesn’t even have a thesis for yet. It’s due the day after tomorrow. He might have to copy hers.

“Have the people next door finished moving in?” He asks instead.

She looks up. “Nope,” she says, popping the P. “I can’t believe they’re doing it in the middle of the year.”

Their dorm manager said one of them was an exchange student from India, like Hobie from England, and the other was simply moving campuses to be closer to home for the holidays. They would all have to start sharing the washroom soon.

He shrugs, deciding to leave it at that, all the while hoping for the best.

Later, hot water raining down on his lithe form, Hobie thinks he’s still a bit hungry. Frankly, it’s a familiar feeling — heavy limbs and a full-but-not-quite stomach — but there’s not much to do about it, other than mentally make a grocery list for tomorrow, dry off, then succumb to sleep.

The next day, Hobie is able to buy pasta, sauce, mushrooms, and milk. He has to forgo anything fancy, like olive oil or cheese, to not go over budget. He figures he’ll have dinner ready for Gwen when her psychology class ends in fifteen minutes. The pasta is boiling, and he’s jotting down his thesis when there’s a knock on the door.

He doesn’t know who he expects. Definitely not the cutest boy he’s ever seen.

And yet.

Dark curls frame wide amber eyes and a soft, curved nose. It’s slightly pink from the cold, even in the warm hall. Full lips, shiny with what must be spit, slightly part as if in surprise Hobie opened the door so fast. One hand rises in a tentative wave. Hobie immediately wants to hold it.

“I’m Miles,” the beautiful boy says. “We just moved in here. Figured we’d say hi.”

Only then does Hobie realize there’s another person. “Pavitr,” he introduces himself. In his hands are reusable grocery bags, packed to the brim.

“Brilliant. I’m Hobie.”

Pavitr peeks over his shoulder. “What’ve you got cooking, Hobie?”

“Oh. Um, just pasta.”

“Just pasta?” His eyes are lit with a fire difficult to name. “What about sauce? Vegetables?”

This strangely feels like an interrogation. “Mushrooms. And um…” What was it again? “Alfredo.”

“Is that it? We’ve got garlic and onions — let us help.”

Suddenly Pavitr pushes past him in the doorway, Miles close behind. “Sorry,” the latter says, not at all sounding like it, but the smile on his face dissipates all of Hobie’s qualms. “He loves to cook.”

That much is obvious in the way Pavitr moves about the kitchen, especially in one as small as theirs, confident and fluid. He skillfully eyeballs the amount of milk and olive oil — where did that come from? — in the sauce and readily makes use of both their groceries.

Miles is no different. Mincing the garlic and sautéing the onions takes him little effort. He tosses the delicately sliced mushrooms into the mix, and adds the finishing touches: shredded parmesan, basil, and spinach.

It’s easily the best thing Hobie has ever eaten. His hunger from yesterday is nothing more than distant memory, a near forgotten ache in lieu of rich cream, fresh herbs, and perfectly chewy fettuccine. He cleans his plate and Pavitr and Miles gracefully leave the leftovers when they retire to their own dorm.

Needless to say, Hobie is smitten.

This one I will possibly finish, but I got really hungry writing it

Both Hobie and Gwen are journalism majors

[lookofhisoceaneyes]

**The Best of the Best: Must-Read Fanfiction Gems**

4/4

Merlin (TV) Fandom:

1.A Modern Manservant by Mamalazzer

A Modern Manservant - Chapter 1 - Mamalazzer - Merlin (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

modern magical comedy very loosely based on Ugly Betty. Publishing king Uther Pendragon has had enough of his playboy son seducing every female assistant he has ever had so he hires Merlin, a man he is sure Arthur will never sleep with. Merlin would be more insulted by this fact if he wasn’t so busy trying to juggle his duties, save Arthur's skin from ruthless fashionistas and keep his magic a secret at the same time. Expect appearances by oil-lathered knights, the occasional mad druid, a perverted Will and a mental caretaker who lives in the basement and keeps harping on about coins and destiny.

—

Main Ship: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon

I enjoyed it so much. Prat Arthur. Modern AU and more. definitely worth it !

2. Where I'm Meant To Be by WhiteRoseCottage

Where I'm Meant To Be - Chapter 1 - WhiteRoseCottage - Merlin (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

The silhouette is backlit from the headlights on the Mini Cooper and he’s maybe hit his head harder than he thought because it almost looks like…

“Merlin?”

And Merlin feels as though his heart is exploding in his chest because that voice and his real name and as he looks up...the golden hair reflected in the light from the car.

Arthur Pendragon is standing, completely starkers, in the middle of the road leading up to Lake Avalon.

Main Ship: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon

The Reunion we all wanted and so beautifully written. 

Challengers (Movie 2024) Fandom:

You haven't seen Challengers yet? Well then it's about time if you like a poly ship. Even if the film doesn't show as much of the three-way relationship as you'd hope, I'm sure the three of them have pulled themselves together and found a solution at the end. The camera work and the dialogue alone should convince you that this is a good film. (even if the reviews aren't that great, I thought the film was fantastic).

1. risorgimento by loverism

risorgimento - Chapter 1 - loverism - Challengers (Movie 2024) [Archive of Our Own]

Art runs away. Patrick chases.

—

Main Ship: Art Donaldson/Tashi Donaldson/Patrick Zweig

This was exactly what I needed after the film. Nothing against the film but the ending was very open and they wrapped it up really well. The fic stayed true to the characters, could have happened in the film as well.

2. Homemakers by californianNostalgia

Homemakers - californianNostalgia - Challengers (Movie 2024) [Archive of Our Own]

Nicki is unfortunate enough to be present when the Donaldsons show up as an allied pair of blindingly hot jilted exes laser-focused on her depressing mess of a tennis instructor.

Alternate title: My ‘Patrick Zweig wins a Grand Slam’ Agenda. (Outsiders POV.)

—

Main Ship: Art Donaldson/Tashi Donaldson/Patrick Zweig

I love Outsiders POV. And this sums the whole Relationship perfectly up.

3. a romantic fool by spqr

a romantic fool - spqr - Challengers (Movie 2024) [Archive of Our Own]

And Tashi spits back, “She’s not yours, Art. She’s Patrick’s.”

Art just laughs. “You think I don’t know she’s fucking Patrick’s?”

—

Main Ship: Art Donaldson/Tashi Donaldson/Patrick Zweig

Lily as a character is so cute, but she has very little screentime. What if Patrick finds out that he has more in common with her than he thinks?

The Boys (TV) Fandom:

the boys is a series that not everyone likes. If only because it's so bloodthirsty, but I love the series. All the side-swipes etc. Karl Urban as Billy Butcher does things to me. (And yes I have a relatively healthy relationship with my dad). Hughie/Butcher as a relationship would be a disaster on the show (especially in the newer seasons), but hopefully we can all agree that Hughie had a slight crush on Butcher in the beginning. That's why there are a couple of fics here that I think are great and are mostly more AUs.

1.Black Coffee by aishahiwatari

Black Coffee - Chapter 1 - aishahiwatari - The Boys (TV 2019) [Archive of Our Own]

Hughie really needs this job.

And, okay, he wants his boss to need him too.

—

Main Ship: Billy Butcher/Hughie Campbell

just read it. I love coffeeshop fics and Butcher as a grumpy owner. 

2. A candle in the window on a cold dark winter's night by SatsumaSegments

A candle in the window on a cold dark winter's night - Chapter 1 - SatsumaSegments - The Boys (TV 2019) [Archive of Our Own]

‘Has anybody else noticed that Hughie and Butcher are in love with each other?’

‘D’you think they’re planning on telling us? Or were we just meant to work it out?’

‘Oh, fuck. Guys. What if they haven’t worked it out?’

—

Main Ship: Billy Butcher/Hughie Campbell

Who doesn't love a little “didn't know they were dating?”

3. (Bad)? Neighbours by MotherFuckingSorcery

(Bad)? Neighbours - Chapter 1 - MotherFuckingSorcery - The Boys (TV 2019) [Archive of Our Own]

Hughie knows nothing about the new neighbour, apart from the fact that he’s aggressively good looking. He’s all dark crisp lines and danger emanates from him like a cloud.

“Billy Butcher,” he says, with some kind of cockney accent, shaking his hand with an overly firm handshake.

Hughie arches an eyebrow.

“Is that a nickname?” he says.

The alliteration and the general violence of the name does not generally bode well for the safety of Hughie’s hand and other body parts.

“Something like that,” says Butcher, with a feral grin that has just a touch too many teeth in it.

—

Main Ship: Billy Butcher/Hughie Campbell

I love scary Butcher and Sassy Hughie. 

Okay, that's it for now. I also have a few other fics from other fandoms (for example Hannibal or Fresh (Movie) and different  Ships but I think that's enough for now.

[igotlostinthesewers]

Some Type Of Drug

Chapter 1: Ninja what, now?

Pairng: Leonardo x Reader

Reader Type: Gender neutral

Song: Free fall- Rainbow Kitten Surprise

Word Count:3046

Warnings: Swearings. Fighting. Blood mentions.

An: First fic for the fandom lol. It's been a while. So here's me dipping my toe in the water to see what's up. Any feedback is appreciated! Also I went through like. Three different one shot ideas until I landed on this one lol.

"If someone is cruel to you because of your soft disposition and generosity, respond to their poison with equal parts sweet honey, equal parts dangerous ferocity."

-Nikita Gill.

To have thought you would trade towering trees for sky scrapers and thick forests for crowds of people. New York was beyond new, beyond strange, for someone who has spent an entire life in quiet mountains and within a small town.

All the same you are here now. The last of your furniture moved into an apartment that seems so small compared to your old home.

You had moved almost a month ago. The small town that had once brought you comfort was now suffocating. People who you have known since childhood smothering you in well wishes and worries.

Don't get it wrong. You were forever grateful to them and all your friends. But enough had been enough. You had to shed the old. To shake of the heavy coat of lingering sadness.  

For what you did not know. But the not knowing was a greater feeling that the smothering sickness that had been depression. It was still there. Longering. But no longer was it the only thing you felt.

The torrential downpour happening outside is some soft of familiarity though. As is the incense slowly wafting around the room. The scent of dragons blood and vanilla heavy in your lungs.

The oil in your skillet spits and spatters around the chicken you are frying. Foam bubbles over the potatoes boiling in their pot. Behind you you can hear the timer on your rice cooker beep.The steaming broccoli is done.

.

.

Not for the first time you find yourself sitting on your bed with your knees drawn to your chest. Night time is the worst. Were there is nothing to distract you from your thoughts.

You look out your window and to the city alight. The blurred lights from other apartments and cars flying through the streets are little distraction. As pretty as they are. The sky is dark and heavy. Full to bursting with blackness from the rain clouds. 

The last of your incense darkens, ashens, then falls to the tray below.

You to fall. Head cradled with pillows. Your heart heavy and throat tight.

.

.

You are woken to your alarm blaring and your cat angrily meowing. He was hungry and you were still tired. 

Knowing that if you laid beneath the covers, warmed by your body, any longer you would once again succumb to the pull of sleep. Instead you threw the covers off with one arm. Chilled air forced a shiver from your body.

You sit up. Stretch. Then go to fill up your cats dish.

It was five in the morning when you glanced at the clock. You had work at seven.

You sat near a cracked open window. A hot cup of coffee in one hand and a smoldering cigarette in the other. A bad habit you had yet to break. Worsened by the growing stress in your life. You had almost quite once. A few years ago. Only smoking once in a blue moon. But when they. 

When you had gotten the news..

Cold air cut through the growing warmth in your home. The only light to be had is the overhead oven light and the soft reddish glow from the rising sun. Just creasting over tall gray buildings.

You contemplate making a quick breakfast as you watch your cat, Zeki, eat his own. In the end you don't. Only drinking another cup of coffee before taking a quick shower.

You are pulling on your shoes when you phone bings.

New message from :All Star:

:U Up?:

It was lucas. Your oldest friends since your diaper days and the only one who had supported your decision to move to New York.

You are quick to type back. :Ya. Whats up?" You set the phone down to finish tying your shoe. Gently moving Zeki when he decides to use your laces as a toy. It is only after you toss his favorite toy mouse towards the couch does he leave you be.

Your phone dings again.

:Not much. Just checking in. I know how you can be.: Then another. :Coffee isnt breakfast either. Eat something.: At this you laugh. Mostly just a rush of air and a shake of your head. But a laugh all the same.

You are quick to type back. :You my mom or something? Lol. But ya. Ill grab some at work.: You hit send. Then type another. :I'll even send a pic as proof: You pause a moment. Type another message. :Thanks. Ya know. You've.: You delete it then. :Good luck with the football game. Ya?:

He sent back a thumbs up emoji. Someone, most likely his girlfriend, had stolen his attention.

You pocket your phone. Along with the rest of your cigarettes, earbuds, wallet, and house keys. You then pull at your basket of clean clothes to find a jacket to wear.

.

.

Public transport is the bane of your existence, you decide. You probably had a bruise on your ribs now. That kid kicked you pretty damn hard. It was an accident. One that you could excuse, being a victim of restless leg syndrome yourself. The kid had been asleep when it happened. Their head laying on their fathers lap and sprawled across the middle seat. The dad had apologized profusely as another kid, slightly older and most likely an older sibling, giggled like a maniac.

You had shrugged it off and told him not to worry. At this he had relaxed. Apparently it had not been the first time it had happened and if you had to wager a guess, most were not as accepting about it as you were.

.

You worked in a caffe as a barista. The place was ran by the same people who had opened it in the fifties. The two of them had been the only out of a handful of places that you had applied to that had been willing to hire you.

You were close to getting a job as a car mechanic. But in the end flesh and blood won out over your own extensive background in that field. 

So, here you were, calloused hands making simple black coffee to some of the most labour intensive frapps you didn't know even existed.

"Y/N!" A young voice called out. Helen, one of the store owners granddaughters, came running from behind the table in the back room as you entered. 

You are hit with the dark scent of coffee only leveled out by light pastries and sweetened strawberries.

Small arms wrap around your leg and you chuckle. Patting the top of her purple dyed head as you said hello. Only to laugh harder when she pulls you towards the table she had been sitting at.

Mrs. Helen, the elderly woman the young girl was named for, was quick to point you to a seat. She pushed a plate of fried eggs and toast towards you along with a cup of rich coffee.

They, being Mrs.Helen and Mr.Paris, lived just upstairs. You accept the plate from her with a smile. And true to your word you snap a pic off to Lucas.

"That friend of yours is a good one." Mrs. Helen tells you with a wave of her spatula. You say nothing but nod. If anything he was to good for you. You felt as if he had done far more for you than you ever could for him.

"I get to help today!" Helen spoke up beside you with a mouthful of jam covered toast. She had broken you from the start of a bad train of thought.

"That so?" You ask her. Your rings clink against the dark ceramic cup as you lift it to your lips. "With what?" You follow up. Catching droplets of coffee off your lips with your tongue.

"With cleanup!" The young girl practically vibrates off her worn chair. Her pink tutu flouncing up and down with every jump she makes. "Papa said for every table I do I get five dollars!" She holds out her hand with a toothy grin. Only to look down as jam falls and lands on her metallica shirt.

"Aww man." Both you and her grandmother laugh.

"C'mon baby. Let's go get you cleaned up." With that you are left alone to finish your food and coffee. You are quick to clean your cup and plate when you hear Mr.Paris unlock the front door.

Shedding your jacket you pull on your powdered blue apron embroidered with white roses. Mrs. Helen had made it specifically for your. Favorite color and all. 

You finish tying it and made your way to the register in time for you to see Bill, a regular, come in. 

"Heya Bill. What can I get ya today?" The man smiles.

"The usual chai tea, although the husband wants to try those creampuff's you've been making." With that your day had begun.

.

.

Your day ended at five. It would have ended an hour or two earlier if you hadn't insisted on helping with all the dishes and helping Mr.Paris fix a few odds and ends.

All ready the sky was darkenning. The horizon pulling away the sun and spitting back the moon. You on the other hand were ready to truly curse out your luck for today. You do utter a curse when you step into yet another puddle. The water soaking your already wet jeans. All because you were pretty sure you had pisssed off some deity that day, you had missed your bus.

So here you were. Taking some back alley shortcut in the dying light just to get home. All of it against your better judgment. And truly you shouldn't have. Mad deity and all.

You had stopped to light a cigarette. Covered from the rain from a building overhang when you first heard it. The soft push and pull of something or someone breathing. You follow through with lighting your cigarette before pulling your earbud out. If it was someone you didn't want to let on that you had heard them.

You pull in a lungful of smoke. Blowing it out as you stepped away from your little alcove.

Whoever it was din not wait long and you are quick to throw your elbow back. Twisting and turning as your assailant continued to attack you.

Now don't get it wrong. You can throw a mean punch. Having taken boxing classes throughout your life and well. Mostly schoolyard brawls. But this person was bigger and clearly more skilled than you were. It was shown for every duck and weave for every hard hit you threw. 

Their palm makes contact with your nose when you make the briefest pull down with your hands. You are sent stumbling back. One hand held to your now bleeding, and hopefully not broken, nose.

"The fuck you want!" YOu snarl out. Tasting and feeling your own blood on your lips. You couldn't see. There was no light save for a flickering streetlight at the far end of the alley. Your groan as the rain begins anew. A heavy down pour seeming to almost slam against your heavily breathing body.

The person, now two, points at you. Speaking in a language you don't understand. You bare your teeth at them. Only to bend down, eyes still one them, to pick up a piece of busted pipe.

You point the sharp end at them. Taking in their strange and dark gear. It blends to well into the night. "English asshole." They look to each other. Then to you.

"You will tell us where the ninja turtles are." You take a step back for their step forward.

"The ninja-" You shake your head. "You tweaking asshole?" The smaller one broke off in a rapid fire speech then.

Smacks the taller one upside the head. "You have the wrong one idiot!"

"How was I to know!"

"Maybe by actually making sure it was O'niel or Jones!" The smaller one pointed at you. "And now we have to neutralize them." Oh screw that and everything else about these two.

You are quick to run. Knowing when and where to pick a fight. And this was not one you could when. Maybe through sheer brute force. But they have skill and you are running out of stamina. Despite your head start the two are quicker than you, The bigger of the two bodily grabbing you from behind.

The pipe falls from your hand and you throw your head back while stomping your heal down. You hiss in pain as the back of your head makes contact with hard metal. 

Mostly out of instinct you lift your legs up and kick at the smaller person. Using them to springboard backwards and heaving a breath when both you and your captor fall. 

You are quick to your feet. Faster than them both. You walk backwards. Fists held close to your face. Elbows tucked to guard your body. You swallow thickly when you realize that you are going to have to hold your ground. You taste blood in the back of your throat.

This was the worse case of wrong place wrong time you have every been in.

Your two assailants are rising to their feet and began running towards you. You spit and steel yourself. Feet shifting on the rain soaked concrete as you widen your stance and tuck your chin.

Only to watch the two skid to a stop. Something. Someone was behind you. Some a lot taller than you. Once again you throw your arm back. Terrified that more had come. Only to have a large hand, far to big for a normal person, catch your arm. Holding it in place with ease. Despite the light touch your could tell. You just knew, that there was far more strength behind that grip than they let on. Your heart touched your feet.

"Enough." They. Him. He speaks. Curt and to the point. Cutting through the cold air. "Leave them alone. They have no part in this." You could feel warmth radiate off of him in waves. Could feel his chest bump against your back. Or was it his waist? His knees bumped against the back of your thighs leaving you to wonder just how tall he was.

The two look to you. To a point well above your head. Then turn an run. Leaving you alone to deal with whoever this was.

"I'm going to let you go now. Don't freak out." True to his word he lets you go. You take a step forward and turn.

You do nothing. Say nothing as you take in the person in front of you. The rain beating down on you both as you just. Stare.

Their body is large and imposing, Scars litter the exsposed.Skin? Of his arms. Thick legs, far larger than both your own, are covered in dark jeans and bits of padded armour. His three fingered hands are wrapped. Just like how you do just before you begin boxing. In one hand is a katana. The iconic sword recognizable damn near anywhere.

He shifts and you lift your gaze to his face. A blue bandana hangs over even bluer eyes. They take you in. Scan you over. His tongue darts over his lips. Capturing the rain water trailing down his face. In a fluid movement he sheaths his sword.

He steps forwards. You step back.

"Afraid?" He asks and you snort. Immediately you regretted that. Pain flares from the center of your face. A new trail of blood followed the bath of the old.

"Nervous? Ya. Afraid? Hardly." You tell him. Using your fingers to smear away the blood. He hands you a pale blue rag. When you don't make an immediate move to take it he places it in your hand then brings it up to your still bleeding nose.

Why was he helping you? What did he want?

"Most are." He tells you. "Why not you?" You shrug. Body shaking as the adrenaline slowly leaves you.

"You haven't hurt me." You look to the ground. To him. Capturing his gaze with your own. "Don't think you're going to either." You pull the bloodied rag away. "Are you. Mr. Ninja Turtle."

Turtle indeed. If the green skin and large turtle shell is anything to go by.

"Thank you." You tell him. And  you meant it. He looks almost surprised. It flickers for the briefest moments before he schools his features. He nods. Looks away. Hands clenching at his sides.

"You live nearby? I'll make sure nothing else happens until you get home." At this you chuckle. One brow arched as you nodded you head.

"You trying to get at something Bruce Lee?" You laugh at the look on his face until he to, laughs. It is soft and light. It brings a flicker of warmth you have yet to feel in a long time. Just as quickly it is gone. Cold has gone your heart. And heavy is your chest.

"No. But there may be more Foot Soldier. Clearly you can hold your own. But." His brow drops. Or what you assume to be a brow behind that blue mask. "Try not to take back alleys anymore." Two thick fingers point at you. "If they ask. I do not exist. You know nothing of me or this night."

You clench your jaw. Heart hammering in your chest as the air grows heavy. "That a threat blue?" You pocket the rag.

"A promise." He tells you. You nod your head.

.

.

You don't see him as you continue your way home. You are away he is there. Somewhere at the building tops.

You see him outside your window when you come home. He is on the building opposite of yours. His body lights up, once, twice. By the lightning. By the third strike he is gone.

Sighing. You close the curtain and shed your soaked clothes. Zeki is elling for food again. Clearly starved because you took to long to come home.

It is only after your shower and when you begin  your laundry do you notice that you have lost your phone.

"For fucks sake."