#it acutally had two stuffed into one

[quinncupine]

Had Chinese for lunch today, and this was my fortune.

Is this an encouragement or a threat?

[hazelfoureyes]

Loss of decorum (part two)

I’m feeling too angsty to finish up part nine of ADIF (they’re so in love I can’t make them feel angsty in this moment) or write the very smutty Radioapple so… we’re here! 🫠 better than not writing ig

Part 1

How Alastor ended up dry humping a hotel resident in a hallway.

「Warnings/Promises: Alastor x GN!Reader, pillow humping, reader humping, violence against bedding, angsty little shit」

MINORS DNI 🍷 🛏️

What could he do? What power did he have when your existence collided so mercilessly into his?

You had started out as another thing in his peripheral.

He wasn’t sure when his perception of you shifted from the American Common Squirrel energy wielding sinner to a black hole of his focus.

You were always moving, be it your body or your mouth. Depending on if the topic fell under one of your litany of obsessions, you could go on for far too long. Your voice became background noise. Ambient sound he didn’t notice anymore until you left the room and suddenly— ah, the uncomfortable silence.

The shape shifting from small, inferior creature in his orbit to something substantially worse was too subtle for Alastor to clock it.

Was he finding a space to settle while he read the paper? Well where were you mindlessly mumbling to yourself…. That’d be a good spot.

Everyone gathered in the common area to waste time discussing the future? He’d find himself waiting for your arrival before zoning out.

Distance soon became irksome. He’d approach the bar inches behind you in hopes you’d jump and shriek with surprise. But you’d be so focused on whatever nonsense task you were busy with (like cleaning or bonding with Husk) to notice him, moving away from his bubble before registering any shock.

The audacity.

It only got worse from there.

Your scent lingering faintly in the air where you had just been. The warmth of your hand still seeping from the wood of the bar top.

Absence was suddenly something he became acutely aware of now. The void left behind from you in every room, and soon, on every piece of him.

He was taken by surprise himself when one day you forgot yourself and placed a hand on his lower back. Just trying to get his attention so you could walk behind him safely, Alastor spun around and gave you the dirtiest look.

“Excuse you.” He hissed, and to his dismay you smiled back and moved on. But the feeling lingered on his back. And when he removed his coat and waist coat before bed he could still feel the pressure of that hand. Small compared to his own, he noted, as he let his larger palm settle over your ghostly one to try and replace the sensation. It was of no use. You’d marked him somehow.

A slap to his arm when he said something you thought was hilarious did it too. Then the time your leg brushed against his for a moment when you took a seat beside him. He moved to a nearby chair but it had been too late. Before long he was covered in your absence. It spread, a piece of thigh now the knee up. He could feel it. All the places you no longer were.

Alastor was quite sure he had blacked out. The first night he lost some battle he wasn’t aware was waging in himself, he left his body entirely. The beginning of the trouble. He remembered undressing and checking his skin for any signs of you. And then….

Somehow, at some point, he’d pulled his pants down enough to free the uncomfortable tightness there. Unsure of when, he grabbed hold of a pillow. He was sure it was the whiskey… he told himself as much as he thrust down into the long and soft tube of down-feathers. His head was heavy, antlers looming and forcing him to rest his forehead against the mattress.

What exactly he was thinking about he couldn’t say for sure. It was all a blur of sweat and fuzzy images and errant feathers as his claws tore into the pillow accidentally. He’d been too rough, hands shredding the fabric and hips thrusting the poor stuffing from its casing.

Humid breath primed the sheets for the drool that left his panting, open mouth. While your name could only be pieced together across butchered syllables intermingled with gasps and groans, you were there. He focused on the sound of you, the nape of your neck, the warmth of your skin, the softness he was sure you had for him.

And then the pillow was utterly ruined, messy in ways not entirely dissimilar to his earthside victims. Different fluids, different innards, same principle, he thought. A moment of passion he struggled to control.

A moment that became a pattern. A routine.

Alcohol didn’t help, as he often found himself destroying more bedding when he imbibed… no, it didn’t help. Until it helped too much.

Until you followed him down an empty hallway late at night. Stumbling and slurring, having gone drink-to-drink with him, you reached out and hugged his arm against your chest and said his name in a way he could only perceive as intimate.

Once again, his memory was full of holes about the details. But soon you were on the wall, his hands at your chin and hip, one of your legs around his thigh as he pressed his growing erection into you. He pulled back nearly as quickly as he pressed in, but when you moaned he flinched.

“Do you like this?” Barely understandable as it was diced by the static sharpness of his radio tones.

You nodded, sliding both hands up his wide chest and holding onto his shoulders. He wished he could stop, his face pure frustration as his body took the reins. He watched somewhat helplessly as he humped into you like a hapless teenager. His muscles knew the motions now by heart, memory driving the feeling of his cock up and down your core. Through the discomfort of the friction you found the pleasure of the circumstance.

His hands pulled your legs up by the thighs and you wrapped your body around him instinctively. So tight and determined was your hold on him that he could let his hands roam elsewhere. Tenderly and clumsily he tried to not tear you like your pillow counterparts. His hands roamed and flexed as if telegraphing his thoughts of calm down, gentle.

Drunk or not, you were aware it was a public space so you bit your lip to keep the louder sounds down. Alastor felt his cock jump with every whine you made; his body lit up by just your stifled moans into his chest.

You felt it too, the twitching of something large and solid rubbing against you. Your body tried to roll back against his thrusts, chasing the pleasure available there, but Alastor held you firm in response. “Don’t move, I’m already at my limit.”

For some reason he had thought he could pull away before cumming, but he couldn’t. It was impossible to stop himself, not with you so eagerly clinging to him. His body grew stiff against you, breath held in his lungs as you looked down to see the smallest sheen forming just to the side of his pants zipper.

You wanted to touch it, to feel the sticky proof of his want for you, but found yourself landing ass first as your support disappeared with no warning. He heard your yelp as your tailbone hit the hard floor but he was already gone in every sense that mattered.

He went about the following day glaring menacingly at you; an unspoken warning.

You took the hint.

But when Alastor found himself again rubbing his clothed erection into yet another pillow, he suddenly regretted the cold attitude he gave you. The pillow was now utterly useless.

It lacked the scent of you that rose off your neck, heated blood rushing through your veins. It was too soft, no true form to accept his cock and give him the sensation of closeness to something so tantalizingly unknown. The room was too quiet, your satisfied sounds so loud in his memory. The bunch of feathers and fabric wasn’t capable of wrapping trembling arms around his body to remind him this was something both parties wanted. No twitches. No warmth. No sighs.

No accident that night when he tore the pillow in half. He’d fucked himself by not quite fucking you. Nothing in his bed would be able to satisfy him any longer. Before, he could ignore the occasional physical arousal easily enough as he had nothing to compare that option against. He’d nearly always powered through it, and when it was just unbearable his fist was enough.

Then, somehow, for some reason, he needed to act out the way you made him feel. His thighs and core throbbing to move. The pillow was fine, if not embarrassing in new and horrifying ways.

And now, his hand and cushions were all moot. He’d had a glimpse of what he didn’t know he was missing. Ignorant bliss torn from him like it had been from Adam in his garden.

He simply couldn’t go back. Alastor wondered how long he could keep himself from you. Worried if your hands would snake up his shoulders again or push him away.

Panic turned his blood cold and cock soft. What if you denied him? What if the damage had already been done to you both?

He knew the only way to find out was to try again.

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@eris-norwega @reath-solia

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @moonmark98

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog ,

@thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies

@howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @fizzled-phoenix , @whateverlololo

, @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk , @bontensbabygirl

@hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain

@harley2223-blog , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby

@dontfuckbutimfab @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 ,

@star-kujo-platinum @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @smoky000

[simplyraeblue]

hunter and hunted (jjk)

college (summer) break au: a fic in this y/n is pining over Yuji's older brother Sukuna, while unbeknownst to her, Choso is doing the same thing for her. contents: sukuna x reader, choso x reader, modern college AU, yuji and choso are brothers, sukuna and yuji are brothers, eventual smut warning as I'm planning for this to come in parts

chapter warnings: light suggestive teasing

index part one | part two | part four

part three word count: 1,246

you were trying to have a nice day with the house to yourself. no boys around to make a mess or cause a ruckus. Yuji went to hang out with Megumi and Nobara, Sukuna was probably off committing a crime, and Choso went out to do whatever he’d muttered under his breath when you’d asked.  

it was nice to be in the living room, watching and following a yoga video on the tv while wearing your favorite workout set. while you appreciated being moved into the guest bedroom and make it feel homier, but it wasn’t quite as large as Yuji’s. so, you’d had to make the living room your work out space for the day. 

you were in the middle of a tough position (gandha bherundasana, or formidable face pose), when you heard a key turning in the front door. it almost broke your concentration, but you forced yourself to stick with it, silently hoping it was Yuji, or even Choso; just not Sukuna because you knew he’d make fun of you immediately.  

oh, the universe was certainly against you today. when Sukuna stepped into the living room and took in your awkward yoga pose, he scoffed in disbelief. 

“what the hell are you doing?” he asked, his lip curling in disgust. the cosmos was conspiring against you. 

“it’s a yoga pose called the formidable face pose,” you grunted, struggling to speak through your labored breathing. “you should try it; it’s actually pretty challenging.” 

Sukuna gave you a dismissive click of his tongue, shaking his head. “doesn’t look that hard to me.” 

a mischievous smirk played on your lips. “I bet you can’t even get to the point I'm at.” you knew Sukuna’s competitive nature would make him take the bait. 

true to form, Sukuna dropped onto the carpet beside you, cursing under his breath as he attempted to mimic the pose. you had since abandoned your position and sat cross-legged, watching him struggle as he followed the rewound video. 

you had to stifle a told you so when Sukuna, with impressive flexibility, managed to get into the pose faster than you had and held it effortlessly, barely breaking a sweat. “how the hell did you do that?” you asked, examining how his body bent with surprising ease. and examining his abs as his shirt rode up. 

“see? told you it wasn’t that hard. you’re just weak,” Sukuna replied with a smug grin. “maybe if ya spent less time stuffing your face, you’d be able to do it too.” 

in retaliation, you shoved your hands into his side, sending him tumbling over. “take that back, Ryomen Sukuna,” you snapped, delivering a sharp slap to his arm. 

before you could strike him again, Sukuna grabbed your wrist and rolled you beneath him. the sudden proximity made you acutely aware of the heat radiating from his body as he pinned you to the floor. his face was inches from yours, his wicked smirk the only thing between you as he hovered above. 

“make me.” he said lowly, and you squirmed slightly under his grasp.  

if his hands hadn’t had you pinned, his deep red eyes would’ve kept you fixed on the spot. his gaze dared you to respond, to make another move, and for fuck’s sake you couldn’t think of a comeback.  not with his beautiful lips right in front of you.

“did ya hear me, brat?” Sukuna said while getting closer, his nose brushing against yours. “I said. make. me.” 

you did the first thing that came to mind, something so childish and spontaneous that you knew you'd cringe when you looked back on it. you tilted your head and bit down on his nose. 

Sukuna froze, his eyes widening as your teeth made contact, the light pressure a stark contrast to the intensity of the moment. your face flushed a deep pink, a mix of embarrassment and nervousness. seizing the opportunity the distraction created, you scrambled out from beneath him, managing to scoot far enough away to put some distance between you. 

“I'm so sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” you blurted out, your voice trembling with mortification as you clamped a hand over your mouth, hoping to hide your red cheeks. Sukuna remained sitting there, blinking as if he was just now processing what had happened. after a moment of stunned silence, he snapped out of his daze, shaking his head as though to clear his thoughts. 

“if ya wanted to taste me you should’ve just asked, doll face.” and there he was, crude Sukuna coming back to the surface.  

“you’re a pig.” you growled as you stood from the ground. “I’m going to shower. you can keep watching the video if you want. oh, and I hope you twist yourself into a pretzel and get stuck, asshole.”  

“want me to join? you can taste more of me.” Sukuna hollered behind you, earning a quick middle finger over your shoulder before you slammed the bathroom door behind you. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“y-you did what to him?” Yuji burst out laughing, nearly choking on his food as you recounted the events in the living room. Your face flushed with embarrassment as you described the biting incident, carefully omitting Sukuna’s remarks to spare his pride. 

“y-you did what to him?” Yuji burst out laughing, nearly choking on his food as you recounted the events in the living room. your face flushed with embarrassment as you described the biting incident. carefully omitting Sukuna’s remarks to spare him. 

Yuji’s laughter slowly subsided, though a wide grin still lingered on his face. he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, still clearly amused by your mortification. “I can’t believe you actually bit him on the nose!” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “that’s… that’s classic!” 

you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, burying your face in your hands. “I know, I know. it was a stupid, spur-of-the-moment thing. I was just so flustered, and it seemed like the only thing i could do.” 

Yuji leaned back, still chuckling. “hey, at least you got away from him, right? I bet he was just as shocked as you were.” 

“yeah,” you said, peeking through your fingers. “he looked like he was in a daze. I felt so embarrassed. I almost wished I could disappear right then and there.” 

Yuji grinned sympathetically. “don’t sweat it. we all have those moments. besides, it sounds like Sukuna was more stunned than anything. he’ll probably just laugh it off later, knowing him.” 

you gave a small, appreciative smile, feeling a bit better. “thanks, Yuji. I just hope he doesn’t hold it against me.” 

“don’t worry about it,” Yuji said, patting you on the back. “if anyone can take a bite on the nose, it’s Sukuna. and hey, at least you didn’t start a full-scale wrestling match or something. I don’t know that you would’ve won that one.” 

you laughed, the tension easing. “true. I suppose it could have been worse. I'll just have to find a way to make it up to him.” 

Yuji shook his head, still smiling. “no, I wouldn’t go so far as to do that. Sukuna can be... well, he can be an asshole. he probably deserved a little bloodshed.” 

with a final chuckle from your mouth, Yuji returned to his meal, and you joined in, feeling the embarrassment slowly fade into a lighter, more humorous memory.  

you just sincerely hoped Ryomen Sukuna wouldn’t find some way to retaliate.  

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

[forever-rogue]

I just love your Steve writings and I'm absolute obsessed with the way you write. I have a little request if you don't mind? We all know Steve wants his six little nuggets but what if reader can't have children? I never saw someone write something like it and I think you would write it perfectly. The story and how they communicate about this is totally in your hands but I would just LOVE to read a happy ending.

AN | Please, this is such a sensitive but soft concept. He would be the best about it, fullstop. It has a happy ending 🥺

Warnings | Language, Mentions of infertility 

Pairing | Steve x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2.2k

Masterlist | Steve, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I…you - what?” your eyes grew wide as you looked between Steve and the small velveteen box in his hand. Your heart felt like it was about to beat out of your chest as you anxiously fidgeted with your hands. Steve grew confused - and worried - as he looked at you in worried anticipation. 

“Will you marry me?” he repeated his question as you still struggled to process what he was asking. It was such a simple question but it held an immense amount of weight. You could feel the eyes of almost all the other patrons in the restaurant’s outside patio on the two of you. Expectant and waiting…and you had no clue what to say. 

Well, no - that wasn’t exactly true. You knew what you wanted to say, which was yes. A thousand times yes. But you couldn’t do it…you couldn’t say yes.

“I…I can’t,” you whispered softly, wishing you could look anywhere but his face. But all you could see was him, “no.”

“W-what?” he let out a nervous chuckle, cheeks pinking and eyes wide. Surely he couldn’t have heard you correctly, “what did you say?”

“No,” you repeated softly, tears already welling up and threatening to run down your cheeks, “n-no. I can’t.”

“Oh,” the look on his face was the worst thing you’d ever seen. It was heartbroken and upset multiplied by a thousand times.

“Steve - I…I’m so sorry,” you almost jumped up from your chair as you stood up and grabbed your back, “I can’t do this - I’m so, so sorry.”

“Wait, don’t just go. Angel-”

“I’m sorry,” it was the last thing you managed to choke out and the last thing he heard. 

Steve walked you go, acutely aware that everyone’s eyes were on him. And his marriage proposal was rejected - which he never thought would happen. 

He swallowed the lump that had welled up in his throat and sat back down in his chair. The ring box was snapped shut and quickly stuffed back into his pocket. Tears burned the backs of his eyes as he tried to keep it together enough to at least pay the bill. 

“Sir?” a young waiter came over and offered him an apologetic look. Steve couldn’t even bring him to say anything, “it’s on the house tonight. I’m sorry about what happened. Hopefully things will be okay.”

“Thanks,” the bit of kindness caused the last of his walls to come down and he felt the tears run down his cheeks, “me too.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You spent the next couple of days absolutely wallowing in self-pity, regret, and anger. It all had to do with yourself too; it wasn’t Steve’s fault at all. It was yours and yet he was the one suffering. You’d contemplated calling him so many times, the phone halfway to your ear but you stopped yourself every time. 

Steve too was keeping his distance; it seemed so out of character for him. That’s how you knew that you had royally fucked up. If your golden retriever, sunshine boyfriend was avoiding you, there was a definite problem. 

After almost five days, you couldn’t handle it anymore. There wasn’t even anyone to blame but yourself. You were positive that all of your friends would hate you too - if you were in their position, you probably would have hated yourself too. 

You had to give yourself a major pep talk in order to drag yourself out of your apartment and over to Steve’s house. Once you spotted his car in the driveway, you parked your car in the street and stayed in there for about fifteen minutes before dragging yourself to the door. 

You knocked on the door, the key to his place that was on your keyring burning a hole in your pocket. It didn’t feel right to let yourself into his place without permission. You rocked and forth on yourself as you waited to hear the gait of his familiar footsteps. 

When you did actually hear them, you grew nervous and contemplated running away again. But it was too late because you’d already been cowardly enough. The door opened slowly and you were met with a very tired and surprised looking Steve. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before blinking owlishly at you. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, and to your surprise his tone was void of any anger or malice. A wave of emotion washed over you, and you had the urge to wrap him up in a tight hug. 

“I…I umm,” you closed your eyes and waved a hand around, silently willing it to somehow give you all the answers, “I wanted to apologize…to talk. But if you don’t want to, I understand if you don't want to. I don't know if I really deserve it."

"Y-yeah," he almost choked on the single word as he nodded before opening the front door. You hesitantly made your way inside; it usually felt just like home but today it didn't. 

You trailed after him to the living room, sitting down on the couch as he sat down opposite you. A tense silence fell over the two of you for a few moments before you ended up clearing your throat.

“Umm-”

“So-”

The two of you spoke at the same time before you nervously exchanged a chuckle. You leaned back and exhaled slowly as he motioned for you to go. 

“First of all,” you allowed yourself to meet his eyes; there was nothing but gentle curiosity behind them. Of course he wasn’t furious…he had too good of a heart, “I want to apologize. I know that doesn’t solve a single thing or make anything right, but I definitely owe you a giant apology.”

“It’s…’s okay,” his lips pulled into a thin line, clearly mulling over his thoughts, “it hurt a whole…like a lot a lot, but I figured you had your reasons.”

“Yeah,” if only you could turn back time and change everything, “it was just a big surprise and I didn’t know how to handle it. But I shouldn’t have run away from you like that. It wasn’t right.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” he confessed sheepishly. He wanted to give you a huge surprise and gave you the most romantic proposal…but that was quickly shut down. Admittedly, Steve had wanted to be mad and angry but he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything of the sort to you, “we’ve been together for a couple of years so I just thought that it was the right time.”

“I know,” you couldn’t help the smile that crossed your features, “it’s been the best two years of my life…all because of you.”

“So why…what happened?” his brows furrowed as he tried to put two and two together. If it had been so good, why didn't you want to marry him? He was sure that it would be the two of you together forever. You knew you had to tell him…it was going to have to come out at some point so you might as well get it all out now, “you don’t want to marry me?”

“No, Stevie…I do,” you whispered, throat already thick with tears, “I do. You’re the only person I could ever see marrying.”

“But you…said no.”

“Steve…” you inhaled and exhaled shakily, “I should have told you this sooner…I just panicked. I thought that somehow it would work itself out but I see now that it never will. So I figured that I couldn’t marry you after all.”

“Angel, what are you talking about?”

“I can’t have children, Steve,” getting it all out in the open felt like a rush of relief and also like the weight of the world was on your shoulders, “and I’m so sorry for not telling you that before. I-I know you’ve always wanted kids, and I just…I was so selfish for never saying anything. I just didn’t want to let you go. I wanted to be with you because I love you so much; I’ve never felt anything like I do with you before. But if we stay together, we can’t have kids, and you deserve to have them. You’re going to be the best dad ever.”

He’d scooted over to the couch you were on while you were somewhere between rambling and crying, studying you intently. He hesitantly reached for your hand, holding it tightly in his when you slowly offered your hand to him, “how long have you known?”

“A long time,” you whispered, “before we started dating. I just didn’t want to lose you.”

“Why would you lose me?” he tilted his head to the side like a puppy as you blinked in surprise.

“Because you want children and I…can’t give you children,” you stated as though it was so obvious, “why would you want to be with me?”

“I’m in love with you,” and that might have been your favorite thing in the entire world to hear, “and I love you so much. There’s no one else I’d ever want to be with.”

“But-”

“But nothing,” he smiled gently, “nothing will ever change that. And if you think I wouldn’t wnat to be with you because of that - you must not know me very well.”

“Stevie-”

“I want you,” he promised, “and yes, I want children, but just because you can’t carry them, doesn’t mean we can’t have the family we want, angel. There are so many ways for us to have our own family.”

“I…you…” tears had rolled down your cheeks now and Steve tenderly wiped them away, “are you sure? You’d still want me?”

“I don’t want anyone but you,” he brushed his knuckles along your cheek, “no matter what. Why on earth would I not want to be with you over that? It’s something that you can’t even control. There’s so many ways for us to have the family we want. They don’t have to be biologically ours to be our children. Family is what we make it, yeah? Look at our family now.”

Steve was saying the exact opposite of what you had expected, but everything you wanted to hear. He was right, after all, your current family was found but that didn’t mean the love you shared wasn’t real.

“Are you sure?” you asked softly, “you won’t change your mind in a few years and hate me?”

“I could never, ever hate you,” he insisted and you knew in your heart that he was telling the truth, “I am so in love with you, and nothing is going to change. The only thing I wish I could change was how worried you were to tell me. I’m sorry if I ever did anything to make you feel like I could ever love you any less.”

“It was me,” you shrugged slightly, “I’d convinced myself a long time ago that no one would ever want to be with me because of that. But with you…I should have known better. You’ve never given me a single reason to doubt you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Don’t apologize,” he insisted softly, gently tugging you towards him. You obliged without a second thought and let him pull you into his lap, “I’m glad you were able to tell me now. I love you, okay? Nothing is going to change that.”

“But I…I was awful to you,” you pouted and Steve couldn’t stop himself from peppering kisses to your cheeks and forehead, “and I just…I left you. How could you still love me?”

“Because you’re still you and I’m still me,” he grinned, “and last time I checked we’re still in love. And I’m hoping that maybe you’d still agree to marry me one day?”

You gasped audibly which caused the boy to laugh softly. Your brows furrowed in surprise as you looked at me curiously, “you still want to marry me? Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” he insisted and you almost melted into a puddle, “but only if you want to.”

“Yes,” you looped your arms around his neck and clung onto him tightly before burying your face into his chest, “there’s nothing I want more. Of course, I-I really want to marry you, Stevie.”

“Good,” you felt his chest rumble with his relieved laugh, “that settles that. We’re going to get married. And, when we’re ready, we’re going to have the family we want. Deal?”

“Deal,” you pulled back and looked at him with misty eyes; you could see that he was trying to hold back his own tears, “I love you, Steve. So, so much.”

“I love you, angel. More than anything.”

[multiwreckedmess]

Two Princes

Pairing: Prince!Hyunjin x fem!servant!Reader x Prince!Felix Genre: Royalty AU Smut WC: 5.5k Summary: A kingdom unlucky in queens but lucky in princes, you live a pleasant life inside the castle walls. Given to the crown by your parents for training it was only a matter of time until you ran into the two golden Princes Hyunjin and Felix.  TW/CW: Power imbalance. SoftDom!Hyunjin, SoftDom!Felix, unprotected penetration, non-explicit consent, reader is called “darling” “miss”, hyunlix is called “sir”, slight breeding kink, double penetration, Felix and Hyunjin aren’t related but are close like brothers so if that gives you the ick heads up ig, basically 5.5k of pwop.

As usual, this is fiction not a resource manual for how to do literally anything in life. This does not represent ANYONE real or fictional. also not proofread sorry...

You prayed no one would notice the waves forming in the dark wine as your hands shook. Only a month into your service at the castle and you’d made it to the throne room. The matron had looked at you proudly for once that morning, announcing that you would take up the place usually kept by her as a capstone to your training. Muscles tense and locked you acutely wanted to appear composed and graceful, as though you’d done the job for decades. Prove to them that you were born to serve the throne.

Or in this case, the thrones of Princes Hyunjin and Felix.

Two striking young men, crowned with golden locks and reputations to match. Truly the kingdom was blessed despite the tragedy that had led to the familial merger. Not directly related by blood the two boys had still had become fast friends and confidants to each other as the King had aimed for.

“You will hardly see one without the other so I suggest you be ready to see double.” Your matron gently chided, stuffing a second handkerchief into your apron. “Have two of everything! We’d hate to think the Princes might ever want for more.”

You nodded fiercely. Amongst the many new rules this one was easy to remember. Two princes. Each gets his own copy when possible.

Pouring from the decanter into Hyunjin’s cup was the closest you’d ever been to either prince. Sharp jawline, plush lips, seemingly shaped by the goddess herself. Almost an artifact of another world, dangerous to gaze at for too long yet irresistible.

“The glass dear, it’s close,” his velvet voice jolts you from your thoughts, eyes flicking down to the nearly overflowing glass.

Hastily you right the decanter, a million apologies bumbling and stumbling and tripping over each other in your mouth as you shrink looking towards the ground.

Hyunjin’s fingers wrap themselves gracefully under your jaw, righting your posture with a practiced ease. “Now, now, no need for all of that. While this is simply too much for me to drink, I can easily share some with my brother, isn’t that right Felix?” Your eyes flick to the other prince, whose head turns slightly surprised to hear his name.  “Please Felix if I may,” Hyunjin gestures with his cup, dark red liquid wobbling precariously near the rim.

Felix’s eyes narrow, flitting from you to the glass to Hyunjin before extending it to his brother with a small smirk. “Of course. No need for our pretty little attendant to worry. We’re quite good at sharing when needed.”

Carefully steadying the younger’s outstretched wine glass, Hyunjin slowly pours from his cup to Felix’s. There is something disconcerting in the way Felix’s eyes rake over you. It makes your stomach tense and lungs freeze in place. No one in the room says a word as Hyunjin tilts his glass upright, forefinger collecting a stray bead of wine as it slips down the edge of the glass. Time seems to freeze as your eyes meet his tongue slowly licks the droplet from his finger, barely even meeting the skin. You don’t even realize how wide your eyes are, how you’ve sealed you lips in a thin line of shock.

“See, we can share quite well when called upon.” Hyunjin giggles.

An advisor, sat on a luxurious leather wingback chair, clears his throat anxiously. “Let’s not play with our food, boys. As you can see from the agenda there are several economic initiatives that need attending to. Once we are done you are free to spend your time however you wish, but for now you have ceded this time to us.”

The two princes straighten in their thrones and nod, dismissing you back to the small stool and table sat in the corner for you. Briefly your knees knock together, unsure of what the concept of “walking” even was. Manuel mode enabled, you lift your unwilling legs and march at what you think is the speed you normally walk, hoping against hope you haven’t drawn excessive attention to yourself.

Fear flutters in your chest as you watch the room, advisors passionately providing their arguments to the princes, both sat and attentive to each as they spoke. This must be what power is, wordlessly commanding respect but lending that same floor to others when asked. Quiet, unassuming, but simmering below the surface.

You had a similar encounter with the princes very early on in your days as you’d scurried along one of the many arcades on the perimeter of the inner ward. Late for your etiquette lesson, already a demerit, you spotted the pair directly in your path. Both kitted out with their tight white fencers dress, headed to the field for a friendly spar. Felix gently swatting at Hyunjins thighs with the practice foil, Hyunjin jumped, laughing. Bubbling with affection towards each other you wanted to just sit there and watch them, living as a fly or a spider or some other unsightly insect just to see their smiles.

And that’s when you realized you’d stopped fully and were staring in an unbecoming manner.

And they’d noticed.

And they were staring back.

The force of the realization threw you behind the nearest piller, back pressed to the cool stone, waiting to hear their footsteps. Heart thudding wildly you know you shouldn’t hide from them, it isn’t right to hide from them, you are there to serve them not spy on them. Their footsteps fade and disappear as you melt against the column. Maybe you’d hallucinated their line of sight, maybe someone else was behind you.

A harsh clang of metal hitting your column jolts you, sending you yelping and jumping away.

The boys burst into laughter, one climbing in pitch the other diving deep into his register. Hyunjin winks as you turn and run away, feet pounding into the ground, chest heaving.

“Sorry didn’t see you there!” He calls after you jovially. Not that it mattered whether or not it was on purpose.

Today you were finding out that the throne room assignment was mostly about waiting. No matter how scant the crowd was, you had to wait until the princes left to clear the drinks, one of many rules you memorized and repeated as you sat idle, waiting to be needed. At least with the great hall no matter how hectic the activity seemed to have a set pattern which you had grown used to and memorized like a court dance. Mind wandering you watch the advisors drift off into adjoining halls and rooms, half drunk glasses of mead and wine alike littering the table as evidence of their having attended.

And suddenly the princes’ full attention was on you. The same calm gaze with which they’d heard out the court they fixed on you, like a spotlight had decided to shine directly down on you. It would be out of turn to speak but it was increasingly warm under their watchful eyes. Subconsciously your fingers worked over the skirt of your apron, nervously smoothing over and picking the pills.

“Miss, are we truly that scary?” Felix smiles at you. “Please. Come sit, we don’t bite!” He’s warm like sunshine with every word he speaks to you.

Perhaps before now you’d never truly appreciated the concept of ‘scurrying’ as you shuffled speedily to kneel between the twin thrones, head bowed. Skirts billowing out around you like a flower you tuck your hands in front of you, perfectly as taught. You can hear the princes stifle a laugh, bodies shifting towards each other in the top of your peripheral vision.

“We did mean sit when we said sit. You don’t have to kneel so formally.”

“I’m sorry your royal highnesses. This is what my training instructed me to do. How would you prefer me, sirs?” You dare not raise your gaze for fear of losing your mind.

Felix smirks and licks his lips, “well if you could look at us that would be a start.”

With a gulp you raise your chin, eyes still tracing the air around their bodies rather than daring to look directly at them.

“She’s so cute, Felix! So proper. Our matron dearest really went too far with her I think.” Hyunjin nearly brags to Felix as though you aren’t directly in front of them.

“Really such a dear thing. All nervous over us like this.”

Hyunjin kneels slightly beside you, close like you had been to pour his wine. “As beautiful as you look on your knees I’d love you to take a seat for us. Can you do that? You can choose anywhere you like, even our laps if they look comfortable. I assure you no better seat in the entire palace.” His tone caresses your nerves, codling you. Almost easing you into standing before them, still trembling. As you turn to pick a chair his voice calls again. “Oh before you sit, please, remove that apron for us, darling.”

Quick to respond to his request you fumble with the pins holding the top half of the apron, hands shaking like leafs.

It’s Felix’s turn to step forward. Taking a quick stride to position himself behind you he easily plucks the knot loose, arms wrapping around your waist to catch the sheath of fabric over his arm. His chin bumps your shoulder, face close to yours in a way you never dared think about. Ears flashing hotly you stumble back on him with a squeak.

“Oh!” Felix exclaims, righting you in his grasp. “I think our darling’s corset is restricting her too much. She nearly fainted right here!”

Mouth opened wide in dismay. You want to fight him on his assumption. Your bindings were fine, it was he that was the problem. But you can’t bring yourself to say it was him. Training taking over, what he said must’ve been right. The girls always did have a habit of lacing too tightly in the morning when their stomachs were empty from hours sleeping.

“Felix, if you think that’s the problem I give you full permission to remove the offending clothing. We can’t have anyone passing out in our care.”

“Sirs! No, I’m fine really, that’s so much-” your panicked voice reaches a high tremor. The reality of the request forcing your hand. You’d be basically nude in the throne room, thin chamise only blurring what the imagination could easily place beneath the formless white fabric.

“What is your primary duty?” Hyunjin barks out suddenly, stilling you.

“To serve the throne, sir.”

“And if you faint? How will that be in service to us?”

“It will not be in service.”

His eyes sparkled, “then by that logic, if removing your bodice serves the throne…?”

“The bodice should be…removed.” You reply shyly, ducking your head to hide your face.

Felix’s small fingers neatly unhook your outer layer, slipping the sleeves off your shoulders and letting the durable slab of roughly woven cotton slide to the floor. Almost equally as swiftly he pops the pins holding your skirts and petticoat tightly around the corset, pooling at your feet, leaving only the offending clothing squeezing your ribs, your pantalettes, and fine linen chemise.

You can’t hide the lewd moan that escapes your lips as Felix presses open the metal release hooks at your front, pinched flesh screaming in delight at the sudden freedom.

“...and that’s why we make the decisions for the kingdom. We know better than our own subjects.” Felix purrs in your ear.

Goosebumps rise on the backs of your arms as you close them across your chest in a lame attempt to keep some modesty. Their consistent gaze heats your insides to jelly. You wish that you owned anything prettier than this to present yourself in. Something silk like the noble ladies or at least lace embroidered like the more well off ilk.

“Felix, are you frightening our darling?”

“Darling, am I scary? Do I scare you? You can be honest with us.”

Panic clenches your abdomen. “No!” You blurt. “You don’t-I’m not scared.” As per your training, you must stay resolute. The answer seems to please them, sharing a small smile and glance at each other.

Hyunjin’s tone remains soft, floating like a melody. “You must know, as you’ve been trained to be so exemplary, that it is my birthday soon. A very special day for all the kingdom and of course for myself. Now, I hadn’t thought of what I might ask for…” he trails off. “Come closer, girl.”

Dutifully you step almost toe to toe with him, Felix returning to his seat to observe. Both wearing the smiles of cats that caught the mouse.

“What do you remember about your prince’s birthdays?”

Straightening up a little you recite, “as we are blessed with two beautiful princes we celebrate each twice. Although they were born separately they are celebrated jointly as the rising of the spring and the beginning of the fall.”

Hyunjin claps his hands, “and! What of our presents?”

“Two of a kind as with all things that can be made twice.”

“Oh she is perfect! Isn’t she, Felix?” Hyunjins hand reaches out to play with the hem of your chamise, pinching and bunching the fabric in his fingers. His eyes flit suddenly up from the hem to you, “I want you for my birthday.”

You can’t control your facial expression, eyes widening and jaw going slack. Breath growing fast and shallow your hand grasps the fabric covering your chest. “Sir, I’m not sure what you mean. I’m already yours as I have been taught and trained to be, I belong to the crown, the throne-”

Of course you knew what he meant. There had been other boys who’d shown interest. Other boys you were interested in. The concept was not new to you. Something about him though, made it unbelievable that he could mean what you thought.

“Your duty is to the crown and the throne. I don’t want that. I want you, I want your body, and I want your affection.” He drew the hem to his lips, kissing the garment like a lord might kiss a ladies hand. “Now hike up your gown and let me have my present.”

Fluttering stomach, fingers trembling, you slowly tug the fabric into your fists, exposing the white legs of your pantalettes, conjoined at the top by a drawn string threaded through both halves. You’ve never seen hyunjin like this, slouched in his throne, legs spread wide. He watches you, palming himself over his breeches.

“Hyunjin, she’s shivering already!” Felix raises his eyebrow. “Are you okay darling? Tell your princes what you need.”

“I’m-I don’t-I’m not sure-” you stutter out, keenly aware of the spotlight on you.

“Please help our darling out, should you wish. She’s your present too after all,” Hyunjin addresses Felix, eyes still fixated on you. They don’t move as you feel Felix’s presence hovering behind you, his hands slowly smoothing your gathered bunches of fabric into one knot held tightly in his fist to your side. Your heart thuds in your chest and echos between your thighs. Lust clouds your judgment like the hazy heat that rolls off of his body. His unoccupied hand slips into the slit in your pantalettes, tracing your folds with the pads of his fingers.

Gasp caught in your throat your veins feel like they’ve been lit on fire.

“Our darling is so responsive, Hyune. You’re going to love her. Cunt’s already dripping.”

“Show me.” Hyunjin demands. Felix tugs on the drawstring, pantalettes swiftly tumbling to the ground.

“Put your knees on the arms of his throne, love. I’ll hold you close still, don’t worry,” Felix whispers assurances in your ear as you shakily spread your legs wide to match the width of the sturdy, thick armrests. Stepping between Hyunjin’s legs to join you, he encourages you to lean back into his chest, angling your pelvis to present lewdly forward, hands grappling backwards to your own ankles.

Hyunjin’s eye’s rake over every inch of exposed flesh, joined by eager fingertips. He’s careful not to venture too close to your sex, opting to leave anticipatory prickles in his lazy path up and down your thighs. Your hips rise to meet him each time, assuming that he had to have grown impatient by then. No man you’d ever met was patient for very long for any reason, so why should a prince be any different? Still as much as your body seemed to long for his touch to advance he resisted, smiling as you exhaled with a disappointed “hmph.”

“Really doesn’t take too much, does it darling? Just the proper, or improper, touch.” Hyunjin states, finally slipping a finger between your lips, gliding it back and forth, just teasing your entrance.

You sink into the motion with a gentle “oh” hardly noticing as Felix slips his unoccupied hand beneath your chamise, soft palm kneading your bosom in handfuls. “Just relax,” he continues to whisper, silky tone weaving through your cotton-y brain. “Let us take care of you. You’re capable of so much pleasure, if you just let us rule you. You can do that, right darling? You’re such a good little servant. So perfectly trained. You know how to be a good girl and take orders. It’s your duty after all, to serve us.”  The tapestry he knits with his words is an enticing one, laced with golden promises.

Your thighs threaten to collapse inwards with each nudge of your clit. Each denial becomes almost painful, your body clenching inwards to try to force yourself over the edge. Eyelids fluttering over the whites of your rolled-back eyes you beg under your breath, beg for release, beg for something to clench down on.

“Louder. Let your Prince hear what you need,” Felix hisses.

“Please, sir, it hurts. I need - so badly. I need to - I might die. I need you-”

“What do you need from me?”

“I need you inside-” your voice breaks, the words too dirty to dare utter in front of them. “Sir, I need you inside me.”

“Be more specific.”

“Fingers!” You gasp and groan as Felix pinches your pebbled nipple. “Please use them in me, sir! Please! Please.” You chant as he continues to rub his thumb back and forth over the tingling area. Every touch feels like looking over the edge of the castle wall to the turf below, churning the pit of your stomach.

Hyunjin tuts, leaning upwards, face inches from your mound. Breath held as his finger passes again over your hole, you whimper. Tongue pointed he kitten licks your swollen button before sealing his mouth over your mound. Licking and sucking at you, the persistent attention from his swirling muscle has your eyelids fluttering and hips grinding down on him, juices dripping down his chin. Your cunt pulls his finger in with each flutter of its walls, happy to have even this much to clench down on.

The arousal pooling in your gut, your body arches up, head pressing into Felix even harder and you flood the man below with your essence. Each pulse of your cunt forces a twitch from your flexed muscles as he releases you, tongue flat to eagerly lap at your core.

Hyunjin looks pleased as he pants, withdrawing from your netherregion, lips pink and plush from their hard work. “This is why we royalty come up with the solutions.”

“Yes! My Princes know how to take care of me. Thank you sir. Thank you for your care.” You cry and shake, giving your full weight plus some to Felix as you convulse with aftershocks.

Hyunjin motions for Felix to lift you gently off the armrests, letting you curl and rest at his feet. “Set your head here, darling, let me show you how good you taste,” he taps his knee, leaning forward to kiss you as you come near, lips still shining with your release. The taste is faint, his own scent almost overwhelming your senses, but not unpleasant. Gently his tongue presses at your lips, seeking permission. Swept into the moment you grant it easily, letting him explore your mouth, licking into the warmth just as he had your cunt.

As your kiss becomes more desperate, Hyunjin pulls you over him, your torso stretched over his thighs, ass stuck out into the room. You yelp into his mouth as another wriggling tongue swipes over your slit.

“She’s so sweet, no wonder you took your time with her,” Felix murmurs, drifting off as he indulges in another swipe.

“Felix,” Hyunjin breaks from you, strand of spit spanning the distance from your already fucked-out face. “I think she’s ready enough, we don’t want to break our present quite yet.” His face doubles and swims in front of you as your eyes fight to focus. Hyunjin chuckles affectionately as you stare back at him dumbly. “Darling, he’s going to fuck you now. You might want to brace yourself.” Gently he cups your head and lays your cheek to his thigh, mouth watering bulge twitching and straining against his breeches right in front of you. Forgetting yourself for a moment, you trace the print in the fabric with your forefinger. “So cute,” he coos, gently removing your hand, “but I didn’t say you could do that.”

“‘M sorry sir. I-” your thought is interrupted by the blunt tip of Felix’s cock sliding between your folds. Hand gripping Hyunjins thigh in anticipation, you wiggle your hips as Hyunjin pushes your hair away from your face to get an unobstructed view.

“Go ahead Felix, take her.”

Palm flat on your lower back he pushes into you to the hilt in one smooth motion. Your facial expressions and groans do not disappoint, eyes rolling back to the whites. The stretch is more pressure than pain, your slick easing him in with the prep work Hyunjin did to open you up.

“She’s a tight little thing,” Felix pulls back leaving only the flared tip inside of you, reveling in the way your lips hug around him as he fills you. “Every time I try to pull out she just pulls me right back in.”

Popping the front of his breeches free, Hyunjins cock springs out in front of you. It’s paradoxically thick in comparison to him curving up to his waistband, tip already glossy with smeared precum. “Give it a little taste, darling,” he says, parting your lips with his thumb, encouraging your jaw to open even further, pad petting your tongue. Tapping the head against your flattened tongue he seems pleased with the ease of your obedience. He tastes slightly salty and musky as you twirl your tongue around him. “Good girl, go ahead and wrap that little pout around me. Just like a sweet, just like that,” he holds your head steady to his thigh as he shallowly fucks into your mouth. He can’t get much depth at this angle but the vibrations from your moans and blissed out expression make up for it. Both men take up the responsibility of ragdolling you between them, Felix pulling by your hips as Hyunjin thrusts forward into your mouth, one in, one out.

Each prince sounds unique in his pleasure. Hyunjin caught in whines and hisses in tenor while Felix groans and grunts in his low baritone. Their styles of loving are also a study in contrast, Felix’s hands roaming everywhere, squeezing and squishing and massaging. Like a sculptor working putty into a masterwork. Hyunjin prefers pointed attacks and intense stares. Busy wandering the scene with his eyes. Watching the light play over your fingers as they twitch and tremor with each thrust. The shadow of the hollow of your cheek as his cock pulls from your lips. Even your eyelashes, clumped with aborted tears, sticking to your cheek for a millisecond with every flutter.

“‘M close.” Felix warns, pulling from you with a pop.

“No,” you whine and wiggle, searching after him desperately. Both men laugh.

“Turning our cute shy thing into a cockwhore in one round, I’ve got to say I’m proud.” Hyunjin also pulls from you, leaving you unoccupied for the first time in the last twenty minutes.

Unsure of what to do with yourself you nuzzle his thigh wordlessly. Sweat and juices trailing down your inner thighs your stomach hungers for more. Frustration boiling and bubbling in your chest you wiggle your hips again in hops it entices Felix back.

“You’re just so helpless without us aren’t you?” Hyunjin’s voice returns to its calm caressing tone. “Don’t worry darling, you’ll be filled soon. Do you want to come sit on me now? Would that feel good?”

You scramble into the throne, straddling the prince like an overeager mutt totally unaware that it is no longer a puppy. Even panting with your tongue out, nearly begging as your slit slides along his strained member.

“Felix, did you not fuck her hard enough? She’s practically wetting the seat with how needy she is. Humping me like a bunny in heat. Gotta make her cum harder next time so she’s nice and pliant.”

“Jeeze, you’re the one who said not to break your new toy,” Felix’s voice echos from the other end of the room. “Should be thanking me for having her so wound up.”

You whine as you rub yourself on him. Cunt aching to be filled again, your fingers feel itchy as you deny yourself the pleasure of taking him of your own accord.

“Normally I’d punish you for trying to get yourself off without my permission but,” Hyunjin shoots a glance over your shoulder. “There was some familial miscommunication which you should not pay for.” He lifts your hips off him, dick sufficiently lubricated with a mixture of spit and precum, and fits himself just inside your entrance. “Now take me nice and slow, I want to see each inch go in easy, okay?” His eyes search for your understanding. “And if you try anything funny, I’ll make sure you’re fucked so hard that you’ll be on bedrest for the next three days.” A sudden hit of venom laces his words, driving his point home.

Thighs burning you sink slowly onto him, careful not to let gravity or exhaustion accelerate your descent. The effort has you shaking, palms pressed to the armrests with the tips of your fingers going white. He whispers small praises as he watches himself fill you. How proud he is, how well you are doing, how pretty your pussy looks taking him in, what a good cocksleeve you are. Finally, finally he leans up and pulls you to his chest, groaning as he forces the last few centimeters of himself inside.

“How do you feel darling?”

“Full, sir,” you mumble, happy to pour your weight into his arms. “Good and full.” Hands on your hips he rolls you back and forth on him, coaxing another wet release from you. It has you floating, you want to be good for him. You need to be good for him. It’s only right to worship a future king as you would a god.

Hyunjin’s hands spreading your cheeks, another warm intrusion works its way against you, slick release and additional lubrication coating your holes. A small digit swirls around the second, virgin hole, briefly pressing as a test. You jolt, pussy clamping down around Hyunjin, heartbeat climbing rapidly. “Relax, just trust us, we know best, right? Didn’t it feel so good before when Felix got you all nice and ready. He’ll be just as gentle. It’s his nature after all. Just put your head on my shoulder like a good girl and relax.”

Following his instructions you curl onto his shoulder, hands gripping his biceps. As the intrusion works its way into you, pulling back and inching forward with each thrust, you try to focus on him. His smell, his aura, his nerves of steel. His murmurs vibrate against your ear, tickling pleasantly. A second digit is added as you whimper and bury your face in his neck.

“No no, darling. I need to see your face at least a little,” Hyunjin nudges you from the warm juncture with his chin. “Especially for this next part.” He winks at Felix.

Felix who has been grunting lowly under his breath with each effort he makes to stretch you just enough. He presses the head of his cock to your twitching entrance pushing himself until just the head squeezes past the tight ring. Your face screws up cutely with the initial pain, lip quivering. Felix tries to make it more comfortable, slowly massaging your lower back as he rocks himself with your whimpers.

The pain has your head spinning while the overwhelming fullness numbs it. From clamping down around nothing to being stretched to the point where clenching would lead to misery you’ve run the gambit. As he settles a peaceful expression covers your face. Eyelids closed, brows unknit, lips just barely parted as your jaw hangs loosely.

You gurgle happily. “Is this what being with a Prince is like?”

“No darling, this is what being with a god is like.”

“I should worship you.”

“You should. But today, for being so especially precious, we will spoil you.”

Felix leans over, joining your and Hyunjins heads. “Let us treat you.” Both men start to rock opposite each other again. Their cocks are only separated by a thin wall. There isn’t much else you can do but take it, as the coo and caress and bounce you back and forth. Your body is frozen as you chase another orgasm, lower belly and tops of your thighs tensing and shaking as more arousal splashes from you and coats their skin. Everything they do to you is gentle followed by a small reminder of their ownership. A nuzzle followed by a harsh bruising suck of your skin. A loving hand massaging your ass cheek before smacking it. Somewhere between heaven and earth your mind floats in paradise.

“I can’t take any more. I really can’t. I can’t sirs.” Your eyelids are so heavy you think you might pass out. It wouldn’t be the worst thing either, to be taken into the blessed dark as your Princes have their way.

“You can, I know you can, you’re such a good girl. One more for us.” Felix mumbles in his deep bass, pressing kisses to your shoulder and neck. “Hold her for me,” he groans airily. “I’m close,”

Hyunjin’s hands move to the tops of your thighs, locking you down to his lap. “Might want to hold onto something, darling,” he gestures to the armrests as Felix leans back from you. That was all the warning you received, Felix’s hips suddenly snapping into you with a brutal pace. Your body fights itself, not sure if it should contract inwards or try to expand outwards, leaving you jittering between white knuckles and splayed palms. Words you’d only heard the stablehands shout as they shoveled flew from your mouth, much to the delight of the men inside of you.

“Keep going ‘lixie, she’s fucked. Nothing inside that pretty little head.”

Felix’s grunts turn into small high pitched whines. His sweat drips from his forehead as he wraps himself around you, head buried in the crook of your neck. Every inch of your body spasms, thighs, ass, cunt, arms, every muscle tensing and pulsing all at once, white hot. He spills into you panting and swearing.

“Better be able to hold her for me now, or are you too weak hm?” Hyunjin taunts, letting go of your thighs.

“I can-” Felix breathlessly pulls you tighter into his arms, arms crossing your chest to brace you against his chest.

Hyunjin fucks you with equal ferocity, bouncing your body up against Felix like you were made of rubber and not flesh and bone. Felix pulls your hair back, strands sticking to the drool and tears escaping from you.

“I think you broke her, Hyune.”

You gurgle dumbly, eyes blurred and mouth open.

Hyunjin doesn’t bother talking, teeth gritted, mesmerized by the scene in front of him. Looking to the heavens, face relaxed as though you could see your soul floating inches above you, a perfect subject, a perfect vessel. Your walls clamp around him fluttering and pulsing and pulling him, proof of his superiority. Even at base level your body was desperate to have his children, desperate to ensure it took. With a gasp he spilled deep within you, granting your body it’s well earned prize.

“Let ‘er go.”

Felix slips from you, letting your chest fall into Hyunjin’s arms again. “Good enough exercise for the day?”

Hyunjin nods.

“Good idea - specially asking for her - best birthday ever.”

Part II

[mamayan]

20, 92, 52, 99

Could you do this with Douma and a fem reader pretty please? Also very many congratulations!

Bang! … No bullet was shot—

Douma

“You’re pathetic, you know that right?” || Taste of Iron || Size || Praise/Worship

tw: NSFW • Biting (Blood play) • Rough Sex • Corruption K!nk • NONCON • Douma doesn’t stfu • Bondage

wc: 1086

“Ah~ really though, there’s nothing more wonderful than when you’re like this for me,” his voice was a soothing purr as he trails one cold hand up the smooth expanse of your thigh.

Luminescent rainbow eyes gazed down at your fragile figure tied and helpless. A pretty silk gag knotted and slotted into your mouth prevents any retorts.

“My most naughty little follower, are you enjoying this?” He wasn’t truly asking to hear your answer, more fixated on how much he was enjoying this. He could feel it, the blood and vitality rushing through your veins as adrenaline pumped and kept you acutely aware of every touch he placed on you. The fear and clarity in your gaze which the majority of his cult never figured out until it was far far too late.

You saw something you weren’t supposed to, and sadly, that meant you couldn’t be allowed to separate and mingle without him.

Tears flow down your cheeks as you struggle, bound and powerless under the beautiful male.

He was a fraud. A liar. A monster.

None of it mattered now, not when he’d sunken his claws too deeply into your family and friends to save them. You couldn’t even save yourself it seemed.

“Don’t cry sweet thing~ I’m not going to eat you~” yet, his smile was disarming, blatantly lying to your pretty face as he coos and hushes you.

“You’ve always been my favorite, you know? It makes me so sad to think about harming you, so we’ll do something else instead, okay~♡?” The cute way he spoke didn’t match Douma’s large body as he discarded his top, muscular unblemished figure on display.

He easily settled between your spread thighs, enjoying the view of your dripping pussy while you silently begged for mercy. “Such a shame I had to muffle your cute voice…” he laments to himself, nuzzling your soft inner thigh with his face and enjoying the texture of your skin. “I kind of want to hear you scream for me but, oh well,” he gives no warning before his sharp teeth are sinking into the flesh of your thigh, your pained squeal silenced by the fabric stuffed into your mouth. Douma delights in the blood and mark on your body, his mark, as he laps up the small rivers leaking from the puncture wounds he’d given. “Shh, no need to cry, I just wanted a taste,” he giggles, beautiful blonde hair falling into his eyes as he looks down at his handiwork. His large hands shift, moving to your exposed cunt where he uses two fingers to spread your folds and reveal your small wet hole.

“I just knew you’d like this~!” You flinch away from the image above you, his lips stained with your blood, sharp canines on display as he grins.

He pays no mind to your repulsion, soon you’d come to like the blood as he did, he just needed to show you why it all felt so good.

“Y/N, sorry, I’ll prepare you much better next time, but I want to see you bleed a little more me, yeah? You’ll be a good girl won’t you?” Douma ignores the shake of your head, the clear useless struggle you attempt against your bindings. Instead, he loosens his belt and allows his pants to drop past his upper thighs, releasing his hardened cock.

“I promise it’ll feel good after a bit, just be patient.” He assures, voice so calm and patient compared to your panic and trembling body. “Your pussy is so cute Y/N, tiny like you, it might hurt a bit.” You imagine it’s going to hurt more than a bit as he lines himself up with your quivering unprepared entrance. The thick blunt head pressed and kissing you, pre-cum leaking freely from his tip, the only lubricant he’s offering as he presses forward.

You jerk, unable to voice the pressure overwhelming you as he takes you, mind going hazy with the burn and sensations forced upon you.

“Oh my, hng,” his head goes back, muscles tensing and flexing as he moans. “This hole is pretty naughty too, hm?” He gasps, voice strained for the first time all evening, “You’re so tight, it’s like you're sucking me in.”

He laughs when he realizes you’re nearly passed out, sweet features languid and drool soaking through the gag as you whine deep in your throat. He doesn’t stop, thick cock spearing you open as he rocks and slicks himself up with your arousal and blood from his initial cruel entrance.

“My cute little follower, it’s almost like you’re worshiping my cock now right? Isn’t it a dream come true for you?” He’s gleeful as he begins dragging along inside of your walls, rocking you with how heavy each thrust is. He delights in your struggle to resist, but it’s clear you’re falling quickly to the feeling of fullness and pleasure as your passage becomes wetter with each slap of his pelvis against you.

“Good girl, you don’t need to do a thing, just feel good for me.” You don’t have a choice as he fucks you sensesless, eyes rolling back as you cum around him with a silent shout. His hips don’t stop, only his moans and nails digging into your hips increase while he works himself deep and hard into you, savoring the scent of iron in the air while blood smears on his lower half and cock.

“Ah, you came right? How cute,” he coos, loving your cock drunk appearance juxtaposed to your earlier fear and revulsion of him. “You’re pathetic, you know that right? Do you still want me to stop?” He chuckles, hand reaching up and untying the gag, pulling the dripping wad of fabric out of your mouth. “Answer me quickly, do you still want me to stop?” He asks, voice deepening as he rams the head of his cock against an area that has you wailing.

“L-Lord Do-Douma please—!” He twists one of your nipples harshly, loving the pretty arch your back makes as you clench and spasm around him again.

“That’s not an answer~” he coos, your pretty eyes unfocused as you drool and babble after your orgasm.

“Don’t—! Don’t stop! Fuck me! Please!” You’re quick to lose yourself, pleasure consuming you as he rocks you on his cock and thumbs your clit with a smug grin.

“That’s what I thought,” he chuckles, glad he doesn’t have to kill you earlier than he’d planned.

You are his favorite after all.

Post dividers/@cafekitsune

@desi-the-blue-eyed-kakushi

[the-dawn-star]

I am now invested with yandere alec with a cinnamon roll reader so I have some request for you! Maybe when her stuffies finally come in through mail or something she is so excited and she starts introducing alec to all her stuffy which have names!!!! She can also paint alec so pictures when he's gone and he comes back while she is asleep and sees them then she wakes up and freaks out cause they were supposed to be a gift. Maybe the Romanians come and steal her and he finds her all hurt I need some more possessive/protective alec in my life! Thank you for listening hope you have a lovley week!

A/N: Hi! I'm so sorry that this took so long. My school ended and I was stressed and in general not feeling well mentally. Again, This is movie Alec, not the 11-year-old book Alec!!!

-S

+500ish words.

TW: posessiveness, not good stuff, a bit of talk about bruises, and again this is not okay!!!

You had waited for this day for weeks. Finally, a massive box from Forks came to your and Alec’s room.  

Alec was somewhere in the castle working so you had at least a few hours before Alec would get back to your room.  

You opened the box and started to pick each one of them up with care and put them down to your bed into a straight line.  

When Alec got back to your room, he was shocked with the fact that most of the bed was covered in stuffies.  

“Oh! You are back, that’s great, my stuffies came and I wanted to introduce you to them.”  

You took Alec’s hand and pulled him to the bed, starting to name all the stuffies, telling a full-on story about each stuffed animal’s past and wishes.  

At the end Alec remembered one or two names and was so tired with it all that he would go to sleep if he could.  

Alec had to beg you to put some of the stuffies to the ground so you would have enough space to sleep (also he needs the space so he can cuddle with you while you are falling asleep). 

At the end you and Alec were cuddled into a small corner of the bed while Alec was spooning you from behind and you were holding your favorite stuffed animal.  

~~~ 

Alec had gone on a mission with some other guards.  

And of course, you were bored. So bored that you started to doodle. And you doodled some more and more and more until you fell asleep mostly covered by stuffies. 

You woke up the next morning feeling cold arms around you.  

“Hi.” You said, turning around to face your boyfriend.  

“Hey..., why didn’t you tell me you were so good at drawing?” Alec wanted his words to be encouraging but instead you jumped out of the bed and ran to your desk covered in your doodles.  

“You looked at them?!” You asked, clearly freaked out.  

“I mean, you didn’t really hide them, did you.” Alec responded and got up from the bed.  

“Yeah, but you weren’t supposed to come home today!”  

You bickered to each other for the next 20 minutes until Alec apologized and kissed your cheek. (The man apologizes first every single time you fight.) 

~~~ 

 You were taken by the Romanians. 

You weren’t sure what the reason was, but you knew that this wouldn’t end well for them if Alec was the one to decide that.  

Your lip was bleeding, and you had some minor bruising but overall you were doing okay.  

Outside the room you were kept in started to rattle. And with every second it got closer and closer to your holding place.  

Your stay hadn’t been the worst, actually the Romanians were mostly really funny, if not a bit blood thirsty.  

Alec basically ran into your room. You stood up and Alec walked to you scanning your body for anything acute.  

“Did they hurt you?” Alec asked, pulling you to a gentle hug.  

“No, they weren’t too bad,” you said with a smile on your face.  

“Good, but don’t think that you will be leaving the castle ever again, actually forget that you aren’t leaving our room ever again...” Alec’s eyes were raven black and without a question he picked you up into his arms.  

[dameronscopilot]

hi. me again. with a request of your brain thanks to the anon that asked for forbidden relationship Cassian.

...posessive Cassian.

that is all. goodbye.

oh look, it's wednesday! happy cassian day, bestie. here's a gift for you.

yours & mine

Cassian Andor x f!reader

Summary: A possessive look flares in Cassian’s eyes as he watches the Imperial general’s filthy, wandering hands touch you. He knows it’s all a part of the job—you’re Rebel spies, you’re undercover. You're here at this gala to collect vital information.

But he hates it all the same.

Word Count: 2.6k

Rating: Explicit, 18+ ONLY

Content: NSFW, smut, feels, fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, dirty talk, cockwarming, possessive!cassian

“Are you sure you’re ready for tonight?” Cassian’s breath is hot against the shell of your ear as he approaches you from behind, his deft fingers gently pushing yours aside to help you straighten out the criss-crossed straps of your top. When he finishes, he brushes a thumb along your left shoulder blade.

You turn in his arms, raising an eyebrow as you slowly run your pointer finger along the stubble on his chin. Eyes drifting up to meet his, you challenge, “Are you ready?”

For several years now, you’ve covertly worked as a spy for the Rebel Alliance. Cassian joined the fray shortly after, and despite a rocky start to your acquaintanceship—largely thanks to both of your independent and stubborn natures—the two of you managed to find solace in one another, and eventually something more. 

Tonight, you’ll both infiltrate a gala stuffed to the brim with high-ranking officials of the Galactic Empire in hopes of gleaning information about dangerous new weapons that they’ve been rumored to be in the process of manufacturing. While Cassian will be on a mission to do his best to blend in with the rest of the wait staff hired to roam around with trays of food and drinks, your role of the evening is something far less passive—you’re part of the…entertainment. Outfitted in a top and skirt far more revealing than your normal Rebel fatigues, you’re meant to be pleasant eye candy that will flit and dance about the room, cozying up to unsuspecting Imperial officers with their glassy eyes and loose lips as the party reaches its full height. 

It’s not the first time that you’ve found yourself with this type of assignment. At this point, you’d say you’ve grown quite good at batting your eyelashes and cooing over flashy rank badges while your ears are acutely tuned in to catch the secrets falling from nearby lips. But Cassian? He’s never worked a job like this with you before. 

Cassian cups the side of your face and leans in to kiss you, his other hand sliding around to your lower back and pulling you flush against him in one fluid motion. A shiver runs down your spine at the feeling of his warm, familiar fingers pressing into your bare, exposed skin. Your mouth moves in tandem with his, and a small noise escapes you as he tugs on your bottom lip and drags it between his teeth. 

Leaving you nearly breathless as he steps backward and runs his hands down the sides of your thighs, smoothing out your skirt, he winks and finally replies, “Of course. Now let’s go.”

—

Cassian watches you from across the room with bated breath, gripping the glass that’s in his hand so hard that a crack splinters its way across the lip. He clicks his tongue against his teeth as he places the empty drink on top of the tray he’s holding, forcing himself to avert his eyes and return his attention to the boisterous group of lieutenants that he’s been lingering near on and off all night. But his gaze remains unfocused, mind fixated on the image of you being plucked into the lap of a gray-haired General who had spent the better part of an hour leering at you until you finally deigned to dance your way over to him. 

It’s ridiculous, really—the unpleasant, sour tang of jealousy that’s crawling up the back of his throat. The cold, possessive feeling splintering through his veins as he watches the man squeeze your thigh. This is a war, and you’re fucking spies. This is what you do. Despite the fact that he’s never accompanied you on an assignment like this, he knows that you can handle yourself, and he’s well aware of the priceless information you’ve gleaned with this approach in the past.

But he’s only human. And to watch this man run his filthy hands along the planes of your body as he throws back another drink and laughs with his colleagues, it leaves Cassian’s hand twitching at his side, reaching for the ghost of his blaster that’s tucked safely away on the ship.

Cassian’s never been one to linger. He’s spent most of his life restless and searching, resolutely keeping everyone and everything at arm’s length as a result of his innate survival instincts and his inability to trust others. 

But you? You changed everything for him.

From the moment you outright balked at being taken away from your own independent assignment for the Alliance with orders to take Cassian through the necessary motions as a new recruit, he was inexplicably drawn into your orbit—whether he liked it or not. Cassian had spent so long running, he’d forgotten what it felt like to want to slow down. To want to stay.

You were both tired, closed-off ships passing in the night when you met, twin façades marred with sharp, fragile edges. Touched-starved and far more lonely than either of you would ever care to admit. But with each tentative smile that crawled across your lips of its own accord, with each wary step that you slowly took to close the once cavernous distance between the two of you, he felt the first sliver of a crack begin to work its way across the solid walls he’d erected long ago. And thus his weary exterior sighed. 

And even if he’d wanted to ignore the way his heart would traitorously beat faster whenever he was in your presence, even if he’d tried to deny the foreign emotions that suddenly had a chokehold on his every waking thought and breath, Cassian was fucking gone the moment you finally shut him up in the middle of a pointless argument by grasping the front of his shirt, jerking him forward, and crashing your lips against his.

Cassian’s always felt like everything in his life has been borrowed. Temporary. Brief and fleeting. From the clothes on his back, to the boots on his feet, to the ships that he’s flown and the weapons that he’s held. Every credit, every trinket. Nothing has ever quite felt like it was really his to take. To keep. To call his own. Until you.

You’ve long since nestled yourself deep in his bones, pulling him from the clutches of a treacherous sea he hadn’t even realized he was lost at. Even as Cassian scrambled for purchase on an unfamiliar shore, you held on tightly to each frayed, tattered piece of him. 

And in return, you wholly gave yourself. Each and every bit, even the dark and ugly corners that you could hardly bear to look at. Because you knew Cassian understood, knew he saw himself in all of those difficult decisions and haunting choices you’d had to make. You felt it in the way he kissed you after you began to let him in, kissed you hard and desperate like he was trying to press his lips to the very surface of your stained and fractured soul. 

So yeah, to stand here now, watching that Imperial scum hold you in his arms like you’re his? The rope of Cassian’s patience for this mission has been whittled down to a precarious, dangling thread.

A thread that snaps when he realizes the man has begun to lead you away from the clamor of the party toward a quiet, deserted hallway.

—

You hear hurried footsteps, and Cassian comes dashing into your view just as you jam the sedative into the General’s neck, shoving him and his disgusting hands to the floor behind a statue in an undignified heap. 

Cassian stops a few paces away, panting as he frantically looks you up and down. “Are you okay?”

You roll your eyes fondly and grin, flourishing the Imperial datastick that you’d slid from the man’s pocket after coyly suggesting you go talk somewhere more private. “Mission accomplished and then some, I think.”

Cassian shakes his head, a small smile crossing his lips as he rakes a hand through his hair. He steps closer to you, giving the man on the ground a kick for good measure before placing his hands on your shoulders and leaning his forehead against yours. 

“I hated that,” he grouses.

“I know,” you whisper.

He nuzzles his nose against your neck, lips brushing against your skin. “I hated seeing their greedy, dirty hands all over you. Like they think they can own you.”

Cassian brings a hand to clutch at your side, his thumb pressing into your hip bone. While the smart and logical part of you chastises the way you lean heavily into his grasping touch—you should already be halfway to the ship by now—you can’t help the thrill that runs through you at the look that burns in his eyes. You’re deep enough in the dark, deserted recesses of the building that you somehow begin to rationalize the way you start to slowly walk backward, encouraging Cassian to crowd you up against the smooth, solid wall behind you. If anyone were to make their way down the maze of hallways and find you, you’d certainly hear them first, anyway.

Perhaps you may have once laughed at the mere idea of belonging to someone. Of someone thinking they had any right to you. 

But Cassian? You’re his. You want to be his. From the blood in your veins to the very marrow in your bones, the love you feel for him is all-consuming. 

You can tell he’s trying to reel in the possessive feeling that dug its claws into him as he watched you, to tamper it down now that he knows you’re safe. But right now…you don’t want him to hide it.

“Why don’t you show me who I belong to then, Cassian?” you breathe out.

Cassian’s eyes widen a fraction, and he tilts your chin upward with his thumb and pointer finger. “Right here?”

You nod, briefly darting your tongue out to lick your lips, and he’s quiet for a moment as he tracks the movement. Cassian waits a beat, taking in the distant, muffled sounds of the gala, and finally, he smirks. Pressing his thumb to your bottom lip, he simply says, “Okay.”

Cassian slots a leg between both of yours, and a small gasp escapes you at the feeling of his solid thigh pressing firmly against your hot center. He leans in, grazing his teeth along your neck as he splays a hand across your stomach, fingertips teasing up under the edges of where the scant material covers your breasts. 

He nips at your earlobe, running his tongue along the inner curve of your ear as he hoarsely whispers, “What were you thinking about while those pigs were grabbing at you?”

You lift your chin, exposing more of your neck to him, and he starts to suck on the sensitive skin beneath your jaw. Heady excitement thrums through your veins as his hands wander somewhere lower, bunching up your skirt and toying with the thin undergarments beneath. “I was imagining what their faces would look like if you walked over and had your way with me right in the middle of their little party.”

His grip on you tightens at that, and he increases the pressure of his leg against the apex of your thighs. With your skirt out of the way, you can’t help but moan at the pleasurable feeling of your folds dragging against his pants, already beginning to soak through the fabric that still covers them. 

Cassian’s voice is hoarse as he asks, “You want them to watch while I fuck you?”

His hands slide higher up the inside of your thighs, and he presses his fingers to the wet spot that’s pooling between your legs. 

“I want them to know that I’m yours.”

“Do you think they’d know by the way you moan when I put my tongue in here?” Cassian hooks a thumb in the fabric and pushes it aside, running his fingers through your soaking wet slit. “Or maybe we’d have to let them see the way you scream my name when you’re gushing all over my cock.”

He slips a finger inside of you, and you thread a hand into his hair, firmly grasping it and tugging his lips to yours. Cassian devours your mouth in a bruising kiss as he adds another finger, pumping the digits in and out of you at a torturously slow rhythm. You buck your hips into his hand, eager for more as he deepens the kiss and entangles your tongues. 

“Cassian,” you whine, and he stretches you open further with three fingers while rubbing circles over your clit with his thumb. 

With his other hand, Cassian palms at your breasts, and you moan into his mouth as he pinches at your peaked nipples. He fumbles with the straps of your top, pushing it down and freeing your aching breasts. 

“So fucking beautiful,” Cassian rasps, pulling his lips from yours. His mouth latches on to your breasts with fervor as he continues to fuck you with his fingers, a wave of pleasure beginning to rise as your slick arousal drips down his hand. 

He lavishes the tender flesh of your breasts and sucks at your nipples, and you throw your head back as you pant out, “Gonna—”

He swallows the rest of your words, licking into your mouth. Your legs begin to shake, your cunt clenching down on his fingers, and Cassian speaks against your lips, “Go ahead.”

You collapse against him as your orgasm crests, breathing hard as your juices soak his fingers. When you lift your head to look at him, there’s a question in Cassian’s eyes, wondering if you’ve decided you’re ready to flee to the ship yet. A moment passes, and you reach out, running a hand along the front of his pants to feel his hard, throbbing length. You grasp it, and a lewd, needy groan leaves Cassian’s mouth.

Leaning in, you whisper in his ear, “Fuck me, please,” as you fumble to free his flushed, leaking cock from the confines of his pants. 

He nearly growls as he grasps your hips tightly in his hands, holding you up against the wall while he plunges his cock directly into your drenched, fluttering hole. It’s a fight to hold back the wail of pleasure that bubbles up in your throat at the way he impales you on his length, your cunt eagerly sucking him in as he stretches you open in one fell swoop. 

Cassian buries himself inside of you to the hilt as his lips claim you again in a wet, messy kiss, his tongue tangling with yours. You gasp against his mouth at the feeling of the head of his shaft dragging along your walls when he slowly pulls back out of you, only to slam right back in. His fingers dig further into your hips as he begins to roughly fuck up into your pussy at a rapid pace. 

Pleasure radiates through your body as Cassian swiftly drags another orgasm from you, and you bite down on his shoulder to muffle your cries. Feeling Cassian’s thrusts begin to grow more sloppy and desperate, your walls further lubricated by your release, you whimper, “I’m yours, Cassian.”

Your words are Cassian’s undoing. He shudders, kissing you hard as his climax punches through him, and he plunges deep inside of you, balls clenching as a thick, hot load of cum pours out of his cock and fills your cunt. 

Even after the last of his seed has finished leaking from his cock, he continues holding you up against the wall. You wrap your legs tightly around him, kissing him languidly, content to feel his warm length still nestled inside of you as it softens and cum begins to drip from the edges of your hole. 

“And I’m yours,” he murmurs.

—

Comments, reblogs, and/or asks are always appreciated!

» CASSIAN ANDOR MASTERLIST

[hairmetal666]

Steddie Notes Part 7

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6)

He’s looking up at the most beautiful face in the world, all hard-planed jaw beautiful moles sensual mouth. There are bloody fingerprints on the strong chin and agony warps those sharp features. Eddie loves this face more than anything, so if this is the last thing he sees before he dies, he can’t be mad. Except, he doesn’t understand why Steve is so unhappy. He tries to open his mouth, to ask what’s wrong, what happened, but he’s engulfed in a pain so acute, so mind contorting, that everything goes black.

✏️✏️✏️✏️

He sees two men holding each other. Crying? His ears are thick, stuffed with cotton, no sound penetrating. One of them moves, his face now visible, and Eddie’s heart contracts. Uncle Wayne. 

Sound rushes in at the shock of seeing his uncle. His uncle crying. He can hear them now, Wayne’s partially stifled sobs, and a cracked, rough, wavering voice saying through tears, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I tried to keep him safe. I tried—"

“Shhh, my boy, you did your best. I know you did. You brought him back, Steve.”

“But he might—The doctors say—it’s all my fault, Wayne. I did this. I didn’t keep him safe.”

Eddie wants to yell, to get their attention. Can’t stand to see the two men he loves most in the world crying when he’s right here. 

✏️✏️✏️✏️

Wayne, asleep with his arms crossed over his chest, in a plastic chair. And Steve—Steve still here, still with him, still waiting for him to wake up. Steve’s left hand twines with one of Eddie’s and he’s propped up just so that he can write and hold a notebook steady at the same time. That’s briefly confusing before he recognizes that it’s a black Composition Book, one of Eddie’s own with a dragon inked in red on the front. 

He allows himself to watch Steve, admire the curve of his cheek, the sharpness of his jaw, the lovely moles and freckles across his skin (the nights Eddie spent thinking about kissing each and every one of those marks). His hair is deflated, falling limply over his forehead, but he’s still so beautiful, Eddie almost can’t take it. 

✏️✏️✏️✏️

This time is different. He senses it immediately, his head less fuzzy, his fingers able to twitch. He’s like awake awake. There’s a tube in his throat, which fucking sucks, sort of hurts. He wants to claw it out, but that seems extreme. 

He doesn’t see Wayne, but he’s not alone, his fingers twisted into someone’s hair, the silken fine strands soft against his palm. Eddie’s eyes drift down to find Steve, head cradled on his arms against the edge of the hospital bed, snoring gently. Eddie can’t stop himself from pressing the flat of his hand into the chestnut locks.

Eddie’s touch has Steve blinking sleepy hazel right before he springs to his feet, “Eddie??” he yelps. Eddie, for his part, opens his mouth to respond, remembers the tube down his throat, and settles for waving. 

“Holy shit,” Steve says. He slams the “call” button, then says, “Fuck this, be right back,” and flees into the hall. 

Later, when the doctors all leave, Eddie can’t stop the tears that slip free, but Steve is there, holding his hands, crawling into the narrow bed with him to hold him close until they fall asleep, Eddie’s head on Steve’s chest.

✏️✏️✏️✏️

A week later, Eddie wakes up in an empty room. He hasn’t been alone, even once, since regaining consciousness and he has a second of panic before he hears the soft murmur of Steve’s voice from just outside the door. It’s relaxing, and Eddie’s gaze falls to the shockingly blue sky out his window. 

He's lucky, he knows. He lived, the murder charges were dropped, he found a group of people to call family. 

And Steve. Even if they’re just friends. It’s okay. He’s okay with that. Steve saved his life, stayed by his side, gave Eddie the most love he’s ever had. And that’s good.

He’s so locked into his thoughts he doesn’t realize that Steve’s come back into the room until there’s a Hawkins General branded notepad and pen thumping into his lap.   

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You okay?”

“Just thinking.”

“Good stuff?”

Eddie smiles as he writes. “Yeah.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Just that I’m lucky to have you as a friend.”

Steve’s face flushes a pretty pink and maybe Eddie takes it back, being okay with just friends. 

“Best friends forever, right?”

It’s Eddie’s turn to blush. “As long as you’ll have me.”

“Forever then.”

He looks at Steve, then, at the flush of his face and the brightness of his eyes and wishes.

“Eds.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re staring.”

“Sorry.”

“No, I like it.”

“Steve,” he whispers. His heart’s going a mile a minute and Steve is looking at him, gazing at him, his whole fucking heart in those hazel eyes. 

“I have something for you,” Steve says. It’s careful, like he’s afraid Eddie will spook. He pulls a crumpled sheet of paper from his jacket pocket, smoothing it out, handing it over.

Eddie looks at the note. 

“You ever been in love?” it says.

“No, but I think I’m falling,” is the answer

“I love you, Eddie,” is the follow-up. It’s accompanied by an atrocious sketch of a sailor boy and a rockstar holding hands, little asymmetrical valentine’s hearts between them.

Eddie can’t help it, he laughs even as tears fill his eyes. His heart is all twisted up, his mind reeling. This can’t be real. How can this be real.

“Eds?” Steve asks. He’s nervous now, breathy, and oh, he really meant it. 

Steve Harrington is in love with Eddie Munson. 

Jesus Christ. 

“Stevie?” Eddie can’t quite get air into his lungs; he’s so overwhelmed with fondness. “Baby, I love you so much.” 

Steve’s crying now. “I’m sorry it took me so long,” he writes.

 “You took as much time as you needed, considering I thought you were straight.”

“Me too. Until you.”

“Come here?” Eddie shifts as far over in the hospital bed as he can. He has to have Steve close, has to touch him, has to make sure this is actually happening. 

Steve climbs up, gentle in a way that only Steve Harrington can be, and Eddie curls into him, holding the man he loves as tight as he can. 

“Can I say that I’m sorry?” Steve asks, mouth against Eddie’s ear. 

“Again? I don’t think you have anything else to apologize for.”

“Kissing you that night.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow and Steve seems to catch the misstep, quickly says. “Oh, shit. No, I’m not sorry for the kiss, but for when it happened. You were upset and I thought it might help?”

Eddie giggles, can’t stop it, but cups a hand around the contours of Steve’s cheek. 

“It did help. But mayyybe the circumstances weren’t the best.” 

“That’s why I’m sorry.” His eyes flick to Eddie’s mouth. “You think I can make up for it now?” 

“Please,” Eddie answers, can hardly get the words out, too shocked at how this is his life; that the boy he loves, loves him back.

One of Steve’s hands winds into the hair at the back of Eddie’s skull, and then they’re kissing, soft and slow, and he can’t think of anything aside from Steve Harrington’s gentle chapped lips and the stubble on his jaw and the way his mouth feels around Eddie’s tongue.  

They pull apart after a couple of minutes, Eddie already feeling the strain on his battered body. Their foreheads rest against each other, still sharing air.  

“I love you,” Eddie whispers. 

“Love you more than anything, Eds,” Steve answers, his hold on Eddie tightening, like he'll never, ever let go.

✏️✏️✏️✏️

On a napkin from the Hideout, imprinted with the ring of a glass and half-formed song lyrics:

“What if we owned this place, Stevie? I’ve got ideas.”

“You want to?”

“Been thinking about it. As much as I’m shocked to admit it, we could have a life here. A good one, I think.”

“Whatever you want, babylove. Whatever makes you happy. You know I’ll go wherever you are.” 

“Even if we stay in shitty old Hawkins?”

“Even then. Best friends forever, yeah?”

“God, you’re a dork, Harrington”

“The dork you’ve been in love with for three years.”

“I’m having second thoughts.”

“Like hell you are. You’re obsessed with me.”

It ends with a cheeky little sketch of a devil.

On a Hawkins Middle paystub for guidance counselor Steve Harrington:

“Wanna do the one-shot with us when the kids are home for Christmas?”

“Sure”

--

“What?”

“Sure. Sure says Steve Harrington like it’s nothing, like I haven’t asked you to play almost every week for YEARS.”

“Calm down, Munson. Let’s just say you wore me down.”

“I can’t believe you.”

“Paladin, do you think?”

“Are you doing this on purpose?”

“Hmm, what race, though? I want to be something cool.”

“Steve.”

“Huh?”

“Take your fucking clothes off right fucking now”

On a wedding invitation addressed to Steve and Eddie (return address Max Mayfield and Lucas Sinclair):

“Why didn’t you get more milk???”

“Oops, sorry, Stevie. Forgot”

“Well???’

“Oh, you want me to go now. Okay. Back soon.”

“Love you, Eds”

“Love you more, Stevie.”

On scattered bits of paper and detritus across the Munson household:

“Love you, baby”

“Love you more”

“Love you most”

“You’re everything, Munson.”

“Kiss me”

“Always”

“You’re beautiful, Steve Harrington. Can’t believe I get to have this.”

“Love you”

“Love you more”

(BONUS PART)

This is the end of the Steddie Notes saga (though there may be a Steddie Notes-verse surprise coming soon 😈) This part took longer than usual because I wanted to make it perfect. I hope you love it as much as I do!!! I'll be posting this on ao3 soon, if you want to check it out there too (I'll be adding back pieces I cut for length). Thank you all so much for sticking with me! It's been such a pleasure to write and share with you all! 💜💜💜

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@trainchomp @anaibis

[spasmsofthought]

split open, i'm going down (j.s. x reader)

Warnings: Angst, mention of losing a parent to cancer

The title comes from the song “circle the drain” by Soccer Mommy.

Please excuse any spelling and grammar mistakes and tense changing. Also there are probably some military/Navy inaccuracies if you look for them.

Please give me all your thoughts and feelings. This one wasn’t just for me, it’s for you too. (How do we feel about reconcilation? Is there a way they can get back together? Does Jake deserve it?)

also, I've always pictured Jake's mom as the most wholesome, sweetest human being who would adopt anybody in a second, so.... that seeps through in this part.

Happy Saturday! Enjoy and all my love xo 

If you’ve missed the previous installments: 

Part 1 / Part 1.5 

+++

You softly knock on the apartment door three times. 

It’s an intimidating thing, standing here by yourself. 

In the times you’d been to Jake’s apartment previously, it had always been with him. You’ve never had to worry about being on the opposite side of the door from him before. 

The silence seems to echo your knocks, and you wait a few more seconds to see if the door will swing open on the first go around. 

You’re not a very patient person by nature, so waiting for him to come to the door feels like an acute kind of torture. You begin to anxiously roll your ankles as you stand there, fiddling with the item in your hands. You had found it stuffed down in the very bottom of your dirty laundry basket. When the realization came that you needed to give it back (not just to return something lost, but purge it from your life) all you could do was sink down and press your head to the floor, stifling the urge to cry. 

You knock again, a little louder this time. You tried texting, but all your texts were left unread and unanswered. You tried calling too, but it went straight to voicemail, and you had figured out enough by then to know not to leave a message. This was the last thing you had wanted to do after the unspoken break-up, but with no way to directly contact Jake to give him the one shirt he had let you keep, you were left with no other option. 

You begin to step back to head down the hall, resigning to finding a thrift shop on the way home where you could give the t-shirt away as a donation, right as the doorknob is fiddled with, slightly shaking and rotating, before the door quickly swings open on its hinges. 

But it’s not Jake standing in the doorway.

Instead, it’s a middle-aged woman. She has a wide mouth and there are slight crow’s feet around her eyes. 

“Oh, hi,” Her eyes slightly widen, you can’t tell if she’s surprised or taken aback, before returning to normal, “How can I help you?” 

“Oh, um,” You step forward, just slightly, holding the flimsy piece of fabric out in front of you with one hand, “I came to give this back to Jake. Is he around?” 

She smiles softly. “You’re the one he won’t tell me about.” 

Your brows furrow but you choose not to answer. The woman tries again. 

“You’re the one he’s seeing, and I know he’s been trying to hide it from me. Jake’s always been one to keep things close to his chest when they mean a lot to him.” She smiles softly, her eyes glazing over with memories you can’t see. Her hands finally reach to collect the t-shirt you’ve been holding out to her in your hand. 

There’s a violent crack suddenly splitting the heart you’ve spent weeks putting back together into two separate pieces. The jagged edges from the break scrape your throat as the words come out, “We’re not seeing each other anymore.” 

Your watch unnamed emotions roll over the woman’s face, taking in the tone of your voice and the painful expression probably clearly displayed on your face, and the assumption you reach is that Jake not only didn’t tell her about the relationship, if that’s what it even was, but he obviously hadn’t told her about how you both had split ways either. (Although it’s more like Jake deserted you and you just decided to pack up and try to move on.) 

You have to grab her phone from her hand as she's pulling it from her pants pocket before she does something like call Jake,

“Please don’t,” Your voice comes out as firmly as it can, despite the tears gathering in your eyes and down your throat. It feels a little harder to breathe now. You feel exposed, standing in front of her like this.

The woman is staring at you, eyes darting between your face and the phone in your hand.

“I’m really trying my best to leave all of this behind me, and the only reason I came here today is because he won’t answer my texts or calls. I haven’t seen him in weeks, and I really don’t want to see him now. Do you understand?”

You slowly hold out the hand holding this woman’s phone and she tentatively grabs it and puts it in her pocket.

“Oh honey,” Her arms softly wrap around you in a hug.

It takes everything in you to keep from sobbing into her shoulder. You thought you had been making progress and now it just feels like your heart has been ripped open all over again. Coming here was a bad idea It not only resurfaces memories of Jake, it resurfaces memories about your own mom.

She pulls away after a long moment. She has Jake’s eyes and gives you the same kind of warm, safe feeling you felt when your mom hugged you.

“Listen,” She scrambles down the hallway and you avoid looking into the apartment, her voice echoing as you can her rustling around for something. You don’t want to know what has changed or what has stayed the same. You keep your eyes on the ground. “I know you don’t know me. My name’s Sheila, I'm Jake's mom, and this is my number. It may be strange, especially because we never met while you and my Jake were together, but know that you can text or call me if ever you need anything.”

There are ten digits scribbled in pretty cursive writing across a blank piece of paper. You take the paper and hold it in between your fingers for a second before you fold it and put it in the back pocket of your jeans.

Jake never told you about his mom, though you told him plenty about how yours had died from cancer when you were just a teenager.

“Thank you,” You say, your nerves beginning to fray just slightly. “Um, I really just came by to drop off the shirt, so I really should…” You gesture towards the area where the elevators and stairway are.

“Of course, of course,” Shiela's voice grows a little louder and echoes against the hallway walls as you begin to head towards the elevators. “Seriously, text or call if you ever need anything. ”

---

The color of the ocean used to be something you could stare at for hours. You could just watch the still movement of the water passing by from the deck or from any porthole or window available to see through on the various ships you had called home throughout your deployments. By the end of this one, however, you’re ready for a break. You want to go somewhere far away from the color blue, from water, from all of it.

The measly letter he had given to you via your dormmate sits on the small desk in your tiny dorm and collects dust for the rest of your time at sea. You hadn’t wanted to store it with your personal things, which included pictures from your family and letters from Shiela. You assumed she had never told him that you had met her and had stayed in contact with her all these years. And you're not going to mention it now, not to Jake. You don't want to give him another way to try and accomplish whatever it is he's trying to do with you.

The rage you feel towards Jake is what pulls you through the last few weeks on the ship, which pisses you off even more.

After years of only hearing about him via word of mouth, he has the audacity to pull this kind of stunt?

He couldn’t have just left you alone and been on his merry way, far away from you?

You take your time gathering your things before assembling at gangway with all your fellow sailors. The disembarking with its ceremony and process takes some time, but soon enough you're on solid ground after months of being at sea. Getting back your land legs is your least favorite thing after a deployment.

It's not hard to find Jake, not when you know how he looks now. He’s situated towards the edge of the humongous crowd, so you have to struggle and push through the groups of sobbing partners and cheering children and smiling parents to do this. It only riles you up more, hardening your heart and tensing your muscles. Almost like your mind is telling your body: brace for impact.

Your seabag drops onto the pavement with a loud thud, and you let the sound echo as Jake turns around, pulling himself away from a conversation with what looks like a fellow aviator. It’s been years since you’ve been this close to him, but you’re already starting to feel the pull of his magnetic field.  

Think of him without forgiveness, is the mantra you’ve been repeating to yourself since you spotted him and started to make the long walk over. You're going to get this over with and then hopefully never see or hear from him again.

He seems a little taller since the last time you saw him, a week before you sat down and wrote that goodbye letter to him in his apartment. But you are taller now, too, and there’s less of a distance to close this time around.

Jake’s face is stoic, but you can tell you’ve piqued his curiosity. You know he assumes that you would rather choose to avoid conflict, that you don’t have the guts; they’re assumptions based on how he knew you before. But he hasn’t been there to see how your time in the Navy has changed and grown you.

“What the hell is this?” You hold the folded piece of paper, with a measly five words written on it, in your hand, waving it around in the air. 

The man never claimed to be a poet, but come on. 

Jake doesn’t say anything. No confessions of sorrow or repentance. If he had wanted a chance to try and patch things up, smooth things over, this would have been his real opportunity. This would have been his moment to shine. Instead, he says nothing. 

His expression doesn’t change, eyes remaining steady on you. Unwavering. If you didn’t know better it would almost look like a perusal of sorts, or maybe like he’s drinking you in.

But you do know better. 

You take a few steps closer and despite the raucous noise of the families and friends greeting their loved ones, and the heavy, overwhelming smell of the sea and metal from the ship, a sharpness of longing pierces your heart. A thought of what it would have been like if things had played out differently. If you had been wiser, if you had held on longer. 

If Jake hadn’t been such a selfish asshole.

The anger is back, swiped away by something else for a quick second, and it’s the fuel you need to get through the next words coming out of your mouth. 

“I don’t want it.” You press the paper hard against his chest, his hand moving to keep it there before it flies away with the wind as you pull your hand away. The breeze pushes against his back while you’re mostly protected from it as you stand in front of him.

You step back and move to turn away, but Jake’s words stop you. “It’s yours.” 

It’s been a long time since you’ve heard his voice, longer still since it’s been directed at you. 

His voice is weathered, weary. Rough like a piece of worn leather. 

You turn back around to him and allow yourself one moment of weakness. Just one. 

One long glance at his face, in his eyes. 

Jake does look older, despite this idea you had when you were together that he would retain his youthfulness and bachelor lifestyle far beyond what was normal. He looks like he’s carried the weight of the world at least once since he hung you out to dry. 

Good, your inner monologue thinks, maybe he’s finally had to grow up a little. 

“God, even after all this time, you still refuse to listen to me. I don’t want this,” You scoff and then snort, the outrage escaping you. You don't want to keep it, not when it had mocked you from its space on your desk for the past several weeks. “It’s yours.” 

“It’s something you deserved from me a long time ago,” There’s finally a crack forming in his expression. The straight line of his mouth tips down and the space between his eyebrows furrows ever so slightly. You’ve never seen his face take this shape before, so you don’t know what to do with it. 

You tried to give yourself a week when you walked out of his apartment for the last time. A week to cry and eat an unlimited amount of dessert and watch bad romcoms and bad thrillers and bad action movies. A week to linger in the damage Jake did to your relationship. A week to watch the part of your heart that had housed him turn to ash and rubble. (It ended up being much longer.)

Then you tried to move on, and you promised yourself you would never cry over him again. 

You know you’re going to have to hightail it to an empty space in the next few moments when you feel the hot tears filling your eyes and blurring your vision. You cry when you’re sad, but you also cry when you’re angry. You hate it but you can’t help it. You have to blink hard a few times to push them back. 

“You don’t know anything about what I deserve,” You take the same steps back toward him that you did just a few minutes ago. It’s always been like this, you moving toward him while he stays in the same place. Even now, when it’s been years and you two are on more level ground, he still waits for you to come to him. “And if you even had the slightest idea, you would know I deserve much more than that.” 

You gesture one last time to the pathetic excuse of a letter he gave you via your dormmate that he’s still holding against his chest. And then you turn around, grab your seabag from its place sitting on the cement, and walk away.

[ceebit]

two sides of the same coin

content • spy x family au, established fake marriage, wonwoo adopts a little girl, lowercase intended, reader is referred to as ‘mama’. 1.5k words of yearning …

he comes home one day exhausted. silent—not unusual of him, but the kind of silence that signals a thundercloud looming ahead with weariness to follow, his footsteps light on the wooden floor.

he hangs his hat by the front door when you peek your head out from the hallway corner, watching as he toes his shoes off by the floor mat and places them meticulously next to yours. he shrugs off the big trench coat you’d gifted him and hangs it next to yours as well—absentmindedly, but mechanical. you hear him sigh.

the bags under his eyes are more prominent, you notice, and your heart sinks.

when you’d agreed to this falsehood of a marriage, you really hadn’t expected much. it was convenient for the both of you, for reasons you didn’t feel right asking beyond getting his fleetingly eccentric daughter into that horridly prestigious school, and you? a ploy to get prying friends and family off your back.

just your luck to bump into a handsome single father, hm? too lucky, you think as you watch him run a large hand through his hair, wristwatch glinting in the late afternoon glow. you often wonder where you would be if you hadn’t needed to tailor some tattered clothing, the seamstress being a friend of your mother’s.

and now you’re here, watching the man who’d shown you nothing but a friend’s kindness since you’d officially moved in. all good natured charm in the face in your slight nervousness about the sham you two were conducting. assuring, never once wavering, with a gentle firm hand on your shoulder.

his touch had haunted you for weeks.

there’s a compelling urge to reach for him growing in your chest as he ventures into your shared space, feet dragging as he allows himself to relax. even then, he seems acutely aware of your gaze on him, shuffling slowly to sink into the couch and sag deep into the cushions. he makes a sound as he goes—breathless and so human.

you feel like your husband (could you call him that? you are technically married. you had the documents to prove them too—even if forged by his friend of a friend. it makes you giddy for a moment’s beat each time you remember. your heart constricts against the logic in your head.) carries the weight of the world on his shoulders.

unlike atlas, so unbearably human, bent on one knees as the sky itself presses into his broad shoulders. his head tips back against the back of the couch and your gaze drifts along the expanse of his neck.

breathe.

his eyes are closed when you slowly begin to approach him, slinking around him in case he didn’t want to be bothered. he gave you your space when you needed it, so incredibly considerate that it tug at your heartstrings, so why shouldn’t you extend the same courtesy?

except,

his eyes flutter open when the floor creaks under your light footsteps, mirrored pools of dark brown staring past your skin. his gaze burns hot, and his sends a shiver down your back.

heart in your throat, you play it safe by sinking into the seat one over from him. your hands toy with the red sweater that’s a bit too big on you, pulling back the sleeves to wring your fingers nervously. his gaze never leaves you.

god, he made you nervous.

“she’s asleep,” you begin, and a gentle grin forms across your lips at the thought of his daughter. “told me to tell you she missed you.. so does mr. boo.”

wonwoo huffs a laugh at that, both of you thinking fondly of the teddy bear one of his associates had give his little one as his namesake. you remember her jumping with glee at the sight of the stuffed animal, and linking pinkies with the man as she promised to take care of boo junior and eat her vegetables.

you also remember one of his other associates attempting to flirt with you that day, your daughter—his daughter—preoccupied with the other’s silly antics, and the warmth of wonwoo’s hand on your waist drawing you to his side with a stern look wills itself to burn into the inside of your brain.

you’d made the mistake of falling for him that day. so stupidly, horribly, devastatingly so. but was it really your fault?

the way he insisted on washing up after dinner because he couldn’t cook to save himself because it was the least he could do after you’d gone through all that trouble? that he insisted on walking on the opposite side of the road, held your hand when you were scared, and smiled attentively whenever you told him about your day?

that… that’d he’d introduced himself as your husband at the party your friends had thrown to find your a boyfriend? you couldn’t be faulted for it. you couldn’t.

wonwoo peers at you from your seat of choice, takes note of your fidgeting habits, and sits up slowly. you move with him, settling further against the arm of the chair, and your heart cinches horribly when you hear him sigh again.

“is there—something wrong?” you cringe at how timid your voice sounds, and your fingers wring around themselves even more. “is work okay? you’ve been so tired lately..”

he opens his mouth to answer but hesitates and purses his lips instead, brows furrowed. “i may,” he begins, shifting a bit himself, “have been going the wrong way about something important to me.”

you blink.

and then blink again.

“there’s something that.. i want,” he frowns, and for a moment, you wish to smooth the furrow in his brow with your thumb. “and i’m not sure if i’m allowed to ask for it. much less take.”

he looks at you again and your heart patters against your ribcage like uneven rain. don’t get your hopes high. don’t get your hopes high.

“what’s stopping you from asking?” you decide to be brave, nervousness spilling into the soft timbre of your voice. you’re not sure why you’ve gone quieter, but he fills in the space between you two. searching, always. “are you… scared?”

he laughs once more, a quiet snort so much unlike him. rich sounding and sweet. “you could say that.”

you can’t help the face you make, not trusting the absurdity of it all, and your doubtful frown makes him quirk a brow up in amusement.

“you’re lying to me,”

“oh?”

“you are,” you reason, confirming your thoughts with a nod. you begin to count on your hand, “you’ve been sweet to me for the past three months, so i don’t see why you couldn’t get whatever it is that you wanted if you asked nice enough. you’re smart, a wonderful father, and you even do charity work on top of your work hours.” you scoff, “so i know you’re a decent enough person to charm your way into whatever your heart restores.”

“decency proved by external behavior doesn’t always call for the nicest people on the inside,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. your gaze softens at this, and after a moment’s hesitation, you allow your hand to rest on top of his and squeeze.

“i know you,” you insist, and your inner voice laughs at the irony. “so pretend with me. ask.”

he seems to fight a war with himself, brows quirked downwards, his hands shifting beneath yours to take, and utters the most absurd string of words you’ve ever heard since the day you met him.

“you’re not mine to have, but i’m selfish enough to want anyway.” his gaze cast down, you watch him struggle with the right words to say. strong, steadfast, dependable wonwoo. your hands shake slightly. “you say to… pretend, but how can i? how, when anya—”

he pauses, seeming to collect himself before he unravels at your feet, but you’ve already heard the rest. the little pink-haired girl grinning as she runs into your arms, little hands grasping at your coat with delighted screams of mama! mama! after school.

had he known it had tugged at your heart, too?

“is it too selfish of me to ask?” his grasp is full of want, testing the waters still. “let me know. we can never speak of this again. you’ve helped me more than you know—”

a gentle hand at his cheek stops his rambling, looking up to see your other now fisted in his work shirt. a small part of you feels bad for wrinkling it the more, but the vast majority can’t seem to care.

“say it again.”

“what…?”

“say what you just said again, please.”

he pauses, and the embarrassment highlighted on the apples of his cheeks is endearing. “you’re not mine to… have?”

“i’ve been selfish, too, you know. i’ve been playing my part a little too well.” you laugh, “i’m pretty sure anya is past caring that i’m not her—”

“anya loves you,” he insists, cutting you off. it surprises you both, and you again as he pauses to reign himself back in.

“and you?”

“and i?”

“do you…” you trail off, heart knowing but to afraid to voice the words out loud.

“i’ve been playing my part a bit too well,” he reiterates. you smack his shoulder lightly and he laughs, low and warm. yours, you think.

this time, when he kisses you, it’s a step forward in the right direction. something real starts to brew that night, and your heart leaps at the possibility of building a future with him.

[givemea-dam-break]

that funny feeling (locklyle)

a/n: this is my first locklyle fic please by kind lmfao. convinced to write this by the amazing @neewtmas and @waitingforthesunrise, so i hope you all enjoy this - it was inspired by the locklyle angst playlist a bunch of us have going so be warned :) this also brings holly munro into the story, but don't worry if you haven't read the books because i don't mention her too much. it isn't too long since i'm just testing the waters for my locklyle stuff lol

warnings: big sad taglist: @wellgoslowly @galactidiot

part 2

The days were beginning to melt together.

How long had he been lying here, hoping, praying, for Lucy to come back? For her to walk through the front door, bags in hand, declaring that she was coming back? That she never meant to leave? A few weeks, maybe. Or was it months? He had lost track of time.

Her absence was a tangible thing, something that he could reach out and feel so acutely that its sharp, jagged edges sliced his fingertips and cut deep into his heart. But, even still, sometimes he'd forget. He'd make her a cup of tea in the morning, just how she liked it - more milk than he or George would take, sometimes with a spoonful of honey if she wanted a little sweetness - only for it to sit atop the counter, growing cold. Neither he nor George had the heart to empty it into the sink. Holly would arrive, expecting it, and dump it out, but Lockwood knew that it pained her to do so too.

Waiting was useless. There were things that needed to get done. Cases for Lockwood and Co were piling up after the antics of last November, and they were steadily gaining a reputation. He needed to focus on that. On the thing he had always wanted.

But what was it worth when the one person he wanted most wasn't there, right by his side?

Part of him hoped that Lucy would see his pictures in the newspaper. Maybe she'd miss him as much as he did her, maybe it would be the thing that made her realise that she didn't need to leave. That she could come back.

He still couldn't make sense of her sudden resignation. She was worried that she couldn't control her Talents well enough, that she'd put them all in danger. But how could she? When she was the very thing that had saved Lockwood time and time again?

So, there he lay, sprawled on the attic's bed. The bed she once lay in night after night for years now. It still smelled like her; of lavender and some nice soap he couldn't distinguish. His excuse? This room was once his, and he was feeling reminiscent. He missed looking out of the window onto the street behind Portland Row, down into the back garden where the apple trees stood tall. He missed the warmth that flooded the room during the day, and the calm, soothing cool at night.

Everyone knew better, and he knew that, too.

Sometimes he'd just lie there, thoughtless and quiet. Other times, he would talk as if Lucy was there in the room with him. He'd practice his speech, the one he'd use to finally get her back, gazing at the picture he kept on her nightstand - one of the two of them and George she'd taken on an old camera she'd found stuffed in the wardrobe. She'd run down the stairs excitedly, demanding a picture, and George was forced into it, which his half-smiling expression showed. If Lockwood looked close enough, he could see the faint green glow on the lower right side of all of their faces from Skull, who had been pulling horrid faces at them.

He loved that picture with his whole heart. Her smile, so radiant, was completely and entirely entrancing, and she just seemed so, so happy with her face pressed up against his. So what went wrong?

Heaving a sigh, he released the pillow he so often clung to desperately like a child, and sat up. There were things that needed to be done. Research for a case. Make some new salt bombs. Have a shower. Had he already had one? He couldn't very well remember.

He could hear George clattering around downstairs doing God knows what - he wasn't too fond of the idea of finding out, petrified at the thought of finding his best friend half-naked doing some sort of yoga again - and there was Holly just down the stairs, muttering something or other. She did that often now. He could never tell what it was she was saying, but he recognised the lost look in her eyes. She and Lucy may not have been on the best of terms, but she missed her. Badly.

This was always the worst part. Starting the day.

Without Lucy, the whole routine felt empty. Where was her smile, or her snarky comments directed at Skull, the same ones he often worried were actually for him? Where were those bright eyes that would look at him with such happiness when he paid her a - supposedly - mindless compliment? Or the moments where she'd put him in his place with just a few words? Oh, how he missed those dearly.

It always left a funny feeling in his chest, thinking about those times. A mixture of a strange grief, a mourning for someone who had not died but rather had left of their own volition, and of horrible loss, almost like losing a limb. Like losing a crucial part of himself. Because, really, that's what Lucy was to him. She was everything.

Even still, he dragged himself from her bed, lingering for a moment in the doorway of the bedroom like he always did, before trudging down, down, down to the kitchen.

Relieved to find George not in the midst of a horrific yoga demonstration, but rather shoving pots and pans into the cupboards, he brewed himself some tea.

He tried to ignore the way his hand hovered in front of Lucy's mug, which was stained from the tea they never seemed to be able to fully scrub away, and sat at the table, staring into the murky brown of his brew. Lucy always made it look so much more appealing.

No matter how hard he tried to disregard the little things, she seemed to be everywhere he looked. There was a sketch on the thinking cloth of Inspector Barnes as an elephant, tooting his trunk. And, there, the vase of flowers she'd set during their last meal together, a bundle of long-since-wilted lilacs she'd picked from the back garden. Over on the counter, there was a large circular ring where Skull would often reside, covered by a teatowel, and it was as if his evil had seeped from the silverglass and into the countertop, never to be removed.

Lockwood wondered if Skull, as crude as he was, was at least keeping Lucy company. He'd hate for her to be on her own.

"I don't know how Holly does this," George grumbled. He shoved another pan into the cupboard haphazardly. "It's impossible."

As if on cue, the pans toppled, crashing down around George and onto the floor. Holly appeared seconds later, scolding him as she easily slotted them in and shut the door.

Like every other day, there was a certain tension in the air that none of them seemed to be able to shake, no matter how hard they tried. Holly could bring all the almond-iced doughnuts she could carry; George could make the most absurd comments to ever have graced this earth to make them laugh; hell, Lockwood could smile and charm all he wanted, but it never amounted to anything. Not without Lucy.

He had been searching for a reason to get her back since the day he'd left her at that café, too frustrated and dejected to even try and continue the conversation. Were there any cases he could hire her for now that she was an independent agent? That seemed like the only logically sound way to get her to be with them again. To be with him. He couldn't just turn up to her new flat, so far away from Portland Row, and beg her to come home. No matter how badly he wished he could.

So, he picked up his newspaper and flicked through it, hoping to forget about her for just a moment.

But it was impossible. How could one simply forget about Lucy Carlyle? Lucy Carlyle and her jibes; Lucy Carlyle and her beautiful smile and eyes; Lucy Carlyle and the warmth she provided Lockwood with. Especially when her adverts were in the paper.

Lockwood could not forget about her for even a moment, something he had come to realise every single day since she'd left. Not after she'd allowed him to feel. To feel pure joy and humour and wonderful frustration and love.

That's perhaps what hurt the most about it all. Not her reasoning. Not the suddenness of it. Rather, the things she'd arisen inside of him, feelings he hadn't truly allowed since the deaths of his family. Letting people in was far too real, and he didn't want to permit them to the same fates as the other people he had loved and lost. But Lucy, oh, Lucy. She was supposed to be different. She was supposed to stay.

But she left, and he missed her more than should ever be possible. He knew he should've expected it, but he had allowed himself to hope. Lucy had sparked that hope inside of him, and even now it still lingered, waiting for her to return.

He was stupid for it, he knew. It was the only thing that kept him going - the notion that she may decide that she was wrong and come back to him. But it was unlikely to happen. So he had to come to terms with it, as would Holly and George.

And, so, her seat would stay vacant. Her mug would remain stained. Lockwood would creep into her room at night, falling asleep under the watchful eye of her photograph. All the while, she would sleep beneath a different roof, under the same sky, so, so far from him.

[freakshowtwopointoh]

All Bets Are Off

@pinkcrocss suggested this and i had to

“I don’t think the two of you could be closer to each other unless you were literally in each other's skin.” Andre teased, watching as Marie and Jordan readjusted their limbs once more.

“We’re not trying to get closer, we’re trying to get comfortable. The human body is a burden.” Jordan complained, shifting Marie’s body slightly to a better position.

“The two of you are essentially attached at the hip, I’m surprised your brains and bodies haven’t merged together.” Emma added. “You’re lucky I like you, Jordan. Considering you basically stole my best friend and roommate.” That got her a stuffed turtle thrown at her head. “Hey!”

“We’re not that clingy.” Marie protested, but it was such a boldfaced lie that the entire room burst into laughter, Marie and Jordan included.

“I don’t think you guys could manage a day without contacting each other.” Cate teased. And Jordan knew a challenge when they heard one, especially from Cate. Marie gave them a slight nod and they grinned despite the racing of their heart.

“Wanna bet?” Jordan asked, a smirk playing on their lips. And so, the bet was on. From midnight tonight to midnight next Monday, Marie and Jordan weren’t allowed to contact each other. Eye contact or brief conversation in public is permitted, but no texting or calls, and absolutely no touching. The winner takes everyone out that weekend. 

Marie and Jordan would pretend that it was no big deal, which was how the bet ended up lasting for a full week. The rest of the crew had money on who would cave first.

Place Your Bets Here (Emma, Sam, Cate, Luke, Andre)

jumanji: i dont think jor will make it past day 4

cricket: r u kidding? they wont make it past day 2. trust me, i live with marie. theyre always around

magneto: i think we’re all underestimating jordans stubbornness. i think marie will almost make it, but give in after jor does something reckless and she goes to yell at them

cricket: marie might be willing to die (or kill) for jordan but she’d never willingly lose a bet to them.

fuego: tbh i think they’re both too stubborn to give in but they will make it our problem during this week and after

jumanji: yeah id bet extra money that jor will spend at least one night this week in my dorm

kong: [liked cricket’s message]

kong: [liked cricket’s message]

It would take less than twenty four hours for both Marie and Jordan to begin to feel the struggle. For Jordan, it was like a persistent itch under their skin. They scrolled through her minimal social media constantly, or flipping through their camera roll just to see her perfect, sunshiney smile. It was marginally better when they were in the same room as her, but that tested their discipline in a whole different way. They were acutely aware of her every move. It took everything in them to keep their eyes on the board. Their notes were... non-existent. 

Marie had the opposite problem. Life was boring without Jordan, but she knew boring. She could handle boredom. But being in the same room as them and not speaking to them? Not touching them? She could barely look at them. Their eyes were always on her, piercing through her, so obviously wanting her. How was she supposed to stay away from those eyes? She barely looked at Instagram, and came close to changing her lock screen just to avoid the temptation. 

This was going to be a long week.

By the third day, Jordan had walked up to Marie’s dorm before walking away three times, and nearly called her countless times. They had also snapped five pens and three pencils while attempting to focus. 

Cate opened her door before Jordan even knocked.

“I’m surprised it took you this long. Come in.” She said lightly, a small smile on her lips.

“I’m actually going fucking insane. Like honest-to-god, I swear I hallucinated her voice in the library earlier. What has this girl done to me?” Jordan flopped back on Cate’s bed, ignoring her irritated look. 

“You’re just in love.” She said casually, finishing taking off her makeup as Jordan spoke.

“That’s worse, Cate! Don’t you see how that’s worse? I’m not prepared for this.” Their legs shortened suddenly, leaving their feet dangling off the edge of Cate’s bed as they shifted.

“Jordan Li. Did you think you could plan falling in love?” Cate admonished, looking directly into the eyes of her anxious friend.

“I thought I could plan it a bit easier than this!” They whined.

“Maybe you are insane. Do you schedule your other feelings?” She teased. 

“... Sometimes.” Cate shook her head and chuckled.

“Jor, stop fighting your feelings and feel them.” She said seriously, before deftly changing the subject.

Marie was in even deeper denial than Jordan. She refused to admit to Emma that she was coming close to losing the bet - even when it was painfully obvious.

“Marie. Marie. Maaaaaaaaarie.” Finally, she resorted to throwing a pillow at her head. “Stop daydreaming about Jordan and help me film this video for my class.”

“I don’t daydream. I’m thinking.” She retorted, but she was clearly staring at Jordan’s hoodie, which was draped over a chair.

“Yeah, sure. And I’m a math whiz. Now help me.” Emma teased, grabbing Marie’s arm and dragging her out of the chair. She would have an enjoyable evening helping Emma with her homework, but night came and she dialed Jordan’s number for the millionth time before turning her phone off and trying to sleep.

But as it turned out, no one could have predicted the outcome of this bet - the two lovebirds were so distracted trying not to think about the other that they walked directly into each other outside of Brink’s office. Fumbling over their things, handing books and papers back to each other, their fingers brushed and it was all over.

“Fuck this.” they muttered in unison. Jordan helped Marie up before sliding their hand directly into hers and dragging her back to their dorm.

"I missed you, Moreau." Jordan mumbled against Marie's lips, their hands cupping her face. She hummed contentedly, resting her hand on the nape of their neck and keeping them close to her.

They took their time with each other, relearning every curve and edge of their bodies. Marie's skin was covered in hickies and bite marks, a blossoming masterpiece that Jordan could not get enough of. She was theirs. It was addictive. They just couldn't get enough of each other. And every small gasp or moan Jordan made sent desire coursing through Marie, a reminder of the power she held over them.

But Jordan couldn't be kept from between Marie's legs for much longer. Her body was incredibly responsive, arching into every touch. They needed to taste her again, feel her come entirely undone for them. They let their tongue trace along her inner thighs, feeling their own arousal surge as she moaned softly.

"Jor, please-" She whined as their tongue teased her wet folds. They smirked, sinking their long fingers into the flesh of her ass, pulling her closer.

"Patience, princess." They said huskily, unable to keep from teasing her a little longer. But finally, their tongue brushed against her clit, causing her body to buck into their mouth. A dark, lustful laugh came from Jordan's throat before they dove in, their lips wrapping around her clit.

Jordan could honestly spend their whole life between Marie's legs, making her whimper, moan, and cry just for them, putting their mouth and tongue to work. But when she cums for the third time, that perfect, fucked out look in her eyes, they can't help themselves. They're shifting without thinking, pulling away from her center and pulling out their cock.

"Fuck, Marie, I need to feel that tight cunt wrapped around me, right now." They groaned, pushing her back fully onto the bed before they pushed themself inside of her cunt, still dripping with her most recent orgasm.

They were both screaming each other's names all night long.

They’d both say the other broke the bet first. Their friends were just glad they didn’t have to deal with the couple’s pouting for a full week.

[let-me-love-you-loki]

Yours To Tame--Ch. 9

Chapter 9: One Week Later

            I sat on the edge of the hospital bed and looked at Anna. My clothes were packed in a little overnight bag. There was still an edge of fatigue around me. A fuzziness to my thoughts that made it hard to focus. I’d been cleared of any major damage but told that it would be several weeks before I’d be allowed to wrestle again.

            Sammy was going to be ferociously angry. I was so afraid of what was going to happen when we saw each other for the first time after everything that had happened in the hospital. As if she could read my thoughts, Anna looked up and wrapped her fingers around mine. I was surprised to find that mine were icy cold.

            “Hey,” she said, squeezing my hand firmly. “You aren’t going this alone. Not for one second.”

            I sighed and blinked away the terrified tears that welled up in my eyes. “You can’t be with me all the time, Anna. Besides, I have to go home eventually.”

            “You could come stay with me until we figure out what to do.”

            “That’ll just make Sammy even angrier. It’s already going to be bad enough…” My stomach dropped into my toes. As if I could feel the blows, I curled in on myself, wrapping my arms around my chest. Fear burned like bile up my throat. The venom of terror roiled through my veins. “Best if I just get it over with.”

            Anna scowled and reached up to push some of my hair back from my forehead. Her fingertips hesitated over the raised scar hidden just at my hairline. There was half a dozen more, all carefully camouflaged. I didn’t want to think about how they got there.

            She scowled. “Restraining order, Morgan. Why didn’t you keep the restraining order?”

            “Lawyers are expensive. And he never lived by it anyway.”

            “That’s what the cops are for,” she replied. “His ass should have been in jail years ago.”

            Before I could reply, there was a gentle knock on the door. We both looked up, and I couldn’t help the acute fear that cut through me. It swung open slowly.

            “Everybody decent in there?” Moxley’s voice called out.

            The fear receded so quickly it left me dizzy. “Yeah,” Anna replied. “How about out there?”

            Moxley appeared in the doorway with his arms loaded down with a huge bouquet of flowers and a get well soon balloon tied to the wrist of a huge stuffed teddy bear. There was a faint smile on his face as he practically sauntered across the room.

            “What in the name of—”

            “I told you it was ridiculous,” Bryan said, appearing from around Moxley’s broad shoulder. “One or the other or the other, not all three!”

            Bryan sounded exasperated, and I couldn’t help but grin when he made a face in my direction. “How’re you feeling, Morgan?”

            “Bitch of a headache. Anyone ever tell you two that you’re louder than a frat party on free beer weekend?” I sucked in a breath and held out my free hand toward Anna. “Can I have those glasses?”

            The doctor insisted that I wear a pair of dark, anti-glare sunglasses for the next few weeks. I knew it would help. That going without them would just make the recovery process from the concussion longer. But I knew they’d go missing within an hour of being back home.

            “Those are really pretty, Mox,” Anna said, gesturing to the flowers. “And that little guy is adorable.”

            “Ain’t he?” he laughed. “Name’s Jon.”

            Anna giggled, and I could have sworn that she was blushing. “Isn’t that a coincidence.”

            Bryan rolled his eyes and sank down on the end of the bed. There was a foot or two between us, and he kept his hands in his lap. But I could see the worry in his sky-blue eyes. “Seriously,” he asked softly, “how are you?”

            I shrugged, not quite knowing how to answer. Half a dozen responses existed to that question. “I—”

            “Morgan is out of commission for a couple weeks. And she can’t travel for a few more days, so we’re stuck here for a bit longer.”

            “Where are you staying?” Bryan asked.

            “Hotel,” I replied quietly. “Just until I’m given the okay to go home.”

***

            Bryan felt the moment that Moxley’s eyes turned to him. The two men looked at one another, almost as if they could understand each other without speaking. It didn’t take a genius to realize that home for Morgan meant with Sammy Guevara. And after what he’d heard in that hallway—what he’d learned in the last few days—there was no way he was going to let that happen.

            “You know,” Moxley said as he handed the teddy bear to Anna. “I’ve got a few days off, too. Want some company?”

            Anna smiled at them with something deep and grateful in her eyes. She looked between the two of them and to Morgan and back again before giving a firm nod. “Wouldn’t be so bad, would it, Morgan?”

            He watched Moxley gently tap Morgan’s foot with the tip of his boot. She jumped and drew her knees up to her chest. Her eyes went deer in the headlights wide before going flat and distant. If he looked close enough, he could see the tremble in her limbs that she was trying so desperately to hide.

            A new rush of hate splashed into Bryan as he found himself wondering about why she felt she had to fight to hold it back. If he ever got his hands on Sammy Guevara, he was going to rip him apart one muscle fiber at a time. They’d been by the hospital a few times since their first visit, and it wasn’t lost on them that Sammy was often outside in the parking lot staring at the building. Anna had filled them in that he’d been banned from entering the hospital. Sammy hadn’t been subtle about hiding his distain for them at work this past week, either.

            There wasn’t a doubt in Bryan’s mind that the moment Morgan left this building, Sammy would get his hands on her. And God knew what would happen to her after that. He didn’t want to entertain the thought.

***

            He’s got to get that rage under control, Moxley thought as he held the flowers out to Morgan in the hope of drawing her back out of her shell. He understood the feeling, but he knew that all it would do was scare her right back off. And they couldn’t protect her if she wouldn’t even be around them.

            When Morgan wouldn’t look up, Moxley crouched down so that he could look into her eyes. The pupils were wide, irises so dark they looked black barely visible around them. The terror in them made his guts clench.

            “Hey, it’s all good,” he said quietly. He kept his voice low and his hands in sight as he spoke to her. “It’s just an idea. At least let us make sure that you get to the hotel and get settled in okay.”

            She blinked and then squeezed her glassy eyes shut. He couldn’t tell if it was from the concussion, the meds, or something else entirely. After a few deep breaths, Morgan Knox nodded. Her brow furrowed as if the movement hurt. He supposed it did.

            “Think you guys could give us a lift?” Anna asked, drawing his attention.

            Jon Moxley had never really thought of himself as an intuitive person, but somehow he got the gist of what Anna Jay was really asking. Is he here? He felt his mouth curl into a sneer as he gave her a brief, barely there nod of his head.

            “You grab the gifts and I’ll get the bags,” he said as he straightened himself out. His joints popped and cracked, making him grunt. He thought he saw the ghost of a smile on Morgan’s face. “We’ll bring the car around for princess here. Bryan can handle getting her outside.”

            The two met looked at one another, communicating in a quiet way that wrestlers had. They had both seen Sammy sitting in the driver’s seat of his car in the parking lot. It wasn’t hard to imagine the horrible things that were stuck deep in his mind. Moxley hadn’t exactly seen everything that Bryan had, but he knew for sure that he didn’t like the idea of Morgan going anywhere near the asshole who’d put her in the hospital.

            “We’ll take it slow,” Bryan said as he stood up. He held out his hand to her, palm turned upward. “If you get dizzy, we can stop or get a chair.”

***

            I stared at Bryan’s hand, confusion slipping through my thoughts. “What?” I mumbled.

            His eyes crinkled as he reached his hand closer. “Mox and Anna are going to get the car. I’ll walk out with you to make sure that you don’t get dizzy or anything.”

            My eyes darted toward the door, but Anna had already disappeared out of sight. “I… okay,” I replied, clutching the dark glasses in one hand. For a moment, I didn’t quite know what to do with Bryan’s outstretched hand.

            “It’s okay,” he soothed. “You don’t have to. I’ll just walk close enough that I can catch you if you start to stumble. Is that alright?”

            I swallowed hard, surprised by the rush of feeling that settled deep into my chest. My breath rushed out of me as I reached out and placed my fingers against his palm. I pulled myself to my feet, swaying as the world started to spin.

            Bryan’s hand tightened on mine as he stepped forward to slip his other arm around my waist. “I’ve got you.”

            Squeezing my eyes shut, I leaned into him. “I’m tired,” I whined. “My head hurts.”

            “I know. Hold onto me, and we’ll take it slow,” he soothed. “As soon as we get you to the hotel, you can rest.”

            I let Bryan lead the way, shuffling along beside him with shaking steps. He made me stop and put on the glasses when I whined at the light shining through the windows.

            “You’re going to stay with me, right?”

            Bryan’s fingers tightened on mine. He tensed for just a moment before replying. “If it’ll make you feel safe, of course I will.”

            My head leaned against his shoulder in relief as we took the last few steps toward the door.

____________________________

Tag List

@spaghetti-hoop

@rollynchwhore

@unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin

@mrsmatt

@not-that-kinda-gurl08

@librathepheonix13

[snippychicke]

Deal with the Devil Part Three!

Again, tumblr mobile.makes formtting a bit challenging, so I will spruce if up later on. For now enjoy the fluff, and hint of spice!

I did mention Iruma is a few years younger in this than in the anime/manga, right?

Near

You woke up early, only briefly disoriented to the much larger room than your own.

Despite not sleeping in your own home, your own bed, you surprisingly slept well. Back on Earth, you had always had trouble sleeping anywhere but home, but… the manor felt just as safe and familiar as your cottage.

And either the imps or Opera had somehow not only washed and dried your clothes from the day before, but had also set out a wide array of clothes that weren't from your home, yet looked like they would fit you as well as your style. You had a feeling Sullivan might have had a hand in it as well, though instead of the worry and guilt that usually nagged you anytime the demon lord tried to shower you with gifts, you felt… touched. Someone had taken note of your preferences and built a whole wardrobe from it.

Once dressed, you were anxious to check on Iruma. You had encouraged him to find you if needed through the night, and honestly had expected him to wake you. After all, you could only imagine how traumatizing the last day had been for him.

Yet a peek into the room gifted to the young boy showed him fast asleep, little more than a blue spot amongst the giant plush bed. You leaned against the doorframe, a smile on your face as you watched him sleep. There was something heartwarming in watching him sleep, looking even younger as he cuddled the stuffed animal Sullivan had grabbed from somewhere.

You couldn't help but think about how much Sullivan was going to spoil him. Anything he wanted would soon be his, if the way Sullivan treated you was any indication. And really, you had a feeling Iruma deserved to be spoiled just from talking to him yesterday. How was it that this small boy had quickly wormed his way into your heart in so few hours after meeting?

"My two favorite humans both in one place," Sullivan spoke softly as he appeared behind you, giving you little warning before his arms wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you against his chest as he rested his chin on the top of your head. "Oh! And look at our little boy! He just looks so adorable!"

You blushed both at his words and his touch. You had offered rather impulsively to assist Sullivan to raise Iruma, though Sullivan had eagerly accepted before you could reconsider. Yet even after having time to consider, you still wanted to. Both for Iruma's sake, and, honestly, to have more reason to be around Sullivan. No longer just a neighbor or a friend. But something… more.

It was how much more you wanted that scared you.

"You're going to be such a great mother," Sullivan continued, his voice becoming lower as he held you a fraction tighter. He cupped your chin and tilted your head to look upwards at him, making you remember acutely how tall and powerful he was as he looked down at you with a smile that wasn't quite as gentle as normal.

A smile that sent thrills shooting down your spine and pool in your lower abdomen. At least you weren’t the only one who wanted more out of this relationship.

Scribbles

You sat on the playroom floor with Iruma, both of you enjoying a break from your attempts to homeschool him and instead took time to draw.

He was too young to attend Babyls, and while there were classes for young demons, you and Sullivan agreed that it would be best at first to help Iruma adjust to his new home before he was surrounded by demons who didn't know his origins.

Or rather, Sullivan happily agreed when you said as much. And who better to explain demon customs than you who had been slowly adjusting to the world for the last few months? Things that might have been overlooked by those overly familiar with this world and not Earth.

Besides, you knew Iruma needed time to adjust to his new life before being thrown into the chaos that was school. To go from being ladened with responsibilities far too large for his wiry shoulders to being allowed to be a child was a large enough change.

Granted, he was handling it well… perhaps a little too well as he agreed to do whatever you offered. As if he was truly unable to say no.

He hadn't shed a tear either that anyone had noticed. And it worried you.

"Ma'am?" Iruma broke the silence after a moment. "May I ask a question?"

"Of course," you smiled. He was so overly polite, even to Sullivan who already had the boy calling him papa. At first it had been a bit stilted and awkward (again, raising concerns about his inability to say no) but had now grown almost natural.

"Papa said you're his special friend, what does that mean exactly?" His question caught you breath, surprising you. Thankfully, he didn't seem to notice as he continued to color. "It's just, you two seem so close, but you don't want me to call you mom or anything, so…"

Your stomach twisted as you tried to swallow the sudden lump in your throat. "We are close," you agreed, remembering how Sullivan had begun to flirt with you in honesty. Those once innocent touches now anything but as they lingered. The look in his eyes when he smiled at you had a new kind of glint in them that made your heart flutter.

You yearned for more, to be honest, but were too nervous about taking that next step.

You pushed those thoughts away and focused on the boy. "It's not that I don't want you to call me mom. But, I don't want you to feel indebted to call me anything besides my name. I mean, it's been just a few days since…'' His parents sold him to a literal demon. "...since you came to live here. I know you agreed to Sullivan adopting you, but…"

If he loved his biological parents and missed them, you didn't want to step on that. You were familiar with the notion that children would love parents no matter how badly they were treated.

His blue eyes darkened slightly as he paused. "My parents sold me, you don't need to imply anything else. Honestly, when papa offered to be my dad, I figured he couldn't be any worse.” It about broke your heart to hear the child talk like that, with such lack of feeling, the dark expression in his eyes proving he was already acquainted with the darkness that you had ran from when you had made your own deal.

But as quick as it came, it changed as he smiled, darkness chased away by the happy light in his eyes. “And I was right. He's a lot better than my real dad. And you're like what I wished my mom was like."

Oh, your heart. It felt like it was being crushed to death the same time it was splitting from being so full of love and sympathy. You reached over and touched his cheek, offering him a reassuring smile. "To be honest, I couldn't imagine a child better than you. If you want to call me mom, you certainly can."

“Really, you wouldn’t mind?”

You chuckled as you ruffled his hair. “Of course not. It would be an honor, if anything.”

Later on, Iruma finished and held up his picture proudly, which made your heart skip. A little blue haired stick figure between a much taller purple figure that had to be Sullivan and one that was unmistakable as yourself, with Opera by Sullivan's otherside, and the manor in the background.

You couldn't resist. You pulled the boy into a hug much like Sullivan did, with tears in your eyes. "It's beautiful. Sul… Papa is going to be overjoyed when he sees it."

Crash

Sullivan didn't exactly mean for this to happen. After all, he was the kind of demon to have things planned out, and seducing you slowly had been working splendidly. Watching you grow flustered and acting as if you weren't affected was so amusing and attractive.

But not nearly as attractive as watching you become a mother to Iruma. He wasn't sure exactly what it was about you tending to the young boy that was so alluring, but it was. It made his chest ache in both love and yearning watching you fuss over him. The adoring smile. Reading Iruma a bedtime story before pressing a kiss to his forehead.

He mimicked your gesture, wishing the boy a good night before following you out in the hallway. He wasn't about to say anything regarding the fact you had all but moved into his home, taking a guest room not far from Iruma’s.

And not far from his own either.

"Do I get a goodnight kiss too?" He couldn't help but tease as you reached your door.

He expected you to laugh and wave him off as he tapped his cheek. Not blush and bite your lip, as if honestly thinking about the idea.

Not that he was going to complain. He closed his eyes in giddy anticipation, just imagining what it would be like to have your lips pressed against his skin, if even for a brief moment.

Nothing could have prepared him for you leaning up to cup his cheek, tilting his head just slightly before pressing your lips against his. A long soft press, but it stole his breath away and fanned the fire within him.

After a long moment that was over way too soon, you pulled away with the faintest sigh. His eyes opened to gaze into yours, heart beating rapidly at the expression he saw in them. How they contrasted so beautifully with the darkened color of your face as you blushed.

"Was that okay?" You whispered after another pause.

Was it okay? Devi, it was more than he had hoped for, but at the same time it had caused his chains of self restraint to loosen, waking his hunger.

His smile was more than a little wicked as he stroked your face, taking great delight in watching you react. "Oh, my darling," he crooned softly as he stepped closer, backing you up against the door of your room. "That was more than okay. But you should be careful with a kiss like that, or I may get the wrong idea."

You shivered beneath his touch, swallowing hard. He could see the vein in your next flutter as your heart likely pounded.

He needed to back off. His slow game was paying off, and he couldn't rush you. But you smelled so wonderful, your already delightful human scent mixed with excited arousal. He wanted to bury himself in it, in you.

While he was struggling to control himself, you licked your lips, making them glisten in the light. "And… and what if I'm giving you the right idea?"

Devi and deities, did you realize what you were doing to him by offering yourself like that?

There was no amount of restraint that could keep him from leaning down and chasing the gleam on your lips with his own. You tasted divine, and left his mind spinning in a haze of greed and lust as you leaned into his kiss, willingly opening your mouth to him.

His hands drifted to yours, his fingers lacing between your own as he pinned your hands against the door on either side of your shoulders. Pinned. Caged. But oh so willing. Eager, even, as you returned his kiss and arched into him.

Sullivan groaned against your mouth, his thoughts becoming hazier the more he kissed you. His sweet little human, so accepting of his affection and those soft little noises every time you tried to catch your breath.

He wanted more. Needed more.

A faint noise made Sullivan freeze, his eyes opening and scanning for whoever would interrupt this moment.

Only to see little Iruma, blue eyes wide in surprise before the boy turned and retreated quickly back into his room.

"The joys of having children," you groaned in fond exasperation, confirming you had seen the boy as well.

Having children. He was still overjoyed you had offered to raise the boy with him. His son, your son.

The first of his children with you.

"We should go check on him," you continued after a moment, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips, far different from the heated kisses from before.

Sullivan was greedy for all of them. Heated kisses, soft kisses. Little pecks on the cheek.

He had caught you, and he was not going to let you go.

Together

Sullivan was all but hovering behind you as you returned to Iruma's room. Your heart was still pounding in your chest, your face still uncomfortably warm.

Stars, you just meant to give him a quick kiss. To try and give him the same teasing treatment he had been torturing you with these last few days. All those lingering touches, that soft yet husky voice when he was talking to you.

But how could you refute his challenge? The burning desire in his eyes. "Oh, my darling," he crooned softly as he stepped closer, backing you up against the door of your room. "That was more than okay. But you should be careful with a kiss like that, or I may get the wrong idea."

There was no backing down from that. It was virtually an invitation that you could not, would not, refuse.

And you did not regret it in the least bit, even with your body humming with desire as you knocked gently on Iruma's door.

The boy opened it after a moment, those wide blue eyes so innocent.

But also worried.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I… I didn't mean to interrupt."

"There's no need to apologize, my boy," Sullivan reassured as he knelt down. "If anything I should apologize if I scared you, as it was not my intention."

You frowned, wondering what kind of look Sullivan had shot the boy while you had struggled to reign in your breathing.

"Did you want something, dear?" You asked, learning early on to ask Iruma if he wanted something and not if he needed anything. Because at the ripe age of eight, he thought he needed nothing.

The boy blushed and scratched his head nervously. "I just… there was a scary screeching noise from outside and it spooked me. That's all."

Your heart ached, knowing exactly how terrifying the noises were at night in the Netherworld. And yet he was acting as if the whole debacle was him just being silly.

Sullivan reacted before you, picking the boy up and holding him against his hip. "No need to fret, my little Iruma. Papa will protect you, promise."

Oh. To see Sullivan being doting warmed your heart. And Iruma simply melted against him, soaking in the affection and comfort as if starving for it.

Which, unfortunately, he probably was.

You stepped close and brushed his hair reassuringly. "You're safe here," you echoed Sullivan's words softly. "Between papa Sullivan and Opera, nothing will get inside these walls."

"Promise?" Iruma asked softly.

"Absolutely," you assured without hesitation. "But if it would make you feel better, you could stay with me for the night. A little sleep over?"

“You wouldn’t mind if I slept between you and papa?” he asked, making your heart stop. You couldn’t meet Sullivan’s gaze, though you felt it as he watched you intently, waiting to see how you answered.

“Not at all,” you answered almost automatically, distantly wondering why you were saying that and not correcting him. “If that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll do.”

Iruma nodded his head softly, resting it against Sullivan’s chest as he relaxed into the demon’s embrace. He looked so small and young at that moment, making your heart melt. Without even thinking, you looked up at Sullivan. His expression conveyed everything you felt; he cared as deeply as you did for your newly adopted son.

Yet there was a gentle smolder in his eyes as his gaze met yours, assuring you that he hadn’t forgotten earlier events. Yet, right now little Iruma took precedence.

***

Sullivan barely slept that night. Instead, he spent the hours watching you and Iruma sleep, the boy happily nestled amongst the covers between you. For part of the night, you had one arm slung over the boy almost protectively, the other stretched towards Sullivan.

He had taken your hand, relishing in the warmth of it, how small and delicate it was compared to his own.

Everything he wanted was right here at this moment, and he wasn’t going to waste a moment of it sleeping.

[selunesdreams]

Chapter 29: I Love You, It's Ruining My Life

With her hands tucked behind her back, he carefully guides her down to her knees and reaches for a nearby rope. She struggles on her stomach and Astarion pins her in place, bracketing her with his legs as he ties her wrists together. His lips brush against the delicate curve of her ear as he leans down, murmuring softly, “Don’t make this any harder than it has to be, love.” “Don’t you dare call me that.” She snarls. He flips her over with ease, his strong arms pulling her up to her feet before gently guiding her to a chair across the room. The dungeon reeks of decay and death and as she squints in the dark, she wonders how many people had been killed down here, if their bodies were rotting nearby.  How many of them had Astarion killed?

Chapter from ongoing fic Forms of Imprisonment. Full chapter/story on AO3.

Pairing: Spawn Astarion (post-tadpole) x OFC

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: 18+. Violence, sexual themes/sexually explicit imagery, abusive/abuse-adjacent, unwanted sexual advances/things you'd anticipate would make Astarion uncomfortable. Preexisting relationship, part of a series (that is generally explicit).

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Unable to sleep, Celeste lies in Astarion’s room, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. Despite Wyll and Nocturne’s offer, she politely declined Shadowheart’s old room. The bed, tucked away in the windowless, dreary attic, was only suitable for one person, and if she wasn’t sleeping, it might as well be her.

Two nights had passed since their arrival in Waterdeep, and Celeste had found sleep elusive on both occasions. Sitting up, she is greeted by the grumbling of her hungry stomach. She reaches into her pack, feeling the familiar touch of the owlbear stuffed animal that Astarion had painstakingly repaired for her, only to pull her hand back swiftly. Letting out a frustrated sigh, she retrieves a pair of trousers and a dark shirt, quickly dressing herself before wrapping a cloak around her shoulders. Barefoot, she descends the stairs silently, not wanting to wake her sleeping companions. 

Upon reaching the street, she takes a moment to slip on her boots, her eyes drawn upwards towards the sky. The moon, a delicate crescent, hangs precariously amidst the dazzling array of stars. If tomorrow’s a new moon, the Sharrans undoubtedly have something planned. Celeste curses under her breath, a sinking feeling settling in her stomach upon the realization she’d left her sword behind.

As she approaches The Blushing Nymph, she hears the boisterous chatter and clinking of glasses. Slipping in through the front door, she sidles up to the bar, the boarded-up window catching her attention.

“What can I get you?” the barkeep asks as he wipes down the counter, looking her over suspiciously. As Celeste looks around, she becomes acutely aware that she is unlike the typical patrons of the tavern. 

She utters “Ithbank” with a deliberate attempt to sound less formal, inclining her head towards the window. “What happened there?”

The barkeep digs underneath a cabinet for a fresh bottle and unscrews the cork with a weary sigh, as if he’s told the story hundreds of times already. “Aasimar, smashed right through in the middle of the night and got into it with some vampires over a glowing rock. Typical Waterdeep shit. Going to cost me a week’s worth of gold to repair that window.”

Triumph surges in Celeste’s chest as she realizes she may not need to seek Astarion after all. He’d already lost. 

As she settles her bill for the wine, she discreetly adds a few extra gold pieces to the stack on the counter, offering a subtle gesture of gratitude. “For your troubles.” She murmurs. Just as he tries to catch another glimpse of her, she vanishes into the shadows of a dimly lit backroom. 

As she scans the festhall, her upper lip curls with a hint of disdain, remembering Astarion’s mention of frequenting this place. It was no Elfsong, and there were hardly any redeeming qualities to be found. The center of the room is bustling with activity, as men of varying appearances gather around the large tables, engaged in lively discussions. Among the group, there was a mix of social classes - some affluent, some sailors passing through. A diverse array of beings, their group included a dragonborn, a couple of bugbears, a halfling, and a few humans. Celeste takes small sips of her wine, observing the group as they laugh, argue, and gamble, their camaraderie evident in their hearty claps on each other’s backs and the occasional spill of beer from their tankards.

In the corner, a human woman sits on the lap of a hobgoblin with a scarred face, their bottom halves exposed as they fuck openly. In the concealed darkness under the stairs, the air is thick with the smell of sweat and sex as more subtle visitors grind against one another on the wall, only the sounds of rustling clothes and muffled grunts underneath giving them away. 

An unsettling feeling sweeps over her as Celeste feels the weight of lecherous stares upon her. It quickly becomes apparent that she has unwittingly entered an unwelcoming area for someone of her standing. Slipping out the back door into the alley, she is met with the screeching of cats in heat and the clattering of glass bottles as creatures rummage through the trash bins. Piss, beer, and rotting food assault her nostrils, making the wine in her stomach churn. A disheveled drunk lies face down in the mud near the opposite wall, emitting loud snores, suggesting he was unceremoniously ejected. 

“Going somewhere?” A feminine voice asks as the door slams shut behind her. Keresta emerges from the shadows, her arms crossed, blocking Celeste’s path. “You’re far from home, Selunite.” With a playful wink, she remarks, “I never pegged you as someone who’d enjoy a place like this…” She snatches Celeste’s wine from her grasp, drinks the last drop, and nonchalantly tosses the empty glass away. “…But I did wonder if you’d show up.”

“I came for the Tear,” Celeste says, a mocking smile playing on her lips as she feels the warmth of the necklace against her skin under her shirt, “but word has it that it slipped through your fingers.”

Keresta scoffs. “The Tear was lost to Dame Aylin when she intercepted your, what is he to you now, ex-lover?” Despite being roughly the same height as Celeste, Keresta’s presence looms over her, exuding a powerful aura as she leans in closer. “He was bringing it to me. But if you help us, we can get it back…together. What do you think, sweetie?”

“Over my dead body.” Celeste snarls. Taking a step backwards, Celeste freezes as a familiar form presses against her, an icy hand constricting around her throat. 

“Rolan told you not to follow me, darling.” Astarion whispers in her ear, his voice deadly and seductive. “You should have listened.” 

Celeste finds herself unable to move, Astarion’s hands sliding down the lengths of her arms to her wrists, pinning them to her sides. Her breath catches, her heartbeat stumbles, and she can feel her worst fears being confirmed.

“Put her in the Undermountain dungeons for now. We’ll finish our discussion later.” Keresta commands Astarion, waving her hand dismissively and smiling to herself, “I have a meeting.” With a mischievous wink, she turns on her heel and saunters away, her hips swaying confidently. 

“Come on.” Astarion grumbles, guiding Celeste in front of him as he kicks aside a pile of garbage, revealing a long set of stairs leading into darkness. Despite her attempts to break free, Astarion effortlessly lifts her off her feet and slings her over his shoulder, carrying her into the Undermountain. Celeste curses and thrashes against him, but he remains unfazed. 

“Don’t fight me, Celeste.” He growls, and she obeys, knowing she’ll only waste her energy. As darkness slowly fades, a soft glow illuminates the granite floor beneath her. Torches, strategically placed along the hallways of carved rock, cast flickering shadows. The Undermountain greeted her with a cold embrace, its cellar-like atmosphere accompanied by a pervasive, musty smell. Astarion carries her past cells of men who jeer and make obscene gestures, causing her to scowl.

“Ignore it. You’ll only encourage them.” Astarion mutters, before kicking open a door at the end of the long hall and letting it slam behind them as he ducks inside.

With her hands tucked behind her back, he carefully guides her down to her knees and reaches for a nearby rope. She struggles on her stomach and Astarion pins her in place, bracketing her with his legs as he ties her wrists together. His lips brush against the delicate curve of her ear as he leans down, murmuring softly, “Don’t make this any harder than it has to be, love.”

“Don’t you dare call me that.” She snarls. He flips her over with ease, his strong arms pulling her up to her feet before gently guiding her to a chair across the room. The dungeon reeks of decay and death and as she squints in the dark, she wonders how many people had been killed down here, if their bodies were rotting nearby. 

How many of them had Astarion killed?

With a swift motion, he strikes a match against the stone wall, illuminating a candle on a nearby table adorned with a grim assortment of bloodied scalpels, daggers, and sickles. The match in his hand sputters and hisses as he shakes it, finally extinguishing it and leaving behind a wispy cloud of smoke. It weaves around his features and through his hair he walks towards her, discarding the charred wood carelessly on the floor. Leaning against a support beam, he pulls her necklace out of his pocket, letting it catch in the light. Her stomach drops as the hollowness around her neck becomes apparent, where the cherished heirloom had been since the moment she’d found it.  

When he’d affixed it around her neck at the Elfsong.

“Nice party trick, mm?” He asks her with a fanged grin as it sways back and forth in front of him.

“You’ve formed a bad habit of stealing from me.” She says bitterly. 

“I’m keeping you alive and keeping this out of Keresta’s hands.” He says with a sigh, tucking it back into his pocket. “Just like I did with the Tear.” 

Celeste cackles. “You lost the Tear because you’re arrogant. How does it feel to have nothing ?”

Astarion’s eyes darken, and he pulls a chair in front of her. The chair groans and hums as its wooden feet scrape against the hard floor. Straddling it in the opposite direction, he sits, using the back as a support for his arms.

“You really have no clue, do you?” He asks, cocking his head to the side. 

“That you’re a selfish, pretentious coward? I knew the second you poisoned me.”

“I wasn’t poison, Celeste…”

“Don’t get caught up in semantics! You betrayed me. You drugged me and you stole from me and you abandoned me.”

Hurt flashes across his face. 

“Is that what you think I did?”

She scoffs. “I’m sure you have some big explanation for everything-”

The door’s rusted hinges whine as they open, the heels of Keresta’s boots echoing against the granite as she enters the room. Celeste can’t help but notice how similar her fanged smile is to Astarion’s, that predatory, vampiric self-satisfaction. With one hand gripping the chair, Astarion stands, his gaze unwavering as he observes every subtle motion of the other vampire. 

“Comfortable?” Keresta asks condescendingly. “I’d have set you up in a spare bedroom, but you have a history of incinerating all my playthings.” Keresta casts a glance towards Astarion, her eyes roving his body. “I suppose you spared him.”

Celeste’s eyes bore into Keresta, not saying a word as the vampiress circles Astarion, sliding a hand over his shoulder and down his chest, her dark fingernails raking against his shirt. His skin prickles with revulsion and he closes his eyes slowly, trying not to lose his composure. 

Celeste’s skin heats as she tries not to let thoughts of Astarion and Keresta invade her mind, what they might have done together, if Astarion is warming her bed…

“Looks like the two of you didn’t kiss and make up. You know, I’ve been hoping to have him all to myself.” Keresta purrs before frowning. “Unfortunately, he’s still hung up on you .” 

Celeste feels a flood of relief, followed by a deep sense of self-disgust. Astarion’s expression radiates shame as he looks at her. How much of it was for betraying her, and how much of it was for finding himself in the clutches of another Cazador?

Astarion’s jaw tenses as Keresta slides a polished fingernail under his jaw before sauntering closer to Celeste.

“Will you change your mind, Celeste? For him? Shar still has hopes for you. You could have everything . I’d even keep my distance.” 

“No.” Celeste growls.

Keresta sticks out her bottom lip. “Shame,” she pouts. “But not unexpected.” Walking back over to Astarion, Keresta squeezes his face with one hand, her lips hovering just a breath from his own.

“Come, spawn, let’s leave her to think about her choices.” Keresta says, casting a wink at Celeste over her shoulder before she releases her fingers from his face. Astarion scowls and vigorously shakes his head, as if trying to erase the lingering sensation of her touch from his skin, before reluctantly trailing behind Keresta.

He watches Celeste under lowered eyelids until the door slams shut, causing Celeste to flinch. The flame of the candle on the table becomes the sole focus of her attention, providing the only semblance of comfort as she anxiously awaits its eventual extinguishing.