#i am on the floor I am melding through the floor

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Aqua Thermae

Also on AO3

Pairing: Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 2.3k words

Summary: After a particularly great victory in the arena, Lucius is rewarded with both a visit to a bathhouse and you -- a high-ranking courtesan -- to keep him company.

Warnings: SMUT (minors DNI this fic is 18+), reader is a courtesan (so SW), mentions of violence, shenanigans in and out of water, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, maybe some historical inaccuracies? forgive my sins please, and I thinkkk that's it but lmk if anything else!

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It had been a very long time since he’d been somewhere so luxurious. One of Rome’s finest bathhouses brought echoes of a comfortable life long past in the emperor’s palace. The marble pillars and fine mosaic floors, the detailed frescoes on the walls, and a large thermal pool all for himself.

Then other flashes of memory came to him – his mother’s kindness, his father’s armor, his uncle Comodus’ booming voice, and the cross of their swords…

He shucked his heavy breastplate and immediately felt the steam on his already sweat-slick skin. He let out a long sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. If only memories were so easy to get rid of, he might not always feel so tormented.

Lavishness was not something he had ever actively sought out, even if he was entitled to it as the direct descendant to the throne, but it was strange to think he was once accustomed to it. So much had happened since his forced departure, like a hundred lives melding into one.

Now, after a long, grueling fight with a mighty rhinoceros and its fierce rider, he wanted nothing more than to luxuriate in the warm water until his head swam and his muscles no longer ached so badly.

But then he noticed you standing on one side of the pool, a carafe of wine and a platter of dates, cheese, and nuts waiting on a low table next to you. You smiled as your eyes locked and Lucius’ back immediately straightened. Not much took him by surprise anymore, but this certainly had.

“Who are you?” He asked, curious rather than irritated at your presence.

You inclined your head genially. “You may call me whatever you like.”

He huffed in amusement, giving you a once-over. “Very well, then. And who sent you here?”

“Macrinus wanted nothing but the best company for you, his champion,” you said, serving him some wine. “I am to be your prize, along with this bath.”

His eyebrows lifted infinitesimally and he looked away in an almost bashful manner. His profile was proud and handsome, kissed by the sun and the strikes of his opponents. He had the face of a hero history would always remember – Or at least you would, certainly.

He was hesitant at first, unsure if he could trust anything that came from Macrinus. But as he took another look at you, your allure was too great for him not to be stirred. He could tread carefully, but he didn’t really want to deny himself pleasure, however fleeting it may be.

“I take it your company is quite coveted around here?” He asked, approaching to accept the wine you offered.

You nodded in response, fingertips barely brushing his as he took the glass. He held your gaze as he took a sip and you almost lost yourself in the infinite blue of his eyes. 

“By the likes of who?” He asked.

“Fierce gladiators such as yourself,” you said pointedly, unable to help your wandering eyes from finding the rippling muscles of his chest. “Merchants. Senators. Even emperor Geta has had his fill of me, but Caracalla was content with just watching.”

“Let us not speak of them now,” he said, shaking his head and grimacing at the names of the bloodthirsty twin emperors. “Within these walls, it is just the two of us. Nothing more.”

You nodded in understanding as he set down his glass on the table. “Would you like me to help you finish undressing?”

“I can manage,” he said, but now his eyes roamed appreciatively over your form, barely covered by a nearly see-through shift. “But I should like to help you, so you may join me.”

“How very kind of you,” you grinned, a salacious edge to your tone. 

He stepped even closer, reaching to unclasp the bronze brooch at your shoulder. The shift fell in a puddle of fabric at your feet, your body completely bare underneath. He let out a small, shuddering breath, fingers lightly tracing one of your clavicles.

For a moment, his expression was clouded as something crossed his mind. He stared off into the middle distance, but before he could really lose himself, you decided to intervene. You pulled him in, one hand cupping the back of his head as you went on your tiptoes and brought your lips close to his ear.

“Whatever you’d like to forget, I should really like to help you,” you whispered.

“Everything,” he rasped, one callused hand grasping your hip, while the other gently tilted your head to one side so your lips would meet his.

You tasted the sweet wine on his tongue and breathed him in. He smelled of the arena — blood and sand and sweat. It was not unfamiliar to you, but it was heady coming off of him, fueling your growing desire. 

Deftly, he managed to reach between your bodies to undo his pteruges and the loincloth underneath, both joining your shift on the floor. You felt the hardness of his own want against your lower abdomen, but he made no move to hasten things along. 

“Come now, let us wash the day off of you,” you said softly, pulling away to guide him into the water.

You waited by the edge for him to submerge himself first, watching the way his muscles worked as he walked. He had the grace of a warrior, as if poised for attack at any moment. You almost shudder at his deep groan of contentment, leaning back against the edge. Sliding closer, you massaged his broad shoulders to try and relieve some of his tension. His hand found your calf, caressing it. 

He closed his eyes and let himself be pampered, your touch transporting him far away, beyond even the shores of Ostia. He thought of your luminous eyes, the honeyed taste of your lips, and the smell of rose oil on your skin… What lovely comfort you offered. He wanted more of you and he suspected he would still not have enough.

If winning meant earning moments like this, with you, then he would never let himself be defeated in the arena. Or elsewhere, for that matter.

“My very own Venus Pompeiana,” he said softly, turning around so he could slot his body between your legs and face you. “The Gods seem to be favoring me greatly today.”

You cupped his face tenderly. “Something tells me they will continue to do so, too.”

He grinned, eyes heavy-lidded as they dropped to your lips. “Tell me, did you emerge from the seafoam, too?”

You laughed, delighted at his words. “Yes, I am salt, and brine, and pearls made flesh.”

His strong arms enveloped you, pulling you into the water with him. His lips found yours again and your legs wrapped around his hips, anchoring yourself to him. He submerged both of you for a moment and you chuckled against his lips when you resurfaced.

He kissed you like he might never be able to do so again — like a desperate lover forced to say goodbye before sailing off to war. Your fingers threaded through his damp curls, his beard tickling the lower half of your face. Your head swam and you wished you could spend an eternity there, in that moment.

You let his hands wander a little, getting bolder by the minute, but then you pulled away and playfully swam away from him. A safe distance away, you splashed some water at him, inciting him to give chase. 

He swam after you unhurriedly, his head low in the water so that you mostly saw his eyes. You could tell he was smiling from the way they creased at the corners, and you felt a thrill low in your spine as he drew closer. It reminded you of a crocodile pursuing its prey, biding its time before the right moment came along. 

A nervous giggle escaped you as you backed away, even daring to splash more water in his direction. He slipped under the water and for a delirious moment of uncertainty, you thought your heart might leap out of your chest. You searched for any sign of him, but the water was cloudy and concealed him well.

Suddenly, you felt the graze of teeth on your hip and you cried out, startled. Lucius re-emerged, shaking water from his hair and cornering you against the edge of the pool.

“Got you now,” he rasped, pressing you against him and bending to kiss your throat.

“Mercy,” you gasped, smiling wide as you amiably submitted to his attention. “Oh, please have mercy.”

He lifted your hips further so that his cock rested against your folds. You tried to move against him as best as the angle would allow and he helped guide you with one hand on your hip. 

“Mercy?” he said against your jaw, the deep timbre of his voice like music to your ears. “You see how you’ve got me? I’ve not had any mercy from you.”

You grinned slyly. “You thought I’d yield so easily?”

He hummed, pretending to think about it. “Never crossed my mind.”

“Actually, you make it very hard not to, as much as I like to play,” you conceded, biting your lip.

He chuckled, sucking in a breath through his teeth as he fought the urge to slip inside you and claim you for himself. But not yet, of course, as he wanted to play with you a little while longer too. 

“Shall we put you to the test?”

He lifted you out of the water and sat you back on the edge. With one broad palm on your sternum, he gently pushed you backward. Instinctively, your legs hiked up, but you let him be the one to spread them.

He let out a low groan at the sight, his gaze incandescent as it met yours. He kissed your calf, then the inside of your knee, and steadily progressed up your inner thigh as he propped himself half out of the water.

Your hips shifted as he got close to his target, but then he moved to your other leg, repeating the same torturously slow process. You propped up on your elbows to give him a slightly annoyed look and he grinned cheekily.

“How’s that for mercy?” He asked, but before you could respond, his head dipped and his tongue finally found where you were aching.

A breathy Oh escaped you as your back arched, fingers digging into his curls once more. He was just as skilled with his mouth as with a blade, easily finding the tenderest, most sensitive spots. He had you squirming on the tiled floors, the tip of his tongue tracing circular patterns on your clit.

“Gods,” he moaned, the taste of you only making him hungrier and greedier for more.

You tried to grind against his face, chasing the waves of pleasure that already crested over you. His beard added just enough friction to create another layer of stimulation, and soon enough, your eyes were searching for constellations at the back of your skull.

“Lucius, oh, Lucius,” you panted. “You’re gonna make me– Ah!”

He felt triumphant at your trembling under him, more honey flowing from you and onto his tongue. You made soft, almost pleading sounds, holding onto his head as if to anchor yourself. He groaned, prolonging your pleasure for as long as you both could stand it. His blood felt near boiling and yet the only cure for it was you. 

Ravenous and near feral, he pulled himself out of the water and crawled over you. Finally – mercifully – he slid into you with ease, going slow and deep at first so you could adjust to him. He watched your reactions closely, feeling himself twitch inside of you — so warm and soft and perfect for him.

But that wasn't the only way he wanted to have you, and every time either of you grew closer to the edge, he changed positions. His stamina was astounding, especially considering he had been fighting for his life only a few hours earlier.

It wasn’t until you were on top of him, his hands aiding the gyrations of your hips, that you could get revenge for all his teasing. You set the pace, finding an angle where you could grind your clit against his pelvis with each move. His eyes roamed over you reverently, like you were the true goddess of love, and he was your subject worshipping at your temple. Sweat slick skin, the bounce of your breasts, your bared throat as you tilted your head backward in ecstasy… He found divinity in all of this.

His self-composure began to dissolve as his grip on you tightened. His brows furrowed and his mouth was slack, his moans spilling out wantonly. He was beautiful, so truly beautiful.

“Don’t stop,” he groaned, his hips positioning upwards to meet your movements. 

As you happily complied, leaning forward to kiss him, he lifted his torso to meet you halfway. He cupped the back of your head as his body tensed, spilling his seed inside you hotly. You came harder than before, your cunt squeezing him tightly in time with the twitching of his cock. 

Spent, you collapsed on his chest, the two of you sharing a laugh, high on endorphins. He wiped a stray strand of hair from your forehead with even more tenderness than you thought you’d ever experienced. He felt like the most fortunate man in the world, having found something so good in a place as hostile as Rome. He wouldn’t let you go so easily. 

“Come to the next games,” he said softly before he could really think about it.

You hesitated. As much as you’d love to see him in action, you didn’t think you could bear to see him get hurt… Or worse. 

“You want me to watch you fight?” You asked, trying to keep the fear away from your expression. 

“I want you to see me win,” he said without a shred of doubt. “That way, you can be sure that no man can stop me from claiming my reward right after.”

You shuddered, biting down a giddy grin. “I’ll be there for you to find me, my champion.”

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[msgexymunson]

Prettiest Bitch

Description: you and Eddie have a special way of showing each other you care.

A/N: this is a real life fucking story of me and my partner lmao. Please like and reblog if you enjoy it sweetheart. 

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, established relationship, mean Eddie and mean reader but it's just fun and games, reader is AFAB, female oral receiving.

Masterlist

900 words

Laying on Eddie's sofa, you bask in the warm glow of being near him. Your legs were draped over his as you rifled through a book that you were barely paying attention to. Eddie's hand is up your loose pyjama pants, tracing soft circles on the  bare skin of your calf. 

"Eddie?" 

"Yeah sweets?" 

"You've always got to be touching me, don't you." 

"Suppose so."

You smirk, pulling his hand out of your pants. He whines like a child that just got his favourite toy confiscated. 

"Why?" 

"Dunno, I just want your skin."

Laughing loudly, you scoot closer on your knees, just shy of climbing onto his lap. 

"You want my skin? That sounds so fuckin' weird." 

Eddie drops his voice into an odd gravelly gasp, the one he reserves for goblin NPCs when he's DM. 

"Eddie wants it! Give Eddie your skin!" 

Before you can react he's pulling you onto his lap, hands wandering up your top and stroking hard at the exposed flesh. 

"You dumbass that tickles! Stop!" 

"Never!" He doubles down his efforts, lifting your t-shirt and blowing a wet raspberry on your stomach. You try to lean away but he has you trapped. 

Finally wiggling from his grasp in a fit of breathless giggles, your rump bumps heavily on the floor. 

"You're an idiot, Munson." 

"Yeah? Well you like me, so who's the idiot now?" 

"Still you!" You flip him the bird and he pokes his tongue out at you at the same time. 

Now eye level with the coffee table, a leaflet catches your eye. 

"What's this? Hawkins County fair?" 

Leafing through it, you hear Eddie's chuckle. 

"Yeah, just a bunch of farmers showing off the size of their pumpkins and shit, it's so stupid."

"But look!" You wave the ad in his face as he rolls his eyes. 

"Dog show Eddie! Dogs! Look, they've got categories and everything." 

He goes to steal it out of your hands but you hold firmly on, reeling off some of the different categories. 

"Senior dogs… there's one for puppies that's cute… oh haha look, prettiest bitch! I should enter." You nod at him and his gaze softens, sinking down to join you on the floor.

"Oh sweetheart" his thumb brushes your cheek as you melt under his gaze. 

"You're not pretty." 

Gasping, your eyes snap back open to see Eddie rolling on the floor gasping with fits of laughter. 

"Edward James Munson! Gonna make you regret that!" 

You straddle him, fingers digging bruises into his sides, trying desperately to find ticklish spots. 

"It was a joke! Come on sweets, you know I'm not ticklish there." 

Grinning devilishly, you straddle him backwards, clinging onto his legs like a koala.

"Nope, but you are here!" 

Your fingers tickle at his socked feet as he writhes beneath you. 

"Fuck, no fair! Stop!" 

"Never!" Your relentless onslaught continues.

"I will kick you in the head!" 

"Say I'm pretty!" 

"Fine! You're pretty, stop, stop!" 

You finally relinquish your hold and clamber off him still giggling triumphantly. 

"Am I forgiven?" 

"Nope. That was really mean Edward." You huff dramatically, folding your arms over your chest. 

"Kiss it better?" 

You both use that phrase. It started off with kissing your knee when you fell, then you used it to comfort him once when some jocks had been particularly mean to him, then it just melded into your day to day life. 

"OK." 

His smile is wicked as he pushes you to your back, fingers hooking into your pyjama pants. 

"The fuck are you doing?" Gazing down at him, he smiles sinfully as he pulls your pants down in one smooth motion. 

"Didn't say where, sweets." 

His tongue runs the full length of your pussy and runs around your clit in a smooth circle. 

"Fuck, Eddie!" Hands make their way into his unruly curls as he continues his apology, suckling at your clit. 

Thick fingers probe your entrance, gliding in to curl in that spot just like you like it. 

"Sweetheart, you're the prettiest girl in this trailer." 

Not giving in that easily, you pull his hair. 

"I'm the only girl in this trailer!" 

He laughs and sucks your clit again hard, making your back arch off the floor. 

"OK," he practically breathes into your cunt, "the prettiest girl in Hawkins?" 

"Better." 

"Fine, the prettiest girl in the fucking world." 

"OK, oh shit, oh you're forgiven!" Moans replace words as he fucks you hard with his fingers, bringing you closer and closer to release.

"Don't stop, don't stop, I'm gonna come, Eddie!" 

He presses the flat of his tongue against your clit hard as you ride his face into a searing wash of ecstasy. 

Releasing in a broken scream, you melt into a puddle. Moments later, a very smug Eddie hovers over you. 

"You are the prettiest bitch" He says, pressing a soft kiss to your nose. 

Too fucked out to argue, you pull him close and hold him. You'll get him back later. 

@munson-blurbs @roanniom @eddiesprincess86

[v6quewrlds]

❝ fever, m. barzal. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: it's your birthday. mat's horny. nothing new.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: this was supposed to part of a wip that i'm scraping because i hate it 🙂‍↕️🫶🏾. but this scene was tew good for me to throw in the trash so here it is!

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. established relationship, language, sexual content, unprotected sex, penetration, fingering, handjob, description of ejaculation, mathew barzal is a problem.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: mathew barzal x reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 2k.

The gentle early light of dawn crept through the curtains and scattered across your face. The sound of a distant lawnmower mingled with the song of the morning birds on the easy April morning. Your boyfriend lay next to you, breathing a soft, rhythmic hum in the quiet room. The scent of his minty toothpaste tickled your nose, hinting at his ritualistic morning routine. You felt his warm hand splayed over your waist, his thumb tracing small, comforting circles. The softness of the mattress and the weight of his arm were familiar anchors in an unfamiliar space—his childhood home.

Mat had insisted the two of you stay at his parents' house last night after celebrating the Islanders clinching their playoff spot. The excitement from the game still lingered in the air, a faint buzz of energy that seemed to have seeped into the very fabric of the room. You, however, were in a state of tranquil bliss, your mind floating in a sea of contentment. You had worked tirelessly on your master's thesis for months, and now, it was finally done—the approval email hit your inbox in the middle of the game last night, your supervising professor's praise the sweetest victory of all.

Mat leaned over, his lips brushing your forehead, and whispered, "Happy birthday, gorgeous."

Your cheeks warmed at the realization that you had forgotten to mention it was your birthday to anyone but him. "Thank you, honey," you cooed, still nestled in the warm cocoon of the bed.

Mat's eyes danced with mischief as he suggested, "How about a little birthday surprise to start your day right?" He winked and gestured towards the door, the bathroom just across the hall. Your eyes narrowed, understanding his intent. You glanced at the clock—9:17 AM—his parents were probably downstairs already.

"Mat, seriously?" you whispered, trying to ignore the thrill that danced through you at the thought.

Mat grinned, his teeth flashing white in the morning light. "Come on, babe. Live a little. They won't hear us," he said, his voice low and persuasive. Despite your reservations, the excitement in his voice was infectious. He climbed out of bed, his tall frame moving with a comfortable grace. His hand reached back to you, and you took it, allowing him to pull you out of the covers and into his embrace.

You tiptoed across the cold hardwood floor to the bathroom with shared giggles, Mathew attempting and failing to silence your sneaky amusement. You couldn't help but feel like a teenager again, sneaking out with a forbidden boyfriend. The sound of the shower cranked up to full blast filled the room, and Mat stepped in first, the water cascading over his broad shoulders. He held out his hand for you, and you took it, stepping over the threshold. The heat washed over you, a stark contrast to the coolness of the house. You felt his strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you in close, his warmth seeping into your skin.

Mat's eyes held yours as he whispered sweet birthday nothings into your ear, making your heart flutter against your bare chest, a silver 'M' perched between your breasts. The water streamed down your bodies, melding them together as one. His touch grew firmer, more urgent, as you kissed passionately under the showerhead. Your shyness melted away, replaced by a fiery need that matched his.

Your bodies intertwined, moving in a silent dance of desire. The steam thickened around you, turning the bathroom into a personal sanctuary. Your coils sticking to your back, your usual careful attention to your wash day routines thrown to the wind, a testament to the heat building between you. You both knew the risks—his parents' footsteps echoing below, Liana's room right beside Mat's room—but the excitement of your secret tryst only heightened the intensity of the moment.

You felt the warm water run down your face as you kissed, a perfect excuse to hide the smile that pulled at the corners of your mouth. Mat's hands roamed your body with the confidence of a man who knew every inch of his lover, his fingers tracing the curve of your hips and the small of your back. He picked you up effortlessly, your legs wrapped around his waist, and he pressed you against the tiled wall, the coolness starkly contrasting your fevered skin. You gasped into his mouth as he entered you, the sensation of his hardness overwhelming your senses.

"Mat," you whispered, a mix of pleasure and nerves in your voice as he carried you in the steamy shower, your bodies moving together in a passionate dance that seemed to have a rhythm all of its own. His eyes searched yours, a silent question that you answered with a nod, your eyes sparkling with excitement. You always had this unspoken understanding, a connection that went deeper than words.

He held you tightly, your legs wrapped around his waist, and you felt his muscles tense and release as he moved, the water droplets on his skin gliding onto yours. Your breath hitched as you felt the peak of your climax approaching, your body tightening around him. His kiss grew deeper, his grip stronger, and you knew he felt it too. In the haze of passion, you heard the creak of a floorboard outside the bathroom door, and your eyes shot open. But Mat either didn't hear or didn't care, his focus solely on you, his love and desire a wall against the outside world.

"Do you hear that?" You whispered urgently, your eyes wide as the sound of footsteps grew closer. But he was lost in the moment, the victory of last night's game and the excitement of the day ahead fueling his passion. He kissed you deeper, his hands roaming, and you knew he wasn't going to stop. The floorboards outside the bathroom door creaked again, louder this time, and you clamped your hand over your mouth, trying to muffle your whimpers.

Mat looked down at you, a question in his eyes, but you could see the smug satisfaction there too. He knew you were close, and he wasn't going to let anything ruin it.

With a gentle kiss to your neck, he murmured, "Don't worry, baby," his voice was a soothing rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "I got you."

He reached for the shower handle and turned the water to a pulsing massage setting, the thunderous beat of the water masking any sounds you might make.

Your movements grew more urgent, the beat of the water punctuating your silent cries of pleasure. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your body arching back as his hips snapped in a particularly rough thrust, his eyes squeezed shut. "I'm gonna come," he hissed, pulling out of you as you whined at the loss of his heat.

He set you down, the cool tile a stark contrast to the warmth of his body, and turned you around to face the showerhead. His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he towered over you, the water cascading over your shoulders and down your back. You leaned forward, bracing yourself with a hand against the wall, your other hand reaching back to grip his throbbing cock. You felt a thrill of power knowing you could make this strong, elite athlete quiver with need.

Mat's breath hitched as you began to stroke him, your grip firm but gentle. The sound of the shower was a cocoon around you, muffling your breaths and the slick sounds of your skin moving against each other. He leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back, his hands slipping around your waist to cup your breasts. You could feel his heart hammering against your spine, his excitement mirroring your own. Mathew pulled your torso up to meet him under the spray of the shower head. Your mouths found each other, kissing fiercely, sharing the taste of mint and passion.

He whimpered against your ear, his straying hand faltering for a moment before finding the front of your body. His fingers slipped down, teasing your clit as you stroked him. Your breath caught in your throat, the pressure building as you felt his thumb rub circles around your swollen nub. The heat from the water and his touch was almost too much to bear.

Mat's breath grew ragged, his eyes squeezed shut as you worked him, your strokes matching the tempo of the water's pulsing beat. He groaned, his body tightening, and you knew he was close. You felt a thrill of excitement, your own climax just a whisper away. You could feel the tremble in his legs as he fought to keep standing, the head of his cock leaking against your hand.

Any discomfort in your spine melted away with the pleasure of his fingers on your bundle of nerves and the sound of his labored breathing and strained whimpers in your ear. You felt yourself teetering on the edge of an orgasm, your legs quivering slightly. The footsteps outside grew closer, but the anticipation only heightened your passion. Mat's hands left your breasts to hold your hips firmly in place as he thrust into your hand, his breath hot and needy against your neck. You could feel his muscles tensing, his release imminent.

Your hand quickened, your grip tightening just the way he liked it, and suddenly, he was coming, the hot spurts of him hitting your back as he groaned into your shoulder. You stroked him through it, the intimate moment making you feel powerful and loved. Your own climax crashed over you, your body tightening around the emptiness where he had just been, your hand slowing to a stop. You both panted, the only sound in the room save for the steady beat of the shower.

Mat leaned heavily against you, his forehead resting between your shoulder blades, his chest heaving with exertion. You felt a bubble of laughter form in your chest at your shared secret, at the absurdity of your desperate morning tryst. You couldn't remember the last time you had felt so free.

The footsteps outside had long ago disappeared, replaced by the comforting sound of the shower. You remained in your embrace, facing each other head-on to delve back into a kiss, the water beating down on your intertwined bodies, the steam a tangible presence in the small space.

As you kissed, you felt Mat's hands slip away from your hips to glide up your body, his fingertips leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He cupped your face, his thumbs brushing the water out of your eyes, and you realized you had been crying. Tears of joy and release mingled with the shower's flow.

He looked at you with a softness that made your heart swell, whispering, "I love you." You whispered it back, the words a sacred promise, a declaration of your unspoken bond.

You took your time, the water washing away the sweat and the evidence of your love. You felt the soap slowly soothing your over-sensitive skin as you basked in the aftermath. Finally, when the water began to cool, you stepped out, wrapping yourselves in a shared fluffy towel. You placed a shy peck on Mat's shoulder, whispering, "Thank you," your voice hoarse from your passionate whispers. He grinned down at you, his teeth bright and perfect, the same grin that had captured your heart so many months ago.

As you snuck back across the hallway to Mat's room, wrapped in your shared towel, you couldn't help the giggles that bubbled up from your chest. The thrill of your secret rendezvous had you feeling giddy, like you were high on love. Mat's hand squeezed yours gently, a silent reminder of the incredible intimacy you had just shared. You felt your heart beat quicken as you approached the door, the sound of muffled voices from downstairs growing louder.

You dressed quickly, your body still humming with the echoes of pleasure. Mat's playful swats to your ass as you stepped into your underwear only served to fuel the warmth that still lingered between your thighs. He pulled on a pair of boxer briefs, shorts, and a t-shirt, his eyes never leaving yours, the smugness clear as he watched you get dressed. The scent of him clung to your skin as you threw on a hoodie and shorts of your own, the fabric whispering over your sensitive skin.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mission Control 24

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, blood, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Captain Hydra

Summary: a man marches into your life on a mission

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

He’s leaving again. It’s harder now after everything. After that intruder. You shouldn’t want the soldier to stay but being alone is dangerous. He might be a threat on his own but he protects you all the same. It’s a twisted way to think of it but you could be the one he keeps safe or the one he tears apart tendon from toenail. 

He’s in his body armour, his cowl under his arm. You watch him march toward the door but he doesn’t reach it. He stops and looks at you. His eyes haven’t yet fully glazed over. You sit, paralysed for a moment, before you find some strength. 

You get up and cross to him, limping on your tender foot. It’s healing, slowly, but it will never be like before. You don’t know what to do. He’s blank as he looks back at you. 

You reach to squeeze his wrist, “I’ll be here.” That’s stupid. He knows you’re not going anywhere. He takes a deep breath and twists his hand up, slipping free of your grasp to latch on. He grips you tightly and dips his chin. His way of saying I will come back. 

He lets you go and faces the door. He pulls the cowl over his head and secures the strap. You see the shift in his posture, the tension as it nestles in his jaw. He marches on and the door opens and closes to punctuate his departure. 

You exhale and hug yourself. It’s still cold and desolate. More so without him. You hate to feel that way but now, he’s all you have. 

You hobble across the room and take the blanket from the couch. You sit by the fire and start your vigil. You rise only to tend to your basic needs; food, bathroom, otherwise, you doze or stare, feeding the flame so it keeps a steady crackle. 

Time doesn’t exist in this place so you don’t try to track it. The day melds into the night. Nothing changes. Not until the clatter. 

Your heart peaks. Adrenaline surges through the dulcet drone of your existence. You shake as you shrug away the blanket. The world hazes as the door handle turns and the hinge grind softly. Panic swells over you, a stone in your chest. You can’t breathe. 

It’s another monster come to attack. You lunge for the iron poker by the fireplace. You whimper at the weight on your injured foot but it fades into a pulsing thrum. You turn to face the new invader. You’ll fight, just as hard as the last time. 

You know by the footsteps alone that you’re wrong. It’s him. The soldier. You know the cadence of his gait. Your grip eases on the poker and as he appears, you let your arms fall, pointing it to the floor. 

He tilts his head and stops to stare back at you. His armour is dusty, his fingertips grimy, and his boots leave water in the stead. He approaches you, step by step. He looks down at the poker and reaches to grip it below your hand. 

He raises it and arcs it in a mimic of an attack, stopping it before his face. He brings his other hand around yours and moves behind you. He moves your fingers, adjusting them to clasp it firmer. He guides both your hands around the handle and he guides it back. He brings it down in a harsh slice. He does it several times. 

He squeezes and backs away. He gestures with his hand. You shake your head. He mimes the motion of swing the poker. He’s teaching you how to do it right. How to hit to damage. 

“I can’t--” 

He wags his finger. You have to. You sniff and turn your focus to the poker. You raise it again and swing. The air whips around your effort. He nods and wiggles his finger. Again. He unhooks his cowl and slips it off. He tosses it on the couch. 

He moves toward you. He surprises you as he bends and carefully moves your feet. He stands again and sets his own stance, waving his hand between the both of you. You do your best to replicate his posture. He nods and backs up. 

You try again. He urges you on with another point. You keep doing it. Over and over, each time more confident than the last. You’re left breathless. You aim the pointer down into the floor and lean on it. 

He stares then slowly bends his arm. A thumbs up. It’s almost comical. 

Then his eyes narrow and his face grows sombre. He shakes his head. He snatches up his cowl then goes to the kitchen. He opens the cupboards and examines the contents. He hooks his chinstrap to his belt and the helmet dangles against his thigh. 

He takes a milk crate from the corner and sweeps the contents of the cupboard into it. You gasp and come up next to him. What is he doing? 

He’s determined. He doesn’t notice you as he continues to clear out the cupboard. You watch him in confusion. 

“Are you leaving?” You ask fearfully. He stops and looks at you. His cheek twitches and his brows arch. “Are we leaving?” 

His lashes flick and he goes back to shoving packets in the crate. Your heart pulses. You could ask where but you know won’t get a question. 

“What do we need? Food? Blankets?” He nods as he turns to the fridge and opens it up. 

“Okay, I’ll help,” you say.  

He pauses and turns to face you. His face contorts and he mouths two words; thank you. You nod then hesitate. He goes to turn back and you grab his arm, releasing him as he shifts back again. You take your hand to your chin and push it towards him. 

“Thank you,” you say. “This means ‘thank you’.” 

He squints. He lifts his hand and looks at it then repeats the same gesture. The idea clicks in your head but you don’t know much more than that. 

“Sign language,” you explain. “I only know please and a few other things...” 

He makes the gesture again. You blow out a long breath and recenter yourself. You pivot as he returns to the fridge. 

“Blankets, clothes, got it,” you say to yourself.  

You limp out of the kitchen and grab the blanket from the floor. You’re scared and confused. You don’t know where he’s taking you or why. Still, it can’t be worse than this place. 

[radiant-reid]

Spencer and Reader not having very much alone time with each other, since they have a toddler, so they sneak a quickie in the laundry room.

this had to be written, hope that's okay

You've been not so patiently waiting for Spencer for fifteen minutes before he finally slides open the door and steps in. "Finally." You complain, locking the door behind him.

"It's not my fault she needs three stories before she'll nap." He tells you.

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "No, that's literally your fault." You remind him. "You always want to read her more stories."

Spencer grabs your chin, holding your face close to his. Your breath catches in your throat at the sudden movement and closeness. "Shut your pretty mouth, and take your pants off." He instructs.

It takes you a moment after he moves away to get your brain working to make a sarcastic comment. "Romantic."

He bites his bottom lip alluringly as he unbuttons and unzips his pants. "I don't need to romance you." He assures you.

"Are you calling me easy?" You question, raising your eyebrows and tempting him to continue.

"I know I've never had a problem getting into your pants." He recalls, devilishly handsome with his smirk.

You smack him on the shoulder before scolding him. "You're a dick."

"No." He shakes his head, grabbing your waist and pulling your jeans down your thighs. "I'm trying to get my dick in you."

"I am just blown away by your charm." You joke.

Spencer chuckles at you, baking you up until your back is against the machine.

You kick your jeans off, wrapping your legs around his waist. He pushes a strand of hair out of the way of your eye line. "Hey, gorgeous." He coos.

"Hi, pretty boy." You reply, nudging your nose against his. "Fuck me now? Please."

His lips meld to yours, kissing you firmly and passionately as his fingers slip under your panties, touching your clit. You moan against his lips, prompting him to push them aside and line himself up with your heat.

He slips inside you gently, thrusting deeply but slowly. It's as blissful as it always is. He doesn't waste any time you do have, pumping in and out of you roughly in a way that makes your breathing uneven.

"Fuck, Spencer, keep going." You cry, pulling him by the hair so you can kiss him.

"Mhm." He agrees, burying himself as deep inside you as he can get. "You feel so good."

Each time, you roll your hips against his until you can feel his cock against your cervix. Every one of your nerves is buzzing. His hands are all over you, trying to hold you as close to you as he can.

Your moans get louder with each thrust until Spencer has to clamp his hands over your mouth. "You're gonna have to be quiet if you don't want to get interrupted."

You really don't want him to stop so you pull him closer, burying your face in his neck to muffle your moans. You can hear Spencer panting against the shell of your ear, a trail of expletives and your name leaving his mouth.

"I'm so close." You moan to him.

"Let go for me, baby." He instructs you, weaving his hand between your bodies to massage your clit.

You cum around his cock at that, squeezing him tightly as pleasure boils through your veins. The pressure on his cock has him pumping his cum inside you and pausing his motion where he's deepest inside you.

"God, I love you." He says, pulling out and adjusting your panties so there's not a mess of his cum all over the laundry room.

"I love you too." You reply, getting onto the floor with shaky legs to redress. "And our laundry room quickies."

He chuckles. "I'm pretty sure she doesn't know this room exists." He jokes.

"Our secret hangout." You declare it.

"Fucking spot, more like." He reminds you.

"Rendezvous." You reason. "It's more romantic."

He pulls you into a quick hug, kissing your forehead lovingly. "Whatever you want to call it, I'm just lucky to have it with you."

[thus-spoke-lo]

Sexy Scumbags Series // Roronoa Zoro x afab!reader Masterlist // Prompt List

CW: afab!reader, no pronouns used but gendered pet name "princess" used; no skin color indicated for reader, but slap marks and bruises described as being visible, impact mark immediately seen after a slap, etc; implied previous impact play/rough sex [reader has bruises, marks, bites/etc]; thigh slapping; possessiveness; vaginal fingering WC: 740

“What the hell are you wearing?”

Zoro’s question startles you as you’re rummaging around in the kitchen, tasked with taking inventory of the pantry for your supply run this afternoon. Sanji was already off-ship, in charge of the perishables, while you and Zoro would be heading out next for dry goods. Something in his tone tells you there may be a slight delay in your departure.

“What do you mean ‘what am I wearing’?” You glance down at your outfit, then back up at Zoro with a shrug and an innocent half-smile, feigning ignorance at the underlying intent of his question. “They’re just clothes.”

Zoro walks towards you slowly, boots heavy on the dining room floor, your heart pounding a little harder with each footfall. “I mean these”—his thick fingers tug at your tights—“and this”—he plays with the collar of your button-down shirt that’s tucked into your skirt. “Seems to me like you’re hiding something.”

He places his wide hands on your upper arms, cocking his head as he seems to study your facial expressions. It’s pointless to continue to protest, not with the way he’s surely reading the need etched into your features, probably enjoying the way your lips tremble as he ghosts them with his own, warm breath spreading across your skin as he grins against your lips.

“Stop covering up my hard work, princess.” Without warning, he pushes his hands up your skirt and grips the waistband of your tights, easily ripping them in half and tearing them off your legs. A hand trails back up your leg, fingertips grazing nearly-healed bites and fading bruises, and comes to rest at the apex of your thighs, cupping your heat. “How else is everyone supposed to know you’re mine?”

He grabs your wrist and pulls you over to a nearby bench, then tugs you down into his lap and yanks up the hem of your skirt. Before you can so much as blurt out his name, he lands a hard slap on your thigh, hard enough it feels like his body is melding with yours as he leaves it there, hard enough that it makes your body jerk from the sensation and a flood of arousal course through you like a tidal wave. His free arm wraps around your waist and holds you against him as you start to squirm and whine, and he lands a blow on your other thigh, just as hard, just as painful, and just as gratifying. You glance down through bleary eyes and see his handiwork—two very obvious hand prints practically painted into your skin.

“There, that’s better.” Zoro lightly drags his fingertips over your heated skin, tracing the markings of his own fingertips branded onto you, and you feel him throbbing against your ass with your every little whimper of pleasure. “Now—tell me who you belong to.”

“You, Zoro,” you moan, nearly breathless, as his hand moves up between your thighs and he tugs aside your panties, running his fingers along your soaked slit.

“Yeah? This pussy all mine?” He easily slides two fingers inside you, lazily pumping them in and out as you clench around him, crooking them up to hit that spot inside you that makes your legs quake and your jaw go slack. “Say it, princess. Say it’s all mine.”

“Y-yours—s’all yours, Zoro,” you stammer as his thumb grazes your aching clit. Your hips move almost of their own accord, grinding against his hand, relishing in the way his clothed cock pulses against you, hoping if you moan pretty enough, if you writhe just the right way, that he’ll let you cum, maybe even fuck you dumb his thick cock.

“Just what I want to hear.” He pulls his fingers out of you, wiping your slick across the tender spots on your thighs, and prompts you to stand up. “Now we can go.”

“But Zoro, please, don’t do that to me,” you pout, pressing your legs together to try to quell the desperate need that has you almost ravenous for him. “Can’t we stay just a little longer?”

“We really should be going,” Zoro says as he stands, grabbing your hand and placing it on his cock, letting you feel just how much he needs you, too. “But keep that skirt pulled up so everyone can see what a little pain slut you are, and I’ll find a nice little alley somewhere to finish what I started—promise.”

[novankenn]

So if Jaune survives the process what happens then? Does Salem try to make him join her? Goes to convert the rest of the blood family like Saffron, the other sisters and Adrian? Blame Opzin thinking he hid this?

Answer: I'm not sure... let's see what my brain comes up with!

Original Post : You Look... Familiar... OP Follow-up: You Look... Familiar... Confirmations?

You look... Familiar... End-Result

Jaune's eyes were wide with fear as he watch Salem approach with the bowl in hand. He twisted and thrashed, but it was of no use. Salem with but a wave of her free hand summoned more shadow-hands to hold him still. Soon she was standing over him. Her face impassive... completely emotionless.

Salem: I would wish you luck... but honestly don't care. If you survive you will be mine wholly, if you do not... it's one less insect to crush.

With those words Salem, tipped the bowl over spilling the sludge like fluid over Jaune's face. Jaune wanted to scream as he felt the black slim, move. First was fear and then there was absolute pain. HIs back arched off the floor as liquid tendrils invaded his eyes, nose, mouth and ears.

His body contorted, and thrashed as the pressure of the invading substance let way to a searing pain flooding through his entire being.

Salem: Interesting.

Jaune's heart slammed against his rib cage as his mind twisted and fragmented. But Salem did not see that, change, no she only saw his blanching skin, bleaching hair, and the black veins of Grimm essence snaking through the places where his flesh was exposed.

Salem: So she did survive. That is quiet unexpected, but useful. Yes it would be useful, so much more than recruiting the dregs I am forced to associate with.

The shadow hands retreated back into the floor, as Jaune's writhing calmed. Salem was impressed with how completely her tainted Grimm essence melded with her distant descendant. It was if it was meant to be. Jaune's eyes fluttered open. The azure blues that had Pyrrha swooning in life... were gone. Black and red looked up at the embodiment of evil.

Salem: You're perfect! Rise my child. Rise.

Jaune said nothing as he rolled onto his side and slowly crawled to his knees, before finally climbing to his feet. He turned and faced the Queen of the Grimm. The twisted being that had tainted his very soul with her poison.

Salem: Tell me. Where is you family? How many are there of our blood?

Jaune: ...

Salem: Answer!

Jaune: ...

Salem: Impudent child! I am your mistress you will answer me!

Jaune: ...

Salem: If you won't volunteer the information I'll rip it from you head myself!

Salem moved forward intent on using her powers to shred Jaune's mind in search of answers, but she never was given the chance. Jaune's fist connected with her sternum sending her sailing through the air to crash into one of her ancient tables. Slowly she rose from the debris and snarled.

Salem: I... will break... you...

Jaune: You... can... try...

From the shadows of the room, a pack of Alpha Beowulf emerged. Called to being by their mistress. Though she wouldn't admit it, she was impressed that the young gimmified man standing in defiance of her didn't even flinch.

Salem: I do not have to try.

Jaune's snaped out with each of his hands, releasing twisting tendrils of dripping black and white ooze, that impaled the several Alpha's surrounding him.

Jaune: You will never touch... my family...

Salem: How is this possible?

As Salem and Jaune stared each other down, their respective creations tore into one another with ruthless and reckless abandon...

[gofishygo]

WEEK THREE [PRIDE MONTH SERIES], SLIP THROUGH YOUR TEETH VALERIA GARZA X FEMALE! READER- UNFINISHED

(i will finish this when i am like. feeling bonita idfk when i wrote this i wanted to make it like fluff and nice but it ended up being straight fuckin TOXIC YURI IM SO SO SORRY i promise i dont antagonise lesbians shes just yk.... lowkey a cartel leader... so....)

notes: valeria lowkey toxic as fuck, violence, obsessiveness, kidnapping, manipulation, yeah shes not very nice.....

Alejandro, especially, tells you not to remember anymore- lose track of the dates that weathered in the coast of time, slip the face and crime of the las almas cartel in between the cracks of walls, let it slip through wooden panels. Because forgetting was easier for you now; it was his job, as Mexican special forces, to face those slivers of crime in it’s snake-like and behemoth form, growing mold and cobweb in forgotten corners and crevices, forming sharp sea glass from sandstone and tide, filthy and sneaky and

wiry.

Valeria thinks you are wiry. It frustrates her, boils blood in the heart she’d scraped out on those mountains when she put on the mask of el sin nombre. How you look at her with no form of recognition, eyes blank, a deer in headlights. What had happened to the shine of your eyes when you’d see her? How you’d hug her in a heartbeat with clammy hands and thin layer of sweat over your skin? She misses the feelings of her childhood, tucked away in whatever nook or cranny she could spare in her mind; one where she’d sit with your hand in hers, try catch fireflies with plastic nets and takeaway containers, where you’d sit in the orchads with her, orange juice running down your chins and juicy flesh stuck between your teeth. A time where you we both were younger, fatter, happier- living- a commodity scarce in what remained of the city she’d known.

But after a while, prey tends to be found in barbed fences, writhing, ensnared by metal teeth, flailing in it’s mental bounds. And that is how you appear now- eyes glazed over in some rabid state, wrists tangled in the ropes, red and tender, nearly bleeding at the friction. Your teeth are bared. (it’s a lovely glimpse into the rest of your skull, the shine of those spit-covered ivory bones. More majestic than those tusks of long-extinct animals, woolly mammoths, sabretooth tigers.) but she slips those thoughts into the back of her mind, buries them with nerve bundles and tangles of neurons. She cannot have those thoughts, not with you. Instead, she forces pity to boil in her chest for her beloved corazon behind that window, scared, alone. It doesn’t slip out- she’d learned how to trap her emotions, meld and twist them over years of military service, but between viper-glint of her eye, some bastard-child of pity smoulders silently, cries for you underneath those glassy layers. You are almost dog-like now, vicious threats coming out as barks at the back of your throat. And she wants to calm you, tame you, put a muzzle on those jaws and scritch the scruff of your neck like she’d used to.

It had taken a while to wrangle you down though

But now, you are finally here, and you are crying, her thumb on your lip, sour stone of spit solid and stinging the back of your throat. “awh, mi corazon..” she tuts, using disappointment to feign something more sinister. “Always been such a good girl, hm? listening to every beck and call. Ran away from the woman you loved with a tail between your legs just because Alejandro commanded you to.” And you have to bite back a whine when she grips your cheek, nails faintly digging into delicate skin. “So, what’s the problem with another order, estimada? You know I would do just as much as that puta did for you, more maybe.” Valeria’s breath sends chills down the veins of your neck, ghosts the shell of your ear. her touch- you don’t want to think it’s love, you swear it isn’t love, but feels like home. You see it, for a moment, cinder walls and timber flooring. “And all I need is just a name.”

And despite how you’d told yourself you hated her, tried to erase her name from your head, way she grips your face feels warmer than any embrace you’d had. “So give me a name, sweetheart.”

[annikin-annotates]

Family Ties

Hi hello, good morning friends. I’m giving you a steaming serving of Ascended!Astarion x Spawn!Tav to soothe (or anger?) your souls. I hope you enjoy this one shot as much as I did writing it. With that being said, I’m not paying for ya’lls therapy bills. I don’t think this one is too traumatic, if anything, it’s tame.

TW: Gore, Recapping of the ritual, Ascended Astarion being his bastard self, brief mentions of birth and pregnancy, having to give up a child (for their own safety). 

Word Count: 2.6K

‘I’m doing this for you, too, you know. To make sure we are both safe, forever.’

She watched on in silent horror as the scene played out before her. “No, no. No healing sleep for you. Wake up!” Astarion hissed, as he ripped Cazador out of his coffin, his body splaying out awkwardly on the floor. 

“Get your hands off me, worm,” Cazador spat indignantly as he pushed himself from the floor to a kneeling position, still reeling from the force of being thrown. 

Astarion laughed heartily. “Hah! I’m not the one in the dirt,” his eyes darkened, a smirk curving the corners of his mouth, for the first time in two hundred years he held all the cards, he had the upper hand; and it felt good. He stared Cazador down, his body coiled like a snake ready to strike. “I am so much more than what you made me,” he looks to her, a silent plea in his eyes, “I can do this, but I need your help.”

There was no question that she would help him, she would have done whatever he had asked her to do, “All right, what do you need me to do?” she asked him, her fists clenched at her sides. Gods, she would have set the world ablaze if only to see him smile. 

“I need your eyes,” he paused for a moment, the air was so still around them that it was almost suffocating. “Use the parasite - link your mind to mine so I can see the scars on my back and copy them onto his.” 

“You would not dare!” Cazador seethed, though his voice betrayed him - that self-righteous air he had traded for something more human, fear. 

“I would, and I will,” his voice was laced with fury. Two hundred years of suffering surfacing, she could see it in the way his hands shook as they held the knife. His eyes softened as they found hers again. “Help me do this, please.” Astarion looked to her pleadingly, crimson eyes glassy and full of desperation - he needed this. He needed her. 

They recoiled slightly as their minds melded together, becoming one as the pain subsided and the world came back into focus once more. The weight of the dagger felt heavy in his hand, she could feel his fingers shifting nervously along the hilt. She could see Cazador from his perspective, cowering on the floor before Astarion, his hands raised in front of him; as if a pleading look would put the pain of the past to rest. 

She could feel how Astarion hungered for power, and it was all within his reach, wealth, power, freedom - it was intoxicating. She trusted him, trusting him was the right thing to do - helping him achieve the only thing he wanted was the right thing; if it was the right thing to do, then why did it feel so wrong? Why did standing idly by and watching a man be carved apart to feel the pain that he inflicted upon so many feel so wrong? 

And so the cycle would continue. 

—

He was not hers anymore, that much was clear; Astarion had changed beyond recognition. While yes, he looked like Astarion and most certainly sounded like Astarion, he was not him, not in the way that mattered. Loving gazes now traded for looks filled with hunger and thirst, for both more power and blood. The man she had fallen for on her unexpected journey was as good as dead, a colder - crueller thing having taken his place. No, the Astarion she loved was nothing if not merciful. 

For a time she had lulled herself with a false sense of hope that once the power became less novel, he would return to her. That his softness would begin to peek through again, he would smile again, that’s all she wanted. He had become a monster disguised as a dashing prince, but he was the very thing that mothers warn their misbehaving children about. The dark shadow that stalked pretty maidens and handsome young men down dark alleys, draining them of all they are - of all they could be. 

With the same hands that gave him freedom, he sentenced her to a fate worse than death, an eternity of servitude. The worst of it all was that she did it, she helped him with her own two hands, she allowed him to ascend. And when his greed came again, all hungry eyes and jagged teeth; she gave herself to him, and he took from her, hungrily and without mercy, the choices she could have made, ripped away. 

He hid her true position with flowered words, ‘My Dark Consort,’ his honeyed voice would whisper to her in the cover of darkness. The words sounded as wrong now as they did back then. Though she supposed it didn’t matter now, the die was cast and she had no choice but to lay in the grave she had dug. 

And what a grave she had chosen. 

She was glad she could not see herself in the mirror, what would she see? The sadness that clung to her eyes, or the bloodthirsty beast that now wore the skin of a woman long gone. She wasn’t sure she would even recognise the person staring back at her, a hollow husk of what she once was. She had sharper reflexes, eternal life and beauty, all the jewels and dresses she could want, and yet there was an ever growing emptiness that made home in her. 

What good was eternal life if you couldn’t live for yourself?

—

Silence usually blanketed the palace, a quiet so thick it felt as though no creature could break it. The sort of quiet that told you to run and never look back, that made your ears ring, a bone chilling, deafening silence. A blood curdling scream tore through the stillness of the palace, the usual quiet that the night brings becoming forfeit. 

Her hair clung to her forehead as she hissed and groaned through the pain, bringing life into the world felt as painful as taking it. It felt as though a wild animal was fighting to stay within her, its claws digging into her, like it knew the type of environment it was being brought into. She couldn’t blame it, though it did not have a choice. She gasped as relief washed over her, chest still heaving from exertion.   

That eerie stillness came crashing back down on the palace, hanging in the corners of the room like an unwanted voyeur. With the quiet came a familiar feeling that wrapped its claws into her heart and squeezed, dread. There was no noise coming from her child, why was it not crying? Her baby should be crying, there should be an ear splitting wailing filling the room; her eyes began to water, a lump forming in her throat.

She could not bear to put another loved one in the ground. 

A shrill cry tore through the room, forcing the silence back into exile once more, as if the small thing now in her arms had heard her prayers. It was a little girl, a daughter, and she was perfect in every single way that mattered: ten fingers, ten toes and a beating heart she could feel thrumming beneath her fingers. 

Had she always been this cold? Is this what she used to feel like to Astarion? Warm and soft, and so fragile.

She held the babe close to her chest, taking in every inch of her; her sweet, sweet little girl. Her finger shakily stroked the softness of her cheek, her breath hitched in her throat as her little eyes opened - two green irises stared back at her. Her long, dead heart fluttered in her chest, tears pricking the corners of her eyes; those green eyes were his, a little piece of the man she loved. From that moment on she vowed that no harm would befall her little girl, her sunlight.

It was hours before Astarion entered their shared chambers to meet his daughter, the bed sinking slightly the only thing that pulled her from her loving trance. She angled her body slowly towards him leaning into his form, she felt him go rigid at the contact - she did not care. She couldn’t take her eyes off the sleeping child in her arms, this tiny thing gave her eternal life new meaning. “Meet our daughter, my love,” she whispered, softly brushing the edges of the soft blanket she was swaddled in away from her face. 

She tore her gaze away from her world to look at Astarion, whose eyes had softened a small bit; before turning steely once more. “A daughter? Does she have a name?” he asked with raised brows, his voice too loud, too cocksure. He reached for the child, taking the babe from her arms before she could protest. Little brows furrowed and she let out a small whine of disapproval before settling into her fathers arms; she could have ripped his throat out for disturbing their child’s rest.

She shook her head. “No, but I think the name Juniper suits her,” she paused for a moment, imagining what her life would have been like if none of this had happened. Would she have returned to the grove where she grew up?  She cleared her throat softly, “It reminds me of the berries that grew by my home as a child.”

Astarion scoffed at the suggestion, it made her blood boil with contempt for him - a feeling that had become all too familiar over the last two decades. “My dear, my - I mean our daughter needs to be named something strong, fearsome, something like…” he paused for a moment, looking deeply into the eyes of their daughter. She hoped that when he looked at her that he saw the ghost of himself, she prayed it would make him rethink the person he had become. “Maitenirr. Now that’s a name fit for an Ancunin, isn’t it my darling?” 

A scoff threatened to fall from her lips, she swallowed both the anger and vitriol that rises in her throat. How dare he? How dare he snatch her child from her arms and name her. How could he not see that he held the sun in the crook of his elbow? Did he not understand that the small bundle was hers and hers alone? She nodded in agreement, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes tugging at her lips. She knew better than to go against his judgement. “Of course my love, what a lovely choice.”

Astarion had taken the privilege to name their daughter, it made her heart twist to hear a name with such a dark meaning put to a child. Bringer of Death, he told her that she needed a name that was as strong and as fearsome as the family she was born into, the throne she was now heir to. But her child was the embodiment of the sun, if holding her was as close as she would get to feeling the sun's rays on her skin, then that was okay with her.   

With each passing day, she wondered how someone like Astarion managed to have a hand in creating something as perfect as their daughter. She could see so much of him in her already, they had the same noses, they shared pointed ears, she smiled in her sleep like he does; like he used to. The more she grew, the more she realised they had the same mannerisms too, always quick to fuss and even harder to soothe.

The more Maitenirr grew, the more things became apparent about her; she loved the darkness and it seemed to like her too. She would reach out to shadowy corners while in her mothers arms, babbling away to them like they could hear her - like they were sentient. It was a secret best kept between herself and the shadows, for as long as possible.  

She couldn’t keep Maitenirr’s ability away from her husband for much longer, she had begun to conjure things - beings not of this world, from the shadows. She needed to devise a plan to get her daughter to safety; she would never forgive herself if her guiding light was dimmed by her fathers hands. She would protect her child if it was the last thing she did, from everyone; including Astarion - especially Astarion. 

If she was to expedite her daughter somewhere safe, she would need to be cunning about it, she would need to outfox a fox. It consumed her every waking moment, numerous plans scrapped; she almost thought about calling in a favour with Raphael of all people. There was one person in Baldur’s gate that she could trust to get her Juniper to safety, she prayed that they would do this act of kindness for her.

—  

"Please, take her. Take her to safety, do not tell me where. If he comes to me I will have no choice but to tell him. Please, he will ruin her if he finds her gift," she pleaded, pushing the bundle into his arms. Giving Juniper away felt like ripping her heart from her chest, exposing the softness of a person long dead, Juniper was a weakness she couldn’t afford to have exploited. 

“You don’t understand what you’re asking me to do,” he told her, taking a step back, his hands coming to gently push the child away. She could smell the fear that came off him in waves; she could see it in his eyes. 

She looked at him, her eyes full of terror and sadness. “I do, Wyll. Of course I do, but it needs to be you. If he looks for her, which he will; I cannot know where she is. I will be the first person he comes to,” her voice shakes. “I know I ask a lot of you, but please, protect my daughter. Give her a fighting chance, Wyll.” 

He sighed, taking the child into his arms. “I will make sure she gets to safety, you have my word,” he swore, his voice solemn. The moment he took Juniper into his arms, she had to fight the urge to snatch her back from him, it took everything in her not to scream: she is the only good I have found in this world, please don’t take it from me. She blinked back her tears, no, this was better. She would not sit idly by and watch another innocent suffer at the hands of a monster that she created. 

“Thank you, Wyll. you have no idea what this means.” Her child would have a fighting chance at a life untainted by cruel hands. She turned away slightly, drying the tears that had begun to spill. Now was not the time for tears, she would have eternity to shed them, now was the time to dig deep - to be strong, one last time. 

“Her name is Juniper, if there is one thing from this life that I can give her - it's her name,” she added, backing away from the both of them. Small hands reached out towards her, a dissatisfied grunt tumbling from tiny lips. She looked around nervously, she didn’t have much time, she rushed to the child one final time, pressing a kiss to the patch of white amongst the rest of her dark hair. A small piece of him. 

“Your mother loves you, more than you will ever know. Giving you up is my greatest sacrifice, I love you, my Sunlight,” she whispered into her hairline before stepping back several paces, she looked to Wyll once more. “Get her out of here, Wyll.” She made her way up the main staircase, away from the door, she dared not look back. 

The vipers fangs have bared, she must protect her brood. 

Thank you for reading, Please take a moment to comment or reblog my work, it really brightens my day and gives me the boost to keep creating!

Beta read by the lovely: @arcielee and @amiraisgoingthruit

[cuubism]

I'd love something about Dream who's very aware that he's way too intense romantically while also being not intense enough sexually because he's ace. His partners usually prefer it the other way around. If that's something you'd be willing to write (if not that's okay too)

hmm yes, we can always do ace dream. though we didn't quite reach 'aware' 😂 human uni au is what popped to my mind

--

When Hob gets back from class, Dream is lying facedown on the couch, one long arm trailing morosely down to the floor, face smashed so deeply into a pillow that Hob can only see the tufts of his hair. He seems to have been there for some time, and doesn't move when Hob comes in.

"Horrors insurmountable today?" Hob asks as he puts down his bag and heads to the adjoining kitchen to grab a snack. He'll probably need to grab one for Dream, too, now that he thinks about it. Doubtful he's eaten.

Dream just makes an mmph sound against his pillow. Then, once Hob's returned to the living room with a plate of apple slices, Dream pops his head up, lines all over his cheek from the pillow, fluffy hair going every which way, and says, "How much do you care about sex?"

Hob nearly trips and flings his apple slices everywhere. "What?"

"In general," Dream persists, heedless of Hob's shock. "Do you subscribe to the belief that individuals past puberty, particularly men, think about sex constantly, or is that an exaggeration? Which do you think is more important in a partnership: compatible personalities, or compatible sex drives? And why?"

"What is this, a sociology assignment?"

"Answer, please," Dream insists.

Hob sighs and gives in to the mad questioning. Joke's on him for having an insane roommate. "I thought about sex all the time when I was thirteen, maybe. Right now I'm just thinking about how I haven't eaten since breakfast and I'm fucking starving but we're playing Twenty Questions instead of eating. And as to the second one, I don't know, Dream, I think both are probably important."

"So you think about sex an amount you would consider 'frequent'," Dream presses.

Hob's cheeks heat. Sex is not really a topic he wants to discuss with Dream of all people. Those two thoughts don't meld together into anything good for polite company. "I don't know, I guess!? Doesn't everyone?"

Dream lets out a despairing wail and thumps his head back into his pillow. "I am outnumbered."

Hob still has no idea what the hell he's on about. He finally gives up and just starts eating the apple slices. He offers one to Dream, holding it by the corner of his eye until he finally sees it and takes it, turns his head to the side just enough to start nibbling on it.

"You'll choke if you eat that lying down," Hob warns.

Dream begrudgingly pushes himself up, collapsing against the back of the couch, and goes back to nibbling on his apple slice.

"So," Hob continues, awkwardly, when Dream doesn't say anything else, "sex life not going so well, then?"

Dream glares at him, though it's not very intimidating considering the apple halfway into his mouth. "Too well, by most standards," he finally sniffs, and eats the rest of the slice.

"Oh, yeah?" Dream having sex is another thing Hob doesn't really like to think about. Why'd he bring that up again?

"Indeed. I have suitors falling over each other to bed me," Dream says.

Do all classic literature students talk the way Dream does? Hob doesn't know. It's been two years that they've lived together and he's still yet to definitively figure out if it's an affectation or just the way Dream is. He's leaning towards the latter.

Unfortunately, he can believe Dream's statement. Dream is a snitty little prick most of the time, but he's also unbearably beautiful.

"So what's the problem, then?" he asks.

"I don't want them to bed me," Dream says.

Hob's not following. "Say no, then?"

Dream rolls his eyes. "I don't want them to bed me, I want them to want me." His voice loses some of its determination halfway through the sentence, and he looks away.

Ouch. "Sounds like they do want you?"

Dream snorts. "Only so long as it suits them. Only so long as I fit their parameters. Today I spoke to Cori--"

Ah, yes, Cori, Dream's most recent ex-boyfriend. Dream's had a lot of ex-boyfriends, but Cori really tops the list, and not in a good way.

Now that Hob thinks about it, all of Dream's relationships kind of go the same way. Dream comes home after the first date bouncing off the walls with stars in his eyes insisting this person's the one, and within two months the thing's somehow torpedoed into the Underworld and Hob's scraping Dream up off the bathroom floor.

He's starting to see where the initial line of questioning might have come from.

"--and he, at last, was straightforward with me when no one else has bothered to be all this time. I demanded to know, truthfully, why he ended things, and he told me that I 'care too much, but won't put out'--"

Hob winces.

"--which does not make sense, as we had sex frequently? I do not know what else I am meant to be 'putting' and where. I said as much, and he laughed, and said--" he imitates Cori's voice with a surprisingly passable American accent-- "'It only counts if you at least pretend you want to be there, doll. Next time try initiating occasionally.' He left before I could question him further."

Hob doesn't like the picture this is painting. And Dream is looking at him beseechingly, like Hob might be able to explain the bizarre encounter. "So... now you're trying to figure out if your understanding of sex is wrong or something?"

"I felt that, as a neutral observer to the situation, you would be appropriate to survey," Dream says.

(Neutral is a stretch, Hob thinks.)

"So I ask you, Hob Gadling, as a man demonstrably unbothered by 'hookup culture'--"

"Are you calling me a slut?"

"--what do you think is the correct amount that one should care about sex? Because I--" he breaks off, twisting his fingers in his hair, suddenly anxious-- "I do not know what I am doing wrong."

Hob moves to sit beside him, lays a hand lightly on his arm. He's about to say, you're not doing anything wrong, except... that may not precisely be true. At least in terms of how Dream is actually handling it with his partners.

"How much do you care about sex?" he asks.

"Not as much as I am supposed to, evidently," Dream says. Hob just waits for him to elaborate. "Not very much. I prefer not to think about it." He looks at Hob, weary. "Now you will tell me that this is abnormal."

"I don't know what's 'normal'," Hob says. "But it does sound different from how Cori felt about it."

"I suppose," Dream says, sadly.

Hob doesn't particularly like where the intersection of 'I don't care about sex' and 'we had sex all the time' lands him. "If you don't care that much, why keep doing it?"

"It is what is done, is it not?" says Dream. "Besides. I do not mind so much. But even when I do participate, it is still not good enough. Or so it seems."

It's because they're picking up on the fact that you're not really enjoying it, Hob thinks. No one wants a partner who's not engaging. Least not anyone decent. But not saying anything and then just dipping out suddenly is kind of a dickish move, in his opinion.

"Do you want to participate?" he asks.

This seems to give Dream pause. "Mostly I would prefer to do other things. Like. Dates. Only that does not seem much appreciated either." He twists his hands together. "Perhaps Cori is right. I. Care too much."

"No." Hob takes Dream's hands and untwists them. "Cori's a dickhead. You just need to find someone who's on the same page as you, that's all."

"But it seems that book is rather empty," Dream says. He hasn't taken his hands back from Hob.

"Well, was there anyone that you did like having sex with? Or has it always just been--" he can't help but cringe-- "you just putting up with it because you thought you were supposed to?"

"Calliope," Dream says instantly, and Hob lets out a relieved breath. At least it's not all bad. "Because, no matter that it ended poorly... I felt that she truly liked me. And not. Just sex."

"Okay, see?" he says. "You just have to find someone like that."

It... hurts, to try to push Dream into someone else's path. But Hob's long accepted that Dream doesn't feel that way about him. Dream rarely seems hesitant about trying to date anyone he is interested in. Surely if he felt that way about Hob, he would have made it clear by now.

"Someone," Dream echoes, looking down at their joined hands.

"Just because what you want isn't common doesn't mean it's not out there," Hob says, trying to be encouraging. "And hey, if you know now, you can avoid the whole 'not on the same page' rigamarole, hm?"

"Yes," Dream says. "I suppose so." Finally he takes back his hands, instead taking another apple slice from the plate Hob's left on the coffee table and chewing on it slowly.

I would love you right, Hob thinks, unwanted, unbidden. It's not a productive thought, and it's a painful one, too.

"Perhaps I will take a break," Dream decides, though doesn't sound entirely happy about it.

"Could be good," Hob says. "Get your head on right."

"Yes," Dream agrees. "This has been. Illuminating. I thank you for your counsel. I suppose I will have to also thank Cori, 'dickhead' though he may be."

And with that he retreats to his room, still seeming a little off-kilter. And Hob can't help but feel like he's gone wrong somewhere, said something wrong, though he doesn't know where, or what.

[jeonghantis]

[ 11:27 PM ]

pairing ⇝ jeon wonwoo x reader.

tags ⇝ angst, smut, exes that still fuck

warnings ⇝ language, graphic sexual content, gn!reader but female body parts, ambiguous ending(?), emotional pain. lmk if i missed anything

word count ⇝ close to 1.4k words

minors do not interact.

smut tags under cut.

smut tags ⇝ marking, slow to rough sex, unprotected sex, creampie, praise, dirty talk. pls lmk if i missed anything

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” murmured Jeon Wonwoo as he greatly contrasted his uttered words when he sinks teeth into the flesh of your shoulder, adding another splotch of red to the array he’s left all over your chest.

You mirrored his sentiment, but did not speak it aloud. Instead, you let your body betray you as well, bucking your lower frame against his with your fingers threading through his dark curls, pulling him impossibly closer than he already was.

Wonwoo groaned, his warm breath caressing your skin, and his hands gripped your waist to pin you back down onto the mattress for his hips to dig deeply into yours. You feel him growing heavily against your clothed, throbbing core, and you let out a whimper both at the relieving pressure of it and at how it’s immediately not enough.

“Shit, you’re driving me crazy,” he grunted, tearing his mouth away from your neck to stare you down, lust a glimmering onyx in his eyes. “This is the last time I’ll ask you. Are you sure you want this?”

No, you wanted to say. No, because I’ll miss you again when it’s over. The pain that came after it all was excruciating. It blooms in your chest, slowly searing through your veins until you’re consumed whole and forced to feel nothing else. You’ll be haunted again once he walks out your door, seeing wisps of his smile when you shut your eyes and hearing the echoes of his laughter when the room goes still. No, you did not want it, but this was the closest you’ll get to having what you both once had. You wanted that again. You wanted more than this.

But again, you did not speak it aloud. You reached for his face and pulled him in for a kiss and let it all fade—the worry, the fear, and the pain. You focused on the feeling of his mouth, how you once believed it was a perfect fit on yours and how it still was. There was a moment of hesitation from Wonwoo before he’s easing up on you, having your lips meld in tandem with each other in a steady rhythm. 

Then you’re removing clothing off of each other’s heated bodies, leaving them strewn all over your bedroom floor without so much of a care. You’re still kissing him when he aligns himself at your weeping slit, then you’re parting your lips with a broken moan when he slips inside. He moves quickly to press kisses against your face, thumb swiping at a stray tear trickling down your cheek, as sweet praises fall from him.

“That’s it, angel,” he whispered over your ear before placing his lips against your forehead. “Relax for me a bit more, okay? You’re doing so well.”

You’re sobbing into his shoulder, sounding like an absolute mess of babbles, but you could not help it when you finally felt so complete. The hollow ache carved deep inside you was repleted to the brim, healing everything marred by the pain of your yearning. You let yourself savor it all, trying to commit every feeling to memory, because at the end of it all, you knew it was all temporary. No matter how many times you fall into bed with Jeon Wonwoo, the pleasure was fragile and fleeting, and you’d always be left alone more wounded than you were at the beginning.

“Are you okay?” Wonwoo asked softly, cradling your cheek with his palm, concern scrawled over his face.

You nod, trying for a smile with quivering lips as you lean into the warmth of his hand. “I am,” you said, voice cracking. “I’m okay. You can move now.”

He gave you an apprehensive look, unbelieving. But you quickly flatten your soles out on the bed as leverage as you begin to slowly fuck yourself up on him, to distract him from seeing past your crumbling self.

“Fuck,” Wonwoo exhaled out shakily, sparing a moment just to watch yourself use him so desperately, completely at awe and completely turned on by it all. After a few very messy strokes you make, he takes the reins, grabbing your thighs to spread them widely apart before pounding hard into you. His ruthless pace trembles your bones and you could do nothing but let him abuse your cunt as you whine high in pitch and volume. 

“Still so tight,” Wonwoo groaned, face pressed against your throat as he began to mouth at it, sucking and licking at your pulse points. “You haven’t let anyone else fuck your cunt, haven’t you?”

Your confirmation came out as an airy mewl, your arms thrown over his torso and nails digging into the muscled expanse of his back, drawing red angry lines all over.

The next thing he says catches you off guard, completely throwing you in a loop of great disarray and bliss. “This pussy is still mine, yeah?” Wonwoo had growled, emphasizing with a hand brought to press down hard on your clit. “All mine?”

You’re gasping, arcing into him with pleasure singing throughout your body. “Yes!” you sob out again. “It’s yours. All yours, Wonwoo. I’m all yours.”

When that last sentence left your lips, you’re immediately alarmed with a sharp intake of breath, your gaze frantic as you search Wonwoo’s face. But Wonwoo wore a smile, eyes glinting. Before you could really take in what that had meant, his fingers worked deft circles on your clit and his hips angle just right to brush against the golden nerves settled deep in you. 

It was messy. Moisture daubed the dips and curves of your bodies as you continued to seek after your own highs. Wonwoo’s movements had become increasingly heedless by the second, almost animalistic. The repeated, pointed thrusts against the nerves inside you had you sobbing into Wonwoo’s neck once again. The clenching, warm walls around Wonwoo had him heaving, his chest staggering. 

Then, your eyes meet. Reflecting flames of want flared.

Wonwoo pressed against you hard, fitting snugly inside as he painted your inner walls with thick, hot cum. The moan that left Wonwoo was both lecherous and heavenly at the same time, his large frame completely maddened by violent tremors of his orgasm.

You were just as gone, your eyes rolled up all the way to your skull. When you feel his warm release, your lust and greed are quick to possess you. Your hips lift again and ride out the waves of Wonwoo’s orgasm, milking out every single drop of cum out of his system. Wonwoo, though completely overtaken by his bliss, meets your pace albeit very sloppily but determined. It only takes a couple of more strokes until a vicious shudder ricochets throughout your body. Your mouth goes slack with one last cry of Wonwoo’s name, your cunt pulsing violently around the still-spurting length as your own arousal gushes out, making a mess between your heaving bodies. 

It’s silent for a while, only the sound of your breathing and his breaking through the air. Your bodies, slicked of sweat and mixed arousals, were heavy with exhaustion, barely moving as you both splay out on the mattress beside each other. You looked at each other and an air of uncertainty floated around you, just like it had many times before.

You were about to break the gaze away first, to head first into your bathroom to clean yourself up and save yourself from the sight of Wonwoo leaving. But for the second time that night, Wonwoo catches you off guard and reaches a hand out to hold onto your wrist.

“Stay,” he said. A word you wish you had said since the day you both decided to end your relationship. An action you wished he had done.

“Wonwoo,” you start off shakily.

“Just for while,” he insisted, eyes pleading. “Please?”

You chew on your bottom lip, hesitating. But your heart gave out in the end, and you lay right back down, inside the comforting cage of Wonwoo’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” Wonwoo breathed, pressing his lips against your temple. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” you whispered back and nestled closer into his warmth, concealing your teary gaze away.

There, you lay together enveloped in silence, matching the rise and falls of each other’s chest, and settle in the flickering embers of the love you had for one another.

note: woof. i know this was random, but i feel like i had to get the angst out of me to move on to other writings. this is completely self-indulgent and written in one go. so once again, this is not proofread. i hope you enjoyed reading nonetheless :)

[vacantwatchers]

Lonely Day

wc: 609 established relationship, future fic. Read it on ao3 here.

It was rare for Eddie to come home to something that surprised him, but pushing open the front door, and he does mean pushing thanks to all the rain he'd seen forecasted causing the wood to expand, he was definitely taken by surprise. Music was absolutely blasting through the house and it almost completely disguised the sound of his husband crying.

A painful sound no matter how many times he's heard it in their twenty years together.

Such a lonely day shouldn't exist

It's a day that I'll never miss

Dropping his suitcase down by their stairs Eddie follows the sound to the living room floor, where he sees Steve's feet stretching past the couch. Moving further in reveals pretty thighs in green shorts that should have died years ago but damn it if Steve didn't take care of his clothes.

Looking further up is where Eddie got stuck, because Steve was lying there in one of Eddie’s large shirts with a pillow clutched to his chest, eyes squeezed shut tight as he screamed along with the song.

And if you go, I wanna go with you

And if you die, I wanna die with you

Take your hand and walk away

Oh, sweetheart.

He was getting close to being too old to drop to his knees like this, suddenly and without warming up, but he needed down quickly. Needed to close the space between him and his baby because he shouldn't be hurting alone. Reaching out, Eddie pulled the pillow from Steve's arms and watched his husband startle for a moment, damp eyelashes separating to show the prettiest hazel to ever exist, glossy and wet with the tears that haven't stopped.

“Eddie.”

Steve reaches for him, drags him down and keeps pressing like he's trying to fuse them together, the same way he's hugged since they started sneaking around in 1985. Like if he keeps trying their bones and muscle will meld together eventually.

Sliding his arm under Steve’s neck, Eddie pulls him closer, tighter.

“I'm here, it's alright.”

They lay there for long enough that the CD eventually goes quiet and Steve's breathing stops having that sad hitch on each inhale.

“I didn't know that would happen when I picked out the album. I just thought ‘it's new, maybe Dee would like it' and fucking here I am. The first time it played it took me by surprise, then I just couldn't stop replaying it until it broke me.”

He knew why.

Eddie hates thinking about how Steve had to apply pressure. Had to carry him out while trying to keep him conscious. Hates thinking about what would have happened to Steve if when he coded during surgery, he stayed gone.

Eddie rubs his thumb along the baby hairs of Steve’s neck. “I'm not going anywhere you can't follow, sweetheart. You can trust me on that.”

Steve huffs. “Fucking better not. I'm not built to be without you.”

Eddie smiled into his neck, pressed a kiss there under his jaw for safe keeping.

“I appreciate that you thought of me when you bought this album, the song did sound good.”

A broad hand rubs down his back before digging under his long sleeve to press against skin, warmth sinking deep. The same way it always does when Steve touches him.

“There’s a song called Stealing Society on it and I thought of your old lunch rants. Figured if nothing else that would be a hit.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, and Eddie feels the pressure of a kiss against his head, “but I think I have my own favourite.”

“I'm sure it'll be my favourite too, Stevie.”

[anintrovertedechoe]

moonlight.

mammon x gn!reader

heartfelt fluff

Giggles fill your apartment kitchen, music drowning it all out until you two are the only ones who can hear yourselves. This, you think, is love. Love in its purest and most unadulterated form. Love that is unafraid and comfortable and warm. Love that you could lie and bask in like sunlight on your living room floor on a Sunday afternoon.

He’s shirtless and your chests make contact through your flimsy tacky yellow tank top. (The color is ugly and ‘looks like what spoiled BufoEgg Tea would smell like’ according to Mammon, but yellow is his color and the two of you couldn’t stop laughing when you saw it, so into your cart and wardrobe it went.) His arms wrap around your waist, and he arches his back over you so you can actually reach his shoulders. (Tall bastard, you murmur. Not my fault yer such a short human. He grins. Your palm gently pushes his face away and his smile is so bright it steals the breath from your lungs just like he stole your heart oh so long ago.)

The music hums in the background, Dodie and Laufey play through the speakers, voices creating a gentle melody the two of you hum along to. Your lover is tone-deaf, but you still feel your chest bursting at the seams with love when his voice enters your ears.

The two of you rock to the sides together, holding onto each other so tightly that you feel like you might meld together as one. You voice your thoughts, and Mammon says he doesn’t see a problem with that (he grips you closer to him and meets your eyes and you don’t think you would mind either, if you’re being honest.) The midnight moonlight shines through the kitchen windows, and he tucks his face into the crook of your neck, where you know a crooked smile awaits you. You lean on him and pin his head against you, eliciting a laugh from your lover.

“Love you, Mams.”

“Love y’more.” And you can’t help but press your lips against his at the response. It is soft, and sweet, and slow. I am yours. I would follow you to the ends of all of the three realms if you asked me to. I love you. I love you. I love you, it says.

And you think you would stay like this forever, if you could. Right here, right now, with Greed in your arms and Dear Soulmate ringing throughout the room. How fitting it is, that Laufey’s melodious voice starts her chorus as his forehead presses against yours, blue-gold eyes shining so soft in the light you can’t help but melt.

Suddenly you’re pressed against the counter, his arms trapping you against him and suddenly Mammon is at your ear whispering, “Play the song.” Less of a demand and more of a plea, sweet and nearly silent, his voice sends shivers down your spine.

You can’t help but bask in the endearment that surges through you. A hand tangles itself and plays within the white locks belonging to the second-born Sin.

“What song?” A teasing grin from you. A whine from Mammon.

“Y’know, the song.” He pouts against you and his hair tickles your nose as he buries himself further into the space between your head and shoulders as you laugh at his antics.

“Need’ya to tell me what song, baby. Can’t read minds, y’know.” You know exactly what song he’s talking about.

“I hate ya, y’know.”

“You love me.”

He dramatically sighs against your neck. “Wish I didn’t.” A lie and you both know it. Still doesn’t make your smile any less wide.

“Mean. M’not playing the song for you now.”

“You said you didn’t know the song?!” A cry of outrage and mock indignation. You hastily shush him and break out into a fit of quiet laughter.

You motion for him to lean in closer, before whispering urgently and dramatically,

“I lied.”

“…”

“…”

“I was serious when I said I hated ya, y’know.”

A series of breathy giggles leave you and quickly reach Greed’s ears, and soon enough he’s barking out laughter alongside you.

It’s in moments like these that you know things are going to be alright. No matter what, you’ll have your Mammon by your side, and that means things will be okay.

You remember a time before him, before the love of your life was yours, and you can’t believe you ever thought you were alive before him. Darkness had filled every part of your being, and the days had dragged on, long and pointless. You remember coming home to your empty apartment, and the bitterness that used to form a pit in your chest and choke you to the point of tears.

Before you met the boy with stars in his eyes, you didn’t think you would live to your next birthday. How fitting it was, that he had come in in your darkest moments, only to fill you with light. (The sun seemed dim compared to his smile, and you fondly remember the moment you realized that you would do anything for that smile, no matter how troublesome or ridiculous his scheming may be at times.)

“Watcha thinking ‘bout?” A casually posed question, but his eyes betray the slight worry that stained his face.

Mammon, your Mammon. The love of your life and beyond. What would you do without this precious boy? What would you do without the greedy Mammon who willingly had let you steal his golden heart? (You treasure him as though he is the most precious jewel, and Greed finds himself melting into you more often than not partially to avoid being witnessed as the blushing mess he becomes whenever he looks into your eyes, filled with love. All for him, you tell him. And despite being Greed incarnate, he cannot imagine taking all of the entirety that is your love.)

“Nothin’, just thinking about how much I love ya, Mams.”

He blushes furiously and tries stammering out a response, only to give up and once again bury his face into the crook of your neck, whining and mumbling something along the lines of ‘not fair’ and ‘…love ya’ more, human.’ Against your skin.

And while the moonlight shines and Mitski plays in the background, you play his song and sway with him once more.

i love him ur honor. i am in love with him ur honor. i would do anything for this man. tooth-rotting fluff is not a can, but a must.

please please please please offer feedback and criticism hes my fav character and i want to make sure my writing and characterization did him justice :((

anyways yeah credit to @pothologics for the banger playlist that inspired me to write this

[pond-froggie]

Ford and Fiddleford were dating in college but they broke up and lost contact. Ford moves out to the middle of the woods and after a few years of no contact asks Fiddleford to be his lab partner cause Ford doesn’t know anyone who is smart enough to work with him. Fiddleford agrees and keeps trying to get back with Ford but not pushing too hard,just giving small gifts and cooking for him and just being domestic. It eventually works on Ford and they get back together. 

One day when Fiddleford is at the store and Ford is home alone there’s a knock on his door. He opens it to a woman asking if Fiddleford is there and Ford asks who she is. She says she’s his wife from back in Tennessee and that he’s been missing for almost a year and that she tracked him to this address. 

Fords just like “oh yeah come inside :D” and they talk while they wait for Fiddleford to come home but Ford doesn’t say anything about why Fiddleford is there and what he’s doing there. 

She talks about their son and how hard it’s been without him and no double income. Ford is just “uh huh… wow that must be tough” thinking about all the ways he’s going to kick Fiddlefords ass back to Tennessee. 

Fiddleford comes through the door with groceries- “Fordsie, I know it wasn’t on the list but I got the stuff for chocolate chip cookies-“ and he sees his wife and his boyfriend sitting at the dining table with tea. 

Emma May jumps up and hugs him and starts crying about how she’s missed him and how their son misses him and Fiddleford is looking over her shoulder at Ford who’s looking out the window sipping his tea. Fiddleford pushes her away and tells her that he knows she cheated. Emma May denies it and says she would never do such a thing and tries to bring up Tate again but he interrupts her and says that Tate isn’t his and that he knows he was helping hide the affair. 

Emma May just stands there for a few seconds before lunging at Fiddleford and screaming at him about how he owes her money. Ford pulls her off of him and brings her outside telling her to leave or he’ll call the police. 

She leaves and Ford goes back inside and Fiddleford is still laying on the floor. Ford steps around him and puts the groceries away before laying on the floor next to him and grabbing his hand. 

“I didn wan cha findin out” Fiddleford sniffs and uses his other hand to swipe his eyes. “We meet in ma senior year and when we found out we’re both from Tennessee we got married when the year ended ‘nd had Tate a year later. As he got older I started suspecting he wasn’t mine so I watched more closely… her cousin Stanford- her cousin! Am I really that bad of a husband!… that’s embarrassin…” Fiddleford pulls his hand out of Fords and digs the palms of his hands into his eyes as he bites his lip to prevent sobs from slipping through. 

Ford sits up and picks up Fiddleford and moves him to the couch, laying him on top of him with Fiddleford grabbing fistfuls of his sweater and crying into it, Ford's arms around him trying to meld them into one. Fiddleford eventually calms down and turns his head to the side, pressing his ear to Ford's chest. 

“That was awful” Fiddleford whispers. Ford huffs and wipes his cheek of stray tears. 

“I’m assuming you haven’t let yourself do that?” 

“No… I just existed in Tennessee ‘til you called and I came as soon as I could and just forgot about it… I hated our stupid fight back in college…” 

“I never stopped loving you” 

“Me neither” 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Break-In 3

Character: God the Bounty Hunter

Warnings: this drabble includes elements which may be dark. Please mind these warnings and take care.

Explicit, 18+. Please reblog and leave some feedback.

A day off is exactly what you need. Still, your internal clock doesn’t register the break. You wake up at the same time, make your coffee, and contemplate the meaning of life. When the single-serve finishes its churning, you claim your mug and yawn over the brim, blowing away the wisp of steam. 

You cross your apartment, the air stuffy with the damp spring evening melding into the warmth of the rising sun. You go to the balcony door and watch the haze of orange behind the cityscape as the dark blue ripples to shades of cerulean. As you let yourself out onto the narrow balcony, you find your way impeded.  

Your coffee splashes over the top of the cup and splats onto the figure slumped across the concrete. You sigh and take a sip. The man always shows up when you’re in dire need of caffeine. You look down at him, perplexed at what to do next. He’s too big for you to move on your own and you have the humanity to wonder why he’s passed out. 

“Ughhhhhhh,” the catlike intruder groans as he rolls onto his back and you flinch, nearly spilling more upon him. 

“Hi,” you peer down dumbly. 

His blue eyes flit side to side then angle to the glimpse of the sky beneath the next floor’s balcony. He lets out a deep breath as his brows furrow and ripples line his forehead, “morning.” 

Is he saying good morning or is he stating the time? For as little as he’s ever said to you, you’re not certain. You sniff and let it out in a heave. 

“Are you hurt?” You ask, giving in. 

“I am wounded,” he answers and grits his teeth. 

You nod. That doesn’t really help either of you.  

“Can you move?”  

He grimaces and plants his hands beside him. He pushes himself up with a growl and leans heavily forward. He’s panting from the effort. Shoot. 

“Yes,” he puffs. 

“Got it,” you cluck. 

You back up and reach to set your mug on the ledge that stands under the rows of windows looking out over the balcony. You keep the door open with your foot and come back out. He hugs his stomach as he rubs his bruised temple. 

“Do you need help?” 

He shakes his head and shifts, reaching for the railing. He hauls himself up with a suppressed grunt and hunches before he can stand straight. His eyes meet yours as he faces you, dragging his foot as he limps forward. 

“Concussion, bruised ribs,” he hobbles closer, “foot might be fractured.” 

His diagnosis is cool and detached. As if it isn’t his own body. You step back out of the way and he enters the dark apartment. Only the kitchen light and the slowly blooming sunrise glow in the space. He staggers onward and you claim your mug. You’ll wait until you see the bottom to figure this out. 

As he falls onto your couch, you go into the kitchen. He sits with his head tilted back and takes straggling breaths through his nose. You take out a second mug, a pod, and tap the brew button. You languish in the tension as you wait for the long grind. 

You continue to nurse your own coffee as you bring his out and place it on the square table beside the armrest. He rumbles as he opens his eyes. His pupils are dark pits. 

“Thank you,” he mutters. 

“Mm,” you push your tip against your teeth, “you know, I’m not too good with blood so...” 

“Coffee’s fine,” he sits forward and stymies another groan. He grabs the mug and drinks, sighing in relief. “You got a bed sheet I can ruin?” 

You consider him. This is strange. You’ve just accepted that he’s going to come and crash on your couch and there’s nothing you can do about it. Why? It’s probably that knife. He hasn’t hurt you and you don’t want that to change. 

“Sure,” you agree with a shrug. 

He takes another sip and brings his other hand up to feel the heat through the porcelain. He focuses on the mug and you back up. He isn’t even asking you to help, you just assumed. As you go to grab an old sheet out of the linen chest, you can’t help but wonder what happened to him. You don’t think he’ll be any more chatty about that than anything else. 

[dd122004dd]

Broken & Betrothed

So, this is in response to a post I had made asking if ya'll would read a past life Ardeth Bay fic, well, it's finally here, part 1 of it. Hope ya'll enjoy it and so sorry for the wait. Summary: She is the sister of Nefertari and in love with her private guard but its forbidden and so they have to hide their relationship but her father, the pharaoh has betrothed her to another, so with a heavy heart she has to tell her lover that her father has betrothed her to someone else

Warnings: Angst, Heart break, Part 2 (THE HORROR!!!)

Part 2

The young Medjai strode across the alabaster stone floors. His footsteps were precise and silent. A pair of daggers attached to his hip glistened in the moonlight as he traced his way through the palace. Hidden by the shadows he moved swiftly, a destination in his mind as he entered her chamber.

She stood at her balcony, her hair shimmering in the dark as she gazed at the night sky.

‘The moon is a gift from Khonsu’, she told him once, ‘it guides travelers across Kek’s darkness.’ Silently he had motioned her to continue as he kissed her shoulder gently, ‘I wish I was a traveler; I wish I could see all the beautiful places I hear about. I want to see where the luxurious clothes I wear come from, I want to know how their strings are woven together, to see color bleed into their very strands. I want to know where the jewels I’m adorned with come from, where the spices on my tongue are grown, but most of all I want to see your hometown, the place where you grew up, the place you recall with such fondness in your eyes.’ That night he held her as she told him of her dreams, knowing that her duty, her royal blood bound her to her gilded cage.

Gazing at her his heart ached as she hummed a soft tune, it was a familiar tune, one he’d heard multiple times when the priestesses of Hathor worshipped her. Lost in her voice, he continued gazing at her, his limbs softly swaying with her voice, the jangle of his daggers accompanying her voice to form a symphony unheard of before.

Slowly the song dwindled into a comforting silence, the pair basking in it as if afraid to break this moment of comfort. “Will you simply stand there, Ardeth?” she finally asked, breaking the silence. “What would you command of me, Princess? I am but your servant.”

“Princess? You haven’t called me that in a long time.” She said sadly as she turned to look at him.

“I’m afraid it is time I start addressing you by your title, Princess. I have been remiss in my duties and have allowed myself to become too familiar with the one I was destined to serve.” He said formally, trying to distance himself, trying to hold himself back from comforting his lover.

“You’ve heard.” She stated simply, realizing why he was so distant that night.

“You are betrothed,” he stated monotonously as the very words he mumbled ripped his heart apart yet he held out hope that she’d reject his allegation, that she’d take him in her arms and strip away his doubts.

“Yes,” she shakily said as tears welled in her eyes. Stepping forward she reached out to him, silently begging for comfort. Despite his own bleeding heart, he enveloped her within his arms as she shook from the force of her sobs. He hugged her closer as though he wanted to merge her into himself, as though if he held her close enough, she wouldn’t be ripped apart from him, as though his arms could protect her from the hands of the Pharoah, from her father, from her fate.

Tears dripped down his face as the pair sank to the floor, clutching onto each other as if, if they’d let go for even a moment the strong currents of the Nile would part them. In that moment he cursed the gods, wondering why they’d let such pain befall an innocent such as her, wondering why they’d make him pay for his countless sins by putting her through so much pain. For many nights they had laid together, falling deeper into each other till their very souls melded into one, till even the blood within their veins was shared, their bodies and minds now one. They had prayed to Hathor, the goddess of love, to never separate them, yet the coy goddess refused their prayers. Rather, she made them love each other only to have it ripped apart before their very eyes.

Perhaps the most painful thing about this was that both of them were alive, for what was more torturous than seeing your beloved in the arms of another when all they crave is your arms around them?

“I-I don’t want t-to marry-y him, A-Ardeth,” she said, hiccupping. “I can’t.”

“It is your duty and your Pharaoh’s decree,” he said, hating the words coming from his mouth with a burning passion.

“You’d rather me marry someone else? Someone who’s not you?” She asked, feeling hurt at his complacency as she rose to her feet, anger and hurt radiating from her body. Staring at him through reddened eyes she cradled herself in an attempt to comfort herself.

Feeling her rip herself apart from him, the dam holding back his emotions burst as he desperately crawled towards her and wrapped his arms around her hips. Burying his face against her soft stomach he wept bitterly. He pulled her closer as she wrapped her arm around his head, slowly soothing him as she brushed her fingers through his onyx locks.

He looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes as desperation filled his gaze, “I’d rather you lived in the arms of another man than be buried alive within my embrace.”

“I’d rather enter the afterlife bound to you than separated from you.”

“Do you not see you are my very reason to breathe?” he asked desperately.

“Do you not see, without you, I cannot live? You are my reason to live. To survive. To fight,” she stated with conviction.

“I cannot and will not sacrifice your safety, My Princess. In this life or the after-life.” He stated, rising to his feet as his eyes tried to convey his emotions.

“So, you’d rather see me in the arms of another man? Some pompous King from a distant land?”

“I’d rather see you alive and unhappy than dead,” he stated with finality as he walked away from the love of his life. His chest felt void with every step he took away from her, refusing to look back for if he did, he knew his resolve would crumble and he’d try to run away with her, consequences be damned. Yet, deep down even he knew that she did not deserve a life of hardship and that was the only life he could promise her.

“Don’t you see? I’d rather spend my afterlife in your arms than be bound to a marriage I detest, in this life and the next.” She whispered to an empty room, her knees tucked under her chin as she wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to shield herself from the growing emptiness in her chest.

~

Weddings were an exciting affair. They were supposed to be a happy affair, commencing with a feast at the bride’s home before she departed with the wedding gifts to live with her husband as his wife. It was a period of excitement where families came together to celebrate, it was supposed to be a time of happiness yet she couldn’t seem to muster a spark of joy within her soul.

In public she played the role of the perfect princess, the beautiful blushing bride yet with every smile, with every chuckle, with every compliment she got she felt like crying, like ripping her jewels off and baring her soul for everyone to see. She desired to bare her heart to the world, to show everyone who’s name was truly carved into her heart, yet she could not. He left her, refused to fight for her, for them.

He had been avoiding her. He had traded shifts with another guard till one day she awoke to a new personal guard. On inquiring about the change, the new guard, Naten, told her that Ardeth had requested the change. Whenever she saw him lurking in the corridors he simply walked away, pretending she didn’t exist. Perhaps that’s what hurt more than being apart from him. His refusal to acknowledge her.

During the day she was a blushing bride, but at night she grieved the living lover she lost. Her mournful cries merged with the wails of widows along the streets of the city. Unheard and unseen she shed her tears till finally one day someone saw. It was her sister, Nefertiri, who found her nestled on her windowsill with her knees tucked against her chest. She gazed at the moon once again, but this time she sung a mournful tune. Trails of kohl long-dried on her face as she sniffled.

“Sister?”

“Nefertiri?” she asked, startled by her appearance.

“Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying.”

“Don’t take me for a fool. Tell me. What has caused you so much pain?”

“Nothing, Nefertiri. Just leave it alone.”

“I cannot, you are my sister and it’s my duty to protect you,” she said, staring into her sister’s eyes with sincerity. She snorted at that word again, duty, the very thing that doomed her.

Looking into Nefertiri’s eyes, tears welled in her own as she cuddled into her sister’s nostalgic embrace, a reminiscent of when she used to comfort her when they were children. Her sister gently hushed her, slowly rocking her back and forth as she cried.

Hours passed by as the night slowly dwindled into day and Ra’s boat, Mandjet, came forth from the underworld. It was then she finally confessed, unburdening herself of the burden she carried. She poured her heart out to her sister about the lover she was tragically torn apart from.

Her sister could only look at her in sympathy, knowing that their father’s word was law and that she would not be able to help her. All she could do was offer her comfort. For the first time the powerful princess, Nefertiri, Lily of the Nile and wielder of the spear of Shapneh was helpless, she couldn’t do anything to interfere in her sister’s fate so she simply offered her comfort.

~

A new face had appeared in court, a beautiful woman by the name Anck-Su-Namun, the daughter of a noble at court. She was as graceful as she was deadly, trained in combat she was a skilled woman, impressing the court with her prowess. Quickly she caught the eye of the Pharaoh. Her alluring appearance and saccharine words appealed to the older widower. She consumed his thoughts till she became his most favored concubine. Soon, she was to be the Queen, bound to bear a male heir to the throne. Men lusted after her and Pharaoh’s harem envied her, yet all the wealth of Egypt was not enough for her, she desired more, something different, someone different.

Anck-Su-Namun was Princess Nefertiri’s combat instructor before she caught the Pharaoh’s eye so as a part of her wedding celebrations, a martial display between Anck-Su-Namun and Nefertiri was organized by the Pharaoh.

It was that very night that Pharaoh had been slain by his favorite lover and his trusted High Priest. The Medjai rushed to save him but they were too late. The Pharaoh bled out on the stone floors.

Nefertiri bore witness to the event, her eyes burning with rage at the death of her father. Leading the Medjai in pursuit of the priest who sought to perform a perversion against the very gods themselves, raising someone from the dead and ripping them away from the judgement of Anubis, she finally caught the priest, ordering the Homdai, the most terrifying of curses, a cursed death, a half-life, an eternity of torment.

The entirety of Egypt was in mourning, with the Pharaoh gone, who would lead them? In this moment of turmoil, Nefertiri rose to the challenge, becoming the Pharaoh herself. Like any new ruler she had to establish herself as capable, yet she did it with an unfaltering grace soon becoming beloved by her people.

Her first act as Pharaoh was breaking her sister’s betrothal. Her betrothed was not pleased and demanded compensation for the betrothal which was granted to the man in the form of a different bride, a far more willing cousin of the Pharoah who had yet to be wed.

With the betrothal ended she could breathe a sigh of relief, now she remained untethered, yet the man of her desires still refused to look at her.

Perhaps he was consumed with shame or guilt or even self-loathing. Perhaps his pride kept him from her. Perhaps he believed himself unworthy. Whatever the reason was, his avoidance was getting infuriating, so with a sense of new-found determination she decided to find him, or like her sister said, “Grab him by his ear and make him listen.”

Part 2