#i love you bunchesss

[thefixeraa]

* @absensia , dire situations : " this is real , i'm real , look at me . "

QUESTION: what makes up the human soul? the way it could be spun, is that the soul is made up of four elements, compassion, forgiveness, mercy, compassion, and lastly ( but more importantly! ) RATIONALITY. here is another question: what happens if you loose all four, or maybe — you didn't have them to begin with? the world seems to be still ... and the fixer hangs in the balance between teetering off the edge of sanity ( or sane enough to be pulled back from it. ) she can't quite place herself. where she is, who she's with. can't even make out what's in front of her, all she sees is black. she can barely make out the sound of her name, but the static in her head grows louder and louder.

this moment is like an outer body experience. IS SHE DEAD? it could be possible that her soul, or what was left of it, was watching the scene from above. if true however, wouldn't she know what's going on? all she knows is that whatever she's doing, she's doing it involuntarily ... ( blunt object in hand, she brings it up and forces it down. up and down. UP AND DOWN ... ) mia can withstand pain, and often turn it into pleasure. she has seen things and even done things that not many can do. there are some things in this world, some people, that could make her skin crawl. rage has a new form, and it takes it's form of a woman covered with blood. unhinged isn't exactly what you'd describe mia in this moment, but for now? it's a pretty damn good start.

she is pulled, and she fights back. SHE IS LOST IN HER MADNESS, so why not let her feel it? it isn't like mia to loose her rationality, her humanity on the other hand was something that came and went. when slipping into the role as the fixer, MIA DI SALVO IS GONE ( though was she ever really here to begin with? ) she doesn't stop until she is satisfied, and when she does, she slips back against a bookcase. sickened by her own wickedness. it's only then that she realizes whose been calling out to her. charlotte ... " i'm ... " a breathless word, THE ONLY WORD — slips from her parted lips. in between the labor of her breathing, and the slow realization of what she's done. " fuck. "

[mrsoharaa]

Ohh Stolas...you deserve soo so much better pretty bird :((

[acatalystrising]

Okay, so there’s been SO MUCH lovely Boba content lately, and it has been giving me SO many thots! So many, in fact, I simply must share some of them here. And by some, I mean specifically dom, brat tamer!Boba thots. So you’ve been warned. Hehe.

@daimyosprincess @thirsty-boba-fett-posts and @marierg - ALL of you are responsible (in all the best ways I love you guys bunchesss) so feel free to jump in here if you wish hehe, as well as anyone else who is interested!

NSFW below the cut, minors DNI.

• I just KNOW Daimyo Boba could handle a brat. Yes, he’s a bit older (like that’s really going to stop him) and more scarred. But, but…that man is not built like the broadside of a barn with a voice like liquid sin for no reason. Boba likes a good challenge, always has, and that definitely would still be the case for the bedroom.

• He would secretly love the fact that you feel safe enough with him to push your luck. He knows of his reputation - hell, he forged it that way on purpose. You are safe with him, and he with you, something that has been built over time. And because if this, you absolutely would test his patience and push every button you could to get a rise out of him. And oh boy, do you get a rise.

• Boba likes you feisty. He likes it when you fight back. Boba is equal parts gentle and rough - a duality that can swing either direction depending on the moment. But when he gets rough…you’d better expect there to be marks. Small bruises, hickeys, you name it. But only if you want. In this case, you do. You love carrying his marks, little reminders to you and everyone else that you are his alone.

• And you better bet that Boba knows how to tame a brat. You think you’ve got the upper hand? Wrong. The man was a bounty hunter for years. There is no way you get in and out of that profession without a few kinks. (Or a lot.) Binders? Pressure points? Restraint? Bingo. But his greatest weapon in this sort of situation is something you initially underestimated and are now dearly paying for…his voice.

• Boba is a KING at dirty talk. The man loves making you squirm, and he knows you have a thing for his voice (how could you not?) and shamelessly uses that to his full advantage.

• So how could this all play out? I’m glad you asked. Here’s a little snippet below, feel free to add your thots!

-

“Think you’re so clever now, princess?”

A sharp whine bubbled from your lips even as you struggled underneath him, panting breaths fogging his visor. His grip on your arms tightened as he pulled them further over your head, big hands not giving you an ounce of wiggle room to escape.

“Oh, come on, I was just teasing.” You swallowed, but it felt like your heart was working it’s way up your throat. “You don’t seriously think I’m just going to give up without a-”

Boba shifted both of your wrists to one hand, the other removing his helmet with a hiss, then slipping around your throat. You were caged beneath him, underwear already soaked, his weight pressing you into the bed. And his hand at your throat? You could barely string a sentence together.

“Keep talking and your punishment will only be worse.” His breath was hot on your ear, lips mere centimeters from your skin. He caressed your throat with a lone finger, and you shivered. “You want kisses? Want me to fuck you senseless?”

You nodded, sweat beading on your forehead, a moan ripping from your throat when he licked your ear, nibbling on it with a growl.

“Mesh’la,” his eyes found yours - they were sinfully dark, commanding. A cunning smirk curved on his lips like a knife. “Use your words.”

“Oh gods, just fuck me,” you wriggled beneath him, purposefully shifting so your thighs rubbed against his swelling erection. Two could play this game, after all. “You win. Fuck me.”

But Boba Fett, damn him, only shook his head with a cluck of his tongue, lowering his face to the crook of your neck. He pinned you with ease, stopping even the slightest of squirms, yet again reminding you exactly how kriffing strong he was, and who you were dealing with.

As if you could ever forget.

“Use your manners. Only good girls get what they want,” his tone was teasing, dripping with mirth, victory, and something altogether deadly. He pressed a kiss to your pulse point. “What’ll it be? Can my little brat say please?”

You whined - maker, kriffing, whined. A war waged in your flustered brain between the urge to push back and the desire for him to fill you. Boba chuckled, licking a stripe up your neck.

“Aww, can’t use your words, hmm?” He shifted to pull away with an indifferent shrug. “Well that’s too bad.”

Oh maker no. He wouldn’t.

He would.

“No, wait!” You leaned forward, cheek pressing against his chest armor with a whimper. “Please, I…I’ll be good. I won’t cause any more trouble. Just…fuck me. Please please fuck me. I can’t, can’t…”

Boba smirked down at you, absolutely relishing his effect on you, and moved his hand at your throat to your cheek.

“Oh, poor thing,” his tone was absolutely dripping with pseudo mockery as he gave your cheek a pinch. “So flustered you can’t think? And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

“Boba, please…” you squeezed your eyes shut, breaths nearly a sob. “Please, please, I need you. Need you so bad.”

“Hmm, well,” Boba’s eyes flashed predatory in the dark, lips curving in a victorious grin. “If you insist.”

His hand on your cheek slid down your body and between your legs, and he chuckled when he felt the evidence of your arousal at his fingertips.

“Poor little princess,” he kissed you, keeping you pinned down, fingers circling your clit. “So needy. So desperate. All for me.”

“Y-yes, all for you,” you tried to nod, words choking to moans when he slipped one of his thick digits inside you. “Only you.”

You were so wet you could hear the slick of his fingers against your flesh, Boba’s heartbeat thundering in your ears, his breaths ragged - hot and needy and desperate. You once again found yourself marveling at his restraint. How he could hold himself back at all was a…

He slipped a second finger inside you, curling them to your stomach, striking that devastating spot inside you with such accuracy it had you wriggling beneath him with a loud cry. Pleasure grew like a furnace, steadily growing hotter and hotter, until it overflowed in a spray of fiery sparks and phthalo phosphorescence - all captured in your guttural cry as you careened over the edge.

When you finally came back to your senses, Boba was holding you close to his chest, his beskar blissfully cool against your burning skin. He ran a gentle hand through your hair, chuckling when you leaned into his touch.

“Ahh,” he pressed a kiss to your cheek, tone low, teasing. “So she can be a good girl after all.”

You halfheartedly grumbled, cheeks heating in a wild blush, and curled against him with a sigh. A rumbling chuckle reverberated through his chest as he cupped your chin, directing your gaze at his.

“Catch a breath, little one,” he kissed you once, then twice, then again, mouth searingly hot like a branding iron. “Because I’m not through with you, yet.”

[theworldofotps]

This is absolutely perfect babes thank you so very much I love it! Truly blew me away, I love you thank you for your friendship, I’m so thankful and grateful to call you friend love you bunchesss🥰🥰🥰💕❤️❤️😘😭

Better Of Two Evils

Summary: After Damian’s flirty nature comes to life, you’re left to deal with its aftermath with no other than the Demon King and his Human vessel.

Pairings: Bálor x F!Reader x Finn

Warnings: +18, smut, slight heresy, mentions of worship, p in v, oral (f receiving), curse words, slight dom x sub.

A/N: This is my birthday gift for the amazing @theworldofotps , she wanted a sequel to Salome so I hope you like it, babe. I wish you nothing but the best in your new journey and I hope it’s filled with all good things one can have in life! I love you so much, thank you for being my friend, and for being one of the most amazing people I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet in my life. You truly deserve the world and I hope you have an amazing day love ya.

Tags: @theworldofotps , @writtingrose , @daddyhausen , @melissahausen , @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @sultryfandoms , @new-zealand-chic , @crowleysqueenofhell , @thealliasylum , @legit9thlunaticwarrior , @mjfass , @josiewrites , @seeingstarks , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch , @whenimakeitshine1234 , @moxkindagirl , @sunshinevirus , @im-just-a-mississippi-girl , @ripleyswhore

Of Damian’s flirty nature, you were already aware of, not only because of Finn’s endless warnings but also because you’ve witnessed the Puerto Rican man’s charm over women a handful of times now.

Damian flirts with everyone, literally everyone. No matter the age, gender, or ethnicity, he always found a way to captivate whomever he interacted with. And it was no different with you.

“Wow, mami” Damian whistled when you entered through the club’s back door. “You’re gonna give a man a heart attack”.

Your outfit was less than impressive, since it was a low night at the club you decided for a more casual look: a navy blue velvet tracksuit, along with a pair of black All Stars summed up your outfit for the night.

“Always a charmer, huh?” You chuckled, unaware that Finn was approaching you from behind.

“What can I say?” Damian smirked “A beautiful woman has the power to bring out the best in me”

“And your best is to be an ultimate flirt?” You narrowed your eyes playfully

“When it comes to you, yeah” the amused wide grin on Damian’s face was more than enough to make you giggle.

“You’re a menace, sir”

“Sir?” His eyes widened in surprise, not wasting the opportunity to tease you further. “Mami, if you’re gonna start calling me that then we just might have to go upstairs right now” Damian winked at you with a smirk plastered on his lips. “I’ll even rent the VIP room, just for you”.

Now you have to laugh. A little more than you should’ve, but who could blame you? The guy had great timing and impeccable humor.

“Wow, how could I say no to that” Your nonchalant tone left no room for doubt that you took his teasing in an amicable way, similar to two siblings poking fun at each other, you had no intentions of taking this to a more intimate level, and neither did Damian. It was all lighthearted. Everyone knew that, everyone could see that, except them. To them, this suddenly became a pissing contest, a dispute, a challenge. One they never lost and didn’t intend to lose.

“The shipping of new furniture arrived this morning, Priest”. The doubled voice resonated from your lover’s body, the tenor contrasting with the bass as both voices complimented each other with each word. “Go unpack it…now”.

“Isn’t that Dominik’s j-“

“I said NOW!” The bass voice screamed, settling its dominance. Finn’s eyes began to shift colors. One remained blue as the other turned a fierce shade of orange-red.

“Ok, Boss” Damian set his hands up as a sign of submission. “Chill out”.

Before Damian could even blink, Finn stood in front of him. His face got so close to Damian’s that they almost seemed the same height.

“If you ever dare to tell me to ‘chill out’ again, those will be your last words in this pitiful earth before you become hellhound’s breakfast!” The demon left no room for debate. Bálor learned how to tolerate humans after being in Finn’s body for over 40 years, that didn’t mean he liked them or that he wouldn’t kill one for fun. The only human Bálor seemed to truly like was you, but that could easily change if his pride is on the line.

“Bálor, he was just-“

“Silence!” He growled at you, voice bubbling with hatred, “If you dare to speak one word to defend him, little girl, you’ll know a side of me that you’ll wish you’d never met!” His fiery gaze fixed on you as he pointed to Finn’s room. “Go and wait for us there, and don’t make me repeat myself!”.

Reluctantly, you walked up the stairs, mouthing “I’m sorry” to Damian as you reached the top.

If there was a god, you were praying to him now, silently begging him not to let Bálor hurt Damian just because of a lighthearted teasing.

“He doesn’t listen to anyone’s prayers, why would he listen to yours?” Bálor’s voice rumbled in your ear, quickly making you turn around to face him at the foot of the bed.

“Do you think you’re that special, pet?”

Oh, he was mad.

At first, when you met him, Bálor called you “pet”, it was a deprecating term at the time, filled with disdain. But after a while, you became “little girl” when he was in a good mood, “my pet” when he was annoyed with you, and “pet” when he was mad at you.

“Are you God's precious little thing? That’s why you think He’ll hear you, huh?” When only silence answered him, Bálor growled loudly “Answer me!”

“No-“ Your voice was cut off by the sudden pressure of Finn’s hand amplified by Bálor’s strength around your neck.

“Good. Because HE won’t hear you! You belong to a demon and a human, the only god you should ever pray for is ME! I’m the only one who’ll hear you, and when you do pray, make sure to keep your eyes down on the earth where I am, because I’m not up in the sky, pet. Your help won’t come from up there, so stop searching in the clouds!” His hand abruptly left your neck, causing you to give two steps back due to the lack of force around your throat.

“Kneel”

Your brows furrowed at his statement, trying to understand the reason for that order.

“You were praying, weren’t you? Humans usually do that on their knees, no?! So go on, pet, kneel at your god’s feet and pray”.

“Bálor, please, let me-“

“I.said.kneel.and.pray”

Bálor pushed you down on the floor, making your knees hit the black hardwood floor with a thump. A small cry escaped your lips, your watery eyes looked up to stare at him, who had now taken full control of Finn’s body. His thick veins were black, red irises, canines sharp as razors, hair jet black, and nails tainted black at the edge.

You hoped to every sacred being that your next move wouldn’t anger him even more, but you remember when Finn once told you “Bálor is like an ice cube, cover him with some warmth and you’ll watch him melt”.

“Can I please touch you?” You asked with a meek voice, but he didn’t answer. You took this as a silent green light and pressed your palms against his torso.

“I didn’t mean to enrage you, my lord, I’m deeply sorry”. The correct word to use would be ‘upset’ instead of ‘enrage’, but Bálor didn’t deal with feelings and vulnerability well so you knew how to choose your words wisely by now.

“But trust me when I say that there was no ill intention on my part nor from Damian” You felt his abs harden at the mention of the name, the color of Bálor’s eyes began to dance like the most aggressive fire and your hands soon began to travel up and down his stomach, using touch to soothe his raw emotions.

“You’re the only one for me. You and Finn are the only men I’ll ever want, the only men I’ll ever need. I don’t want anyone else” Your hands began to travel down his abs, reaching his v-line that you traced with your nails. “Only you can satisfy me, only you can drive me insane with just a look”.

Your hands now stopped at his black jeans, one hand began massaging his crotch as the other caressed his lower belly - the most sensitive part of Bálor. “Only you can make me ache for you for days on end, only you know how to make me cum in mere seconds, only you can make me so hungry for your touch that I feel like I’m about to lose my mind if I don’t have you”.

“I don’t like when you respond to the flirtation of other men, pet”

“Damian flirts even with the walls, sir. He flirted with you, countless times” You tried to reason, feeling his cock begin to harden underneath the black jeans.

Bálor let out a small huff as you continued “Am I lying though? You know he did, with both you and Finn. And I always laughed at it because I knew there was no ill intention behind it. In the same way, there was none between him and me. You know that” You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss on his clothed erection, “You’re the only one for me, my king”.

“On the bed” Bálor lowly hummed, cupping his hard cock with his palm.

You felt someone pushing you onto the bed from behind, panic covered your features until you saw who it was.

“You’re gonna join us?” Your soft smile pressed against the bare skin of his abs. His hands gathered your hair, softly pulling your head down to rest on the mattress.

His hand pulled the zipper of your jacket down, humming in approval at the sight of your bare breast.

“Came prepared I see” Finn grinned, head leaning down to close his warm mouth around your nipple.

“My good little pet” Bálor spoke from your right, the bed dipped as he knelt on the mattress. His hand pressed your cheeks together, causing your lips to open in a partial pout. “Let’s see how much you can handle it” He chuckled, grabbing you by the hair to quickly turn you around to lay on your stomach.

Your vision was blurred, your voice hoarse from so much screaming and cursing. Two became one, same body, same face, different details. One was sweet and sensual, the other was rough and raw. They were the perfect match, both drove you crazy in their way. The sun and the moon, night and day, dark and light, good and evil, residing within the same man, one born in hell, the other, heaven sent. Either way, you loved the duality, loved the experience, and most importantly, loved them.

“Shit, shit, shit” You whispered in a hurry as Bálor rapidly moved behind you, his cock slipped in and out with such ease that made you wonder how long you could take this.

In the meantime, Finn watched you, his hand lazily stroking his cock beside you in bed, admiring every little frown, every gasp, every moan, every plea. Your eyes instantly closed when Bálor hit your sweet spot, but they instantly reopened at the prickling feeling on your cheek.

“I didn’t say you could stop looking at him!” Bálor stated, landing another burning slap against your cheek, “Don’t you dare close those beautiful eyes, my pet”.

Finn smirked, leaning forward, placing his flattened tongue against the burning skin of your cheek. He gave a few kitten licks until the skin lost its vibrant reddish color, “You taste so good”, he licked again, only changing the route of his tongue.

Finn danced the tip of his tongue across your skin, traveling down your belly, stopping right above your mound. Bálor grinned at the sight, pulling your leg to rest on his shoulder.

“Oh my fucking god” You moaned loudly, feeling the tip of Finn’s tongue circling your clit as Bálor’s cock grew harder inside you. “I’m gonna die, I can’t take it”.

“Of course you can, love” Finn’s muffled voice echoed between your legs.

“Not only you can but you will, my precious pet” Bálor snarled in your ear “Because we won’t be done with you until the sun rises”.

[heymonty]

I hope you know how much seeing your blog every afternoon makes my day. Like it’s the little things in life that keep me going, and you’re definitely one of them. Please stick around.

*blushes hard* OMG! you guys are the sweetest! (*´ω｀*) same here tbh. you're existence also makes why this blog happens and keeps me going. and same here, i wish to say for this blog as long and for you guys to stick up w me too. x

[maximotts]

mom help the weird pikachu dude ad keeps popping up and its s c a r i n g me 😭😭 mom please come get me im scared 😭😂

also hi mottsmottsapplesauce i love you bunchesss i hope your days are going wellll!!! but seriously i am: scared of it its like a jump scare 🥲

I know lizbear, I hate it too 😭😭 I want it goneeee, it just keeps POPPING UP at at this point I’d rather have the nutsack product ads

I love you tooooo, I hope you’re having a nice night 🥰🥰

[yelenaslyubov]

HELLO JUST STOPPED BY TO SAY I LOVE YOU SWEETHEART. I MISS YOU WAKE UP SOON.

Ps I can’t wait to spend forever with you

oh my love you have no idea how much i miss you my heart hurts so bad

and i can’t wait for you to be here and i can’t wait to spend forever waking up to that cute face of yours��🥺i love you bunchesss

[shes-outta-sight]

Just stopping by to say heeeeyyyyy love youuuuuuuu cutie pie sunshine girl! xox

hey pretty girl, i was literally just thinking about you! i was daydreaming about our meetup, the girl in the meme is definitely me 😂 seriously the only thing getting me through these next 2 weeks of school. hope you are doing well and as always, i love you bunchesss!!! 💕💜💞💝❤️ 

[mentalitynotes]

✨ I think your portrayal is on point, but it also intimidates me (not as much as it used now I know you better! tbh I couldn't see myself rping with another Kristen Bell FC ) 🎉 We’ve been mutuals for ages, and this makes me so happy! (Pretty much since I started on here! 3 years and counting :3 ) 💌 I just think you’re amazing (both in general and on rp x infinity)

Symbols for the mun @thegallantspirit​

✨ I think your portrayal is on point, but it also intimidates me And now you’ve become part of the story! 🎉 We’ve been mutuals for ages, and this makes me so happy! <3 Love you bunchesss 💌 I just think you’re amazing

[browneyes-issac]

You're welcome x infinityyyy!! 💞😘 Ahhh, that makes me all 🥰!! Noteddd! 🤣📝💞 Completely agree with the gasp, did amazing!!

Same, I loved everything about it, Layla is the absolute best! 💞 Preachhhh!! I've always agreed with that, yes the bad boy type is nice and all, but the sweet mushy side of a man/person is sooo attractive and precious! 😍💞 He did so amazing with dealing with it, so sooo inspiring and attractive as you said because seeing a man being mushy and sweet is so beautiful. 💞

Youre welcome bunchesss! 😘

RED FLAGS 3

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader (hints of Marc Spector x female reader)

Summary: For the first time since that night, Steven sleeps over, but it might not be him you wake up with in your bed. Or alternatively: Marc makes a dramatic ass entrance.

Warning/content: unease around male character, distinct lack of smex... (I know trust me when I say that I am the one most surprised by this).

Word Count: 4.6k

[PART ONE] [Series Masterlist] [Main Masterlist]

For a man with a sleeping disorder, Steven sleeps like a baby, seemingly without a care in the world. 

Despite his insistence that he wanted to stay up and marathon Blue Planet together, the poor man fell asleep on you (literally) not even twenty minutes in, right around when the crabs were playing football on the beach. 

Honestly, it’s a miracle he managed to fall asleep at all in this position. He’s slumped over at an entirely awkward angle, head and shoulders nearly severed at a 90 degree angle, his cheek resting heavily on your shoulder.

Not that you mind. Sitting with him like this in your dimly-lit flat, as his shoulders rise and fall in sync with the sound of waves from the telly, is oddly comforting. Almost meditative. It would be nice if the two of you could do this together every night. Falling asleep together and waking up together, just like every other normal couple. 

You reach down, brushing a stray curl that’s fallen into his eyes, and just marvel at him for a long second. 

He looks so good like this, free from the tension that is constantly plaguing him. Not for the first time, you think to yourself how unfairly pretty he is. Golden skin, sharply defined cheekbones, curved lashes thick enough to make any woman envious. He’s a gift shop-ist, not a bloody supermodel for God’s sake! It’s entirely unnecessary of him. 

You card your fingers through his hair, raven locks soft against your skin, and gently scrape the tip of your nails against his scalp. Instinctively you await the blissful shiver and sigh that usually accompanies your attention on him. 

Not this time though. 

He’s so still. 

Tilting your head sideways, you scrutinise the sombre expression on his face. 

Eerily still. 

The usual nervous energy in his body is all gone, leaving him relaxed in a way that you’re not used to. 

Without the wide eyes and nervous movement that bleeds into every inch of his body language during his waking hours, he looks different. Not quite like your Steven anymore. 

Your chest tightens at the realisation. A moment ago, you would have attributed it to affection, but now you’re not so sure. 

You’ve only seen Steven this relaxed once before. 

Unease pricks the tip of your fingers, an uncomfortable heat swelling under your nails. You still haven’t been able to make sense of it. That distorted night when the man you love was not himself, replaced by a stranger who looked exactly like him but acted differently. Who regarded you like you were something insignificant—an insect to be quashed. You can still hear it clearly. That oddly-accented voice ringing in your ears. 

Sweetheart, he’d called you, but his voice had held not an ounce of the warm affection that Steven’s overflows with when he calls you love. 

In the quiet privacy of your bedroom, the pace of your heart quickens until it drowns out the tv, pounding painfully loud in your ears. 

This was a bad idea. 

You shouldn’t have asked him to come over tonight. 

It’s been several weeks since that first night you spent the night in Steven’s flat. Neither of you have spoken of it. Steven, for his part, still doesn't appear to remember what happened, and you've been too doped up on serotonin of the post-night love confession. Maybe it's foolish, but you've been enjoying the honeymoon phase your relationship has been plunged into and willfully ignoring anything that might derail your happiness. Most of the time you're able to chalk that night up to a one-time disturbance brought on by lack of sleep, but...

Since then, you’ve taken care to avoid this precise scenario–him falling asleep right next to you. You always leave early from his flat now. After the first few times, you learned not to look in his direction as you get dressed. That way you don’t have to face the hopeful expression in his eyes when he invites you to stay over or watch the way it inevitably dims when you make up some excuse to turn him down.

It’s not normal, and it’s not right. You shouldn’t have to be scared to sleep next to the man you love. It’s a thorn in your side in what is otherwise a perfect relationship. Except ‘thorn’ implies that it is a small issue, and this—whatever this is—is much more than that. 

It’s not a tenable situation. You know this. It’s why you invited him tonight, in the hopes that you could move past it. Past the irrational fear that you’ll fall asleep with Steven and wake up with someone else. 

Your fingers drop from where it’s threaded into his hair, slipping down to the side of his arm until your hand rests on his strong bicep. Deceptively strong. Even relaxed as he is in his sleep, the toned muscles are firm under your touch. Hardly the body you’d expect of a mousy souvenir vendor spending all his day in front of a till at the British museum. 

In front of you, his eyes are fluttering behind closed lids, and you’re afraid of what will happen when he opens them. Is he going to greet you with sleepy murmurs and a sweet shy smile? Or will there be that snide, callous smirk across his lips again? 

Every instinct is screaming at you to leave now before the answer presents itself. There’s a reason why there are so many cautionary tales about women prying into the secrets that men are trying to hide. Every version of that story ends with the woman ultimately punished for their curiosity. 

Part of you just doesn't want to find out. You have no desire to play the role of Bluebeard’s wife and find yourself at the end of an axe. But the logical, responsible part of you, the one who wants to build a long-lasting, adult relationship with Steven, knows that you’ll have to face this eventually, and sooner is better than later.

Who is sleeping on top of you right now? Steven? Or is it the other man? The stranger, who is very much not your Steven. 

You don’t know what you’re planning to do until you feel the warmth of his skin against the pads of your thumb and index finger. All you know is that you need to know. 

Taking a deep breath, you squeeze your eyes shut, brace yourself, and pinch down hard on the soft flesh between your fingers. 

A pained yelp sounds out in your bedroom. His body jolts up and away from you, the mattress bouncing from the sudden movement. You squint your eyes open to see wide eyes gazing back at you. 

“Sorry, sorry.” His words are a slur as he wipes an errant line of drool from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. 

The constriction in your chest dissipates. It’s your Steven. 

“Did I fall asleep on you?” he asks around a large yawn, “Guess I must’ve. Sorry about that, love.” 

You shake your head, and heat spreads across your cheeks at how silly you’re being. Of course, it’s Steven. Why on earth did you think otherwise? 

Next to you, Steven’s already fluffing up the pillow on your side making it comfortable for you both as he adjusts himself from where he’s slumped against the bed in an effort to stay awake this time. 

You watch him as he’s settling back next to you. There's no sign of irritation from him, as if you didn’t just cruelly wake him up for no good reason. His eyes remain steadfast on the screen where dolphins are playing catch, but it’s evident that he’s exhausted. It is only a matter of minutes before his head lolls forward, the gravitation of sleep luring him back in. 

“Steven, it’s okay. You can–” You hesitate, then steel yourself and make the offer anyway, “You can stay here tonight. You should go to sleep. You have work tomorrow.” 

“Just a little bit longer,” he says, shaking his head. “Don’t want to sleep just yet. If I could, I’d want to stay awake until morning. ‘Til you’re up." 

Between the yawn that contorts his face and the soft stray curl bouncing on his forehead, any unease you felt seconds ago is gone. All you can do is smile at him. God, he’s absolutely adorable, isn’t he? 

“Yeah? And why’s that?” 

His eyes flutter closed, and for a second, you think he’s gone back to sleep, but then he strains them open again, only part-way managing. He looks like he’s barely awake, and his voice is so quiet it’s almost a whisper. “Don’t want to wake up to find you’re gone again.”

Your smile fades at that, and he must feel you tense because he shakes his head quickly.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “I shouldn’t have– I know you don’t like to talk about it– sorry.” He bites down on his lower lip, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. 

Oh. Oh no. You thought he’d just forgotten and moved past it. But it’s clear now, with his midnight confession, that it still plagues him. His only reason for not bringing it up was to not upset you. 

In your own ways, you’re both still reeling from the events of your first night together. For all the lovely love declarations that were made, resolutions are not found at the end of the love rainbow. 

What can you say to him in this situation? That you did say goodbye that night; he just didn’t remember it? He’d think you were a complete nutter. Or accusing him of being one, and you don’t know which is worse. 

How can you tell him what’s happening when you don’t understand it yourself?

“Steven, we… um… we need to talk.”

His eyes widen, all traces of sleep vanished in an instant. “Oh god, you're breaking up with me, aren't you?” 

You blink in confusion and it takes several moments for you to recalibrate your brain before you can process the sudden panic in his voice. 

Oh, shit. Of course that’s what he’d think when you’ve chosen to open with the ultimate break up line. Bollocks. Not off to a great start, are you? Clearly you should’ve thought this through a bit more, but it’s too late now. 

“No. No, Steven. Not that kind of talk. I’m not breaking up with you,” you interrupt, cutting him off before he can spiral further. It's a little heartbreaking that he’s still so insecure. “That’s the opposite of what I want to tell you.”

Steven’s brows knit in confusion, a bewildered expression bleeding onto his face. 

“You want to tell me that… That I’m…. breaking up with you?” He starts out slowly and incredulously, but a warm smile quickly spreads across his face. The amount of open affection there steals your breath. “Now I know for a fact that is not the case.”

You huff out a surprised laugh, shaking your head “No, Steven. Definitely not that.”  

“Well then, what is it you want to tell me?” He’s still smiling, but you can see the shadow of fear in his eyes.

“Well, um…” 

You pause, trying to gather your thoughts. In the background, Attenborough’s voice is now droning on about turtles shagging. It's distracting to say the least. 

“Hang on a tic.” You blindly fumbling for the TV remote behind you, eventually managing to turn the bloody thing off. “Right. There. Now, just listen for a moment, please?”

Steven obediently falls silent, watching you expectantly.  You take a deep breath, trying to sort out what you’re going to say, and realise that you have no idea how to begin this conversation. 

‘I woke up, and you were speaking with an American accent.’ 

That won't make a lick of sense.

“Well… um… Remember that first night? Our first night… together?” 

At the reminder, those signature wide brown eyes of his darken, boring into your own as his pupils dilate.

“Yeah, I definitely remember that,” he says, voice still hoarse from sleep. Your cheeks heat as you remember staring down into those eyes, just barely visible as his mouth devoured you, hot and hungry. “Don’t think I could ever forget.”

The words are sweet, but they hit you like a bucket of cold water to the face, because that’s just the problem, isn’t it? He doesn’t remember.

“Except, well– you did forget.”

“I did forge–? What? What d’you mean, love?” He tilts his head in confusion. “What did I–?” His words trails off mid-sentence, as he looks away from you, squinting at the black screen of the telly. He huffs out a small laugh, but it’s so obviously forced that it’s almost painful to hear, and it does nothing to mask his lack of composure.

God, is this even a good idea? What if he doesn’t believe you? Or gets really upset? 

You watch Steven carefully, trying to get a sense of what he might be feeling, but his attention seems firmly focused on the telly, as though its empty screen might reveal the secrets of the universe. After a long moment, he shakes his head, eyeing the appliance suspiciously like it's done him some great wrong. 

Following his gaze, you try to see if there’s something amiss, but it’s just the same blank screen as before. Even when you lean in closer, all you see is the reflection of your own worried face peering back at you. 

Taking a deep breath, you reach out and touch Steven’s wrist to get his attention. He flinches at the touch as if startled, but then settles his attention on you. 

“So you said the other day that your memory is dodgy sometimes… That you do things you don’t remember doing? And sometimes you disappear for a while and don’t seem to remember being gone…?”

Steven nods absently, but even though he’s looking at you, he doesn’t quite seem to be following along. Despite the seriousness of your conversation, his eyes keep flitting back to the screen. 

“Steven!” you call out, snapping him out of whatever is distracting him.

He jolts back towards you, shoulders hunched with guilt. “Uhm– sorry, I thought I saw–” His eyes flicker to the screen again, but then he seems to think better of it, turning his head deliberately away and settling his eyes back on your face. 

Part of you is annoyed that his mind is seemingly faraway and he isn’t paying attention to you. This is not a conversation you are over the moon about either.  But as you watch him, you see the nervous tension in his face. It's there in the way he swallows convulsively, the way he doesn’t quite seem to know what to do with his hands, and you chide yourself for your own impatience. He’s clearly distressed. This can’t be easy for him to talk about. You soften your voice as you continue. 

“So then the other night…  I think it might have been a bit like that?  It was like…”

This time, it’s you who looks away, unable to look at his worried face any longer. You drop your gaze to the bedding, tracing the lines of the wrinkled sheet as you try to pluck up the courage to put your worries into words.

“You were… different. Not your usual self. You weren’t…”  You struggle to find the right words, not wanting to sound like you’re whinging or accusing him of anything. “Sorry. I’m not explaining this very well…”

God, you’re making an absolute hash of this, aren’t you? 

Looking up, you find Steven staring at the screen again. It’s like he’s drowning in his own reflection, face pale, eyes lost and confused. You’re not sure if he’s even hearing you at all. Maybe telling him this isn't the right thing to do. 

You drop your gaze back to the covers as you try to consider your options one last time before wading into the point of no return. You feel like you're standing in front of a locked chamber, key in hand. You can still turn back, go on with your relationship as it is, hoping that nothing will happen again (terrified that it will). 

But...There really isn’t another way around this anymore is there? You can’t keep pretending things are normal, that the reaper’s scythe isn’t looming over your relationship ready to fall at any moment. If you want this to work, this relationship you have with Steven, you will have to drag the figure that is lurking in the dark into the light. Unpleasant as it may be—scary even—you need to tell him, and there are no pretty, perfect words that can make this a more pleasant conversation. 

“Look, Steven, I didn’t leave your place before you woke up that first night. We were both awake in the middle of the night. I talked to you, but it was strange. Like you were somebody else. Like–” 

The rest of your sentence dies with a squeak of alarm when a heavy pressure seals firmly over your mouth, trapping the sound in your lungs. You jolt in surprise and rear back, trying to escape. 

You don’t get far. 

The iron grip of a large, strong hand is bridging the span of your mouth, fingers digging almost painfully into the sides of your jaw. It's keeping you motionless and unable to pull away. 

In front of you, dark, narrowed eyes, slit in anger, are boring into yours. Whatever you were intending to say dies on your lips as he hisses out a single word of warning. 

“Don’t.” 

This is not your Steven. 

You try to protest, but all that comes out is an unintelligible noise muffled against the flat of his palm. 

The initial shock fades into indignation at being manhandled. You glower at him, squinting your eyes as you attempt to convey the depths of your scathing displeasure through your glare alone. 

The man seems unimpressed at best, unmoved by your poor attempt at defiance, as his eyes pin you down with an intimidating intensity. They’re less predatory than your first encounter but intimidating nevertheless. 

“Do not tell Steven,” he reiterates. His voice is flat and commanding, like he wants you to know his word is final with no room for debate. Nothing like Steven’s chipper tone. 

The harsh grip on your jaw gradually relaxes, and his hand slides slowly to the side. Despite the fact that logically you know this is not your Steven (can't possibly be), despite the fact that all your survival instincts are telling you to be careful, there is a part of you that has imprinted on the physicality of the man before you. Every nerve cell has been wired to respond to his touch. As his fingers slide across your lips, you feel the faint spark of attraction singing in your veins. And God, how fucked up is that? 

You should be scared shitless. This man is nothing but red flags, and you should probably turn around and run away from all of this. 

Instead, you think of Steven. Of how he’s never been able to lead a normal life with the small joys that are long due to him. Simply because he doesn’t know. A protectiveness swells up inside of you that overrides any self preservation instinct you have for your own safety.

So despite yourself, the next words coming out of you are: “He deserves to know.”

Not-Steven, closes his eyes as if your very words are embedding a deep-seated migraine in his skull. “Don’t. He’s alright as he is. ” 

“That’s not for you to decide.” 

“Trust me on this. I’ve known Steven a lot longer than you have. He doesn’t need my mess.”

"He's got it though, hasn't he?” you exclaim before you can think better of it, your voice loud and sharp in the silence of the flat.  

His eyes, dark and intense flit over your face, and you find yourself sitting up straighter and lifting your chin defiantly. In for a penny in for a pound. 

“He's exhausted all the time. Missing hours, sometimes days of his life. Constantly in danger of losing his job, his flat… his girlfriend.” You think of the nasty wounds you saw on Steven's chest, black-blue bruises marring his soft skin on your first night together. “Maybe even his life for all he knows!” 

You’re suddenly furious at the unfairness of it all. At the shit hand Steven’s been dealt; at all the people who never gave him a second chance when he messed up because of it; and most of all, at the man in front of you watching you with a furrowed brow and a belligerent set to his jaw. This bloody wanker who is asking you to lie to the man you love about something that’s making him unhappy. 

You have to pause and take a deep breath before you’re sure you’ll be able to continue civilly.

"He's got the mess already. Your. Fucking. Mess," you say, quieter now, but with no less anger brimming in your chest despite your efforts, "and he deserves to know why."

There’s no answer. He’s just staring at you in silence. You press on before you lose your nerve. 

“You’re asking me to trust you, but I don’t even know you. Not a single thing about you. The only thing I know is that you’re not Steven.”

The man looks to his feet, frustrated, and for the first time the forcefulness of his voice cracks. It's almost pleading despite the frustration that runs deep. “Steven deserves to be happy. A happy, simple, normal life. That ends the moment you tell him.” 

You hesitate, and the two of you stare at each other for a long moment. Both firm in your conviction that you have the right of it, neither one willing to back down.

“Marc,” he mutters. 

“I’m sorry?”

“My name. It’s Marc.” He spits it out with impatience, like you’ve dragged it out of him and he’s begrudgingly been forced to say it when you haven’t even asked for it. 

“Pleasure,” you say on instinct, then think better of it. “Well, sort of anyway. But that’s not what I need from you.”

Right now, in this moment, he looks more like a sullen child than the intimidating person you had taken him for just seconds ago. “Then tell me what you need,” he demands, “because I can’t have you dragging Steven into all this.” 

The command draws you up short because in all honesty, you don’t know. Should your needs even factor into this? It’s Steven’s needs that are the priority first and foremost. But... does Steven even want to know? What if this Marc is right? What if whatever’s happening—this mess that Marc keeps referring to—is something that Steven would be happier not knowing about? What is the right decision in a messy situation like this? 

The honest answer is you don’t know. 

The only thing you do know, the most important factor in this ridiculously complicated puzzle that you’re unable to solve is Steven’s safety. 

“I need to know that when you disappear and go off to wherever it is you go and do…”—you wave your hands at him vaguely—”whatever it is you do that makes Steven disappear for days, that he’s safe. Steven that is. I need some reassurance that Steven will be okay. It’s his body too.”

“You’ll keep all this a secret from Steven if I let you know he's safe?” Those familiar dark eyes bore into yours with an unfamiliar intensity.

You hesitate, not sure you’re making the right choice, but what other choice is there? 

“For now, at least,” you acquiesce with a nod.

He doesn't nod back, and there's no physical cue from him that he's accepting the bargain you're proposing to him. Instead, he turns away from you, leaning over to reach for something on your nightstand. When he turns back, he’s holding a pen.

“Give me your hand,” he orders flatly.  

You hesitate, then extend your hand slowly, offering it to him.

He takes it, his touch surprisingly delicate compared to the tight grip he had on your face earlier. His fingers are warm–almost hot–against your skin as he holds your hand in his and starts scribbling on your palm. 

It tickles, but you don’t let yourself squirm, craning your neck to watch him curiously as a long string of numbers appears.

Finally he finishes, capping the pen one-handed and tossing it back onto the nightstand. Then he turns your hand over in his and looks up at you.

You meet his gaze just in time to see the change happen: narrowed eyes rounding into large saucers. The sullen anger etched into every line of that chiselled face fading into a warm vulnerable softness. And there he is, your Steven is back. 

“Sorry, were you saying something? I’m sorry, I think I must have slipped off somewhere for a second there.” 

If only he knew how right he was.

You shake your head, lacing your fingers with his, and clasp his hands in yours. “It’s alright. I was just saying that it’s probably time for us to get some sleep.” 

Steven’s lips tighten into a frowning line, clearly dubious of your answer. Even before he turns those big, round puppy-dog eyes on you, you feel the guilt in you fester. 

“Is it… um…”  he hesitates, and the uncertainty on his face breaks your heart all over again,  “Would it be alright if I sleep here tonight? I don’t want to intrude, but I’d really like to stay. So we can wake up together in the morning.” 

You want to say yes to him. You really do. But you’re still caught up in the emotional whiplash from the surrealistic events that unfolded in this very bed mere moments ago, your brain is trying to make sense of everything that happened. You don’t even know how to begin to answer him right now.

You’re sure you won’t be able to catch an ounce of sleep with him here. 

But hell, you’re not sure you’ll catch an ounce of sleep with him gone either. So you fake a smile as best you can, because maybe if you manage to convince Steven, you can convince yourself that everything is alright. 

“I’ll make you breakfast in the morning,” he throws in as an offer and you can’t help the way your smile melts into something real at the hopefulness of his tone. 

“That sounds lovely, Steven.”

His smile spreads wider, then he scoots down to lay in the bed. You follow until you are lying on your side, with your ear pressed to your pillow as you find yourself looking up at Steven’s face. His features are soft and gentle and all so familiar as he closes the distance between you and presses his forehead to yours. 

Maybe it’s just the adrenaline leaving your system, but somehow, despite the events of this evening, as Steven wraps his arms around you, you realise just how tired you are, and you let yourself succumb to it. Closing your eyes, you snuggle in closer to his chest, surrounded by his warmth and scent. As you drift to sleep, your last conscious thought is that you need to remember to write down the numbers on your palm in the morning in case it smudges. 

When you wake the next morning, blankets drawn up warm around your shoulders, it’s to an empty bed. Steven is no longer there. 

Author's note

This has truly been 84 years, and thank you to everyone who's still reading this. A big part of the delay (besides various irl factors such as me moving internationally) was that we wanted pre-write the whole series before we posted this next part to make sure that we don't just leave readers on a cliffhanger of an unfinished series. The first draft of the series is 90% done now. The rest of the parts should not take months in between to be posted (watch me jinx myself and get hit by a bus by saying this).

Big heartfelt thanks for everyone who has taken the time to read this series, and a special thanks to those who have gone above and beyond to comment/reblogged to let us know their thoughts and that they enjoyed the series. I know I'm rubbish at replying sometimes, but please know that we read these and absolutely gush like a little girl with a crush squeeing in excitement.

Dedications

I have a lot of people to thank for, while I've been trying to pound out the complete draft of this series: @jazzelsaur @radiowallet @write-and-buried @the-ginger-hedge-witch and @frannyzooey are just but some people who have been holding my hand when I've been screaming into the ether, duckrubbing and helping me with both plots, cockulations and vibes.

But most of all, I need to take time to thank my co-author, @thirstworldproblemss for bearing with me and humoring my roller coaster of -- despair, crying, laughing, more crying, debilitating horniness, utter despair again-- that has been me while we've been writing this one.

For listening to me whine and bitch and whine about furniture choices and sending 20 photos of the same damn reading chair in different shades of pink.

For not killing me when I keep giving her second by second live updates on how my ebay auctions for dinnerware sets that looks like vegetables.

For withstanding the weekly photobombs of replacement plants from Columbia Road, because I keep killing the ones I have.

For being the best friend a clown could ask for. Your presence in my life is one of the most precious and joyous things I could ever have asked for.

[kimjongdaely]

ok i'm not active on tumblr at all really but you and your account is one of the few reasons i come on here ,,i love reading everything you write and i have been doing so for a couple years now actually!! your writing is very good and it always cheers me up when i see you post!! like i always look forward to reading the things you write and i usually put other things aside to do so,,, i'll continue to support you no matter what you do or write!! i love you bunchesss

This is so sweet~ Thank you 😊 I love you too! 

[autumnpleaves]

Good MORNING!!!! Good Morning!!!

(I sang that while typing it out)

LOVE YOU BUNCHESSS

Please translate this so my mind will listen- Bitte gehen Sie essen und trinken ein wenig und versuchen Sie dann zu schlafen

“Please go eat and drink a little and then try to sleep” I agree- 

[softlilstrawbby]

My hardworking man went shopping for our pets when he left work and got them a lot of good food, he also got me this super soft fox and I adore it. Thank you for everything that you do for us, handsome man. We love you bunchesss ❤