#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

[etherealxwitch]

Car Troubles

Pairing: Mechanic!Eddie x Fem!Reader

Summary: You’ll do anything to get your neighbors attention. Even going as far as to break your car.

Warnings: Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI) slight dom!eddie, sexual tension, oral (m and f receiving), dirty talk, check in (spotlight), name calling: (slut, baby, pretty girl), face fucking, ball worship, spit, slapping, spanking, breath play, pet names, rimming, unprotected vaginal sex, squirting, breeding kink, creampie

WC: 4.2K

(Hoping ya’ll enjoy this fic!)

Remember to reblog and support the author!

You couldn’t believe what you were actually doing right now. 

The hood to your car was up and you were bent over looking inside it as if you were trying to find the problem, but you know what it already was. The problem was that you took out something called a “spark plug” and tossed it behind your trailer, so far away in the trees that you knew it wouldn’t be found. 

Why were you doing this? Your hot neighbor has been working on his van for weeks and as much as you tried to get more of his attention, it never went to plan. So, now here you are with a “broken down” car and all the opportunity in the world at your fingertips.

Now, you’ve known Eddie since high school, but you two were in different friend groups and never had much interaction before. Except for the occasional partnering up for an in class assignment or seeing him step out into his trailer porch for a late night smoke (secretly hoping he would come over to your porch and offer you one). He would always wave over to you, causing you to get those school girl-like butterflies in your stomach. You had always had a crush on him as well.

How could you not? Eddie was always seen as this “no good boy who played a devilish game,” but you were into that. You were into the thought of him being the forbidden fruit that Eve couldn’t have. Just the mere thought sent chills down your spine. 

When you looked over at Eddie, your jaw nearly dropped. He had his hair in a low messy bun, some of the shorter hairs falling in his face, and his mechanic overalls tied lowly on his hips. To make matters worse, he was covered in oil and grease, it staining his skin the the white wife beater that he was wearing. Your bit at your bottom lip and gawked at him; as if he was some sex god and from what you’ve heard from some of the women in town, he was a sex god. 

Were you bending over your car and making a show of it? Definitely. You were in the shortest shorts you could find; your ass cheeks poking out of the bottom of the shorts and jiggling with each move you made. When you would turn around for a drink of water, you would make sure to let some drip down the valley of your breast, patting yourself on the back when you noticed that Eddie would watch the drip. 

Eddie had noticed you as soon as you walked out your door. He noticed the way your shorts hugged your ass perfectly and how your titties would bounce while you walked down the steps. His cock would twitch in his boxers and now he had the chance to talk to you, he wasn’t going to pass that up.

“You need help with something?” 

Oh shit, you were caught. When you looked up at his face, he was smirking and wiping his hands over his shirt. The sight of his eyes on you alone was making your face turn beet red and your head speed up. 

“U-uh, yeah actually.” Suddenly your mouth was very dry and you didn’t know how to form words. “My car, it won’t-it won’t start.” You nervously fiddled with your fingers as he walked over to you and your car, his hip lightly bumping into yours. 

Eddie leaned over your car, looking to see what was wrong with him. You got a whiff of his cologne and couldn’t help but clench your thighs. He smelled like Old Spice, cars, and a hint of weed. It made you want him even more. 

You were too lost in your thoughts to notice that Eddie had stood back up and faced you, his body close to yours. “Looks like your spark plug is missing. How does that happen?” 

“Missing? That doesn’t make any sense.” You tried to not give it away that you were the reason, so you looked to where the spark plug originally was, shock witten on your face. “Could it have come loose and fell out? Is this possible?”

Eddie flashed you a toothy grin before shutting the hood of your car. “It’s unheard of for something like that to happen, but I guess it could.” He leaned against your car, his hips pushing out a little and you swore you could see the outline of his cock through the bottom of the overalls. 

You subtly try to wipe the sweat from your forehead, hoping that he doesn’t see the effect he has over you. “So, what do I do now?”

“Well, I could give you a ride to an auto shop so you can buy the part you need or,” he took a step closer to you, his chest now centimeters from your own. “You can tell me why I saw you throw it behind your trailer earlier.” Eddie smirked at your face, you had been caught and you knew it. There was no going back now. 

“Fuck, you saw that?” Eddie nodded and your face turned even more red than it was before. “I just wanted an excuse to talk to you and I know you’ve been working on your van recently, so I thought my car not working would help.”

Eddie laughed and got closer to you so that you were now leaning against the front of your car. “You wanted my attention? Is that why you’re wearing this small outfit?” His fingers toyed at the hem of your shirt. “Why when you bent over, you shook your ass thinking I wouldn’t see it.” 

His hands wrapped around your waist and trailed down to cup your ass, causing you to let out a small gasp. “I craved your attention.” You backed into his touch, already wanted more of it. “I would’ve gone a lot further if you didn’t catch me.”

“Is that so? How far are we talking?” His face was close to yours, so close that you could feel his breath fan across your lips and cheeks. His voice was deep and raspy: lust practically rolled off his tongue and into your lungs, feeling you with need. 

You slid your hands down the front of his overalls and you could feel his cock harden at the warmth of your hands. “Maybe I would’ve left my curtains open and let you watch me strip, or let you watch me play with my pussy to the thought of you wrecking it? I’ve done it so many times,” you squeezed at the outline of his cock, his head falling so his forehead was now pressed against yours. “Came so many times to the thought of your cock ruining all my holes.”

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to come over here and have a quick fuck,” he pulled your hips to yours, his cock resting against you. “Always wanted to know what that pussy would feel like wrapped around my cock. Bet it feels like heaven.”

A sudden burst of confidence ran through your body as you reached a hand into his hair and gave it a tug. “Why don’t you stop being such a gentleman and find out.” 

Eddie took that opportunity and ran with it. He grabbed ahold of your hand and led you to his trailer, decided against yours since he didn’t even know where your room was. As soon as the two of you made it through his door, his lips were against yours. It was a fast and messy kiss; wet tongues sliding over each other and teeth clanking every once in a while. He bit at your bottom lip and trailed his kisses down your neck, making sure to bite and suck hard enough to leave a hickey. You whined out, grinding your hips against his. The need you had for each other is very evident. 

“Before we start,” he gently gripped your cheek to make you look at him, “you have to tell me when you don’t like something, okay? Red to stop, yellow to slow it down, and green to keep going.” 

You nodded your head, not trusting yourself to speak because you might just moan from how close his body was to you at this moment. 

“No, I need to hear you say that you understand.” 

“Yes, I understand.” You gripped his shirt, pulling him even closer to you. “Now, please, can we continue?” 

Eddie laughed at your eagerness and gave you the go ahead, your lips immediately finding his neck and nibbling on it. You were getting such a rise out of him, he was used to doing all the work.

“Don’t know how long I’ve wanted this, Eddie.” Your hand reached for the rubber-band that held his hair in a bun and pulled on it, letting his curly hair flow around him. “Need it down so I can tug on it while you eat my pussy.” 

“Such a filthy mouth,” he led you further into the trailer, right into his room. “Think we need to give you something to occupy it.”

Immediately, you dropped to your knees in front of him. “Please? I’ve always wanted to choke on your cock.”

You reached your hands up and pulled down his overalls, his boxers falling with them. The second his cock sprung up in front of your face, your jaw dropped. His cock was thick: veins running across it, and a red mushroom tip that dripped with precum. You knew that it was going to split your holes open, but you didn’t have an ounce of regret. 

“Holy shit… i-it’s huge!” You didn’t have words, you were too struck by how perfect his cock was. 

“Don’t act so shy now.” Eddie carded a finger through your hair and pulled, angling your head perfect for him. He grabbed his cock and tapped the tip against your lips, smearing some of the precum over them. “Open that mouth up for me, yeah?” 

You opened your mouth, your tongue hanging out, just begging for attention. Eddie slid the tip of his cock over the warm muscle and groaned, the hand in your hair tightening. “Always knew you had such a nice mouth,” he thrusted his cock forward, making you gag and tears brimming your eyes. “Gonna throat train you, make my cock fit perfectly in your throat.”

As you whined around his cock, he brought another hand down and held your head still. “Yeah, stay just like that.” He moved his hips, his cock sliding further down your throat and his balls squishing against your chin. Spit began to form in the corners of your mouth, slowly dripping down your chin and sticking to his heavy balls. Each time you tighten your throat, he groans, his head falling forward to watch you swallow his cock. “Shit, never knew you’d be this cock hungry. You’re just so eager to please me, so eager to get my cock in your wet pussy.”

Eddie was wrong about your pussy being wet. It wasn’t just wet, but soaked. You could feel yourself begin to soak through your panties and into your shorts, ruining your clothes. Having him say such dirty things to you and using your throat as a fleshlight was such a turn on, you couldn’t help it. You looked up at him, seeing his eyes roll in the back of his head and his mouth hanging open, he looked so good from this angle. You moved your hips against the air, looking for some kind of friction. Your whole body ached for an orgasm like never before. 

“Look at you,” he pulled his cock from your throat, your saliva dripping from it. “You aching to be touched?” His hand caressed your cheek before smacking you, making you moan out. “You don’t get anything until I’m done with ruining your throat, got it?”

His cock slammed back into your throat, making tears flow down your cheek as you gag louder than before. “Hold it, you can take this. You wanted it bad, remember?” His fingers came down and plugged your nose. You struggled to breathe and he just smirked down at you. “Having some trouble?”

Your nails raked down his naked thighs, leaving red marks in his wake. Slowly, you could feel your lungs start to burn from the lack of air and just when you thought it was too much, he let your nose go. His cock still rested in your throat and you could feel it twitch and throb against your tongue. 

“Fuck, I’m glad I can finally ruin your throat.” Eddie pulled his cock again, but this time he stepped closer and smashed your mouth against his balls. “But don’t these deserve some attention too?”

Your spit dribbled over the heavy balls, soaking them and making them easier to roll your tongue around. Eddie didn’t know this, but you went weak in the knees for balls. You sucked them into your mouth, gargling around them and trying your best to smirk while he grabbed at your head.

“God damn, that’s a good girl.” He grinded his balls against your mouth, your tongue staying still so he could use you as he pleases.

His balls became sticky as they pressed all over your face, catching on your nose and chin, but you had not a care in the world. It was only making you more soaked being used this way. 

You felt as Eddie’s balls drew up and his cock twitched against his forehead, he was close and excited ran through your body. He pulled your face from his balls and forced your mouth open with his thumb, making sure it was wide enough. “You’re gonna catch every fucking drop.” 

His hand pumped his cock, squeezing at the tip. The muscles of his stomach tightened and his breath for more ragged as thick ropes of cum shot out: your tongue catching all that you could, some hitting your cheeks. “Oh god, yes.” The tip of his cock got more red as more cum shot out, dripping right into your mouth. “So good for me, so fucking good.”

Tightly, his eyes squeezed shut as he kept filming until his balls were almost empty. When he finally opened his eyes back up, he smirked down at you. You swallowed his cum and scooped up what you missed, sucking on your fingers and shoving them down your throat. You were putting on a show for him. 

“You’re a cum hungry slut.” Eddie kicked the clothes that pooled around his ankles to the side and tore off his shirt before helping you stand up. “It’s your turn to get ruined, pretty girl.” He pushed you back on the back, your head flopping into the pillows. 

Eddie didn’t even have time to strip you, you were already sliding your shorts and panties down your legs, your pussy glistening in the sunlight peeking through the windows. You were so soaked that you were dripping down onto the sheets below you, already making a mess. You looked at Eddie, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip. He was looking at you like a starving man ready to devour his last meal.

You reached a hand down to play with your swollen clit, but Eddie slapped it away. “This is mine to play with.” He kneeled between your legs and spread your thighs further apart. His thumbs came down and spread your pussy lips apart, your slick stringing between them. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Can’t be the death of you now,” you bucked your hips up, silently begging to be touched. “Haven’t had you inside me yet.”

Soft kisses trailed up one of your thighs before you felt a cold breath fan over your pussy, you clenched around nothing. “O-oh,” you weren’t expecting just that breath to make you feel so good, but you whined out, needing more. 

“Look at you,” Eddie swiped his thumb over your clit, causing your legs to shake some. “So wet and just begging to be touched,” he applied pressure to your clit, making you moan out and flop your head into the pillows. “Begging to be licked.” 

“Please,” you reached down and tried your best to cup the back of his neck. You needed him closer, needed to feel his tongue on you. “I want you to taste me, make me cum.”

Eddie leaned his head down and swiped his tongue over your clit, humming to himself at the taste. “So sweet, knew it would be.” He licked again, this time with more pressure, making you gasp and squeeze your eyes shut. “Want you to make a mess on my tongue, baby.”

Your legs locked around Eddie’s head as he practically dove into your pussy. His tongue swirled around every part of it, the sound of his spit and your wetness almost louder than your moans. 

“H-holy fuck.” Your hands gripped the sheets below you, your body becoming hot with pleasure. “You’re so good, Eddie.” 

Eddie’s moans reverberated through your body, your legs shaking around his hand now. The shaking only got worse when he suckled your swollen clit into your mouth, his teeth gently biting at it. 

Your back arched up, now resting on your elbows to look at him eating you up. The sight before you almost had you cumming in a second. His big brown eyes were looking right at you, they were dark and full of want. You could see his tongue poke out and lick over your clit before sucking it back in his mouth. His fingers were digging into your thighs, keeping them tight around his head to hold his head still.

“Yes! Right there, right there.” Your hips grinding against his mouth, the coil inside of you tightening each second.

For a second, Eddie pulled away from you, unlocking your legs from his head. You went to whine out at the loss of contact, but stopped when he pushed your legs towards your chest, your hips now almost completely off the bed. He leaned down and spit on your puckered hole and you swear you could see stars form behind your eyes. 

“Color?” His thumb swiped over the hole, spreading his spit around. 

“Green, very green.” You moaned loudly as soon as his tongue licked over your soaked hole before sliding the tip of it inside. “E-Eddie!” 

While his tongue was pumping in and out of your ass, two of his rough fingers slid into your welcoming pussy. The curled right up into the spongy spot inside you, pressing on it. Your moans became louder, the coil inside of you finally unraveling. 

Before you felt yourself cum, you heard it. Heard yourself gush over his fingers that were deep inside you and felt yourself clench around them. Your body thrashed around, the feeling of yourself cumming making the hairs on your body stand up. “Yes, yes! Please don’t stop, please.” 

Eddie pulled away from your ass, his fingers inside your pussy only pumping faster. “Yeah? Keep squirting for me. Make a mess.” 

And that you did, below you the sheets were soaked and Eddie’s chest and stomach were covered in it. When you felt his fingers slow down, you finally let out a breath. You’ve squirted before, but never that much. 

“O-oh, my god.” You placed a hand over your face, almost too embarrassed to face him after what you just did. 

You felt Eddie press small kisses up your stomach and between the valley of your chest before he moved your hand from your now very red chest. “Nothing to be embarrassed about.” He gave you a smirk, trailing the kisses up your cheek to your lips, taking your bottom lip in his before letting it go with a pop. “That was fucking incredible.”

“Are you sure? It was kind of.. a lot.” You couldn’t look him in the eyes, even after he said that it was incredible.

“I’m so sure.” Eddie grabbed your hand and put it right on his cock, it throbbing uncontrollably. “Got me hard again, painfully hard.”

You squeezed your hand and Eddie’s hand gripped your wrist as he bit his lip. “I need to be inside you.” He stripped off his dirty wife beater and threw it somewhere in the room, your shirt quickly following it. 

He flipped you over, your stomach now pressed against the mattress and your ass in the air. You looked over your shoulder and gave Eddie a wink before wiggling your ass, signaling just how ready you were for him and his cock. “Please fuck me, Eddie.”

Not having to be told twice, Eddie got behind you. He grabbed his cock and tapped it against your clit, chuckling behind you when you let out a small whine. Just as you went to open your mouth to beg again, Eddie slid in. Immediately, he bottomed up, his balls finding home right against your clit. The feeling caused your head to fall toward, your face now in the pillows. 

“No, no.” Eddie grabbed you by your hair, forcing your back against his sweaty chest. “Need to hear those pretty noises from your mouth,” his other hand reeled back before smacking your ass, a handprint sure to be visible in the morning. “Got it?”

“Y-yes, I got it.” You grind your hips against him, his cock nudging inside of you. “Feels so good.” 

“Yeah?” He pulls all the way out, his tip the only thing in your pussy before slamming back in, sending your body forward with how much force was behind your thrust. 

“Eddie!” Your throat burned with how loud you screamed his name, almost like you carved it inside your body. 

His hips rocked against yours, his balls squishing against your clit. Your body shook with pleasure, already so close to cumming and losing full control of yourself. 

“Such a good pussy, knew it would just be perfect for my cock.” Both of his hands grabbed at your hips and had you meet his thrusts halfway. “Gonna feel this pussy up, watch as my cum drips out of you.” Eddie leans forward to your ear, his teeth barely catching your earlobe. “Maybe even get you pregnant, can’t let all the cum go to waste.”

“Please, just use me.” At this point you didn’t care what he said, you wanted it all with him. “Want your cum inside me, want to be so full of it.” 

“That’s a good slut, just so eager to do what I want.” 

Each slide of his cock was sending chills up and down your spine, making your body shake. The moans were just spilling out of you now, getting louder each time. 

“This is my pussy now, yeah?” Eddie’s hand came down and spanked you again, your ass rippled under his touch. “I said,” he pulled out before slamming his cock back in, your thighs buckling under you. “Is this my pussy?” 

“Yes!” Your body was on fire, pleasure flooding your nerves endings, “it’s all yours.”

The faster Eddie’s thrust got, the closer you got to cumming. You could tell he was close to, his thrusts becoming sloppier and his hold on your hips becoming tighter. The two of you were moaning in sync, your pussy clenching around his cock and his cock hitting your g-spot. 

Your body slouched forward, the feeling of his cock wrecking you being too much to hold yourself up anymore. 

His arm snaked around your body and found your aching clit, rubbing hard and fast figure 8’s on it. And that’s when it happened, your vision began to blur and your whole body convulsed under his touch. You came around his cock; a silent scream leaving you as your knuckles turned white with the grip you had on the pillows in front of you. Your cum dripped down his cock, the squelching sound becoming louder. 

“Fuck, fuck- I’m cumming, baby.” Eddie’s body fell against your back, his hips now slamming into yours hard enough to leave bruises. Inside you, his cock twitched as he came, painting your insides white. “God damn!”

Your hips grinding against his again until you both stopped cumming, giving you both time to relax. He pulled out and you moaned at the feeling, his cum mixed with yours dripping out of you and down your thighs. 

You reached down and scooped it up before shoving it back inside you, making sure Eddie was watching you, “you said we couldn’t let it go to waste.” 

Behind you, Eddie was resting on his knees with a smirk plastered on his face. “You’re fucking amazing.” You flipped over to lay on your back and he joined you, pulling you close to him. “Always figured you’d be amazing though.”

“Me? Did you see how hard you made me squirt? That’s all you!” You laid your head on his chest and listened to his fast heartbeat, just glad to be this close to him. “What do we do now?” 

“Well, now,” his fingers ran over your back, drawing imaginary shapes, “we relax before going outside to try and find your spark plug that you threw.” 

“Yeah, sorry about that.” You laughed, “didn’t know it would be so easy to get your attention.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Eddie kissed your head, he was being sweet which is a good thing after he just wrecked you inside out. “After we find it, we can come back here for round two, three, four…” 

“Yeah? Sounds good to me.” Your pussy was in for it, but you didn’t care. You were happy to be getting some good dick, especially from Eddie.

tagging: @onehotgreasymechanic @thefreakofhawkins86 @wroteclassicaly @magnoliabutters

[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)

—

—

“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…

[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

[smurphyse]

Seal The Deal | Dark!Bucky Barnes

Smurph’s Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter 4 of Lesser of Two Evils

Warnings: domestic violence, fear, hair pulling, choking, sexual violence, handjobs, conditioning, mental manipulation, baths, humiliation, graphic depictions of violence

Summary: James pulls you into a bath and asks you more about your relationship with Loki. Later, Steve stops by.

Note: This is a dubcon/noncon fic! Heavy violent content and smut will be prevalent. Read at your own risk and mind the warnings at the beginning of each chapter.

After his round of violence in the living room, James made you sit on the floor as he filled the giant bathtub with oils, bubbles and hot water. While it was running, he went under the kitchen sink and brought out a toothbrush, then came and picked you up by your armpits once more. 

He sat you on the edge of the sink, wetted the toothbrush and put some toothpaste on it, then handed it to you. He stared at you the whole time you brushed your teeth, even held back your hair as you spit it into the sink, then took off your shirt and his clothes and carried you into the tub. 

James settled you on his lap, pulling you into his chest as the water warmed your aching bones. His big hands rubbed up and down your back as you tried to relax, his lips pressing to the side of your head. 

"You're so tense," he frowned, like he wasn't part of the reason why. Digging his fingers into your skin, he massaged your bony back. "You just need someone to take care of you, doll."

You said nothing at this false display of intimacy, just let him do what he wanted. It felt good, though you were loath to admit it, and you found your eyes drooping as he moved further up and to the back of your neck. He was so warm… strong and you molded to him so nicely. 

"I wanna ask you something," James murmured as he rubbed the knots away. "I want you to be honest."

You nodded against his chest, heard the rumbling as he chuckled to himself. He continued his soft display, not too hard and just firm enough to make you sink further into him. 

"When was the last time you had sex?"

Your eyes snapped open and you sat up to frown at him. James just cocked his head, "Tell me."

"The other day…" you said slowly. 

"Not last night?"

You shook your head as a memory washed over you, "He…pushed me down the stairs and kicked me. I went to bed early to read and get ready to leave."

James nodded and let out a little groan, his eyes trailing down to look at your bruises from the assault. His fingers ghosted over them, but thankfully when you winced he didn't press them again. 

"Do you like having sex with him?"

Your chin wobbled violently and without permission, tears bursting forth and down your cheeks. James pulled you in for a tight hug and kissed your cheek. You vaguely registered a pressure on your thigh but you were too upset to recognize what it was. 

"I don't like it," you sobbed into him. "Not anymore!"

James nodded and petted your hair, rocking you back and forth. "It's okay, doll. It's okay, I'm here."

As he held you, he whispered to you, “You’re doing such a good job, little girl.”

“I am?” you sniffled, turning and burying your face in his neck. His praise felt bad somehow, even though it made your chest lighter. It felt like you weren’t worthy of such a thing.

James laughed and held you close, his big hands warm and safe… god, it had been so long since you were safe. 

“So good, in fact, that I want you to do something for me.”

You pulled back enough to look up at him, and he was smiling that devilish smile again. Wide and bright, full of mischief and more knowledge than you could ever have. He brought his hand out of the water and held his palm open for you, “Give me your hand.”

Cautiously, you slid your hand against his, intertwining your fingers. James clutched your hand and pulled it to his chest, the other one smoothing up your back and into your hair. He pulled you in slowly for a kiss, his lips molding to yours in the heat of the bath.

It had been such a long day, and you were desperate for any moment of gentility you could get. Bracing your free hand on his shoulder, you kissed him back. The scent of sweat and musk enveloped you under the steam and the bubbles. You let yourself get lost in the feeling, sweet and heady all at the same time, eyes closing and welcoming his tongue between your lips.

He licked into you with fervor, tasting every part of you he could reach. His fingers tightened in your hair, keeping you held firmly to his chest. His hand enclosed around yours smoothed down his chest and belly, tight abs and muscles rippling under your palm. 

It was already too late when you realized where he was leading you, understanding hitting you as you felt his pubic hair brush under the side of your hand. You tried to pull away but his hand gripped your hair too tightly to do anything but wriggle in his lap.

“Don’t fight, you were doing so good,” he whispered menacingly against your lips. “C’mon, doll, be a good little girl for me.”

You started to sob as he wrapped your hand around his hard length, thick and throbbing under your palm. James shushed you and kissed you again, “You don’t want to go back to Loki, do you?”

You shook your head wordlessly, unable to speak, you were so petrified. Holding your wrist, he made you give him a soft pump, hips bucking up and sloshing the water around. 

"There you go," he murmured, giving you a soft peck on the lips. "See I'm not hurting you, am I?"

Your face burned with shame, but you couldn't look away with him holding you like that. Your body shook in the water though it was hot, and James pouted mockingly at you. 

"You chose me, remember?" he asked, humor at your humiliation alight in his eyes. 

You nodded, and he released his tight hold on your hair. You winced as he pulled it away only to palm your throat and buck up into your hand. 

"Get to work then, doll," he growled, "before I shove your head under the water and make you suck me off."

A horrified sob squeaked its way out of your chest at the thought. This was something Loki had you do often, but it felt wrong with this stranger, like he could burst through the door at any moment and flay you alive for it. 

Tightening your hand around him, but not hard enough to hurt, you slid your palm up James' cock. You didn't know what he liked so you did what Loki enjoyed, pressing the pad of your thumb along that vein underneath and pushing a bit under the head. 

"Fuck," James groaned, as you pumped him without thought. You were used to doing sex acts with no pleasure, so you focused on a spot on the wall and waited patiently for it to be over. 

His hands smoothed over your breasts as you worked him over, eyes half shut and groaning lightly. He kneaded your tits in his hard palms, thumbs flicking over your nipples each time your fist enclosed the head of his cock. 

When he realized you weren't watching what you were doing, James' hand lashed up and grabbed your jaw, angling you until you caught his eye. 

"Are you dissociating right now?" he asked as though he were offended. 

"N-no, sir," you stammered, gulping heavily. 

His grip turned harsh and bruising as he yanked you forward to press your noses together, his eyes alight with fire. He tweaked your nipple painfully and snarled, "I told you to tell me the truth. Is that the truth?"

In your fear you just shook, and without warning James' hand moved back into your hair as he twisted your body and shoved you beneath the surface. The bubbles and oils burned your nose as you struggled under his strong hand, an unrestrained scream muffled by the water. 

His cock pressed against your ass as he held you under, shaking you in his rage. Staring at the bottom of the quartz tub, you realized it might be the last thing you ever looked at and simply…let go. 

When you stopped moving, James yanked you back up by your hair. You gasped and flailed as you tried to find purchase, but his hold on you was the only thing keeping you up. 

His chest molded to your back as he pulled your hair harshly at the roots, snarling in your ear, "Tell me the truth."

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry," you panted,spitting water out in between, "I was, I'll pay attention!"

"See? It's not that hard to just tell me things, doll." James let go of your hair and turned you back around to face him. Soggy strands plastered to your face as your whole body heaved. 

The anger was gone from his gaze, just like that, and he pushed the hair from your face and kissed you again though you were breathless. Shakily, you kissed him back, still letting out little gasps as you struggled to breathe again. 

"Get to work," was all he said as he leaned back against the tub, watching you expectantly as he placed his hands on your hips. 

With a shaking hand, you wrapped your fingers around his cock, barely able to fit all the way around. Your head pulsed with a coming migraine, but you planted a palm on his chest and started to jerk him off. 

The oils helped you slide along his shaft with just enough friction to keep him satisfied. James grunted and bit his lip as he watched you intently, and just to spite him you stared right back. 

"That's right, doll, eyes on me," he smirked, bringing his hands back to lounge behind his head. 

Water dripped monotonously onto the surface as you twisted your wrist, pulling him off in steady glides of your palm. His ice blue eyes bored into yours as your breath stuttered with the effort it took to move after being choked so many times in the last two days. 

He groaned as you tightened purposefully over his head, biting his lip and letting his eyes flutter close. You took the opportunity to try to get this over with quickly, leaning in and pressing your lips to the exposed column of his throat. James let out a little surprised grunt and jerked up into your palm, then moaned quietly.

It reverberated around the bathroom, so you sucked lightly on his skin. James gasped and held your head to his neck, “Yeah, just like that, doll. Perfect.”

You whimpered into him, licking and kissing wherever you could reach as he fucked your hand. 

James' hips pistoned in time with your hand, grunting and clinging to you, "Fuck, if your hand feels like this I can't wait to pound into every little hole you've got."

"Whatever you want," you whispered shakily, tears smearing across his sweat soaked skin and into the water below. 

James tugged you back by your hair, making your back arch as you struggled to keep your hand moving. "Go on and cry, baby. It only makes this better for me."

Your jaw trembled as you glared at him through your tears, but you kept jerking him off. You could feel him tightening, hear the grunts getting shorter and louder with each thrust. 

He tightened his grip and nearly begged, "C'mon, you look so pretty when you cry… just let me see it."

It was such a…disgusting request you couldn't help but comply, bursting into tears with your hand wrapped around a monster's cock, one that you knew was going to tear you open sooner than later. 

James let out a guttural snarl and crashed your lips to his, moaning wantonly into your mouth as he came. You never slowed, even as he spurted between your fingers and fucked desperately into your hand. 

He let out short pants as he came down, his hand leaving your hair to stop your own from moving. Resting his forehead against yours, his breath fanned across your face as you both caught your breath. 

"Oh, such a good girl," he praised you, and you could've thrown up then and there. 

His spend rose to the top of the water, breaking apart in the dissipating bubbles. James lunged forward and gave you a sloppy kiss full of teeth and tongue, ignoring your whimpers and your tears. 

"There there," he soothed, brushing back your hair and giving you one last peck. "You did great, doll. Such a good job."

You said nothing, your face and ears burning in shame as you sat exposed and vulnerable with your future rapist in a tub. James waited until he caught his breath to kiss your forehead and pull the plug on the drain. 

With shaky legs he carried you out and dried you off, then took you back to the bedroom. He didn't give you anything to wear this time, just laid down on the bed with you on his chest. 

He was hot to the touch, blazing and hard as you laid on him. He petted your hair and rubbed your back, absentmindedly pressing his lips to the top of your head. 

"It's been a long time since someone took care of you, huh?" he asked quietly. It was nearing ten am, and already had been the longest day of your life. 

"Why do you care?" you asked hesitantly, bracing yourself for a slap or hair pull, but none came. 

"I take care of what I own, little girl," James said seriously, and you wanted to believe him, but if he was willing to trade your life for sex then he wasn't and wouldn't ever be a good man. "I'm gonna take good care of you. So good you'll forget all about our little deal and this will be all you know."

"Forget?" you asked stupidly, and he laughed a little. 

Turning you on your back, James hovered above you dangerously, his muscles coiled but his eyes were soft. "Don't worry your pretty head about it, doll. Just do what I tell you."

"Okay," you agreed, and he murmured another good girl before pressing his lips to your neck. 

Your toes curled at the soft insistent kisses that trailed down to your chest and belly. You weren't used to this, instead accustomed to cold indirect attention and snapping fingers for your focus. James demanded it softly from you, in touches and cuddles… and it set a fire through you. 

He spread your thighs when he reached your lower stomach, smirking and dragging his fingers down. When he smoothed his large fingertips along your slit, you sat up sharply. 

You were wet. 

"I'm sorry," you gasped, but he didn't stop, just continued to rub you as he cocked his head. 

"Sorry for what?" he asked lightly, pushing his fingers in, gentle as ever. It made you flinch. 

"I know…" you trembled, your body shaking as you sat up on your elbows with teary eyes. "I know I'm not supposed to like it."

His hand stilled, anger pinching between his brows. You started to pant in fear, "I won't let it happen again, Mr. Barnes, I swear."

"James," he said slowly, watching you with a queer look in his eye. He adjusted on the bed to lay on his stomach between your legs, his fingers still pressed firmly against your lips. "When was the last time you had an orgasm?"

Your face fell as you blanched. You looked away in shame and muttered, "I don't know."

"Let me get this straight," James said gruffly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He let out a long sigh and let it go, "Loki fucked you two days ago and you didn't cum?"

You shook your head, confused, "I'm not allowed to. I exist for his…well, now your pleasure. Not mine."

"As wonderful a mindset as that is…" James said, and he dragged the pad of his thumb up your slit, just avoiding your clit. "That isn't going to fly here. How are you going to fall in love with me if I don't make you feel good?"

Your head snapped to face him, and he just smirked up at you, "Why would you want me to do that?"

"Don't worry about it."

“But…” you murmured in confusion, “I don’t deserve it.”

It seemed James had had enough, and he pulled himself from your legs and got off the bed. You sat up to follow him but he pushed you back down and made his way to the closet, ignoring your trailing gaze. 

He pulled on a pair of workout leggings and a shirt, but he didn't grab anything for you. James came and sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the covers over your naked body, maneuvering you until you laid with your head on the pillows. 

"You need to get some more sleep," he murmured, tugging at the blankets until he had you tucked in and cozy. 

"Did I make you mad?" you asked quietly. 

James smiled down at you and brushed back your hair, "No, you didn't. I told you, you were a good girl today."

"Where are you going?"

"To work out. I'll be back before you wake up."

James leaned over and kissed your forehead, holding his lips firmly to your skin for a moment before pulling away. He tapped your nose before he stood. 

"Sleep, doll."

You couldn't help but watch him as he left, his ramshackle barraging attitudes confusing and strange. Doing as you were told and settling into the mattress you frowned at the ceiling. 

He wanted you to fall in love with him. So he could hurt you more? So he could have someone waiting for him at home at the end of each day?

You weren't sure what to make of it, but as of now you already liked him more than you ever liked Loki. For one, Loki hadn't kissed you in months, not since he decided you weren't allowed to leave the compound. For another, he was… warm. You couldn't explain it, but it meant something to you. 

It didn't take long for sleep to take you under, the warm blankets and soft down of the mattress holding you cozy even though it was the middle of the day. 

You felt safe… at least for that moment. 

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

Bucky sipped coffee at the bar in the kitchen, eyeballing the dishes piled up next to the sink. Something wasn’t sitting right with him, and it was pissing him off.

He’d known long ago that Loki had violent tastes, known that he was cruel and creative. But to have this woman trained to not want pleasure? Even if you took out the beatings and confining her to the house… what a sadistic bastard. He'd brainwashed her into fearing an orgasm. 

He’d gone through her duffle bag and found the cash hidden in the lining, went through the cheap shirts and pants she’d put inside. She took as little as she could with her, fleeing with the hope of escape and starting over, and Bucky had taken that from her. She needed something to wear, but no toy of his would be clothed in dollar store tees and cheap panties.

He'd have to call Nat and Yelena… Bucky shuddered at the thought. 

He also found a picture of her and Loki, sealed away behind a delicate gold frame, the two of them in front of some run down hut but he couldn't figure out where. He knew it from somewhere, but Bucky couldn't place it. 

The elevator dinged and Bucky looked over just in time to see Steve waltzing out of it. He flashed Bucky a megawatt grin and a wave before going for the coffee pot like he owned the place.

“How’d he take it?” Bucky asked lightly.

“Oh, he’s lost it. Ranting and raving like a lunatic," Steve laughed as he poured himself a cup. He slapped the carafe back on the burner and leaned on the counter opposite Bucky. “Saw them putting a body in the trunk of a car. I think he killed one of the guards in his little temper tantrum.”

“Hmm,” Bucky hummed, taking another sip. Steve squinted at him across the way and waved a hand in front of his face to get his attention.

“I thought you’d be happy. Loki's cracked, Buck.”

“I am,” Bucky sighed, but he found himself looking back toward the bedroom where the girl was sleeping. She’d been in there for three hours now, and though he’d checked on her a few times she hadn’t woken. “I want him to suffer.”

“What?” Steve asked, following his gaze. When Bucky faced him again he smirked. “Oooh! Don’t tell me you like her.”

Immediately it turned to a frown, “It’ll make it hard to kill her.”

“I’m not gonna kill her… yet,” Bucky grumbled, annoyed with how easily Steve saw through him. “I knew Loki was fucked up but from the little she’s told me he’s worse than we thought.”

“The man regularly tortures people to death because it makes him laugh,” Steve deadpanned, rolling his eyes. “How much worse can he get?”

Bucky took a long drag from the mug and groaned, “I need a cigarette.”

“She that annoying?”

“She’s not the problem,” Bucky grunted. He stood sharply from the stool and made his way to the balcony, staring over the city through the big windows. 

Steve smirked like a cat but Bucky wasn’t having it. He glared at his best friend, “I got an idea.”

Steve idled up beside him with his own mug, taking a sip and waiting for Bucky to continue his bitching. Bucky pointed a finger out at nobody and growled, “He’s a murderous little snake and he’ll get what’s coming to him. I was going to kill the girl and drop her body at his feet but…”

“But you have yourself a crush and you can’t do it?”

“Oh! An idea!” Steve sneered, laughing wildly. “You and your fucking ideas… what did you come up with?”

A blush crept up Bucky’s neck. He wasn’t embarrassed by the situation at all, moreso not looking forward to Steve’s reaction.

“In exchange for protection she gave me her body.”

Steve made a face, “Shouldn’t you be empty and satisfied right now with Loki’s whore, and not Mr. Gloom and Doom?”

“I don’t think ‘whore’ is the right word. She was smart enough to escape without detection, after all.”

Steve shrugged, “Dumb enough to get caught by us.”

Bucky thought about that for a moment, of Steve’s dismissiveness of her. He didn’t tend to think much of the men or women that Bucky brought home for one night stands, so it wasn’t out of the realm of normalcy for him to assume the girl in his bed was just another moron caught up with a mobster. Still, he wanted to tell him about his concerns.

“He wouldn’t let her-,” he began, but a shuffling noise made them both turn.

She was rubbing her eyes like a child as she wandered into the open living room, blinking slowly in the afternoon light. The top blanket from the bed was wrapped around her like a dress, and she clutched it under her armpit to keep it in place. Her collarbones stuck out like they were trying to escape her skin, she was so thin and worn down.

“Good lord,” Steve scoffed, waving a hand at her. Her eyes went wide when she spotted them, but she looked to Bucky for guidance. “What is she? Fourteen?”

“What? Of course no-,” Bucky sputtered, but he turned and pointed at her. “How old are you, doll?”

“Uhm, twenty seven,” she rasped, her voice croaky from sleep. She thrust a thumb over her shoulder, “Should I go back in the room?”

"Oh, not yet," Steve grinned, quickly making his way toward her with his hand outstretched. " I haven't had the chance to meet you. I'm Steve. What's your name, sweetheart?"

When she cautiously took his hand, Steve pulled it up to kiss the back of her knuckles, and she looked to Bucky again. He gave her a little nod and she told Steve her name. Bucky hadn’t thought to ask.

"Beautiful name for a beautiful girl," he said sweetly, letting her go. He pointed absentmindedly at her bruised face and glared at Bucky, "Your handiwork?"

She blanched and took a step away from Steve, staring at her feet. Bucky shook his head, "Not all of it."

Bucky walked over and took Steve's cup from him, a silent sign that he should leave, and he took it and gave the girl another wave. 

"See ya around sweetheart," he said, turning on his heel and out of the penthouse, leaving Bucky with the key to his revenge. 

"I didn't know someone was here, I'm sorry," she murmured, staring down at her shuffling feet. 

Bucky set the mugs down on the coffee table and wrapped his arms around her waist, and she hardly hesitated before relaxing in his embrace. 

He kissed her cheek, "You don't want to meet my friends?"

"I'll do whatever you want," she said quietly for what felt like the hundredth time that day. 

"I want you to go to bed," he told her, and she made a face, her little brows furrowing. "I have a doctor coming to check you out."

"But I've had worse, James," she shrugged, "I'm okay."

He cupped her jaw and squeezed, delighting in the little puff of her cheeks. "Did I ask?"

She shook her head the best she could, and oh, how he wanted to throw her to the ground and take her. But he had to wait. 

He released her and she stumbled back a little, "Go to bed."

Bucky watched as she did as she was told, slinking back to the bedroom with the blanket trailing behind her. He wanted to follow her and push her into the mattress until she cried, but something was still bothering him deep in his gut. 

What the hell did Loki do to her?

Why did Bucky care?

Notes: Hmmmm, why do you think Bucky cares? What do you think about Doll's fear of pleasure? Why do you think Bucky wants her to fall in love with him? What do you think the hut will have to do with the story??

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[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.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Lovers & Friends (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Keigo Takami x Black!Fem!Reader (Friends to Lovers)

Synopsis: In which you and Keigo have begun to realize the strange new feelings you both have for each other after one drunken night at a close friend’s wedding that ends with you in his bed, but because of your longtime friendship and committed relationships with other people, you’re more than happy to forget that night even happened and keep your mutual feelings in the dark…for now, at least. 

Story Warnings: Smutty smut; 18+ (MINORS GET AWAY); Cheating/Infidelity; Mating; Light Degradation; Spanking; Exhibitionism; Multiple Positions; Creampie; Unprotected PIV Sex; Facial; Scent Play; Marking; Spitting; Deepthroating; Cunnilingus; Begging; Edgeplay; Power Play; Wing-Stroking; Daddy Kink; Some Angst; Hurt/Comfort; Mild Violence

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: We love drama, bitch. -Jazz

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Bonus Chapter.

Read on AO3 here!

***********

Chapter Ten: Troubled Waters.

Sakura sits back in her seat, cheeks flushed from the wine and her dainty hands on her stomach. 

“What a meal,” she sighs. “I don’t think I could eat another bite!” Keigo chuckles as he watches her, nodding down at her semi-empty plate of steamed bass with a side of mashed potatoes and asparagus. “Your eyes are way bigger than your stomach, apparently,” he teases, taking a stalk of asparagus from her plate. 

“Hey!” she scoffs. “You’re the one to talk, Mr. Steak-With-A-Side-Of-Four-Appetizers.” He gasps at her, pressing a hand to his heart in mock offense. “The sesame chicken wings looked good!” he protests, earning a laugh from her. He playfully glares at her and bites into the asparagus stalk, humming in amazement. It is cooked to perfection with the right amount of olive oil, salt, and garlic. 

He knew it was a good idea to bring Sakura to The Finder’s Bar aka the most expensive bar/steak restaurant in downtown Musutafu. Several plates, most of which are still filled with food to be boxed up later, surround their table lit by candlelight and adorned in a vase of roses to set the romantic mood. However, the restaurant already does that with its dim lights, secluded tables, slick, mahogany bar, and grand piano off to the side where a singer croons a song into the microphone. 

The waitresses are also extremely attentive…or maybe that’s just because he’s a pro stepping into the place for the night. Their waitress returns with her bouncy curls and pristine uniform, a warm smile on her face. “Was everything okay here?” she asks despite the empty plates.

“Absolutely,” he sighs. “Tell the chef he gets my full compliments.” 

“I’ll let him know, sir!” she replies, beaming as she begins to collect most of the dishes. “Is there anything else I can get you? Coffee or tea? Dessert?”

Keigo looks to Sakura for an answer, noticing that she is staring off into the candlelight with a faraway look on her face. “You want anything, babe?” he asks. She blinks at him before turning to the waitress and shaking her head, a sheepish smile on her face. “We’ll take the check, then,” he announces. 

Once the waitress leaves, he leans in to talk to his date in a low voice. “You okay?” he asks, concerned at her sudden change in demeanor. She nods, averting her eyes to stare down at her lap. “Yeah, it’s just…it’s been a while since we’ve been out. I almost don’t want tonight to end.” 

Keigo’s heart clenches painfully at the disappointment in her voice about tonight ending. “And it doesn’t have to,” he coos, placing his hand on hers. “I’m sorry it’s been a hot minute since we’ve been out. I feel terrible.”

Sakura shakes her head, trying to reassure him that this isn’t his fault. But it is, more than she realizes. “You’ve been busy, Keigo. Not only are you a pro, but you also run your own agency! That has to be a lot.” 

It’s especially a lot when he’s dealing with all of that while also trying to get over the thought of you. Hence why he asked Sakura out for dinner on this lovely Friday night when he wasn’t swamped with responsibilities. Though he feels horrible for neglecting Sakura, it feels good to be distracted from the fact that he hasn't spoken to you in two weeks since Fathom’s wedding.

It hurts to not hear from you. It especially hurts to think that he’s ruined his friendship with you. But he also knows that he’s not going to push if you’re not doing the same thing. “Let’s not discuss anything about work tonight, huh?” he suggests, quirking a smile at his girlfriend. “I want tonight to be strictly about us.” 

Sakura smiles at him, a slight blush adorning her cheeks. “I think I can agree to that,” she giggles. “So what’s the plan for later?”

He begins to run his thumb along her knuckles, noticing the way her breathing changes. “Well, I’ve got Hulu, massage oil, and ice cream back at my place if you’re down,” he lowly says, a suggestive tone to his voice. The feeling of her heel tickling his ankle is all the answer he needs to know that she is definitely on board for his plans. “Hold up; lemme use the bathroom first and then we can leave.” 

Sakura nods as he leaves her at the table to drink her wine and enjoy the ambiance of the restaurant. He winds through the maze of tables and customers until he comes to the front desk where the bathrooms are.

But as soon as he lays his eyes on the men’s room, he pauses when he sees someone very familiar standing in line for a takeout order. You. You, dressed in biker shorts that outline your delicious ass, an oversized tee, and slides. You obviously just came out to get your food tonight, not at all dressed for a date. 

Keigo stands there like an idiot, unable to move. His throat feels tight and his heart pounds against his chest. It feels as this is the first time he’s seeing you in years. He doesn’t know whether to feel happy or scared. Those feelings only become more confusing for him when you turn your head slightly, probably just out of boredom, and your eyes land on his. They widen slightly at the sight of him. You obviously aren't expecting to see him tonight of all places. 

Keigo’s mouth suddenly feels dry, his entire body frozen. Should he say hi? Should he smile? Should he back up and walk away like he never saw you at all? ‘No,’ he thinks, shocked at the absurd thought. You’re his friend! Despite everything, nothing changes about how he feels for you or how he sees you. 

Then your eyes quickly avert their gaze and you turn your head away from him. As if you never saw him. As if he is but a stranger. Obviously, how you see and feel for him has changed drastically. Keigo’s stomach drops, disappointment blooming inside of him…and then anger. How dare you act like this with him? How dare you treat him as nothing but a stranger when he’s much more than that? Suddenly, he forgets he has to pee and can only think about confronting you. 

He waits by the stairs leading to the first-floor exit, watching you wait for your order and talk to the clerk before receiving your order in a plastic bag. You give them a warm smile before walking off to the stairs that he stands at, arms crossed. You barely see him until he finally speaks: “Hello to you, too,” he scoffs dryly. You jump, looking up at him in shock and alarm. When all of that subsides, you don’t look too excited to see him. 

“So you’re just gonna act like you didn’t see me just now?” he asks, not caring to hide the hurt in his voice. “I know it’s been two weeks since we’ve talked, but that’s what we doin’ now?”

He scowls down at you, unable to hide how wounded he is by your treatment. Your shoulders slump as you look down at your slides and painted toes. They’re pink now. “Keigo,” you sigh exhaustedly. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t know what to say to you.” 

“A ‘hey, how are ya’ would’ve sufficed,” he mumbles. You don’t reply, still staring at everything but him: the floor; the wall; the staircase behind him. The silence that swells around you is awkward and tense, unspoken words swimming within it. Keigo clears his throat. “So…how’ve you been?” he awkwardly asks. You passively shrug, standing like a rigid doll; like you can’t relax. “Good, I guess,” you deadpan. “Just working and trying not to crash.” 

Your eyes tick up to him, the feeling of seeing those gorgeous brown orbs on him making his stomach flutter. “How ‘bout you?” you ask, slight nervousness in your voice. Why are you so nervous? “You’re good? And how’s Sakura?” 

Keigo leans against the wall, shrugging. “She’s fine,” he replies, “and so am I when I’m not wanting to kill myself over ruining our friendship and possibly losing you forever because we aren’t talking. You know…the usual.” At his sarcasm, you gnaw on your bottom lip and once again look at your feet as if they’re the most interesting things in the room. 

He cuts right to the chase then, not wanting to waste his or your time now that he’s got you here. “Where you been at?” he asks, somewhat afraid to know the answer. He’s expecting you to say, “With someone else”. Though you don’t look dressed for a hot date, it’s a possibility that you could still be seeing someone. Maybe you’re even picking up dinner to share with them. 

You exhale deeply, giving him the impression that you have a lot on your mind. “I’m sorry I’ve been away,” you finally say as you look up at him, guilt in your gorgeous eyes. “It’s difficult for me, okay? I don’t know what to say and plus, it’s difficult to talk to you when I can’t even look at you right.” A shy look crosses your gorgeous face as you, once again, advert your gaze from him. 

Now he realizes why you’re acting so off about looking him in the eye: that night is all that’s on your mind. He can’t say that he’s not envisioning your face contorted in pleasure while you cum around his cock either. But he also knows how to separate that night from the years of friendship you’ve had together. You’re still you. You’re still his best friend.

“Y/N,” he chuckles, “baby bird, it’s still me. I haven’t changed since that night.” Still, you don’t look at him. It hurts. “I don’t want us to be like this,” he whispers, reaching for you. You sidestep him and hurt blooms within his body at you moving away from his touch. Pushing him away. 

“Keigo, can’t we talk about this later?” you whisper, your eyes momentarily flitting to the side as if afraid someone is watching. Sudden irritation fills him and he crosses his arms over his broad chest as he fixes you with a pointed stare. “Sure, but what’s later to you though?” he cooly asks. “After a few weeks? Months? Years?” 

“Don’t be dramatic,” you sigh, irritation flashing in your eyes. “Look, I don’t wanna do this right now. I just came here to pick up some dinner. Besides, shouldn’t you be gettin’ back to your girl?”

The sharp edge in your tone surprises him. What shocks him even more is that you know he’s on a date. Did you walk by them at some point? He had also posted a photo of Sakura across the dinner table tonight on his IG story. Could you have been lurking on his IG perhaps? 

His mind continues to run wild as you suddenly step around him to head down the steps, barely sparing him a parting glance. “I’ll see you later, Hawks.” His world freezes as his pro name leaves her lips. Hawks. Not Keigo. Not Kei. Just plain Hawks. He feels his heart literally shatter as he watches you go, taking all of his love with him. 

When he walks back to the table, all he wants to do is go home, smoke a blunt, and sleep. He doesn’t want to be here anymore. Sakura is sipping her wine when he sits back down. “That took a while.” He plops back down into his seat, completely defeated. “Line was long,” he mutters.  

“The waitress dropped off the check…and she left you a message.” Sakura nods at the checkbook sitting at the end of the table, giggling to herself. “Guess you’ve got a secret admirer who isn’t that secret.”

She gives him a cheeky smile that fades when he doesn’t acknowledge it or the fact that their waitress is shooting her shot despite him clearly being in a relationship. “You okay?” she asks worriedly. 

Keigo immediately reaches for the checkbook and flips it open, ignoring the tiny note with cell phone digits scrawled out in pen. “Yeah,” he replies, albeit in a rush. “Let’s just get out of here. I just saw a camera creepin’ out of a potted plant downstairs and I ain’t too happy about that.”

Sakura is silent but nods understandably as she watches him get out his wallet for his black card, worry still in her eyes. 

*********** 

“Keigo, stop throwing those shells at me!” Sakura squeals through her laughter. “You’re knocking me off the road!” 

Keigo sits next to her, legs wide and leaning forward with his thumbs working furiously on the Nintendo Switch controller’s buttons. “That’s the point,” he cackles. “You snooze, you lose, babe!” He laughs at his girlfriend's wines of protest as they wind around the crack, her in sixth place while he’s in second, right behind Princess Peach. 

They got back to his place from the restaurant an hour ago. As soon as they were inside, Keigo kicked off his shoes and hooked up his controllers for a good, friendly game of Mario Kart. He had insisted they just play something less competitive (being that Keigo is a very competitive man), but Sakura insisted she could kick his ass. Big mistake. They are on the last round now after he has won three so far, his player Donkey Kong while Sakura is Yoshi. 

Keigo’s smile grows as he nears the finish line, right behind Peach and another trick up his sleeve. Hitting one of the buttons to glide, he slams his car into an item box. Once it stops on a banana, he clicks on it and tosses it at Peach, causing her car to spin out of control on the track.

“Aaaand…” He presses one of the buttons furiously until his thumb hurts and his Donkey Kong is across the finish line. He cheers, tossing down his controller. “I’m number one again!” he laughs. “And the crowd goes wild!” He cups his hands around his mouth and pretends to make the sound of an adoring, screaming audience. 

He sits back down next to Sakura with a cocky smile on his face. “Told ya I’m the king of Mario Kart, baby. Nobody can beat me.” Sakura rolls her eyes, placing her controller down. She's still in her outfit from tonight though her shoes are off, somewhere at the door. “Alright, fine,” she huffs. “You won.”

She turns to him then, giving him a good look at her cleavage and the very suggestive look in her eyes. So what should I give you as an award?” she asks, her soft voice dropping an octave. “‘Cause I can think of a few things.” 

The feeling in the air goes from carefree to seductive in a millisecond. When Sakura slides her hand over to Keigo’s forearm and gently squeezes it, it sends a burst of pleasure through him that has his wings frazzled and a soft sigh leaving his lips. He knows exactly what she wants. “You can, hm?” he asks, his voice dipping lower. Sakura visibly shivers at this, making him smirk in pride. 

He moves closer to her, sliding his hand over her knee. “Mind fillin’ me in on those few things are?” he hums. He pays close attention to her body language as he gently slides his hand up her thigh––the way her breathing changes; the parting of her soft lips; how her thighs instinctively open an inch to invite him in. She looks up at him through her long, doll-like lashes, making his cock twitch. “I could always show you,” she replies, on the same time as him. 

He leans in then, immediately pressing his lips to hers in a hot, passionate make-out session that makes the sexual tension increase by a hundred. Sakura moans into the kiss, her hands cupping his face while his move to grab her slim hips. He pulls her into his lap where she straddles him, placing each of her milky thighs on either side of him.

As their tongues swirl together––something he knows drives her crazy––,he can feel her panties beginning to dampen against his groin. The idea of her already being so excited for him makes him hard. Wordlessly, his hand moves up her back to unzip her dress. First, the straps fall down her dainty shoulders, revealing her collarbone, pretty birthmarks dotting her skin, and silk, pink strapless bra that holds up her breasts. Keigo practically drools at the sight of her. 

She stands then with a sexy, coy smile on her face, letting the dress fall further down her body until she is standing in his living room in her underwear. Her panties and bra are as pink as her hair which he finds to be adorable and even hotter.

Ignoring her pretty designer dress, she keeps her eyes locked with his as she suddenly kneels down in front of him. Her hands glide up his legs, pulses of pleasure shooting into his body. He relaxes instantly under her touch, a soft moan leaving his lips as his cock chubs against his pants. “You’re definitely in the right line of work, honey,” he sighs. 

She giggles as her hands begin to travel up to his belt. “Thank you,” she purrs. “I’m glad you find my work so…helpful.” She begins to loosen his belt and unzip his pants, revealing his Armani boxers underneath. “Let me show you how else my quirk can relax you.” He watches her, lips parted and eyes hooded, as she pushes down the waistband of his underwear. His cock pops out from its trap, springing forward in an effort to be free. 

Sakura ogles at it, her eyes practically turning into hearts. Keigo chuckles to himself. No matter how many times they do this, she always acts like seeing his dick is the first time ever. He loves that. Her hands and mouth are on it immediately, stroking and sucking him once she has coated him in a copious amount of spit.

“Fuck,” he moans, tilting his head back on the couch and closing his eyes. Her mouth is so wet and soft, her tongue licking every sensitive part of his cock. Her soft, dainty hands feel even better, caressing his balls and gripping him so nicely. 

He opens his eyes to tell her how good she’s doing, short puffs of air coming from his mouth at the suction and sensations he’s feeling. But when he looks down, he sees less of Sakura’s pink hair and blue eyes and more of you. You with your big, brown eyes and braids he had in his fist that night at the hotel. You, looking so damn pretty with his cock deep in your mouth, your plump lips stretched around his girth. “Jesus!” he gasps, gripping the couch arms. 

He can’t be thinking about this. He can’t be thinking about you. He shuts his eyes tightly, willing your face out of his mind. When he opens his eyes again, you’re gone and Sakura is there again. She has popped his wet cock out of her mouth, her pink lips wet with saliva. “Thank you, babe,” she giggles. “But I’m not sure Jesus would appreciate His name being used like that.” 

Keigo blinks down at her, still alarmed by that vision of you. Why in the world is he thinking about you right now? Sakura is still sitting there, pretty and ready to please on her knees for him. Quickly, he comes up with a lie to reassure her that nothing is wrong and he isn’t tweaking right now.

“Sorry, baby,” he says, plastering on a smile. “I was about to cum. I didn’t wanna do that just yet.” Sakura grins like the Cheshire Cat at this, already standing and pulling down her panties to reveal her tiny, shaven pussy. “Then let me get into a position where you can,” she purrs. “I want all of it, Keigo.” 

He watches with wide eyes and a rock-hard cock as she settles down next to him with her legs spread and a pillow under her hips. She smiles at him between the V of her thighs, inviting him in. Literally.

He is on top of her immediately, stripping off his shirt and tossing it somewhere onto a lamp, causing it to fall to the floor with a crash. Sakura laughs at his eagerness. He pulls down his pants to his thighs, not even taking them off, and pulls Sakura forward by her ankles, emitting a giggle from her lips. He grips his cock and presses it against her entrance, sliding it up and down her wet slit. Soft moans drift from her mouth, causing a fire to burst in him. 

When looks down to stare into her ocean-blue eyes as he finally slides inside of her, all he sees is you. You with your pretty, brown eyes and thick thighs. You with your gorgeous, brown nipples and braids spread out on his couch.

You, you, you. He can’t get you off of his mind.

‘No,’ he laments. When he blinks again, he sees Sakura again who looks very concerned about why he’s stopped. He doesn't want to displease her, but he also knows that he can’t risk sliding inside of her and seeing you. Possibly even saying your name. Or cumming to the thought of you. 

It’s disgusting. It’s low down and dirty. It makes him feel even more like a horrible person for keeping such a secret from her. So he stops and gives her a smile. “Why don’t I please you tonight, hm?” he suggests, moving to position himself on his knees. Sakura sits up on her elbows, her brows furrowed. “You don’t wanna fuck me?” she asks, sounding confused. “But I thought that–“ 

Keigo shushes her, gently stroking her tummy and pressing a kiss there. “Later, baby,” he assures her. “I just wanna make you feel good right now. You deserve it.” Before she can say anything more, he proceeds to kiss, lick, slurp, and lap up her pussy. He pays close attention to her body language, listening to the way she moans and feeling the way her body tenses when he alternates between tempos and moves. He gives her clit extra attention, gently sucking on the sensitive bud, giving it direct contact the way she likes. 

Sakura is a moaning, writhing mess. She grips his hair and arches her back, grinding her hips into his mouth. “Fuck, Keigo!” she cries aloud, her voice breathy and high-pitched. He loves when she gets like this: so unabashed and gone in her pleasure.

He slides his tongue down to her asscrack before trailing it back up, devouring her pussy by laying his open mouth on her cunt while his tongue begins to slowly enter her. As he does this, he begins to fist his cock, gripping himself at the base and fucking his hand as he listens to Sakura’s heavenly moans. Thankfully, they don’t turn into yours. Maybe this is the trick! 

Sakura’s moans begin to grow louder and more frequent the more he tongue fucks her, meaning she’s close to her end. “Keigo!” she cries out. “I-I’m gonna…I’m s-so…”

She can’t even finish her sentences, too overcome with pleasure. “Mmm-hmm,” he hums into her pussy, urging her to cum, and urging himself to cum with her. He applies a little more pressure to his licks as he pumps his cock faster and faster… 

“Stop!” Sakura cries out. He listens, looking up at her in confusion. She stares down at him, face flushed pink and breathing heavily. “I want you to fuck me now.” She stares at him pleadingly. “Please, Keigo. I need you inside of me.” Her hand moves to grip his cock, slowly pumping it at the head. “I need you to cum with me too.” 

“Okay, baby, okay," he agrees, standing up on his knees. “I’ve got you.” He uses one hand grip his cock and aligns himself with Sakura’s entrance.

Slowly, he brings his hips forward and sinks deep into her pussy, emitting a moan of longing from both of their mouths. “Shit!” Keigo hisses, shocked by how tight and wet she is. No matter how many times they do this, he will always be taken aback by the way her walls grip him and how sloppy her pussy can get for him. 

He does as she craves from him, gripping her hips and fucking her hard and fast. Her loud moans and the lewd, squelching sounds of his cock plunging into her pussy urge him to continue this tempo, wanting them both to reach that point of no return. “God, Keigo!” Sakura moans. “You’re so good!”

Hearing her soft voice so strained from pleasure ignites something in him. He closes his eyes as he feels himself slowly getting closer to his climax, but he realizes very quickly that this is a mistake. 

As soon as he shuts his eyes, he sees your face. Your body. Your pussy stretched around his cock. Your thick thighs wrapped around his waist, pulling him in more. He doesn’t realize that he’s fucking Sakura harder until her moans and cries of pleasure get louder and her pussy grips his cock tighter.

‘No,’ he thinks. ‘No!’ He wills himself to slow down, causing the urge to cum to shrink. He can’t do this. It’s wrong. He refuses to cum at the thought of you, especially when his girlfriend is right underneath him. 

So he opens his eyes and looks down to take in the way Sakura’s petite body looks taking his thick cock, her blue eyes squinted in utter ecstasy. He begins to slam his hips harder and faster into her, gliding his cock against her G-spot until her moans are bouncing off of the walls. “Cum for me, baby,” he huffs. “Do it for me.” That’s all it takes to send Sakura over the edge. Her pussy squelches as his cock plunges deep inside of her when she gushes all over him. A long moan escapes her lips, her eyelids twitching and her back arching. 

He can feel his orgasm building too. His balls are swelling. That knot in his core is beginning to tight. He’s close…he’s close…but nothing comes. He continues to fuck Sakura’s pussy of its hinges, his balls slamming against her ass and huffs coming from his mouth. He even picks Sakura up to settle her ass into his lap so her ass presses into his balls with every thrust. Still nothing. No matter what he does, he can’t release. 

Realizing that he is in deep shit now and there is no use in fighting the tide, he stops fucking Sakura and slowly pulls out of her with a weak, unsatisfied moan. “That was amazing,” she sighs followed by a breathless giggle. She stares up at him lovingly, her blue eyes slits. She begins to shimmy over to the left, making room on the couch for him. But Keigo is too deep in his thoughts to indulge in after-sex cuddles. He wouldn’t feel right doing it anyway considering he never came, and he’d be imagining you in his arms anyway.

‘What the fuck?’ he thinks, utterly confused at this. And kind of scared. This has never happened before. He has never not cum with Sakura during sex. He was right there! Right at the precipice of his climax, but he didn’t fall. His body and mind wouldn’t allow him to, almost as if they’re not connecting with one another. And they’re not, because they’re both lying with you right now. That explains why he got so close when he thought of you. He can’t even cum to the sight of his girlfriend.

“Keigo?” Sakura asks, concern lacing her tone. “Are you okay?” He turns to her, feeling even worse at the sight of her worried expression. He abruptly stands, butt naked and in need of space.

“Sorry,” he whispers weakly. “I just need a minute. I’ll be right back.” Before she can ask, he quickly hurries across the living room and up the stairs, flapping his wings a bit to get some leverage. As soon as he’s alone, he goes to his bedroom and presses himself against the wall, feeling the darkness closing in on him. 

How could this have happened? How could he have done this? It’s bad enough he’s already deeply, deliriously in love with you, but now after that night at Clubhouse and the hotel, he can’t focus on anything but you. He can’t even focus on his own girlfriend! She’s not good enough for him anymore. He hates that. He hates himself. He presses his hands to his forehead, pushing until his head hurts. “No,” he growls. He’s already ruined his friendship with you. He isn’t going to let that happen with Sakura. 

He will tell her about you…eventually. But he doesn’t want to hurt her. So after calming himself down and pulling on some sweats, he comes back downstairs with a false, winded whistle. “You were right,” he chuckles. “Adding those appetizers onto that steak was a bad idea. Some Tums definitely saved me though.” His smile fades when he finds Sakura putting her dress back on, her back to him. “Where you goin’?” he asks. 

She doesn’t turn around as she zips her dress up by herself. “Home,” she cooly replies. “Obviously I’m not wanted here.” His stomach drops as he watches her hurry to gather her things from the coffee table––her lip gloss; phone; keys.

“What are you talkin’ about? Of course, you’re wanted here! I had come down to see if you wanted to shower together.” Sakura scoffs, looking at him over her shoulder. “Please, Keigo,” she sighs. “You don’t even wanna cuddle with me. And I could tell you didn’t finish with me either.” 

Keigo swears his stomach drops farther until it’s in his ass. So she knew. She stares at him now, her eyebrows narrowed and looking very fed up…as she should be. “What’s going on with you?” she demands. “Do you not find me attractive enough?” The hurt in her voice pains him. He hates that he’s made her feel like that. “No,” he immediately protests. “No, that isn’t it. Sakura, you’re absolutely beautiful to me.” 

“Is there someone else then?” she continues, her voice like ice crawling up his spine. He pinches the bridge of his nose, frustration flooding in him. “No!” he shouts, squeezing his eyes shut. He can’t tell her like this. Not now when his living room has completely turned into a war zone.

“Then what is it, Keigo?” Sakura pointedly asks. "It can’t just be work!” 

“But it is, Sakura!” he argues, his voice bouncing off of the walls in a loud tone he has never used with Sakura before. She looks completely shocked, gripping her purse closer to her in reaction to him raising his voice.

“You don’t understand what it’s like to be a hero,” he continues, quieter though still harsh. “To have the weight of the world on your shoulders. To know that the innocent lives of others count on whether or not you’re on your toes during a mission or fuck up a single step when you’re face to face with a villain. Not to mention running your own agency, having brand deals, and having the Hero’s Commission up my ass constantly!” 

He turns away from her then, looking instead at the large sliding glass door that leads out onto his balcony. There, the city glitters and glints in the night before him. Dozens of homes, businesses, and lives down there, all counting on him. He balls his hands up into fists at his sides, his frustrations and insecurities growing inside of him. “You don’t understand,” he bitterly growls. “You couldn’t understand.”

The silence in the air is thick with tension that only swells the more time that passes between them. “You’re right,” Sakura softly says. “I don’t.” Keigo finally turns toward her, finding her storming toward the door, her pink curls bouncing. “Maybe you should find someone who does,” she sharply finishes. 

He watches as she picks up her shoes and turns the knob to his door, never once turning back around. 

“Sakura, wait,” he protests, but she’s already slamming the door shut, leaving him standing alone in his penthouse. As soon as he’s alone with the damning silence, he lets his frustrations explode.

“Fuck!” he screams, tightly gripping the blonde locks of his hair. His wings flare out behind him, ruffled by his emotions. His hatred for himself. His stupid decisions. He can’t be here alone like this. He knows he’ll do something he’ll regret, like drink till he’s hungover tomorrow or smoke up all his weed until he sleeps for three days. God, he feels like he’s about to jump out of his skin! 

So what does he do when he can’t stand being by himself with his own thoughts? He takes to the skies to clear his head. And where does he go when he knows he shouldn’t?

To your and Rumi’s condo across town.

He knows he shouldn’t be taking the route there, shouldn’t even be thinking about it, but he does so anyway. He doesn’t count on sticking around though. He just wants to see how you are, just to get a feel of what you’ve been up to. You’re all that is on his mind. Maybe seeing you, even through your window, and getting closure about whether you’re seeing someone new will somewhat ease his screaming mind.

With the summer night air in his hair and ears, he makes it to your condo in fifteen minutes. He quietly flutters around the building to your bedroom window, hoping to see you sleeping peacefully, not at all worried about what’s going on in the outside world. When he finds the curtains to your bedroom drawn, his heart droops in disappointment. 

“Stalker much?” a familiar voice suddenly asks him from up above. He startles, his wings immediately sharpening for a fight. But when he looks up, all he sees is Rumi peering down at him, her long hair tied back into a ponytail. She laughs at his readiness to fight. “Relax, bird brain,” she chuckles. “No need to be so hostile. It’s just me.” 

Keigo flaps his way up to the top of the building, finding her on the roof. She is currently stretching, her legs stretched out wide in front of her. “What are you doin’ up so late?” he questions skeptically.

She barely spares him a glance as she inhales and exhales deeply, deepening her stretch by leaning forward until her chest is pressing to the ground. “I should be askin’ you that, bird brain. Haven’t seen you around here in a minute. What, you don’t like us no more?” 

He can tell despite her joking manner that she’s hurt by his switch-up. He feels much worse now than when he came over here. “I’ve been busy,” he deadpans. He eyes her attire, noticing her spandex sports bra and shorts that show off her toned legs and ass. “What’s with the minuscule clothing?”

She stands up, stretching her arms over her head. “You should know I always try to get my late-night roof training in,” she huffs before giving him a wide smirk. “Didn’t think I’d catch you, did you?” 

His ears perk at her suggestive question. “Da fuck you mean?” he pointedly asks. Rumi cocks her head to the side, her smile knowing and creeping him out. “You’re obviously over here for a reason, Hawks; not just to say hi to Y/N who I’m pretty sure isn’t talkin’ to you right now.” 

‘Shit!’ Keigo thinks, wanting to kick himself.

Rumi walks by him to get her water sitting in the corner and takes a big gulp before continuing. “She’s been actin’ real strange for the past two weeks now,” she explains, still giving Keigo that accusatory stare that he doesn’t like or appreciate. “She’s real moody and passive-aggressive; plus, she’s been working herself to the bone which is obviously a cover for something.” She raises a white brow at him. “And now you’re barely visiting. So what did you do to her?” 

Keigo feels himself growing hot under his clothes the more his friend stares him down. “Y/N swore me to secrecy.” That was the wrong, wrong, wrong answer. “For what reason?” Rumi demands, narrowing her eyes at him.

He decides to keep his mouth shut, not wanting to break his promise to you. But Rumi isn’t having it. She throws her water bottle down, fed up with his games. “Do I have to smack it out of you or what?” she growls, already stomping towards him.  

Keigo immediately backs up until he is stepping off of the roof’s ledge. He flaps his wings, allowing himself to float in midair while Rumi stands at the ledge, glaring daggers at him. “If I tell you, you can’t tell Y/N anything, understand?” he demands, narrowing his eyes at her. “I mean it, Cotton Tail. I’m already on her shit list.” 

Rumi’s glare doesn’t soften, but she nods anyway. He sighs, already feeling horrible for breaking he promise he made to you. But then again, Rumi is his and your best friend. She may be mouthy, but she’ll never break a promise. So he throws all caution to the wind. “After Fatgum’s wedding, I took Y/N to the club to cheer her up after breaking up with Rei. We had some drinks, I kicked some ass, things got hot, and we…” 

A hard lump forms in his throat that almost stops him from spewing the truth. He swallows it hard and keeps his eyes locked on Rumi. “We had sex,” he chokes out. There it is, out in the open. There is no going back now. He watches in anticipation as his words register across Rumi’s face, her eyes widening at the truth. “You’re serious?” she asks. Keigo doesn’t even nod. 

She shakes her head in astonishment and puts her hands on her hips, winded by this new information. “Shit, I knew it was something, but definitely not this,” she comments, more to herself than to him. “How long did you last? I know you’ve been wantin’ that girl since UA.” An evil smirk curls onto her lips. 

Keigo grows red, earning a cackle from her. “Fuck off,” he growls. “You and Dabi both can kiss my ass.” Rumi pauses in her laughter momentarily. “Yes, he visited me after you hit him up. None of this is funny when my friendship is practically dust.”

He pinches his sinuses hard, feeling a headache coming on. “And don’t tell me to talk to her,” he growls before she can say anything. “We’ve barely spoken since that night and I don’t wanna make it any more awkward for her than it already is.” 

Rumi stares at him as if seeing right through to his soul. “Well, you can’t avoid this forever, Kei,” she argues, “and neither can she. Eventually, y’all will have to talk since we’re all friends and you’re both pros. It’s inevitable!” Her eyes soften. “And what about Sakura?” she asks, lowering her voice as if someone is listening. 

The guilt Keigo felt before comes back with a vengeance, making him want to fly away and crash into a bridge. He presses the heels of his hands to his face, pressing onto his eyelids until he’s seeing stars behind them. “I don’t even wanna think about that right now,” he tiredly groans. “My brain hurts.” He needs a damn drink to forget about all of this.

“Nothin’ like some good ol’ green to take care of that,” Rumi snickers. “I got some papers stashed in my room if you wanna stick around.” 

The idea of smoking a blunt sounds good, but he also knows that weed and a cup will only ease him of his horrible feelings temporarily. The next morning, he’ll be forced to face all of it again. “Thanks, but I don’t need to end up in another tree like the last time I flew home high.” He quirks a smile at the memory, remembering how angry you were standing out there with an ambulance when he blew up your phone. You were always so caring. 

‘You’re a piece of shit,’ he thinks to himself.

“Well, my window’s always open,” Rumi offers with a passive shrug. “Just when I’m not fucking.” Keigo rolls his eyes in disgust, earning a cheeky giggle. She walks up to the edge of the building, smirking at him. “Don’t be a stranger, huh?” she says, using her foot to nudge his ankle.

Keigo decides right there that he has never loved the bunny hero more. She’s non-judgmental but still gives it to you when you need it. However, when you need space, she gives it to you and lets you come to her whenever you’re ready. 

“I’ll call you later,” he huffs, nudging her back with his foot. She nods, backing up from the edge to allow him space for take-off. He begins to furious flap his wings, building up enough tempo to take off.

“And keep your fuckin’ mouth shut!” he calls to Rumi before taking off into the night sky, hoping his secret is safe. 

[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.

[aesterium]

thorn, meet rose

a xornoth-centric fic in which they are forced to hold a debuttante ball and attract the eye of one particular Empire’s ruler.

word count: 6,732

relevant tags and notes: a jornoth romance (just the flirting stage). royalty au, xornoth is not corrupted, scott and xornoth have an agreement re: succession; he/they pronouns for xornoth with he/him only in narration for ease of reading. background flower husbands. a few innuendos thrown in at the end, though nothing worse than what’s in empires s2

read on ao3 || read below

Xornoth is going to kill his brother. He’s going to reach down that smug asshole’s throat and rip his tongue out of his mouth. He’s going to punch that horrible self-important smirk off of his face. He’s going to go back in time and eat him in the womb.

Okay, maybe that’s a bit too far.

The person staring back at him from the mirror has his cheekbones, his bright purple hair, and his burgundy eyes. They have the long-healed scar on one of his hands from the last time he attempted to carve something out of wood and the still-healing burn on the other hand from when he tried to make eggs the other day and hot oil sprang out of the pan onto his palm. Their hair is braided back in an intricate style that he decidedly does not style his in and their face has been subtly powdered and contoured to polish it into a sharp-eyed weapon, soft as rose petals. Rivendellian gold sparkles from their ears and their neck and their wrists and their fingers, and their formal silks are carefully dyed the violet-silver of their chosen deity. The only thing Xornoth recognizes is their dark canvas pants.

Xornoth scowls. They scowl back.

“Bitch,” he says at them. Their lips curl to spit the word simultaneously.

“That’s not very nice.” Xornoth watches the figure of his brother come up from behind the false version of himself in the mirror. In stark contrast, Scott looks far too at ease with the ceremonial robes he wears, gold dripping from his body and doing more for his modesty than the cyan-white silks he wears.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Xornoth grumbles.

“You talked yourself into it,” Scott corrects, straightening out the fabric on Xornoth’s shoulders. “I’m surprised you were able to hold out for this long, honestly.”

“A century and a half of service to this wretched kingdom, and yet I’m still being dressed like a doll and paraded in front of the very rulers I’ve fought to be here.” Xornoth glares down his reflection and fantasizes about tearing his hands through his hair, sending jeweled hair pins flying across the room, and he imagines ripping these robes off and clawing the delicate gold that rests on him and disintegrating it all with a single thought—

He doesn’t do any of this. He just gives himself one last baleful look, awkwardly dusts off the robes that Scott is still artfully arranging on him, and turns away.

“If I stand here one more second,” he declares, “I think I’ll set this palace on fire.”

Scott has the audacity to laugh at that. “We wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

 •♚•

 Xornoth of Rivendell is the firstborn of his mother. He was born as a spring storm subsided, and five minutes later he was joined by his brother Ascorith. When his hair colored, he gave his claim to the throne to his twin and threw himself into training with the castle guard. While Scott’s tutors drilled him in the native languages used by Empires across the lands, Xornoth was being nearly run through by enthusiastic knights who would later brag about how any who tried to attack their princex would find themselves bleeding out in the dirt. At their maturity, Scott was declared Crown Prince of Rivendell and Xornoth was declared Commander of its forces. Scott prayed to Aeor for guidance in his diplomacy, and Xornoth sought out Exor for his overwhelming force and dominance on the battlefield. For more than a century, their kingdom spoke proudly of its twin kings, the Dark Stag and Ice King of Rivendell, of how they balanced each other out perfectly, of how the kingdom was stronger for it.

And now, that same kingdom excitedly cracked the foundation of that strength and dressed itself up to serve Xornoth on a serving platter to some other Empire.

“Stop whining,” Scott says.

“I didn’t say anything,” Xornoth bites back.

“You didn’t have to; I can practically read your mind.” Scott stops walking, and after a couple of confused steps, Xornoth turns to look back at him.

For the first time in a while, the confidence that usually bleeds from Scott slows to uncertainty. “Xornoth, we don’t actually have to do this,” he says. “We can work through whatever political quagmire calling this off so abruptly will cause, but Rivendell isn’t more important than you are.”

“Where was all of this a week ago?” Xornoth asks.

Scott shakes his head slightly while slowly taking the last few steps that would bring them next to each other. “Honestly, I didn’t think you hated the idea this much. Stupid of me, I know, but I thought you were playing it up just to complain.”

Reluctantly, Xornoth could understand. He would be the type to do something like that. He shrugs. “It just feels stupid to give up what makes us so powerful like this. It feels like trading our stability for dependence on another Empire.”

Scott looks at him strangely. “Xornoth, tell me the truth. Do you think my marriage to Jimmy weakens us?”

Xornoth can see where this is going. “No,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes.

“Does my marriage to Jimmy mean I put the Codlands before Rivendell in any political maneuvering?”

Xornoth tries not to look too grumpy. “No.”

Scott doesn’t look as smug at this admittance as Xornoth would have thought he’d be. “So why would your being married do anything worse?”

Xornoth picks at one of the golden chains around his neck. “It just feels wrong,” he says. “I’ve given so much of myself to Rivendell. I can’t imagine giving as much for somewhere else.”

“You’ll always be of Rivendell,” Scott says firmly. “You don’t have to do this ‘for Rivendell’ if you’re going to be unhappy.”

“Everything I’ve ever done is for our kingdom, Scott,” Xornoth says, “even being sold off to some ruler with a superiority complex.” They stand in front of the doors to the grand ballroom.

Scott sighs. “If you’re sure.” 

He lifts his hands to the doors, and with one last second of hesitation, he pushes them open.

 •♚•

 It takes Xornoth half an hour to feel like his smile is beginning to peel off.

“You look like a plucked goose,” the ruler of the Grimlands tells him. He looks ruffled, his hair all flyaways and his face covered in a thin layer of redstone powder except for two perfect ovals around his eyes. His red tie is crooked, the blazer thrown over his button-up open and its pockets filled with something that ruins its silhouette. He’s wearing a pair of chunky leather boots that Xornoth deeply envies. 

“Be nice,” Scott admonishes from behind a glass of wine. “They look far better than you would even if you’d actually cleaned up for once.”

“He’s got you there, fWhip,” the woman beside him says. She’s got matching red hair, though hers is less vibrant (perhaps because it isn’t filled with redstone), and she’s wearing an elegant green dress and a simple purple cloak. The rulers of the twin Empires of the Grimlands and the Crystal Cliffs had run up to them almost immediately upon their entrance, deftly cutting off the more pompous looking nobles who seemed prepared to descend on them. Xornoth makes a mental note to ask Scott whether they all became friends over being twins, which sounds like a really stupid reason to make friends with someone.

“Just because you all don’t have my rugged good looks doesn’t mean you have to be this obviously jealous of me,” fWhip says, preening slightly. “I don’t need to try to look good.”

Scott turns a withering gaze over to the Archwizard of the Crystal Cliffs. “Gem, if I managed to wrestle my meathead brother into something suitable for this, you should have at least gotten yours a new suit or something.”

She gives him an equally disparaging look. “Do you think I could force this lug to do anything?”

“I’m glad you’re here,” fWhip says to Xornoth in a stage whisper. “Usually, they just team up against me.”

Xornoth doesn’t think he’s said anything outside of the occasional “yes” or “no” to him before, but he just gives fWhip an awkward nod and hums in assent.

“Stop flirting with him,” Gem says bluntly.

fWhip makes a series of unflattering sputtering sounds. “I wasn’t flirting, I was commiserating,” he says defensively.

“Sounds like someone who was flirting would say,” Gem fires back. She turns an apologetic gaze at Xornoth. “Was he flirting?”

Xornoth blinks. “Um. If he was, he was doing a piss-poor job at it.”

“Xornoth wouldn’t know flirting if it smacked them on the ass,” Scott says to Gem. He glances back at his brother. “And don’t say ‘piss’ at a formal gathering.”

“You just said ‘ass’.”

“I never said I couldn’t say ‘ass’.”

“Don’t say ‘ass’ at a formal gathering, Scott,” Gem says in a shockingly good imitation of the elven king’s bored drone.

“Fine.”

Silence settles over them as they sip on their drinks. “Aren’t you supposed to be meeting people?” Gem asks Xornoth. “If you’re supposed to be getting married for politics or whatever?”

“Hell if I know.” He ignores his brother’s shushing. “I’ve met you two, haven’t I?”

“No offense, but I’m not interested,” she deadpans.

“None taken. I’m gay.”

“Glad we’ve cleared this up.” Gem glances around the room. “I mean, if you’re going husband-searching, you’ve got a nice selection here, I guess. No one came with me from the Crystal Cliffs, but I see a few of the higher nobles from the Grimlands and Mythland, if you want to be introduced.”

“Absolutely not,” Scott cuts in. “I’m keeping Sausage far away from this one.”

“Oh, he’s not that bad,” Gem says. “Just a little ambitious, but who isn’t?”

“Ambition is fine, but I think Xornoth would set Mythland on fire if he had the slightest inkling that Sausage wanted to attack Rivendell, and that’d be too many political nightmares in one event.”

“You have to be exaggerating,” Gem says.

“I would,” Xornoth adds helpfully.

“He would,” Scott echoes.

fWhip’s eyes are sparkling— actually sparkling, as if they’re ocean waves reflecting the sunrise. Xornoth didn’t think human eyes could do that.

“We’re keeping them away from your Empire too, then,” Gem says, jabbing fWhip’s cheek. “I’m not letting another pyromaniac by that powder keg you inherited from Dad.”

He pouts.

Scott notices Xornoth’s fidgeting pick up about now and sends him off to the table of unfilling finger foods to nibble from whatever stack of cheese and fruits and crackers he’s prepared for this event. He rolls his eyes at the suggestion but still makes his way over, making stilted conversation as various strangers come up and titter over him. At one point, he stuffs an entire bunch of grapes into his mouth to avoid responding to one particularly pushy woman’s questions about his place in Rivendell’s succession. It becomes a sea of faces that he doesn’t quite absorb, relegating himself to nodding vaguely as people jabber at him and drift away.

“Vultures, the lot of them.”

Xornoth glances at the latest interloper and has to hold himself back from a double-take. The man who joined him is somehow wearing even less than he and Scott are. His outfit almost completely relies on a sheer crimson cloak to preserve his modesty, and his pants stop mid-thigh, though a string of turquoise pendants circles his waist, holding up more crimson fabric fashioned into a mockery of a light skirt that flows to his knees. Bronze pauldrons shaped into feline paws grip his shoulders, claws out, and a pair of bright scarlet parrot wings peeks out from under his cloak.

Xornoth quickly looks away before he’s caught staring at this stranger’s legs. “It’s what they’re taught to do,” he says. “Cozy up to whoever’s available and powerful.”

“Mm, I guess that’s true.” The man shifts closer, a wing twitching, and Xornoth feels a stray end of his cloak brush against his arm almost imperceptibly. He wonders if he can get away with grabbing a handful of walnuts and absolutely sprinting out of here and back to his room. “I can see why they’d be interested in you.” He pokes a cheese cube with a toothpick and carefully slides it into his mouth. Xornoth quickly looks away.

“I don’t,” Xornoth says. He ends up taking far too many crackers and backing away. The man shifts over again.

“There you are, Xornoth.” He feels his shoulders sag in relief as Gem walks up to join them. “Scott was wondering why you hadn’t come back yet.” 

“He’s been getting accosted by everyone’s courts,” the man says to her. He’s still leaning against the table. “I don’t blame them, of course. If I had any fewer manners, who knows what I’d have said?” He winks at Xornoth, who glances away to give Gem a pleading look.

“Joey, you’re scaring him,” Gem says, sounding amused. Xornoth wonders if his mortification is what’s amusing her or if she’s just used to the antics she’s seeing

The man— Joey— laughs with an abandon that would better fit the top of a tree than the ballroom that they’re currently in. “Am I?” he says, and his words resonate like a cat’s purr more than a human voice. “What a shame— and I hoped we would get along.”

Xornoth wonders if he can get away with the grape trick again.

“You can be a lot,” Gem says, sipping on a glass of wine.

“I’m sure he doesn’t mind,” Joey says, chin tipped back to look up at Xornoth (and when did he get so close that he had to look up at him?). “I can’t be the scariest thing that he’s ever met.” He winks. 

Xornoth hopes his face isn’t as red as it feels like it is.

Gem takes pity on him (finally) and draws Joey in a conversation about alliances and trade agreements and whatever else it is that rulers of nations discuss, and Xornoth is able to slink away and flee back to where Scott and fWhip chat idly amongst themselves. They’ve been joined by a few other rulers: Katherine of House Blossom, who smiles at him sleepily, and Scott’s own husband.

“Hey, Xornoth,” Katherine says, idly brushing pollen off of her shoulder. “You look frazzled.”

“Do I?” he says distractedly.

“You do,” Scott says, eyeing him critically. “Your gold is all off and your silks aren’t symmetrical anymore.” Exasperation spills from every gesture as he rearranges Xornoth’s clothes.

Xornoth lets him fuss over him for a few seconds before irritably waving him off. “Honestly, I think I’m done for today,” he says. “I’m going to get out of all of this and head down to the stables or something. Go for a ride.”

“Won’t that be seen as impolite?” Jimmy asks. He’s foregone the usual clay mask he wears, but he’s wearing the illusion of a human man with bottomless black eyes rather than his typical somewhat monstrous appearance. There’s a violently red poppy tucked into his lapel, and as ill-fitting as it is, Xornoth knows he will at best ignore anyone who points it out. “Some of the nobles here are pretty stuffy; they might kick up a fuss.”

“Let them fuss,” Scott declared, tucking his hand into the crook of Jimmy’s elbow. “They’re here for us, not the other way around. If they aren’t interesting enough to make Xornoth want to stick around and talk to them, then they don’t have a leg to stand on.” He glances at him. “Just try to make it back by sunset, I think.”

Xornoth nods to Scott gratefully before walking out of the hall, uncaring of being seen. He doesn’t bother cleaning the makeup off of his face while he pulls on a silver tunic and black surcoat, leaving the flimsy gold and silks in a pile on a chair rather than figuring out how to hang them up properly. 

He catches his reflection in the mirror as he pulls his boots on. His face looks strange, as softened as it is especially juxtaposed with his far coarser clothes, and he rubs the color off of his mouth as he heads out. It stains his hand red, but that’s a far more familiar sight so he doesn’t bear it any mind. He flings on a black cloak just in case the wind gets too biting.

Xornoth doesn’t realize he’s being followed until he’s leading his steed out of her stall and he hears a quiet gasp. He whips around to see a wide-eyed Joey, his mouth slack-jawed.

“What is that?” he asks.

It’s a reasonable question, Xornoth supposes. He runs a hand through stiff silver fur, shushing her as she shakes her head at the interruption.

“This is Calliope,” he says, his voice low so as to not startle her. “I raised her from a fawn.”

“She’s beautiful,” Joey says, cautiously stepping forward. “I think I expected her to be—”

“Darker?” Xornoth snorts quietly. “I have no idea who came up with that stupid moniker, but it wasn’t me.”

“I don’t know, it’s kind of a sexy nickname.” The coquettish tone is back in his voice. Xornoth chooses, once again, to ignore how his throat dries. “The Dark Stag of Rivendell. It sounds like something out of a novel.”

“Not the kind of novel I’d want to be in,” Xornoth says, saddling Calliope with practiced hands. 

“It’s the kind of novel I’d read,” Joey says.

Xornoth sighs, tightening one last strap before glancing over his shoulder at him. “Look, Joey—”

“Ooh, say my name again.”

“Can you be serious for just ten seconds?” Xornoth asks. He doesn’t know if he sounds more exasperated or frustrated, but he sees the smirk slip off of Joey’s face, replaced by confusion and, for some reason, concern. “I need to explain something to you, and I just need ten seconds of your serious attention, and then you can go back to whatever the fuck this is.” He gestures vaguely towards Joey.

The sly light leaves Joey’s gaze, replaced by something more… curious isn’t the right word. There’s a cautious interest, along with something far sharper than he’s worn all evening, and underneath it all, a thinly veiled level of desire that marks his expression. He cocks his head to one side and stands up slightly straighter, and Xornoth can finally recognize how this man might lead an entire population of elemental mages.

“Go on,” he says.

Xornoth busies himself by finding Calliope’s brush and carefully working out tangles in her coat. “I’ve never done this,” he says, gesturing vaguely between the two of them. “It’s not that I don’t want to or anything. Scott and I were raised on the same histories of all of the Empires, and practically every one has their own version of a tragic romance somewhere in their royal genealogies. The Grimlands and the Crystal Cliffs and their Empires reunited after being sundered thanks to the love of a noble and a princess. The stories that Mezalea was once an island ruled by a man who loved the ocean, who died of grief when it retreated from his shores. Even now, Scott and Jimmy are writing their own story— when they married, all of the nobles clung to the tragic romance of two star-crossed lovers separated by their political duties to different lands. It isn’t like that, as you’re well aware; theirs is a respectful and trusting and, yes, loving marriage, but they’re just as aware of the politics required to convince both Rivendell and the Codlands to allow it. Nothing is as romantic as it first seems, and I feel like you’re being swept up in an image you conjured of me from my reputation and whatever Scott wrote on the invitations to that stupid ball.” 

Xornoth takes a moment to gently dissuade Calliope from eating his hair. “I’m not a romantic person. I’ve never dreamed of marriage, I’ve never courted anyone, formally or not; hell, I’ve never even had a sweetheart or anything more than a momentary flitting attraction. I’ve never sought it out the way Scott dreamed of that sort of domestic nonsense.”

“Is there a reason why not?”

Xornoth hesitates over his initial impulsive answer before sighing. “It just never felt like something I’d get, I guess,” he says. “I’m the soldier of the two of us. My lot in life is leading armies into deadly battles and coming home either victorious or on my shield. Seems like a waste of someone’s time to court them and promise my life to them when it could be cut short at any point.”

“I don’t think it would be,” Joey says. He cautiously steps forward, eyeing the deer, but Calliope is an intelligent creature and simply lowers her head to look right back at him. “Your life doesn’t have to be defined by your death. Isn’t it better to know what love is, at least a little bit, than to live in fear of hurting someone for your entire life?”

Xornoth drops his hands. He does not turn to look at Joey. “Maybe,” he says through a dry throat. He shoves the bubbling half-thoughts forming in his head, the dangerous ones that want to hope and believe in Joey’s words, especially given who’s telling them to him, and swings himself up onto Calliope’s back.

“Do you want to ride with me?” he asks Joey, a hand stretched towards him. It’s an offer thrown out somewhat impulsively, though it’s also one he’s given hundreds of times before and been denied each time. Calliope is faster than Scott’s mount, sacrificing comfort and ease for a whirlwind of speed that takes one’s breath away and exchanges it for heart-pounding adrenaline. It’s visible in every single one of her wiry muscles and in the way her eyes seem perpetually widened with glee. Xornoth wouldn’t insult himself by saying his reputation isn’t built on his fighting prowess, but he’s not sure how much of it is thanks to the sight of him pounding onto a battlefield, axe held aloft as Calliope soars across land to deliver him unto his enemies. Even the saddle he draped on her is steeped in war, the wider make of it designed to help cart an injured person back to a medic tent.

Knowing all of this, it’s a complete surprise when Joey says nothing, takes his hand, and hoists himself onto the saddle behind Xornoth after only a moment of hesitation.

Xornoth chooses not to read into this. Instead, he realizes just how violently Joey is shivering and unclasps his cloak to throw over the other ruler’s head.

“What?”

“Just take it. In case you, uh, get cold.” Xornoth glances over his shoulder at Joey, who’s awkwardly holding onto the edge of the saddle. “It gets pretty brisk up here.”

“Tell me about it,” Joey says, his voice clearing as he quickly puts the cloak on. Xornoth tries to ignore the feeling of his breath against his neck. “Honestly, I wish the guy that founded my Empire thought about other climates when he decided that this is what our formal wear would look like. The funny part is that it’s still almost too much to wear in the jungle sometimes.”

Xornoth adds this to the list of Things Joey Says That Should Garner Further Thought But Won’t, At Least Right Now. Instead, he focuses on gently leading Calliope down to a well-trodden path. She snorts excitedly.

“Let’s take it a bit easy for a bit,” he whispers into her ear. “Wouldn’t want to lose our passenger.”

“What?”

Calliope takes off as though her hooves summon the winter wind itself.

The wind bites just as much as Xornoth knew it would as it whips into his eyes and past his ears. Calliope leaps through the mountainous forests surrounding Rivendell with an ease that Xornoth has only recently begun to share, and she revels in long, soaring leaps rather than her typical death-defying speeds. A blessing, perhaps, especially for the Emperor who had immediately latched himself onto Xornoth’s waist and tucked his face into the crook of his neck as soon as Calliope started forward. 

For once, there is nothing sensual about Joey’s gesture; Xornoth could tell that the rapid rise and fall of the chest pressed against his back is due to some combination of panic and surprise rather than the desire or interest he had worn earlier, and the grip around him begins to choke him as it becomes immediately clear that Calliope won’t be slowing down at any point soon.

“Joey, you realize that you’re fine, right?”

His arms tighten even further in response.

Xornoth winces. “I really need you to let go a bit.”

“Why? Are you going to throw me off?” Joey’s much better at showing emotion in his voice than hiding it; his terror is practically palpable, as much as he’s attempting to veil it in indignance.

“Of course not,” Xornoth says. “I just can’t really breathe.”

Joey huffs. “That sounds like your problem. My problem is that I’m on your hellbeast and she’s going to throw me off if I don’t hang on!”

Calliope seems to take a bit of offense to the ‘hellbeast’ comment. She abruptly ducks her chin down and begins flying across the ground, her feet a blur as she tears through the snowmelt. She becomes a smoke-smudge more than a beast, pelting up mountainsides and leaping off to thunder through gullies with a single-minded pursuit for speed, soaring off of cliffs that lurch into forests only to pound back into the ground a handful of exhilarating seconds later.

And, to Xornoth, it is exhilarating. It’s oddly comforting to feel the air whip against his face and his hair fill with mist as Calliope strains against herself, refusing to accept that she can’t fly. Scott’s always called him crazy for encouraging his steed’s sprinting (“She could break her legs, Xornoth! What if you’re stranded miles away from the castle, with a deer with a broken leg?” “Well, I don’t know what you would do, but personally I would just pray to Exor for an hour of his greater blessing, be imbued with godly strength and wings, and fly back with her.” “Oh my gods, you’re so annoying.”) but Calliope runs like she was born to do nothing else, and Xornoth can’t begrudge her that.

He can, however, begrudge Joey the grip around his waist that he hasn’t loosened at all. 

“Joey, do you trust me?” Xornoth shouts back at him.

“I don’t know! Will you throw me off if I say no?!” Joey’s words are muffled by Xornoth’s surcoat.

“Of course not! That would be the height of impropriety.” Xornoth gently guides Calliope to dashing up one of the steepest cliff faces, and she tenses in anticipatory recognition.

Joey laughs a little too desperately. “I mean, I’m trusting you with my life right now, aren’t I?” he says.

“How incredibly romantic.” The words come out teasing rather than sardonic. Surprisingly, his flowery expectations don’t bother Xornoth as much as it had in the stables. “If you trust me, look up.”

There's hesitation. Then, miraculously, Xornoth feels Joey’s head tip up, his chin sliding against his shoulder. His body tenses around Xornoth’s as he registers the white-silver sky and the slate that makes up the mountain range Rivendell’s castle is built in.

And then Calliope reaches the zenith of the peak.

And leaps and begins to dive down.

Joey shrieks, but when he squeezes Xornoth again, he doesn’t try to avert his gaze. Xornoth shouts something wordless as well, the sound spiraling into the air as Calliope maneuvers herself through the air and begins running almost vertically down the other side of the cliff. She somehow manages to keep her balance while fluidly moving down a vein of quartz crystals that grow out of the side of the rock, splintering off bits of the clear mineral as she goes. 

“This is insane!” Joey yells in Xornoth’s ear.

“Isn’t it amazing?” Xornoth yells back.

Joey smacks his chest painlessly before returning the hand around Xornoth’s midsection. “Don’t make fun of me,” he says, and Xornoth can just imagine his pout.

What the hell. Xornoth chances a smirk over his shoulder and catches startled green eyes. “Don’t make it so easy for me, then,” he says.

He feels more than he hears Joey’s breath catch in the back of his throat, and then Calliope is leaping into a waterfall and racing along with the spray and Xornoth turns his attention back to her and whatever crazy idea she’s gotten this time.

Calliope leaps out of the waterfall in time to land rather gracefully on solid ground and slows herself to a careful trot, breathing heavily beneath Xornoth. He pats the side of her neck gently. “One of these days, you won’t exhaust yourself doing some crazy stunt,” he says to her, fondness creeping past the chastisement in his voice. She brushes his words off and calmly walks through the sparse trees as if she hadn’t just run straight down a vertical surface moments before.

“Does she want to do that every time you take her out?” Joey asks. His grip on Xornoth has slackened a lot, but he keeps his arms wrapped around Xornoth and at this point, he thinks it would be strange if he moved them.

Xornoth sighs. “Usually she wants to do much worse. She thinks she could run on the clouds, if only the mountains were tall enough to let her reach them.”

“To be fair, that would look super magical,” Joey says. He rests his chin on Xornoth’s shoulder. “I bet Calliope would be the only deer brave enough to find out.”

Calliope perks up slightly at that. 

“No,” Xornoth says gently, swatting Calliope’s ears when she irritably huffs at him.

They make it back to Rivendell in decent time. Xornoth’s heart sinks a bit when he realizes that the ball is still somehow going on.

“How haven’t they left yet?” he mutters to himself, sliding out of Calliope’s saddle with a practiced ease.

“We were only gone for like twenty minutes,” Joey says, an edge of sympathy leaking into his words. “I’m sure Scott didn’t want to start actively clearing everyone out until half the party left of their own accord, as well.”

Xornoth sighs. “I hate politics,” he grumbles.

That prompts a laugh from Joey, the most genuine one Xornoth’s heard all day, and he turns to see the Lost Emperor sitting side-saddle on Calliope still. “That was wild,” he says. “I had no idea what I was supposed to expect and somehow you still exceeded my expectations.”

“Is this where I say ‘thank you’?” Xornoth says. He goes to put a footstool down for Joey to jump down on, but instead Joey somehow maneuvers himself into Xornoth’s arms with a delicate flourish and gets down from there. He unclips his borrowed cloak and holds it in his arms.

“If you want to.” 

Joey falls silent as he turns to Xornoth. It doesn’t escape him that Joey’s eyes are absolutely wandering. After a few seconds of bewilderment, it finally occurs to Xornoth that his traitorous mount ran down a waterfall with him leading her, and he wonders just how much the stupidly fine clothes that Scott insists on are clinging to him. 

Might as well own it. “Like what you see?”

“Mhmm.” Joey’s eyes finally meet Xornoth’s, and the sly smirk from the canape table sneaks back onto his face. “I know you were basically shirtless before, but somehow this is better.”

Xornoth rolls his eyes. “I’m going to choose to ignore that,” he says, reaching an arm out for the cloak. Joey hands it over but lets his hand linger on Xornoth’s forearm as he takes it, and at this point Xornoth is wise enough to his flirtations that he lets this roll off of him without any fuss. “Do you need help getting back inside?”

“I’ll take help from you for anything, anytime,” Joey replies with a purr.

“Noted,” Xornoth says drily. He hangs Calliope’s saddle on its hook, gives her one last handful of clover, and ushers Joey back inside.

“I did want to ask you something,” Joey says, the coy tone mostly gone but his voice still light.

Xornoth hums in response.

“You seem— I guess, more relaxed now? You’re not snapping at me for saying anything.” Joey raises an eyebrow. “I’d ask you to my marital bed to see how far I can push it, but I have the feeling you’d take that far too seriously.”

“Do you not want me to take such a request seriously?” Xornoth asks. 

For the first time, Joey stutters to a halt, his eyes wide as he stares at Xornoth. Xornoth takes a moment to admire them; they’re the same shade as the moss that lines the room the Rune Blade is kept in along with Rivendell’s other ancient artifacts. He patiently waits for the Lost Emperor to regain his senses.

“Okay. I can’t say I was expecting that.”

Xornoth raises an eyebrow. “To answer your previous question,” he says, “I hate these sorts of events. Half of the reason I let Scott take the throne after our parents abdicated was because I didn’t want to have to deal with these things, and he’s always enjoyed them more. Frankly, I wouldn’t have shown up to this ball if it wasn’t technically for me.

“And if you actually meant the implications of what you were saying— I grew up with Scott. I’ve known him for more than a century. I’ve heard him say practically every innuendo under the skies, and the ones he hasn’t said Jimmy’s wandered into on accident. Just because I’m aware of them doesn’t mean I myself am fond of making them.”

“But you can.”

“Of course, I can.” As they step into the castle, Xornoth dries them both off with barely a flicker of thought and a rush of warmth through his veins. He wonders what Exor would think of all of this as he offers the crook of his arm for Joey to take and leads him back to the ballroom.

“My my, your highness,” he says, the sly tone back in his voice as he leans into Xornoth’s arm. They’ve reentered the ballroom at this point. “Making a statement?”

“Yes, a statement that visiting royals should be accompanied by a chaperone so they don’t find themselves with particularly sticky fingers.” Xornoth doesn’t catch what he says until he’s standing next to his brother, who at some point ushered his group to sitting at a table set up for both kings on a dais at the back of the room.

“Who’s got sticky fingers?” Scott says. He’s clearly had at least one more flute of champagne from how he’s leaning into Jimmy, who for his part is glancing around a tiny bit nervously but diligently holding his husband by the waist. Gem and fWhip are still with them, though they’re now joined by the third member of their historic alliance, a man Xornoth has definitely led armies to threaten when Scott was still wrangling the final details of his nuptial agreements with Jimmy. Katherine isn’t there currently, but a small plate of grape stems and apple bits implies her lingering presence.

“Definitely not me,” Xornoth replies.

“Well, I’d hope so,” Scott says. “Even if you were gone for long enough.”

“I was wondering where you went off to, Joey,” Gem says, delicately cutting into whatever Scott was about to say next. “What were the two of you doing?”

“Xorny was taking me for a ride on their magnificent beast,” Joey says with a wink, arm curling more firmly around Xornoth’s bicep.

“Do not say it like that,” he says deadpan as Jimmy chokes on a half-eaten cheese cube and Sausage barks out a startled laugh that soon turns into an out-of-control cackle.

Joey actually flutters his eyelashes at him. “What do you mean?” he asks with a slight pout. “It was the longest, roughest ride I’ve ever been on. I could barely keep up.”

“He’s being crass. Calliope ran us down a waterfall,” Xornoth says to Scott, who gains a calculating gleam in his eye that Xornoth has learned to fear.

“Sorry, did you say that your deer ran down a waterfall?” Sausage says. “How the heck did she do that?!”

“On her hooves. Very rapidly.”

“Your deer can do that here?”

Xornoth is beginning to feel the prickle on the back of his neck from nobles staring at his far drabber clothes, at the flyaways of his hair, and at Joey, who is burrowing into his side far less subtly than he must think he’s being. A buzzing is settling into his ears, a sharp sound that slowly digs into his head. He carefully extricates his arm, nods to the group, and quietly dismisses himself for the night.

 •♚•

 Xornoth expects that to be the end of it, to be honest: a single night of mostly one-sided flirtation followed by nothing truly happening, leading to Scott’s council of stuffy advisors throwing their hands up in defeat and leaving him alone for the rest of his life.

So when Scott walks into his room with a parrot holding a letter and the smuggest grin that Xornoth has ever seen, he barely holds himself back from throwing something at him and snatches the letter from the bird’s beak. Even without seeing the seal on the letter (it’s intricate and detailed and just on the knife’s edge of being ostentatious), Xornoth knows who sent this.

“Has Joey always been like this?” he asks with a grumble, idly whisking a sliver of his gift from Exor into a thin claw that effortlessly slides through the wax.

“Yes and no,” Scott says, sitting on Xornoth’s desk. “Yes, in that he’s an outgoing and flirtatious guy. No, in that he’s never sent a follow-up letter.”

“This is when you try to convince me to give him a chance, isn’t it?” Xornoth can’t keep the mild bitter tone out of his voice. He doesn’t open the letter. He considers just setting the letter on fire without reading it.

“Of course not. You don’t need to hear that from me.” Scott gestures towards the letter. “What did he say?”

Xornoth glowers at him half-heartedly before slowly opening the letter and glancing through its contents.

“Well?” Scott prompts.

“Don’t you have laws to write?” Xornoth mutters.

“That’s after lunch,” he says. “I get the whole morning to bother my favorite big sibling.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Xornoth ponders the letter, walks over to his desk, and takes out a sheet of paper (decent quality, not as amazing as a formal invitation would be but not of such shoddy make that it’d be taken as an insult), a wax seal (his personal one, not one of Rivendell at large), and a pen. He stares at the writing materials for a second longer.

“I’m growing old here,” Scott says with a sigh, sliding off of the desk and onto the sofa a few feet away. 

“He thanked me for taking him to see Calliope and wants to meet for dinner sometime,” Xornoth says distractedly. “That’s all he asked for. No mention of politics or beneficial partnerships or uniting families or anything.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“I don’t think so,” he says. “Just… unexpected, I guess.” He begins penning a response (short but not curt, with none of the innuendos of the previous night but enough of the implications to make one pause).

“Unexpected sounds good enough,” Scott says. “You need unexpected in your life.”

There’s an odd tone in Scott’s voice, one that Xornoth resolves is far too sly, a joke bubbling in implications and sideways glances. Xornoth raises an eyebrow at him as he dries the ink with a single thought, seals the letter, and hands it off to the parrot, who gently takes it from him and flies out an open window.

“He’ll be good for you, Xorny.” Scott lingers on the bastardization of his name.

There's nothing holding him back this time. Xornoth pegs him in the forehead with his wax seal.