#i hope you enjoyed me losing my marbles

[hiraethwa]

alright you gave me the idea, and you started this

so picture this

tobio doesn’t handle flirting well. at least not at first. before and early in the relationship, you would tease and flirt him relentlessly solely to see that pretty red spread across his cheeks.

“you’re handsome in you’re uniform, tobio.” shoulders would raise with tension, clenching his fists as he mumbled a quiet thank you.

“hmm, interesting,” you said quietly as you let indulge in squeezing his bicep. “you’re strong, you know that? ‘s hot.” again, you have him all flustered and speechless.

however, with time, he grows comfortable around you and your teasing doesn’t have the effect it use to have. you don’t stop though. you keep throwing playful comments in his direction, loving how you bring a mischievous smirk to his lips

one day, you’ve come to meet him after practice. “hey handsome,” you coo as you approach him. “damn, what i’d do to make you all sweaty like that.” he rolls his eyes at you, that smirk quickly coming to show.

you continue badgering him with lustful comments, and he keeps quiet, smile never faltering. suddenly, he catches you by surprise. he cuts you off mid sentence when his hand comes up to squeeze your cheeks — strong fingers softly digging into your plush flesh.

he captures your stare, the playful glint in his blue eyes causing a lump to form in your throat. then he speaks

“you’re quite cheeky, aren’t you?”

now it’s your turn to have your face flushed hot.

ave 404 not found GATEWAY CONNECTION LOST ???? HELLO WHAT IS THIS!! THE AUDACITY!! HELLO POLICE THERES A MURDERER IN MY HOUSE

that is so TOBIO IM SHSJJWJSKAKSKKSKSKS biting my knuckles rattling the bars of my cage

LET ME AT HIM JUST ONE SHOT PLEASJEKS

tobio getting used to your flirting and turning the tables on you with confidence over time fic when??? i’m sat!!

[eiightysixbaby]

this is heaven, what i truly want

oliver quick x fem!reader

you’re never truly alone at saltburn. there’s always someone watching. (3.4k+)

18+ only! oral f receiving, voyeurism, unprotected piv, creampie, spit kink, use of pet names (darling, sweetheart, baby, etc.), one use of ‘sir’, cum eating (just a smidge), biting and choking (literally one brief instance of each), edging. lmk if I forgot any!

a/n: hooooo boy I wanted to try something new, so here it is! promise I’m not fully veering away from my usual stranger things content, I just desperately needed to write some filth for ollie 🤭 hope you enjoy!! I proofread this a couple times but if there’s mistakes iM SORRY. my closing statement: I can fix him your honor.

Watched. For days you’ve felt like you’re being watched. Carefully, closely, tracking your every move. Maybe the walls have eyes, who knows with a place as eccentric as this. All of the ornate fixtures and ancient paintings do have a bit of an eery, haunting feel to them.

Or perhaps it’s just because you aren’t used to having housekeepers around at all hours of the day. Duncan has always been off-putting; every summer you’ve spent at Saltburn throughout your life there’s been an energy about him that’s made the hair on your neck stand up.

Regardless, you’ve tried to shake off the feeling, wondering if you were finally losing your mind. Because here, with Felix and Venetia, Elspeth and James and Farleigh — you’re safe. They’re lifelong family friends who, as strange as they may be at times, make you feel secure. Nobody would have any business spying on you.

But oh, you should’ve known better.

You slip out of the large clawfoot tub, bare feet planting themselves on the white tile floor. Water drips from your body, the tiniest puddle forming at your feet. Grabbing your towel, you begin to dry your body with the soft fabric. You hum softly to yourself, reaching for your satin robe where it hangs by the vanity. For a moment you think you hear something, the tiniest creaking sound, and you move to look around the unnecessarily large bathroom. It’s dark in the corners where the light doesn’t quite reach, but even squinting you see nothing out of the ordinary.

You’re fucking losing it, you mentally scold yourself. It’s an old house, it’s going to make noise.

You lean against the vanity, palms flat on the marble countertop. Letting out a heavy sigh, your head hangs low, eyes closed. Get it together.

When you’ve finally steadied your breathing, you look back up to greet yourself in the mirror. You work your hairbrush through your wet hair, taking care to untangle any knots. The feeling won’t go away, your defenses raised. Eyes on you. There’s someone watching. There has to be.

You see him in the mirror before you actually see him.

Turning on your heel, a loud gasp escapes you. Your heart pounds behind your rib cage, your eyes focusing in on the figure lurking in the dark hallway. The bathroom door is open a crack, eyes you know to be blue piercing through you.

Oliver.

“What the fuck, Ollie!?” you shout, watching as he slips fully into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him.

You retreat, back pressing against the counter behind you. He stalks calmly towards you, caging you in. You swallow, unable to stop the way your eyes study his muscular frame, his tank top clinging tight to his torso.

“Now now,” he says, soft and steady. “We don’t want the whole house to wonder what’s up, do we?”

“What are you doing here?” you grit, nostrils flaring as you exhale heavily. Your posture stiffens, tense under his chilling gaze. “Why were you watching me?”

“Don’t act so offended, darling,” he says, stepping so close that your chests nearly touch. “Do you think I don’t see the way you look at me?”

Your lips part, breath hitching in your throat. It’d be a filthy lie to act as if you haven’t been admiring him since he first arrived, under Felix’s wing like a timid little animal. Something about him has captivated you, intrigued you, lured you in. He’s just so quiet, so skittish. So beautiful.

Being as close to family as you could get, you didn’t want to make things awkward by putting the moves on Felix’s friend, so you avoided him when you could. But that only made things more unbearable for you. Many a night was spent with your hand between your thighs, softly crying his name into your dark bedroom. Imagining he was there with you. He couldn’t know about that… could he?

“I don’t know what you’re implying,” you say, looking up at him defiantly. Lying through your teeth. You should know he can practically smell the nervousness on you.

It’s cute that you think he’d buy this.

“Oh, save the games, sweetheart,” he tuts, taking a final step closer to you. His chest fully pressed against yours now, his face dipping forward until his mouth is right beside your ear. “I know you touch yourself at night, stretching open that pretty little cunt, wishing it was me.”

Fucking hell.

“Did you really think you could be slick? Think I wouldn’t catch the way you stare at me all of the time, think I wouldn’t figure you out?”

“How long have you been watching me?” you ask quietly, your voice meek now.

“Not any longer than you’ve been watching me.”

“I haven’t—” you start, but he presses a finger to your lips, quieting you. He raises a brow, as if to say ‘Do you really want to go there?’

God, you were so stupid. Staring at him any chance you got; looking out your window at him while he’d lounge shirtless by the pool, or peering through his cracked bedroom door one evening after dinner in hopes of seeing him changing. You were sick. And here you are, chastising him.

You keep your gaze directly on his, feeling your heart rate increase under the scrutiny of those piercing, gorgeous blue eyes. He gently holds your chin, keeping you focused on him as he studies your face.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, letting his free hand come to rest on your waist. You’re reminded then that you’re only in a robe, and suddenly your skin feels like it’s ablaze.

“Oliver—” you start, your eyes big and pleading as you stare at him. What exactly you’re hoping for you don’t know, you just want him to do something.

His gaze flits to your lips, his tongue poking out to wet his own. Leaning in, his mouth ghosts over yours, barely grazing your waiting pout. He pulls back, teasing, and you chase him. Seeking out his lips until he gives in, one hand on your lower back, holding you against him as he kisses you roughly. His tongue licks into your eager mouth, swirling around yours, tasting you. It feels as though you’re nearly devouring each other, teeth clashing as your hands reach up to tangle themselves in his hair.

You whine, a high-pitched and pretty thing when he lets his mouth find your neck, sucking harsh on the delicate skin. Rolling your hips against his, you can feel the bulge straining in his boxers and he groans at the sudden friction.

“Ol— Ollie, please,” you beg, for what it isn’t clear, but he removes his lips from your pulse point to look at you.

“Such a needy little thing you are,” he says, regarding you down the bridge of his nose. ��And to think five minutes ago you were acting like I wasn’t welcome in here…”

You chew at your bottom lip, thighs pressing together involuntarily at the way he speaks to you. His tone is ultimately patronizing, and you’d have no complaints if he spoke to you like this all of the time.

He dips his head back down, this time kissing over your collarbone. Every inch of skin he kisses seems to ignite, electricity coursing through your veins. He unties the fabric belt securing your robe around your front, letting it instead fall open for him. You’re completely bare beneath the black silky fabric, and you watch the way his eyes trail down your figure. He studies you like you’re the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen, and there’s an insatiable hunger behind that stunning blue. He’d eat you whole if it were possible.

Continuing his descent, he takes the nipple of your right breast into his mouth, kneading the left with his hand. You gasp, tipping your head back as his tongue rolls over the sensitive little bud, sucking on it. He diverts his mouth’s attention to the other side, then, making sure he gives equal attention to each of your tits. You can feel yourself throb for him, nearly dripping at your core in anticipation.

“Such pretty tits,” he mumbles, lips trailing against your skin. He lets his face linger between them for a moment, caressing them with soft hands.

Your mind wanders as he works his way down, kissing down your stomach, nipping at your hips. You wonder how often he’s spied on you without you catching him — exactly how many times he’s seen you touch yourself to the thought of him. It only drives you further up the wall; picturing him peering through a crack in your bedroom door on nights where you’d lay completely bare on your bed, pleasuring yourself to thoughts of his fingers and tongue. He’s sick, you’re sick, and maybe you’re perfect for each other.

You’re brought entirely back to the present when you feel his breath fanning against your cunt, his eyes peering up at you from where he rests on his knees. He doesn’t break eye contact as he brings two fingers up to swipe through your folds, collecting your slick. You shiver, mouth agape as he brings those fingers to his mouth, sucking your sweet honey from them.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet for me, darling. And you taste so sweet,” he murmurs, pressing his face against your mound. He inhales, the tip of his nose nudging at your clit, making your hips jerk slightly. “Smell even sweeter,” he praises. He’d bottle up your scent and wear it like cologne if it were possible, anything to feel close to you all of the time.

His lips part, hot breath fanning against your exposed cunt as he collects himself. You feel his tongue lick a delicate stripe up through your folds, a barely-there sensation, but it makes your back arch regardless.

“Oliver,” you moan, tangling your fingers in his hair.

You hear him exhale in a smug laugh before you feel his tongue again. He’s far more intentional this time, letting it lap up your juices from every crevice. You tug hard on his hair when you feel the wet muscle breach your entrance, lewd slurping sounds coming from the way he pleasures you. His strong hands grip your thighs, fingers digging into the plush skin, keeping you right where he wants you.

It feels like you’re levitating, ascending to a higher realm as he licks and sucks at your pretty, glistening pussy. He allows his mouth to focus on your clit, teeth grazing it in a greedy little nip before he soothes the area with his velvety tongue. You’re seeing stars when you feel two of his fingers slip generously inside of you, scissoring within your walls.

“Oh— oh my god,” you whine, your eyes pinching shut as you tip your head back.

“That’s right, baby — I’m your God. Worship me like I’m your God,” he growls, in a different headspace entirely.

While he’s usually so soft-spoken and polite, in this moment he’s cocky; more confident than you thought he’d ever be. You can’t fault him for it, though, because you do want to worship him. You want to get on your knees and pray for him.

Weeks of yearning, lusting after him from afar have come to fruition. Your longing now seeps out of you, with his eager mouth to swallow it all. He fucks his fingers harder into you, curling into your sweet spot as his tongue flicks rapidly back and forth over your sensitive bud.

The thing is, it’s been weeks of yearning on his end, too. This place, warm and wet between your thighs, is his altar — his holy ground. He wants to worship you just as much as he wants you to worship him. He’s dreamt of what you would taste like, how you’d suck him right in, and now that he has you he never wants to let you go.

“Fuck, Ollie, don’t stop,” you plead, letting loud rhythmic moans fall from your lips. At this point you don’t care if the entire house hears you; so fucking be it if they do. You know Farleigh would love something to gossip about; what better topic than how Oliver gave you a religious experience right under this massive roof?

Reading your mind, he speaks from his spot between your legs. “So fuckin’ loud, darling. You want everyone to hear us? To hear how good I make you feel?”

“Yes, fuck yes,” you pant, grinding down on his fingers, nearly humping his face.

He hopes in his twisted mind that someone is listening. Hearing him claim you, mark you as his. He shakes his head back and forth, tongue laying flat as it swipes over your clit messily. You can feel yourself about to let go, to come completely undone for him.

But he can sense it, he can see it on your face that you’re so deliciously close to release, and he’s not having it yet.

Your brows furrow when he removes his fingers from your cunt, pulling his mouth away as well. You’re about to protest, about to plead with him to keep going, but he’s standing and pressing his lips to yours before you can get a word out.

There’s a painful ache in your core, and you can feel yourself still soaking wet for the man before you. His teeth bite at your bottom lip, tugging on it while he studies you with half-lidded eyes. He rolls his hips against yours and you can feel his excitement, his cock stiff in his boxers.

You paw at the waistband, attempting to free him from his confines, desperate to feel him. His fingers wrap around your wrists, stopping them from getting any closer to his cock.

“Don’t get greedy, sweetheart,” he warns. “I call the shots.”

He grabs you by the waist, encouraging you to sit on the counter behind you. You jump with his assistance, your skin cold where it rests on the marble surface.

His lips latch onto your neck once more, sucking on delicate skin, leaving tender bruises. He takes his sweet time, drawing out your agony as your arousal drips down your thighs. Pitiful whimpers crawl their way out of your throat, tilting your head to the side to allow him better access. He nips at the skin at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, licking the stinging spot afterwards to calm the ache. His thumbs tease your nipples, palms squeezing your breasts and making your back arch into him.

He removes one hand, reaching down to discard his boxers onto the floor. Finally, he grips his weeping cock in his fist, thumb running over the angry red tip. You gasp at the size of him, letting your eyes take in every inch, every vein. Committing him to memory.

“So fucking big, Ollie,” you murmur, reaching a tentative hand out, running a fingertip gently along his shaft. You’re almost surprised he lets you, and you don’t miss the way his jaw clenches in an attempt to keep his composure.

His large, warm palms move to your thighs, parting them for him. His tongue pokes out to lick his lips at the sight of you spread open for him, completely bare and wet with both his saliva and your arousal. In a moment of boldness, you pull him to you by the chain around his neck, your tongue instantly finding its way into his mouth. He exhales heavily, your tongues licking fervently into each other’s mouths, lips grazing.

You register the feeling of him lining his cock up at your entrance, the tip pressing against your folds. He slips inside, a groan leaving his lips as a shrill moan of his name leaves yours. The way he stretches you is bliss, there’s no other word for it. Pleasure that just barely teeters on the edge of pain, his cock reaching spots inside of you that your fingers could only hope to. He dips his head slightly, trailing kisses along your jawline until he reaches your ear, biting at the lobe. He starts with slow, calculated thrusts, his fingers digging harshly into your hips.

Your breathing is ragged, sinful sounds leaving you over and over as he starts to fuck you faster.

“Bet I feel so much better than your fingers, hm? Is this what you wanted all along? My cock stretching you out?” he asks, voice breathy and low. His words send shockwaves right to your core, turning you on even further.

“Yes, god, yes. Thought about this every night, Ollie. Wished you’d sneak into my room and have your way with me,” you confess, your cheeks growing warm as he smirks at you.

“Dirty little girl,” he tsks, letting his forehead rest against yours, fucking into you hard and fast.

The sounds of skin on skin mix with his pretty noises and yours; grunts and whines and sighs that reverberate off of the walls. Your nails claw at his shoulders, grounding yourself as his cock drives into your sweet spot again and again and again. Your eyes go wide when you watch him dip his head, spitting down onto your pussy, adding to the slippery mess that you’ve already created.

When he looks back up at you, your lips are parted in awe, your eyes begging for him to give you more. Spit in my mouth, please, is the unspoken cry that he understands instantly.

He grabs your face in one hand, squishing your cheeks hard enough that your lips part further. Your eyes roll back into your skull as he lets a string of saliva fall into your waiting mouth, his fingers tapping the bottom of your chin twice, encouraging you to close your mouth and swallow. You do as he wants, willing to swallow whatever he’d give you.

“Such a good girl,” he praises, slowing his thrusts briefly, giving you long and passionate strokes before returning to his previous quick pace.

“Oliver, oh my god,” you cry for him, your eyes screwing shut. “Feels so good, don’t stop. Please don’t fucking stop.”

You can feel your previously staved-off orgasm approaching once more, the coil in the pit of your gut tightening more and more with each snap of his hips against yours.

“You getting close, baby?” he asks, letting his fingers wrap around your throat and squeeze. It gets the reaction he wants, your eyes snapping open and focusing on him. “That’s right, you look at me when I’m making you feel this good,” he instructs, letting go of your neck. “Otherwise, you don’t get to cum.

“Y-yes sir,” you comply. “Please make me cum, I’m so fucking close, Ollie, need it so bad,” you beg, making sure to keep your eyes on his. That stunning, icy blue pierces through your soul, sending a chill down your spine. His stare is intimidating, raising the hairs on your neck just as it did each time you weren’t quite sure who was watching you.

He bites down hard on your shoulder, rutting into you faster and faster until you’re finally tumbling over the edge. Your orgasm hits you in overwhelming waves, your walls clenching tight around his thick length.

“Oliver, Oliver, Oliver,” you chant his name, a prayer being raised to the sky as he shows you pure ecstasy.

His movements don’t slow, his lips greedily sucking at your neck before making their way back to your mouth.

“Gonna let me cum inside you sweetheart?” he asks between desperate kisses, your instantaneous nod nearly embarrassing.

“Please cum inside me, need your fucking cum, Ollie,” you respond, lips brushing against his. “Fill me up, make me yours.”

He groans low at your words, eyelids fluttering closed as you feel his cock twitch inside of you. Warm, thick ropes of his cum paint your walls, shuddering breaths leaving him as his head tips back.

“Fuuuuuuck,” he moans, giving you every drop that he has, continuing to rut into you until he’s completely milked dry.

Heavy breaths fill the room, his spent cock slipping out of you, leaving the mixture of your arousals to drip out and onto the floor. Trying to catch your breath, you watch in shock as he drops to his knees once more.

“What are you… what are you doing?” you ask, a sly smile on his face as he looks up at you.

“Just making sure you’re properly cleaned up, is all. Can’t have you going to bed like this,” he muses, collecting some of the sticky mixture with a quick swipe of his tongue. “Just lean back and relax, darling. Got to make up for all those nights you spent alone.”

[r0-boat]

Defile

Whb!AsmodeusxGn!Reader

Happy Halloween, and enjoy this sinful fanfiction

Cw: Corruption, primal, predator/prey, breeding, mind control, womb tattoo(what's the gender-neutral term for that), Heat, religious play, CNC, Asmodeus yaps a lot, aftercare

You kneel at the end of the sanctuary your hands clasped together As you pray in the dead of night. As the rest of your brothers and sisters at the monastery slumber, You had woken up early dreaming of sin, pools of blood red eyes staring into your very soul as you feel hands grasp and touch you in ways the Lord will not permit.

You had been plagued with sinful thoughts and dreams for a while now. So you pray hoping that someone would answer your prayers, and you'll be free from temptation.

But in the ivory halls of the church, with nothing but the light of the Moon and the candles lit around the altar to keep you company. Little did you know you were not alone. A darkness more sinister stalks closer. The candle sticks that littered the Sanctuary blow out one by one starting from the entrance when the doors creeped open.

You didn't open your eyes And one by one each candle blows out all around you. You did not open your eyes until you smelled the smoke. The only candles that were still lit were the ones around the altar. You thought as though the wind must have blew them out.

Your eyes adjusting to the dark as you squint looking around for an opened window or door that you are not aware of that could have caused the candles to go out. Your eyes peer into the blackened void behind you. You could almost feel at stare back.

That's when you heard it.

"well well well, What do we have here. A little lamb astrayed from its flock?"

It bellowed. Echoing throughout the entire chamber, your heart quickens as you lose your balance from the shock, falling from your knees to your bum. Your eyes widen as they dart throughout the room, But all you could see was the same inky darkness that not even the moonlight could pierce.

"W-who are you?" Your voice cracks the only words you can manage to get out.

The figure finally steps into what little light that could reach into the monastery. Long pitch black hair his naked figure covered by a single white silk robe ironic for what he was. Chains and barbed vines around his arms and legs and his piercing red eyes with a single yet unmistakable curled horn.

There was no mistaken of what he was. Your breath shakes your whole body shakes. Grasping the gold pendant around your neck You scoot away.

The demon chuckles. "Don't be afraid dear human, I promise I'll take good care of you." The way that word rolled off the tongue made you shiver. You didn't want to know what he meant by that.

"You're not supposed to be here!" You call out

"This is a house of God! You are not welcome devil!"

The red-eyed monster grinned, his smile wide and sinister, flashing his fangs. He let out a deep chuckle. "Your God will not protect you." He smiles. You can hear shackles on his arms and legs shake as he stalks closer. That sinister smile seems to grow wider and wider.

"Do you think you're pathetic little prayers will keep the incarnate of Lust away from what he has claimed. Look into my eyes prey you know who I am..."

As the being gets lower to your level, his claws scratch against the marble tiles as he practically crawls toward you. Eyes full of longing and hunger. Getting so dangerously close, you could smell a sweet temptation coming from him.

They warned warned you about him; One of the seven deadly sins.

Asmodeus.

He didn't have to hear you say it because he could see it in your eyes The delicious fear. He could hear every pump of your heart getting faster and faster And of course you reeked of desire. Pretty virgin things like you always made the most delicious of prey.

"I can smell that you crave for me." He growls.

Your heart practically stopped; that sentence alone finally made your feet move, scampering on the ground before taking off. All you hear was a laugh echoing through the halls as you keep running.

You could hear him coming for you his heavy breath the footsteps behind you that sound less and less human and more like a pack of hungry wolves.

You didn't look back; you didn't dare to. You could already hear how close he was and that he was gaining. Your lungs burned as you pushed as hard as you could. You could only reach outside in the courtyard, the moonlight showing his full figure before he tackled you to the ground, his whole body weight bringing you down.

Using his entire strength, Asmodeus forces you to the ground. You are at his mercy as you try desperately to fight him. You swore you felt drool dripping on your skin when he buried his nose into your neck, deeply inhaling your scent.

"perfect, simply perfect. I've been watching you for a while. And now that you're underneath me, You are far better than I ever could have imagined." His breathy voice tickled your ear as you delicately felt his claws and fingers around your neck. Your heart dropped as you felt a bulge in his clothes pressing against your pajamas. You try to squirm out of his grip, anything to get out, but you are trapped, caged in his arms, back pressed against his chest.

"your ass grinds against me, mate; You're so eager for me to claim you as mine." He sneered. His claws were ripping and shredding through your clothes as if they were paper.

Treating you like a mir doll for his amusement. Asmodeus flips you over, holding your arms together with his big hand.

"Yes, let me see you, let me see my new bride." He purrs. His eyes rolling over you like a piece of meat.

Your struggling was cute, It highlighted how much bigger and stronger he was compared to you but he began to grow tired of your useless attempts at freedom. He likes his mates 'willing' after all.

He let out another animalistic purr pressing his tongue against your collarbone looking up your neck as his other hand presses down on your lower stomach.

You felt heat underneath his palm a sweet pleasurable heat burning into your core when he lifts his palm a mark appears and its place.

That warmth from your core begins to spread all over your body. Places where he has touched, bit, licked, or sucked, begin to tingle all the way down to your core.

Asmodeus watches with a pleasant grin as his influence slowly takes over your body. He presses harder against you, his skin against yours. All he was doing was touching you, yet you felt so sensitive—that little warmth beginning to grow hotter and hotter as It became increasingly harder to think. The demon above you begins to explore your body with his hand and his tongue, licking and groping every part he can, feeling up his new favorite toy.

"Good human, become nice and obedient for me. Feel your mind slip away and become mine." His voice seems to echo in your mind; you feel it with your whole body, sending ripples of pleasure throughout.

Asmodeus, lets go of your wrists. Finally, you have a chance to escape, but your body has other plans: staying underneath him, obedient and ready.

Knowing that your body has completely submitted to him, the devil leans backward, unveiling his cock hard and throbbing, his balls swollen. "Come to me, human, come serve your new male. Prepare him for breeding." He moans, His hand squeezing his shaft with one lazy pump before cupping his balls.

His voice echoes in your mind and you obey him without question. The more you resist the deeper you fall.

As your mouth begins to drool at the sight of his dick. You crawl forward on your hands and knees. He watched in delight to your tiny hand wrapping around his demon cock before taking it in your mouth.

His natural musk, sweet yet woody fills your nose All you want to do is bury your face into him and ride him till the sun comes up. Your own drool runs down his shaft using it as lube to pump his cock with your hand while you struggle to take it deeper.

Despite your eagerness to please him, your movements were that of a virgin; he could smell that you were turned on by this, Even if you are under his influence. He plays with his jet-black hair idly, His teeth sinking into his lip. The desire to corrupt you with his demonic seed grows with every bob of your empty little head.

With a wave of his finger for you to stop, you obey like an obedient dog in heat; His cock is coated with your saliva, and your mouth drools from the taste of his pretty cock in your mouth. Asmodeus smirked as he crawled back on top of you with one hand. He parts your your thighs, preparing to sink inside you.

"I've had enough waiting, I'm going to breed you like the sow you are." Asmodeus growled

You arched your back as his cock filled you up just right. Putting your legs over his shoulders as he pressed his entire body weight down onto you. He didn't wait for a moment because if he did, you would be screaming and begging him to move.

With every slam of his hips the symbol on your core begin to glow brighter and brighter.

At that moment, your mind was not yours. It belonged to the man claiming you, but you could still feel it begin to change and warp with every thrust. His cock hits the deepest parts of you, and he snarls, feeling you clench.

"I know you're close. Cum as I fill you with seed and marry you in Unholy Matrimony right outside the very place you kneel and worship Your Lord!" He pants, a crazed look in his eye as he chases his orgasm. He's close, So close, ready to flood your insides and mark you as his. He could feel you tighten around his throbbing cock; you were close, there was no need in try to fight it. He's going to shatter your pitiful attempt at rebellion and rip the orgasm out of you.

Asmodeus let out an animalistic growl, drilling down into you harder and harder. If it wasn't for his voice ringing into your head, all you could hear was the slapping of his hips and his balls against your ass. "I will bind you to me, and you will worship me like your new God! Cum on my cock whore!"

It was a command, ending it with sinking his teeth right into your neck. Your eyes rolled back clenching and exploding all over him. Asmodeus letting out a maniac laugh before slammed with one final thrust deep inside you to steal his hips. He made sure to lift your lower body just right so he was reaching as deep as he could before filling your deepest parts with his virile seed. Your cunt milks him as you cum like it's the first time you came in your entire life milking his cock as you feel every spurt of seed as he drains his balls inside you.

Even as you stopped even after he stopped he still pressed inside you. Making sure every drop stays deep.

The two of you back in the afterglow before you feel as modius wrap his arms around you He nuzzles into your neck peppering it with kisses.

"beloved, My dearly beloved."

He groaned still deep inside you You can still feel how hard he was.

"I still want more... I want more of you." He whined overdramatically, grinding his still-stiff shaft against you.

As much as he wanted to have more of you, as much as he wanted to drill you into the dirt till the two of you were spent and on the verge of passing out, He knew that you probably had had enough. You were merely human, after all. Deliciously and lovingly human.

You felt his tongue drag across your neck again this time affectionately you giggle and push him away "All right get away from me stinky. We can't stay here for long." He lets out a groan despite him being much stronger than you he plays along moving his body giving you a little more space. Only a little.

"Satan doesn't have to know what we use this place for."

Asmodeus purred playing with your hair as he stayed glued to your body like a clingy lover. He cared little for the names you gave him It was a nickname from you and he would accept any.

"I highly doubt he wouldn't know after how loud we were."

He just let out a goofy chuckle. Guilty was charged He wasn't exactly the quietest either.

"Will you stay with me tonight? I promise we can bathe together."

It was a tempting offer. He was desperate to have you in his arms for a little while longer Even if that means doing the one thing he hated. But your answer is still the same, knowing that one night with him will never just be one night...

"You know my answer."

You heard the pout in his voice "Mmh Okay... But at least let me bring you back to your bedroom. I'd like to tuck you."

[cloudcountry]

the first ice cream cone

SUMMARY: You take Malleus on an ice cream date! Except...something doesn't go as planned.

CHARACTERS: Malleus Draconia

WARNINGS: None!!

COMMENTS: I wrote this for a friend, but someone on quotev requested something for Malleus too!! I hope you enjoy it (and I have a baking oneshot in the works too C:)

~~~~~

You’d done some research before taking Malleus out on a date, asking Lilia what he seemed to like the most whenever they went on their outings. Lilia seemed amused at your question, but humored you with a slice of knowledge.

“He loves ice cream. It’s his favorite!” Lilia hummed, sipping on the tomato juice you brought him as a bribe, “Just don’t buy him any cake to go with it—the last time I bought him a cake, he ate the entire thing. He had really bad heartburn and has now sworn off of them.”

Now here you were. Standing outside of a nearby ice cream shop with a terrifyingly strong dragon man on your arm. He didn’t seem like it though, his eyes wide and full of wonder.

“Child of man…” he shook your arm gently, “Is this an ice cream shop?”

“Yes! I was hoping it’d be a good first date idea…I even talked to Lilia to make sure I wouldn’t do anything wrong.” you nodded, proud of your planning.

“It’s wonderful.” a smile flickered across his face, “Shall we?”

You dragged him inside first, insisting on paying with the limited amount of money Crowley had allowed you this week. You’d been saving up for a few weeks just in case, so anything Malleus wanted to try on this date would be his.

“Fascinating.” his stare was owlish as he blinked at the two scoop cones he ordered.

“I was surprised you went for pistachio.” you hummed, leading him to a bench outside.

“I was curious. I’ve never had this flavor before.” he eyed it up before taking a lick.

You watched him eat for a bit before you remembered your own ice cream, still watching him. He never looked this peaceful when he was in school, likely because Sebek and Silver would trail him constantly. You were lucky you could sneak him away for a little bit—there’s no doubt Sebek was probably losing his marbles over Malleus’ disappearance right now.

“Thank you for getting me away for a little while.” he said, placing a hand over yours.

“It’s no problem. You deserve it.” you wrapped your fingers around his hand and squeezed.

He chuckled, but said nothing else. You two enjoyed the ice cream and the quiet bustling of the outside world, without Lilia or Sebek or Silver or Ace or Deuce. Or Grim, actually. Especially Grim.

“Oh.” Malleus huffed, sounding alarmed.

You glanced over, watching as he clutched his head dramatically.

“Is everything okay?” you placed your hand on his back, watching him closely just in case he decided to pass out on you.

“Child of man…I believe I have been poisoned. My head…is collapsing.” he groaned, his grip on his ice cream cone beginning to crush the wafer.

“Are you…are you talking about a brain freeze?” you furrowed your brow, baffled at one of the strongest mages crumpled over at your feet from a little brain freeze.

“What is that? Will my brain turn to ice? I assure you, I am not so weak as to collapse—”

“Malleus.”

“I can handle myself. I shall consult the library as soon as possible so this disease cannot fester.”

“Malleus.”

“Child of man, I thank you for the brief pleasantries we shared before there was an attack on my life.”

“Malleus, listen to me.” you grabbed his arms, pulling him up, “It’s not fatal. A brain freeze is harmless. It’ll be gone in a minute. I promise.”

Malleus halted his dramatic hand movements staring at you in wonder.

“Child of man, your knowledge knows no bounds. I feel better already.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed deeply.

Well, it wouldn’t be Twisted Wonderland if you could go on a normal date.

[luci-is-a-bitch-x3x]

Random Drabble: Humans sleeping

━☆*:･ﾟ✧✧ ♡ ❀ ♡ ✧━

Welcome! To this adventure! The characters may not be how you imagine! I apologize for any poor jokes, bad spelling, and terrible grammar. Silly little short drabble I made. Without further ado, please enjoy the content. ♡

CW: none really.

━☆*:･ﾟ✧✧ ♡ ❀ ♡ ✧━━☆*:･ﾟ✧✧ ♡ ❀ ♡ ✧━

I'm sure someone has talked about it before, but can you imagine if angels and demons didn't have to sleep? Like the bedrooms are just for their privacy and to them beds are just for relaxation. Obviously Belphie still sleeps, he's the Avatar of Sloth, but the rest of the characters don't, like they could sit there and force themselves to sleep but it's not actually a necessary thing for them. So imagine when Mc first meets them all, the characters probably don't even think that Mc needs proper sleep. Like yeah they know humans, Solomon himself is a human, but Solomon could use magic to avoid the problems that lack of sleep can cause, he probably forgot that regular humans need sleep. The rest of the characters are probably more focused on making sure no lower rank demons eat Mc as a snack, not thinking that the lack of sleep could be what takes Mc out.

Imagine when Mc first drops into the Devildom, they get caught up in the brothers chaos and end up not sleeping for a bit. This causes Mc to eventually pass out from exhaustion, which would cause the brothers to lose their marbles. (I might write this scenario some day) this situation would lead to the brothers having situations where they just stop everything and be like "hold on my human needs their nap." The characters treating Mc like a pet will never not be funny to me. By nap they mean however long Mc sleeps for, but to them it's sort of like a nap because they never sleep. Unless it's Belphie. Obviously the character will go off and do their own thing while Mc sleeps, unless Mc wants the character standing on their headboard staring over them while they sleep.

Since lack of sleep doesn't really affect the characters in this headcanon, anyone besides Belphie and I guess Solomon getting grumpy from tiredness doesn't make sense. So I imagine the characters find Mc getting grumpy due to tiredness, confusing. I like to think that if this headcanon was true that the characters would hit Mc with the "have you slept yet?" Or "I think it's time you get some sleep Mc" anytime Mc gets grumpy or sassy. The character could have just done something to make Mc grumpy, and I'm fully convinced that the character would truly believe Mc is grumpy because they need sleep. Some characters would be bad about it, like the slightest change in Mc's attitude and they're trying to push Mc off to bed.

━☆*:･ﾟ✧✧ ♡ ❀ ♡ ✧━━☆*:･ﾟ✧✧ ♡ ❀ ♡ ✧━

Thats all for now babes! Hope you enjoyed!! ♡ This is not proofread. Feel free to comment or reblog any thoughts or any add ons you have! Short silly little post because I've been busy, sorry, hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. More content is coming soon, so Stay Tuned. Stay Safe. & Stay Spooky. ♡

━☆*:･ﾟ✧✧ ♡ ❀ ♡ ✧━

⟡˙⋆Masterlist⋆˙⟡

[thesassypadawan]

Fat Bottom *part 1* (Hayden x FemReader)

Summary: Hayden was never really an ass man until he met you. Especially now that your ‘happy weight’ has set in, and that booty be popping…out of them leggings. Hope you lovelies also enjoy Sweater Stretchers *part 2*!

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there sooo much of the smut. Some fun from behind and, as always…Hayden’s big dick.

- You love wearing leggings…and so does Hayden. ‘The tighter the better’ he always says while giving your butt a good smack.

- And, well, lately that’s been the case. Your ‘happy weight’ has finally set in. Not that either of you are complaining, you both are loving on your new curves. Your poor leggings though, not so much.

- Pushed nearly to their limit, you know you should probably retire them and get some new ones. Especially before you have an ‘incident’, but where’s the fun in that.

- Secretly you want them to finally give out in front of Hay; just to see his reaction, what he’ll do.

- So patiently you wait for the day to come. Until one lazy Sunday afternoon…

- You don’t think much about it, you always sit on the island when you’re in the kitchen together. Afterall, it is your spot. This time though, when you hop up, you hear the sound of taring. Followed by the feeling of cold marble pressing against your bare skin.

- “Oh!” You squeak excitedly, face a tad red as you squirm a bit. “Um, Hay, can you do me a favor?”

- “Yeah, angel? What is it?” He asks, glancing over his shoulder.

- Biting your lip, you slid off. “Did I rip my leggings?” You coo, turning around. Pantyless booty on full display. Not so subtly wiggling your hips at him.

- Needless to say, he’s on you like a man starved. Large hands hungerly kneading and groping your plump peach, pressing his body against yours. “Hate to tell you this, babe, but you did,” he happily mutters.

- Grinding into his touch, you pout playfully. “Oh, shoot. My butt’s too big. Guess, I’ll have to lose some weight.”

- That earns you a firm squeeze and a growl in your ear. “Don’t you dare. Love this fat bottom.”

- “Prove it,” you giggle, bending yourself over. “Show me how much you do.”

- The words barely leave your mouth before Hayden has one of your legs hiked up onto the island. The other supporting you on the floor, balanced precariously on your tip toes.

- Looking back you watch as he pushes down the waistband of his sweats. Freeing his massive cock, giving it a few quick strokes and lining himself up.

- With his bulbous tip pressing at your soaked entrance, Hay flashes you one of those damn smiles. “I think I can manage that.” And slides into you, moans and whimpers falling from your lips.

- Gripping onto your hips, he starts to pump into your needy pussy. Hitting deep, prodding at your cervix as he bottoms out over and over.

- “Hay… Hay…”, you mewl desperately while he speeds up. Hips slapping against your butt, the lewd sound filling the air. The sensation driving you absolutely crazy.

- Looming over you, he leans down. Nipping possessively at your neck. “Fuck. Love this ass. So round. So juicy. So perfect.”

- You can tell he was getting close by the way his grip around you tightens. His thrusts grow stronger as he lifts your toes off the floor. Hiking your hips up with one strong arm, long fingers on his other hand finding your neglected clit.

- Stars begin to fill your vision as he circles your little nub. The pleasure building up inside you nearing overwhelming from the way your booty bounces with every movement. “Gonna… Gonna…”

- And with one hard pinch, you're sent crashing over the edge. Your walls clinging to his length as you gush around him. “Cum!”

- “So tight,” he grunts, you clenching down on him. That doesn’t slow him though. If anything, it spurs him to pound you faster…harder.

- “Promise me!” He slams deep into you again and again. Hips smacking harshly into yours. “You’ll never lose this butt!”

- Burying his cock one last time, he cums hard. Hot ropes painting your insides, shooting deep within you. Filling you deliciously, making you whimper as he stuffs you so well.

- “Promise,” you moan, collapsing onto the island. The cool surface gives you relief from the heat that consumes your whole body.

- Pressing his chest against your back, Hayden kisses and nibbles your neck softly. Whispering words that has your stomach and walls clenching in anticipation. “Good. Now what do you say we go ruin the rest?”

[intimidatingpuffinstudios]

Manerkol Q&A from Old Patreon

Hey, guys!

I've been getting asks lately about that one Manerkol interview I did for Patreon in the early days of TSSW.

It's not available anywhere right now, but people are asking for it, so I figured, why not gift it to all of you? 🤩✨

Warning, this features an MC who is into Manerkol choking them, so tread with caution 🤣

Hope you enjoy your little Manerkol dose, folks!

What was the experience of the aftermath of losing the MC at the end of the first book and knowing that your soul mate is working against the destiny you've pursued for so long. How do you reconcile that emotionally?

A razor-sharp red gaze pins you to the spot, the full weight of Manerkol's attention pushing against your shoulders, making you swallow thickly to dispel the silently menacing atmosphere. The Lord of all sits elegantly on his throne, but he is not speaking at all.

He sits entirely still—except from the steady tapping of a lone finger against the armrest of his throne, the claw-like ornament he wears making an ominous clicking sound against the cold marble. The temperature drops more and more with every second that passes until you are shivering as you stand before his statuesque form.

When he finally opens his mouth to speak, you are so shaken that you're ready to beg for forgiveness for daring to question him in this manner.

"I need reconcile nothing. Having a soulmate is unexpected—but it changes nothing in the grand scheme of my design. They will yield to me in the end like everyone else did before them—and they will be glad for the opportunity to do so."

What starts as an emotionless tone soon turns to menacing, then settles at smug. A dark smirk pulls at the Lord's full lips, his mercurial attention suddenly not as suffocating as before.

"You amuse me," he praises you in a condescending tone. "You may continue."

Do you have a fave ice cream flavor? What about favorite color? Did you ever have a pet crow? How would you react to his soulmate showing you their pet rock/marimo and calling it your child?

The figure sitting upon his imposing throne listens patiently as you unleash a slew of questions upon him, his face an expressionless mask that gives no indication of what he thinks of about your queries. As soon as you're done asking, a moment passes in silence.

Nothing moves, Manerkol appearing like a pale, cold statue, not breathing, not shifting in the slightest. Then he slowly tilts his head at you, and his lips thin—the stare of absolute pity and disgust he gives you could not be faked in a million years.

"I do not enjoy ice cream. Black. I have an entire country full of animal familiars. And…" He enunciates these answers with deliberate slowness as if he's addressing a toddler not quick on the uptake—or something else equally insulting. And yet he pauses for a moment on the last question.

He slowly blinks, and a barely-there sigh leaves his lips, his expression growing pinched—except for the softening of his red eyes, a softness he does not bother to hide. Whether it's because he is unashamed of it or because he thinks you so inferior that your opinion doesn't matter, no one but the Gods can tell.

"My soulmate can claim whatever they please—rocks, creatures, anything that strikes their fancy. The world is theirs to play with." A tiny smirk pulls at his lips, and you can breathe more easily now that he appears more entertained than disgusted with you.

You do note, however, that he didn't answer the child part of the question and consider whether to press the issue. You open your mouth—only to promptly close it when the room temperature plummets abruptly, and black, misty tendrils start blooming at the edges of the room.

"You may continue. Or is this perhaps your last question?" The emphasis put on "last" is barely noticeable—and yet the meaning it conveys is as clear as a bell's toll. Time to move on!

Do you still have feelings for Ithilmir? If you do, how would you react to seeing them again now that you're bonded with the MC?

"…Feelings. For Ithilmir?" The words are breathed out so softly that you barely heard them, and Manerkol remains as passive on his throne as ever. There is nothing to warn you of the danger you have put yourself in, no change in tone; no tell that could prepare for what's to come.

One minute you're looking at the High King and asking your question, and the next… The next, you are flung across the room by a backhanded slap you couldn't have seen coming if your life depended on it. Manerkol stepped through time and space with more speed than your human eyes could ever hope to track, his wrath burning out the oxygen in the room.

Or maybe that's just the black tendrils that seize your flying body before you hit the opposite wall, the shadowy vines wrapping around your throat and squeezing. You gasp, and you thrash, your cheek a field on fire—but then you grow suddenly still as Manerkol materializes in front of you.

Your only consolation is that he could have killed you if he wanted—but he didn't, and that means you may still have a chance. So you stay absolutely still, curbing down the impulse to claw at the tendrils, scream and plead. Or even worse, fight.

The tendrils around your throat dissolve only to be replaced by his cold, merciless hand, his long fingers wrapping around the defenseless column as his thumb digs cruelly into your pulse point. His red eyes are two points of icy wrath, and yet the rest of him seems weirdly tranquil.

"If I ever had the misfortune of seeing Ithilmir in the flesh again, I would react in the only way possible. I would grind their bones to dust under my boot, pluck out their eyes, feed them their own tongue. And if they ever thought of even looking at my soulmate, I'd make sure that their experience lasts for centuries."

His voice is neutral, with no inflection, no emotion. Or at least until he gets to the part about his soulmate. Then it turns ice cold, murderous to the point when each word feels like a spear of ice dragged along your skin, every rise and fall slicing strips of agonizing sensation into your flesh.

You gasp as the statue-like hand squeezes your throat one last time—and then Manerkol's wrath breaks, a sly grin breaking out as he takes in your shuddering form. He lets you go without preamble, and you crumple to the floor in a heap, coughs wracking your body.

"Hmm, why don't you ask me about Ithilmir again? I enjoyed your last question," he prompts in a light tone, far too cordial to be anything but a mockery, a threat. His fangs peek out of his full lips with his smile, and he pets your head with one hand as if you were an animal he is rewarding for amusing him.

Within the next second, he is back at his throne, lounging elegantly, that sickening grin of amusement still pulling at his lips as he watches you struggle to your feet. Welp. You should be grateful you're still alive, you guess.

What happened to Ithilmir? How did you manage to escape the god of death?

He does not look surprised that you persist in this line of questioning. Instead, he tilts his head and lets his chin rest on the palm of his hand as he balances it against the armrest of his imperial throne. He is still smiling, his red eyes glimmering, and you feel like a mouse caught in a cat's cruel game.

The High King's amusement suddenly feels ten times more dangerous than his anger, and you get the dreadful feeling that once your questions end, you may end alongside them. You struggle to stay upright, your legs shaking with your terror, your hands fists at your sides.

Manerkol watches it all with that same gleeful smile. It's not often that one can see him like this—taking pleasure from the suffering of creatures inferior to him is not something he usually does. But you must have gotten under his skin pretty bad if he's taking such perverse pleasure at your suffering.

And the High King, in all his magnanimous generosity, deigns to answer one more Ithilmir question for you.

"Ithilmir got exactly what they deserved. The plans they had—thwarted. Their shrines—destroyed. Their worship—ended. The fate they had planned for me, I enforced upon them instead. And now? Now all that's left of them is their impotent tears."

The satisfaction he takes from this declaration is apparent for all to see, the recollection of how he utterly crushed Ithilmir. If you needed any more evidence of how dangerous this man is, you now have it before you. He defeated a God. And then went on to eradicate most of them from the face of Talhamsyn.

The same man staring down at you with twisted amusement playing in the red depths of his eyes has made an entire country bow to his will. Your presence here is tolerated—so long as you prove more entertaining than annoying. A chill runs down your spine as the Lord of All licks his top lip slowly, his eyes tracking the way you swallow thickly.

His fangs peek out once more, and you're 100% percent sure that the move is calculated.

"Continue, pet," he urges in a smooth tone, deep and sensual. You're moments away from getting your throat ripped out, you just know it.

How do you maintain your hair to stay so fabulous?

A lilting chuckle bursts forth from his lips, yet despite the mirth behind the sound, it's not pleasant. Or maybe it is if one enjoys being mocked and looked down upon. The High King moves his hand and trails it over his ebony hair in an entirely enticing, ridiculing manner.

Taunting you with the perfection that will never be yours.

"Is that truly a serious question? Are you looking for beauty tips, perhaps?" he asks in a dulcet tone, his lips quirked, his gaze pitying. He runs his fingers through the ebony locks, and you think you can smell the scent of jasmine wafting through the air.

"My excuses, pet. I'm afraid no amount of tips could ever help you with…that." He waves with his hand in the general direction of your head, and if not for the entirely patronizing tone, one might think that the sympathy reflected in his red gaze was genuine.

As things stand, however, the sinister smirk leveled your way eradicates any hope of getting an answer out of him. And it makes you wonder… Has he sincerely answered any of your questions until now? Aside from saying that his favorite color is black…

What would break your heart? What would mend it whole again?

An imperious eyebrow raised in disbelief is the only answer you get for a moment as Manerkol's red gaze sweeps over you, probably gauging if you're being serious or not. For a fraction of a second, his lips thin, and his fingers grip the armrest tightly.

But the reaction is gone so fast that you wonder if maybe you imagined it altogether.

"You are assuming I have one—and based on that assumption, you speculate further that I'd care about its workings. My heart, existing or not, is inconsequential. All that matters is my will, my design for this world. Everything else is of little import."

The emotionless response is delivered in a dead tone, emphasizing the King's point. You would have no doubt whatsoever that this heartless man means every word he said—if not for the way his gaze shifts to the left for a moment, focusing in a memory or thought that only he can see.

There's a flash of loss, but it's wiped away within the blink of an eye, leaving behind nothing but impenetrable stone, an icy veneer that no warmth can ever hope to penetrate. Except perhaps for the person who had him looking away in the first place.

"You are treading on thin ice, creature. I'm growing bored with your inanity. Choose your next words wisely." The threat is delivered in so casual a tone that it sends needles of apprehension pricking down your spine, and you swallow thickly as you prepare for your next question.

What would have been the plan of action, had the wielders not torn you away from your soulmate?

This time the vampire obviously grits his teeth, his patience for you growing thin exponentially. The glare he throws your way is feral, a savage hunger hiding behind it—if it's merely for your blood or your demise, you cannot be sure.

His gorgeous features turn sharp, bestial, his cheekbones becoming more prominent, the jut of his jaw even more pronounced. You don't know if he's using magic to create this illusion of if it's a product of his vampirism, but as two unnaturally big red eyes pin you to the spot, you very much feel ready to wet your pants.

"You'd presume to know my plans, creature? Should I perhaps draw you a diagram with every decision I've ever made in my 2000 years, every single choice that led to this point? Or perhaps you'd prefer a bullet point list with the most important points summarized?"

If not for his now wildly unsettling aura and appearance, one might assume that he's genuinely offering to do these things for you. He's obviously being sarcastic, but his tone is so deadpan that it messes with your brain, even more so than your perception of his distorted face.

"And never mention that day to me again." This time, the quiet menace is not concealed—you blink in desperation to dispel the sweat that has fallen into your eyes, making them sting. But as your vision clears, so does Manerkol's visage.

He is sitting opposite you, as regal and gorgeous as ever, his expression a mask of carefully cultivated disinterest. And yet the heaviness of the moment lingers, warning you of what is going on beneath his glacial surface. You are moments away from being disposed of—and when the Lord of All elegantly rises from his throne and starts walking towards you with exaggerated care, you know that your moment of death might just be upon you.

But you just can't stop asking questions.

Can you use magic, and if so, would you teach it to your soulmate?

The answer this time is instant, no deliberation, almost as if Manerkol has decided that the time to play around is over, and he'll grant you whatever questions you manage to get out before he reaches you. Each step closer is one step further into your own doom. And yet you can't help but watch helplessly the deadly elegance that is his movements.

"I am the greatest sorcerer to have ever lived, and there is no power or knowledge that I'd deny my soulmate. Not as long as they don't intend to use it against me." The answer is matter-of-fact, sterile. As if he's answering what should be obvious.

You realize that maybe you should start walking backward to create as much distance between you and him as possible—and to your surprise, he allows it. He doesn't fasten his gait, his long legs eating up the space between you in unhurried steps.

He knows that there's nowhere for you to go, and so do you. Your only chance of survival is either an act of the Gods, or another mercurial swing of his mood, changing his intentions from deadly to tolerating. But as he stalks you across the room, silent, his sleek muscles moving under the fabric of his form-fitting robes, a predator in all but name…

You can't see how you might be saved, and so you do the only thing left for you to do. As your back hits a wall behind you, signaling that your time is up, you shoot another question at him. Your last one.

What's your ideal date?

The question is ludicrous, especially considering the situation. But your mind is drawing a blank, terror stealing away your higher thinking, and this is the only thing that popped up in your brain. But by some stroke of unimaginable luck, it makes Manerkol pause in his pursuit of you.

He stops moving a mere couple paces away from you—then he raises one elegant hand and presses it to his eyes as a deep chuckle rumbles in the frigid air between you. You suddenly realize that the temperature in the room has fallen significantly, drugging you, slowing down your reactions.

Not that you believe that Manerkol needs another edge over you—there is no competition here. You watch, scared out of your wits as his shoulders shake with his mirth, his upper face hidden behind his hand. Then that hand moves to swipe his hair from over his shoulder and back down his back, making another explosion of jasmine scent saturate your senses.

"My soulmate and I in one of the deep or high places of the world, safe, unreachable, feasting on the blood of whatever poor fool happened to cross our way." The words have a teasing quality to them, like he's joking with you—only, you're at the butt of the joke.

His gaze sharpens on you, glimmering and beautiful, arrogant and pitying—but you can see that he's amused, even as he threatens to feast upon your blood. Because that's exactly what his answer was. Or maybe he honestly thinks that what he described is the ideal, the undoubtedly perfect, the mother of all dates.

Who are you to judge a Vampire Lord's taste in dates, after all? And yet you can't shake the feeling that every single answer he gave you is not what it seems, not what he truly means—nothing but a game he played to entertain himself for a while. There are kernels of truth in every response, but what goes unspoken is far more important.

But alas, you will never get to figure out this game of riddles the High King played with you—he steps up to you languidly, breaching the last of the distance between you, and his tall form looms over you, imposing and deadly. He reaches out with one fine-boned hand, cupping your cheek.

The chill of his touch seeps into you, putting you under, freezing your blood, and the Lord leans down, his thumb stroking over your cheekbone. Then he smiles.

"Time's up," he murmurs in a drugging voice, the timbre turning your mind into a hazy fog. There's nothing sexual about his touch or the situation in general—the quality is more that of a benevolent parent, lulling their tired child to sleep,

You amused him, after all. You have earned yourself the privilege of death without pain. It's time for you to sleep. The room around you dissolves into a barren landscape, grey and lifeless, with mist swirling around your feet. You realize suddenly that this is nothing but a dream.

And yet the realization is a faraway thing, nothing that affects you now. You know all too well about Manerkol's ability to kill people in their sleep. You hazily wonder what information he meant to take from you, what his mind was searching for as your brain conjured up this scenario of your interviewing the High King, probably to protect itself from the real danger going on in the background.

You watch, enraptured, as his mouth gets ever closer, his hand on your cheek tilting your head to the side to make room for his bite. A frozen exhale bathes the skin of your neck as he gets into position. And then—! The dreamscape roils and bubbles up next to you, shifting and opening up.

The mist pulls back, and a new form materializes next to you, a form you know to be the High King's Consort, his soulmate. They take one look around the place and sniff in disdain before their focus turns entirely to Manerkol. They take in the tableau you and he make, and they sigh in exasperation.

"Must you really, mate of mine? What has this poor person done to earn the capital punishment?" they ask in irritated fondness, and Manerkol promptly moves away from you, letting you crumple to your knees, forgotten. It feels like he sucked the air away with his departure, and you gasp as you watch him walk up to his mate and sweep them in his arms.

But the Consort is not done voicing their displeasure.

And you're always making the dreamspace so dire! Even when it is for me! I'm your soulmate! I'd think you'd pick a more pleasant place for us to meet." The complain ends in a high whine when Manerkol weaves his hand into his mate's hair, grabbing onto the strands and pulling until his beloved's neck is arched beautifully for him.

He noses at the stretched column of flesh in front of him, placing a soft kiss to the Consort's pulse point as a low chuckle vibrates the world around them. This time, the Lord's amusement is not mocking or dangerous in any way. It's full of fondness, teasing anticipation—you are watching the High King and his soulmate flirt.

"This place was not created with you in mind, ulaidh. You chose to barge in by yourself. And if you may recall, the dreamscape was barren and unpleasant before I knew what you are to me. Yet you know all these things, don't you? You're simply trying to earn yourself my undivided attention, hmm?"

The Consort's eyes flash in a challenge, and they open their mouth to reply—only for the hand buried in their hair to swiftly move to their neck. Their mate grabs them and lifts, making them tiptoe to keep their balance, gasping as his thumb presses against their pulse point strong enough to bruise.

"It's not the setting you crave; it's the violence. Isn't that so, my precious one?" The tone is dripping with suggestion, the voice delivering the mind-melting threat low and husky, making the Consort obviously shudder from its headiness.

If they mean to say something in response, you're not sure—all you can hear is their broken-off gasps and moans, all you can see is the way Manerkol bobs their head up and down in imitation of a puppet, a cruel grin curving his full lips. He leans down, and these same lips press a feather-light kiss to the Consort's gasping mouth, the deliberate gentleness exacerbating the violence that is watching him choke his own mate.

And yet you get the impression that this is precisely what the Consort craves—then Manerkol's whisper is the last thing you hear before the dream breaks.

"Let's see if I can't make you beg for what you want, ulaidh." A choking sound echoes all around, and then you are hurtled away from the entwined duo. You wake up in your own bed, gasping, clawing at your throat, bathed in a cold sweat.

And as you sit there, shivering apart on your bed, you contemplate…

You may have just gotten more out of Manerkol than anyone else has in eons—and the only reason why you have lived to tell the tale is because of one perfectly timed, horny intervention by his Majesty's soulmate. If you have escaped death or just delayed it remains to be seen.

And may the Gods take pity on your soul…

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Eeeeee! Congratulations! You deserve every single one! 🖤

Could I pretty please request:

Am I supposed to be scared now? In a Mafia AU. Vibes and item I'll leave up to your enormous, genius brain.

🖤🖤🖤

Thank you so much, Sam! 💖✨️ Hope you enjoy!

Worth the risk

Rated: E

Words: 992

Tags: Mafia AU; Hitman Eddie Munson; Dark Eddie Munson; Mob boss Richard Harrington; Secret relationship; intrigue; Referenced character death (RIP Tommy); Blood and violence; Knife play; Blood play; Groping; Dry humping

Notes: Previous part | Part 1

Nobody says anything as they make their way out of the Harrington villa, but by some unspoken agreement, they don't part ways yet. They linger in the driveway by the cars. 

Eddie knows better than to speak first. Instead, he lights a cigarette and lets the silence drag on, pretending to be brooding over the night’s events. He knows that somebody is bound to say something sooner rather than later. 

It’s Jeff who does, in the end. 

“Harrington’s losing it.” 

Gareth jumps and casts anxious glances all around himself, like he’s expecting to find the boss lurking somewhere in the shadows, while Frank shushes Jeff with a hectic gesture. 

“Shut up, are you insane?” 

Jeff shrugs petulantly, but he does lower his voice. “I'm just saying what everyone is thinking. That thing with Hagan? That was completely fucking bonkers, sending him to make that deal with the Carvers all alone. It’s almost like he wanted him to end up with a bullet through his head.” 

“Maybe he did,” Gareth says. “Rumor has it Hagan’s been making eyes at the son.” 

Eddie nods along solemnly with the rest of them. 

“All I’m saying is, it’s bad news,” Jeff mumbles. “He believes he’s invincible, that he can get away with anything. It’s dangerous for a man in his position to think like that.” 

“Then maybe he shouldn’t be.” Eddie lets the words linger, waiting until every single face is turned to him. “Be in that position, I mean.” 

Frank scoffs. “Yeah, right. Who’d even wanna do it instead? Junior seems much more interested in lounging by the pool and taking it up the-” 

“Nah,” Eddie is quick to deflect. “We’d need someone capable. Somebody younger, who knows how things work on the street.” 

“Someone like you?” 

“I wouldn’t know about that, Gare,” Eddie lies. “Just putting in my two cents on the matter.” 

Behind the garden wall, a light flickers alive, then dies again, quick as a heartbeat. Eddie grinds his cigarette under the heel of his boot. 

“Shit, just remembered I forgot something. Don’t wait for me, guys.” 

He feels their gazes on his neck as he walks back towards the house and doesn't bother hiding his grin. 

*

The hydrangeas are long past their bloom, decaying flower petals rustling under his feet. He doesn't lament their death, not when he knows that the seeds of something else are slowly taking root. 

The underwater lights of the pool bask the garden in an eerie glow, but he makes his way to the pool house unbothered. He has hardly ducked inside when a key clicks in the lock behind him. 

Eddie’s body moves on instinct and muscle memory. The key clatters off somewhere in the darkness,  and when the crimson veil lifts from his eyes, he has a warm body pressed against the wall, the edge of his knife licking at a shivering throat. A throat covered in the fading marks of his own teeth. 

“Damn, Stevie,” he hisses, retracting the blade and sliding it back into its holster. It leaves the faintest of cuts, tiny droplets of blood gathering against tan skin like dark beads. “Are you out of your mind? You can't just sneak up on people like that.” 

Steve scowls at him, face full of haughty disdain. He's beautiful in the glow of the pool seeping in from outside. He's always beautiful, of course, but something about the pale blue light rippling off his skin makes him look ethereal and downright unreal. Like an ancient deity, like a marble statue come alive.

“Excuse me?” he whispers, wriggling in Eddie’s hold. “What was I supposed to do? Nobody tells me shit, and then I overhear my dad talking on the phone about how one of his guys was killed. I just wanted-” 

“Aw,” Eddie coos. He leans into Steve’s space, scraping a toothy grin against the hollow of that pretty throat. His lips come away tasting like copper, leaving a bloody trail on Steve's skin. “Are you worried about me, honey? Why, I'm honored.” 

Steve pushes his head away with one palm against his cheek, but makes no further attempt at twisting out of his grip. 

“This isn't a fucking joke, Eddie. If my dad finds out about this, you'll be next in line for a bullet through the- Will you stop this?” 

Eddie lets Steve's thumb slide out of his mouth with an obscene, wet sound, nipping at the tender skin at its base as he goes. 

“Am I supposed to be scared now?” he drawls. “I'm not an idiot, I can look after myself.” 

“I know you can,” Steve confesses, tracing Eddie’s cheekbone with his thumb. It's still wet with his own spit, and the touch leaves a thin trail of moisture, cool in the stuffy air of the pool house. “But sometimes, I don't think you understand how dangerous this is.” 

“Believe me, darling, I’m well aware of the danger.” Eddie trails a hand over Steve’s throat, down his chest. The motion makes a drop of blood run from his neck into the collar of his shirt. He watches how it blooms on the white fabric, pretty like a flower, as he slips his hand between Steve's legs. “Good thing we both like it a little, dangerous, right?”

He gives the bulge in Steve’s pants a firm squeeze, and as always, the boy responds like the beautiful, needy little dream that he is. He rolls his hips, grinding himself into the touch, and wraps his arms around Eddie’s neck to slot their bodies closer together. Eddie bites down on that perfect, pink bottom lip and laughs against it when Steve moans. 

“Woah, honey! What happened to being careful?”

“What's life without a little risk?” Steve smiles, looking at him from under his long lashes. “And besides, you made me drop the key, so one of us will end up on his knees anyhow.” 

Eddie finds he can't argue with that.

More celebration ficlets

[gretavanfleetposts]

Nothing Breaks Like A Heart - Part Three of Make Her Happy

Author's Note: The long-awaited part three! I'm a dually incredibly embarrassed that this took almost an entire year to finish. The time really got away from me LOL So I'm very sorry for that but I hope you all enjoy (and fingers crossed it was worth at least some of that wait)

Content Warnings: lots of swearing, bit of drinking

Word Count: 6k

Part One - Make Her Happy

Part Two - Give Me Shelter

One of the last things Jake had said to you before he'd left was that you should talk to Josh. And that was exactly what you hadn't done.

In fact, you’d let two weeks slip by like sand through your fingers without poking or prodding the topic even once. You’d clung to your avoidance like battle armor and if you were honest with yourself, you feared losing Jake just as much as you feared losing Josh.

So you and Josh hadn’t spoken and nothing had changed, nothing other than the fact that it felt Jake had been keeping his distance. Or maybe you were just more sensitive to his absence now that it felt necessary.

Damn him for being a good brother. For being better than me.

He was better than you, it seemed. Because he had put you to bed two weeks ago and left under the impression you were going to do the right thing and instead, you'd avoided your problems and had once again come running to Jake to have him make you feel better.

No, not to make me feel better. Just to play a stupid game. That's all.

He must have heard the honk of your car locking because you had barely made it to the front door before he was suddenly standing there in your way, a look on his face that somehow tangled caution and amusement into one jumbled mess expressed as a half-quirked smile and eyebrows that dipped low in the middle of his forehead. It was an expression that quite matched how you felt, butterflies and guilt and all.

“I take it you two didn't talk.”

Is it that obvious?

“What a way to greet a lady,” you said with a sudden scowl as you pushed past him through the doorway and led yourself to his kitchen.

To say you weren’t quite ready to broach that topic would have been an understatement.

“Why do you seem so chipper?” he asked from behind you as he followed your path through his home.

“I can't be happy to see you?” you threw back at him as you dropped your tote bag off your shoulder and onto the pristine marble of his kitchen island with a familiar muffled clang of a glass bottle shrouded by thin canvas to dull the promise it rang out into the air as it was set down. A little something for the soul.

“I guess I’ve admittedly grown a little bit more used to being greeted with tears. But this is a nice change.”

He gave you a sweet smile but paired with the way his eyes seem to wilt at the outer corners, you could see the sadness it held. It reminded you of the guilt you carried around with you constantly lately, only with a new object of affection. How selfish of you to think that this hadn’t taken any toll on him at all.

Your eyes turned soft. “I'm sorry. I am. You've been my sunshine these past several months. I hope you know that.”

Even as you said it, you knew it couldn’t begin to articulate what it was you really felt for him. But it was enough just to see the rose of a deep blush tinge his cheeks red and turn his smile suddenly bashful.

“Happy to provide,” was all he said in that typical, raspy, almost sleepy voice of his.

It was hard not to chuckle at the things he found too intimate to take in stride. It was fine for him to call you what he had in bed but heaven forbid you call him your sunshine…

“Don't think I didn't notice you dodging my original question though,” he added, breaking your concentration.

Oh yeah. My problems. How lovely of him to remind me.

You quirked up an accusing eyebrow. “Like how you dodged my compliment just now?”

“Ever so expertly,” he answered, this time with an unabashed smile that spread his lips wide across his face.

You felt your gaze dart away before you could even stop it, a heavy sigh pillowing in your chest before expelling into the air like a pot on the stove blowing off steam to keep from boiling over.

“I need one night of just…not talking about it.” You’d had plenty of nights of that, actually. What was one more? “Or thinking about it, preferably.” And then to really catch his attention and maybe even further drive home your point, you reached into your bag to uncloak the wine.

There was a specific smile he always donned when alcohol was present and when it took hold, you knew you could take it as an agreement to drop it, at least while there was a full bottle to contend with.

He took it from your grasp with only a dutiful nod, turning the dark glass over in his hands to inspect the label despite the fact that he likely knew nothing printed there would catch his eye. You had one sense of taste that trumped all others when it came to using fermented drinks to bandage your wounds: cheap.

“What am I if not a seasoned distraction?” he asked, already digging into a cupboard to procure two large, round glasses.

“That's why I seek you out,” you answered with a smile as you watched his hands work and tried your hardest not to think back to that first time he had served as your distraction.

“Well, hopefully that’s not the only reason.”

It was that comment that caught you and sent your stomach into a twist unbecoming of someone who was very much not single, especially given the way it suddenly brought the memory of your second time to the forefront of your mind, a time when it was hardly a distraction so much as it was a necessity in that moment. 

No, distraction wasn’t the only reason you were there. Comfort either. You’d grown to long for his company in a much deeper way. It wasn’t company in general he was providing you with, it was his and his alone.

And the game, of course. Mostly that.

“What's on the agenda for the night?” Jake asked as if he hadn’t just sent you into a deep spiral of thought that you’d been hoping to avoid that evening.

At least he’d been kind enough to pour you a glass of wine without you asking.

“I brought candyland since you owe me a rematch for what you did last time.”

The memory of your pieces scattered on the floor along with every card in the deck like a colorful patchwork quilt that you'd made him clean up both times he'd done it brought an earnest smile to his face.

“I'll flip the board again if you don't let me get tipsy first.”

You certainly didn't have to wonder if he was serious so with the preservation of your game in mind, you agreed with a nod and a, “Seems fair to me,” as you reached out for your wine. But he was already retreating by the time your fingers reached the air that the temptation in a glass once occupied.

“Come here,” he said with a mischievous look overtaking his face. “Something I want to show you.”

This time it was you left following him through his home, both glass stems tucked snugly between talented fingers like he was beckoning you to chase him if you wanted yours. And you did want yours. That was why, despite the sudden flurry of nerves that his look seemed to conjure in your chest, you did as you were told and followed him.

I swear to God, if he's talking about his dick…

You actually weren't sure what you'd do. Probably not the decent thing.

But to your surprise, he led you to a usually barren room save for the red Persian rug warming the middle and the walls outlined in vintage instruments ready to be plucked off the wall and played. Except today, the center of the room wasn't barren as it had been for months.

The room opened up to greet you with a warm mahogany welcome in the shape of a baby grand piano that instantly made your fingers itch. It wasn't so different from the piano you'd been toying with at the party where you and Josh had met. Of course, you weren't as good a player as he was but you certainly knew your way around.

“Figured we rehearse here enough it was worth the investment,” you heard Jake say from behind you where he now stood watching as you carefully perched yourself onto the little matching mahogany bench.

“My God, she is beautiful,” you breathed as you opened the fallboard to uncover a full set of vintage ebony and ivory that seemed to practically yearn for your touch.

Your fingers danced out a quick melody that warmed your joints as much as it did your demeanor. You hadn't played much lately. Actually, you hadn't really played at all. But there were some things that stuck with you, worked their way into your bones, maybe into your very DNA. And this was one of them.

“Does this mean you're going to learn?” you asked, turning your focus back to him as you swiveled to find his face.

“I'd need a teacher for that and I refuse to let Sam fill that role.”

He gave you a cheeky smile that you read instantly. It was an open invitation for you to take on the role of said teacher, so you stood and, taking your wine glass from his hand finally, made a grand sweeping gesture toward the now unoccupied piano bench.

He took his seat, pretending to throw his imagined coat tails over the bench, earning a giggle that swished the wine in your glass. You hovered not too far behind him as he cracked his knuckles and cleared his throat, making a quite thorough display of his preparation only to put fingers to keys and press out one of the more off-key renditions of twinkle twinkle little star you'd ever heard. And he was met with another giggle that seemed to only encourage his actions.

“Oh that's amazing. You must teach me your ways,” you joked with a smile as you set your glass down on the floor just out of the way.

“Save me, please,” he answered with a hoarse laugh, finally slowing his fingers to a halt but keeping them positioned on the keys.

You approached him slowly, coming up close behind his back to stretch your arms over his shoulders and let your fingers find rest overtop his just as delicately as your chest grazed the wide plane of his back. You could smell his cologne strong on his neck as you guided his fingers to better position them amongst the keys, your breath dusting his cheek with each exhale. And you swore you could almost tell that he was holding in a breath if you paid close enough attention to the movement in his shoulders that seemed to have suddenly stilled.

Somewhere among your skin resting against his and your hair tickling his neck, the world around you seemed to grow still and quiet, fading into a background of white noise and blurred lines. And then you pressed your fingers more firmly into his and a striking chord sliced through the air alongside whatever breath Jake had been holding.

“There, just like that,” you said in a voice far shakier than you had hoped it would turn out to be.

But he was silent, letting you guide his fingers slowly up to a new chord, or outstretching a pinky to hit a further key as yours nudged it, never saying a word. He let you play that way, through him, feeling the notes through the strength and dexterity of his talented fingers that fit so snugly beneath yours and obeyed your every command.

“I knew I was good at something,” he joked in a whisper that barely traveled up above the note lingering beneath your hold until he turned his face dangerously to the side to face yours.

It brought his nose only an inch from yours but what felt even more dangerous were his eyes and the quick flicker they made to your lips, resting parted and practically panting. You didn’t even realize your own breathing had picked up until you suddenly became aware of the heat reaching your palms, heat he could likely feel radiating through his skin still resting beneath yours. And just as quickly as the moment had been conjured, he turned his face back to his hands and yours retreated entirely just before you darted over to your glass of wine to down the contents while he continued to fiddle with keys.

“You're a good student,” you commented as evenly as you could as you took a seat on the bench next to him. A much safer spot than where you had been.

“You’re a good teacher,” he answered with a quick flash of a smile in your direction, fingers still tripping over keys and filling the air around you with a disjointed music that you admittedly didn’t mind.

“Well, maybe not as good as you.” It came out rather absently as you had taken to fiddling with a random key yourself, turning your attention to that instead of the familiar pounding of your heart in your chest, a rhythmic reminder of the effect Jake had on you.

When he turned to face you again, you could feel his eyes hot on your cheek. You wanted to be brave and face him but there was something about his knowing gaze that made you feel that much more defeated. You felt like a terrible person, in all actuality. How could you have fallen for your boyfriend’s brother? Was that actually what you had done or were you just using him like a bandaid? Did you even know anymore?

Maybe it’s just the sex I like.

“Is that why you're here?” he asked, his gaze somehow even hotter than before. “You need another lesson?”

God, can he read my mind?

For a brief moment, you found yourself debating it. It didn’t feel like that was what you had come for but you certainly weren’t ignorant to the need that radiated through your body every time he so much as glanced in your direction. But you also weren’t ignorant to just how wrong it really felt. However it had felt that first time, hesitant as you had been, the glances you stole now didn’t feel that way. They didn’t feel harmless. They didn’t feel like something Josh had signed off his approval on.

And for now, the guilt rang strong enough through your body to stop you from doing something worse.

“I'm here to beat you at candyland,” you answered, eyes finally braving his face only to be greeted by a smile that seemed to be growing by the second.

“Well that's just not going to happen.”

—

“That is cheating!” you yelled over the board as you angrily moved Jake's piece back several spaces behind yours.

“It is not, my piece was planning on being there this whole time,” he argued back, grabbing it from your hand to return it to the space he had just placed it on with his hand that wasn't gripping his wine glass like his life depended on it.

You weren't sure if it was the booze or the antics of the game, but his British accent was starting to slip out the more uncivilized he got and you were trying your best to be stern despite the smile it was holding permanently to your lips.

“It doesn't matter what he was planning on, you didn't roll high enough to go that far!”

He gave you a displeased shake of his head as he finally took his piece back, “accidentally” knocking yours over in the process.

“I don't think you're playing this right,” he mumbled before chugging the remaining contents of his third glass of wine.

“I'm sorry you don’t get to just do whatever you want,” you laughed as you wrestled another card out of his hand seeing as it most certainly was not his turn.

“Well that is too bad, isn't it,” he said gruffly although even he was struggling to keep the smile off his face and commit to the bit.

The day had grown so late that darkness had finally come to greet you and this was your third attempt at a civilized game, which you were beginning to think was simply impossible with Jake. He just couldn’t seem to stop cheating.

Let’s not read too much into that.

By the time you had maneuvered all of the cards away from him thanks to that all-too familiar gleam in his eye, he sat back in his seat to let a comfortable silence grow between you both, silent glances exchanged as a buzz settled over you both. But in the silence and the calm grew that familiar heat, a buzz brought on by more than just the alcohol consumed that night. There was something about it, those quiet, gentle moments, that turned the volume of tension about the room up several levels, like you couldn't trust yourselves to be around one another in such a still moment without busying your hands and your bodies with one another. Like you were always just waiting for the next opportunity for it.

That was how it felt: like you were waiting. And suddenly in the haven of golden light in your little secluded pocket of the night, in the quietness of his gaze trying to stay fixed to anything but you, you felt you shouldn't be there.

Why had you come?

Jake cleared his throat and nudged your empty wine glass. “You want more?”

You gave him a light shake of your head and an answer just as soft. “I'm driving.”

He nodded in return and cast his eyes to his hands. He almost looked nervous. Why would he be nervous?

When he met your eyes again, you could tell he was searching your face for something. But what it was he was looking for, you had no idea. And if he found it, you had no idea of that either. But as you gazed back, you found yourself unable to look away, unable to hide your face or your eyes or your feelings from him. Whatever it was you were feeling, you let him see it there on your features like a book written just for him.

It's him I want. That's why I came.

It seemed to hit you all at once and suddenly the need for action seemed just as real.

“I guess I should go.”

Before I do something I shouldn't.

He nodded again, adding an almost silent “okay” that somehow made the task of getting up all the more hard. But somehow, your feet shuffled and your legs moved and your body, which seemed to be of much more sound mind than your actual mind, moved its way to the kitchen sink, wine glass in hand.

“You don't have to do that,” you heard Jake say from behind you.

Close behind you.

“I don't mind,” you answered quietly as you continued to turn the faucet on and rinse the glass.

That was when you felt him at your back, arms emerging from either side and his hands, practically shaking, entwining themselves with yours to steal the glass away from your grip.

“Here,” he whispered, “let me.”

Fuck.

You weren't exactly sure what it was that suddenly surged through you but the moment the glass was set safely on the counter, you turned into his arms to face him, lacing your fingers into his shirt buttoned ever so lazily. And the move brought your mouth mere inches from his, your bodies practically pressed tight to one another.

There was greed on your lips, greed you wanted him to taste.

“Jake, I want you,” you whispered without even an ounce of shame, finally giving in to what you had been fighting all evening.

It was met with his eyes winding tightly shut as a blow of frustrated air pushed from his lungs. “Don't do that to me,” he shook his head. “That's not fair.”

“You're right, it's not fair-”

Your lips were practically on his when he suddenly pulled back several steps, out of your grasp.

“This can't happen,” he said sternly, although whether that was for you or for him you weren't entirely sure.

What you were sure of though was the embarrassment seeping into your very being. And then the guilt. They seemed to freeze you in your place.

God, what am I doing?

What was worse was that you had thought he wanted you too. Had you read it all wrong? Had you read everything wrong? Was he only entertaining you because he could see your desperation so plainly in everything you did? Was it only pity he felt for you?

Josh had no time for you and now Jake didn’t want you either.

You took a few steps away from the sink, aimless, wandering, before your face fell into your hands, to hide it, to soothe yourself, to try and disappear.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated frantically, practically in a panic. “I don't know what I'm doing. It's just…it's not working.”

“You need to tell him that.”

God, the sympathy you now heard in his voice might have made you feel even worse.

“He knows that.”

“Babe-”

“I plan to,” you burst suddenly, hands falling away from your face to make way for the much louder sentiment, as unsure as it sounded. “I'm going to,” you repeated, “I just thought…”

You trailed off into nothing, totally defeated. You weren’t sure what you had thought but god, you were tired of this. Why was this so difficult? Why was this so complicated? Why hadn’t Josh just shown up like he was supposed to?

You looked to Jake somehow hoping he could give you the answers you were searching for but he looked just as confused, just as lost. And the longer you looked the more he looked…something else entirely.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked almost desperately.

You stuttered. “I mean…I think it's obvious. Or…maybe it isn't, I don't know, I just-”

“We can't be together,” he suddenly blurted out.

If his previous rejection hadn’t hurt, this certainly did. And it brought back to you the words he had said two weeks ago on the couch over pizza and comfort, only this time they seemed to form a coherence they hadn’t quite had when he’d spoken them then.

‘He knows I'm not the answer’.

And then the words that cut a little deeper. A little sharper.

‘Maybe that's why he sends me. He isn't worried about it’.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, all-too aware of what your body language was giving away. You had read it all wrong.

“I…I know that,” you answered quietly, pathetically, even though it wasn’t the truth. Not even close. “I know that.”

His eyes found your face again, this time more frantic, like he knew what he had just done but didn't have any choice in the matter. He raised his hand to your elbow, leaning in as he gripped you. He might have shaken you to try and get you to understand what he was saying if he thought that would go over better than his fingers alone.

“Listen to me, I'm telling you you need to do the right thing. He's my brother. But I can't…I can't be your answer.”

Those damn pesky tears were back, and with a vengeance. If you didn't dart out of there sooner rather than later, you'd be nothing but a puddle of salty water on his kitchen floor and you suddenly had no desire to let him see you that way.

There was anger there too, as misplaced as you knew it was, forming just as quickly and swelling into something so hot it practically blurred your vision. You felt almost lied to. Talk about fucking mixed signals. But you let out a long, terse, “okayyy” without even meeting his eyes, already mentally planning your escape.

“I love you, I do. I love you too much to-”

Bullshit.

“No, I get it,” you interjected before he could drive the knife any deeper. “It's good to know where you stand. Thank you.”

He called out for you more than once but it fell on deaf ears. You were already out of the house.

—

“Where were you?”

Good God, can’t the universe give me a break?

Josh's voice coming out of the near darkness startled you. You knew he was there. You'd seen his car in the driveway when you pulled in. But something about it felt like he was catching you in the middle of sneaking out. Or rather, sneaking in.

“I was out,” was all you said as you sat your things down and kicked off your shoes. You prayed your eyes weren’t still red and puffy from the crying you did on the car ride home.

“Just out?”

There was concern in his voice. You could hear it without even fully seeing his face where it was, shrouded in shadow that seemed all too fitting for the conversation you knew very well was about to be had. He could have easily been hiding from you. Fuck, you wanted to hide from him too.

You wanted to spare him the sigh that was brewing in your chest but it barreled out of you before you could stop it. “I needed to get my thoughts together,” you explained as you stepped further into the house and into the hall where you could better see him.

That was a mistake.

There was already pain in his eyes. Already a redness that you suspected was from his own tears. He knew where this was headed as well as you did.

Fuck, this might actually kill me.

“Why doesn't that sound good?” He gave you a nervous chuckle and the only smile he could manage, both of which fell flat.

“Josh, I…” There was actually nothing coming to your mind, try as hard as you did to think of the right thing to say. To think of anything to say for that matter. But he took pity on you instead and cut right to it. Something you might have been thankful for under any other circumstances. Well, maybe you still were thankful for it given these circumstances.

“I know,” he said without prompting. “I've been spread so thin lately-”

“For a while,” you corrected, only a tinge of the bitterness you felt biting into your tone. “And it's not really feeling like ‘spread thin’ so much as it is not making the time for…certain things. Things that should be a priority.”

Well that certainly sounded bitter.

“I know, baby. I've been wrapped up in a million little things. We're working on a new sound but it has required more of me than the others.”

You felt yourself wince at the pet name, a lump in your throat forming almost out of nowhere and suddenly threatening to strangle you.

You fought against it to push the words out. “Josh, I hear you, I really do, but this just isn't sustainable for me.”

He nodded at this but you could tell he was deep in thought. And his silence seemed to drag on for an eternity. Agonizingly. But when he finally broke it, you found yourself missing that silence.

“Does this have something to do with Jake?” he asked, raising his eyes to yours to undoubtedly impress upon you the importance of the question.

Suddenly you felt cold despite the sweat practically pooling in your palms and the heat flaring in your ears. You couldn't face him and tell him that you had fallen for Jake after all of the late nights you'd spent with him. You couldn’t admit to him the embarrassing truth that you had gone to seek him out, lying to yourself about why the whole time. And you certainly couldn’t admit to him how often you had thought of his brother when you found yourself alone over the past few months. But Josh seemed to glean every last one of those secrets from your silence alone.

“Where were you?” He finally asked the question you'd skirted around when you'd arrived home.

You didn't rarely hear Josh with anything you could call stern in his voice but you heard it now in his question. And his eyes begged the answer from you just as desperately as his tone did.

That was when you began to feel the tears well up for the second time that night. Your undereyes wouldn’t recover until the next week.

“Josh-” you croaked out, although he didn't seem to need you to finish whatever thought you were weakly stringing together into words.

“I shouldn't have let him do it. I shouldn't have let him near you that way.”

“It wouldn't have mattered,” you tried.

“Yes it would have. We wouldn't be here right now if I hadn't pushed you into his arms.”

“If it hadn't been him, I would have just been alone. All alone, Josh.” Even with the tears streaming silently down your face, you said his name pointedly enough that his shoulders seemed to slump and whatever anger was brewing for his brother was waning. “All alone for months and months thinking my boyfriend couldn't care less. Hoping I would at least get a text from you that time rather than Jake acting like some sort of carrier pigeon, as if that was any replacement.”

You'd never seen him so hurt. You'd never seen his face droop and fall that way, his lips melting downward at the corners and the liquid warmth of his eyes almost freezing over. Even his curls seemed to lose their bounce. He was wilting right in front of you and it only made it harder to breathe. It only made it harder to stand there and face him and say whatever the fuck it was you’d been putting off for that very reason.

If you don't do it now, you never will.

You wiped at your tears as best you could, trying to pull yourself together. “It hurts me,” you started. “Having you so close and yet so far constantly, it hurts me and I just can't do it anymore. And I don't want to wait until I resent you. I can't sit around waiting for that to happen. It'll kill me if I ever feel that way for you.”

Tears were now pouring down his face as he shook his head. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

If he said anything else, you could barely hear it above the racing of your heart in your chest and the dam breaking somewhere behind your eyes. It was like a tsunami when it came, folding you over until you slumped around yourself on the ground to let it wrack through your body. And he was there just as quickly, holding you despite the fact that he most certainly didn't have to. Clinging to you and his sorry's.

You weren't sure how much time passed as you sat there. You could hardly feel it ticking through your tears and a feeling that felt awfully close to regret. You couldn't feel the passage of the wind and the world beyond the strength of Josh's arms holding fast to your form, knowing that when he let go, he wouldn't have this opportunity again. It almost felt cruel, like a moment you should have had among many others but was stolen away from you all at once. So you basked in it. You bathed in it. You memorized his touch and his smell and the way it felt to be supported, even if you hadn't felt it in a while.

You had your reasons, you knew that. Had to remind yourself of it, even. But at the moment, you had nothing but him.

The tears always dried though. They always racked your body and stripped you of your strength and energy and when they vacated, just like they always did, you were left sitting, leaning against the wall of the hallway, in an almost daze-like state. Stuck in a limbo between sorrow and anger and humor. Every emotion you had seemed to sit at the edge of your being waiting for a moment to pounce in a state like this, and you were always left wondering what would take hold next.

Josh mimicked your movements, sitting opposite you like a mirror into what you probably looked like. And for a while, you sat in silence.

“I just want you to be happy,” he said after several moments. “That's all I've ever wanted.”

You nodded and sniffled, wiping your eyes and your nose with the back of your hand like a toddler.

“I know.”

“I mean it.”

I know.

You nodded again but this time when you spoke, your voice was even.

“I know.”

You tapped your fingers against your knee, butt going numb against the hardwood floor and eyes feeling stiff at the corners thanks to the dried tears accumulated there. And it was funny in a way that really wasn’t funny at all that as you sat there and stared at Josh silently, you couldn't help but think to yourself how beautiful he was.

Fucking twins.

“Does Jake make you happy?” Josh asked suddenly, studying your face.

The short answer was yes but the long answer?

‘He knows I'm not the answer’.

“I don't know,” you admitted. And you hoped he believed you when you said it because you really didn't.

You liked how he made you feel. You liked that he was there when no one else was. But was he the answer? You had no idea, actually. Maybe you wanted him to be more than he actually was. Or maybe, just maybe, you just liked having sex with him.

Ha. Well, that's at least some of it. Not that it matters anymore.

You were shamelessly giggling to yourself at the entirely humorless situation you found yourself in even before Josh joined in, bringing his hand to hide his mouth like he was in on the secret joke and attempting to keep it just that, a secret.

“You should probably decide before I have a chance to kill him.” And then after a moment, he added, “Well to be honest with you, I might just kill him anyway.”

You couldn't even explain why but that did you in, spurred a full on fit of laughter. And somehow, Josh found himself laughing right beside you.

Typical Josh. Always a bright spot. Even if it hurt him to be.

—

You hadn't left your house in days. Hadn't washed your sweatpants in as long either. The takeout boxes were certainly piling up too. And had you already finished off the last of your wine stockpile?

Gonna need to hit the grocery store soon. Or Instacart, at the very least.

And when your couch hadn't been occupied by friends spoon-feeding you whatever therapy you needed, be that advice or ice cream, you found yourself alone with more thoughts than you cared to deal with.

And one name in your mind that you avoided at all costs.

You hadn't even texted him that it was over. Hadn't called. Hadn't seen his face or heard his voice or even uttered his name. But God, you felt it, that ache. The longing. The familiar itch that he had scratched for you one too many times that now begged for nails to rake across it.

Relief. You wanted him. You maybe even needed him. That was what the emptiness had shown you. Whatever it was that he even was to you, you missed it. You craved it. But in your hour of need, he was the last thing available to you. And you were certainly stubborn enough not to chase.

Until you eventually weren’t stubborn enough.

You had no idea what had possessed you to rise from the couch that day, throw on a sweatshirt to shield you from the rain, grab your car keys, and drive to his place. You had no idea what possessed you to jump from your car and brave the violent sheets of rain that threatened to topple you as your fist made contact with his door a bit more angrily than maybe it should have. And you had no idea what had possessed you to do all of this just to say what it was you said.

Maybe I enjoy getting hurt.

You weren't invited in. In fact, you weren't even greeted with any words. He seemed breathless the moment he opened the door and his brain caught up with his eyes, whether that was thanks to your unruly appearance made all that much worse by the rain or simply the fact that you were the last person he expected to see standing on his porch after what he had said. After what you had done.

Probably should have run a brush through my hair before coming here.

And then you blurted it out.

“I ended it.”

The rain raged on in an angry war against you but you stood defiantly, like there was some ground there to hold. And maybe there was. It certainly felt like there was. If it wasn't the rain, it was his eyes, staring dangerously into yours and then, even without a single utterance from him still, you saw it. It was undeniable and unmissable.

Jake's eyes flickered down to your lips where they lingered for what felt like an eternity but in actuality was about two seconds. Two of the longest seconds you'd ever felt, waiting for someone to do something about it.

“I just thought you should know,” you added.

And then you left.

[steveslevis]

delicate - chapter two

is it chill that you're in my head?

pairing: steve harrington x reader

chapter contents: not a lot happening in this one, just the two of them being awkward

wc: 3.6k

a/n: hope you guys enjoy!!! sorry it took so long, hopefully ch3 won't take me as long

Everything that comes after your so-called interview at Ralph’s happens in what seems like a matter of seconds. Before you know it, you’re standing on Fifth avenue with Eddie the next day, your two large suitcases, one duffle bag and backpack being the only things you needed to tow across the city. 

Eddie had been the opposite of excited for you, in all honesty. He told you damn near a thousand times over a span of 24 hours that you should just move in with him and Alexander, and that you should try to negotiate with him about still working for him until you can save for your own place. Much to his dismay, you ignored your best friend’s concerns, shaking your head with confidence every time he tried to ask if you would stay. You had a good feeling about this, the voice in the back of your head telling you to go for it, that it would be a good growth opportunity, that you would never heal by spending your time rotting on Eddie’s couch. 

So that’s how you ended up here, walking into one of the most expensive luxury housing buildings in the entire city with your weary best friend in tow. The two of you had made the mile and a half long trek across the city instead of using one of the Harrington family’s chauffeurs – you had insisted to Steve that it wasn’t necessary for the little amount of belongings that you had. 

“Holy shit,” you hear Eddie mumble behind you while you push open the heavy glass door and walk into the lobby. 

The lobby is grand, with white marble floors, sleek black walls, gold accents, and arguably the biggest crystal chandelier you’ve ever seen hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room. There’s two gray leather couches sitting in front of a modern fireplace on one side, while a black granite front desk is on the other, with a young, blonde woman standing behind it. 

“Hi there!” The woman calls to you from behind the desk, bearing the fakest smile you’ve ever seen as she eyes you and Eddie up and down, likely judging how out of place the two of you look in such a luxurious area, “can I help you two?”

“Yeah, we’re looking for the Harrington residence,” you say while approaching the desk with an equally fake smile plastered on your face, “are we in the right place?”

The woman, whose name is Carolyn according to her nametag, immediately turns off the fake niceties once you say who you’re looking for. The fake smile falters for a moment and you see her furrow her brow while looking you over once again. She looks down to the desk in front of her for a moment, reaching for an envelope that’s off to the side.

“You must be the new nanny,” she says, and you almost swear you hear a hint of jealousy in her voice as she speaks.

“Yes, that’s me.” you say with a small chuckle to yourself, raising your brow at her when she nearly frowns at your response. 

Her lips fall into a thin line at that, her hand coming up from behind the counter to shove the envelope onto the granite in front of you. 

“Here’s the access card and key to the apartment,” she says to you as you grab the envelope, inside is a glimmering golden card and a silver key that’s attached to a small tag with your name on it, “you have to scan the card in the elevator to get to the top floor, then use the key to open the door. Don’t lose them, or you’ll have to pay for them.” 

She turns back to the computer in front of her without a word as you nod. You turn to Eddie once she does, exchanging a confused look before making your way towards the elevator on the other end of the lobby. You scan the key card and the elevator’s doors automatically close as the circular button with a large “P” at the top of the pad lighting up as it begins its ascent. 

“Jesus, the fucking penthouse?” Eddie scoffs under his breath in disbelief, shifting your duffle bag on his shoulder.

It only takes a minute for the elevator to reach the top floor, the door of the elevator sliding open to reveal a short hallway with only one door at the end. The two of you step out and make your way over to the large front door, you look over to Eddie once you stand in front of it. The look on your face is filled with nervousness and excitement, but mainly nervousness.

“Should I knock?” you question, staring down at your key.

“You have a key for a reason, don’t you?” he quips, raising an eyebrow at you. 

You shoot him a quick glare and sigh, flipping the key in your fingers a few times as you try to compose yourself. Eventually you reach for the door, sliding the key into the lock to open it. The door swings open and you’re met with arguably the nicest apartment – penthouse, rather – that you’ve stepped foot in while living in the city. 

It’s much more cozy and less grandiose than you had expected, a stark contrast from the marble lined, golden and glittering lobby you had just entered from. You step into the living room when you first walk in, a large olive green couch and two matching chairs face a fireplace on the far wall, a comically large TV hanging above it. Everything is clean and definitely luxurious, but also feels lived-in, much more welcoming and warm than the rest of the complex. 

The kitchen is to the left through a wide archway, but you don't have time to explore, as your thoughts are interrupted by Steve bounding into view from the kitchen. There’s a welcoming smile on his face as he steps into the living room, wiping his hands with a kitchen towel before tossing it over his shoulder to free his hands. He’s wearing a pair of slacks and a navy button down. His hair is a little more disheveled than it was last time the two of you met, but still looked perfectly put together somehow. You could tell that he had recently gotten done with work for the day, partially from the fact that he had two buttons undone on his shirt, and partially from the air of remnant stress that he was carrying. 

“Welcome! Please, come on in.” Steve says with a smile as he watches Eddie close the door behind him. “Thank you for coming on such short notice, again. I really appreciate you starting so soon.”

“It’s no problem, I’m glad to help.” you say, shifting the backpack on your shoulders.

Steve extends a hand to Eddie to introduce himself, and Eddie gives him a reserved introduction in return, still hesitant about everything as he scans the penthouse. 

Steve looks between you and Eddie once more, eyeing the four bags between the two of you before asking, “Is this everything you had to bring up, or is there still more downstairs?”

“Yeah, this is it, actually.” you laugh, knowing the amount of belongings you had was quite underwhelming, “that’s why I said we could just make the hike with the bags instead of taking one of your cars.”

“Oh, it would’ve been no problem either way.” he says while shaking his head, reaching for the suitcase that was by your side, “C’mon, I’ll show you to your room.”

Steve guides the two of you to a room off to the right on the first floor, explaining that the people who owned the penthouse before him had used it as a place for their in-laws to stay. He opened the door to the room, letting you and Eddie walk in before him. The bedroom was much nicer than you had expected in all honesty, with a queen-sized bed in the middle adorned in obviously expensive cream-colored linens, a sitting area equipped with a stocked bookshelf (perks of being employed by the CEO of a famous publishing company), and a desk for you to work on school during your time off. There was an en-suite bathroom as well, which looked larger than the entire living room of your previous shared apartment. 

“Wow, this is–this is so amazing.” you gasp, looking over to Steve gratefully. “I wasn’t expecting anything this nice, to be honest.”

“Gotta make sure you’re comfortable so you stick around,” he says with a wink, which instantly sends your stomach into a fit of butterflies. “Go ahead and get settled in, I’m gonna go check on Amelia and the food.”

Before you could thank him, Steve was through the door and back in the nearby kitchen. You could tell why he needed your help, his mind worked at a thousand miles a minute, like he always had something that he needed to be doing.

“You still sure about all this?” Eddie implores, breaking you from your thoughts.

You look over to your best friend to see a face contorted with genuine concern and hesitancy, unsure of if he should leave you here alone or if he should tote you out over his shoulder regardless of your wishes.

“I am one hundred percent sure, Eds.” you assure him with a soft smile, pulling him into a hug. 

Eddie wraps his arms around your shoulders with a sigh, finally giving up his fight on your decisions. He knew you were too stubborn to listen to him and deep down he could tell that Steve meant well, but he was just so unsure. 

“I just want you to be safe.” he says finally, resting his chin atop your head.

“And I will be,” you state confidently, pulling back to look up at him. “This place might be, like, one of the safest places to live in the city. And besides, anywhere is safer than where I was.”

“You mean on my couch?” Eddie says, feigning an insulted look as he speaks. He knew you were talking about living with Luke, but he also knew you didn’t want to talk about him. 

“I appreciate everything you do for me, Eds, but your couch is the second to last place I would like to sleep tonight.” you say with a teasing smile, watching as he rolls his eyes playfully.

“Alright, alright, but don’t come crying to me when sexy Mr. CEO Harrington turns out to be crazy like I said,” he replies, and you shoot him a glare. “What? There’s gotta be something wrong with him, he’s too hot and too perfect on paper to be normal.”

“I think you gotta stop obsessing over my ‘hot’ boss before you get me fired before my first day has even started,” you laugh, shoving his shoulder after using air quotes when saying hot – you didn’t think Steve was hot at all, right?

“Okay, fine I’ll stop tormenting you.” he chuckles, “as long as you promise not to fall in love with him or some shit like that.” 

You immediately laugh out loud at the thought, shaking your head immediately. “That’s not gonna happen, Eds. He’s my employer and I’m only here to take care of his daughter. Besides, I’ll probably barely see him since he’ll be working all the time.” 

Eddie gives you an incredulous look before pulling you in for another quick hug.

“Please, just call me if there’s anything you need and I can be here to get you, okay?” he says and you nod. 

The two of you walk out of the bedroom shortly after, saying your goodbyes at the door with one last hug (that Eddie almost doesn’t let go in) before you make your way to the kitchen, where you know Steve is. 

Unsurprisingly, the kitchen is just as nice as the rest of the penthouse that you’ve seen, but is currently in a bit of a state of disarray. Steve is standing next to the stove, and he’s serving what looks to be a pasta dish onto plates on the counter. Amelia is sitting at the long, dark dining table on the other side of the room. She’s zeroed in on two dolls in front of her, mumbling a conversation between the two of them to herself. 

“Food’s done, sweetheart.” Steve called out to his daughter, grabbing a pink plate from the pile, presumably for her. “Why don’t you put your dolls up on the counter while we eat so they don’t get dirty, okay?”

The little girl nods, grabbing her things from the table to put them up, clearly excited for the dinner her dad had prepared, “want butter on my bread, please Daddy.” she requests, a smile on her face when she spots the pink plate atop the counter.

“I’ll get you some once I sit down, love.” he replies, smoothing down his daughter’s hair when she comes to stand next to him.

There was something so sweet and so domestic about the situation unfolding in front of you, a father and daughter busy in their own little worlds, but not too busy to share a kind interaction. 

“Just in time, I was just gonna come see if you guys were hungry.” Steve says, peering over his shoulder to meet your eyes when you take another step into the room. 

“Oh, sure!” you reply, “it’s just me though. I’m sorry to disappoint, but Eddie left just a second ago.”

Steve laughs in response, shaking his head at your words. He quickly serves up some penne alla vodka, extending the plate and some silverware to you once he does. You follow him to the table as he carries his and Amelia’s plates, setting one in front of his excited daughter, who almost immediately digs in. 

“Well, I’m sad your boyfriend couldn’t stay for dinner, but it was very kind of him to help you move over on such short notice and be so understanding of the situation.” Steve says once you both settle at the table. 

You had just taken your first bite of food when Steve started to speak, and the suggestion of Eddie being your boyfriend nearly makes you choke on the pasta. A small laugh escapes your lips as you play off your near-death experience with a cough, shaking your head at the thought. 

“Are you alright?” Steve questions, setting his own fork down as he watches you carefully, making sure you’re not actually choking. 

“Yes! S–sorry, I’m fine!” you stammer quickly, shaking your head, “I just–Sorry, I thought that was funny. Eddie isn’t my boyfriend.” you reply with a nervous smile. 

“Oh?” Steve retorts, raising an eyebrow at you.

“He’s just my best friend, I–I was actually sleeping on him and his boyfriend’s couch for a few days so he just wanted to make sure where I was going to be living was safer than that.” you say, cheeks flushing red at the admission of couch surfing less than 24 hours prior to ending up in this penthouse, of all places. 

“Sleeping on his couch?” he implores, “I thought you said you lived in a small studio in Yorkville?”

“I did, with my ex. That is where I was but we–well, we had a nasty breakup a few weeks back so that’s how I ended up on Eddie’s couch. It all happened so fast that I keep forgetting I don’t live there anymore –” you blurt out, stopping yourself when you realize how much you’re sharing with this man you barely know. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be telling you all this, you’re my boss for God’s sake, I am so sorry, Steve.”

“Hey, no, no, you’re fine!” he replies quickly, shooting you a reassuring smile. “I’m, uh, I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

You give him a small, sad smile in return, choosing to focus your gaze on the food in front of you so you don’t embarrass yourself any more than you already have. 

“I know it probably doesn’t mean a lot coming from me since I don’t know what happened, but I’m sure that you didn’t deserve to be the one left on your best friend’s couch without a place to live.” Steve was rambling now, “and I’m sorry for assuming that Eddie was your boyfriend, I just didn’t think it was possible for someone like you to be single.”

There was an awkward beat of silence after Steve finished his nervous ramble, leaving you with a million thoughts that you couldn’t process in the moment, all being ones that made your stomach flutter. You didn’t really have time to process any of it though, as your thoughts were interrupted by Amelia tugging on her dad’s sleeve.

“Where my butter bread?” she questions, giving her dad a very stern look, clearly impatient from not getting her bread with the meal. 

Steve opens his mouth to retort, but you’re up from the table and grabbing the plate with baguette slices and a pad of butter Steve had forgotten on the counter next to the pot of pasta. You give the little girl a smile, swiping some butter on one of the slices before reaching across the table to hand it to her. She grabs the bread and hastily takes a large bite, giggling to herself in satisfaction. 

“What do you say?” Steve says to her, giving her a knowing look.

“Tank you,” she says to you, mouth full of bread as she grins over at you. 

The once awkward moment quickly resolved after Amelia’s interruption, and dinner went by smoothly after that. You discussed what you would need to do to help Amelia throughout the day and night, and what days Steve would be around to help out. He let you know that you wouldn’t have to cook dinner, as he insisted on sitting down with her almost every evening for the meal and making it on his own. After dinner, you insisted on helping Steve clean up, but he insisted against it, that he would finish up. Instead, you opted to get Amelia ready for bed, getting her showered and cleaned up before reading her one of the dozens of children’s books that she had littered around her bedroom. 

It was around 9 by the time you finished getting her to bed, leaving her room with the bedroom door cracked slightly. Both her and Steve’s bedrooms were upstairs, along with Steve’s office that he used to work from home on occasion. You passed the office, noticing a small light flooding from the doorway as you did. Before you could walk down the stairs, you heard a voice from inside the office call for you. 

Steve was sitting in the dimly lit room, at the large oak desk that sat in the middle of the room. He looked up from his computer when you came in, there was a tired look on his face that changed when he locked eyes with you. Thin rimmed glasses sat on his face that you hadn’t seen before, and he was freshly showered, his hair still drying and the collar of his gray t-shirt was slightly damp. He looked exhausted, but still managed to look extremely attractive and that made you want to crawl into his lap and – no, stop it. Your mind was wandering, it had been too long of a day already. 

“She went down okay?” he questioned, breaking you from your trance. 

“Yeah, she was fine. She made me read Goodnight Moon twice before she fell asleep, she said I read it wrong the first time around.” you say with a laugh. 

“That sounds about right,” he chuckles in reply, shaking his head. There’s a beat of contemplative silence, then Steve looks back up at you, “also, before you head to bed. I just wanted to apologize for earlier, I–I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable by asking too many questions or anything, I’m sorry if I did.”

“Don’t apologize, you’re fine. I’ve been asked worse things, don’t worry about it.” you say with an assuring smile, earning one back from him in return that makes your heart skip a beat. “Goodnight, Steve.”

Steve says goodnight in reply and you turn on your heels to walk back downstairs. Exhaustion hits you all at once when you make it to the bedroom that you now call your own, throwing yourself onto the bed with a sigh. 

It’s in that moment that you’re thankful for changing and getting ready for the night before you made your way up to put Amelia to bed, because now you can just cuddle into your new bed with no worries. Well, that is until your mind starts to wander.

All day you had brushed off the thoughts you’d had about Steve, the remarks Eddie had made about Steve, and the remarks Steve had made to you at dinner about being surprised that you were single. There was no reason for you to be overthinking it all, you told yourself. There was no reason for your stomach to flutter at the thought of Steve, your new employer, winking at you jokingly. There was no reason for your mind to wander when you saw him with wet hair and glasses, but you couldn’t help yourself.

What did it all mean? You shouldn’t even be thinking about anyone right now, you just went through a disgusting breakup with an even more disgusting man, you should be thinking about nobody but yourself.

You weren’t sure what any of it meant, and were truthfully terrified to find the real answer.

But that was for another time, as sleep overtook you not long after you set an alarm, mind still running as you drifted into slumber.

taglist: @siriuslysmoking @blackholegladiator @cultish-corner @cris-wants-a-word @nervousmumbling @angelbabyivy @ohheyitsrowan @sweetdazequeen @royalestrellas @20orca00 @taeteddybear @different-spokes @paleidiot @frostandflamesfanfic @tulips2715 @rainbowfruity14 @shinytinywhispers @corrodedcoffincumslut @definitionwanderlust @starsinsidemyeyes @mikeschmidtgf @haruari @shallowparadise @micheledawn1975 @rexorangecouny @hollandweather @redbarn1995

[irisintheafterglow]

Need (college au!sakusa x you)

summary: passion is a passing thing, accidental chemistry. it's not what you two are at all. (or, you get wasted at a party and the only thing in your mind is him)

wc: 2.28k

cw/tags: childhood best friends to strangers to lovers, angst/fluff with a happy ending, mentions of drinking and parties including being drunk and vomiting, pet name (gorgeous), a tasteful amount of self-loathing (if you can call it that, it's just angst), swearing/explicit language, mutual pining

note: taylor swift lyric title cuz yk it's a signature at this point. also i was throwing around this idea with either suguru or bakugo but i could not get omi out of my mind for the life of me. hope you enjoy!

likes, reblogs, and feedback are always appreciated!

“Hello?”

“Remedy.” The silence from the other end of the phone is so suffocating, you think he hung up. The thought sends another wave of emotion rolling through your body and you’re shaking, again, in the corner wedged between the toilet and the bathtub. 

“What?” His voice is strained but just as smooth and low as you remember. Your empty chest aches even more. 

“Remedy,” you plead, head spinning from the fluorescent lights of the bathroom. “Remedy, remedy, remedy, remedy, remedy.” It’s the only thing you can repeat at this point, too overwhelmed to think of anything else. Everything was distorted and hazy, like your eyes were looking into two differently-patterned kaleidoscopes. His voice is the only thing keeping you grounded, at this point. 

“Where?”

“Party on 18th and 40th, in the bathroom. Can’t miss it,” you relay, incredibly ashamed at how easily your words slur together. He hangs up abruptly and your phone clatters into the mystery-stained bathtub. Disgraceful. The whole situation was embarrassing beyond belief–calling your childhood best friend turned stranger to tell him that you got wasted and the only thing you could think about was him. Part of you hoped he wouldn’t show up, hoped that he would confirm the theory in your mind that he hated you now. Minutes felt like ages while you continued to occasionally dry heave into the toilet and grimace through the blinding pounding in your forehead. He’s not coming, you realize as you try to stand on gelatinous legs. And why would he? He doesn’t know you anymore and you don’t know him. He’d never be found in a place like this, anyway. 

Or, so you thought. 

The bathroom door is shut with a forceful kick below the handle. “Easy, easy,” he cautions, grabbing your forearms to support you. Every nerve in your body can feel where his palms meet your skin and it’s intoxicating, more than anything already in your system; any fearful paranoia riddling your body dissipates when you register his presence. The sound of his voice murmuring your name floats into your ears like a drug and your knees give out at the sudden feeling of safety. He delicately sits you on the marble of the sink, careful to make sure you don’t lose your balance as he scans your face and body. Standing between your legs like this, he was in closer proximity to you than he had been in years. You’d forgotten how handsome he was in person, drastically different from the faded image you tried to retain in your mind. 

“Hi, Omi,” you drawl dopily, tilting your head to the side and smiling. He can’t help huffing out an incredulous laugh at your mood switch. 

“Hey, gorgeous. Are you hurt?” You slowly shake your head from side to side and he nods, eyebrows still drawn in concern. Even in your intoxicated state, you can tell how flustered he is because he seems to have no idea where to put his hands. They take turns disappearing as he crosses his arms, muscle flexing under his jacket, and then uncrosses them. He settles for putting them on either side of yours, gripping the edge of the counter. “Wanna tell me why you’re shitfaced in a frat house?” You hum in thought, rotating your neck carefreely and your face starts to burn as his fingers gently pull your chin back to face him. 

“Went with the roomies.”

“The same ones from first year?” You nod, your vision slightly starry. “They’re not good for you, idiot.”

“Oh, you think I don’t know that?” The corner of his lip turns down into a frown at your sudden attitude. “Where the fuck else am I gonna live?” His body abruptly pulls away like he was offended. He starts to make his way back to the door and another wave of dread sinks into your gut.

“Look, if you’re gonna make me come all the way over here just to–”

“He looked like you.” It makes his voice halt in his throat, your words. His hand is frozen as it hovers above the handle and he looks at you over his shoulder. Your face falls a little further, voice unsteady. “He didn’t act like you, though.” He stiffens like he wants to say something, but his jaw stays clenched while he takes you back into his arms and drapes his jacket over your exposed shoulders before guiding you out of the house. The warmth from his jacket and the lingering smell of his cologne continue to help ground you back into the present. While you’re navigating the raging crowd to the exit, he’s careful to stay as close to you as possible without hindering your movement, glaring daggers into any guy that approaches. It felt like a fever dream, having Omi at a party with you when he’d sworn off these kinds of scenes for as long as you’d known him. 

“I’m not that interested in slowly annihilating my liver. Probably isn’t good for Olympic prospects,” is what he said when you asked him if he was going to party in college. The sun was dipping below the neighborhood’s houses while you sat together on the roof of Omi’s, a tradition you picked up starting in middle school. It made your heart hurt a little bit, whenever he talked about going pro in volleyball. You noticed the change over the course of high school, how he canceled plans for a last-minute training camp or stayed so long after practice that you would just walk yourself home. You knew it made him happy and fulfilled the hunger of his competitive side, but it was still saddening to watch your best friend slip away little by little. “Why? Are you going to ragers every weekend?” You scoff and roll your eyes, taking another sip from your soda to avoid answering the question. Still, he’s watching you; you can tell from the corner of your vision and you shrug. 

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll try one just to get grossed out by it and then never do it again.” He gives you a rare chuckle, breathy and low. His smiles and his laughs, however stingy he was with them, were just as beautiful as the rest of him. It made your chest ache even more. 

“Well, in the event that you’re so wasted you can’t see straight, call me.” Your first instinct is to laugh but you fight down the urge when you see the thoughtful expression on his face. “I’ll come get you and make sure you’re not with some douchebag.”

“Mmm, my hero,” you tease and he gives you a lightheartedly annoyed look. “What if you’re, I don’t know, in practice or something?”

“We can have a code word.”

“A code word?”

“Yeah, so that I know if it’s really important.”

“You wouldn’t get me if you didn’t think it was important?” It’s supposed to be a joke, but something shifts in your expression that makes you feel guilty for asking something so unlike him. 

“I’ll get you every time, no questions asked.” 

True to his word, he didn’t end up asking a lot of questions. When you were through the front door, his hand covered the top edge as you ducked into the passenger seat of his car. You still felt like you were in a daze while he drove, leaning your head against the window and staring off at the passing streaks of yellow and white. The quiet between you two was stifling, nothing like the late-night drives you made him take you on when neither of you could sleep. It was unsettlingly cold and you pulled his jacket tighter around your body, sinking further into the leather seats. 

“I’m not taking you back to your dorm,” he states blandly. Tension riddled his body ever since he found you in the bathroom and all you wanted was for him to relax. How could he, though, if you were on the verge of vomiting again in his car? 

“I know.” It’s all you can muster out of the pure shame covering your body like a rash. You trusted him and knew where he was going, but it still didn’t give you relief. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know you are. You couldn’t get one of your friends to take you home?” His voice and expression are both unreadable, intentionally blank to not give away his inner thoughts. There it is, you think. There’s the loathing he feels toward you for being another weight on his back. You’re careful with your words and they barely come out as a whisper. 

“I didn’t want them.” His attention flicks to you for a moment, like he doubted the sincerity of your answer. His eyebrows raise in mirthless disbelief.

“But you wanted me?”

“I needed you.” He shakes his head; he didn’t believe you.

“There’s a difference.”

“Not to me.” 

The shame continues to rise around your body like water and you’re sinking in it, struggling to breathe while emotions threaten to spill from bloodshot eyes. But, even more, the shame is distorted by an unshakeable feeling of confusion. You didn’t know how he felt about you, nor did you really understand how you felt about him. The last time you spoke was months ago and yet you let go in his presence as if nothing had changed. It was driving you out of your mind, not knowing what he was thinking. The feeling stays stagnant in your body even after you shower at his apartment, in his bathroom with his body wash. He leaves one of his old jerseys for you to wear, saying his bed is yours for the night. Everything smelled like him, familiar and nostalgic. Everything was telling your brain that you were safe, so why weren’t you able to relax? 

His head pokes through a crack in the door to check on you right before you turn his bedside lamp off. You’re wrapped in his blankets and wearing his clothes, but everything about your situation just felt wrong. He can see it in your face, too, and respectfully has a seat on the edge of the bed next to you. 

“Talk to me.”

“I don’t know how anymore,” you mutter pathetically into his pillow. He exhales deeply, rubbing his eyes and you expect him to leave you right there. It’d be too much work for him to unpack exactly what was going on. 

“You said there was a guy that looked like me,” he offers. You merely hum in assent, still too disgusted with yourself to look at him. In contrast, his voice is a patient plea for you to keep talking. "Why'd he matter?"

“I kissed him and pretended he was you.” Sneaking a glance at his face, you find it completely blank, the only sign of emotion being the miniscule widening of his eyes. “His hands started to wander, though, and I just knew. I knew he wasn’t you.” 

“How did you end up in the bathroom?” His words are strained and shaky, but neither of you will look at each other.

“Threw up. It felt gross, kissing him.” Kiyoomi breaks for a millisecond, his face contorting in anguish before schooling itself back into blankness. “It felt gross to kiss him because he–”

“Because he looked like me,” he finishes, unable to mask his sorrow. Something clicks in your mind and you sit up pencil-straight, suddenly completely sober. 

“No.” You don’t attempt to hide the urgency in your tone while you slide closer and place your hand on his shoulder. He flinches but doesn’t pull away. “Because he wasn’t you at all, Omi. He wasn’t who I wanted, nor who I needed.”

“And who is it that you want? Is it the same as who you need?” He’s finally looking at you, eyes softer than you’d ever seen. Whether purposeful or not, both of your bodies had shifted closer to each other as if they were stuck in each other’s orbit. 

“It’s been the same for as long as I can remember, even when he disappeared for a little bit,” you confess and you attempt to give him a smile. He’s completely speechless at what you’re implying, and his reaction is enough to tell you that he feels the same. 

“And…would you let him stay with you for the night? To make up for lost time?” His knuckles hesitantly brush your cheek in question. You take his hand in yours and press a feather-light kiss to his fingers in answer. 

“As long as he promises not to disappear again.”

“He won’t,” he states with finality while he pulls you back into his bed, pulling you into his chest as naturally as breathing. He sighs into the top of your head when you’re flush against his body, the tension you felt earlier gradually dissipating. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you more.”

“That’s not possible. I fell first, after all.” You can hear the smirk in his words even as your eyes flutter shut. You pull whatever energy you have left in the tank to respond to his quick remarks. It doesn’t last for long when you feel sleep start to tug at your mind. 

“And I fell harder. Who’s winning now, hmm?” 

“I still am. Look who I have in my arms right now.”

“Your athlete is showing, Omi,” you murmur on the verge of passing out. His fingers tracing swirls on your skin through his jersey wasn’t helping your fight to stay awake. 

“Rest, then; we have a lot to catch up on in the morning.” 

“Promise you won’t leave.”

“I promise I won’t let you go.”

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Royal Flowers Chapter 7

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series masterlist

pairing: anakin skywalker x fem!reader (poc friendly/coded)

series summary: A long, long, time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, a certain Jedi by the name of Anakin Skywalker meets you, the current Queen of Naboo and cousin of Padme Amidala, and is tasked with protecting you by pretending to marry you. As a spy, you’ve infiltrated the Separatist ranks and are close to finding out the mastermind behind all of it. The fate of the galaxy is in your hands.

warnings: minors dni! ageless blogs dni! canon-level violence/character death this chapter. series will have eventual smut, and just general warnings.

a/n: i am . baaaaack baby! hope y'all enjoy the chapterio. beta read by the very sweet @sythethecarrot . appreciate her so so much and alll of you for reading and giving this story your time :')

“Are you sure that we need Obi-Wan here, milady?” Anakin asks you, blowing on his clasped fists nervously as you wait for Obi-Wan to reach your chambers. He had sent a message an hour ago, letting you and Anakin know that he had landed in the forests of Naboo and would be reaching the palace soon. “What if it puts him in danger?” 

“I understand your concern, Anakin, but we’re in over our heads now,” You hum, looking over the room once more to make sure things are in place. You realize it’s out of nervousness, and wanting to earn the Jedi Master’s respect, and quickly look back at Anakin. “But yes, we need him here, even if it’s just temporary. You’re not as skilled as he is, according to you, with the skill of mind-control, and we can’t risk the Separatists slipping out of your influence and realizing that the Queen’s husband was trying to figure out their plans. Obi-Wan, on the other hand, is unlinked to the palace, and his involvement would not directly jeopardize us. As for him being in danger… I have faith in Master Kenobi’s abilities, and I’m sure that his involvement will be brief, despite the necessity of it.” Anakin nods, grabbing his lightsaber from the depths of his pockets and flipping it in the air anxiously. He nearly drops it when Obi-Wan jumps cleanly onto the balcony, moving quickly to get through the open doors without being seen. 

Hello there,” General Kenobi says. His voice immediately lifts a weight off of your shoulders. You knew as soon as you decided to take active action against the separatist while also uncovering their leader, you’d need more help. General Kenobi was the most adept in mind influencing. That, you could use. You couldn’t have done these last few months without Anakin, but it was time to move. And fast. 

“Master,” Anakin says, striding to Obi-Wan and enveloping him in a tight hug. He hadn’t realized the importance of Obi-Wan in his life— the younger Jedi Knight’s torturous visions, nightmares of the people he loved dying as he watched helplessly, had stopped when he left, but the certainty of Obi-Wan’s guidance had disappeared with it. And when he was dealing with you and the nuance that your task called for, it certainly wasn’t easy to carry on without Obi-Wan and his gentle guidance.

Not that he listened to Obi-Wan all that much, but it wasn’t about that. He lets go of Obi-Wan reluctantly, knowing that their bond is deeper than words could convey. 

“Master Kenobi,” you bow respectfully while Anakin quickly checks the noise dampener. “It’s an honor to have your assistance.” 

“It’s an honor to be called. Will you walk me through the plan, milady?” He asks, settling criss-cross on the marble flooring of the room. You sit across from him, and Anakin joins your side instinctually before the puzzled look from Obi-Wan has him shuffling further from you until the three of you form a triangle. 

“I was so caught up with the overarching goal that I lost track of the present. While it’s true that I absolutely cannot jeopardize my own mission, I cannot sit back and lose more of my people.” Obi-Wan nods in understanding, tracing circles on his knee as you confess your guilt. 

“So you need to know more than what they tell you, and be able to have one of your Ministers know how to countermove without it coming from you,” Obi-Wan confirms. 

“Exactly. It shouldn’t be too hard to get that information but I’ll need to know who it is I can trust. I don’t know exactly the scope of your abilities, would you be able to help me figure out which ones I can trust?” At your request, Anakin clicks his tongue, nodding at your request. 

“Well, we can’t read minds. What we could do is something along the lines of figuring out what emotions they’re feeling when they talk to you?” Anakin suggests, garnering Obi-Wan’s approving nod. 

“And as for getting the information…” you trail off, unsure of what to do now that you knew the Jedi couldn’t read minds. 

“Well, there’s a few things we could do,” Obi-Wan processes aloud, something formulating in his head as he considers the options. “What do you know about the leaders of the Naboo Separatist chapter?” He asks. You snort. 

“I’ve met their leader, but he’s a total dunce. I truly believe that they chose him because he’s easy to manipulate,” You say. At your words, Anakin lights up, nonverbal communication flowing between him and Obi-Wan. It’s kind of cute, seeing him more in his element. You like the side of Anakin that Obi-Wan brings out. It’s like the older Jedi pushes Anakin to be better— to think things out, to be rational. Something along those lines. But the shift is obvious. 

“Easy to manipulate, you say?” Anakin says, an excited look on his face.

“If that’s the case, then there certainly is something we can do,” Obi-Wan says cautiously. “Is there any way I can see the leader in person?”

“I know where he lives,” you say, looking up at the ceiling to avoid making eye contact as you cringe at the thought of him. 

“Why do you know where he lives?” Anakin asks suspiciously. 

“Because he was once my boyfriend,” You sigh. 

~~~

“Baby,” a sleazy voice calls out from the table you just crossed. Arus Dryskan sits in the booth of the low-lit pub, sketchy characters flitting behind you in the shadows. When your eyes meet his, you’re reminded of all those nights you spent with him, tangled up in the sheets. You’re reminded of the good and the bad: the way he’d toy with your emotions and blame you when other men would flirt with you, all the shouting matches, the control that he tried to impose on you. Part of you is affronted by the fact that he’d even dare to call you baby after putting you through all that. But you set it aside, reminding yourself that you’re in control here. He has no power over you. 

You relax your shoulders and tell yourself that Anakin’s here, that you will be fine, forcing yourself to inhale and relax as you slide into the vinyl seating. Arus’ arm is thrown carelessly on the back of the seating, a cigarette hanging from his mouth as he eyes you up and down. 

“It’s been a while, Arus,” You say, reigning in your repulsion and leaning in to gaze into his eyes seductively, batting your lashes and eyeing him up and down. That should work, right? Even when you were together, it was never about the two of you— it was about Arus, about making him feel desired. You never were the most affectionate with him (largely in part because he’s fucking irritating) but you need him to think that you want him. It’s funny, there was a time when you found him quite attractive, but now, the only thing you can focus on is how revolting he is. He rakes one hand through his greasy hair, flashing you that grin that used to work so well on you. 

“You’ve done pretty well for yourself, huh, milady? Queen of fuckin’ Naboo,” he says, leaning in to whisper in your ear. The heat of his body feels suffocating next to you, and the mere thought of his touch makes you dig your nails into your palms, trying desperately to regulate yourself before your fear gives you away. “It’s funny that none of these suckers know you’re one of us.” His eyes are conspiratorial, which you can work to your favor. You smile slyly, allowing your fingers to dance on the tabletops as you slide in closer to him. 

“Nobody knows I’m here,” you laugh, “Not even my dunce of a husband.” At your words, Arus raises his brows, a big smile spreading across his face. Sorry, Anakin. “I’ve missed you,” you whisper in his ear. Your tone wavers between the truth of your desperation and the practiced smoothness that you used so often when you were with him. Your hand finds its way to his shoulders, resting there as you wait for him to give you some sort of sign. 

“What about your dunce of a husband?” He asks you playfully, leaning back. 

“You think that nerf-herder could satisfy me the way you do? I played around with him for a while, yes, but he was so boring. Not to mention how much…bigger you are. ” You allow your hand to drift downwards, teasing him through the material of his shirt. He may be a sleemo, but you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t built. 

You almost want to roll your eyes when his hand shoots out to grab your waist, pressing you even closer to him as your hand travels from his pecs to his abs. Was he always such a simpleton? A pretty girl bats her eyelashes at him and he goes absolutely dumb. Or stays dumb. He’s not very smart. 

“Do you wanna… get out of here?” you ask, your voice a low, seductive hum in his ear. You can practically hear the blood roaring in your ear, the feel of your heart thumping traitorously in your chest and you can only pray that he can’t feel it. Take the bait. Let’s go. 

You have to hold back an audible sigh of relief when you hear the clink of his speeder keys as he grabs them, and you, and pulls you out of the bar. You know Anakin’s following closely behind you — Obi-Wan’s already at his house, you just need to make sure that he gets there. If anyone asked at the pub, anyways, they would’ve just seen one of Arus’ usual nightly conquests. 

You keep touching his arm as you sit in the speeder and on the way to his house; you need him to be distracted so that he can’t see Anakin following behind you both. The ride there is short but he’s so revolting it feels like a lifetime— he’s telling you about how he blew up a village the other day and found it so funny. You have to force your laughter, but you really just want him away from you. You’re disgusted— the fact that you had ever touched him, had ever been so oblivious to all of him. Back then, he wasn’t so evil— or maybe he was, and he just hadn’t had the chance to show it yet. 

In the rearview mirror, you see Anakin cut into the side streets, a shortcut to his place that would work just fine. Arus is too busy talking about himself to notice, as per usual. 

“Let me open the door for you, princess,” he says when you pull up to his house. The second he’s unbuckled and standing outside of your door, there’s a soft thunk before he slides on to the speeder, practically falling in your lap as Anakin looks down at him with a glower. 

“Thanks, Anakin,” You say, opening the door and throwing Arus out. 

“Was it really necessary to be all handsy with him?” Anakin grumbles. 

“How else do you think I’d be able to get him here?” You ask, puzzled. 

“Still,” Anakin frowns. Is he jealous? 

“Oh, don’t worry, my darling husband, you’re still the only man for me,” you confess dramatically, throwing yourself into his arms and snickering when he pushes you off with a scowl. “Moody,” you tease, helping him hoist up Arus and carrying his body through his door. 

“Took you both long enough,” Obi-Wan says from inside the house. Once inside, Anakin doesn’t bother carrying him, instead just lifting him with the Force into the little chair and flicking his finger so that ropes bind him tightly. 

“Normally, I wouldn’t approve of you using the Force for such a trivial thing, but the Queen looks rather tired from holding him up,” Obi-Wan quips. 

“He’s quite heavy, you know,” you chime, sitting down on the ground. 

“I think it’s best that you and Anakin wait in the speeder outside,” Obi-Wan says. “It would be bad if he wasn’t influenceable and saw you here with me.” You and Anakin shuffle outside at his order, sitting in Anakin’s speeder as you wait for Obi-Wan to do his thing.

“So… is that your type?” Anakin asks, looking out the speeder, past the dim streetlights to the clear Naboo night sky. 

“What?” 

“Guys like him.” You look over at Anakin— at his lean structure, deceptively strong and muscular under his robes— and shake your head. 

“No. Not anymore, at least. I really only chose him because I wanted to do something for once in my life that wasn’t the order of someone else. I learned pretty quickly that that wasn’t the right idea. He was controlling, obsessive, and just downright mean sometimes.” 

“So what is your type?” 

“Why do you wanna know so bad?” You ask curiously, propping your feet up on the dash as you study Anakin’s face. 

“Well, we’ve got time to kill,” Anakin says, fiddling with the keys to the speeder as he avoids eye contact. He does that when he’s nervous. Why is he nervous? This whole interaction is completely puzzling to you, but you think there’s a way that you can mess with Anakin’s head the way he’s messing with yours. 

“Hmm… My type is tall, melodramatic Jedi who go by the name of Anakin Skywalker and are secretly, hopelessly, in love with me,” you tease, leaning over to his seat to pretend to kiss his cheek. He pushes you away with a scowl, glaring at you when you start laughing at his anger. 

“Not funny, milady,” Anakin huffs, crossing his arms.

“I thought it was funny,” You grin, pretending to cross your arms and puffing out a breath in mock irritation. 

“Stop that.”

“No. Not unless you stop being a child.” 

“Why can’t you just answer me honestly?” Anakin asks, a note of seriousness in his voice.

“Anakin…” You sigh, thinking that you have an idea as to what’s going on. Your eyes dart quickly to make sure Obi-Wan’s still inside, then you reach over and put your hand atop his. “If this is about Padme—” 

“It’s not,” Anakin grumbles, but you pay him no heed.

“Since this is about Padme leaving you, because I really don’t believe you, will you let me just say one thing? I’m sure she had her reasons. Padme never does anything that she knows would hurt other people unless she thinks it’s totally necessary.”

“I know that,” Anakin says quietly to himself, the metal paneling of his arm rippling as he flexes and looks at you. In his eyes there’s a softness you don’t find very often, one that’s inviting, that makes you want to pretend for maybe a second that this marriage was real. 

“You’re perfect, Anakin,” you reassure him, lost in the depths of his eyes. Why is it that you can feel every breath of his as if it’s your own? As though his heartbeat itself matches your own, in total synchrony with every part of you. 

“And so are you,” he whispers. You can hear his breath hitch in his throat as he looks at you and you wonder, just for a second, if there’s actually something between the two of you. You can’t be imagining all of this. But it’s over as soon as it started, Obi Wan’s voice snapping the both of you to attention. 

“Milady, you’re going to want to hear this,” Obi-Wan says grimly, the slightest of tremors in his hand as he rakes through his long strands. You don’t know him well enough to say, but the way that Anakin perks up at Obi-Wan’s tone tells you that there’s something big. “The Separatists, they’re not just planning on launching military attacks, they’re planning on attacking the food sources; slaughtering and burning the Shaaks, poisoning the water sources. They’ll have a series of attacks and bomb blasts set up to distract the Naboo Military. They’ll stop at nothing.” 

“Okay. Okay,” You whisper, brought back to reality. Your fantasies of Anakin in some role that he would never play are blinked away as terror seeps in, tinges your view of the future. “We’ll need to ramp up imports of food, and be prepared to maintain a completely safe distribution of food. I’ll leave it under the charge of someone not at the Capital, as I don’t want the spies interfering with our stores of food. As for the water,” You sigh, your mind turning furiously as you think. It’s all coming to a dead end. 

“We can’t let it become like Tatooine, where they have to moisture-farm just to get water,” Anakin interjects coldly. You look over at him to see that distant look in his eyes and you know he’s somewhere else, somewhere horrible. You reach out tentatively to bring him back to you. 

“The water will come later, after the food,” Obi-Wan adds quietly. “Dryskan told me when they’d do it all.” 

“Is there a possibility that he could have fooled us, at all?” You ask fearfully, hands shaking as you think of more blood under your rule, more blood on your hands. You can’t take it anymore. You can’t let what happened, happen again. Anakin seems to read your mind when he places a heavy hand on your shoulder, nodding silently when you turn your head to look at him. He knows what you’re thinking. 

“It can’t hurt to prepare, milady,” Obi-Wan responds. “But not a soul can know of your knowledge of it. They could strike sooner, leaving you no time to prepare.” 

“Get enough food to account for a famine without anyone realizing, get the people in danger out before they can be slaughtered, too, and fend against the increasing Separatist attacks. Sounds like it’ll go without a hitch,” You remark dryly, leaning your head back to close your eyes. “There must be something big. It has to be big, if they’re going this drastic. They’re trying to make Naboo an example, once and for all, and that means that there has to be something big coming our way.” The three of you sit in somber silence, hearts in your gut as worry tenses your muscles. 

“There’s a list of military attacks as well,” Obi-Wan says, breaking the silence. You reach for a slip of paper hidden within the sleeves of your robe

“We can’t write them down. A paper trail could be fatal,” Anakin interjects, placing a hand on your forearm. “I’ll remember them.” 

“You’ll have to act fast,” Obi-Wan responds. “Their next attack is in two days’ time.”

“That’s not enough time to plan a full-scale defense, let alone having to do it all without the Separatists knowing,” you sigh, frustrated. 

“We’ll have to evacuate the civilians, then. And quickly. Let the Separatists attack a deserted town,” Anakin suggests. He’s tired of the bloodshed, and you can’t blame him. You imagine that the blood spilled by the Jedi didn’t often involve the blood of the innocents. 

“If we go now, we could encourage them to evacuate with enough time,” you respond. It doesn’t take much convincing after that, the three of you shrouded by the night as you drive on in tense silence.

~~~

It’s nearly dawn by the time you arrive at the small town. There’s a feeling lingering in the back of your mind, some anxiety that you can’t give shape to with words. But you’ll be fine, you’re certain; if they find out that you and Anakin are missing, you’ll just lie. An early-morning stroll would fit you and Anakin’s dynamic rather well. 

Some of the town’s workforce is up, walking in the dusty roads, illuminated gray by the early morning light. They look at you without suspicion, just a curious indifference. You stop the speeder, donning your palace robes and get out. 

“Good people,” you say, your voice unwavering. You need them to believe you, like how they would if it was Padme telling them instead of you. “I come under the order of the palace. The Queen has knowledge of a Separatist plan that puts you all in grave danger. I’ve been sent here to aid you in evacuating; you are instructed to bring what is most important to you, and the palace will compensate and aid in rebuilding efforts should the town face damages.” You hide your nervousness— you can’t help it if they don’t believe you, but you also can’t tolerate another slaughter. Their faces show no signs of doubt, however; the mere mention of the Separatist forces are enough for most of the galaxy to tremble in fear. The chatter of conversation in response to your warning is slow but steady in its growth; the murmurs of people wondering what to bring, fear of the Separatists borne out of the knowledge of their crimes, and finally the concern for their wages. 

“S’cuse me, ma’am,” one man says, stepping forward. You feel Anakin step forward in response reflexively, moving to guard you from any threat and for some reason, it brings a flutter to your stomach. “How can we trust that what you’re saying is true?”

“You can’t,” you say, a bitter smile pulling at your lips. “But the risk of not trusting me will lead only to death.” 

~~~

“Six months is not enough to hide your thoughts from me, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says to Anakin as they usher the last of the town residents to the speeders, leaving them with the instructions on how to get to the determined shelter. 

“I don’t know what you mean, Master,” Anakin mumbles, helping a child up into a speeder as he avoids Obi-Wan’s eyes. 

“Anakin…” Obi-Wan sighs. “I am glad you have recovered from your heartbreak with Padme. Don’t deny it, young Skywalker, I have eyes and you’re about as subtle as a bantha with a trombone. And of course, with the current Queen, closeness is only natural. You spend every waking moment with her. But can you trust her?” 

“….I don’t need to trust her,” Anakin grumbles, pulling on a loose thread on his shirt. 

“But you do. I see it in the way you look at her, Anakin; it’s more than a mission. And when this is over, will you truly be able to let her go entirely?” Obi-Wan refutes. Anakin can’t answer his pointed question— he doesn’t know how to, because the thought of letting you go feels entirely foreign to him now. At his silence, Obi-Wan sighs, moving to stand next to him as they look at the open, deserted town. 

“I know what the Jedi Code says about attachments, Master. But this… it feels different. I do not covet her, I do not wish to own her; no, it’s that she shows me those parts of me which I hide. She is similar to me, and forces me to be better. I cannot call it love, nor can I say that I can trust her thoughtlessly, but perhaps it is the Force that brought me to her.” Obi-Wan hums, lost in his own thoughts as he internalizes what Anakin said. Anakin wonders briefly how well it is that Obi-Wan understands his words— after all, only a fool would have missed the dynamic between him and Duchess Satine. But part of him knows that it wasn’t entirely truthful— was it not jealousy that drove him to ask you about Arus? Was it not jealousy that he felt when you mentioned having been with another man? Hadn’t he wanted to rip Arus to shreds the second he saw him touching you? Anakin pushes his feelings down, ignoring the churning in his stomach in the hopes that it’ll go unnoticed by Obi-Wan. 

Obi-Wan, after a sizable pause, sighs heavily and nods. “Where is the Queen? You should go find her,” he says to Anakin tiredly. For a second, Anakin feels a twinge of guilt— he doesn’t mean to make Obi-Wan feel as though this is a lesson that he must parrot again and again, but it’s not like that with you. He’s not like that with you. But he swallows it, and goes off in search of you. 

The sun is bright and beating down on him overhead. It’s been hours since you first began evacuating every soul in the town, instructing them and helping them pack. You’re good and it couldn’t be clearer to him. And if you’re good, he’s good. Maybe that’s why he feels more self assured around you— you and him have so many similarities but you seem to live your life without that internal turmoil that Anakin knew for the past few years a little too well. 

As he walks the dusty streets he can hear the telltale sounds of a struggle, the sharp cry of pain which quickens his feet and takes him to the sight of you. He watches, almost frozen in his feet, as you deliver a sharp punch to Reyna’s throat, winding her before you sweep her to the ground in a move that he knows he taught you. A sense of pride fills him before it is overcome with horror— your hands, tangled in Reyna’s hair, slam her skull on the dry, dusty ground over and over again, until her body goes limp. You grab a nearby rock and drive the jagged edge into Reyna’s forehead, a splash of crimson spraying across your face as you look up to meet Anakin’s eyes. 

The look lighting up your eyes brings a sense of familiarity within Anakin, that bloodlust that had clouded his judgment all those months ago when he killed the Sand People. Nausea chokes his throat as he remembers that day, sees you mirror what he must have looked like. And through the fog of his revulsion and fear and regret, he realizes that no one can know what happened. 

“She saw us evacuating the people from the town, she knew we knew, she was gonna expose us,” You babble, still frozen on top of Reyna’s body. “She never trusted me, she never trusted us, she was going to— we would be dead if I hadn’t done it, she wanted us dead,” You plead, trying to rationalize and explain it all to Anakin. You don’t realize that he understands you perfectly.  

“Come on, come on,” he ushers you, getting you away from the body as you begin to shake. 

“What did I do, Anakin?” You whisper, trembling hands reaching to the ground as you try to sink away from his grasp. 

“No. Look at me. My queen, look at me,” he urges, wishing so desperately that he could take away the horrified look in your eyes. “You didn’t do anything. You haven’t seen her since you were in the palace, after which you and I went on a romantic stroll. How did she find you?” He asks, hands resting on your temples as he tries desperately to bring down your panic.  A little feeling of guilt burrows itself within him as he realizes he had never felt this guilty about the people he had killed. Maybe he should have, and that makes him feel worse. 

“She— I forgot to take off all my jewelry, and there was a tracker in one of my bracelets,” you whisper, going to rip off the bracelets. “She woke up this morning and we weren’t at the palace, so she checked the tracker and found us here. She didn’t tell anyone, or she would have brought someone else with her.” Anakin nods, stroking your temples with his thumbs. You close your eyes, murmuring his name in a desperate sob, with a sacredness to his name that he’s never truly heard before. 

Anakin hoists you away from Reyna’s still-warm body, the heat flowing out of her like rivers that seek you out, staining your hands with more blood. He doesn’t want you to deal with this, but fate has left the two of you with no choice. He can’t use the Force— Obi-Wan’s natural distrust of politicians, spies, whatever category you fit into would only make his opinion of you suffer. He’d be able to sense it instantly. And for some reason, Anakin wants him to approve of you. Desperately so, in fact. So he grabs some tools from the front of a nearby home, using some sort of shovel to dig into the dry dirt of the road. Each thud of the shovel radiates pain up his arm and the metal of his hand creaks and complains, but he hardly notices for the fact that the only thing you’ve been able to say is his name, over and over again. You’ve turned him into your anchor, and he can feel it, the vulnerability, the pain, the fear that you’ve become something that can’t be reversed. It’s the same fear that he feels so often, the same fear that he felt after killing the Sand People. And it’s then that Anakin realizes, startlingly, that he’d do anything for you. 

Anything.  

[esseastri]

Latest in bookbinding: THIS IS HOW YOU LOSE THE TIME WAR, by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone.

I’ve been wanting to fancy-up a copy of this book since I got my hands on the ARC, way back in 2019, and finally felt brave enough to try it. And I am PLEASED.

All the items on the back cover are things Red and Blue made letters out of. I found the most perfect marble paper for the endpapers. It took me a solid week to design and draw up all the details. And I love it so much (even the lil imperfection on the spine).

Anyway, I'm having fun, I hope you enjoy this, too!

[harrywavycurly]

The Last Visit: An Eddie Munson Oneshot

TW: Death/dying, mentions of blood, cemetery

A/N: This is pure sadness, but like a tiny tiny tiny hint of happiness if you squint? I’ve had this idea in my head all day and it just seemed interesting and I hope y’all enjoy also sorry I didn’t edit it much I wrote it in one sitting✨

Eddie zips up his jacket as he walks down the worn out path, the only sound he hears is the crunching of leaves beneath his shoes and trees blowing in the slightly chilly autumn breeze. He looks around and can’t help but feel a little sad at how empty it is, he knows it’s an odd time to be here but still he feels as though he shouldn’t be the only one here every time he comes to visit. The moment he turns the corner his eyes land on the reason he’s here, the Hawkins cemetery, he smiles when he sees the flowers he put up last week are still there and haven’t blown away or dried out yet.

“Hey sweetheart.” he whispers as he places his hand on the cold stone. “Miss me?” He asks as he takes a seat on the bench in front of the headstone.

“It’s a little hard to miss someone who doesn’t ever really leave.” Your voice is as clear as day as you lean against the shiny marble stone that has your name etched on the front of it. Eddie just rolls his eyes as you playfully glare at him.

“I don’t want you to get lonely.” Eddie watches as you look around at all the headstones covering the ground of the cemetery.

“I’m not alone Eddie.” You explain as you walk around your headstone and pick up the flowers he had picked just for you. “It’s been six months.” Eddie looks down at his feet as you bring the flowers up to your nose so you can smell them. He doesn’t need to be reminded of how long you’ve been gone, he knows exactly how many weeks, days and hours it’s been since he lost you.

“It feels like it happened yesterday.” His voice is low and you know he’s a few moments from losing it by the way he runs a hand over his face and looks away from you. “I can still hear Harrington’s voice in my ear telling me you’re gone.” His voice cracks as you slide down the front of your headstone so you’re sitting with your back against it as the memories of your last few moments alive flood your mind.

“No no no.” Steve’s voice is frantic as he runs to the middle of the street in front of Family Video where you were headed to start your closing shift. “You’re okay.” You can tell by the way his eyes get wide as they scan over your face and your body that he’s lying. You can’t feel much as you lay in the middle of the intersection’s crosswalk, Steve carefully lifts your head so it’s resting in his lap.

“It’s just a scratch right?” You mumble and Steve just nods his head as a few tears slip down his cheeks.

“Yeah just a scratch.” He repeats as he grabs your hands and holds them in his, you can hear sirens in the distance but you know they’ll be too late because you can feel the warmth of the blood coming from your head now covering Steve’s lap.

“Tell him,” you find it hard to speak but Steve just holds onto you tighter as he nods to try to encourage you to keep going. “I love him so much.” You feel your eyes water as tears freely fall down your face. “And I’m sorry I won’t be home for dinner.” Steve looks away from you as he tries to hold himself together.

“I’ll tell him.” He promises as he looks at you one last time before you feel everything beginning to go dark. “It’s okay.” Is the last thing you hear Steve say before your eyes close for the last time.

“I’m sorry.” Is all you can say as you look over at Eddie who is already staring right back at you as a single tear rolls down your cheek. “But you can’t just keep coming here Eddie you need to try to move on.” Eddie lets out a sigh of frustration as he stands up.

“Move on? How the fuck am I supposed to move on when my wife was taken from me by some asshole on a random ass Tuesday afternoon on her way to work?” You let him get it all out because you know he’s been holding it in for a while. “It makes no fucking sense so that’s why I can’t move on.” He runs a hand through his hair as he looks at your headstone. “Why’d it have to be you? Of all the people in the world why are you the one that had to die that day?” You stand up and drop the flowers letting them land right in front of your name.

“It was going to happen eventually.” You know that’s not what he wanted to hear as he takes a step closer to your headstone. “You deserve to be out there living your life not hanging out with dead people.” You fight the urge to reach out and touch him but you know it’s pointless because he can’t feel you.

“You know she looks just like you.” You smile at the mention of your daughter. “Sometimes a little too much but in a good way.” Eddie reaches into his back pocket so he can grab his wallet.

“Better me than you right? Isn’t that what Wayne would say.” Eddie just chuckles as he shakes his head, he opens the wallet and holds up a photo of your little girl who just turned two almost three weeks ago. “If you needed a reason to move on and start living your life to the fullest you have the biggest one in your hand right now.” Eddie looks down at the photo and smiles at his little girl’s big goofy grin on her cake covered face. “She needs you.” You watch him bend down and place the photo next to the flowers by your headstone.

“I love you.” Eddie swallows back the lump in his throat as he looks at your name etched in the stone.

“I love you too.” You answer as you move so you’re back behind your headstone. “Moving on doesn’t mean you love my any less Eddie.” Eddie turns so he can look at you as you speak. “It just means you’re making room to let others in.” You give him your best reassuring smile making him just nod because you’re right, as usual. “This is our last visit.” Eddie knew this moment would come, where he’d stop being able to see you and it would become all too real that you’re actually gone.

“I’m not ready.” He knows he sounds like he’s begging but he doesn’t care, you feel his sadness and it’s overwhelming making tears flow down your cheeks. “I can’t do this without you.”

“You already are.” Your voice is soft and sweet as it flows into Eddie’s ears. “You’re going to be okay Eddie.” You look away from him as you begin yourself starting to fade. “I’ll check in on you two from time to time.” Eddie just nods as he wipes at his cheeks with the back of his wrist.

“I love you.” Is all he can saw as he watches you give him one last smile as you fade away and eventually disappear. “I’ll always love you.” He whispers as he places a hand on top of your headstone. He stays there for a few more minutes before he looks at his watch and sees it’s almost time for him to go pick his daughter up from your mom’s house so the two of them can go have dinner with Wayne.

“See you later sweetheart.” Is all he says before he turns and begins his walk back towards his car. Eddie knows this is the last time he’ll come visit you for a while and deep down he knows you’re somewhere smiling down at him because you’re right, he needs to start living life again but not just for himself but for the little girl that calls him dad.

[chigirisprincess]

　 ˚ ᡴꪫ You Could Be Mine Tonight; Interlude I

— Chigiri Hyōma

⊹ Details. 18+ minors dni, gn!afab!reader, chigiri puts the go in egoist, first meetings, author self insert, selfship lore heavy, reader is italian-american living in italy, set in verona, some italian dialogue, first meetings, ⊹ Run time. 1.4k ⊹ Note. Fawn is back again with yet another series of sorts. This is my selfship lore with mister Chigiri Hyōma and will be expanded upon whenever I am inspired so enjoy! <3

The fair city of Verona fed the romantic daydreamer that crawled into the deep recesses of your chest as a child. In spite of spending your last six months settling in, you couldn’t fathom ever tiring of waltzing through the old, cobbled streets and imagining the lives led by those living over five hundred years ago in the middle ages. Idling wonder if they too ran their fingertips across the smooth, rosy marbled walls. Or, if they gazed upon the stars while resting in the Piazza dei Signori as you did when your red wine tinged evenings drew to a close.

You supposed the reality of those living all those years ago were far more bleak than proposed by the Middle English romances you studied during your undergraduate. Still, it didn’t mean you couldn’t imagine a display of courtly love spilling over the aged edge of Juliet’s balcony; a gallant knight who was far more romantic than the whiny Romeo, and a demure lady who was more akin to a blossomed flower than a person. With the sky, a most remarkable shade of blue– far more dazzling than anything you’d seen back home– and the scent of sweet flowers carried on the breeze, it was difficult not to lose your thoughts within a fairytale-like dream.

A rich waft of freshly brewed espresso rouses you from your thoughts, bringing you back to the small café you’ve made into your home for the afternoon. Sparing a glance back to your laptop where your latest novel sits open, you sigh before snapping it shut. As romantic as Verona was, your fantasies failed to inspire an ending to the chapter you’ve spent the last month working on. You blamed the lack of direction on your recent move, halfway across the world from North America to Europe but in the droll truth you suspected your lack of romantic experience was beginning to impede upon your ability to write a romance novel. Shoving your things into your bag, you offered a wave to the barista before clearing out.

The next building over was calling your name.

It was a small, family owned bookstore that had been passed down at least six generations and resided between two restaurants. The current owner, Signor Fiorentino seemed perpetually miffed by the constant racket amassed by the staff when on break but was always amenable when offered fresh biscotti. Which was precisely why you picked up an extra one at the café in case you decided to head over.

The small bell above the door rings as it opens, announcing your presence, “Ciao signore!” You greet, shuffling through the cramped rows of shelving. 

A smile tugs at your lips as you reach the small checkout counter where he sits. Signor Fiorentino is perched upon a well worn stool, thumbing through a copy of today's newspaper.

“Buonasera Signorina,” he grins at the sight of you, his smile growing wider when he takes notice of the biscotti in your hand, “Is that for me?”

You hold your hand out in response, passing it over to him, “You know it is,” you say, resting your elbows on the counter, “So, have you gotten anything new in stock?”

Your hopeful tone dwindles when Fiorentino narrows his eyes at you.

“Buttering  me up with sweets are you?”

“What! No!” You frown, “But … I was wondering if you’d heard back about that custom bound copy of Romeo and Juliet?”

The expression he wears tells you he hasn’t. With a sigh, he shakes his head, “The seller says it's on their backlog and they’ll get back to me soon.”

You wear your emotions on your face as if it were your favourite sweater, never one to masterfully disguise the disappointment you felt. It was your greatest flaw that loved to rear its ugly head at the most inopportune moments. Like now. The corners of your mouth dipped into a petulant frown, your bottom lip jutting out. You became a mirror image to the kindergarteners you taught English to. They were cuter than you when they did it.

“Cara mia do not stress!”

Sometimes, he speaks to you as if he were your family. You allow him to far more often than you should. He reminded you of your nonno, you supposed that you reminded him of his children and grandchildren who had long since immigrated to North America. Reaching over the small counter, he rests a weathered, spotty hand onto your forearm.

“I’m not,” you mutter with a small sigh, “I’m just frustrated.”

He gives your arm a sympathetic squeeze.

“I know.”

Returning his smile, you turn to the dozens of book lined shelves in search of something to satiate the burn of disappointment you wished to mask. Your fingers graze against the lip of the dust covered shelves as you pass through them, floating around the shop as though you were a spectre rather than a customer. You settle in front of the stack of mediaeval literature. Pursing your lips, you tilt your head to get a better view of the title, Amorosa Visione. A long, narrative poem. It wasn’t exactly your first pick, you much preferred Middle English romances but you needed to branch out every once in a while. Pulling the book off the shelf, you took a step backwards as you skimmed the blurb printed on the back.

Another step backward causes you to bump into another person.

So engrossed in your reading, you hadn’t noticed they joined you in the aisle. Dipping your head down in apology, you offer them a smile.

They scoff, looking you up and down.

“I’m sorry,” you apologise, hoping they spoke English, “I didn’t see you there.”

His expression only worsens, “Yeah, right like I’m supposed to believe that,” he snips in English, flicking a strand of bright red hair from his eyes. 

He turns toward you, standing with their arms crossed over his chest. His sunglasses slip down his nose as he peers at you. You blink in shock, face warming at the sight of him. He was pretty, unfairly so. With long, pretty lashes that frame sharp magenta eyes which cut right through you with his glare. Shaking your head, you remind yourself that he was a jerk who was irrationally annoyed over you accidentally bumping into him.

“I … I don’t understand what you mean,” you frown, “It was an accident, I promise I wouldn’t bump into a stranger on purpose.”

“You don’t recognise me?” The man asks, pushing his sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose with his middle finger.

You shift uncomfortably under his gaze. He seems to pick you apart with his clipped words and harsh stare as if he were given hours to scrutinise each miniscule part of you rather than a few measly minutes.

“Am I supposed to?” You cock your head to the side, “Are you an influencer or something?”

You give him a once over, taking in his attire. He was dressed fairly casually but still looked rather put together. The accent that shrouded his words told you that he too wasn’t from Verona, but nothing in the way he carried himself struck any ounce of familiarity. The arrogance and accusation that lingered in his narrowed gaze seemed to align with your view of celebrities and micro influencers. 

Disgust flashes in his eyes,“No, I’m a professional soccer player,” he explains, “Manshine City, ever heard of it?”

“Okay …”

“I thought all Italians were huge soccer fans,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders.

You stifle an eye roll,“That’s a kinda a misconception like how not all Canadians are obsessed with hockey and say “aboot”” your comment doesn’t elicit a laugh like you hoped it would, instead he gives you a strange look, “Besides, even if it wasn’t we tend to be pretty nationalistic.” 

“Right.”

A lull passes between the two of you before he speaks again.

“I apologise,” he says, almost begrudgingly, “For assuming you were some desperate fan.”

Biting back a snarky remark, you laughed to yourself. Were all athletes this full of themselves? 

“No apology needed.”

He purses his lips before nodding his head.

“Just uh, don’t give the shop owner the same attitude unless you want to be chased out of here with a broom.”

The corners of his lips quirk up into the smallest of smiles, “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

Tucking your book beneath your arm, you slink out of the aisle with a relieved sigh. You hoped, whatever other soccer players that may have been crawling about this fair city were certainly less egotistical than him.

© all content belongs to dearbraus. do not modify, repost, or redistribute.

networks; @houseofsolisoccasum @interstellar-inn

[the-s1lly-corner]

Hey thanks for accepting this ask. So what I wanted to ask is how the amazing digital circus crew would react to a reader who's a strong hero...that's incredibly optimistic, dense and Guilable thinking that the world acts like a cartoon/comic sometimes

TADC cast x comic hero type reader!

meant to start knocking out these last two requests earlier this morning but i had to clean up the house a bit; but im finally getting onto it! reminder that requests are currently closed and any requests sent in will not be answered and will be deleted to keep the inbox clean; so please keep your requests until i announce theyre open again! plan on taking a day or two off to rest my brain n back as well as catching up on art and my own personal fic. the requests being answered currently were sent in prior to requests closing with that said, i hope you enjoy this anon!!

CAINE:

honestly i think caine would be the same way, not exactly but i think he would some of the cluelessness in terms of how the real world works... except its mostly with the non digital real world; call it inexperience or something! lets you play hero during the IHA.. honestly you kind of fit right in with your personality, with tropes and being a stereotypical comic book hero, if not a little naïve. pretends he doesnt recognize you when you walk around in your "citizens disguise"

likes coming up with villain npcs for you to fight during adventures

POMNI:

initial confusion when she sees you just walking around with a tie plastered to your chest, asks you what its for as well as dropping your name. even more shocked that youre shocked that she knows who you are. kind of just accepts this is a thing you do and doesnt question it, especially as she settles into the digital world.. at least youre handy during IHA.. i think during my little break i might try to figure out how i wish to right pomni because i really do wish i made her stuff more... interesting

RAGATHA:

honestly i think she would make you stuff to add to your disguise. doesnt want to shatter the illusion for you so she just tries to casually give you stuff out of the kindness of her heart... which isnt... totally wrong.. honestly i dont think she would try to change you or bring up the bad disguise thing so long as its not somehow putting you in danger. in fact i think she finds your whole hero personality endearing, you guys are both optimistic and its nice to be around someone who isnt just. losing their marbles or being a dick.. plus, you arent technically wrong to view the digital world as a cartoon, i mean, look at it and look at the physics of the world and all

JAX:

oh he is going to be a menace, probably makes a joke villain persona to mess with you only for you to immediately gun for him and deal with his "evil antics",, i mean hey as long as jax doesnt put his silly little villain mask back on you wouldnt suspect a thing... maybe... i think he would roll his eyes at some of the things you say, since youre way more optimistic and out there than ragatha... probably uses your gullible..ness... as a means to trick you

KINGER:

honestly the "as a royal myself" line he dropped in the pilot makes me think that at some level he believes himself to be a real king; or maybe he was just REALLY playing into his whole theming and he knows hes just some dude but was trying to appeal to the gloink queen... what im trying to say is that i think there might actually be a solid chance he fully leans into your hero thing, and perhaps even falls for your disguise (if him constantly forgetting gangle is standing right next to him says anything about his observation skills and/or mental state)

ZOOBLE:

similar to jax but also not. finds your optimism a little too much sometimes; especially if youre very outwardly social and friendly so its not like you swoop in to do your hero duties but you also stop to talk to the 'civilians' of the circus.. though unlike jax they wouldnt try to trick you, nor do i think they would exactly be mean to you. a little irritable by your energy and attitude, maybe, but i think zooble gets irritated by almost everyone in the circus.. reluctantly plays along with your disguise

GANGLE:

i think she would be into it, probably draws you in your non-disguise outfit. you get fanart, yay! probably similar to pomni in the whole, just accepts how you are both as a person and with your antics, but i think she just accepts everything everyone else does! not much to say, shes a fan of it and if you stand up for her when jax is mean thats just an added bonus for her