#literally the night before he gets scooped. Insane.

[bravevolunteer]

i am once again thinking about night 4 of sister location

[pucksandpower]

Ties That Bind

Charles Leclerc x royal!Reader + Max Verstappen x sister!Reader

Summary: life as Princess of the Netherlands is pretty perfect but when health issues become a (literal) royal pain, you discover a familial connection that will change your life forever

Warnings: struggles with infertility, child abandonment, serious health issues, medical procedures and treatments

This is what happens when I’m insane enough to try juggling writing an 8k+ word fic with studying in medical school

The night was a cascade of ethereal snowflakes, each one glistening under the pale moonlight, landing gracefully upon the earth. The silver car glided along the road, its headlights illuminating the path through the thick curtain of snow, like two piercing eyes navigating through sorrow.

Inside, Prince Frederik of the Netherlands drove in silent contemplation, the weight of the day’s news pressing heavily on his heart. Beside him, Princess Marianne stared out of the frosted window, her reflection capturing swollen eyes that glistened with fresh tears. Her fingers trembled slightly, crumpling yet another now irrelevant medical report indicating one more failed IVF attempt.

“I thought this time would be different,” Marianne whispered, her voice quivering. “I truly believed it.”

Frederik’s grip on the wheel tightened. He turned to his wife, pain evident in his eyes. “I know, my love. I know.”

As they drove, Frederik’s eyes caught a glimpse of something unusual by the side of the road. “What’s that?” He murmured, slowing the car.

Marianne followed his gaze. “It looks like a bundle ... stop the car!”

Frederik brought the vehicle to a halt. They both jumped out and hurried over to the mysterious object. As they approached, Marianne gasped. “Oh my God, Frederik ... it’s a baby!”

She quickly bent down to scoop the tiny, shivering form into her arms. The baby’s skin was cold, blue lips barely parting for shallow breaths as the thin pink blanket wrapped around it did little to fight the chill. “Who could do such a thing?” Marianne cried, holding the child close for warmth.

Frederik’s face hardened. “We need to get her to a hospital. Now.”

Back in the car, Marianne cradled the baby, trying to transfer her warmth. “Stay with us,” she murmured, tears spilling. “Please, stay with us.”

As they sped towards the hospital, Frederik reached over and held Marianne’s free hand. “It'’s a sign,” he whispered. “After everything we’ve been through today ... finding her like this ... it’s fate.”

Marianne looked down at the baby, her fingers gently brushing the soft wisps of hair on the child’s head. “Our little miracle in the snow,” she whispered back.

Frederik smiled faintly, squeezing Marianne's hand. “Yes, our snow angel. We’ll take care of her and she’ll take care of us.”

***

“You know, every time it snows, it feels like the world is celebrating the day we found you,” your father, now King Frederik, remarks, gazing out of the vast palace windows at the flurries descending from the sky.

You smile, reaching for a delicate pastry from the breakfast spread laid out before you. “And every snowflake reminds me of the warmth of this family that saved me from the cold.”

Your mother, Queen Marianne, hair now threaded with silver, gives you a loving glance. “Our snow angel, right when we needed you most.”

“Speaking of snow,” you muse, “I’m thinking of wearing the ice-blue gown for tonight’s gala. Thoughts?”

Your father raises an eyebrow, “For the Children’s Foundation event? Perfect choice. It complements the theme and matches the tiara your mother has picked for you to wear.”

You grin, “Who knew you had such a fashion sense?”

Your mother chuckles, “It’s a king thing. But he’s right. And with your sapphire necklace, you will be the talk of the gala.”

You take a sip of your tea, thinking of the evening ahead. “I want to ensure my speech captures the essence of our foundation’s work. It’s more than just another royal event, this is about making a real difference.”

Your father nods, “It always is for you. That genuine desire to impact lives, it’s how I know you will be a great Queen one day.”

You blush slightly, “I learned from the best.”

Your mother, with a hint of mischief, remarks, “And speaking of learning, have you decided on a dance partner for the first waltz? There’s quite a line-up available.”

You laugh, “Oh, Mom! Let’s not start matchmaking before breakfast is over.”

Your father joins in the mirth, “Give her a break, Marianne. Our snow angel must not melt.”

***

The regal hallways echo with the gentle patter of your heeled footsteps. Lately, the palace, your lifelong sanctuary, feels more like a maze. A sudden wave of dizziness makes you pause, leaning against a gilded wall for support.

“You okay there?” a soft voice calls. It’s your mother, her face etched with worry.

“Just a bit dizzy,” you mumble, attempting a reassuring smile.

She hurries over, her gown flowing. “You’ve been looking pale these past few days.”

Before you can reply, a sharp sensation pricks your nose. Touching it, you’re shocked to see blood on your fingertips. “Oh no,” you whisper, panic creeping into your voice.

Your mother’s eyes widen. “We need to see a doctor.”

“But the gala—”

“Forget the gala!” She interrupts. “Your health comes first.”

***

Inside the royal clinic, the room is a tense silence. Your father paces while your mother sits beside you, holding your hand tightly.

The family physician finally arrives, his expression somber. “Your Highness, Your Majesties,” he begins, “we’ve run several tests.”

“And?” Your father demands, halting his restless walk.

You take a deep, shaky breath, bracing yourself.

The doctor hesitates for a split second. “You have aplastic anemia.”

The room seems to close in. The words hang heavily, turning the opulent clinic cold.

Your mother’s voice trembles, “What does that mean?”

“It’s a condition where the bone marrow doesn’t produce enough new blood cells. This leads to fatigue, higher risk of infections, and uncontrolled bleeding,” the doctor explains.

Your mind races. The symptoms make sense now — the fatigue, dizziness, the nosebleed.

Your father’s face hardens, searching for hope. “What’s the treatment?”

The doctor looks grim, “The most effective treatment at this severity is a bone marrow transplant. We will need to find a matching donor.”

Your mother’s grip tightens on your hand, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “We’ll find one. We have to.”

Your father nods. “We will move mountains if we have to.”

You muster a small smile, drawing strength from your parents. “One snowstorm at a time.”

***

“How long does it usually take to find a match?” Youu inquire, voice trembling ever so slightly.

Dr. Van der Meer, the lead hematologist on your case, sighs, “It varies, Your Highness. Some find a match within their family, others from the global database. It can take days or even months.”

Your mother breaks in desperately, “But surely, with our resources, we can expedite the process?”

Your father adds, “Every avenue, every connection we have at our disposal is yours to use, Doctor.”

Dr. Van der Meer nods, “I understand the urgency, Your Majesties. We’ve already started to search within the national database. Meanwhile, we advise immediate family to get tested first.”

You interject, a sense of realization dawning, “But I’m adopted. Our genetic makeup differs.”

Your father and mother exchange a heavy look, the weight of your situation pressing down on them.

“We still have a vast network, a whole nation even,” your father muses. “Surely someone out there is a match.”

Dr. Van der Meer hesitates then says, “Actually, there has already been a hit from the database. A potential match.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Who?”

“We maintain confidentiality, Your Highness,” he replies. “But once we confirm the match and receive their consent, you will be informed.”

Your mother’s voice is tinged with hope. “So there’s a chance? A real chance?”

You lean forward eagerly. “When will we know more?”

Dr. Van der Meer offers a comforting smile. “Soon, Your Highness. For now, patience is our ally.”

***

“It’s been weeks, Doctor. Why haven’t we heard from the potential donor?” The frustration is clear in your mother’s voice.

Dr. Van der Meer looks up, choosing his words carefully. “The potential donor ... has some reservations.”

Your father’s brow furrows. “Reservations? Isn’t saving a life more important?”

The doctor clears his throat, “It’s a bit more complicated than that, Your Majesty. The potential donor is someone you’re familiar with.”

You lean forward, your curiosity piqued. “Who is it?”

There’s a momentary pause, the silence thickening. “Max Verstappen.”

Shock ripples through the room. The name isn’t just any name. It’s a name known to every Dutch citizen, celebrated in every corner of the nation.

Your mother blinks in disbelief. “The Formula 1 racer? We’ve met him multiple times at the Grand Prix. But why would he have reservations?”

Dr. Van der Meer hesitates, “There’s more to it. We ran some further genetic tests, customary for close matches. The results were ... unexpected.”

Your father leans forward in anticipation. “Go on.”

The doctor takes a deep breath, “Max Verstappen is not just a match. He’s ... he’s your half-brother.”

The room goes still. The revelation hangs in the air, too staggering to fully comprehend.

You feel your world tilt. “That’s impossible.”

Your mother’s voice is a whisper, “How can that be?”

Dr. Van der Meer clears his throat. “The genetic markers were unmistakable. Given the rare degree of compatibility and the markers we found, there is no doubt.”

Your father runs a hand through his hair, trying to process the news. “So all these years, at every Grand Prix, we’ve been cheering for ... family?”

You chime in, a flurry of emotions whirling inside, “And he doesn’t know, does he?”

The doctor shakes his head, “No, not yet. That’s the reservation. Revealing this ... it changes everything for him too.”

Your mother is contemplative. “We’ve celebrated his victories, felt the pride of having him represent our country. And now, knowing he’s family ...”

You interject, “And now, we need him more than ever. Not as a driver, not as a national icon, but as family.”

Your father’s resolve strengthens. “We need to tell him. He deserves to know.”

***

“How do you even begin a conversation like this?” You wonder aloud, staring at the blank screen of your laptop.

Your father, deep in thought, answers, “Honestly, directly, and with sensitivity. It’s uncharted territory for all of us.”

Your mothers adds, “Perhaps start by expressing your genuine feelings, without the weight of our titles or his fame."

You nod slowly, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Dear Max,” you repeat out loud as you begin typing, then pause. “Too formal?”

Your father shrugs, “It’s sincere. And that’s what matters.”

Taking a deep breath, you continue:

Dear Max,

This isn’t a typical letter and I struggle to find the right words. By now, you might have been informed by the medical team about our unexpected connection. I wanted to reach out personally, not as the Princess of Orange, but simply as ... family.

Your mother reads over your shoulder, “That’s a good start.”

I cannot imagine how jarring this news must be. It was for me too. All these years, our paths crossed, shared smiles exchanged, never knowing the deeper bond we shared.

“Maybe mention the Grand Prix, how it has been a tradition for us,” your father suggests.

Every year at the Dutch Grand Prix, my parents and I cheered for you, felt immense pride in your victories. The realization that those cheers were for family adds a layer of emotion I can’t quite put into words.

I understand if you need time to process this. But I want you to know that this revelation changes nothing about the respect and admiration I hold for you. However, it does add a depth of connection, a newfound kinship.

Your mother, her voice choked with emotion, suggests, “Maybe let him know why it’s important now, about your condition.”

The reason I am reaching out now is not just about our newfound connection but also because of a pressing health concern I am facing. I need a bone marrow transplant, and as it turns out, you are my best match.

“Reassure him,” your father adds. “It’s a big ask.”

I understand the weight of this request. There is no obligation, only hope. No matter your decision, I want you to know that discovering this bond, this link between us, is a gift in itself.

Please take all the time you need. Whatever you decide, I respect and cherish the connection we have discovered. Wishing you all the best on and off the track.

Sincerely,

Y/N

Your father, visibly moved, murmurs, “It’s perfect.”

Your mother nods in agreement, tears shimmering. “It’s from the heart. Now, we wait.”

***

The roaring engines on the racetrack outside fade as the door to the private lounge close behind you. Max Verstappen stands there, his usual confident demeanor replaced with apprehension. The weight of the recent revelations is thick in the air.

“You look different without the crown,” Max remarks, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You chuckle softly, “And you without the helmet.”

The initial ice broken, the two of you sit. A beat of silence passes. Then Max, eyes searching yours, asks, “Why now?”

You take a deep breath. “I’ve always known I was adopted. Every snowy day, my parents would recount the tale of how they found their snow angel. I grew up surrounded by love and privilege, never lacking anything.” Your voice trembles slightly, “But there were nights ... nights I’d wonder about the person who left me there, in the snow. Why didn’t they want me? Why did they abandon me to the whims of a storm?”

Max’s expression softens, his own memories surfacing. “I grew up with my father’s strict guidance. Racing wasn’t just a passion, it was life. There was little room for anything else. I always thought I understood my family but this ...” He sighs, looking away. “It makes me question everything.”

You nod, shared uncertainty bringing you closer. “But through all this confusion, one thing is clear: we’re family. Blood, it seems, has a way of revealing itself.”

Max smiles ruefully, “You know, I have a sister, a full sister. Growing up, we were close but our paths divided. Racing consumed me. Now, discovering I have another sister, you, it’s ... overwhelming.”

You chuckle, “Two sisters. Lucky you.”

He grins, “Twice the protective instincts.”

The humor fades, replaced by raw emotion. “You know,” you whisper, tears brimming, “Despite everything, I’m grateful for our paths crossing like this. Even if it took a lifetime.”

Max reaches out, taking your hand. “Me too.”

The weight of the moment presses on both of you. You look at each other, eyes brimming with tears, souls bared.

In a sudden rush of emotion, you step forward, collapsing into Max’s embrace. He holds you tightly, as if trying to shield you from all the past hurts, regrets, and questions. The warmth of the hug contrasts sharply with the cold memory of that snowy night. In his embrace, the years of wondering, the pain of abandonment, seem to melt away.

Pulling back slightly, you look up into Max’s eyes. With a tearful smile, you whisper, “Brother.”

He grins back, “Sister. How would you feel about attending the next race, not as royalty but as my guest?”

You hesitate, the memories of previous races filled with formalities and protocols. “It will be different.”

Max wraps an arm around you shoulders, “Very. But I promise, you will see the world of racing like never before.”

***

The roar of the engines, the excitement of the crowd — it was all distantly familiar. Yet, standing beside Max, everything feels different.

As you walk through the paddock, Max’s pride is evident. “Guys,” he calls out to his mechanics, “Meet my sister.”

They look up, surprised, then smiles break out across their faces. “It’s an honor, Your Highness,” one of them greets.

Max nudges him, “Just call her by her name.”

You laugh in agreement, “It’s nice to meet you all without the formalities.”

Max continues his introductions, his enthusiasm infectious. When you reach Christian Horner, he looks pleasantly surprised. “It’s been a while,” he remarks, “Though our meetings were always, well, more formal.”

You nod, “It’s a different world from this side of the track.”

Max beams, “And she’s getting the full experience today.”

When the race starts, every moment feels magnified, more personal.

And then, the checkered flag waves for Max.

The Red Bull garage erupts in jubilation. During the celebration, Max, still in his car, locks eyes with you from across parc fermé. You can see the moisture, the emotion in his eyes. The moment he is out of his car, he races over, pulling you into a tight embrace.

“This win,” he whispers hoarsely, “it’s not just for me this time. It’s for us. For family.”

As the Dutch anthem plays during the podium ceremony, tears fill your eyes. The anthem, a proud symbol of your country and kingdom, now also symbolizes the new, ever-growing bond with your brother.

Max, standing tall on the podium, catches your eye and winks. And as the ceremony concludes, he suddenly turns, aiming his bottle of champagne right at you. The spray catches you off guard, laughter bubbling up as the cold liquid soaks you.

“You had to, didn’t you?” You laugh, wiping away the liquid before it can sting your eyes.

Max ruffles your hair, “It’s my new duty as your older brother!”

***

“Hey, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Max says, pulling you towards the thrumming heart of the afterparty.

The vibrant lights and chatter fill the room but everything seems to slow as you’re introduced to a lean figure with tousled hair and hypnotizing eyes. “This is Charles Leclerc,” Max grins, “One of the toughest guys I’ve raced against.”

Charles offers a charming smile, “Pleasure to meet you. Max speaks highly of you.”

You raise your glass in a mock toast to your brother. “Glad to hear that my bribe has been paying off.”

Charles laughs, “Well, considering today’s win, you might just be his favorite person.”

The two of you share a laugh, an effortless ease settling between you as you barely notice Max walking off with a wink shot your way.

“You’ve been to several races, haven’t you?” Charles asks, sipping his drink.

“In a more official capacity, yes. But today was ... different.”

He nods, his gaze intense, “Being family changes the perspective.”

Charles leans in, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Now that you’ve seen me on the track maybe I should show you some of my other talents?”

You raise an eyebrow, the thrill of the night’s excitement mixing with his words. “Oh? What other hidden skills do you possess?”

His voice drops to a sultry murmur. “Well, I make a mean pasta carbonara. Maybe I’ll whip it up for you someday.”

You laugh, the warmth of the moment spreading through you. “I’ll definitely hold you to that.”

Max, watching from a distance, nudges Carlos, “Look at them. Told you they’d hit it off.”

“You know, I’ve always been curious about the life of a princess,” Charles muses, a playful glint in his eye. “Is it all tiaras and tea parties?”

You smirk. “It’s more boring than you would think. But for a driver like you, every day’s a thrill, right? Speeding cars, roaring crowds, adoring fans?”

He grins, leaning closer, the proximity making your heart race. “Most days. But some nights, the thrill is ... elsewhere,” his gaze deepening, locked onto yours.

The two of you are drawn into a world of your own, the party’s noise fading into the background.

He brushes a stray hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering just a moment longer. “Have you ever considered doing a hot lap? It’s quite the rush.”

You laugh, feeling the warmth of his touch. “I don’t know about getting in a race car but I can think of something else I’d love to ride right now.”

As the club’s pulsating music envelops you, Charles leans in, his voice husky over the beat, “Care for a dance?”

You accept, and as you both move to the rhythm, the world around seems to disappear. The close proximity, the electric energy on the dance floor, and the feeling of his body moving against yours is intoxicating.

“Right now,” Charles murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear to be heard above the music, “I feel like the winner tonight.”

You smile, your gaze locked onto his, “The night is still young. Let’s see where it takes us.”

***

“I’ve noticed you’re attending more races lately,” Max comments, a teasing glint in his eyes as you both walk through the paddock.

You shrug, feigning innocence. “Well, I’ve developed quite an appreciation for the sport.”

Max chuckles, “Or for a certain Ferrari driver?”

Blushing, you retort, “Can’t it be both?”

Before Max can respond, Charles approaches, his smile brightening as he spots you. “Good to see you again,” he greets, though his eyes convey a warmth that words can’t.

“You too,” you reply in a voice softer than intended.

The three of you share some casual banter before Max excuses himself, leaving you alone with Charles.

“You know,” Charles starts, “it’s become the highlight of my race weekends, seeing you here.”

You smile, “I’ve come to realize that there’s more to F1 than just the thrill of the race. There are ... other attractions.”

Charles grins, “Is that so? Any attraction in particular?”

You playfully nudge him, “Don’t get too confident, Leclerc.”

Weekends spent at circuits become a regular fixture in your life. While you’re initially there for Max, the increasing time spent with Charles deepens your bond. The stolen glances during press conferences, the private moments away from the limelight, and the late-night conversations make the connection undeniable.

One evening, after a particularly intense race, Charles pulls you aside, his face flushed from the adrenaline. “Every time I cross the finish line and look towards the other garages, I hope to catch a glimpse of you.”

Your heart skips a beat. “And if you do?”

He smiles, “It either makes victory all the more sweet or the sting of defeat not quite as painful.”

***

“You’ve made the front page again,” Max remarks dryly, handing you a tabloid during breakfast.

You glance at the headline, The Princess and the Racer: F1’s Fairytale Romance accompanied by a candid shot of you and Charles out to dinner.

Charles groans, “They make it sound like a soap opera.”

You sigh, “It’s the price we pay, I guess.”

As weeks go by, the media scrutiny intensifies. Every public appearance and every minuscule gesture, is analyzed, often blown out of proportion. The weight of the world’s eyes strains the joy of your newfound relationship.

One evening, after a particularly invasive article speculating about a rushed engagement, Charles pulls you aside, his face drawn with concern. “I noticed you’ve been pale lately, more tired. Is it the stress from all this media attention?”

You hesitate, biting your lip. The truth is, it’s more than just the media. Your health has been deteriorating and you’ve been trying to hide it.

“It’s not just the media,” you admit.

His eyes are filled with worry. “What is it?”

Max, overhearing the conversation, interjects, “It’s her health. She didn't want to worry you.”

Charles looks at you in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You take a deep breath, “I didn’t want to add to the pressures of the season, to be another burden.”

He reaches out, holding you close, “You’re never a burden. We’re in this together.”

You take a shaky breath, drawing strength from his words. “I’ve been diagnosed with aplastic anemia. It’s a condition where my bone marrow doesn’t produce enough new blood cells.”

Charles pales, “That’s ... serious.”

You nod, “After this race, I’m starting chemotherapy to destroy the dysfunctional bone marrow in preparation for a transplant.”

Silence envelops the room. Charles processes the weight of the revelation, the enormity of the situation sinking in. “Why now?” He finally asks.

“Timing is crucial,” Max chimes in, “She’s been putting it off, not wanting to disrupt the season. But we can’t wait much longer.”

Charles runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “I just wish you had told me sooner.”

You reach out, touching his arm, “I didn’t know how. Everything was happening so fast — our relationship, the media attention. I didn’t want to add more stress.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace, his voice choked with emotion. “Promise me, no more secrets.”

You nod, tears streaming down your face, “I promise.”

***

“Are you sure you want to be here for this?” You ask Charles as you both sit in the sterile hospital room, awaiting the doctor who would be overseeing your chemotherapy treatments.

Charles takes your hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “Every step of the way.”

The door opens and the doctor walks in, a gentle but serious look on her face. “Before we begin, there’s something important we need to discuss. The chemotherapy might affect your fertility. It’s not certain but there is a significant risk.”

You freeze. You had expected side effects, the potential hair loss, the fatigue. But this? This was unanticipated. This ripped your heart out of your chest.

Charles tightens his grip on your hand, his face pale. “Is there ... any way to mitigate that risk?”

The doctor nods, “We can retrieve and store your eggs. It’s a procedure done before chemotherapy in some cases. You will need hormone injections for about 10 to 12 days to stimulate the ovaries.”

You look at Charles, your eyes filled with tears, “It’s another delay.”

Charles brushes a tear from your cheek, “We face this together. I am here for you no matter what you decide.”

The days that follow are a whirlwind. Charles is by your side every step of the way, providing both emotional support and administering the daily injections.

Each evening, he carefully prepares the hormone shot. “Ready?” He asks, looking into your eyes.

You nod, trying to put on a brave face. But the physical discomfort is nothing compared to the emotional toll. Still, with Charles by your side, each day becomes bearable.

One evening, as he administers the injection, he whispers, “I’m so proud of you. Your strength amazes me every day.”

Tears spring to your eyes. “I couldn’t do this without you.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace, his warmth enveloping you. “You’ll never have to.”

***

“Are you sure about this?” Charles asks, his fingers brushing yours as you lay on the hospital bed.

You take a deep breath, meeting his gaze. “I am. It’s a step towards preserving a potential future, one I hope to share with you.”

His eyes soften. “Every step, I’m here.”

The medical staff move around in the background, preparing for the procedure. The hum of machines and the sterile environment contrast starkly with the intimate bubble you and Charles share.

As the procedure begins, Charles holds your hand, his thumb drawing comforting circles on your skin. “Remember our trip to Monaco?” He murmurs, attempting to distract you. “The sea, the laughter, the little café by the pier?”

A smile tugs at your lips, even as you nod for the OBGYN to proceed. “The one with the overly sweet pastries?”

Charles chuckles, “That’s the one. Imagine us there, a decade from now, two kids in tow, arguing over whether chocolate or vanilla is better.”

The image he paints eases your tension, providing a temporary escape from the clinical room. The retrieval is swift but the emotional weight lingers.

“You did great,” Charles murmurs, brushing a stray hair away from your face.

You smile weakly, “One hurdle crossed.”

The next phase comes swiftly the following day: chemotherapy. The treatment center is full of artificial warmth — the walls painted a deep yellow and the heater working overtime to keep patients as comfortable as possible — but it does nothing to counteract the chill of fear that has taken over your body.

When the nurse enters with the IV bag for your chemotherapy, Charles stands up, his stance protective. “How does this work?”

She explains the process, her voice soft, “The medication will enter her bloodstream and target the rapidly growing cells. There might be some side effects but we will monitor her closely.”

You feel a pinch as the needle is inserted and soon the clear liquid starts making its way into your veins. You blink rapidly, willing the tears away before Charles can see them.

Attempting to lighten the mood, he starts recounting some of his funniest moments from racing. You chuckle at his anecdotes, grateful for the distraction.

Hours pass. The room is filled with a mix of medical beeps and Charles’ voice, offering a counterbalance of cold reality and warm comfort.

As the IV bag nears empty, you feel a wave of fatigue. Charles notices. “Rest,” he urges softly, his thumb caressing your hand.

You nod, closing your eyes, “Thank you for being my anchor.”

He leans in, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Always, for every challenge, every step. Always.”

***

“I still can’t believe you made him go,” your mother murmurs from the chair next to you. The hum of machines and the sterile scent of the hospital room are in stark contrast to the roaring engines and burning rubber of the track that you can almost sense through the television screen.

You manage a weak smile. “He belongs on the track, Mom. This race is crucial for the championship.”

“He wanted to stay,” your father adds. “He’s racing with a heavy heart.”

“I know,” you whisper, a tear trickling down. “But he’s strong. And I want him to win, for both of us.”

The room falls silent, save for the rhythmic beeping of the machines. You can feel the potent cocktail of drugs coursing through your veins, sapping your strength but a necessary step to fight the disease within.

The TV in the corner broadcasts the race. You hear the commentator’s voice, “... Charles Leclerc, giving it his all today. You have to wonder where he’s drawing this intensity from.”

You know the answer.

The laps go by. With each turn, each overtake Charles makes, you can sense his determination, his desire to win not just for the title but for something else … someone else.

“You should rest,” your father advises, noticing your drooping eyelids.

But you resist, wanting to witness Charles cross the finish line.

The final laps are intense. Charles battles fiercely, and as he takes the checkered flag, the room bursts into subdued cheers.

“He did it!” Your mother exclaims.

You feel a swell of pride. “For us,” you whisper, before fatigue takes over and you drift into a deep sleep.

As consciousness slowly returns not too long after, the first thing you notice is the gentle vibration of your phone on the bedside table. Groggily reaching for it, you see a new message notification from a group chat with Charles and Max.

It’s a photo of Charles and Max, still in their race suits, grinning ear to ear. Charles holds up his first-place trophy while Max proudly displays his second. They’re both covered in champagne, evidence of the post-race celebrations.

These are for you. For our champion.

With shaky fingers, you type back:

My heroes. Thank you for being my strength. So proud of you both. Can’t wait to see you again.

Your mother, noticing your reaction, peers over your shoulder. “Those boys,” she says with a fond smile, “they really adore you.”

You nod, wiping away a tear. “I’m so lucky.”

***

“Hey, sis,” Max’s voice is soft, tinged with a mix of worry and hope as he sits beside you in the pre-op room, “Ready to share a bit more than just DNA?”

You manage a small smile, despite the anxiety. “As long as you don’t start claiming we share driving skills.”

He chuckles, squeezing your hand. “Promise.”

The doctor enters, clipboard in hand. “Both of you understand the procedure, correct? Max, we will be extracting bone marrow from your pelvic bone. It’s a relatively straightforward process but you might feel some discomfort.”

Max nods resolutely. “Anything for her.”

You swallow hard, emotions swirling. “Thank you, Max. This ... it means everything.”

He looks at you, eyes filled with a brotherly love that’s grown exponentially over the past few months. “We’re family. We look out for each other.”

As Max is wheeled away for his extraction, he offers a brave smile. “See you on the other side.”

Hours later, as you sit by his bedside, watching him slowly come around post-procedure, you squeeze his hand. “You okay?”

He groans, “Feels like I’ve done a doubleheader race without any breaks. But it’s worth it.”

Then comes your turn. Max, despite his exhaustion, insists on being present. The stem cells he donated are infused into you through a central line. It’s a simple procedure but one filled with so much hope and emotion.

Max watches closely, gripping your hand. “You got this,” he murmurs as the life-saving cells flow into your body.

You try to show a convincing smile before closing your eyes and praying to whoever’s listening that this works.

***

The pale blue walls of the hospital room have become all too familiar, the rhythmic beep of machines a constant in the background. You’re reclined on the bed, an IV line dripping nutrients and much-needed blood transfusions into your system. As your body adjusts to the new bone marrow, these are crucial.

Max is seated beside you, a crossword puzzle in hand. The chairs aren’t particularly comfortable but he’s still rarely left your side.

Max taps his pen against the paper thoughtfully. “Alright, here’s one for you. Seven letters: someone who is always there, no matter what.”

You raise an eyebrow, pondering. “Is it brother?”

He grins, “You’re getting good at this.”

You chuckle, “Well, I can’t help it when the answer is so obvious …”

He leans in closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I snuck in some of those chocolates you like from that little shop in town.”

Your eyes widen in mock horror. “You rebel. We’ll be banished from the kingdom.”

He winks, producing a small box from his bag. “Worth it.”

As you both indulge in the illicit treat, you realize just how much these little moments, these shared smiles and inside jokes, make the ordeal bearable.

Max notices your contemplative expression. “Hey, what’s on your mind?”

“Just thinking about how lucky I am to have a brother who sneaks chocolates into a hospital for me.”

He extends his pinky towards you, “Always. Until the end of the race.”

You intertwine your own pinky with his to immortalize the promise, “And beyond.”

Just as the two of you are finishing the last of the chocolates, the door swings open quietly. Charles steps in, his eyes immediately seeking you out. There’s a bouquet of fresh flowers in his hand, their vibrant colors standing out against the sterile environment.

“You two conspiring without me?” Charles teases, setting the flowers on the bedside table.

Max smirks, “Just ensuring she gets her daily dose of chocolate, doctor’s orders.”

Charles moves to your side and presses a soft kiss on your forehead. “How are you feeling today?”

“Better now that my two favorite racers are here,” you reply with a smile.

Charles laughs, “I see. Well, the doctor outside told me your blood counts are improving. Seems the new bone marrow is getting to work.”

You nod hopefully. “One day at a time.”

Charles moves closer, taking your free hand. “Every day is a step closer to getting you out of here.”

Max, sensing the intimate moment, stands up, stretching. “I’ll leave you lovebirds to it. Need to grab a coffee and give that crossword another go.”

Charles smiles gratefully at him, and as Max exits the room, you’re left in a bubble of comfort and warmth with your boyfriend.

***

“Grant our daughter strength and good news,” your mother’s prayer weaves through the tense atmosphere of the room.

Charles’ grip on your hand tightens and he whispers, “Whatever the news, we face it together.”

“Guide the hands of the doctors, let their knowledge lead to healing.”

Max, on your other side, offers a comforting squeeze, his face betraying his own anxiety. “You’ve come so far already.”

“And bless our family with your grace and protection.”

The prayer lingers in the air just as the door opens.

“Grant her the strength, the health, the life she deserves ...”

The doctor steps in, a manila envelope in hand. Everyone’s gaze immediately fixes on him, the room heavy with bated breath.

He looks around the room, making eye contact with each one of you, then finally says, “The results are in.”

You feel Charles’ hand tremble slightly … Max’s grip tighten … your father barely breathing behind you … a silent prayer still on your mother’s lips.

“The bone marrow has taken exceptionally well. All indicators and markers are positive.” The doctor smiles. “You’re officially in remission. You’re cured.”

A tidal wave of emotion crashes over the room. Tears immediately spring to your eyes, happiness and relief mingling in each drop.

Your mother’s whispered prayer crescendos into a heartfelt “thank you,” choked with emotion.

Your father, the ever-composed king, has moisture in his eyes as he holds you close, “Our snow angel, our miracle.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace next, his voice a shaky whisper, “You did it.”

Max is grinning from ear to ear. “Told you, sis. Until the end of the race and beyond.”

***

“Look at them,” Max says, nudging you as the camera pans over the pit crews, each member prominently sporting a bright red ribbon. “All in solidarity.”

Charles beams, joining the conversation. “It was Max’s idea. The ribbons. Both teams were eager to join in.”

You’re touched, tears threatening to spill. “It’s incredible. Both of you, your teams ... I’m speechless.”

The commentator on the screen picks up on the theme. “For those just tuning in, both the Ferrari and Red Bull teams are wearing red ribbons today in support of aplastic anemia awareness, a personal cause for them given the recent battle of the Princess of Orange with the condition.”

Mid-race, Max’s voice crackles over the team radio, “This one’s for you, sis.”

Charles, not to be outdone, pushes his car to the limit, the red ribbon painted on his helmet clearly visible every time the camera focuses on him.

Later, as you walk back out through the paddock, fans approach, many sporting red ribbons of their own. One young girl looks at you with stars in her eyes, “I wear this for my mom. She’s fighting too, just like you did.”

You pull her into a gentle hug. “She’s got this. I know she does.”

***

As soon as the statement goes live on the official website of the Netherlands Royal Family, the internet erupts.

The Royal House of the Netherlands is pleased to announce that Her Royal Highness, Y/N the Princess of Orange, and Mr. Charles Leclerc are officially courting.

Your phone buzzes incessantly with notifications. Charles, seated beside you, chuckles, “Well, there’s no going back now.”

Your father enters the room, a smile playing on his lips. “The people seem to be taking the news ... enthusiastically.”

Your mother, scrolling through her own device, adds, “And overwhelmingly positively. Listen to this: We’ve seen them together. Their chemistry is undeniable. Wishing them all the best!”

You exhale, a weight lifting off your shoulders. “I was so nervous about the reaction.”

Charles brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, “We’re in this together, remember?”

Max bursts into the room with his usual energy, “You two are trending. The fans are loving it!”

Screens across the nation flash images of you and Charles — at the racetrack, during hospital visits, candid moments captured by keen-eyed photographers. Talk shows and news channels dive deep into analyzing your relationship, piecing together any crumbs of insight they might have.

A popular racing pundit remarks on a live broadcast, “Their bond is evident, both on and off the track. Charles’ performance has been exceptional since they've been together. It’s clear that they draw strength from each other.”

The public’s fascination is insatiable. Magazines are splashed with titles like Love in the Fast Lane. But despite the media frenzy, what touches you most are the personal messages. Fans share artwork, write songs, and pen heartfelt letters, celebrating love and the winding path that brought you both to this moment.

One evening, as you and Charles sit on the palace balcony overlooking the city, he turns to you, “They’re acting like we’re some sort of fairytale.”

You lean into him, “Maybe we are. It’s our story and I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

***

“You know,” your father begins, a playful glint in his eye as he slices into his steak, “I had an amusing conversation with Prince Albert the other day.”

Charles, taking a sip of his wine, raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Your father chuckles, “He said Monaco might need to extend an invitation for our next state visit given that we seem to have shared interests now.”

The table erupts in laughter. Your mother adds, teasingly, “And here I thought we were simply bonding over diplomatic ties.”

“So,” Max leans forward eagerly. “Any embarrassing stories about Y/N? I have to make up for all of the childhood adventures I’ve missed.”

“Oh, there are plenty! Remember the time she tried to drive a lawnmower and ended up in the rose bushes?” Your father says, trying to look serious.

Marianne chuckles, “Don’t remind me! Those were my favorite roses.”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “I was eight! And I thought it was a car!”

Charles grins, squeezing your hand under the table. “I can only imagine a mini version of you so determined behind the wheel.”

“And at her sixth birthday party,” your father recounts with a smirk, “she declared that she’d be ruling the kingdom by sundown and tried to hold a mock council meeting with her stuffed toys.”

Charles nudges you playfully, “Planning coups at six? Should I be worried?”

You swat him lightly, “It was a phase.”

As dessert is served, your mother turns contemplative. “You know, I’ve always believed in destiny. And seeing all of you here, witnessing the bonds and the love, it reaffirms that belief.”

Charles nods his agreement, “Life has a way of bringing the right people together.”

Your father raises his glass, “To family, in all its forms. To the journeys we embark on and the memories we create.”

The clinking of glasses has never sounded sweeter.

***

Charles, his face flushed with the victory of the 2025 World Championship, stands on the podium, trophy in hand. The cheering of the crowd is deafening but as he signals for a microphone, a hush descends.

“I’ve never done this before,” he starts emotionally, “naming my car, I mean. I watched Seb do it year after year and I always wondered what that felt like, to have such a connection.” He takes a deep breath, his gaze scanning the audience until it lands on you. “This season, I finally understood. My car, the one that just secured this championship, I named it after the most important person in my life.”

The crowd waits with bated breath.

“I named it,” he continues, his voice breaking slightly as he keeps his eyes locked on yours, “after you. After the woman who has been my anchor, my strength.”

You feel tears prickling your eyes as the sheer intensity of his words hits you.

Charles signals and you’re gently nudged forward, guided up to the podium. The world seems to blur, the noise, the people, everything fading until it’s just you and him.

“Every race, every lap, I had two goals: to win for the team and to make you proud,” he confesses, his eyes never leaving yours. “You are my world. And today, in front of everyone here, in front of the world, I want to ask you one thing.”

He gets down on one knee and your hands move of their own volition to cover your mouth. Producing a gorgeous ring, Charles looks up at you, his eyes shimmering. “Will you marry me?”

The world stops.

The deafening cheers of the crowd seem quiet compared to the beating of your heart.

Tears stream down your face as you nod. “Yes. A thousand times yes.”

No sooner have the words left your mouth than Max and Lando, the other two podium finishers, gleefully seize the moment. With mischievous grins, they uncork their champagne bottles, dousing both you and Charles in a bubbly shower. The liquid gold sparkles in the sunlight, adding to the magic of the moment.

Charles pulls you close, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss as you both get soaked.

***

The grand cathedral, bathed in the soft glow of a thousand candles, echoes with the hushed whispers of eagerly waiting guests. Roses, lilies, and orchids cascade down the pillars, their fragrance mingling with the scent of incense.

Behind the doors of the bridal suite, Max stands beside you, dressed impeccably in a classic tux. There’s a brotherly tenderness in his eyes as he reaches out, smoothing the delicate lace of your dress to ensure that every detail is perfect.

“You look breathtaking,” he murmurs, the emotion of the day making his voice waver.

“You clean up pretty well yourself, Man of Honor,” you reply, squeezing his hand.

As the first strains of the bridal march begin, the doors open, revealing the grand aisle, lined with well-wishers from all corners of the globe. Your father steps up and offers you his arm, his eyes glassy with pride and a hint of melancholy. “Ready, my snow angel?”

You nod, tears of happiness already blurring your vision. The world narrows down to the altar, where Charles stands, back straight in his crisp full dress uniform. As you make your way down the aisle, your eyes lock with his and the universe contracts to that singular point of connection.

Charles’ normally composed features give way as he takes in the sight of you. His eyes, also glistening with tears, convey a depth of feeling that words could never capture. Love, gratitude, wonder — all interwoven in that magnetic gaze.

His voice breaks as he whispers just for you, “You are my dream, my reality, my forever.”

Your own voice is thick with emotion, “And you are my heart, my soul, my love.”

As vows are exchanged and promises made, the world bears witness to a love that defied odds, overcame challenges, and brought together not just two souls but two worlds.

And as you both seal your commitment with a kiss, there is not a single dry eye in the cathedral. Because love, true love, is a force to be reckoned with, and today, it reigns supreme.

***

The soft whimpers of a newborn fill the air of the private birthing suite. Nestled in your arms, wrapped in a royal blue blanket, the baby prince stirs, his tiny fingers curling around one of yours.

Charles, sitting beside you, gazes down at your son with sheer wonder. “He’s perfect,” he says in a teary whisper.

You nod, tears streaming down your face. “Our little miracle.” The journey, the IVF treatments with your frozen eggs , the hope, the fear — everything culminated in this singular, beautiful moment.

The door opens gently, revealing Max, his eyes wide as they take in the sight before him, and your parents, their faces a canvas of joy and pride.

Max approaches tentatively, his usual confidence replaced by an awe-inspired reverence. “May I?” He asks softly.

You nod, handing over the precious bundle. As Max holds the baby, a bond forms instantly. “Hey there, little one,” he coos, “Your godfather is here.”

Your mother, tears in her eyes, leans in, planting a gentle kiss on your son’s forehead. “Welcome to the world, our precious grandchild.”

Your father, hoarse with emotion, simply murmurs, “An angel for our snow angel.”

And you know what? You decide that the fans were right. Your life really is a fairytale.

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

doomsday ◦ h.j

—Sometimes doomsday wasn't the crumbling of a city; doomsday was an apocalypse of the mind

@anon im so glad you requested this bc I literally loved writing it so much like it fr had my creative juices FLOWING so feel free to request anytime babes

Paring ◦ Han x reader

Words ◦ 5231

Genre ◦ Hurt and comfort, ngl this angsty asf

Warnings ◦ han is a dick at the beginning but he is redeemed, panic attacks, language (like fr so many fucks in this its wild), talk about wasting your life, anxiety, fear, han is such a cunt at first its insane, not edited, uhhh I think that's it.

A/N ◦ This one is chaotic asf so if you don't like my chaotic writing this is definitely where you might wanna click off 💀ALSO IF YOU LIKED THIS PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE TELL ME like it literally doesn't have to be much you can just be like it was pretty cool

~CookieCreates🍪

Sometimes it felt like Han gave away the numbers of the clock like dollar bills, bartering off a life that only ever seemed to be rushing away like a river roaring down the rocks too fast. He scoops little moments out from the shimmering rapids, but time still trickles between his fingers; the hours melting together like wax dripping down the spindly hands, its bony fingers-

reaching

reaching

r e a c h i n g

out to him, pulling him into a pool at the bottom of his feet, a pool of glittering, glowing memories.

Is this all life is?

Working

Stressing

Never sleeping

Never eating

Is the praise worth it?

Those hopeless nights, endless days, tired eyes, and a mind made of mush—was it all worth it?

Was any of it worth it?

The roar of the crowds drowning out the sound of the seconds-

tick

tick

ticking away, the shuffle of the sand seeping into the bottom of the hourglass—he taps the crystal dome, wondering how much of it is left—wondering when it all will stop.

When he can stop.

Han was a fizzing bottle of soda—shook for too long—today was hard; every day before a comeback is: producing, singing, dancing, learning, watching, waiting-

Checking off boxes on a list that never ended, so when he finally walks into the door of your shared apartment, a room he feels like he hasn't seen in weeks, he doesn't really notice you anxiously sitting on the couch, your knees bouncing on the floor mindlessly-

snapping

snapping

snapping

on the linoleum, something so simple shouldn't set him off, sure, but the sound was so familiar—so scary—it vibrated in his head, booming in his brain seconds-

ticking

ticking

ticking away

your feet

snapping

snapping

snapping on the ground.

He comes home to get away from the world rushing out from under him, so why were you sitting there being so fucking-

“Hannie!” You beam, sprinting over to throw your arms around his neck, breathing his scent in. It feels like centuries since you've seen him last. You vibrate with nervous, excited energy, practically bouncing up and down; but the thing was, right now he didn't want to be touched.

He didn't want to be held

He didn't want to have to talk

He didn't want to have to remember he had a life outside of the bubble that was his work. It felt like he was tending to gardens he didn't know how to grow. Your relationship had already sprouted; the seed planted a while ago, but even though the delicate stages of its development had passed, that didn't mean that it still didn't have to be cared for, and right now, he didn't care about anything. 

It was selfish, sure, but when you've spent your whole life giving parts of yourself away, selfishness seems so easy, at least while you still have small slivers of your soul left. 

He grates his teeth, everything seeming so wholly overwhelming, the walls encapsulating him in an unbreakable hourglass. He was so stressed, so tired, so done, so trapped. His breath stutters when you squeeze him tighter, nuzzling your nose against his shirt, staring up at him expectantly, eyes shimmering. 

"I haven't hugged you in forever I missed your face" you giggle voice like clouds of cotton candy but not quite sweet enough to dull the sour feeling settling in his stomach

He knows that love should never feel this hard, but right now everything he did felt hard, and the way you stare at him so longingly like you're going to combust if he doesn't perform, put on a fake smile, and act like everything is okay makes him feel like a fizzing bottle of soda with a lid screwed on too tight, and when you grip him tighter, trying to push an answer out of him

He flips his lid. 

"Holy shit, y/n, do you have to be so bombarding?" He snaps, pushing your arms away from him, almost looking disgusted. Your smile slips, staring at him in shock, still not really registering what he said. 

He doesn't know what feels worse—the way your features tremble with hurt or the way he knows he doesn't care. 

"I'm tired; I just want to go to bed, okay, and you are immediately rushing me; every day as soon as I get through the door, it's exhausting."

"You can't be serious," you whisper, genuinely believing what you said. He couldn't be serious. There was no way in hell he really believed that, but it didn't matter if he believed it or not; it all still hurt the same.

He wishes he could overlook the flames that flare in your eyes, consuming the stars that always seemed to shimmer.

What did he just do?

He sighs, collapsing onto the couch, digging the palms of his hands into his drooping eyes. He was so scared; the fear loosing his lips and everybody knows words of fear are the greatest lies. 

"Yes, I'm serious. Do you know how much work you are? I work all day, work, work, work, work everybody needs me always wanting, always needing something, something, fucking something," he growls, smacking his hands against his thighs, thrown into an unexplainable rage. "And as soon as I get home, you need me too; everybody is so fucking needy." The next words he says feel like an earthquake erupted in your soul, splitting your heart in two. 

"Your so fuckin' needy."

You flutter your eyelashes shut, pushing back emotions that boil in your brain. There are so many feelings fighting for the light, but instead of screaming, crying, or lashing out, you take a deep breath and fold your arms, calmly asking 

"Then why don't you just break up with me then?" There is nothing more terrifying than a woman whose fire rages behind a veil of ice, but when he looks up, watching the flames wrap around your posture, wisping around every edge of your bones, and even with the ashes of the love you once had for him fluttering in the wind, he still opens his big, fat, fucking mouth. 

"Or maybe I should have just never asked you out in the first place." No sooner did he spit the sentence out, did he want to shove it right back in his mouth. Your shoulders droop, eyes filling with an almost impossible amount of pain.

The earth crumbles, the walls of your shared home collapsing around you, rubble lost in all the memories that flicker away like embers floating from the burning configuration that was your relationship. It was ironic how the world worked; it took years to build up the love you felt and only a single sentence to wash it all away. You never thought you would see armageddon, but when those letters left his lips, you quickly realized sometimes doomsday wasn't the crumbling of a city; doomsday was an apocalypse of the mind. 

"Okay," you croak, hot tears streaming down your face; a wobbly smile pulls at your lips almost out of habit, facial muscles forced out of memory. 

You have never once imagined yourself drowning under so many words left unsaid, sinking in the waves of tears you fought back, and as you trudged up the stairs, sinking into your bed, you wondered when you would hear the begrudging footsteps—the hesitant knocks. Wondered when you'd hear his soft apology—a voice racked with guilt—but your fantasy never came.

All you heard was the clicking of the clock behind you, counting down the hours where he disappointed you again and again

You don't know what got to you first—the peirce of realization that he didn't regret the bitter insults that left his lips so easily or when you saw the calendar that peaked from the corner of your closet-

5 days

5 days left unmarked

5 days left blank

5 days until you celebrated your 3 year anniversary

Han Jisung would never know you were counting down the days

Han should have runned after you, and in perspective, after a good night's sleep and a nice warm meal, he has never felt so completely stupid for not, but after you trudged up the stairs with a pained smile and glassy eyes, he was so starkly shocked he had said something so disgustingly distasteful his feet stuck to the ground, and finally, after hours of staring at the pool of time bubbling by his shoes, he drifted into a restless sleep. 

It was as though his terror tainted him, making the glassy parts of his heart dirty, and when he took the edge off, it was like a harsh wipe away at all the murk, revealing his jarring reflection in the pearly mirror.

He was such a jerk

He whimpers, running anxious fingers through his hair. He has no viable excuse, no good reason why he treated you so poorly—for someone so obsessed with time, he should know that you can't get your life back—can't turn the hands of the clock 

Push rewind

Hit replay

For what value would life be if you could just start it all over again? The impossibility made all the precious moments sweeter, but like every good thing, it made memories like these all the more foul.

You didn't deserve that

He didn't deserve you

and as you slink down the stairs, eyes red-rimmed and puffy. He can't stop that booming voice biting at the back of his brain.

How long will it take you before you realize that too?

You flick your gaze to him, burning with loathing cloaked behind layers of indifference. It floors him—those subtle signs of hatred that swim in the back of your eyelids, hidden in small twitches of your features, your almost tangibly cut off, throwing up your walls, shutting him out in more ways than one.

He had always worried about the gardens he was growing; flowers that sprung around him rapidly, fighting to figure out which one to water first, and all while your petals wilted and your roots curled up-

You waited

You watched as he bled himself dry. He shutters, everything bursting before his eyes—the love you once had for him flickering like the last flashes of a dying star. You're a million miles away, dancing on the craters of the moon, fluttering around the twinkling rings of Saturn. He folds himself deeper into the couch, almost hoping it will swallow him whole—pull him into the burning inferno beneath—even hell would be cooler than the fire that was your gaze.  Han Jisung never thought he'd see the day when the galaxy would collapse, but staring at you, flaring your final goodbyes, he realizes that doomsday was closer than he thought. 

"Baby," he whispers, his voice heavy with guilt, how easy it is to start a fire when you don't care about putting it out, but now that the wisps of flame consume you, he wishes he had never given you the kindling. 

You don't look at him as you walk around the kitchen, pouring a bowl of cereal. He stands up hesitantly, anguish feeling like an iron rod through his chest. He creeps into the kitchen, stepping lightly into the room like it's laced with landmines. 

"Please." His voice cracks—splits right down the middle, a perfect reflection of the cleave that was his soul. "I'm so sorry."

You place the cereal back in the cabinet and open the fridge to retrieve the milk.

The silence is deafening.

The all too familiar-

tick

tick

tick

of time trickling away rings in his ears

How much more of it does he have left?

How much more of this silence can he take?

You ignore him, strolling right past his trembling frame, racked with regret. It pulsates off his in palpable waves. You're so nonchalant so careless. He almost wants you to turn around and smack him, throw that stupid bowl of cereal in his face. Instead, you jog up the stairs, slamming the door behind you.

Is that the only door you shut?

Han had always thought of the apocalypse as an idea only found in novels, tucked away behind the pages of a book, hidden in the comfortable corner of science fiction, because that's all it was, right— fiction? But as your dead eyes scrape his figure up and down, he realizes that Doomsday wasn't really fiction at all. Just like the world wasn't always a place, sometimes the world was a person, and right now his world was ravaged by a deadly disease, an illness that only infected the soul, an illness only transferred through the careless bitter words found in the English language. Fire was nature's greatest purifier, and sure, the walls of the home he lived in weren't warped with flames of your fury, but the home he had made in your heart was 

It's been 3 days

3 days since he's felt the touch of another human. 

3 days since he made the biggest mistake of his lifetime.

3 days since he dropped a devasting bomb on your relationship, and the shrapnel was finally hitting him; curled pieces of cold metal lodged somewhere in between the folds of his soul. 

3 brutal bone-crushing days of pure ear-splitting silence—It was almost scientifically impossible, just how quiet you were. It was an art really, every brush of anguish accurately painted on—every ignored apology, every piercing glare, every single star that flickered out in your eyes. You were strategic, meticulous, you were plain vicious-

and you had every right to be.

You were fully justified in your actions, and yet he felt like he was still teetering over the edge of madness. The thought of losing you like a noose snaking around his neck, choking him in an unadulterated form of terror 

He has been stricken by anxiety his whole life, but the thought of a world without you filled him with an inexplicable amount of fear—the kind that burrows in your bones, decaying in your soul—the kind of terror that your still stuck digging from your skin for centuries to come—the kind of fear that makes you simply

panic.

His hands shake as he pushes the door open, feeling like he's walking into an open war. The pages of a dystopia form walls around him, caging him inside a bombarding capsule of storming English. 

The harsh contrast of the hurricane in his mind and the indifference in your eyes sends him reeling. You were lying on the couch, mindlessly flipping through the channels, not sparing him a glance.

You were so beautiful so breathtaking, but for once, he wasn't admiring your beauty.

He was

falling

apart. 

Oh, fuck, he was freaking out. 

He had finally caved under the pressure of always having to perform a false, flimsy smile, wobbling on his lips, pretending to be okay as he watched the life drain out of your eyes; the passion seeping from his songs.

He loved making music, but what is art without chaos?

What is beauty without love?

What is the world without you?

He always had to be perfect; he always had to be put together. He was always running on all cylinders, always hanging on by a fraying straining thread, and finally, it snapped. 

The earth is

t i l t i n g,

flipping around,

turning upside down, and

i n s i d e o u t.

Guilt rips through his chest, yanking out harsh bouts of oxygen from his constricting lungs. 

He can't breathe

He can't breathe

He can't breathe

He can't fucking

b

r

e

a

t

h

e

He was going to die-

He was going to collapse into himself, busting into a flaring supernova. 

He was going to be his own demise-

Forming his own doomsday-

He has never thought of himself as an author, but before he could stop his mouth from moving, he was already caged between the sentences of his own personal apocalypse, living a waking nightmare.

He created a story with his stupidity, and now he has to pay the price. 

He was the end of your relationship-

what has he done?

He can't b r e a t h e

"Y-Y/n I can't," he choked on his words, watching the walls wash away like watercolor dripping down the page. 

He can't lose you

He can't lose you

He can't lose you

He's going to die

He stumbles into the living room, tripping over his feet, his breath staggering in his throat. He catches himself on the arm of the couch, digging his nails into the soft leather, gripping it like it was his tether, keeping him from floating into space—burning up in the atmosphere, his body bouncing around the icy rocks. 

"Fuck," he gasps, squeezing his eyes shut and clawing at his chest, almost as if he scratches his skin hard enough, he can finally pull out the hourglass that keeps ticking his time away. His heart pounded wildly, almost begging to be free from the confines of his ribcage. The fact that it was still beating was beyond him. 

His heart only beats for you.

His heart will only ever beat for you.

How was he alive when you were drifting away? moon dust dancing in your lungs, would you become a ruler of the skies, while he was still stood still? 

"Han," your voice sounds like cotton candy kisses and honey dribbles. He never thought he would ever be so happy to hear somebody so alarmed, but right now that was the only thing keeping him from shattering. 

You jump up from the couch, your face pulled in concern. 

He doesn't deserve it

Doesn't deserve it

Doesn't deserve it

He's drowning in a pool of his self-inflicted sorrows. He's sinking, and the only thing that could save him was you. 

How do you save a man who won't take your hand?

"N-No, im okay," he barley pushes the words out, weaving between the thick lump that's forming in his throat. 

It was a lie

Everything was a lie

That's all he was

a liar

"Han," your voice is warm and inviting, sucking him in, wrapping around him like a blanket in the cold, a bowl of soup to a sick stomach. You healed him even when he was the one who created the wound. You pull him in, taking his trembling frame into your arms. Gentle fingers thread through his hair as soft lullabied wispers float through the air.

He feels so safe

So secure-

So loved-

He never thought he would feel the tenderness of your touch again, so when your comforting arms squeeze him right off the edge of destruction, 

He

c o l l a p s e s

crumbling into a million sobbing, sniveling pieces before you, he sinks to the ground, dragging you along with him. 

He always brought you down-

Always took you with him-

He was a disease-

An infection-

He was your armageddon

He sags against your body, limply moving like a rag doll. You let him curl into your chest, holding him like pieces of pierced punctuation. 

You guys were a shattered semicolon inverted and upside down. 

There was so much he wanted to say—so many apologies, so many explanations, so many different synonyms for sorry—but you didn't need them; you never needed them; you needed him, and there was nothing he could ever say that would change that. 

You hum, rubbing soothing circles on his back. You were always the perfect metaphor, a marveling form of pristine poetry. Your touch was like fleeting promises on the skin, the delicate tickle of a blooming flower, the comfortable heat of a burning star. You weren't just his world; you were his universe.

He pulls you closer to him, clinging like a desperate dying animal, nuzzling his face in your neck. 

"I'm so sorry, baby, I'm so fucking sorry!" He blubbers the sentences onto your skin, as though the deeper he burrows into your body, the faster they can travel to your heart. 

"Han," you lull, a small smile grazing your face, physically having to claw him off of you. He does begrudgingly, a minuscule whimper tumbling out of his throat from the lack of contact; he doesn't meet your eyes. He can't—not when the clock still ticks your time away, not when he's still not fully sure that you're willing to turn the hands back. 

He's devastated, his eyes red and puffy with tears that cascade down his cheeks, shining in the overhead light. 

"Please don't leave me." He sniffles, rubbing his nose against the fabric of his shirt, bottom lip trembling. "I don't want our time to run out. All my time is running out. Everything is running out. I can't, I-" he stutters, tripping over letters that latch onto his teeth like cactuses digging into his lips. 

You furrow your brows, tilting your head in sympathetic confusion. "What do you mean, baby?"

He screws his eyes shut, his hands shaking almost aggressively on his thighs. Why did he say anything? How does he explain something like that? He tries to form the words on his tongue, but they stick to the roof of his mouth like glue. Speaking it into the universe makes it so much more real, so much more raw, because now it isn't a metaphor, a fictional little whisper that fucks with his mind. 

The earth quivers in its orbit as he opens his mouth-

Was he really going to admit this?

Was he even ready to admit this?

"It feels like my life is running out," he stammers, the words tasting so sour on his tongue. "My life is so stressful; everybody always needs something from me, and sometimes it feels like I'm dishing out so many slivers of my soul that I don't even have any of it left." He lets out a shaky breath, attempting to get his heart rate somewhere that resembles normal. 

"I'm always up, always working, always doing something, and it's scary to think while I'm wasting my life working so hard doing something I don't really love." He aggressively wipes the tear that drops down his cheek with the palm of his hand. "It's so scary wondering if I'm ever making the right decisions." 

He feels so small under your gaze.

"A-And the other day was so hard," he cries, fresh waves of tears blurring his vision as he reminisces on the events. 

"Everybody was yelling at me, always needing something demanding so fucking much; they were playing puppet, forcing my hands in a way they didn't want to move; everybody was so just so needy-"

"And so was I," you whisper, filled with guilt. It breaks him. Your so understanding, so loving, so forgiving, so perfect. 

How did he even get you?

His heart wrenches as he dives into your arms-

"No, no, no, no," he shouts, shaking his head against your shirt. "No, love, you didn't do anything wrong; it was me. Me and my shitty mood—it was all my fault. I blew up at you. You were trying to be the amazing, loving girlfriend you are, and what I said was solely because of my fear. The exhaustion and anger didn't exactly help either"

"But there are no more buts," he pulls away, catching your eyes burning with sincerity. "There is no excuse for the way I treated you; there is no justification, just explanation."

You smile, tilting your head in adoration. You would be lying if you didn't say you were relieved, because you were.  You thought he believed the words he said—what feels like forever ago—that you were the annoying, needy girlfriend that only ever bugged him, but he didn't believe what he said. No, he was just a ticking time bomb waiting to blow—a ball of stressed and nervous energy channeled into the wrong source. 

"It's okay, Hannie, really, we're okay"

He was a supernova—a burning, bursting flame of bright, beautiful colors 

Han had once thought that the stars in your eyes had flickered away, but now he knows even the most enchanting things have to die before they can transform. 

He loves you.

He has loved you for 2 years and 363 days.

He will love you until the world goes up in flames. 

He will love you until the planet bleeds with the wounds of armageddon. 

"Does this mean we can still celebrate our 3-year anniversary?" He asks sheepishly, looking up at you through fluttering eyelashes. You perk up, visibly brightening. 

"You remembered!"

"I never forgot." he smiles, eyes shimmering with hope.

"I've been counting down the days," you grin.

"So have I," but he hasn't been counting down the days until you celebrate 3 beautiful years on this planet together. No, he's been counting down the days until his body slips into the grave, but as he presses his ear to your heart, it feels like the steady beats were a swelling symphony orchestrated just for him. He sighs contently, nuzzling deeper into your chest. The terrifying tick of the clock faded away, drowned out by the song of your soul whispering sweet promises into his ear. Sure, the fear still tickled the back of his brain, but instead of worrying that time was trickling away, he pulls you closer because with you, there was never a wasted moment. 

©CookieCreates (posted: July, 9th 2024) All rights reserved. Do not translate, copy, or claim my works as yours! I only post on this platform so if any of my works are elsewhere, report and notify me immediately

~cookie🍪

[rensfavoritewife]

Gyomei Himejima head cannons Non-nsfw and Nsfw

Non-Nsfw

Gyomei is such a sweet and caring partner, if you ever needed to vent to him he will drop everything he's doing and listen to you. (Unless he's in a battle, work is his first priority.)

He really wants you to know that he loves you and you love him. Praise him!! He wants to know he's doing something right or wants to know he's doing good.

He definitely smells like either coffee or a vanilla candle, I'm telling you THIS MAN SMELLS GOOD!! It just makes him so much more attractive bro.

Since he is blind, he can't see what you look like or your body.. so whenever you two go to bed or cuddle he tries his best to memorize how your body feels in his arms.

"my dear what are you doing?" You chuckle, before going to bed you felt Gyomei embrace you in his arms.. one of his hands trailed all over your body as the other ran his fingers through your hair.

"Apologies my love-" he mumbled embarrassedly, removing his hands from your body immediately thinking you were uncomfy.

"it's fine my dear! But may I ask why you were doing that?" You asked curiously, grabbing his hand and placing it on your belly.

"this might come off as strange, but I just want to memorize every detail about you.. my darling."

‼️NSFW BELOW YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED ‼️

THIS MAN IS... WOW... BIG.

he's at least 8-9 INCHES??

his girth is literally insane..

He could literally break you in half if he wanted to..

Definitely a switch, but is probably leaning towards Dom.

Soft Dom definitely

HE DEFINITELY IS SCARED OF HURTING YOU

but after a while of a long healthy relationship he'd probably calm down a bit, but still have his guard up.

He only cares about make you feel good :((

PRAISE HIM BRO‼️ LET HIM KNOW HES DOING A GOOD JOB

he has amazing aftercare

He tries to make sure he doesn't lose himself because he knows how big he is.

BUT THEY'RE IS ONE EXCEPTION.

if you tell him you want kids...

BROS FINNA GO FULL HAM

he tries his hardest and I mean his HARDEST to try to not move so fast and try not to hurt you buttt...

YOUR CLEARLY ENJOYING IT AND HES ENJOYING IT SOOO WHY STOP YK?

He will have a higher sexual drive then usual when you announce to him you want a kids

HE WILL BE ROCK HARD THE SECOND YOU BEG HIM TO PLEASE HAVE KIDS WITH YOU

He will ask a million times if you are sure

He's a really good mattress bro

He definitely has a size kink and maybe a breeding kink but maybe that's about it

He isn't really afraid of trying anything new as long as you like it

Moan after moan was stripped from your throat as you felt another orgasm coming.

"Mei ~" you mewled, signaling that you were close.

"it's okay my dear you can cum." He smiled, cooing in your ear, not once stopping to slow his fast pace as he harshly pounded away mercilessly at your dripping wet cunt. You felt so good.. he wanted to give you everything you wanted.

How might this have happened you might ask?

Simple, you asked for kids in the most straightforward way possible.

You couldn't sleep no matter how hard you tried, you were tossing and turning all night you couldn't get one singular thought out of your mind.. Kids.

The next day you looked noticably tired and had a very grumpy attitude, Gyomei obviously noticed since he was your partner and got worried since you weren't talking to him about it.

"is something wrong my dear?" He asked when you both got home, his red shiny prayer beads still in hand as he looked down at you waiting for your answer.

"breed me."

"excuse me? Can you repeat that sorry I don't think I hear you correctly-"

"breed my womb and impregnate me."

You felt his hot springs of cum shoot inside you, a warm fuzzy feeling coming to you.

"Hah..." You breathed out, flipping over on the bed tired.

"Lets go to the bathroom to get freshened up? alright?" He asked, scooping you us in his big muscular arms.. and sat you down on the bathroom counter, cleaning you up first and then you both got in a bubbly bath.

"I really love you Mei" I softly smiled

"I do too my blessed."

[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // twenty-two

summary: you showed him colours he knows he can't see with anyone else.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.8k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, depictions of mental illness, also she's is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: this is the last part of s2!! ahh i am so excited for s3 and i hope you guys too after this part :)

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist

When you come to, the air is cold on your skin and it's mostly dark. You groan, feeling the sway of someone carrying you very quickly.

"Hey, love. Hey..." Coryo says, noticing you stirring in his arms. "We're almost home. Hold on, I'm gonna get you some water."

"O-okay..." You agree, reaching up to rub your eyes so you can better see where you are. It's still nighttime, and you're outside. Looking up, the stars have filled the clear sky.

Coryo looks down at you, and then up. "The stars are beautiful. You were right." He tells you and you smile.

"I know." You whisper. "I'm glad you got to see them."

"Me too."

You almost fell asleep in his arms on the way back to their house. You didn't ask why they didn't take you home- part of you didn't want to know. Every time you caught yourself trying to piece together what happened before you fainted, your heart rate increased again. It wasn't good- that was all you knew.

Sejanus opens the door and Coryo is quick to lay you in his bed, kissing you on the forehead and giving you a bottle of water before quickly leaving. You can hear him and Sejanus talking, but you can't make out what they're saying. It sounds like Sejanus is crying.

You want to get up and help, but you are just so tired. You end up falling asleep.

Coryo didn't sleep at all all night. He tried after getting Sejanus to finally go to bed he came and laid with you, but it was no use. What would they do with you? They couldn't just leave you here- whatever history you and Cole had would no doubt come to light very critically in the fallout of his death. He didn't know if anyone had seen you go in or seen you there that night. After the games, it would be so easy to point the finger at you and call you dangerous and insane.

The bottom line of his decision: he couldn't leave you behind in Twelve.

He had a tentative plan, and you didn't have much of a choice if you wanted to live, but the hard part would be convincing you to come back to the Capitol. Well, convincing your whole family to let you come back to the Capitol.

He waited as long as he could before he had to wake you up, getting up and packing all his things while Sejanus did the same. You looked so peaceful, so untouched by everything horrible that has happened to you in your short life. You didn't know he was about to ruin your life again.

Carefully, when he knew you didn't have another moment more to spare, he sat down on the edge of the bed next to you. "Y/N/N?" He whispers, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Love, you have to wake up. I'm sorry."

You hum in your sleep, rolling onto your back. Your eyes open, only slightly, and you smile. "Hi..." You mumble, trying to untangle your hands from the sheets to rub your eyes.

"Morning..." Coryo smiles slightly. You're so beautiful. It's almost easier for him to just scoop you up and bring you with him just like that- sleepy and untroubled. How he ever imagined leaving without you by his side he didn't know.

"What time is it?" You ask, voice raspy from having just woken up.

"Just past three, but we need to get moving. I'm so sorry, love."

You push yourself up, still rubbing at your eyes. "What? It's so early. What's going on?"

Coryo sighs, running a hand over his jaw. "Let's... Let's get you something to eat and then I'll explain, okay?"

You nod, yawning and he stands as you throw your legs over the side of the bed.

"Oh- oh my god." You mumble, quickly standing up from the old chair at their dining table. Coryo and Sejanus look at each other nervously.

"I didn't know that would happen, I didn't even know they were using the money to buy guns." Sejanus defends himself and you nod, hands placed over your face.

"I know." You reply, voice muffled by your hands. "I just... oh my god. I thought it was a nightmare. I thought I was just having another nightmare I-"

"I know, but it's okay. You're gonna be okay."

"His sword, death's stamp, where it did mark, it took. From face to foot he was a thing of blood, whose every motion was timed with dying cries..." You mumble to yourself, pacing now. "Deaths stamp. The reckoning."

Sejanus looks at his friend as you ramble, eyes wide.

"Y/N?" Coryo tries to grab your attention, but with how quickly you were clearly spiraling he didn't want to touch you. "None of what happened was your fault or ours. There is nothing we could have done."

"I know, I know, I know but I can't stop it either everything is falling apart and I am killing everyone and who is next?"

"No, hey, you didn't kill anyone. No one is next." He assures you quickly. "They can't charge anyone if they can't find the guns, no one can prove we were even there. We just have to act as if nothing happened."

You nod, shaking out your hands and trying to breathe. "Okay, yes. Yes." You press your hands onto your chest, clocking your heart rate. A panic attack wouldn't help. "I am having a panic attack." You state, looking toward the two of them.

Sejanus doesn't say anything, but looks quickly between you and Coryo.

"I know, love." Coryo replies. "But you're going to be okay. We're safe here, but we need to get moving so we have to relax. Okay?"

You take a deep breath in through your nose, closing your eyes. Everything is okay. You can't panic now, it will only make everything worse.

"I'm calm. I'm calm." You tell yourself, but it isn't working. Coryo chews his cheek. He still hasn't even told you that you'll need to come with them.

"What was that joke you told me? From that book?" Coryo asks, trying to distract you. "I think Sejanus would like it, would you mind telling him?"

"'I can see he is not in your good books' The messenger said," You recite mechanically. "No, and if he were I would burn my library.'" You furrow your brow, shaking your head. "No, that wasn't it. It was the one about Benedick and his horse."

"Yes, the horse." Coryo chuckles, trying to help you down. "Although, that is funny too."

"Okay, okay." You nod, taking another big gulping breath. "In our last conflict four of his five wits went halting off, and now is the whole man governed with one: so that if he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let him bear it for a difference between himself and his horse; for it is all the wealth that he hath left, to be known a reasonable creature."

You finish, and Coryo smacks Sejanus's arm when all he does is give you a confused look, trying to track what is meant to be a joke.

Sejanus looks at him and Coryo nods toward you. "Oh! That... yes, that's very funny." Sejanus chuckles nervously.

"She's saying that you can't tell him from his horse because he's just about as smart as it." You explain, knowing he wouldn't have understood. "Well, he would be if she didn't let him keep one of his wits."

And just like that, you're breathing almost normally.

"Feeling better?" Coryo asks, approaching you carefully.

You swallow and nod. "Yes. Thank you." He takes your hand in his, gently rubbing the back of it under his thumb.

"Okay, now, this is the hard part."

You had agreed through tears. The idea of even setting foot in the Capitol again almost set you off, but you made it through. You knew it would be hard, terrifying even, but you would have Coryo, and that would help.

The three of you made your way back to your house in the dark, preparing for you to pack up your whole life in order to move in a matter of hours.

You sneak inside, closing the door quietly behind the three of you.

"Just wait in the living room." You whisper. "I'll start packing."

"Y/N, honey, is that you?" Your dad's voice shocks you, and your eyes shoot over to the clock. He hadn't yet left for work.

"Pa?" You walk into the living room where he is sitting, having his morning coffee.

"What were you doing out so late? Did you have fun?" He asks, and then his eyes go past you to the boys. "Oh, hello. Can't say we were expectin' company this early. Or late, I suppose, for you guys."

Your lip starts to quiver as you walk over to the couch. "What's wrong?" Your dad frowns, eyes back on you now as he puts his coffee down quickly, reaching out to rub your arms. "Did something happen?" He looks over to the boys, but they don't dare move.

"Pa..." You cry, sitting down next to him and he pulls you into a hug.

"Honey, what happened?" He frowns, holding you close. You wouldn't see him for so long, and it was breaking your heart.

"I..." You sniff, quickly running over your agreed story. "I'm leaving."

"Leaving? You don't need to go, you're safe here, Honey..."

You look up at him, trying to smile. "Can you get Ma? I need to talk to you both." You say, chin still wobbling with tears.

"Okay, stay right here. I'll get her." He promises, getting up and patting your head.

"Can... can you guys wait outside?" You whisper and both Coryo and Sejanus quickly nod, passing you to wait out back.

"What's happening, Y/N/N?" Your mom asks, brow furrowed as she pulls her housecoat tight around herself. "Are you okay?"

You nod, swallowing as you refresh yourself on the story you came up with. Your parents sit down, all eyes on you. "I..." You start, but you can't get it out without a sob. "I have to go back to the Capitol."

"What?" Your dad asks, brow furrowed as your mom already begins to cry. "They can't take you back, you won. Fair and square, you're home now."

"They aren't." You shake your head. "Coryo helped me apply to the university there and I was accepted. Our train leaves in a few hours."

Both your parents stare at you, absolutely in shock.

"I... What?" Your father asks again and you nod.

"Yes." You laugh slightly.

"But... You can't go, where will you stay? We can't afford any kind of school or even the food there." Your father shakes his head. "I'm sorry, I know you're happy and this is amazing but... that just won't work."

You shake your head again. "No, we thought of that. I'll stay with Coryo, and he will cover my tuition." This wasn't a lie, that's how he talked you into it, in fact- though you hadn't wanted to accept.

"Look, it won't be all bad. You can come to school with us, get an education. It'll be so good for you and your family." Coryo says, holding your hands between his own. "You can stay with me, I'll pay for everything with money from the prize. You gave it to me, anyways. I owe you that much."

"I can't take that from you... I can't leave them."

"I owe it to you, love. Besides, it's not forever." He promises. "You can come visit, and we'll pay for them to get a phone installed so you can call whenever you'd like. They even have these really nice ones with cameras, we'll get you one of those."

"The school won't take me, I don't have a Capitol degree." You sniff.

"Of course they will- everyone there loves you. They know how smart you are. You'll just have to do some testing first, and then you can major in whatever you like. Even literature."

"I can?"

"Of course you can. Whatever you want to do, anything in the world."

"What are you taking?" You ask, wiping your eyes.

"Political Science."  He answers. "But you could do... art history, creative writing, journalism, anything you want, love. Hell, you could even take mathematics if that's what you want." Coryo smiles, squeezing your hands. "You'll change your family's lives, and we can be together."

"Oh, honey..." Your mother cries, pulling you into her arms.

"He said we'll get you a phone, a nice one with a camera and I can call every day." You tell them through your tears, hugging her back. "And then I'll come back for you, with my shiny new education and neither of you will ever have to work again if you don't want to."

"I... I don't know what to say." Your father admits.

You laugh slightly, leaning into your mother's arms. "I don't either... I don't know."

You laughed and cried together, but you knew you couldn't tell them why you really had to leave on such short notice. They had to be happy for you to let you go without fear. Knowing anything about the truth would put their lives at risk. You cried harder when your father had to leave for work not long later; it would be a long time before you would see him again.

"Well." Your mom takes a deep breath in after a few minutes of your father being gone. "We better get you packed." She pushes herself up, and you join her.

"Ma." You stop her as she goes to make her way to the kitchen, no doubt to put on some tea for the process.

She turns, looking at you expectantly with reddened eyes.

"Lennox is going to hate me, isn't he?"

She frowns, pulling you into another hug. "No, honey. Never." She shushes you. "He may not like it at first, but he loves you so much. He could never hate you."

"You promise?"

"Of course, honey. Don't you think on it for even a minute. He'll miss you, but we'll be waitin' on you to come home. We'll be right here." She assures you. "And we are so proud. Don't worry about us, okay?"

"Parting is such sweet sorrow." You sniff, laughing slightly against her shoulder.

"This time, it is." She chuckles. "Now, let those boys back in and we can get moving. We don't want you to miss that train."

Somehow, you managed to pack everything up without waking your brother. You don't know if that was a good thing or not.

The sun began to rise as you made your way to the train station. Sejanus hadn't said a word since you left their temporary home.

"Y/N." Coryo whispers, and you look up at him. He's carrying one of your bags along with his, while you focus on the makeshift carrier in your arms that contains your cat. "When we get up there, let me do the talking."

You just nod, swallowing back another wave of tears. The guilt you felt was immeasurable, especially now that you allowed yourself to be excited. What if you did get into their school? Your whole life was about to change, but this time, hopefully for the better. But if it was all because of the deaths of three more District kids, how dare you think it may be worth it. Even if Mayfair was vile and Billy Taupe had an insatiable habit of cheating on Lucy Gray.

Lucy Gray. You didn't even say goodbye to Lucy Gray.

She wouldn't handle his death well, you knew that. You would have to write her immediately. Maybe that's what you would do on the train.

You would miss her greatly, but she would understand. Same as your parents, she would be proud. And you'd tell her about their phone and you could call her anytime you wanted as well. It would all be okay.

The train was heavily guarded by peacekeepers- though it was likely less so than usual. All the others were probably out already searching for the guns that killed the Mayor's daughter as well as a peacekeeper. It was unlikely they cared about Billy Taupe. You wish you could have warned your family that peacekeepers may come knocking, but the less they knew the better.

When you see Lucy Gray standing back against the building, looking out seemingly for the boys, your heart feels heavier in your chest. You don't say anything to them before you run up to her. You call her name and she turns, smiling at you.

"Hi, Hun. I wanted you to come say goodbye with me but I couldn't find ya last night, you weren't home when I came by after the show or this morning. I was worried."

"Oh, sorry. I slept over at theirs." You nod back to the boys as they approach behind you.

She smiles, but something in it is sad. Her eyes are puffy, clearly she had been crying. It was about Billy Taupe, no doubt.

"Y/N, I got something to tell you." She says quietly, and you tilt your head at her. "Last night..." Her eyes well up with tears again. "Last night Billy Taupe was murdered. He was shot, at the Hob. And Cole was too. I'm so sorry."

Coryo just catches the tail end of it, stepping in next to you and carefully watching your reaction. Or, what you thought your reaction was supposed to be.

You're quickly handing your bag off to Coryo and pulling her into your arms. "Oh- I'm so sorry, Lucy Gray... I'm so sorry."

Coryo and Sejanus look at each other as she cries in your arms.

"I was mad at him... I was so mad at him and I never got to say that I'm sorry."

"I know... God, honey I'm so sorry." You rub her back as you speak, focussing purely on comforting her. You had been close with him too. You don't know if Lennox knows yet, but you know he will be devastated. Just because Billy Taupe was an awful boyfriend to her at times didn't mean he wasn't still like family. "Don't beat yourself up about it, okay? It's not your fault. He knows you love him, okay? He knows."

She sniffs and you can feel her nod against your shoulder. "Love is immortality." You tell her quietly, kissing the side of her head.

"Y/N." Coryo says, hating to interrupt but the train wouldn't wait for you.

"I know." You reply, nodding as you pull away and take her hands in yours. "Lucy Gray, I am so sorry but I have to go."

"Go?" She looks at the boys behind you and the bags they're holding, there are several more than what they had arrived with. "You're going with them?" Her voice breaks and you nod, swallowing back tears.

"Coryo helped me apply to the university and they accepted me. Classes start in a couple of weeks." You lie, you couldn't find it in your heart to tell her you were there when Billy Taupe was killed.

She looks confused, squeezing your hands tight. "I... why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to wait until we knew for sure. His cousin called last night and said the letter arrived, and it would have been so embarrassing if I didn't get in. I wish I could have told you sooner."

"You could tell me anything. You shouldn't have been embarrassed." She frowns, shaking her head. "I wish I had known- we could have had a goodbye party or something I just feel like you shouldn't be leaving just like this."

"It's okay, I don't need a party. You know that." You smile.

"I know." She sighs. "Well... I'm proud of you. I'm so proud of you. This is amazing."

"Thank you." You laugh slightly, realizing that the tears you were trying to hold back had started to fall. "I love you so much, I'll write you all every day and we're getting my house a phone so you'll be able to call too."

"Okay. We'll talk every day." Lucy Gray nods, sniffing. "I love you, Y/N." You give her another hug.

"It was so good to meet you, Lucy Gray. Thanks for everything." Coryo says as you let her go again. You take your bag back from him so he can hug her. "And I'm sorry about your friend..."

"Thank you... and of course, it was lovely to have some new faces here. I hope you'll come back sometime." She grins, wiping her eyes again as she pulls away.

When she looks at Sejanus who had been awfully quiet this whole time, you gently pull on Coryo's arm. "Let's give them a minute." You whisper and he nods, following you away. You can't look back, if you look at her again you aren't sure you'll be able to board the train at all.

"Excuse me." Coryo approaches the peacekeeper stationed by one of the train cars, pulling a slip of paper from his pocket. "My friend and I have tickets, back to The Capitol."

The peacekeeper takes it, looking it over. "You live there?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then why did you come to Twelve?"

"Oh, our friend Y/N lives here. We came to get her, she is coming back with us." He explains, flashing a charming smile as he looks back over at you.

"There's only two tickets here, and neither of them has her name on them."

"Yes, so, we were hoping she could just tag along. She won't take up much room."

"No. District personnel can't just go to the Capitol, you should know better."

"I do, yeah." Coryo nods. "But maybe you'd recognize her, that's Y/N Y/L/N, Victor of the tenth annual Hunger Games. I was her mentor. Under the circumstances we were hoping you'd make an exception- we haven't been able to call home about her ticket but they need her back there. It's a new thing, they want to do a Victory tour, some interviews- that kind of thing. They're trying lots of new stuff this year."

The peacekeeper looks past him and eyes you skeptically. You smile, giving a slight wave as Tybalt squirms in the carrier. "Good morning, officer. How are you?"

"What's in the bag?" He asks, returning his attention to Coryo and completely ignoring your question.

"See, she really wanted to bring her cat. Since the games he's been a real comfort to her, Dr. Gaul, head of the war department and head gamemaker, said that the cat wouldn't be an issue as long as he's kept inside. He'll be an indoor cat only, officer."

"No animals." He shakes his head. "She can go, but a cat isn't necessary cargo."

"Okay, well..." Coryo sighs, looking back at you. You can see the panic shift in his eyes. There was no time to take Tybalt home, and you weren't going to set him loose here. Either Tybalt comes, or neither of you do, and that was hardly an option.

"Here," Sejanus mumbles as he rejoins you, digging in his pocket and walking past you and up to them. "No cat." He hands the peacekeeper a wad of cash so thick that it makes your eyes widen.

The officer chuckles, tucking the money into his own pocket. "No cat." He agrees. "Enjoy your ride."

Coryo smiles at you and motions for you to join him, helping you up the stairs onto the train with a hand on your back while you take another last look at the city you love so deeply.

taglist: @soulessjourney , @that-veela-girl ,  @dreamyysouls, @rockstarbfs , @maysileeewrites , @baybieruth , @kitscutie ,  @fratboyharrysgf0201 , @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @drewsandsebastianswife , @niicole-87 , @queenofshinigamis , @innercreationflower , @nallasstuff , @iovemoonyy , @thatmarvelchick19 , @wearemadeofstardust0 , @regulusblackcore , @puredreamagination , @fantasticchaosthing , @becauseseaotters , @secretsicanthideanymore , @strawberryflavouredkisses

okay suddenly tumblr isn't letting me tag more people than this so i just made some cuts unfortunately :') i just left the max amount of people i could whose users i recognized and see in my notifs all the time :) if you're not on here and you should be i'm so sorry!

also this taglist is closed now!! if you’d like to get a notification when i update, turn on my post notifications!! i promise i won’t spam y'all :,)

[yarrystyleeza]

Happy birthday tomorrow Yuna! Hope you'll have an amazing day ❤️❤️

As for a request... When I saw you would write for Daryl, I knew I had to send you something. Season 1 and 2 Daryl lives rent free in my mind, so can I please request:

"when they tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear while you talk" and "brushing against each other, even if there is enough room"

Thank you in advance and again, Happy birthday 😁❤️🎉

Awww thank you my love, sorry for answering this late, hope you didn't mind it, it was stupid of me! 😅💖💖💖

I was stuck with the plot of the request for the last two months until last night, I literally wrote this in less than 10 hours lol 🤣🤣🤣 hope you enjoy it, though, and sorry for keeping you hanging! 💖💖💖 You're so welcome and thank you for dropping this request and for the birthday wishes! 🥰🥰🥰

Little Things (D.D)

Requested by @munsonownsmyass

Pairing and dynamic: Daryl Dixon x female! reader, idiots in love

Prompt: fluff, s1!s2!Daryl, tucking hair behind ear, brushing against each other even if there's enough room + petnames for the cherry on top!

Word count: 1.4k!

Writer's note: I loved writing this one so much! As you lily, season one and two Daryl is my favorite Daryl era (beside S8). Not 100% proofread but I hope you really enjoy it, have a great day! <3

"Hurt y'self, little thin'?" He teased, watching you lying on the forest bed after your foot faltered and slipped you into the bottom of the hill. Your brows knitted, you rolled your eyes, he chuckled at the face you made, "alright, I'm comin'."

He slides down, smoothly, and a little bit pompously—with a smirk on his face. You can't lie—he made you smile though you desperately wanted to punch him right in the face.

He offered his hand to you and you accepted his help. At first, he let you wrap your arm around his neck as he walked you towards the hill exit—but as it turns out, you sprained your ankle so bad it was impossible for you to take another step. He scooped you in his arms and carried you back to the quarry.

And that's how you met Daryl.

You can't admit he wasn't a pain in the ass most of the time—if not always, getting on your nerves and driving you up the wall, it was so constant you started thinking he was doing it on purpose.

It kinda was. Daryl had serious troubles with conveying his emotions, and that idiot had a sickening crush on you ever since he saw you at the camp with the girls. He wanted your attention and he only got it when he drove you mad, so he tooled it in his advantage.

You were his favorite. You're the only one he talks to—other than his brother, Merle—and you, too, are the only one who wants to talk to him.

You too had a crush on him. His silly fights and bickering became more amusing to you—sometimes you couldn't even contain the smile drawn across your face when he's mad about something so stupid and could be fixed in complete silence, and when you gave him your smug face—it always drove him insane. You learnt he's quick-tempered, but these ones were visibly made up just to get a chance to be with you.

Daryl reminded you of those little boys in the playground when they used to ruin the girls' sand castles or pull their braids and ribbons just to get their attention. Ever since you came up to this conclusion—life has never been easier!

But things changed a little bit after the attack on the quarry. Daryl turned from only being a hot-headed idiot to be completely protective of you, but that doesn't mean he stopped getting angry—God forbid he does! But he got more reasonable and collected—around you, at least.

As soon as you got to the CDC, he grew closer to you, more friendly, more worried, more caring. He barely slept the night you spent there, checking on you every thirty minutes to make sure you don't need anything—despite you being a wall apart. It was adorable, and it stirred something in you.

Same night at dinner, right before you went to bed, he sat beside you as you dined, he made sure your plate was full and that you'd eaten well because 'it's been a while since you got a decent meal', he says.

And in the middle of the chaos the following morning—he solely cared for you, and not a thing was going to stop him from smashing Dr. Jenner's head that morning if it wasn't for you calming him down.

The two of you escaped in his pickup truck. But despite the horror you had just fled, you couldn't stop stealing glances at each other, Daryl was focused on driving but you spotted him staring at you with soft eyes a couple of times. Both of you blushed, multiple times—vividly, but you couldn't stop. Something was so amusing and sweet about the way he was looking at you, and you were so tempting to him he couldn't stop staring at you even if he wanted to.

Now, staying at Hershel's farmhouse, Daryl turned out to be that sweet lovey dovey guy who'd absolutely melt under your touch—in complete opposite to the face he's been showing to everyone.

As you went out to search for Sophia, Daryl offered to accompany you. He kept brushing arms with you, pumping into your side, and gently holding your biceps to guide you as you walked. He kept putting himself between you and any threat, not letting you shed a drop of sweat—you were almost a passenger princess, but on foot.

But it was very obvious the night he got shot—your heart dropped when it happened, and when you learned it was your Daryl and not some misinformation. You couldn't watch as they took the bullet out, you couldn't watch him screaming in agony—yet you heard him from behind the door. It tore your heart into pieces.

The night fell as you sat on the chair next to his bed, your head dripping every couple minutes as you drifted in and out of sleep. Your head was heavy as a rock sinking in the ocean—yet you kept fighting Mr. Sandman back, shaking your head and rubbing your eyes and patting your face.

"Go to bed, pet," he softly demanded, "ye're tired from sittin' here all day," he extended an arm, gently placing it on your thigh and squeezing it chastely, "ya need some rest."

You shook your head, "I'm fine, Daryl," you shrugged, "it's not like it's the first time I stay up late."

Both of you stay silent, staring at each other with soft eyes. "Climb up in 'ere," Daryl says, his voice was tinted with plead "at least you won't have to keep droppin' yer head like a sippy chicken."

"No, Daryl," you shook your head in utter refusal, desperately trying to show him how awake you are despite craving a warm bed, "you need your own space. What if I accidentally hit your wound--"

"Come on, pet, you know you won't..." he softly smiles, shaking his head. You sigh and climb into the bed with him and he shares his blanket with you. He turns to face you, the moonlight is perfectly casted upon your faces, his blue eyes sparkled and reflected you like a looking glass. He grazes your cheek, tucking your stray hair back behind your ear and his fingertips linger on the skin of your neck.

"Get some sleep, love," he caresses your hair, "I won't need nothin' when ye're right next to me."

You woke up tangled up in his chest, it was warm and peaceful. You never wanted to slip out of his arms—if it wasn't for Hershel coming over to check on him and the men accompanying him.

Daryl got better as the days gone by. You started to see him in the kitchen fetching some biscuits or chips, he'd pump into you on his way out, brushing arms with you and glancing at you with his blueies and a smile. And if he's in the right mood, he'd take you off guard and peck your cheek, and you'd turn red and try to bite your smile. He caught it had quite the right effect on you, and he's been doing it ever since.

"Let it down, pumpkin," Daryl flirts as he snatches the scrunchie out of your hand as you tried to tie your hair, "love it when it's coverin' yer pretty face, gives me a reason to keep tuckin' it back."

"But we're going on a mission," you protest, "it would be dangerous for both of us!"

Daryl takes a run around the golden field and you chase him—but he overpowers you and you stop running, panting and clutching your chest as he giggles. He mischievously walks back closer to you, so you try to take it back, but he's taller than you, stretching his hand up with your scrunchie and shaking it to tease you. "Ya ain't tiein' it today, darlin'."

"Give it back!" you giggle as you jump to reach for your scrunchie, but he keeps stretching his arm above his head.

"Ye look so cute like that, pumpkin," he pulls a smug face as you lean forward against him, your chests compacting and you're an inch away from kissing.

"You could've told me you wanted to kiss me," you tease, not minding that he lowered his hand back down. He tucks your stray bangs behind your ear, ending up doing what he wanted to do all along.

"But it's more fun to watch ya tiptoe and lean on to me like that," he rounds you with his big arms, pulling you deeper into his chest with a Bastard smirk on his face, "it makes you even prettier, pet. These little things you do."

Likes and reblogs are appreciated, thank you for coming to my birthday sleepover celebration! 💞💞💞

[scarletttries]

How Succession Characters would react to getting you pregnant...

Pairings: Kendall Roy x Reader, Roman Roy x Reader, Tom Wambsgans x Reader, Greg Hirsch x Reader, Lucas Mattson x Reader, Stewy Hosseini x Reader

Author's note: Thank you for this fun request! Here is a little bit of thoughts on how a bunch of the Succession characters would react to finding out their partner (the reader) is pregnant ☺️

Kendall Roy

This man has had the importance of succession literally bred into him. His struggles with infertility and trying to be the kind of father he wishes he could be have taken a toll on poor Kendall, making him feel like he'll never have the family he's always wished for. That starts to ease when the two of you get together, slowly coming around to the idea that maybe he doesn't need anything else as long as he has you. But when your period is late, expect Kendall to notice, always keeping track of your body in the back of his mind in a way he just can't help but obsess over. He daren't say anything, certain that in the next week it will turn out to be nothing, his body once again failing to deliver him what he craves so much.

A few days later when you bring him lunch at the office he's all but pushed that hopeful thought out of his head until you present him a carefully wrapped box, inside of which sit a dozen positive pregnancy tests. He's in complete disbelief at first, eyes welling up and repeatedly asking if you're sure, and more uncomfortably for him, if it's definitely his. Once you've suitably convinced him of both of those facts, you'll get full, smiling, happy Kendall, scooping you into his arms and telling you exactly how 'fucking excited he is' loud enough that by 2pm that day everyone in the Waystar office has heard the news.

While you're pregnant Kendall can't stop telling everyone that the two of you are expecting, overflowing with pride and joy and love for your growing family. He's the kind of person to fly in the best midwife/doula/doctor in the world to make sure everything goes exactly to plan, making sure you don't have to lift a finger for the whole nine months. He'd also be an absolute menace for not being able to keep his hands off you, the way you glow as you start showing driving his little brain insane, wanting more than anything to just put baby after baby inside you.

Finally when the baby comes expect Kendall to be there. Yes he'll have a few wobbles and won't be perfect, the reality of his experience of fatherhood making him doubt he'll do anything good enough for this baby, but every time he sees the two of you, he knows he needs to step up and do whatever it takes for his little family, now that he finally has what he's been dreaming of.

Roman Roy

It's taken a long time for Roman just to get comfortable being intimate with you, a slow but not unpleasant journey that the two of you have been on since he first fell embarrassingly hard for you while working at Waystar. Given the months of longing looks and lingering touches it took to get to your first kiss, you never really thought about needing to use protection with Roman, until one particularly special night he finally wanted to try 'the whole thing' with you, surprised and delighted at how perfect it felt take make love to someone he truly cared for, allowing himself to be vulnerable in every way with you. As if wanting to make up for lost time, that night would lead to a real Honeymoon phase of Roman not being able to keep his hands off you, desperate to feel that incredible connection again and again.

You can hardly feel too surprised as the nurse confirms your suspicion, a follow up appointment made and a heavy piece of news on your shoulders as you ride silently in the town-car back to yours and Roman's home. He's his usual ball of emphatic energy as you step through the door, bounding up to you before stopping in his tracks at the clear weight on your chest. The words spill out before you can overthink it, watching carefully as you watch him process it all, slinking down to the floor and sitting cross-legged in silence as he contemplates. Roman had never planned to have a child, not ever expecting to find someone like you to share his life with, and he didn't exactly have the best relationship with the concept of fatherhood, a chill running down his spine at the thought of Logan ever laying a hand on his kid. Then a realisation began to calm him; that he was nothing like his father. And while he wouldn't be perfect, his immature brain sure to make mistakes along the way, he knew he would always make his child feel safe, something he wished someone had done for him all those years ago. So then he'd smile, and pull you down to the floor with him, and laugh his teary-eyed hyena laugh, and wrap you in his arms, protecting all three of you for the next chapter of your lives.

It's safe to say his family would be extremely surprised by the announcement, particularly Logan, who'd rejoice in a way that made Roman feel even more sure that he'd never be that kind of cruel, manipulative father that only wanted his children for what they could do for him. Throughout the pregnancy Roman would be up and down, jubilant and terrified, proud and ashamed, the whole thing trudging up more than its fair share of childhood trauma. But when it comes down to it, he'll be there to step up, immediately swearing to do whatever it takes to make sure your little one never feels the way he spent his life feeling.

Tom Wambsgans

Despite all the venom and acid that burned him in his first marriage (this one's for you team Tomshiv divorce), Tom is peak fatherhood material. You only have to look at the intensely caring way he talks about Mondale, the bizarre energy he's put into raising Greg, and of course, his absolute undying affections for you, to know this man would coddle a child like no one's business. You wouldn't even be scared to tell him, the news unplanned but certainly not unpleasant, the way this man fucks like a freight train clearly no match for the average condom.

You'd make an event of it, ordering balloons and cake and flowers to your shared duplex, so when he got home to a sea of congratulations there would be no doubt. A midwest man through and through, if you weren't already married he'd buy you a ring the very next day, the floods of happy tears stopping long enough to let him pick a perfect diamond. He'd spend half the week on the phone telling everyone he knows, so excited to grow your little family, and be the kind of man he'd been raised to be. He's definitely type to read an unhelpful number of articles to make sure he's doing everything he can 'to serve you and your growing child during this strenuous time', calling his mother to fly across the states to help out as you get closer to your due date. This man already has a short-list of the best preschools in New York by the time your bundle of joy comes in the world, ready to be a present father and husband, even if it means for once his career has to take a backseat.

Greg Hirsch

You had worked very very hard to make it crystal clear to Greg that whatever happened between the two of you was strictly on a casual basis, not wanting to get drawn into his complex family dynamics, or end up the centre of ATN news story. Despite his clear infatuation he had agreed, following every boundary and rule you set out to the best of his slightly clueless abilities. So when you triple checked the calendar and realised what had happened, you couldn't help but lock yourself in the Waystar women's bathroom and scream enough curses to make Kendall Roy blush. After deciding this was something you wanted, you'd finally let Greg buy you dinner, surprised by the calibre of restaurant he picked for what was really just a first date.

When you tell him the news, and make it clear you don't expect anything from him, you'd be pleasantly surprised by how loudly and excitedly he proclaims "that he loves kids!" earning a few uncomfortable looks from the tables around you. He'd be stressed and feel unprepared for sure, but he wanted more of a relationship with you and this was going to put that on the cards for him, plus he'd always wanted a family of his own so he couldn't wait to tell 'Uncle Tom and Great Grandpa Ewen' the news.

Realistically he'd be quite a useless partner, buying you your favourite sushi without realising you can't have it, and wanting to throw a party in your favourite bar to celebrate, forgetting you can't drink, but the thought would always be there. And if you need anything done, he's ready and waiting, even if he needs the clearest possible instructions and will end up having to call you for more information anyway. No matter how much trouble it gets him in with work/Tom he'd be at every appointment, proud to have a reason to pull himself together and excited to be a grown up, if it means being one by your side. Once you have your baby, he'd 100% bring them into the office, showing them around Waystar and being shocked at anyone implying its not appropriate to bring your baby to work, having Tom back him that it's important for all the Roy family to be there together.

Stewy Hosseini

Coming from the happiest family in the Succession universe, Stewy's often thought about having a family of his own, but his lifestyle of late nights and kissing boys on Molly means it's not something that he's ever really applied himself to pursuing. So when the two of you start dating he takes it seriously; he can tell he could have a real future with you, the type of warm, intelligent, kind person he's always wanted to find and settle down with. It wouldn't be long until you were introduced to his parents, watching over his nieces and nephews together and giving Stewy no choice but to pray you'll be the mother of his children. He'd want to go through the traditional order of things, getting married and building a home together before you started to grow your family, but when a happy night of too much rose in the hot tub on his balcony leads to a positive pregnancy test, he'd be absolutely elated. He'd call in every favour he was owed across the city to get your dream wedding together within a month, dragging you round viewings of townhouses with little gardens he immediately describes as 'perfect for the little one.'

Stewy would still respect your independence though, making his hopes and preferences known, but ultimately letting you call all the shots, just a helping hand and credit card to make whatever you're dreaming of come true. He's less protective than some of the others, but only because he knows you're tough as nails now and always, not wanting you to feels smothered and wrapped in bubble-wrap, still making sweet plans for just the two of you before and after the baby comes. Stewy would be such a happy and excited father, truly just a joy to be around.

Lukas Mattson (warning: darker themes, reader discretion advised)

Even just being seduced by Mattson would feel a little bit unsettling; uncertain of exactly how much of what he said he really meant, and what was all just charm and bravado that seemed to effortlessly ooze out of him. So when he insists that you don't need protection, or says he'll pull out but always does it a moment too late, you don't realise what he's up to until it's too late. You see from the moment Lucas met you, he knew you had to be his, and the easiest way to tie your lives together forever is to get you pregnant.

He'd pretend to be shocked by the news, like he hadn't worked night and day to baby-trap you, asking you sincerely if you want to keep it, and telling you you'd want for absolutely nothing if you just let him look after the two of you. He says it so sweetly, so sincerely, hovering his shaking hand just shy of your stomach and looking down at you with nothing but awestruck affection in his eyes that you can't help but fall for him, this image of devotion exactly what you want for your future. And as you say you want to keep it, and have your family with him, he'll fall to his knees and tear up, his whole life feeling like it lead to this moment, a child to make the best future he can for.

He'll throw himself into his work for a lot of your pregnancy, a new perspective on his work with AI, tinkering with the latest baby tech to make sure you two have everything you could possibly want to help you with this stage of your lives. You'll grow slightly more used to his intensity as he points it in a helpful direction, worshipping the ground you walk on and trying desperately to make everything as good as it can be for your little family.

[tswaney17]

I Do Bad Things with You - Part 48

One part left and an epilogue to go!! 🎉 What is lifeeeee? The fact that this story is literally almost over is just insane to me. Thank you to everyone who kept up with this one. I know it's been a long, long ride. Your patience and kind words have meant the world to me. 💜

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics​​​

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Please let me know what you think about this update. I love getting your feedback. Constructive criticism is always welcome. 💕

Catch up here.

Credit to @featherymalignancy for Cassian’s nickname, Cash. 😘

Trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault , language, NSFW

Word Count: 8,481

Elain’s consciousness tugged at the front of her mind, slowly trying to pull her from her slumber. Warmth radiated from the other person she shared her bed with, his cedar and mist scent a balm to her soul. As she slowly came to, she realized that Azriel was not the only one in their bed that morning, her son’s voice catching her attention even though her husband tried to keep him quiet.

“Not so close, buddy,” Az murmured, and she felt Kaden’s small body being pulled slightly away from her. “We have to be careful of Momma’s tummy.”

A little body shuffling jostled her but she kept her eyes firmly shut, simply enjoying the tender moment with her boys.

“Like this, Daddy?”

Her heart melted. The night before came perfectly clear in her memory—how Azriel’s face morphed into quiet joy from Kaden finally calling him daddy. She saw every emotion behind his eyes, every prayer being answered: that their son would finally view him as his father and not just a guardian.

“That’s perfect, bud,” he choked out in a hoarse whisper. It was obvious how much it meant to Azriel to hear that name coming from Kaden’s lips.

Elain knew that her husband was aware of her being awake; he always seemed to sense her presence even before she opened her eyes. He confirmed it when Kaden tried to whisper, “When is Momma going to wake up?”

Az’s answering chuckle was the first indicator, followed by “Soon, I’m sure.”

She took that as her queue, stretching out her aching body—pregnancy really was a bitch—yawning until she opened her eyes.

“Momma!” Kaden shouted in glee, throwing his arms around her shoulders.

Elain let out an “oomph,” laughing as Azriel chastised their rambunctious four-year-old.

“Easy, Kaden.” He scooped his son back into his arms, kissing him all over his face and making him burst out into a fit of giggles.

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, smiling at the sweet display. “What time is it?”

Az settled their son between them, his bright eyes glancing at her. “Just before seven. The Moonbeam twins will be here at nine to collect you and Kaden to head to the baby store in Hewn City.”

Elain could see the change in her husband as he spoke. How he wanted them to go with them and that it made him nervous to stay behind while they were in another territory. She reached out, cupping his cheek in her palm, and let her thumb swoop over the apple of it. “We’ll be okay,” she whispered, hoping to reassure him.

He sighed heavily, twisting his head to kiss the inside of her hand. “I’ll be better once you’re both home and safe.”

“Momma, I’m hungry!” Kaden announced, breaking the spell that had woven over them.

 Azriel rose from the bed, turning to face them. “I’ll make breakfast. What do you guys want?”

“Pancakes!” they said in unison.

Her husband huffed a laugh, eyes rolling because that’s what Elain always wanted for breakfast. “Why do I bother asking?” And then he swooped down to toss their giggling boy onto his shoulder. “Alright, free-loader… you’re going to help me make pancakes this morning,” he called out as he threw a still-giggling Kaden over a shoulder and muscled his way out of their bedroom.

“Bye momma!” their little boy called waving at her enthusiastically.

She wiggled her fingers at him, giving herself another moment to lounge in bed. One of the twins stretched out, their little foot pressing against the inside of her stomach hard enough to see the outline of it. She could even make out their little toes. Elain let out a breath, running her hand over her belly to soothe the child. “Make yourself comfortable, little one,” she teased in a soft breath. 

Shuffling herself off the bed, she waddled into the large bathroom to shower and get ready for the day.

Forty-five minutes later, she padded her way downstairs to the kitchen in a pair of leggings, one of Azriel’s oversized sweatshirts—because it was the only thing warm enough that fit her at the moment—and sneakers. She found her boys at the stove, Kaden pouring the last remnants of the batter onto a hot skillet while Azriel flipped pancakes to perfection.

Elain took out her phone and snapped a photo of the two of them, intending on getting it printed and framed for the house. She glanced down at the finished pancakes, noticing the wonky shape from her boy’s pouring skills. Her lips turned up into a smile as she made her way to the fridge to grab the carton of orange juice for herself and milk for Kaden.

Azriel caught her movement, eyes quickly looking in her direction before returning to the stove. And then his whole head snapped toward her, taking in every inch of her and what she was wearing.

Truth be told, Elain knew what wearing Az’s clothes did to him. He had always had this masculine pride whenever she paraded around in his t-shirts and such. But she typically wore them around the house, unless he happened to drape something on her while they were out. His eyes darkened, and he stepped away from the stove to prowl over to her.

The look he shot her had a pleasurable chill running down her spine. How Elain could be seven months pregnant with fucking twins and still be turned on by this man was beyond her. But he took advantage of her raging hormones when they could.

A scarred hand reached out to run down the length of her sleeve. “You’re wearing this out?” he asked, voice low and sensual.

She felt herself twinge between her thighs. “It’s big and comfy,” she told him. “Is it all right if I wear it?” Elain knew the answer before he even voiced it.

A growl rumbled from the back of his throat. “Fuck yeah, you can wear it. Look at my wife, knocked up and wearing my clothes. Do you know the kind of message that sends to people?”

She huffed a laugh. “That you’re territorial and a caveman.”

Azriel claimed her lips in a heated kiss, stepping into her space until her rounded belly was pressed against his abdomen. It was obvious he wanted to finish what they started last night, the way his tongue slipped into her mouth and how his palms cradled her body indicated it.

Frankly, she did too. Elain didn’t think Az could be more attentive to her needs, but while pregnant, he managed to kick up his wicked talents until she passed out from coming so many times when they got hot and heavy.

His mouth moved dominantly over hers, prying her lips apart so he could stroke his tongue into her mouth, deepening the kiss.

It took a splat sound, followed by an “Oopsie,” from their son for them to break apart.

Azriel whirled around while she stepped to peer around his shoulder at their son holding the spatula in his tiny fist, a guilty look spreading across his face in the form of a blush.

Her eyes glanced down at the floor, finding a half-cooked pancake staining the wood.

“Kaden,” Az started, voice alight with humor. “Watcha doing there, bud?”

Those tanned cheeks turned an even brighter shade of pink. “I was trying to flip, Daddy!” he says exasperated.

Her husband let out a chuckle, moving to help their son climb off the stool he was standing on. “Well, it looks like we might need to practice that next time. Go sit down at the table, Kaden.”

Azriel cleaned up the mess in their kitchen while she finished setting out dishes for breakfast.

Elain loved mornings like this. The three of them—soon to be five—sitting around eating their breakfast together. She wanted to make this a weekend ritual, especially when the kids were young. Weekdays were difficult to get all of them around the table and she and Az took turns preparing breakfast for Kaden before he went to school and they to work. Actually, Azriel typically took care of it most mornings now since she was running slower, but this, this sweet family time…Elain wanted nothing more than to have this with her husband and children.

The doorbell ringing pulled her from her reverie, Azriel announced he’d get it, then dropped a kiss on the top of her and Kaden’s heads.

She heard the tale-tell sounds of the Moonbeam twins entering their foyer.

“Good morning, Elain,” Fenrys bellowed, dropping a kiss to her cheek followed by his brother more politely. Both men ruffled Kaden’s hair and took a spot around their breakfast nook.

“Morning, boys. Thanks again for taking Kaden and me to Hewn today.”

Connall flashed a brilliant smile. “It’s always a pleasure, Elain.”

She gestured to the table still full of food. “Please help yourself to breakfast. Kaden helped make the pancakes this morning.”

Fenrys twisted to the little boy. “Kaden, you made the pancakes?”

Her son beamed at the question. “I did, Uncle Fen!”

He grabbed one of the oddly shaped flapjacks and bit into it, groaning. “Well, that’s the best pancake I’ve ever had, isn’t Con?”

Connall took one as well. “I think we’ve got a little chef on our hands,” he said, earning a little blush from Kaden.

She grinned at the conversation, loving how her boy had become more comfortable with their security team over time. One of the babies sent a swift kick to her lower stomach causing her to wince. The conversation stalled as all three men at the table took notice.

Az’s large, scarred hand slid across her belly. “Are they kicking?” he asked with a sweet, hopeful look in his amber eyes.

She nodded, a grin playing on her lips. “They’ve been making their presence known this morning,” she murmured, looking down at her pregnant stomach.

Fenrys rounded the table, looking at where the baby was moving beneath her skin. “May I?” he questioned.

Elain took his hand and placed it right where one of the twins sent two jabs.

The golden twin’s smile took up his entire face. “That’s a strong one you got there.” Both Fenrys and Connall had grown even closer to her since she got pregnant. They often asked to feel the babies kicking if they happened to be active whenever they were around. She was surprised that Azriel showed no displeasure or territorialism when they did. He’d been particularly protective of her, especially around others, and didn’t like when others touched her without asking first.

Rhys found out the hard way a few weeks back, having had his hand snatched off her by the wrist in Azriel’s brutal grip. “Ask first,” he growled at his brother, a lethal look in his eyes.

She had been a bit blind-sighted by the interaction, as was the rest of their family, but not a single one of them touched her again without getting her explicit permission first.

Luckily, both the Moonbeam brothers always asked and she never had an issue with them. 

The commotion around her fluttering belly grew the attention of Kaden who pushed his way around Fenrys’s legs. “Momma, can I touch your tummy too?” His little lip quiver had her reaching for him and tugging him closer.

“Of course you can, sweetheart.” Kaden was the only other person freely allowed to touch her stomach, Azriel often encouraging him to feel them or listen to her stomach so he could connect with his siblings early on. She gripped his small hand and placed it right where one of the babies had been kicking. Up until that point, Kaden had missed every time they kicked; the twins already giving their older brother a hard time.

His brow furrowed in concentration. “I don’t feel anything,” he said, deflating.

Her lips quirked up. “Give it a second.” And as she predicted, a hard kick was sent straight to his palm.

He whipped his hand back, shock plastering his face. “Why are they kicking you, Momma?”

She felt the attention of her husband and security detail on them, listening to his curious mind. “They’re not trying to kick me, baby. They’re just trying to get comfortable with the little room they have in Momma’s tummy.”

His green and gold eyes dragged from her stomach to her face. “Can’t they come out here?” He threw his arms wide. “There’s lots of room!”

The adults chuckled and she reached out to lightly tuck a curl behind his ear. “They’re not ready to come out yet. But they’ll be here before you know it.” Elain tapped his button nose with the pad of her finger.

His face scrunched up adorably. “Why are they in your tummy, Momma?” he asked, head cocked to the side as he studied her moving stomach.

She leaned back in her seat. “Babies need time to grow big and strong. Mommas help them by keeping them safe in their tummies for a while until they’re all ready to come out and join us.”

He seemed to think about that for a minute, then asked, “How’d they get in there?”

Azriel choked on his coffee.

Silence descended upon the kitchen. She glanced at her security team across the table, both of them wearing shit-eating grins, and then her husband who looked conflicted in answering at all. Fucking traitors. “Well, Daddy put them in me so I can grow them.”

There, that was safe, right? Truthful but not explicit.

But of course, their curious son had too many questions and wondered about too many things. “How?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re older, son,” Azriel finally swept in with the saving remark.

Seemingly appeased with that answer, Kaden leaned forward and lightly patted her stomach. “I can’t wait to meet you,” he whispered, kissing her roundness like he’d seen his father do so many times.

There was a collective aww from the group before her husband rose from behind her. “Come on, Kaden. Let’s get you ready so you and Momma can go with Uncle Fen and Uncle Con into the city.” He leaned down, whispering in her ear, “Nice save, Mom.”

She shot him a menacing glare as they strolled for the stairs.

Fenrys poured himself a glass of orange juice, snickering behind the cup. “Well, that was fun.”

Elain turned her glare on him. “Oh, yeah. So much fun for me. Thanks for the help, guys.”

“One,” Connall, started, flicking a finger up, “he’s not our kid. And two,” his middle finger joined the first, “I really wanted to hear the sexual education course from an actual doctor.” He took a bite of his pancake, smirking.

She groaned. “It’s far too early for the sex talk.” Elain threw back her orange juice like it was a shot of tequila. “Azriel can have the talk with the boys. I’ll give it to our daughter.”

“Unnecessary because our daughter is never having sex,” Az announced, striding back into the kitchen.

“Is that so?” she questioned, leaning back in her seat.

He nodded affirmatively. “I’m officially joining Cassian on the ‘our daughter is never dating’ pact.”

Elain rolled her eyes so far back into her head, she swore they nearly stuck. “You do realize you can’t physically stop her from having sex, right?”

A thick brow rose. “I’ll scare off anyone who so much as looks in her direction.” He said it so casually, she was starting to get concerned he was serious.

“What if he’s just like you?”

He let out a harsh laugh. “Then he’s definitely dead.”

Elain glanced at the Moonbeam twins for help, but they were dutifully ignoring her pleading looks. Yup, fucking traitors. She pushed herself from her seat. “Azriel, we cannot hold our daughter to a different standard than our son’s. That’s not fair and you know it.”

His eyes flicked back and forth between hers. “Fair enough.”

“Good.”

“None of them are allowed to date,” he announced like it was the most obvious answer.

“Azriel!” she hissed, swatting his shoulder. “You overbearing, protective man. Stop this.”

He tugged her in his arms, a grin fighting its way onto his lips. “I can’t help it, El. They’re my babies.”

She reached up to cup his stubbled cheeks in her palms. “They’re mine too. But they’re going to need to spread their wings eventually. We can’t protect them from everything and we can’t stop them from living their lives.”

“I know, I know.” He sighed heavily. “A man can dream, can’t he? That they’ll stay little and dependent on us forever?”

Elain laughed softly. “You’re a perfect father, my love.” She pressed her lips to his, sighing into his mouth when he deepened it.

It took a very subtle, but very prominent, throat-clearing to pull them apart. They turned to look at the twins, both wearing mischievous grins.

“Sorry, we weren’t sure if you wanted to give us a front-row seat to the live-action, baby-making ritual,” Fenrys tossed out.

“Jesus Christ, Fen,” Elain muttered while her husband shot him a death glare. “Where’s Kaden?” she asked him instead, regaining his attention.

“I left him to brush his teeth and get dressed. He said he could do it on his own.”

Her eyes widened. “Did you pull clothes out for him?” Kaden was in his stage of throwing on whatever he found first, which meant his outfits of choice would sometimes consist of long pants, a tank top, one rain boot, one flip flop, and the occasional beanie. And somehow, everything was always a different color.

A few weeks back, Kaden had decided to dress for school and ended up in a full meltdown when she said he couldn’t wear his pajama pants with one slipper and a light-up sneaker. She ended up being late for work and Azriel had to leave an early morning meeting from his home office to come help handle the situation when she grew lightheaded enough from the stress.

“His entire outfit is lying on his bed and I told him to put it on after he finished his teeth.” Az planted a kiss on her cheek.

“If he comes down in a T-rex costume, you’ll be dealing with it on your own.”

A brow raised. “Does he have a T-rex costume?”

She shrugged, sighing. “I don’t even know.” They really did spoil their children.

Fenrys and Connall snickered at the exchange. “Do you want us to take the SUV?” the latter asked, redirecting the conversation to her husband.

Azriel guided her back to her chair and helped her sit. “Yes, anytime they leave the city they must be in the SUV.”

Elain nearly rolled her eyes. A few weeks before they bought the house, she and Az had agreed to get a new car since their current one wouldn’t be able to handle the size of their growing family. Elain left it up to her husband, not caring about what he got, but he had some specific requests. It had to have high safety reviews, fit their whole family, and be luxurious. Frankly, she only cared about the former two, but he insisted they should always ride in comfort.

What she did not expect was for him to upgrade every window to bullet-proof glass. The damn thing was safer than what a president or the royal family would be escorted in.

“Just a precaution,” he had told her. “More like overly excessive,” she shot back.

She just huffed out a breath, finishing her juice. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?” she asked her husband, eyeing his casual attire.

He flicked her nose, making her hiss. “Meeting’s at ten. I’ll change when you guys head out.” Grabbing her dishes, he padded to the sink to wash them, always taking care of her.

Twenty minutes later, they were loading into the car, Az getting Kaden into his booster seat while she slid into the back. He kissed his son’s cheek, eyes finding hers. “Be safe. Call me if you have any problems.”

Elain offered him a reassuring smile. “We’ll be fine. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” He leaned farther in, stealing a quick kiss from her lips, then shut the door.

She watched him speak with the Moonbeam brothers outside of the vehicle, likely giving them the protection order for her and their son. After a couple of minutes and a few nods, they took their respective seats in the front.

Fenrys flashed a grin from the driver’s side. “Ready, fam?”

About an hour later, they pulled into a parking spot outside the large baby store Elain had been dying to get into. She tried to keep most of her purchases to local businesses in Velaris, but there were just some things she couldn’t get there and had to resort to one of the chain stores.

The minute the car was in park, the men jumped out, opening their doors. Connall unclipped Kaden from his booster seat and helped him out, taking his hand until they met on the other side of the car and she could take over.

Their focus was the double-seated stroller, but she did want to look at the pack-n-play for when the babies started to really move around. They still had their co-ed baby shower the following month at Feyre and Rhys’s for any last-minute items.

They slowly made their way into the massive store, Connall disappearing to grab a cart. As they walked, they passed the toy section, and Elain saw how Kaden’s eyes lit up like it was Solstice morning.

“Momma, can I go look at the toys, please?”

She glanced at the golden twin, then back at her son. “Sure, sweetheart. Why don’t you and Uncle Fen go pick out something small for your brother and sister?”

The little boy squealed, taking Fenrys’s large hand in his and pulling him away.

“We’ll be in the stroller area when you’re finished.”

She and Connall continued their perusal through the isles until she found what she was looking for—of course, the prams were at the back of the store. Elain already knew which one she wanted; the stroller was top-of-the-line, grew with the babies, and had the best reviews on the market.

But when they stopped in front of the shelves, she realized their mistake. “I think we’re going to need a flatbed. These won’t fit in the cart.”

Connall stepped up to her side. “Yup, I’m realizing that right now. Damn. Sorry, Elain. Let me go grab the other cart. You okay here?”

Elain huffed a laugh. “Well, I can tell you I’m not walking back to the front of the store and back, so I think I’ll survive the few minutes of your absence,” she teased, flashing him a cheeky grin.

He rolled his eyes at her, a smile toying on his lips. “You’re so sassy pregnant.”

“You’ll do well to remember that.”

Connall chuckled, heading back to the front of the store. He left the cart at her request, just in case she needed it.

She grabbed one of the large boxes from the lower shelves and yanked. The box barely budged. “Oh, come on,” she muttered, trying again.

“Can I help you with that?” a male voice asked, coming up behind her.

Elain whirled, taking an involuntary step back at his proximity,

His lips curled up in the corner. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Her eyes ran over the length of him. He was an attractive man. Older than her, likely close to forty if she had to guess. He was tall, well over six foot with golden brown skin and dark hair. He looked familiar in a way that tickled the back of her mind but couldn’t quite place.

He nodded at the stroller box. “Did you want me to grab that for you?” he asked again.

“Oh. Yes, that’d be great.”

The man stepped around her, reaching for the handle of the box and slid it out for her to inspect, the suit jacket he wore stretching over the defined muscles of his shoulders and back. “Here you go.”

She ran a hand over the box, double-checking the name and product code. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” he said, leaning a hip against the shelves and crossing his arms over his broad chest. “How far along are you?”

Elain tucked her hair behind her ear, looking back up at him. Again, the prickling sensation rubbed at her mind, almost like in warning. “Right around seven months,” she said. It wasn’t too personal to admit to a stranger. Carrying twins, Elain looked ready to pop anyway. “Is your wife pregnant? Girlfriend?” she asked, redirecting the attention from herself onto him.

His lips turned up again. “Sister-in-law.” He let his eyes rove over her form, sending a chilling sensation running down her spine. “I’ll admit it’s been a while since I bought anything from a baby store…any suggestions?”

Her brow furrowed. It seemed odd he’d come into the store without having any inkling of what to get. “What is she having?”

Again, a smile touched his lips, but Elain thought it looked a little more sinister than genuine.

“Twins,” he announced carefully.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Her heart began racing in her chest as she started to connect the dots of who this man was. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any suggestions for you.”

He huffed a rough laugh. “No?” His thumb rubbed his lower lip in contemplation. “I would’ve figured you could’ve given me a good idea of what to give her and her husband.”

Elain took a very subtle step away, putting the stroller box between them, but of course, those fucking hazel eyes zeroed in on the movement, his mouth pulling up. “Nope,” she said, popping the p sound. “Can’t help you.”

The man stuffed his hands into his pocket, a casual look of grace and sophistication, but he also radiated a dark and dangerous vibe. A lethal combination…just like her husband. “What was your name again?” he asked casually, head cocking to the side in a predatory-type of way.

“I didn’t give it,” she snapped back. Her red alert sensors were going off in her mind, and here she was, all alone with her son somewhere else in the fucking store. But Elain didn’t dare take her eyes off the man who was looking at her too closely.

He chuckled, the sound sending nerves flooding her stomach. “Smart girl. You’ll have to tell Azriel that Frankie says hello. It’s been a very long time since we last saw each other.”

And there it was. The truth of who had somehow managed to track her down in a baby store in Hewn City. What her gut had been screaming at her since he said he was buying something for his pregnant sister-in-law. She knew she recognized him, he bore some similar markers of her husband and Nicklaus too. The same jawline, the same nose. But where Azriel’s hazel eyes had flecks of emerald, Francisco’s were much lighter, giving him an almost feline look.

Elain took another step back, one he countered with a casual step in her direction. “You shouldn’t be here,” she stated, trying to keep her voice calm and not betray her terror. Because this man, this man was utterly lethal. He wouldn���t hesitate to grab her or her son.

“Shouldn’t I be?” he asked cooly. Too cooly which only made her more anxious. Yup, there went her blood pressure. “After Nicklaus met you, I was quite curious myself about the woman who captured my brother’s black heart.”

“You know nothing about his heart,” she snarled. Her voice turned venomous, something he seemed pleased about.

He chuckled again. “I know he keeps very little in it. You.” Frankie flicked off an invisible piece of lint from the sleeve of his suit jacket. “Your adorable little boy, Kaden.”

Elain froze, true terror turning the blood in her veins to ice. “Keep his name out of your mouth.” She had to find Fenrys and her son. She had to get out of this goddamn store. Elain just prayed Fenrys was vigilant in Kaden’s protection, but she knew he would be.

“I’m sure you already know, but in case you don’t, Lorenzo won’t be a problem for you anymore.”

She blinked, the words rattling around in her skull. Lorenzo showed up dead just before Kaden’s adoption approval. “What did you do?” He’d been a part of the Illyrian Mob. It made no sense to kill one of their own.

He shrugged. “I took care of a problem.” His eyes seemed to look through her and directly down into her soul, the filth of his sins leaked from him like blood upon the tile floor, staining her from the inside out. She didn’t like that one bit. “Consider it my present to you and my brother on the adoption of that sweet boy.”

“We didn’t ask for that.”

Again, he raised his shoulders in indifference. “Azriel is my brother—”

“You are not his brother,” she hissed.

That seemed to irritate him, a crack in his calm demeanor for the deadly male to peek out from beneath the mask. “We are of flesh and blood.”

It may have been the most reckless thing she ever did, but Elain squared her shoulders, looked him dead in the eye, and said, “Blood does not make you brothers. Where was this brotherly bond when you held him down as a child while Alec mutilated his hands? While you allowed him to be tortured and burned.” She let out a humorless laugh. “Azriel has two males he calls brothers, but neither of them is by blood.” Where the fuck was Connall?

He crossed his arms. “And here I thought we were making headway, Elain. Perhaps when my gift for the twins arrives, you’ll reconsider.”

“We don’t want anything from you,” she snarled, face going warm in fury.

“They’re going to want to know their Uncle Frankie,” he murmured, quickly taking too many steps forward and reaching out as if to touch her rounded stomach. But a tanned hand shot out and gripped his wrist.

“Do not touch her,” Connall growled, fingers tightening.

A dangerous glint flashed in Frankie’s eyes. “Remove your hand from my presence before I put a bullet in your head.”

Elain thought she was going to pass out. Her chest ached from the racing of her heart. Blood rushed in her ears drowning out everything around her. And then she heard him.

“Momma?”

She chanced a glance as Kaden and Fenrys came around the corner of the aisle, toy in hand. Elain shook her head at Fen, a silent order to keep her son back. She didn’t know what she would do if Frankie tried to grab her boy.

Reading her request, and the fear in her eyes, Fenrys snatched Kaden into his arms when her son tried to get to her, toy clattering to the floor.

“Momma!” he cried, sensing the seriousness of the situation but not understanding what was going on.

Knowing her son was as safe as he could be, Elain returned her attention to Frankie, who was eying the little boy trying to push his way out of his protector’s fierce grip.

Her hackles rose and she took a deliberate step in front of him, forcing his gaze to return to hers. “Connall, let him go.” It was an order, one the dark-haired twin obeyed immediately. She kept her eyes on Frankie; let the frost she felt in her blood come out in her words. “We are not interested in whatever it is you want. If you come for my family, I will kill you myself without even blinking.” His eyes widened imperceptibly, but she didn’t let him get a word in edgewise. “Let’s go.”

Connall moved to cover her back, ready to take a fucking bullet for her and her babies.

Kaden was still crying in Fenrys’s arms and though she knew he was too heavy for her to carry, she took him anyway, propping her as best as she could on her hip while the latter took his place close to her side and protecting her son’s back. Kaden sobbed into her neck, his arms tightening around her neck. “You’re okay, sweetie,” she murmured kissing the side of his head and running a hand up and down his back.

“Are you two packing?”

“Always,” Connall answered gruffly, clearly pissed off at the situation.

She nodded. “Good. That was the head of the Illyrian Mob and I can guarantee there are more in here. Get Azriel on the phone, now.”

Fenrys was already pulling the device from his pocket while Connall stepped up close enough to tell her, “I’m so fucking sorry, Elain. I should’ve had Fenrys come back to you. I should’ve—”

“Connall,” she said, interrupting his apologies. “This wasn’t a coincidence. He sought me out and he would’ve shown up whether you two were there or not,” she told him earnestly. They didn’t have time to dwell on the what haves. “Let’s just get out of here.”

He swore under his breath, still pissed with himself.

“Yes sir, they are both with us. We’re heading back out to the car,” Fenrys said into his phone. He looked at her. “She’s holding Kaden right now. I’ll hand her the phone once we’re securely in the car.”

Something prickled at her skin as they reached the parking lot, eyes darting around the asphalt. That’s when she saw them. One man by the entrance, another near one of the cart returns; two were next to identical-looking SUVs. Everywhere she looked, she saw a suit-clad man just standing there. Waiting… And every single pair of eyes were on them. On her and the distressed child she was carrying.  

Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. “We are being watched,” she announced to her security team.

Both of the men reached for their weapons as Fenrys relayed the information to her husband.

Elain threaded her fingers through Kaden’s thick locks, holding his head tucked into her neck so he couldn’t see what was happening.

Not a single man moved toward them, but that didn’t mean they weren’t going to try anything. The Moonbeam twins were deadly accurate, but it didn’t matter though. They were outnumbered. She had already counted ten of Frankie’s associates, and those were the only ones she could see.

Something flashed in the corner of her eye. She twisted her head to catch a bike flying toward them, coming to a screeching halt right in front of them.

Fenrys and Connall had their guns drawn as the person took off their helmet, platinum white hair swishing as she shook it out. Golden eyes turned on her. “Mrs. Archeron-Knight?” she asked.

Elain blinked, but Fenrys snarled out, “Who the fuck are you?”

She flashed a deadly smile. “My name is Manon Blackbeak. Your husband,” she nodded at Elain, “has asked me and my team to escort your SUV back to Velaris.”

A roaring sound echoed in the distance and then there were twelve other bikes, paired up as they flew across the parking lot to stop behind Manon.

“I—” she stuttered, not knowing what to say. “Who are you?”

“We’re called the Thirteen. He will explain what we do once we get you home.”

Elain was about to demand more of an explanation, but then she saw the men retreating. Every single one of them. Her eyes slid back to the woman in front of her, then down the team she had with her, all women if the body shapes were anything to go by. But then a phone was being placed against her ear and her husband’s voice was speaking.

“Elain.” He sounded terrified. “Love, Manon and her team are on my payroll. You can trust them to get you and Kaden home safely. Please get into the car.”

Just hearing his voice sent relief washing over her. Because if he trusted this woman and her team to keep them safe, then she knew she could too. “Let’s go,” she commanded, moving forward. Only once they were all inside the vehicle and back on the highway did she speak to her husband, reassuring him they were okay and giving him a lowdown on what happened.

He was in the garage when they pulled in, Manon and her team circling the driveway once and then departing with a salute to Azriel and her.

She was crushed in his arms, his mouth kissing her fiercely. “Are you guys all right?” he breathed, holding her at arm’s length and inspecting every inch of her.

Connall pulled Kaden from his booster seat, the little boy running around the car and slamming into his father’s legs.

Azriel wasted no time in lifting him onto his hip, kissing his temple before pulling her back into his embrace.

“We’re okay. Startled and anxious, but otherwise fine,” she reassured him.

He pulled them into the house, the twins slipping in behind them on silent feet. Az set them in the living room, tugging her down beside him while Kaden clung to his strong shoulders.

“How’d you get a team there so fast?” she asked, still trying to figure it out. Fenrys approached from the kitchen, handing her a cup of hot, peppermint tea. She smiled up at him in thanks.

“They were in Hewn for another job. I sent Manon an SOS text that took priority over what they were doing.

She raised a brow. “What other job?”

Azriel took her hand and placed a kiss across her knuckles. “Handling the remaining members of Hybern’s gang. I’ve had them hunting down the last of them since that night in the warehouse. There were rumors they wanted to seek revenge for the killing of their leader.”

The words were bloody and brutal, but she didn’t flinch. Not when those men held her captive in a warehouse, stabbed her thigh leaving a permanent scar on her pale flesh. No, she understood why her husband continued his pursuit of those animals.

She squeezed his hand in the reassurance that she understood why he was doing what he was, that she was okay with it, and that she agreed with his methods. His grip tightened in response.

They spent the following hour going over the next steps in how to handle the situation. Thoroughly exhausted from the ordeal, Kaden had fallen asleep on her husband’s shoulder and was now lying across one of the plush chairs with a blanket. The twins departed not long after Kaden fell asleep, leaving them to figure things out.

“I know you want to keep us safe, Az, believe me, I get it, but we need to figure out a compromise with them. I don’t want our children growing up always looking over their shoulders, just waiting to be attacked or kidnapped.”

He was hunched over, elbow braced on his knees. “There is no compromise with them. Frankie and Nicklaus are utterly ruthless.”

She gripped his bicep. “Everyone has a compromise. We just need to know—” Elain froze, the words falling from her lips.

Az swiveled his head to look at her, sitting up straight at whatever was showing on her face. “What is it, Elain?”

Brown eyes blinked, going back to the conversation she had with the eldest brother. Something he said was starting to tingle that sixth sense of hers. “He has a kid,” she breathed.

Brows furrowed. “Frankie?” Azriel asked, clearly confused. “No, he doesn’t. I would know if he had a kid. There’s not even a whisper of him having an heir.”

She shook her head. “Even if the child was over ten years old? You weren’t involved in their doing when we graduated high school, Az. And even the first few years after. What if he had a kid before then?”

He was looking at her now, eyes flicking between hers as he contemplated her words. “What did he say to make you think he has a kid?”

“He was trying to hint at what to get us,” her husband growled at that and she squeezed his arm again to stop him from interrupting. “But he said it had been a while since he bought anything from a baby store. I can’t see him buying baby things for somebody else, but I can see him doing it for his flesh and blood.”

Az was out of his seat and pacing the length of the living room. “That has to be it. He’s got a kid.” He stopped and turned to look at her. “If they were born when my father was alive, Frankie would’ve done anything to prevent him from finding out. He’d never let the bastard get close enough to hurt something so precious to him.” A colorful curse passed from between his parted lips. “I need to call Ruhn. If there’s a child, he has to be sending money to them and their mother. There’s no way he’d just abandon them, not if he took caution to hide them.”

“Azriel,” she said, rising from her spot on the couch. “If he does have a kid, what are you going to do with the knowledge?”

He met her gaze, and read the underlying question she didn’t need to say out loud. “I’m going to offer him a deal.”

~~~~~

Azriel rode up the elevator to the top floor of the building where the Illyrian Mob gathered to conduct their business. It wasn’t as large or fancy as his empire, but they also didn’t make the money that he did. He couldn’t help but feel a little smug about that.

In the metal box with him were four armed guards. He was stripped of his weapons upon entry and patted down indecently enough that he told the man to at least buy him dinner first. The comment, it seemed, wasn’t appreciated.

Nobody else was with him. He hated thinking about how hard Elain cried last night when he told her that he was entering the metaphorical lion’s den defenseless. Azriel knew that a lot of Elain’s emotions were hormone-based, which was why she couldn’t see his reasoning behind the need to go alone.

“Take the twins. Take Ruhn for fuck’s sake, Az! Just please don’t go in there alone.” Tears ran down her cheeks.

He stooped down to kneel in front of her. “Love, I have to go alone. If anyone else comes with me, they’ll deem it a threat. You know it has to be this way.” He reached up to wipe the tears away with his thumbs.

“I need you, Azriel,” she whispered, terrified. “Kaden needs you. Our babies need you. Please don’t go alone.”

There was nothing he could do but hold her as he whispered, “I’m sorry, Elain.”

It was the only time he’d ever disappoint his wife. Because here he was, weaponless and alone entering the office of the two men he hated most in the world. One of the guards knocked on the large doors, waiting for the snarled, “Enter.”

Like he was the motherfucking king, the guards gave him a double-door entrance, catching both of his brothers off guard.

Surprise, motherfuckers, he wanted to say, instead, settling on a lazy grin.

Nick reacted first, drawing his gun.

But Azriel threw up both of his hands in surrender. “Relax, Nicklaus. I am unarmed. Your guards downstairs made sure of it.” He dropped his arms when his brother lowered his gun slightly. “Do they always manhandle your visitors or am I just special because they know I got the impressive size of the family?” He was asking for trouble, but after getting his cock cupped by the fucker and still hearing his wife’s desperate pleas in his head, he was in a mood.

They ignored the quip. Damn.

Frankie leaned back in his seat. “Well, this is a surprise.”

Az cocked a brow. “Is it, brother? After you went after my wife and child?” He couldn’t stop the iciness of his tone, still raging over what happened a few weeks before. It had taken some time to track down what he needed to have this conversation and since then, he’d been on fucking edge.

“Did I actually go after them?”

He didn’t dare let his mask waiver. “Seeking her out at a baby store, sending an assault-sized team there, seems like an attempt to go after my pregnant wife and son.” He moved to take a seat across the desk from them, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he sat. “But I am willing to let that go.”

That had him frowning, the other looking equally as puzzled. “All right, I’ll bite,” Frankie said at last. “Why would you let that go?”

Azriel slipped his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket, unlocking it and bringing up the image of Frankie’s best-kept secret. “Because of her.”

Silence wrapped around them like a shadow of discomfort as he waited for the other shoe to drop.

Frankie shot out of his chair, gun raised and poised to fire. “What the fuck is this, Azriel? Have you come to threaten me on my own turf? Because I swear to God I will fucking end you here and leave your wife to raise those spawn by herself.”

He let the threat roll right off his back, already expecting that reaction, which confirmed what he knew to be true. “Relax, Frankie. Nobody’s threatening anybody.” Az swiveled his phone to look at the girl on the screen and then began reciting the information he had gained about the girl. “Anya Velasco, sixteen; daughter of Delilah Velasco and,” he paused, glancing up at his fuming brother, “Francisco Matteo. Nice try in the change of the last name. Even on the birth certificate too. As if you could wipe your tainted image from her record” His eyes flitted back to the screen. “She’s pretty. Looks just like her mother, thank fuck, but I can see you there too. Her cheek structure and coloring. That’s all Illyrian.”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just kill you here,” Frankie snarled, finger never wavering from the trigger.

Az sighed, like this was the most inconvenient part of his day, tapping on the video call for a number labeled as “Rico’s Pizza.” It was Ruhn’s number, answering the call so that it showed Anya walking between classes at school. “You did a pretty thorough job in trying to hide her, Frankie, I’ll give you that. It took a lot of digging into your financials, but something stuck out to me. A random off-shore account that has been linked to your empire making very large donations and monthly payments to a private school housed deep in the northern mountains.” He grinned; letting a little bit of that darkness out with it. “Well, I for one, thought that seemed suspicious.

“Here’s what I think happened. You got the girl pregnant in high school. Wanting to protect her from father’s wrath, you hid her, I’m assuming with help…” he eyed Nick briefly, but he would’ve been fifteen at the time. “Alec if I had to take a guess. He was father’s right hand and you his. You could trust him. So, you paid off the girl and sent her up north to some remote area, paying her handsomely for her troubles and keeping her hidden for the last sixteen years. How am I doing so far?”

Frankie’s tanned face was flushed red in fury.

Checkmate brother.

“Choose your words wisely, brother,” Nick snapped, gun held tight in his grip. “They may be your last.”

He raised a brow. “Would be a shame if that happened,” Az muttered, clicking the end button on his video call. “Because if I don’t give the all clear to my associate in the next ten minutes, he’s to take both Anya and Delilah and run. And believe me, his resourcefulness means you will never see them again.”

“I thought you said you weren’t threatening,” Frankie demanded.

“I’m not. I said take, not kill.”

The brothers shared a look. “Why are you here?” Nicklaus finally asked.

His mouth curled up in the corner. “I’m here to make a deal. But first, you two need to lower the fucking guns before I get pissed off.”

It took them a few heartbeats, but finally, Frankie lowered his gun, setting it on the table so it still pointed at him. Nicklaus followed not a second after. “What’s your deal?” the former questioned.

Azriel reclined in his seat, fingers steepling together. “No harm will ever come to Anya and Delilah. Not by me or anyone on my crew. And they would have the full protection of the Velaris Mob. Between the two of us, they’d be untouchable.”

Frankie considered this. “And in exchange?”

“You provide the same promise and protection for my wife and children.” Az didn’t expect an agreement immediately, so he tossed out there, “If I found them, that means somebody else could as well. I know you like to keep your cards close to your chest, Frankie, but I’m sitting here with a royal flush and you know it.”

He ran his tongue over his teeth. “If somebody threatened them—”

“Then you would have my full support to wage war against whoever did so. Just as I would have yours if the roles were reversed.” And he meant it. Azriel had no desire to see harm come to that child, and he’d never allow Ruhn to hurt her or her mother just to get Frankie to agree to this. They would live in hiding, but they would be well cared for. And anyone who tried otherwise would face his wrath.

His brother looked at Nicklaus and sighed. “All right, Azriel. You have yourself a deal.” He reached across the desk, taking his hand in a tight shake.

As he rode down in the elevator, collecting his weapons and making his way to his car, Az sent Ruhn the all-clear signal. He called Elain on the way home, letting her know he was safe. She sobbed into the receiver, her overwhelming relief that he was returning to her. He soothed her as best as he could, but during that call, Azriel saw an image of his life in the future. He and Elain stood watching their little ones running around the backyard of their home, happy and laughing and full of so much life and love that his chest physically began to ache.

Because for the first time in a very long time, the dream Azriel pictured for himself was finally coming true.

~~~~~

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[latenlghtdevil]

so since I can't stop thinking about head chef!Sukuna, let me ramble on about some head cannons I have about him

head chef!sukuna...

mainlines a monster before every single shift, and can be seen paying megumi to run to the corner convenience store to buy another during busy nights

he's on aux, and since the ancient speaker system is ran out of the managers office, his phone is locked in their almost the entire shift and no one else has the chance to change it

beside the two managers, satoru and utahime, but they dont care enough ab it honestly

he literally has no clue how many hours he actually spends doing some sort of work for the restaurant

ex: the many hours he spends up at night working on new menu items, the earlier mornings he spends wandering through local markets and farms, the days off filled with paperwork or recipes or meetings let's not talk ab it he's gonna geta headache again

speaking of headaches- he definitely talked Gojo into letting his little brothers work there as soon as they were able to

but they weren't allowed to work in the kitchen, he didn't wanna have to make them put up with his attitude

his kitchen consists of quite a few chefs, with a lot of lower cooks switching in and out with their intern spots

don't worry, they are paid interns

his main cooks consisted of suguru, toji, aoi, and uraume

he'd worked at quite a lot of fine dining restaurants, having earned a michaeline star for the fifth restaurant he'd worked at by the age of 24

before he took in his younger brothers and settled back into their childhood home, he'd spent about five years working in any fine dining place he could

he'd been cooking since as long as he could remember, quickly figuring that if that was what he was good at and enjoyed, he would dedicate his life to it maybe sukuna lied on a resume or two, but he was gonna get to the top one way or another

somehow his arrogance seemed to work until it didn't; it'd get his foot in the door places, and then it'd turn around and get him fired a few months later

once his grandfather passed, he found himself finding his way back to Tokyo even if he didn't want to

luckily for him, his former classmate Satoru Gojo was managing a failing restaurant with an incapable cook named Mahito

Gojo was more than happy to deal with Sukuna's shit again if it meant keeping his place afloat

they're kinda friends, but it's weird because they're always mad at each other

that's how everyone's relationships with him are, though, and Sukuna's always irritating someone tbh

he has a cat- he found the little dark grey kitten asa stray feeding off scraps she found in the dumpster, so he couldn't help but scoop her up

she seemed sweet enough, but as soon as he fell asleep she nearly clawed the couch to shreds, thus earning herself the name akumu which means nightmare

she was horribly affectionate and vocal, constantly meowing for attention, but only towards sukuna and the brats, she shot dirty looks and would actively hiss at anyone else stepping foot into their house

she's his baby, but that secrets behind closed doors

she sleeps in his bed, she has a plethora of toys and collars, and don't you dare open the treat cabinet— he's not ashamed

his other secret is his back garden it wasnt like a huge secret, but it wasn't something he wanted to share with everyone either

sukuna thought he was going crazy the first time he made a dinner almost entirely from his home grown ingredients because it tasted fucking insane

he liked stroking his own ego but something about his ingredients actually made it better, Choso and Yuji couldn't even argue

it wasn't anything vast, and the variety wasn't huge but it was enough to make each meal just a bit better and it was something he held near to himself, only sharing it with his brats

[softhairedhotch]

DUDEEEE HELLO??:!:!::&: PLEASE I LOVE YOU, YOUR WONDERFUL BRAIN N UR RESPONSES???!! like sometimes i think damn my thoughts r sooooo filthy i wonder if anyone would even feel the same like am i crazy :-///.... THEN UR REPLIES JUST FUELS ME EVEN MORE ARGHRHHHHH LIKE??? im so glad we have the same brain like damn... i love talking abt him hehe rly.. thank u for entertaining my thoughts n making it even more amazing <333 also i hope u are feeling better now!!! 🫂🫂 tbh i feel the same bc the idea of aaron has made me feel better so many times n it's years since i started liking him :-(((( fr i never ever regret starting this show n falling in love w him 😭😭😭

"imagine just sitting there with him fully inside you, tie in your mouth, head on his broad shoulder, one of his big warm hands occasionally rubbing up and down your back as you hear the other write away" ‼️‼️‼️ PLEASEEEE omfg he'd feel so good and he'd make you feel sooooo safe 😭😭😭 i need this so badly . being on his lap would literally make all the painful noisy thoughts in your head go silent because all you can think about and feel is him <3333 though i don't know how i'd be able actually to be quiet n not be reduced into a whimpering mess because GODDDDDD HE'S JUST SOOOO..... my god. if u do turn this into a fic i'd probably be reading it 9784953 times n manifesting it to appear in my dreams 🙏🙏

and OOOOOFFFFFFFFF cannot decide if i would want him to make a mess all over me and use his thick fingers to scoop it up and shove it into my mouth or have him cum deep in my throat ! 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 like man.... the idea of messy wet sex drives me insane like having him a panting sweaty mess 🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️ n downright filthy cum eating . like my thoughts abt it are ENDLESS n its literally a can of worms im afraid of opening-- AWOEKFJFKEKD thinking abt that episode when aaron jumps into a lake to chase an unsub n he comes out of the water all WET N THE WATER DRIPPING DOWN HIS SKIN??? I CANT REMEMBER WHAT EPISODE IT IS BUT I THINK U KNKW WHAT IM REFERRING TO???

omfggggg when he's ruthlessly riding you and jerking himself off, his chest would get soooo red and it'll feel soo nice to run your fingers down his body and literally worship every inch of him 😵‍💫 he'd look soooo pretty with little marks over his chest as you shower him with praises... thinking about praising aaron HEEEEHEHEH he'd get sooo shy n flustered the first few times but slowly he'd get used to it and literally bask in the attention n praises 😭😭

my god n i must say u rly perfected his voice n what he would say......i swear my love for aaron not only solidified my kink for suits but also... voice 😵‍💫😵‍💫🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️ like it makes me think how he'd react the first time when he realised how much power he has over you just from his voice and words alone.... like first he'd be confused why your reaction sometimes gets a lil funny but then his expression darkens when finally he realises. but he likes building up material to tease you later on so he doesn't really point it out at first but just has an amused smile.

then imagine one night being on a phone call with him as he just talks about his day and that it's pretty late at night so his voice starts getting huskier bc he's tired.... and he's just rambling about something unrelated but you feel the heat crawling up your neck because he just sounds so good . you can't help but clench your thighs and swallow your saliva. then he asks you a question but you're SO distracted that you miss it and when you finally answer him, your voice shakes. he goes silent before breaking into a low laugh because he recognises that tone of voice and picks up your breathing. "oh my, baby... i don't even need to see your face to know what's up. here am i trying to tell you about my day... but you just can't help yourself, hm? ...pathetic."

YEAHHHHHH 😭😭😭😭

- 🤲

AHHHHHHHHHH SDJFHSJDF THANK YOU hehehehehe n YEAH I GETCHA, I BE THINKING "oh GOD what if what i say is too weird???" n then you get back to me with basically the SAME THING AHHHHH i'm sooo happy we be thinking the same thoughts LMAO. and thank you sm <33

YESSSSS HE'D MAKE YOU FEEL SO SAFE FR <333 i wanna sit on his lap soooo so so much, god it'd be so good. i would love to write it as a fic tbh but i just have sooooo much to work on already UGHHH why is writing so hard and time-consumingggggg

REALLLLL I WANT BOTH !!! n oPEN THAT CAN OF WORMS RN CUM EATING IS SOOOOOOOO HOT I SWEAR DDSKFSK AHHHHH AND YES YES YE S I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT SCENE YOU'RE REFERENCING

OUGHHH HE'S SO BEAUTIFUL FUCKKK

yessss he'd looook so pretty riding youuu <33 all red and sweaty and a whimpering panting mess oughhh i love it i love him sm n yessssss i wanna praise him sooo bad. like if you praised him he just WOULDN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO but then as he gets used to it, he loooooves it and craves it ough

hehe thank you!! N YEAH VOICE KINK AND SUIT KINK GO BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR 🤭🤭 he'd get sooooo cocky knowing he has sm control over you oughhh and he'd be so proud of himself knowing he can get you to do almost anything with just his voice n pretty face

STOPPPP I'VE HAD THE EXACT SAME IDEA AND STARTED IT AS A FIC ONCE BUT NEVER GOT AROUND TO IT KSDFJK i loooooooove the idea of calling him on a case and he's just like. tired but tryna talk n his voice is sooooo deep and gravelly and it sounds so hot (bc sleepy/morning voices might be one of the best things in existence <33) and he notices you trailing off your sentences and stuttering a bit and going quiet and he just KNOWS what he's doing to you and he teases you relentlessly <33 he'd either get you all hot and bothered n then tell you that you gotta be patient and wait til he gets home orrrrrr he'll go "do you think you can show me how much of an effect i have on you, sweetheart?" and when you send him a pic he'd hum in appreciation and tell you how pretty/handsome you are and how he's gonna make you feel real good when he gets home but for now he's gonna talk you through making yourself feel good <33 maybe you can hear him letting out cute lil moans as he tells you how he wants you to touch yourself and your stomach drops when you realise he's getting off on it too and you ask him to send a pic of himself and he does and he looks sooooo good <33

also i gotta ask,,, how do you feel about daddy kinks LMAOOO bc i haven't thought about it much relating to aaron lately tbh but when i first got into him two years ago, all i could think was him saying stuff like "let daddy make you feel good, hm?" or "you wanna touch daddy?" n stuff like that,, are you into that?? i'm leaning more toward softer aaron n bottom aaron lately but godddd soft daddy dom aaron is soooooooo <333

[bitchsister]

i've been picturing this for quite some time - bucky and gale casually having a convo over work/random stuff, bucky ignoring curt who's desperately humping his thigh and whining like a cat in heat? they've been arguing over stuff (mostly it's curt's being a brat as always) and ignoring each other (with gale stuck in the middle of it) for almost a week? but of course curt couldn't bear any longer without bucky's touch, feeling so empty not having bucky's cock in him so he jumped on bucky every chance he got pitifully lol. maybe bucky winning the idgaf war for the first few tries 😈 and eventually curt won and bucky give it to him HARD

I literally took this and rrraaaaaaannnnn with it.

I’m sorry (not).

Once again, I went insane.

If you’re not locked in for this shit, do not read: Desperation, Bucky has some unsavory coping mechanisms when it comes to his anger, lowkey watersports that lasts two seconds (oop), Eiffel Tower ish, more butt plug action

I HAVE to start making these a little shorter lmaoooo

I hardly proof read this. Pls love me.

💘

It was torture.

Curt had royally fucked up, and he knew it but had been doing everything under the sun besides apologizing to get Bucky back in his good graces while Gale sat quietly in the middle and watched it all unfold.

A bad driver, yes, but worse after a joint and a bong rip.

Bucky let him borrow the Range Rover to run errands across town while he and Gale stayed back to work on their docket and finalize their defense — it was crunch time for them and things had become beyond stressful, John’s usual laid back demeanor becoming far more ridged and on edge.

“At least it ain’t totaled!” Curt threw his arms up once Bucky had scooped him from the auto shop in his Jeep, his nostrils flared as he drove and bit his tongue. He had too much to think about, too much on his mind. Curt and his antics had to take a backseat until he and Gale could tie up their loose ends.

Curtis couldn’t give in though, feeling like a puppy with its tail between its legs. There was no scolding, but the silence was almost worse. “C’mon..” he scurried after Bucky who neglected to open Curt’s door for him, or kiss him like he usually did when they pulled into the driveway.

“It’s hardly a dent!”

The entire fender had fallen off.

With no choice but to let it rest, Curt moped around. He listened to music in his usual spot, he draped himself over a flamingo float in the pool, naked as the day he was born with a pink sunburn on his ass. He sunbathed bare, he sat by the window in only his underwear, he sucked on popsicles that stained his lips red.

He’d caught Gale’s glance a couple times, but not Bucky’s.

Don’t you dare look at him, Gale.

He’s just — he’s so —

He’s a fuckin’ brat is what he is. He’s cost me ten grand because he’s a fucking stoner who can’t drive. We have work to do.

At night, Curt would fall asleep before Bucky would ever get into bed. Some nights he’d even fallen asleep on the couch in his study once Gale managed to wake himself up enough to drive home, unable to ignore the texts Curt had eventually sent to him after three days of it.

Please tell him to talk to me.

Does he hate me?

Should I leave?

Yes, Bucky was pissed off but it was something he simply needed to get out of his system, and that couldn’t happen when all they’d been doing was discussing risk assessments and trial evidence.

He’ll come around, Curt.

Just wait until Friday. By then we’ll be all wrapped up with everything.

He’s just stressed. I promise.

Curt had been practically clawing at the walls come the weeks end, plopping himself over Bucky’s knee who had given him the slight satisfaction of pressing his hand against Curt’s belly to steady him there. “Almost done?” He chirped, but got no response.

“Did you color code the sections, Gale? Are they all in order?” Bucky’s gaze had stuck on the man across the desk from him, a pen in his mouth as he nodded.

“Yes — you’re worrying will only make —“

“And what about the evidence slides?”

Their back and forth droned on and Curt could feel himself losing grip more and more. Bucky had hardly looked at him for a week, and Gale just the same. He felt like he was right back at the beginning again, wondering when the next text would come by and he’d get that familiar hit of dopamine.

Wyd?

You up?

Wanna come over?

Can I come get you?

“I think we’ve got it all figured out, B.” Curt’s tone was gentle, apprehensive. Bucky could curse him out if he wanted — he wouldn’t be wrong for it.

He ground his ass into Bucky’s knee, huffing softly at the sensation. Without John to pay him attention with his tongue, some fingers or with his and Gale’s cock, he was left to his own devices.

It was hardly as fun.

Bucky wasn’t budging though, holding Curt still by his belly but not moving his hand, not one single bit of attention truly paid to Curt as he fussed on and on about the organization of their defense binders.

“Bucky,” Curt whimpered, leaning his back against his chest as his hands, much smaller than Bucky’s, grasped onto the one that rested over his stomach. “It’s Friday — it’s late. C’mon.”

Gale blinked at the two, his fingers idly scrambling to show each section of the binder Bucky anxiously asked to see without missing a beat or becoming too distracted by a panting and so desperate looking Curtis who spread himself out over Bucky’s lap, a pout visible.

It looked like he could get himself off that way, writhing and whining against Bucky’s body like the friction would be enough to set him over the edge.

“It’s all right here, Bucky. We have this down, buddy.” Gales eyes went soft, his tone assuring. “You’re the best lawyer I’ve ever seen work cases like this.” He was rounding third and headed for home — they were painfully close to the weekend, so far away from Monday morning court rooms.

C’mon, Galey.

“Being diligent never hurt.” Bucky went monotone, turning the binder again to flip through it himself. “It’s horseshoes and hand grenades — close isn’t good enough, Gale.”

One of Gale’s habits was diagnosing the people in his life, whether they knew it or not.

Bucky over time had acquired a wide range of diagnosis, though Gale couldn’t really nail down a few of them unless he put him through some testing, which he was unsure he was legally allowed to ask of him.

And Curt.

Christ.

He was a whole other story.

So imagine the line he towed, the way he held his tongue. Curtis had been open minded to his grounding techniques which he’d been getting better at implementing — in fact, Gale was astonished Curt had gone an entire week without lashing out at anyone.

He would count to ten instead. He’d remind himself Bucky still loved him, because the opposite was a silly thought, and he’d occupy his time with things that he enjoyed, rather than ways to get Bucky back under his wing.

He’d tried so hard.

He buried his face in the pillow on Bucky’s side of the bed and willed himself to make do with what he was given, but he failed time and time again. He felt so desperate, so hopeless. He’d fall asleep with the pillow that was losing his scent tucked against his chest.

Too much time had passed now, though.

It was becoming cruel torture.

Hips rocking against Bucky’s knee, he had totally lost all sense of self — his dignity taking a ding, no less. It hardly mattered anymore. No embarrassment could be felt on his part in front of two men who have picked him apart and fucked every piece.

“Curtis,” Bucky murmured, his brows furrowed at the little body that rut against him like a tiny dog who’d never been fixed, claiming its territory the only way it knew how. “You’re being fucking ridiculous.”

Curt gripped onto the side of Bucky’s desk, panting as he ground his ass stuffed with the only thing that’s kept him sane the past week — his first plug, the one Bucky had bought him under the pretense that Curt would wear it to class.

Of course wearing it to class had turned into wearing it to dinner, to the movies, in the passenger seat of Bucky’s now bruised up Range Rover.

“No, you are.” Curtis huffed, his eyes half lidded.

The siren.

Gale had made direct eye contact and had practically turned to stone, eyes wider than he’d like them to be as he watched intently with his hands frozen over the desk, picking idly at Bucky’s filled-to-the-brim calendar beneath his forearms. “Bucky..” his voice was strained, but his eyes had shown some sort of remorse.

Curt’s eyes had looked puffy lately, his shoulders sulked when he passed the study and neglected his spot near the window for a spot in the garden alone, instead.

“Gale.” Bucky mumbled, sights narrowed in his direction that time — he didn’t seem to be letting up, headstrong in whatever philosophy he felt he was upholding.

Gale had recently told Bucky he needed to be a little more firm in his expressions. Always a maybe, hardly ever a yes or no.

It seems he’d taken that to heart.

“Look at him.” Gales voice was still deep and quiet, trailing off near the tail end whilst Curt squirmed atop Bucky with red cheeks and messy hair as he moaned into his hands. “It’s been a whole week.”

“Gale, he wrecked my car.” Bucky pressed his hand firmly into Curt’s chest to still him but it was hardly any use.

“I get it — “ Gale mumbled back, “it’s pocket change, Johnny. Look how much he’s missed you.” He rose to his feet and bent over the desk, unable to leave poor Curt to writhe alone that way while his hands cupped the pink cheeks that’d become damp with desperate tears. “Poor baby.”

Curt’s black lashes fluttered in a haze, his lips parted where little puffs of determined breaths escaped while he rest his arms over the desk to assist his efforts in violating Bucky’s knee.

“I’m sorry, Curtie.” Gale continued softly, more kisses peppering Curt’s cheeks as the sound of his desperate efforts filled the study and seeped through the open windows into the garden.

Completely undone. So close, but so far. “Need it,” Curt whimpered, not daring to reach for Bucky’s cock because being shoved away would send him into a spiral. “Please — I — I’ll be so good,” hardly intelligible, barely a squeak once he’d gotten the words out.

“Ohh,” Gale cooed, his features softening again at the sight. He kissed away Curt’s tears again, swiping the rest away with his thumbs. “You’re asking nice, hm? Maybe just a little nicer,” he stifled his own moan at the sight, Curt crumbling in his hands. “You know how he likes his good boy, don’t you? Show him how good you can be, baby.”

Curt hiccuped as he inhaled, filling his lungs with the breath he’d been holding. “I fuckin’ have been!” His tone morphed into that of utter frustration through a clenched jaw that had began to ache, just like the rest of him.

It was an accident, the pressure built up inside of him pushing itself out — before he had truly noticed what he’d done, it was too late.

Bucky’s knee grew warmer and at first he’d hardly paid it any attention until it hadn’t gone away. “You didn’t-“ he grabbed Curt’s hips forcefully to move him aside and eyed the damp little spot left over his knee, “Curtis — you did fucking not just—“

“I’m so — I’m sorry. I’msorryI’msorry,”

Oh, the tears had tripled.

Gale still held his face and shushed him, a thought in the back of his mind had pondered the idea that Bucky deserved it, in some way.

Until Curt was shoved over the desk, the binder Bucky’d been fussing for hours over thudding onto the floor in a heap, now long forgotten and replaced by a pair of dickies that needed washing now, a far too sympathetic Gale and a Curtis whose wet cheek muddied the ink written in the tiny boxes of Bucky’s work calendar.

“Bucky, it was an accident,” Gale whispered, watching John yank Curt’s damp jeans off of him and toe them away carefully, an open palm slapped against perky, sunburnt cheeks that had been spending too much time outside with too little sunscreen. “He didn’t mean to, did you, baby?”

“No, I didn’t - I didn’t mean to,” Curt was reeling at the feeling of cool air tickling over his prickly skin. “I promise — I’m so-so-“ he’d been cut off by another open handed clap against his skin, a moan chasing after the whine forced out of him.

His body wiggled over the desk he stayed draped over, his wrists held behind his back with Bucky’s left hand, the other pressing a middle and index finger against the base of Curt’s plug to push it a little deeper into him.

His thighs trembled, damp and spreading apart further for Bucky whose hands were rough and unforgiving.

For the first time in a long time, he felt shame.

Desperation at its finest — so long were any ideals he previously philosophized. He was suddenly becoming nothing without them, the reaper of what he sowed.

And, so be it.

Bucky hardly gave him any spit, shoving his hips forward into Curt who gasped over the desktop, his eyes half lidded and staring at Gale who crouched before him, their lips locking for sporadic durations of sloppy and uncoordinated exchanges.

Cherry. Curt always tasted like cherry. “Oh,” Gale hummed, voice deep and living somewhere in his chest. “Look at you — just made for taking it. Our good boy.”

Curt was so pliant in Gale’s hands, jaw clenched in his palm as he held him in place; so soft and flushed a gentle pink, black lashes fluttering over damp, puffy cheeks.

Bucky was a mess of floppy brown curls falling into his eyes once his hips had developed a ruthless rhythm, Curt’s body beneath him malleable and so willing to please, each breath he took a stuttered choke on his blathering. “Right—right— there” he hiccuped through strangled breathes, “Fucking — fuck me— please”

Beneath him, Bucky’s handwriting muddied more into the pages of his calendar with the evidence of his so called punishment. “You like that, don’t you?” His hips had slowed so abruptly, neither Curt nor Gale could register it. “You’re far from deserving.”

Curt twisted himself to lie on his back instead, sprawled over the desk with his head hanging over the side, his legs spread and his mouth opening pliantly as he looked to Gale again who deserved a little loving, too.

“Oh, good boy.” Bucky cooed, palms flattening against the inside of Curt’s thighs to spread them wider as he watched Gale waste no time undressing himself, his leaking cock taken obediently into Curt’s warm, wet throat. “Make me take it back immediately, huh? No surprise.”

“You’re so fucking — god,” Gale couldn’t see his face anymore, just the mouth that his hips sputtered into but he knew Curt still looked like an angel, even despite the angle he was at. “Don’t care the brat you can be. You’re so good at makin’ up for it.”

Curt’s throat vibrated with a happy little hum, body wracked with shivers and tingles once Bucky began to fuck into him, hooking a hand around Gales neck to pull him closer and kiss him — hot, wet, hurried. As if he just needed anything to occupy his mouth. “Come with me, Gale.” He whispered against Gales lips who bit back a moan. “Make him swallow it.”

Each of their rendezvous had sent him farther and farther into his descent.

What are we?

What is this?

Do I love two men?

Do they love me?

Gale finished first, choking Curt on his cock and then the ribbons and ribbons of white hot pleasure that trickled hot and wet down his throat that he swallowed without hardly wasting a drop despite his belly that tensed as he gagged — this angle was tough, but Gale liked watching Curt struggle a little.

Once Gale backed away, the mouth he’d fucked was kissed by Bucky who licked into it, tasting Gale, swapping spit, biting tongues and lips and chins like animals in a deadly heat.

Curt’s belly grew warmer with a familiar sensation, little body spent atop the desk where his thighs shook and tensed together, his orgasm falling from the sky and straight onto him like some sort of atomic bomb.

His body lay spent and sprawled over Bucky’s table, their once organized files turned into heaps of now disordered mess and chaos. “Happy now, aren’t you?” Bucky tapped an open hand over Curt’s thigh, watching him grin and nod his head, unable to use his voice.

His throat was raw, his body still shuddered with the aftermath of his orgasm, “Told you he’d come back around.” Gale bent down to kiss Curt’s damp forehead, pushing his hair away from his eyes.

(Do you like the extra spaces between paragraphs? Is it easier to read?????? Anyway… lmk…..)

[cyberphuck]

Assassin’s Apprentice Abridged: Part One

EDIT: Tumblr randomly swallowed like 500 words in the middle of this, so I've added that back in.

I am finally embarking on my long-threatened project to summarize all of the Farseer Trilogy for my friend Razz so they can understand my shitposts about it but don’t actually have to read it. I started with this post about the cast of characters in the first book.

This is being broken up into sections because the trilogy and AA in particular (as well as Royal Assassin... whew, that one’s gonna be hard) is so insanely long and complex.

And now, Ladies and Gentlequeers, AA Abridged: Part One.

We open on the narrator musing both about writing a history of the Six Duchies (but being unable to because every time he tries it turns into a salty rant about everything bad that's ever happened to him) and also about how very old and decrepit he is. He is hunched over his writing desk, his fingers gnarled and knuckly, literally crumbling away like a Thanos-snapped MCU character as he sorrowfully attempts to make some record of the long and storied life he's lived before he lapses into the sweet void of death.

Fitz is 35.

"I bet you're wondering how I got here," Fitz writes. "It all began when I was born. Neither of my parents bothered to show up."

Actually, the curtain opens on Fitz as a six year old, being hauled up to the front doors of a fort by a cranky older man. "Surely you must have memories of your childhood before six," someone in the audience asks, but Fitz replies "No, I definitely don't, I never did and I'm tired of you asking me that." It never really becomes super important what he was doing before he was six, unless you count the time where he was traveling from the King-In-Waiting's ballsack to the sweet hot vagina of Some Lady He Never Spoke To Again.

Fitz is scooped up and brought inside the fort, and presented to Prince Verity. You'd think Verity would be at least a little upset that his older brother has muddied the line of succession with his long-ago nut, but Verity acts as if Fitz's existence is the funniest thing he's ever seen. "Yep, looks just like him," Verity confirms, then instructs a soldier to bring Fitz to Burrich.

That's right, the cranky old man hammers on the front door, waits for someone to open it, says "this is Prince Chivalry's kid and I'm tired of dealing with him," and then walks off. Despite this, Fitz never develops any abandonment issues and only has healthy and honest relationships with people for the rest of his life.

"Those are all the memories I have of that fort," Fitz writes, "except for that one night that Prince Verity, Burrich, and Prince Regal stood and looked in on me in the stall and Regal complained that I was muddying the line of succession."

Burrich does not think this situation is as funny as Verity did.

But he's honest and loyal, so he sighs and says "C'mon, Lil Accident, I'll find a place for you to sleep." That place is in a horse stall with Vixen, the hound dog, and Nosy, her pup. Burrich looks down at all of them, mutters "Patience is gonna have a fucking aneurysm" and then walks off.

After a couple of weeks, Burrich puts Lil Accident on a horse behind him and they ride away from Moonseye and towards Buckkeep. During this time, offstage, Fitz's father Chivalry gets word of his appearance and does the only sensible and logical thing, which is to ollie out the window while flipping everyone off and yelling "GOOD LUCK FIGURING THIS ONE OUT, LOSERS!" He abdicates and retires to a farm with his weirdo wife, which pisses off basically everyone.

Burrich and Fitz arrive at Buckkeep, the capital of the Six Duchies, a tall castle on a hill overlooking the ocean. Burrich is the stablemaster, in charge of all the critters large and small at the keep. He'd also been Chivalry's right hand man until he'd jumped in front of a boar to keep it from killing the Prince and fucked up his leg. Burrich comes home to Buckkeep with a bad leg and a six year old bastard to find that his bestie has just fucking peaced out without saying anything to him. He's kind of having a bad day. He hands Fitz off to stableboy Cobb, who leads him and pup Nosy to the kitchens to get something to eat.

Cobb sits FItz-and-Nosy just outside the kitchens and goes inside for delicious pie. A burly man walks by Fitz, does a double-take, then points and yells, "Hey everyone! It's Chivalry's Bastard!"

Fitz shrinks down.

"I heard you don't even have a name!" Burly man hollers, then gets right up in Fitz's face. "Is that true, tiny and defenseless six year old boy that I'm accosting? You don't have a name?"

Fitz yells "NOOOOOO" and, like a tiny, dirty Jedi master, force-shoves the man onto his ass. The crowd, assuming that the dude was just a coward who couldn't handle being yelled at by a toddler, has a laugh and carries on with their tasks. Fitz gets up and he and Nosy run away and spend all day hiding in a hole.

Burrich does eventually find him, and with a hearty "what the fuck you can't just burrow underneath the shed, get out of there," returns him to the stables, where his new home is Burrich's little bachelor pad above the stalls. In the days and weeks that follow, Fitz wakes up, eats breakfast, and immediately escapes the keep to go down to the town and run around with a bunch of street kids.

Fitz doesn't say much but he's game for anything and he has a dog, so he's accepted into the gang as "Newboy." He and his new friends generally just run around making trouble, stealing food, and bothering people. One of the notables in the bunch is Molly Nosebleed, called that because she always looks like someone just got done beating the shit out of her. Wholesome!

One sunny day, Fitz, Molly and Nosy are on the rocks near the beach looking for sheel to eat. I have no idea what sheel is and neither does Google. Then Molly's dad shows up to hit her with a stick to teach her a lesson about having a drunk, violent dad.

Alarmed, Fitz force-shoves Molly's dad into the sand. Molly immediately freaks out and struggles to get dad back on his feet to stagger back to their candle-making shop (or chandlery if you're feeling fancy). Fitz is confused at the intricacies of abusive relationships, but relieved that no one yet knows that he has force-shoving powers.

Aside from his brief encounter with childhood trauma, everything is going great for Fitz. Then one day, while he and his fellow urchins (and Nosy) are running from a dude whose sausages they just stole, Fitz runs right the fuck into Burrich.

"You get your butt right back up to the castle, young man," Burrich says, dragging Fitz along by his ear. "And if I EVER find out you've been down in town hanging out with someone again, I will personally have sex with them a bunch of times," he added foreshadowingly.

"I don't have to do what you say," Fitz barks.

"Bark," says Nosy.

Burrich's eyes narrow. "How many fingers am I holding up?" he asks.

"I don't really know numbers," says Fitz.

"Bark," says Nosy.

"Nosy says that's three," Fitz translates.

"Alrighty then, no more puppy for you, the puppy is going to live on a farm upstate," Burrich says. He drags the puppy outside.

Presumably something cool happens to it.

So now instead of slumming around Buckkeep Town, Fitz spends his days following Burrich around and being taught how to manage horses and dogs but not birds because birds apparently hate bastards. Fitz is careful not to let Burrich see him being friendly with any animals.

One day, Fitz is sitting underneath a table in the Great Hall, being friendly with a bunch of puppies. It's the morning after a party and there's plenty of leftover food to be had, and he's happily stuffing pies down his shirt and sharing pieces with the pups. Then he hears footsteps and who should show up but KING SHREWD!

Shrewd is technically Fitz's grandfather but has never really spoken to him. He's walking along with Prince Regal (*crowd boos*) and the king's new fool, a weirdo albino child who's just cartwheeling along behind them.

Fitz goes "hmm, time to bounce" and crawls out from under the table. Shrewd stops to look at him. "Ah, the Little Accident," he says. "If you leave weapons laying around, someone will eventually pick them up and stab you with them."

"What?" says Regal.

"What?" says Fitz.

"I am not going to leave you laying around for someone else to kill me with," Shrewd says. "Lil Accident, take this pin. I am going to to feed you, train you, house you and clothe you. If anyone's got shit to say about it, show them this pin. It means you belong to me."

"...Okay, sure," Fitz shrugs. He puts the pin into the collar of his shirt. Shrewd nods magnanimously and walks on. Regal flips him off. The Fool cartwheels out the door as they leave.

That night, Fitz goes home to Burrich's bachelor pad, but Burrich turns him right back around. "You done gone and did it now," he says. "King Shrewd noticed you and now you're gonna have to go live inside the castle like a fancy lad. Go on."

"But despite my fear and resentment of you, I see you as a protector and father figure," Fitz says.

"Oh little boy who blew up my life, I love and resent you too," Burrich assures him. "If you get lonely, you can come back down here and I'll murder another puppy for you."

Fitz trudges up to the castle. He has a room of his own. There's a fucking weird tapestry on the wall of the ancient King Wisdom consorting with... what is that thing? Slenderman? It's creepy.

Weeks go by. Fitz is kept busy with new lessons in reading and writing and 'rithmetic, as well as swordery. Once in a very long while, he makes the trip back down to the town to visit his buddies, but those trips become fewer and farther between.

It's the middle of the night.

Fitz wakes up to a draft and a light in his face. There's an old man at the foot of his bed, holding up a lantern. "Come with me," the old man says.

"Oh," Fitz yawns, getting out of bed. "It's the call to adventure."

The old man leads Fitz to a doorway in the wall that hadn't been there before. This is where the draft was coming from-- a steep staircase leading up between walls. Old man leads Fitz up a maze of passageways and then finally to a huge hidden room with all the amenities a crazy old wall-man could want, like a fireplace and comfy chairs and a big bed and a library and a science lab.

Also, the old looks like he took a hot frying pan to the face. Like he really looks like hell.

"Wrow," Fitz says.

"Wrow indeed, boy," the old man agrees. "My name is Chade. I bet I look familiar to you. Well it's because I'm King Shrewd's brother and I blah blah blah I have a weasel named Slink. Next you're going to ask what the fuck happened to my face. I can tell everything you're thinking, because I'm a master spy and assassin and-- now this part you should take to heart-- I am always right about everything. Never doubt me."

"Okay," Fitz says.

"Good. That out of the way, let's train you to kill people."

[youmakemyhearthowl]

Punk Princess

Ao3| Part 1| Part 2| Part 3| Part 4| Part 5 | Part 6| Part 7| Part 8 (Next Part)|Part 9 | Part 10

And just like that, a tradition was born. Every Tuesday night, when Hopper was out working the late shift (because apparently Steve lived with him and El what? ) Eddie would come over to the Hopper-Harrington residence and host DnD nights.

This was quite literally killing Eddie. 

“Gareth, dude you don’t understand, now that he’s more healed up than before he’s started walking around in like tank tops and he has a monster tattooed on his fucking arm. I didn’t think he could get any hotter. And, and he is so fucking soft with his sister El, it’s insane. Like a total mom about her and it’s killing me. Gareth I’m dying, I’m dead, I wanna suck his dick so bad” Jeff groans from somewhere in the back of the garage, setting up a few of the amps.

“Eddie I swear to god, I’m going to kill you if you don’t shut up.” Gareth grumbles, slamming a drum stick down on the symbol for emphasis.

“Yesterday he fucking, just sat in my lap on the throne they have for the game set up, because there wasn’t a chair and it took everything in me not to pop a woody right then and there. Have you seen his ass?”  Eddie couldn’t contain the dreamy sigh he let out as Mack cursed him out from somewhere to the left. 

“Wait, you said he had a tattoo?” Jeff perks up leaning his arms on the amp in front of him. Gareth groans.

“Jeff, don’t encourage his behavior.”

“Jeff my man, he has two tattoos, the one on his arm is this super sick art work of some creature whose mouth opens like a flower and it’s just covered in teeth. Will told me he drew it for him and they call it a Demogorgon even though it looks nothing like the actual one in DnD. And there's one on his hip, although I don’t know what it is cause I only saw a little bit of it peaking out once but it looked like flowers or something.”

“Wait Steve knows DnD?” Mack is the one to speak up this time, and Gareth just bangs his head on the drums in front of him.

“Yes!” Eddie shouts, hopping up off the couch he’s on to pace out some of the energy just thrumming under his skin. “Sometimes when we play, he’ll be with the girls like braiding Max’s hair while El braids Robins and he will just, fucking chime in with his knowledge of something or other that’s happening in the campaign. Dustin gets unreasonably attached to whatever Steve recommends too, even if it might be a poor play.” 

“Huh, maybe you should invite him to Hellfire.” It’s Gareth that speaks up this time, a mischievous glint in his eyes that makes Eddie feel a little nauseous.

“No, absolutely not.”

“Eddie come on, you never shut up about the guy, and this way it’d give you another reason to spend time with him. And we wouldn't have to hear you wax poetic about his ass during a campaign.” Jeff offers out, and actually that’s not a bad idea, even though he can see Gareth and Jeff and Mack exchanging sneaky looks out of the corner of his eyes, he thinks they might actually be on to something, Because if Steve comes to Hellfire, he’ll be on Eddies turf, and maybe for once he’ll have the upper hand and get Steve flustered. 

“Alright, yea I’ll do it. I’m gonna ask Steve to join Hellfire.” He nods his head spinning on his heels and scooping up his guitar. “Are we gonna practice or what?” 

He just barely misses getting hit in the face by the drum stick Gareth sends flying at him.

~

Eddie’s absolutely terrified walking into school Thursday morning. He’s got a whole speech planned out to convince Steve to join Hellfire staying up late to prepare and practice it, but he just knows in his gut he’s gonna fumble the execution. 

Gareth comes saddling up next to him as he makes his way down the hall towards the outside bleachers where they usually spend Hellfire’s free period. He knows Robin and Steve are usually out there as well so the conversation is sneaking up on him fast.

“You gonna ask him?” Gareth whispers in his ear, a shit eating grin spreading across his face.

“Obviously.” He knows you can hear the nerves in his voice and Gareth just throws his head back and laughs.

“Alright, good luck.” He offers before skip stepping over to where the rest of Hellfire is sat, and Eddie takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders as he turns towards where Steve and Robin are.

He fucking flat lines.

Steve's standing on top of the highest part of the bleachers, his battle vest sitting over his black denim jacket open to reveal the soft pastel blue sweater he has underneath, and his arm is outstretched with a long roll of paper, pretending like its a sword or something as he marches back and forth. His hair is spiked slightly today to make it a cross between a traditional mohawk and the fluffy hawk he usually wears it as, and his eyes are lined in a bright blue liner with gray smoke around them. He notices idly that Steve had pierced his other eyebrow to make up for the one Billy had ripped out, and he’d shaved a little extra in the scar where the old one was so he has a slit in his eyebrow now.

Fuck he can’t do this.

Shit why is Steve so fucking hot.

He can hear Gareth and Jeff cackling off to the right as he just stands there, hands in his pockets open mouth gaping at Steve, but he can’t get his feet to move.

“Oi, Munson.” It’s Robin's voice that brings his brain back online, Her hands waving back and forth over her head. “Come here, I need your opinion on something.” And who is Eddie if not too oblige to that demand. So he takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders and saunters his way over to them.

“Okay so Steve thinks he’d be a barbarian in DnD right? But I’m convinced he’s more of a Cleric. What do you think?”

And isn’t this the perfect opening. The universe shinning down on him for the first time in his life, and he’d be stupid if he didn’t grab this opportunity by the balls and run with it.

“Actually, Stevie, I think you’re more of a Paladin.” Steve stumbles slightly on the bench he’s still marching on, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets now, Eddie can see a soft blush rising to his cheeks. “Like okay, you know how Paladins have their belief and their oath right? Well your oath is totally the kids, or in this case The Party you’d play with. And you’re damn loyal too so you’d bend over backwards to make sure your party stays as safe as they possibly can no matter the quest.” As he talks he sees Steve's cheeks steadily grow redder and redder, scratching the back of his neck and turning his face bashfully. Hook, line.  

Eddie’s on his own turf now, he’s just gotta see if he can drive it home.

“If you wanna try your hand at it, we are starting a new campaign in Hellfire tonight, and you can join. Robin too.” Robin's face lights up, joy mixed with mischief and he wonders if it’s a good idea to actually have her in the same room as Gareth and Jeff. But Steve's eyes are shining a bit as he ambles down the bleacher bench till he's standing almost nose to nose with Eddie.

“You asking me on a date, Munson?” God fucking damn it, this fuckers smooth . Eddie groans internally, because apparently Steve seems to always have the upper hand, and Eddie can't catch a break. Taking a deep breath, Eddie rolls for charisma and leans a little bit closer to Steve, the tips of their noses brushing.

“See if you can even survive the campaign and maybe I’ll think about taking you to dinner, Princess.” Steve’s eyes grow big and he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, nodding his head slightly.

And sinker . Eddie’s got him right where he wants him.

Ao3| Part 1| Part 2| Part 3| Part 4| Part 5 | Part 6| Part 7| Part 8 (Next Part)|  Part 9 | Part 10

[nootqueen404]

Angel's First Time - Devil's Last Meal

Summery: Steve Harrington is known for wearing many hats - successful businessman, notorious flirt, and reclusive introvert. The latter is a new one for him since surviving the Great Hawkins Earthquake of 86’. Between work, covering up his tracks, and struggling with his own demons; Steve doesn’t have time to do much of anything unless it has to do with satisfying his thirst.

Two years after the Portal ripped through the town (and Steve loosing his mortality) he decides to open up his home once again on Halloween night…and to bleed some gullible souls dry. But one guest peeks his interests, and he can’t wait to sink his teeth into her in more ways than one.

A/N: This was based on an RP I did with @steveharringtonanonblog back in late September-early October. I would have loved to have finished it before Halloween, but , ya know, life happens.

Pairing: Vampire!Steve Harington x Fem!Reader, brief mention of Robin x Vikki and Nancy x Jonathan

Warning (DNI if you’re under 18): All of the characters are over 18! Drinking, swearing, blood, injuries, hardcore flirting, sexual themes, minor blood play, angst (‘cuz Steve was raised by emotionally detached parents and doesn’t know how to express love,) oral (M and F receiving), breeding kink if you squint, Steve breaking free from his nepotism baby status, lots of biting, lots of foreplay, throat training, choking, use of pet names, unprotected sex (for the love of god please use protection folks).

~ Halloween Night, 1988 ~

Robin insisted that Y/N (who she affectionately called Angel) be her Plus One to Steve Harrington's Halloween Masquerade Party. Any other time Angel would be all in to go to a party, especially if it involved the incredibly handsome and charming Steve Harrington. But after the last few years romance wasn’t exactly at the forefront of her mind. She moved out of her parents' house in the summer of 1985 – before shit really hit the fan – and lost her apartment when the "Portal to Hell '' opened up a year later. Since then Angel has been staying at Robin Buckley’s house for free – in exchange for driving her to and from work (and trying to teach her how to drive.) She could have asked Vikki, but Robin is still trying to ease her way into a first date.

During those rides Y/N got to finally meet Steve Harrington. Robin and Steve became an unexpected duo after their time at Scoops Ahoy, then moving onto Family Video. Angel was always too nervous to really talk to him more than just saying “hi” and some light teasing. Apparently he was hit pretty hard when the Portal and earthquake too. His parents were gone; either they moved out or they died no one knows. They just kind of vanished. Since then he really pulled himself out of that hole; he inherited everything from his folks. When we say everything, we mean everything!                No more struggling to get by because his dad wanted to "teach him a lesson." He took some of that money he got and invested in stocks, that made his money double. Then he bought rights to Scoops Ahoy, money back then tripled after opening a dozen franchisees all across the midwest. Needless to say Steve Harrington went past just peeking in high school. But with all of that he's spent less and less time with Robin and the rest of his friends. Yeah, he had his own businesses to run and figuring out stuff with his dead parents; but people swore it was like he just locked himself away in that new mansion he bought and just drowned himself in his work...he doesn't even go on dates anymore. King Flirt Steve Harrington not dating? That’s insane.

Anyways, Robin was on Y/N’s ass to dress up for this party. The invites were very specific about the dress code – "It's Halloween; go nuts! Bring on the opulence, but make it edgy – you must incorporate leather, spikes, and/or harnesses." She told Robin the literal BDSM shit was fucking weird. The brunette just shrugged it off and said "It's Halloween at Harrington's. What else were you expecting?"                   Luckily Angel had some stuff lying around to make a pretty damn good angel costume, maybe a little on the nose come to think of it. Nancy Wheeler helped Y/N make wings out of this gorgeous iridescent leather stuff she found in her brother's D&D shit. Y/N kept it simple otherwise; white mini dress that hugged her curves, strappy silver heels, and her hair was teased. She also had a garter belt that matched her wings that kept her stockings up, white elbow length gloves, and all of the sparkle and glitter Nancy, Robin, and Angel could get their hands on. Robin went as a pirate, nothing too crazy. She was given an exception to the dress code since Steve and her were so close, and Robin has some sensory issues.

“Christ, Steve went all in with that inheritance, huh?�� Angel said aloud as she parked the car.

Robin was fixing her eyeliner in the rearview mirror “Yeah, he's a real Daddy Warbucks now. She stopped and made a face “That felt wrong...”

“You said it, not me!” Y/N shot back with a laugh. “Jesus Christ, this dress is short!” She was struggling to adjust the wings while not flashing anyone.

The pirate got out of the car and helped her friend adjust the straps of her harness. “Yeah yeah shut up! You picked it out, remember?” she grabs the angel’s hand and dragged her up the walkway, “Come on! Dingus Warbucks is waiting!”

Angel rolled her eyes and followed along. Steve's security/wait staff showed the two girls the way into the main dining hall.

“Geez if I didn't know any better I'd say Steve was having one of those parties,” Angel’s eyes darted around all of the guests. “It's like the set of Hellraiser in here.”

The pirate let out a scoff “Nah, not even Steve would be that bold.” Suddenly they both heard cheers and clapping and looked to the grand staircase – it's Steve Harrington. “Oh god...spoke too soon.”

Ever since the earthquake, Steve had put on a fake front for everyone, though still laying back and focusing on his business. The deal with his parents was a messy one, he almost got caught, but if there's something he knows how to be, it’s persuasive. So now – the music booming loudly through the mansion; guest after guest entering the house, he never felt more content, and hungry. The party was just a fakery to get the one thing Steve really needed...blood. It's been a while since he had this much food in one room, but that just doubled- no, tripled the fun.         Making his way downstairs, the crowd cheered like he was the biggest fucking superstar, but they would do that for anyone who invited them into their home and offered them free drinks. Saluting them, the music turned down slightly so he could speak.

“Hello everyone; glad to see you here- Christ, there are so many of you!” He says in awe, hands settling on his waist. For him, they were nothing but chunks of flesh, filled with the essence of a long lasting life. “Tonight, will be a night of sin! So grab a drink and have fun!” He urges the crowd; already scanning the room for a potential prey, preferably girls since they're the easy one to wow. Just a bit of the Harrington charm and they're on their knees, begging for me to suck them dry.

"’Night of sin’?" Y/N looked at Robin “Okay he is shamelessly doubling down now.”

“That's what you noticed? Not that clown suit he's wearing?” Robin gestures to Steve's outfit. It could only be described as Dracula meets Jared the Goblin King; spooky, extravagant, and sexy. Intricate gold and jewels dusted his body from his dress shoes up to his eyes, which were lined with black and red eyeshadow.

“Oh yeah I definitely noticed” she replied, your eyes drifting to the slacks Steve was wearing. They hugged his body perfectly to the point she could almost make out his so-called “legendary length.”

Y/N were zoning out again when… “Hello?! Earth to Dingus!?!” Robin snapped her finger in front of her face.

“What? Oh! Hi Robin…” Angel said, grinning sheepishly.

All Robin could do was shake her head “And you call me shameless...” before she dragged the angel to the food and drinks. “Come on, I'm starving!”

Steve flashed a smile and received some more applause, letting the music play again as he walked down into the crowd and started greeting some people. Everyone was on point with the dress code, and he was pleased with it. It made him stand out less into the crowd. His costume...well, is it even a costume if you came dressed as yourself – a vampire? With every time one can imagine, and uncomfortably tight slacks, walking down the stairs, he was starting to regret his decision but that didn't stop him from going to the kitchen to grab himself a drink.

Angel couldn’t help but continue to look around the mansion at everyone. “Hey Rob?”

Robin turns around after grabbing her fifth mini quiche “Yeah?”

Angel fidgeted with her gloves as she spoke “I can’t help but feel like I’m underdressed for this…am I?”

“Pfft No way” Robin exclaimed, “You look amazing; absolutely gorgeous!”

Angel lets out a forced laugh as she grabs a few snacks on a napkin “Really? I’d say I look cute, pretty even. But not gorgeous.”

Pushing past people, Steve spotted Robin with a surprise guest he’d never thought he’d see at such a scandalous party. Steve rested back against the counter just behind the two girls, hearing their conversation. He crosses his arms, a smirk passing his lips “Well, I'd say you look gorgeous” he quips, stealing a grape from the bowl and popping it into his mouth.

The pirate turned around, her mouth dusted with crumbs “Hey!” She stuffs the rest of whatever she was eating in her mouth and gives her Plus One her plate. “What’s up dude?” She gives Steve a hug before pulling away quickly because she got crumbs all over his jacket, to which Angel let out a laugh. Steve chuckled and gave Robin an assuring pat on the back.

“Oh hey you remember Y/N, right?” she asks as she grabbed her friend’s arm and pushed her forward. “She used to drive me to work when you were babysitting the kids?”

Steve turned his attention to the petite angel once Robin nudged her friend closer, his mahogany eyes looking her over. “Mhm, yeah, how could I forget such a pretty face?” He takes the angel’s hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it instead of shaking it. “So, why did you come here?”

Pretty? Gorgeous?

She could feel her face heating up. “I’m-I’m-“ Angel caught her breath before speaking again. “Robin is still too chicken shit to ask Vikki out.”

Robin immediately throws a grape at her friend. “I am not!” she scoffs.

Steve catches the grape and eats it, laughing at their playful banter. He placed a hand to Robin’s shoulders “Alright, calm down. But I think we both know that's true.” Robin rolls her blue eyes, letting out a huff. “How about you go and try to win her over, hm?” he urges, pointing to the said girl.

Y/N and Steve watched Robin’s eyes follow his finger. Vikki Lee is talking to Jonathan Byers and Nancy Wheeler, wearing a stunning green princess dress. Robin turns beet red and mutters some colorful words under her breath. God she is so whipped for that girl!

“Come on Robin! The time is now!” Y/N grabbed two drinks from one of the butlers and gave them to Robin “For the fair maiden.” She gives Robin a wink before shoving her in Vikki’s direction.

“Okay holy fuck!” Robin laments loudly, almost tripping and falling “Jesus Christ…” Go easy on her Harrington! She’s delicate!”

Y/N just makes a face at Robin and flips her off as she disperses into the ocean of bodies.

“Worried I’m gonna bring her back broken?” Steve calls back, amused as he turns back towards Y/N, a smile playing on his lips. “I'm guessing this is not your usual weekend activity?” he asks, looking around the mansion.

“I haven’t exactly had the time to have fun,” she said with a shrug. “Since I started sleeping on Rob’s couch I’d been focusing more on work…” Y/N continued on as she grabbed a chocolate-covered strawberry “…rather than play.” She takes a bite and lets out a hum, juiced running across her plush lips. “But Robin said it would be good for me to let loose once in a while.”

The man lets out a chuckle “Good thing you're in the right place for playing.” His eyes followed her lips, licking his own instinctively before flicking back up to her face. “You know, I'm not offering this to many people, but I could show you around the mansion. It's a pretty big place and the party is only downstairs.”

The young woman rolled her eyes at Steve “Oh I’m sure you’ve never offered a tour to a girl” She said sarcastically as she finished the strawberry and handed the plate to him. “Same ol’ Harrington,” Y/N says with a knowing smile as she place a hand on Steve’s shoulder and walks off to the dance floor.

“Correction; I've never offered a tour to a girl as pretty as you.” Steve quickly places the plate on the counter, following the girl. “So, is that a ‘no?”

The angel turned around and shot Steve a playful wink, as if to say “Catch me if you can '' before disappearing into the crowd. Steve healed back a groan in his throat, eyes darkening slightly before he stalks her through the crowd. “I guess a little chase wouldn’t be too awful” he mutters to himself.

Y/N heard the other rumors: men and women going to the Harrington Mansion and never coming out. But let’s face it, nine times out of ten it was women. It was stupid really, obviously made up by the locals to add fire to the Post-Portal machine. She didn’t believe in it for one second. But if Steve wanted her so badly, then she was going to make him work for it. Rich or barely scraping by: he was still Steve - former King of Hawkins High, born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and a notorious flirt.

Angel found an opening on the floor and was finally able to let loose; hips swaying to the music as it thumped through the speakers. She spotted Robin and Vikki not far from her. Vikki was pressed up against the pirate and had her freckled arms snaked around Robin’s neck. Poor Robin looked like she was struggling to respect Vikki’s space, but Vikki clearly didn’t care. Y/N wished she had the chance to at least get one drink in her system before Steve started hounding her. Suddenly Y/N feels someone’s chest pressed flush to her back, one arm around her waist as the other offers her a drink, their lips lowering to her ear.

“…Caught you”

It was Steve again.

A small chill went down Y/N’s spine from Steve’s touch – both from the close proximity and how cold he was. The house was hot and stuffy, but his hands felt so cold. “Oh no it’s Lord Harrington!” She said playfully “Please don’t hurt me sir. I’m just an innocent angel.” She turned around to face Steve, batting her lashes at him and took a sip of her drink – a rum and Cherry Coke. He placed the other hand around her waist, pulling her close and joining the dance. Her eyes widened and she looked down at her drink. “Holy shit! Who made this? It’s wicked strong!”

“I thought angels weren’t supposed to swear?” Steve asked, his eyes inspecting her face and lips “Do you need me to get you a new one?”

“It’s my first day,” Y/N replied, “and I like them strong.”

“Strong, huh?” he says with a slight smirk, his arm slightly tightening around her waist, pulling Y/N flush to his body while they dance along. Leaning in, he presses his lips to her ear under the pretext of having to talk over the loud music. “I'll keep that in mind, my Angel. Now that I caught you, what should I do with you, huh?”

Her eyes fluttered closed, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. Damn he’s really good at this. She could feel her face getting warm from the rum. “Dance with me?” She asks as one of her hands rests on Steve’s broad chest and the other holds her drink.

He smirks and with a nod he pulls her close, leaning down close to her face – giving her the impression of going in for a kiss. Her breath caught in her throat as he moved in closer.

“I-“

His face went into the crook of her neck; groaning something unintelligible. The blood pulsed under her skin steadily, the faint scent of rum and something sweet lingering behind. Was it the fruit she just had, or maybe whatever perfume she had on? “Fuck-“ he murmurs quietly to himself, his fingers pressing into her skin.

Her grip on Steve’s chest tightened a little. She tried to calm her nerves with her drink, but all it’s doing is making the room spin and her body temperature rise. This had to be a dream. The Steve Harrington was dancing with her, someone who otherwise was a total stranger to him, and seemingly getting turned on by her?! I guess the perfume Y/N got for her birthday really does draw men in like a magnet.

They keep dancing. For Steve nothing around exists anymore, as the scent of the girl fills his lungs. She moved back and her shoe stepped in something wet, causing her to drop her glass and slip. The glass shattered on the floor.

“Shit!!”

Steve managed to secure her to his body, but one of her hands connected with the broken class on the floor, cutting her. “Oh my god I’m so sorry Steve!” She looks up at Steve with a panicked expression. She didn’t notice it, but Steve’s eyes darken, darting to the crimson red blood sliding down her palm

“No, no, it's fine,” he says, licking his lips. All that he wants is to bring her palm up and clean it up himself, but he keeps his ground. “We should...” he points to the stairs “We need to get you cleaned up.”

With a curt nod, she was helped up to her feet. “Good idea,” she said with a light chuckle. She definitely wasn’t drunk, but between the fall and her heels her movements were like a newborn deer. “I’d love a tour of your bathroom sir,” she laughs quietly. 

People make a path for them, making it easier to walk up the stairs, a surprised smile on his face at her words. “Gettin' bold, huh?” Steve helped her up the stairs as if she weighed nothing, one hand still around her waist and the other holding her bloody hand.

She laughs “You offered the tour first, ya know?”

He helps the young woman up the stairs carefully before walking her down the hall and into his bedroom. “The bathroom's right there” he says while pointing to the only other door in his bedroom.

Her eyes widened “Holy shit Steve!” She looked around the room while she walked towards the bathroom. “This is an awful lot of space for just one guy,” her eyes scanning her surroundings. She made it to the bathroom, which is about half the size of the bedroom. “This bathroom is almost as big as my old apartment.” She rummaged through the bathroom trying to find anything resembling a bandage; “Hey Steve, can you help me find the First Aid Kit, or whatever magic potion you mysterious rich guys use?” She asked.

Practically getting drunk on the smell of her, Steve nods at her requests for help. Pulling out a first aid kit from under the sink he chuckles. “Well, you're welcome to keep me around whenever you want.” She lets out a hiss every time he applies pressure to the wound. “Please be careful. Remember what Robin said; I’m ‘fragile.’”

Steve didn’t seem to be listening. “Oh, by the way...” Steve says, unwrapping some tissues and dabbing them over her cut, sucking a breath in as he concentrates. “I have a pretty big kitchen too, so I wanted to ask what we are going to eat tomorrow morning.” With a sly smirk on his face he asks, throwing the crimson paper into the toilet.

“Breakfast…with you?” She asked, perplexed “Steve, I only had one drink…” Her brows furrowed “and Robin needs a ride home…” Something is up, but Y/N can’t quite place it.

Steve cleared his throat as she dismissed his pretty obvious pick-up line; he finally wrapped her hand in some bandage. “Yeah alright, I guess the pick-up lines don't work on everyone the same.” He takes her uninjured hand and walks her to the bedroom again. “So you said you wanted a tour, here you have it, look around as much as you'd like.”

“No no no, you wanted to give me a tour,” The angel grins as she walks around the room absentmindedly.  “So you admit it now? You really are flirting with me, Harrington?” She asked with a laugh. “I guess some of the rumors are true…” she trailed off as she was admiring all of the classic artwork and the four-post California king bed. She could feel Steve’s eyes on her, making her feel a little self-conscious.

“Rumors? What rumors?” Steve asks with a chuckle, crossing his arms as he slowly makes his way behind her: just about letting himself be carried by her scent.

She quickly turned around to see Steve right next to her. “Jesus fuck! Don’t sneak up on me like that! Why are you looking at me like that?” She asked “Is there something on my face?” The angel looked up at Steve, her eyes looking into his.

“Oh yeah, here” he says, bringing his thumb up to brush over her lower lip “’Guess it was just a bit of the chocolate” with a small shrug he takes a step forward, coming even closer. “But what rumors are you talking about, my dear?”

“W-Well…” she paused and swallowed, her mouth went dry “There are a bunch.” She fidgets with the fresh bandages on her hand nervously. “That you got disfigured after the earthquake, which” she shakes her head “obviously didn’t happen.”

Steve flashes her a flirtatious smile from her indirect compliment as he crowed her. She felt Steve’s dark eyes looking her up and down. “That you did something to make your folks disappear…” His face kept getting closer, her voice started to shake. It was as if Steve was floating as he corners her against the wall by his bed. “That y-you lure girls here…” her voice was now barely above a whisper “and they never come back…” She feels her back hit the wall, startling her to see where she is.

He pretends to not know what she's talking about, though his parents are both buried underneath the mansion, along with tens of girls that lay there blood dry. “And you believe them, angel?” Steve asks, tipping her head up to look him in the eye, his fingers under her chin. Steve’s eyes used to be so warm and friendly; like amber on a sunny day. There were still some remnants of that, but what she saw now made her stomach flip: Steve’s eyes were dark, feral, and hungry.

Her heart was pounding, her fingers twitching, her brain flip-flopping between being afraid and being aroused. Wait, “aroused?” The guy looks like he’s about to kill you and use your skin to upholster his chairs…and you’re turned on?! She shook her head “N-No…honestly I don’t know what I believe in anymore.”

“Good, good...” He nods slowly, relieved that she doesn't accuse him of anything just yet. “You shouldn't believe those lies, ever.”

She lifted one, shaky hand and pushed the mask that Steve was wearing off. It clattered to the hardwood floor. He wasn’t horribly disfigured, far from it, but he was ghostly pale and cold as ice. Tears threatened to spill over, “Steve…” her voice cracking “…What are you?”

Steve licks his lips in anticipation as he expects her to push him away and run as fast as possible. And the truth is that he'd let her. He wouldn't run after her like he would to the rest, and feast on them until their skin turned an ungodly color. He happened to take a liking to her, from the brief conversation they held from time to time to now, being the embodiment of innocence as she trembles in front of him, dressed as a cute angel, it was almost like she dressed up to catch his eye specially. “Hmm, give it a guess,” he challenges, smirking.

She couldn’t answer him. It was getting harder and harder to form words, all she could do was try desirably to breathe and not cry. She wanted to run, try and scream for help, but he was so strong and so fast. Her eyes flicked down to Steve’s mouth; what she initially thought were just costume fangs, they weren’t fake. God damnit why is this turning her on?!?

Run away!

Run.

Run!

Steve was practically breathing her in now.

She licked her dry lips, still tasting whatever was left on them “Steve…”

Steve watches as she debates her options, seeing her wanting to leave. Though her heart and the way she's clenching her thighs tells him otherwise and just then he knows he's got her, no matter what she may want to do, he knows that at the end of the day he'll have her wanting with nothing more than this. “Yeah?” he asks, keeping his voice as light as possible, though sheer need is flowing through his veins.

Her hands stopped shaking and she took a deep breath, composing herself for just a second. She looked Steve deep in his eyes. He watches her curiously as she basically crumbles under her gaze, looking up into his eyes before uttering a few words.

“Kiss me.”

“Are you sure? You know I'll want a lot more than just that” Steve answers.

“I know…” She grabbed Steve by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him so they are face to face “I-…fuck…” the butterflies in her stomach were making it impossible to speak, let alone breathe. “I’ve wanted you for so long Steve” she said, her breath ragged. Steve’s jaw clenches at her sudden confession.  “I can’t…I don’t care if…Oh, fuck it!” She breaks the distance and kisses Steve.

He's quick to take control of the situation, pinning her to the wall with his body before one hand comes up to grab the back of her neck, keeping her close as their breaths intermingle and their lips move together. A content sigh leaves her throat as she gives in to Steve’s touch. She felt his tongue brush across her lower lip and she happily let him in. Thank God Steve had her pinned to the wall, because otherwise her legs would have given out from under her. He let her lips for a brief second, a single drop of saliva acting like the String of Fate between them.  “Steve…” She felt his hands rip off her mask and chuck it across the room.

He's quick to have his mouth on hers again, his fingers digging into her hip almost painfully. “Such a pretty little angel, “he mutters, brushing his nose along the line of her jaw, taking in that sweet scent of hers again. He clenches his jaw so as not to sink his teeth into her on the spot. “Dressed up all for me, huh?”

Her hands slipped from the man’s lapel to his back, clawing desperately to him. “Y-Yes” she said, desperation and need dripping from her voice “It’s all for you.” A moan slipped out of her as Steve’s fingers dug into the fat of her hips as she tried to wrap a leg around his waist. The young man obliges and helps the angel wrap her legs around his waist, pressing his lips to the column of her throat. “Steve, please…” she begged as one of her hands grabbed a fistful of the man’s wild hair “…take me, make me yours.” She tilted her neck up so she could whisper directly into Steve’s ear “Devour me…”

He growls something under his breath, probably a curse while she begs for him to take her. His cock hardened embarrassingly fast as the words 'devour me' fell from her lips. “Fuck...you have no idea what you're asking for...”

She lets out a frustrated groan “For the love of God! What do you want me to do, Steve?! Fucking Beg?!?”

“You already sound like you are,” he chuckles before inhaling her scent one last time. Steve presses his teeth into her skin, piercing it effortlessly, the sweetness flowing into his mouth as he groans as his hips push up into her.

A loud cry burst forth from her chest, tears finally flowing. “Th-Thank you….” she said while choking back sobs. Her nails dug deeper into Steve’s back as he fed on her. All of the fear melted away and pleasure took its place. “Oh my god…fuck!” She seemed to have no control over her body as she shivered each time Steve would stop to lap at the open wound “This feels…amazing! Fuck…”

The sweet taste encompassing his senses, he's practically feral as he laps and sucks at her skin, bruising starts to form on her neck. “Fuck...” He picks her up effortlessly – eliciting a yelp from the young woman – walking her back to the bed before throwing her on it; reclaiming his spot between her thighs as his lips go to the slow flow of blood again. “You taste amazing.”

Her own legs gave out and Steve slotted between them, his knee nudging her core. “Ah! Fu-“ she couldn’t help but grind down on his knee. She stretched her neck to give Steve better access. She was being eaten alive but she was the one getting blood drunk. “Do I?” She sighed.

Humming slightly at her neediness, he slots his knee between her thighs again, offering her the tiniest bit of pleasure he's going to deliver to her that night. “Oh you do...sweetest fuckin' thing ever.” His head swims with the taste of her, rocking down against her thigh, slowly suckling on the trail of blood dripping onto her skin.

Her head spun and her mind went blank - she wanted more. So she slipped one hand down to rub Steve through his pants, feeling him twitch beneath her. “I can feel that,” she said with a coy smile, her face breaking when Steve nudged her core just right. “Fuck, Steve…let me taste it.”

“Taste what, baby?” he asks, voice husky and breathy as he pulls away from her neck, a small drop of blood lingering behind and dripping to his chin. He rocks against her hand, biting his lip.

She pulled herself up and licked the blood dripping down Steve’s chin and neck; “everything,” she purred.

His tongue pokes at his cheek in thought before humming as he rolls over on the bed, lying beside her and against the headboard. A hand came up to palm himself over his cock just as she did, “You can start with this.”

With a chuckle, she sat up and pulled her shoes and gloves off before crawling over to straddle Steve’s lap. “Should I keep the wings and halo on too?” She asked rolling her shoulders to make the wings on her back move. Her hands went to work unbuttoning his jacket, tongue licking up residual blood from her soft lips.

“Don't you dare take those off,” he warns, reaching up to flick the halo gently, watching it swap on her head. Steve’s head tips back while she licks over his throat. “Why aren't you terrified?” he asks, a bit bewildered by her will to accept what was happening.

“That’s the thing,” she pulled away to look at him, still working away on Steve’s jacket “I am terrified; borderline scared shitless. But here’s the thing,” the angel gave him a warm smile “It’s kinda like a present; you can put as much wrapping paper and ribbons on it as you like, but it doesn’t change what’s underneath it all.” She sits back on her heels “You’re still Steve. You’re still the same charming, sweet, caring guy that I feel for years ago.” One hand went to her eyes to wipe away a few stray tears.

“Plus…” she laughed “You cried in the middle of Alien over because of how scared you were for the cat.” She leaned in to kiss his neck “not exactly cold blooded killer material.”

“You're crazy,” he mumbles, a bit amused at her confession before, bringing a hand up to palm at her breast. “Don't worry, we can play around, but I won't kill you. I happen to like you a bit more than the rest,” he confesses, tipping his head to the headboard, lips parting slightly as she begins sucking at the skin there, rolling his eyes at her words. “Who knows, maybe I've changed. Maybe I'm the monster everyone thinks I am.”

“If you keep calling yourself a monster I’m going to give you blue balls and leave,” she said while learning a particularly dark hickey on Steve’s neck. She pulled away and finally finished unbuttoning his jacket “the only monster here is your outfit” she said with a huff “I don’t want to ruin it, but it’s trying my patients!” Her hands slipped down to undo his belt and pants, slipping her hand inside to wrap around his length. 

Rolling his eyes he tugs on her hips harshly before pushing her off and climbing over her. The girl falls back with a resounding “Oof!” as Steve pins her down. “Quite the mouth you have on you, huh?” He works his pants open before pulling his cock out with a slight groan, slowly stroking himself. “You said you wanted a taste of everything?”

She’s taken aback; “Christ he’s massive!” She thinks to herself. “I told you, I’m new to the angel business,” she chides “but yes, I did say that.”

With a smirk, Steve moves his hand down, tugging at her bottom lip and letting it plop back into place. He shuffles over her, straddling her torso, cupping the underside of her jaw. “Open up, then.” He slowly rubs the flushed tip over her lips, biting his own with a hum.

The angel beneath him opened her mouth, sticking her tongue out to flick the angry, red tip. One hand gripped Steve’s thighs while the other reached to guide his cock into her mouth, letting out a soft moan.

He gasps as she takes him into her hot mouth, clenching his jaw to keep himself from thrusting himself as deep as possible into her throat, a hand coming down to pull off the halo. “Not so angel-like to have a cock down your throat, you know?”

She lets Steve’s cock slip out “Are you sure it’s not my mouth that earned me my wings?” she asks with a mischievous smile before taking his cock back into her mouth – bobbing her head and swirling her slick tongue around him with a hum.

He grips her hair, pushing himself back inside he is pressed up against the back of her throat. He gazes down at you with a knowing smile “We’ll see...” He groans slightly before picking up a pace, enjoying every bump and ridge her mouth has to offer.

She moaned around his cock from Steve tugging her hair, causing his cock to slip. Her eyes watered as she started up at him. But she grabbed his thighs and pulled him back in again. It was hard because Steve was both long and thick, but she wanted to make the man above her feel just as good as he did to her.

Steve moans as he steadies himself against the headboard before beginning to fuck into her mouth. She was pulling all sorts of sounds from him, a hand raking through his hair as it flops in his face. Spit dribbled out of the corners of her mouth as the man above her came undone. The smell of Steve’s cologne and natural musk assaulted her senses, as her fingers worked to massage his balls. She hollowed her cheeks around him she squirmed underneath him, rubbing her thighs against each other.

“Such a sweet angel, takin' my cock down your throat,' ' he chuckles, almost amused by the contradiction between her actions and her costume. “Dressed all innocent f'me just so I can ruin you, make you the dirty girl I know you can be,” he stops, pushing her head down and keeping it in place while pushing in slowly. His jaw slackened by each inch that goes inside of her mouth; sliding into her throat and wiping a stray tear before staying there, admiring the way her lips stretch around him.

All the young woman could do was let out a soft whimper of acknowledgment from his teasing. Her eyes pleaded for Steve to touch her, but they soon went wide. She slapped his thigh; she needed air.

Through his pleasure, Steve registers her silent request and he pulls off. His cock glistening with her spit as a web of it snapping between the flushed tip and her lips, he looked down at her and moved off of her. “What do you say? Think I can ruin you now?”

Breath ragged, she pulled herself to a sitting position. “Christ Steve…have you always been like this?” She asks while motioning to his cock “Or is that a new thing for vampires?” Her hand slips down to her clothed core to finally be able to touch herself, her head rolling to the side and a soft smile on her face.

“Like what?” he asks curiously, following the movement of the hand before urging her to show him how she touches herself. He’s looking up at her, waiting for her answer, his fist giving his straining cock a few tugs.

“You know,” she said with a huff and cheeks flushed “being that big.” Her hand dipped under her panties to take a swipe at her pussy, letting out a strangled moan “Fuck…” Steve’s free hand grabbed her wrist to see how wet she was.

His hand swipes through her folds, grumbling something about how wet she was under his breath before huffing out a laugh. “Yeah, actually. Got some girls backing out because they were too scared, but you're not, right? You're a brave angel and you'll take it all.”

She shrugged “Brave, crazy; same difference.” Her jaw falls open when she feels Steve’s fingers brush her just right, his cold skin nudging her clit. “Oh my god…” Her bandaged hand pulled his hand closer, whimpering for his attention.

He smirks proudly at her reaction, her skin prickling with goose bumps because of his cold touch while she tugs his hand closer. “If you're acting like this when I barely touch you, I can't imagine how you will when I put this big fucking cock inside of you,” he teases, pinching her clit.

A small cry escaped her lips, but they soon turned into a smirk. “I’m surprised you haven’t tasted the rest of me yet. I’ve been told I’m very sweet.” Mentally she was thinking that she was going too hard; that she was playing with fire by egging on a vampire as intense and cocky as Steve Harrington. But she was – for all intensive purposes – a brat. Even before he became a vampire, she loved to tease Steve.

“Maybe I'm saving it for round two,” he proposes, leaning closer to her ear with a hum, fingers pulling out of her underwear. “One thing about vampires, they have insane stamina...so I might take you up on that offer.” Crawling down her body, his teeth barely nip at her stomach, licking the little droplet of blood before moving lower. Coming face to face with her clothed cunt and her dress now discarded on the floor. All that was left was some flimsy material covering her pussy. Tugging with his teeth at the waistband of her panties, he lets it snap back into place before pulling it off, brushing the tip of his nose over her inner thigh, pressing his lips to it before moving up to where she was dripping for him.

She stammered as she’s pushed back down on the bed. “Round two?” “Stamina?” Dear lord, she really was playing with fire! This was a whole different type of danger. Her mind was going a million miles a second and empty at the same time until she felt the snap of her panties. “Ah-fuck!”

“And then three, then four, then five...” he teases, seeing the amazed, yet terrified look on her face. Throwing her one more look, he hums before pushing his face into her cunt, beginning to lick at her, thighs over her shoulders.

The loudest gasp fell from her lips - “Holy shit! Steve I-…” Her train of thought was cut short as she felt him pin her legs above her. “Oh my god baby…fuuuuuuck!” Her uninjured hand shoots down to grip onto Steve’s hair.

Steve kept her folded in half, his hands at the backs of her knees. He pushes himself with her clit, rapidly working against it with moans and grunts as she tugs and pulls at his hair just as she wills. As if she couldn’t be any more stimulated, she felt Steve’s fingers prod at her folds. He brings his hand to her entrance, swiftly pushing two fingers into prod and searching for her sweet spot. Her moans are muffled from burying her head in the pillows. “Holy shit! How are you…fuck…how are you so good at this?! God-!”

As she moans, sound muffled so his nails dig into her leg “Look at me,” he urges, leaning down to her clit again while keeping his eyes on her.

The angel pulled her head back and forced herself to look at Steve. Her pupils were blown and the knot in her stomach grew tighter. “Oh god,I-I fuck I’m getting so close already,” she said, her whimpering getting louder. She pulled her uninjured hand back up and bit down on it to keep herself quite; fearful that someone else might bear them.

He moans against her, eager to receive the show which is her, cumming all over his face and fingers. Steve’s long fingers were now getting bolder and faster, as did his tongue working her closer to the edge.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck! Fuck Steve! Just like that! Just like that!” Her voice was getting higher and her breathing became shorter. “Oh god Stevie shit- please!” She was practically begging at this point when the knot in her snapped and her orgasm slammed into her, crying out his name.

Steve groans lowly as he coaxes her through it, he leans his head to the side, licking over her inner thigh. “Think I can have a taste here too?” Steve asks, his eyes gleaming.

Once she has calmed down she lets out an exhausted laugh. “I’m pretty sure you’ve more than earned that, honey,” she says while brushing a strand of hair away from Steve’s face.

Nodding against her, Steve’s dark eyes stay locked onto her thigh before he leans forward and sinks his teeth into her inner part of her thigh; immediately indulging in her blood. He rolled his hips down against the mattress with a strained moan, eyes rolling back.

She winced a little from the pain. “Mmmmmm, that’s it baby,” she cooed as she stroked Steve’s head. The sight of the man grinding his hips into the mattress making her chuckle, “Does my blood turn you on, Stevie? Does it taste better than my cum?”

Steve answered with a silent nod against her thigh; he stops his hips with one last rock, not wanting to rile himself up more than he already was. He licked the remains of the blood which slowly dripped out. “M'so fucking hard, god it hurts, can I fuck you now?”

She leaned down and captured Steve’s lips with her own, the taste of her own blood and juice making her moan. “Awe poor baby,” she leaned in to kiss behind Steve’s ear “Do it…please fuck me, Steve.”

Steve was not wasting any time before he's hovering over her, pulling at his pants and pressing his flushed tip to her entrance. Her walls were still fluttering shallowly as the remains of her orgasm faded away. Slipping a hand around her neck, he squeezes, leaning in for another kiss while slamming in suddenly, shuddering at the warmth of her.   She rolled her hips to tease his angry cock against her folds, but was forced back against the bed when Steve slammed into her, burying himself to the hilt.

“Mmmmmm fuuuuck!” her hands grabbed the man by his forenames, her head spinning from lack of oxygen and pure want.

His head close to hers, Steve’s lips parted and panting against her temple, pushing even closer into her. His cock nudged her walls as the grip on her throat slackens slightly, letting her breathe for a moment. “Even better than I imagined, shit...”

“You’ve dreamed about me? About this?” She asked through gasps of air. “H-How long?” Steve felt massive compared to her past lovers, then again he was. It was no shock that a man who is almost six feet tall would be well-endowed. But Steve was a whole different breed of big.

“So fucking long, you have no idea,” he breathes out against her ear, giving the first tentative move of his hips, groaning into her ear. “All the time I’ve jerked off thinking about you. God you have no idea!”

Her cheeks turned into the prettiest shade of pink over Steve’s words; as his hip started to move. “Oh my god…m-me too. F’so long…” moans kept cutting her off midway. “I’ve-fuck! Steve you feel amazing!”

Pulling away from her, he sits up on his knees, slowly grinding his cock into her teasingly. “Does my sweet girl want to be fucked, hmm?” he asks teasingly, wanting her to beg for him.

“What? Nooo!” the angel whined, her hands reaching out for Steve “you’re so mean!” His eyes sparkled with mischief in the light. She looked up at him with her doe-eyes wide “Please…”

“Shh, it's okay. How can I say no to a pretty angel like you?” he coos, sliding back in and picking up a pace. He cursed under his breath at the sensation before he grips the headboard with one hand, the other latched onto her hip.

“Fuuck~” her back arched as her walls hugged Steve’s cock “Oh fuck Steve!” Her arms wrapped themselves around his back, digging her nails into his freckles skin. Her eyes met his, her lips parted; “Steve…” All that mattered was this very moment: her and Steve Harrington. His cold hands exploring her body, his skin slick with sweat and blood, Steve’s dark eyes boring into her soul.

She was afraid, but not for the original reason as before. Those dangerous three-letter words were caught in her throat. They’ve been stuck there for years. Steve did say he wanted to let her live; that he’s wanted her for years, but she was afraid.

Did he only want her for just a quick fuck? For food?

What’s going to happen when all is said and done; “Yeah that was a great time. Goodnight and maybe I’ll call you later?” Then immediately ghost her? What if she says them…right now? Will it make him stop? Will he shut her out?

 “God baby...” Steve’s nails push into the plush skin of her hips in tandem with hers, his back arching into her, pressing closer and seeking out the warmth he's been lacking. His cock continuously nudging at her walls, he bites his lip tightly, looking down at her through hooded eyes. “You're so...so gorgeous....”

Steve’s words snapped the angel back to reality. For the first time tonight she saw the eyes she fell for before. Soft, warm, a little playful – flacks of hazel and amber brought out by the lamplight.

“I love you.”

His hips stuttered at her weak words, barely hearing them. “W-what?” His rhythm slows down slightly, letting himself breathe again. “What did you say?”

Her body was burning up; both from pleasure and fear. “I said ‘I love you,’ Steve,” she said, her eyes wet with tears, fearful of what’s to come. If her life is going to end tonight, she might as well go without guilt haunting her heart. It felt like a ticking time bomb; either way it’s going to blow.

His eyes almost bulge out of his head, swallowing tightly as he falls into silence. She looks back up at Steve, her eyes searching his handsome features for some semblance of an answer. Every second ticking by was draining her mind and body. “Please, say something!” she shouted as her voice shook.

“Why?” It's all that comes out of his mouth, still deep inside her, looking at her a bit baffled. “You love me? Don't think we're that close just yet, you might be confused or something.” Shaking his head, he says “It's the sex talking....”

The vice grip on her heart tightened more and more. “B-Because I do, okay?! I just do! It’s not the sex!” She sputtered. “I’ve always had feelings for you Steve; since, I don’t know, 6th grade? Back when you didn’t even acknowledge Robin and I’s existence.” Hot tears spilled from her eyes. “You know what? Forget it! God, I’m so stupid!” She tried to pull herself away from Steve’s grip, but she was too tired and weak to get anywhere. “I should have just kept my mouth shut; should have just stayed home. God, I’m a fucking dumbass!”

She struggled more, but Steve still had a grip on her. She let out a shaky laugh “To think Steve Harrington, in any form, would ever feel the same way. No matter how much he flirted with me, how much he teased me. All those times he’d touch me or was nice to be were nothing! I’m just another bag of meat and blood.”

Reluctantly, Steve pulls out of her with a hiss, his heavy length slapping to his stomach and glistening with her slick as he pants. “I mean...I do like you, really like you, but I don't think I love you just yet...” he confesses with a shrug, only seeing her in a romantic way for a few months at least. “You're not…c'mon! Do you think you'd even be alive right now if I didn't like you; if I really thought of you as just food?”

She was just grabbing her dress and the remnants of her panties when Steve’s questions, his words cutting through the tension like a hot knife through butter.

“Just yet.”

You’re still alive.

You haven’t bled out just yet. You haven’t been bled dry.

You’re still alive.

He likes you.

She felt a calloused, cold hand tentatively brush her shoulder, finger gently tracing up her neck to cup her cheek. Steve turned her face to look into her eyes; soft, almost vulnerable. Could a vampire even be capable of feeling vulnerable? Nevertheless, Steve Harrington was telling the truth. Her bandaged hand reached up to hold the hand on her face. She felt the bed dip as Steve shifted closer to her. She leaned up and rested her forehead against his.

“I'm sorry for not being able to say it back,” he murmurs, leaning against her forehead, pressing his lips to hers with a hum. “But I like you, I really like you Y/N” he said seriously, his cock still straining, but not paying any attention to it.

  She kisses him back, a soft smile growing on her lips. There’s still hope. She pulled away with a sigh, “I forgive you.” Her free hand traveled back down to Steve’s waist, tracing small circles on his skin just shy of his still-angry erection “Just know you like me too is enough.” The hand dipped down to trace up his cock, feeling him shutter.

“Fuck...we-we don't have to if you don't want to,” he manages to get out, not wanting her to feel forced into finishing what they started.

“Oh my, the big bad vampire is backing down?” the angel teases as she suckles on Steve’s neck “Don’t start getting soft on me now baby.” She pulled him back so he was on top of her again. “I absolutely want to continue, Stevie.”

Snorting slightly, his smile fades before leaning down to silence her, kissing her deeply. “Yeah, no chance I'm getting soft any time soon.” He smirks at his pun, fisting his cock before pushing the tip against her entrance again.

She rolls her hips to grind down on Steve’s cock; a small whine passing her lips. “Mmm fuck please Steve.”

“Please what? Want my cock again? Greedy angel...” Steve breathes out, pushing in again until he's buried to the hilt inside of her, relishing in the warmth.

“Mmmmmm fuuuck yes” she moans as Steve bottoms out inside of her. Her hands grip onto his back. “Shit babe…”

His body arches into hers as her nails dig into his skin, his hips picking up that harsh pace again, slamming into her over and over again, wanting her to cry out for him. Her breasts bounced with every thrust, her hair fanned out on his pillow. It was ironic to say, but the girl below him truly looked like an angel. Her voice calling out Steve’s name like a siren’s song; and it all was drawing him in closer to his own release. “You’re so fucking gorgeous Angel,” he groaned “This pussy...”  Steve dipped his head down to feed from her again.

“Oh my god, Steve,” she moaned as she clung to him with all of her strength “I’m so close.” Her body trembled beneath him “Oh god, please Steve! Please let me cum! Please! Please! Please let me cum! Fill me!”

Steve pulled back to look into her eyes, her blood dripping from his swollen lips. He slipped one hand down between them to viciously rub her clit as his thrusts became sloppier. “You want me to fill you, Angel?” Steve teases and his voice laced with lustful venom. “Do it! Cum all over my fucking cock and I’ll drown this pussy! Drench it!”

Almost as if on cue, Y/N’s orgasm ripped through her body. Her velvet walls clamped down on Steve as he lost all sense of control. His hips slammed into her at an unrelenting pace before he too became undone; painting Y/N’s insides with his seed. 

Steve didn’t expect his own orgasm to be as intense as it was. Like he said before, vampires have incredible stamina. But here he was, clinging to the girl below him as if she was about to be blown away by a gust of wind. His breath was ragged and Steve felt like someone just ripped a blindfold off of his eyes. Steve’s bedroom was too bright, his body felt sticky, and his cologne was too strong. The parties going on downstairs was too loud.

Oh shit, the party!

Steve Harrington finally came back to his senses and shook off the last of his post-orgasm brain fog. He looked down at the angel that just rocked his world, his dark eyes looking her over for signs of life. “Shit shit shit! Hey!” Steve shook her lightly as he called out her name. Sheer panic pumped through his veins; “please don’t be dead!”

The young woman was very much alive, albeit a little delirious from having her brains fucked out of her. “Mmm yeah?” she asks with a dreamy sigh.

“Oh thank god you’re alive,” Steve says to himself if anything.

She let out a chuckle as the woman propped herself up on her elbows “Of course I’m alive, you dork.” Her tired eyes still sparkled with wonder and affection like before as she looked at Steve. “Honey?” 

“Yeah?”

“You’re crushing me,” she said.

“Oh fuck!” Steve pulled himself back on his haunches and gently pulled himself out of her with a hiss. “Sorry about that,” said Steve sheepishly “I – uh – I’ll be right back. Okay?” Steve hops off the bed and scrambles to put his clothes back on.

“Okie dokie,” she replied with a relaxed giggle as she watched Steve struggle to button his jacket.

Even without the slight hiccup (if you wanted to call that sudden confession that) Steve Harrington was completely spent. Everything was too bright, too loud, and he needed to make it stop. He scrambled out the door, hair disheveled and his shoes long gone, and crashed right to one of his servants. “Carter!”

“Ah Master Harrington!” the young man exclaimed as he tried to back onto his feet. Steve offered a hand and pulled Cater back up “What is the matter? Is everything to your liking?”

“Yes! I mean no! I mean,” the older man shook his head before trying to speak again “Fuck! Everything is good. I think it’s time we wrap everything up.”

Carter looked at his boss dumbfounded. “You want to end the party now?” He takes out his pocket watch to check the time “But sir it’s not even 2AM. I would have figured you would have wanted to stick to the scheduled 5AM cut off.”

“Well there has been a change of plans,” Steve replied while pacing back and forth, biting his thumbs in deep thought “Have the others make sure our guests aren’t too intoxicated to drive home. Anyone who is can stay the night in one of the spare bedrooms. Oh! And make sure Robin has the nicest guest bedroom for her stay.” That pacing soon turned into Steve running down the hall, barking out orders to whatever staff he came across. Vampires are known for their speed too, and usually Steve would be doing everything in his power to not show off his newfound skills. But right now he didn’t give a damn. His body felt like he stuck a fork in an electrical outlet.

Steve Harrington – in all of his chaotic and disheveled glory – ran straight to the top of the stairs that overlooked the dance floor, his eyes wild and frantic. “Everyone out!”

The people below looked up, murmuring to one another about their host’s sudden change in demeanor. “He can’t be serious, can he?” asked one man. “Seriously dude?! The party is just getting started!” shouted another.

A borderline demonic snarl came out of Steve as he screamed from the balcony: “Get out!”

Whether in fear for their safety or just fed up with the host’s hostile change of heart, everyone in the mansion slowly made their way out to their cars. A few were able to stay behind and - per Steve’s request - stayed in one of the dozen guest rooms. Robin and Vikki were blessed with sharing the largest and nicest of those rooms, which was one part for Robin’s safety and ten parts Steve being her top tier wingman. As soon as the coast was clearer, Steve turned to the small army of servants and dropped to his hands and knees.

“M-Master Harrington!” exclaimed Carter “Are you..”

“I’m sorry!” Steve blurted out, his forehead laying flat on the marble floor.

“Excuse me, sir?” asked one of the maids.

“I’m so sorry for yelling at all of you! I’m sorry for being an asshole all of the time!” he continued on, never lifting his head “I’m sorry for everything I’ve put all of you through!” Steve soon got back on his feet with a huff. “I’ll help you all with the clean up in just a moment, I just…”

Carter, who has known the Harrington Family for decades and Steve along since birth, puts two and two together in his mind. He walks over and places a firm but gentle hand on the young man’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Master Harrington. I got this.” The man turns on his heels and claps his hands “Alright everyone! You heard the Young Master. Let’s get our overnight guests situated.” He looks over to one of the maids “Miss Abigail, could you make sure that Lady Buckly and Lady Lee have fresh towels and a change of clothes for the night?” Abigail gives her boss a quick nod and scurries off to the laundry room. Carter continues on giving orders to the rest of the staff while Steve runs to the kitchen.

Steve flings open cabinet doors, searching all over for something. “Fuck! Where did I put the good First Aid kit?” he said to himself, “She’s gonna need something for her headache later…and the bite marks.” He starts to pull at his own hair in frustration. “Come on Steve, think!” A gentle tap on his shoulder lets him know that Carter had finished instructing the others.

“Are you looking for this?” Carter asks while holding up a red plastic box with the words “First Aid” on the front in one hand. In the other was a glass of water and a small packet of ibuprofen.

Steve took all of the items from him, placing the unopened packet between his lips. He gave Carter a curt nod of appreciation and a muffled “Thanks” before shooting back upstairs to his bedroom. He freezes as soon as he reaches his bedroom door. “Why am I so freaked out? I mean, yeah. I like her. Like, I like her a lot. But why is my heart racing? I thought I didn’t have a heartbeat anymore,” Steve rambled on to himself before shaking his head and opening the door as quietly as he could.

What he saw took his breath away; Y/N was curled up in his bed fast asleep, a peaceful smile on her face and wearing nothing but his button down shirt. She didn’t look to be in any sort of pain or distress from having been bitten all over; just exhausted from her ordeal. Steve cautiously walked over to and placed the glass, the first aid kit, and the medicine on the bedside table.

“Y/N?” he whispered, his long fingers brushing a strand of her hair out of her face. A small groan let Steve know that the girl was, in fact, still alive and somewhat capable of listening, which made him let out a sigh of relief. “Sweetheart you have to get up and get cleaned up first before going to sleep.”

“Pancakes,” she replied softly.

“What?”

“You asked me earlier what I wanted for breakfast,” she replied “Could we have blueberry pancakes tomorrow?” she asked. Her eyes opened ever so slightly to gaze up at Steve and the smile from before letting out a sweet giggle.

The young man let out a laugh and kissed the angel’s forehead, “Of course, my Angel. Whatever you want is yours.” Without you noticing Steve had gone into his bathroom and returned with a warm washcloth to clean her up. No way in hell was he going to subject this saint to a shower or even a full bath. Once he was done Steve simply tossed the rag on the ground and joined her in bed. His strong arms pulled the young woman close to him, wrapping himself around her like a blanket.

Little did she know, Steve Harrington was finally satisfied. He also was a dirty rotten liar about what he said about his feelings for Y/N. He didn’t like the woman.

Steve Harrington was completely beside himself; totally enamored and  hopelessly devoted to Y/N. Even if her blood wasn’t the most delicious thing he’s ever had; a true aphrodisiac, Steve had been drawn to her charm and sweetness for so long. In one night Y/N Y/L/N had completely upended all of his plans for the rest of his life. He was already making a mental list of what needed to be done for His Angel to move in with him. Steve was ready to make this girl as many blueberry pancakes her little heart desired.

This young woman had tamed the devil himself. This angel was, in every sense of the word, his last meal.

[unhappycylinder]

Gonna Be Trouble (Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Fem!Reader) Part 5

Series Masterlist

--

Back in college you thought you’d be able to live your normal life without thinking of Jake, that you could just slip back into your daily routine as if the airshow never happened.

But you weren’t that strong. Instead you found yourself wondering what could have been every. Second. Of. every. Day.

He was eating you up, and he didn’t even know. Well he probably knew, cause all you talked to Gabby about was how much you missed him. And what Gabby didn’t let you know was that she was also hearing constant complaints and questions from Hangman about you. 

She had grown to be one of your closest friends, and now that she was engaged to Rooster and their wedding was fast approaching, you and she were on facetime almost every night picking out fabrics and dresses and decorations.

“What do you think about this dress?” Gabby asked, holding the phone up to a picture of the most beautiful flowy white dress you had ever seen.

“Gabby oh my god that’s stunning, you’re gonna look so beautiful!” You squealed, begging her to show you her huge turquoise engagement ring that fit her personality so well.

“Aww thanks y/n. I’m so excited for you to come down here for the celebration! I know it's just gonna be small and more of a get together, but it really means a lot to me that you're making the trek down” Gabby said sincerely, her tone changing drastically to taunting with her next phrase, “and I know I'm not the only one who thinks soooo”

“Gabby, if you're trying to get me to ask if Jake is gonna be there, I’m not going to. This is about you,  ma’am, we're not talking about my failing love life right now,” you reprimanded her.

“Oh please, like that's not the one thing you've been dying to ask this entire call.”

“Nope.” You lied.

“Okay fine if you're not gonna ask it, I'm just gonna say it. Jake’s gonna be there and I know that he’s gonna be in his sexy little dress whites and that he's going to be extremely happy to see you,” Gabby teased

“Gabby, I doubt he wants to see me after everything I did. I was such an idiot.”

“Yeah you were, and so was he, and if I saw you before you left I would have hit you with my shoe…but that's what this is all about, this is your chance to make things right with him”

“Gabby! We are not talking about me! We literally called to plan your wedding and all we've accomplished is digging up the shitty past, so can we please go back to looking at your dress?”

Gabby finally gave in and went back to showing you her plans, explaining she and Rooster wanted something small and just friends and family. She said it'd be held at a bar owned by Rooster’s godfather's girlfriend called The Hard Deck (cute name, you thought), and that the actual wedding ceremony aspect would be kept to a minimum.

With the wedding date just two weeks away, you began emailing professors about your absence, getting your apartment ready, and finishing up any assignments that needed to be submitted so you didn't have to think about them on your trip. And, of course, you had picked out a beautiful golden orange satin sundress to wear to the wedding. It had spaghetti strap sleeves and a scooping neckline which showed a little bit of cleavage, and it cut off just below the knee, with a small slit up the left side. Gabby assured you that orange was the favorite color of a certain aviator, and that this dress would drive him absolutely insane…not that that was your goal or anything. 

–

Gabby had welcomed you to San Diego with open arms, volunteering Rooster to drive her to pick you up at the airport. The entire car ride to their house you talked about the wedding and your term at college, and Rooster even chimed in here and there to offer a comment about recent happenings on base. The couple had hinted at Jake a few times, but you quickly shut down the topic, earning a few sassy stares from Gabby.

Once you got to their house, a quaint on-base 2 story home painted blue and white with a decently sized backyard, Gabby showed you to your room and left you to get settled.

Downstairs, Rooster pulled his wife-to-be aside.

“Gabby, sweetheart, I know she's your friend, but why is she staying in our house during our wedding? Isn't this meant to be about us getting time to ourselves?” Rooster questioned, gesturing awkwardly to his wife.

Gabby swung her arms up around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss, pulling away to explain that “she’ll be staying at Hangman’s tomorrow night at the latest, I can guarantee you that” 

“And what if she's not?” Rooster asked his fiancée, brushing her hair behind her ear

“Then I guess I’ll just have to make it up to you Bradshaw,” Gabby said seductively.

“What's that supposed to mean, future Bradshaw?”

“You'll see soon enough,” Gabby smirked as she retreated from her fiancee to go check on her friend upstairs, earning a teasing pinch on the ass from Rooster as she walked away.

Gabby plopped down on your bed as soon as she walked in, sighing deeply and staring up at the ceiling.

“You excited? Nervous?” You asked her while digging through the small suitcase you brought in search of a hairbrush 

“Bit of both, mostly excited though. He's the love of my life, but I can't say I’m not worried about that poor white boy spending the rest of his life with me, cause once he's in I'm not letting him out.” Gabby chuckled 

“Gabby, he's one of the best pilots in the navy, I’m sure he'll be able to handle you. He's done it for this long,” you giggled with her

“Yeah but marrying a Latina is different than just dating one, y/n, he's in for it I swear,” 

Gabby laughed with you as you continued to struggle to find your brush.

“For the love of god will you stop rummaging through there and gossip with me about Hangman,” Gabby pleaded, sitting up on the bed, “you've been here for like an hour and we haven't said a word about him”

“Ugh Gabby!” You pleaded, “what is there to say?”

“Have you talked to him? Has he reached out? Are you gonna hang out with him? When are you gonna fuck him again? You know, basic shit.”

“No, no, no, and who knows? Good enough for y'a?” You moved to sit up on the bed with her.

“Uh no not good enough.” Gabby looked straight at you, “y/n I’m getting married tomorrow and Jakes gonna be there, and so are you, and please for the love of god if you're gonna give me a wedding present, please make it you and Hangman making up” she pleaded

“We’ll see” you replied, nervous about seeing Jake again.

“You know what, I know you and that's the best I'm gonna get. Go shower and get some sleep, you look like shit” Gabby teased as she stood up from the bed and walked to the door of the room

“You're a bitch” you laughed

“No, I’m a Bradshaw” she replied smartly

“Same thing”

–

Mariachi music blaring, a disco ball spinning over a small wooden dance floor, and navy memorabilia scattered across every possible surface, the Hard Deck was exactly the location you pictured for Gabby and Roosters wedding. You had arrived early with the bride and groom and helped Gabby, Rooster, Maverick (who you learned was Rooster’s godfather), and Penny (Mavericks girlfriend and the owner of the bar) set up the final touches to the venue. After setting up, you, Gabby, and Penny snuck away to change into your dresses and do your makeup and hair. You opted for simple makeup and your hair down and curled, whereas Gabby was dressed in a flowy floor-length gown with a beautiful shawl across the chest. She looked stunning with her long dark hair down and curled at the ends, and her turquoise ring adding a pop of color to the whole ensemble.

You and Gabby lingered in back before the ceremony, waiting for the guests to arrive and Rooster to take his place at the altar which was set on the beach just below the deck of the bar. Once Penny gave you the all clear, you walked down the aisle throwing carnation petals all over the sand between the guests who sat on benches. There were probably 50 people there, it was a fairly small event, and your eyes, as much as you didn't want them to, scanned the crowd for Hangman. In the sea of white naval uniforms, he was kinda hard to pinpoint, but as you reached the altar, you noticed him sitting just in front of Bradley, an empty spot next to him…the only empty spot.

She’s clever. 

Rooster shot you a wink from where he stood at the altar in his dress whites, giving you the spur of encouragement you needed to sit next to Hangman, who you hadn't dared to even make eye contact with yet.

Smoothing your dress, you sat down quietly next to him, still facing straight forward. You felt him begin to lean in and part his lips when everyone rose. You darted your eyes to his, meeting his piercing green stare for the first time in months, and all the feelings from before came rushing back to you. You stared at each other as you rose, only breaking it when Gabby finally reached the altar and joined her hands with Rooster, clearing her throat in a manner that seemed a little too obvious to not be directed at you two. 

As the ceremony went on, Jake kept his shoulder pressed tightly against yours, and every once in a while you would catch him glancing over at you, but you kept your stare on your friend who was exchanging her vows with the love of her life. As they exchanged them, Jake’s gaze didn't leave the side of your face, his eyes roaming from your lips to your jaw to the curve of your nose and your beautiful eyes staring straight ahead. He knew you could feel his stare, but he didn't want you to look at him, he wanted to admire you and enjoy this moment. Enjoy his first time laying his eyes on you since the air show, and dream that maybe one day it would be him professing his vows to you, and maybe this was the first step in making that dream come true.

“You're staring cowboy” you whispered, still not looking at him 

“I know Smalls, trust me I know,” his southern drawl sending shivers down your spine as he whispered back

“I missed you,” you croaked out, darting your gaze down to your lap where your hands were fiddling with the rings on your fingers.

“You have no idea. I-”

“I now pronounce you husband and wife” the officiant declared loudly, drowning out Jake and drawing your attention to Gabby and Rooster, who were now passionately kissing as the crowd clapped. Jake turned his attention to them and whistled, cheering on his best friend. You smiled watching them, and you couldn't help but imagine you and Jake in that same position.

As the sun set below the ocean, the crowd headed inside for dancing, drinks, and a taco bar provided by Penny. You mingled with the other pilots, including Phoenix who you had met at the air show. She introduced you to Payback, Coyote, Fanboy, and several other odd names that you would never remember. And after several tacos, several drinks, and a few bad rounds of karaoke with Rooster, you stepped outside to take a breather.

Close behind you was Jake. He had his eyes on you the whole night, hoping he could find a moment to get you alone, but never finding the right time. You were always either talking to someone or dancing or singing Great Balls of Fire with Rooster over and over again. Finally, he noticed your orange dress exiting the bar, and he saw his chance.

You stood with your back to the bar, arms draped over the fence of the deck, eyes scanning the ocean which was hardly illuminated by the moonlight above. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath, trying to talk up the courage to go grab Jake and ask him to talk.

“Thinking about me I hope,” his cocky voice spoke from behind you

“Always am, flyboy,” you smirked as you turned around to face him, resting your back on the railing and spreading your arms out along it.

“I'd be lying if I said it's not the same case over here,” he said as he sauntered over, his white suit catching the moonlight

“Oh you mean that you're always thinking about yourself,” you teased, he let out a chuckle as he stopped about a foot in front of you

“You know what I mean y/n,” his tone was serious and his eyes were dark. They stared deep into your soul, letting you know that this was gonna be a serious talk, and that he meant business when it came to you. Jake had lost you once, and he had sworn to himself that he would never let you go again.

“Come here,” you said softly, holding out your hand for him. He grabbed it, and you pulled it around you as you turned around to face the ocean again. Jake wrapped his other arm around you so your back was flush against his chest, his hands laced with yours in front of you, and his chin resting on the top of your head. 

The two of you stood there for what felt like hours, just breathing together and appreciating being in each other's arms once again. 

“Honey, the first night I met you I told you I wasn't going anywhere for a long long time, do you remember that?” Jake asked into your hair as he held you from behind

“Yeah, I do.” You felt yourself becoming emotional. How had you read him so wrong? How had you let yourself believe that he didn't want you, that you were just a number and that all the things he said to you meant nothing?

“I’m pretty sure I was still inside you at that point too”

“Jake Seresin!” You squealed, turning around in his embrace so you could hit him on the chest. You let your hand linger on his peck, spreading your fingers out so you could gently grasp at the fabric of his dress whites. You stared at your fingers, fiddling with his medals as you spoke, “that night…you also told me I was it for you…and I told you that you were it for me too”

“Honey,” Jake interjected

“I meant it Jake,” you cut him off, looking up to finally meet his eyes. Eyes which were filled with the most guilt-inducing mix of love and wonder and pain.

“Jake, I'm so sorry. Leaving you after an experience like that was wrong, I don't know why I did it, but I regret every second of the past three months that I spent dreaming about what being with you would feel like instead of realizing I could have had it the whole time.” The tears were beginning to flow, and all Jake could do was pull you in tighter and try to compose himself as he heard the words he had been praying to hear for months. 

“I've never felt as loved as I did by you that night. I mean, I had met you that morning and by the end of the day we were prancing around the air show like we had been together for years. And it felt like we had.” Jake wiped the tears from your cheeks, glaring down at you in disbelief, “And I don't know why I was too dumb to notice that it felt like that for a reason. Most people you meet don't just make you forget all your troubles, make you feel like you've known them for years, make you fall in love with them instantly…you feel like home, Jake.  I'm never gonna lose you again, I can't.”

His eyes stayed locked on yours, threatening to overflow with tears if he looked away. His hands, which were resting on your waist, snaked up your back until they found the nape of your neck where he used his strong arms to pull your face towards his. His lips crashed into yours, welcoming you into the most passionate kiss of your life, full of desire and longing. 

Your hands grabbed at the collar of his whites, pulling him closer, making your breaths shorter and your kisses more heated. Jake pulled away quickly, staring down at you and moving his hands to your cheeks, guiding you to look up at him.

“You're it for me…y/n.” He smiled that million dollar smile, causing you to blush and smile back at him.

“There it is, my favorite thing in the world.” He kissed your forehead.

“What?” 

“You honey, and that damn smile of yours,” he pulled you in for a hug, you rested your head on his chest, “I knew you were gonna be trouble for me. I didn't think that'd mean three months of hell and driving Gabby insane with how much I asked about you…but it's all been worth it if it means I’ve got you now.”

“Oh my god you were constantly annoying Gabby too?” You pulled away from his chest to look up at him, giggling at the thought of what your friend has been going through.

“Only about every few hours. God she got so sick of me. The number of times she told me to just call you already, but for some reason I just couldn't believe you'd want to talk to me,” Jake chuckled.

“Jake, baby, I wish you had.” You stood up to peck him quickly on the lips, “but I’m all yours now…and we've got three months to make up for, Lieutenant…”

You played with the collar of his whites and bit your lip, looking up at him through hooded eyes. He looked down at you, raising his eyebrows.

“I think it's time we got out of here,” Jake moved his hand to your lower back and began ushering you towards the parking lot, the sound of feet stomping behind you causing you both to startle.

“Ohhh no you don't,” Gabby yelled, stepping out of the bar in her dress, “I did not play middleman for THREE months for you two idiots, and choreographed your meeting at my wedding, only for you to sneak out before the fun really starts.” She stood with her hands on her hips and her eyebrows raised, a pointed finger aiming towards the door, guiding you both inside.

Jake peeled away from you, hanging his head and walking into the bar, muttering a quiet “sorry Gabby” on his way in.

You couldn't help but giggle with Gabby as he walked in. As you passed her, she placed a hand on your shoulder, “about fucking time, y'all owe me one for real…and Bradley…he’s heard enough of it too”

“Gabby, I owe you my life,” you both giggled as you walked in and joined the party, finding your happy place nuzzled into Jake’s side with his arm around your shoulder as he mingled with his fellow aviators. 

You were home.

--

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[c-e-d-dreamer]

And They Were Roommates, OMG, They Were Roommates: Part Nine

A/N: I know I just posted a drabble, but y’all didn’t think I forgot about my regular posting schedule, did you? ;) I hope everyone enjoys! This chapter features the ending everyone has been waiting for. 

Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

They don’t talk about the kiss.

Or more like Nesta doesn’t talk about the kiss. Not even a mention of it. She goes about her days like it never even happened, like nothing has changed between them and everything is normal. Cassian might be going a bit insane from it all. Because if there’s one thing that Cassian can’t stop thinking about, it’s kissing Nesta.

It feels like every minute of every day, kissing Nesta is quite literally all that he can think about. When he’s making breakfast, he’s remembering how soft and warm Nesta’s skin was beneath his palms as he cradled her face. While he’s sitting at work, he’s thinking about how Nesta’s eyes had looked so blue so close, how they’d fluttered closed when he closed the breadth of space between them. He goes for a jog or to the gym, and his mind replays the way Nesta’s lips felt pressed so sweetly against his. And late at night, when he’s lying alone in bed, all he can focus on is how Nesta had tasted.

“Cassian.”

Cassian blinks back to reality with a start, and he winces when he realizes the french toast he’s cooking is definitely more charred than he’d prefer. With a soft sigh, he scoops the toast up and tosses it in the trash, deciding to start fresh with a new slice.

“Are you alright?” Nesta asks from where she’s sitting on one of the barstools at the kitchen island.

“Yeah,” Cassian dismisses with a shrug. “Just tired.”

Nesta doesn't bring up their kiss, so Cassian doesn't dare to either. He's terrified once he starts, he won't be able to stop, that the dam around his heart will give way and all of his feelings will spill forward in a tidal wave. He doesn't want to break this peace between him and Nesta, doesn't want to ruin what they do have. He values Nesta, values having her in his life, having her as a friend. Even if it’s always just as a friend.

“Are you going to be alright to drive?” Nesta continues, picking up her fork and digging in once Cassian sets a plate in front of her.

“All I need is a cup of coffee, and I’ll be fine.”

Nesta narrows her eyes at him, her lips pursing slightly, and Cassian knows that she doesn’t believe him for a moment. They know how to read each other too well. But he plasters on his best, easy smile anyways, pointedly raising his coffee mug to his mouth and taking a sip. He can’t decide if he wants her to ask or not, wants her to dig and pry until everything including his bloodied and bruised heart is splayed out on the kitchen counter, all hers for the taking.

Instead, with a shrug of her own, Nesta goes back to her breakfast, and that’s the end of that.

Once they’re both finished, Cassian and Nesta retreat back to their rooms to change. Cassian pulls open a drawer and grabs the first pair of swim trunks on top before an idea comes to him, taking grip in his mind until he can’t shake it. He knows it’s probably a bit petty of him, but he digs around until his fingers close around the red fabric that he’s looking for.

He makes quick work of changing into the swim trunks and tugging his hair back into a bun away from his face. He grabs a cotton button down to toss on as well, opting to keep it undone and show off his chest to complete the look. He steps over to the mirror, taking in the red fabric sitting low on his hips, the hemline hitting high on his thighs, the way his tattoos look where his shirt is open. One last smirk, and Cassian grabs his sunglasses and shoes, heading back out of his room.

Nesta’s still in her room, so Cassian gets to work packing up a cooler, adding some waters and the beers he had bought earlier in the week. He’s just finishing up when he hears Nesta’s door open, and Cassian turns just in time to see Nesta stepping out, still tugging on a cover-up dress over her own swimsuit. Cassian has to send a silent prayer up to the Mother that they’re still at home because there’s no hiding his expression and he knows his family would never let him hear the end of it.

He’s not sure anyone can really blame him, though. How can anyone expect his mouth not to dry up, for all thoughts not to eddy out of his mind seeing Nesta in a bikini. As if the miles of skin on display aren’t enough, the swimsuit is a bright red, practically a match for his own. He knows it’s unintentional, that it doesn’t mean anything, but that doesn’t stop something deep in his chest purring at the fact nonetheless.

“Do you have a towel?” Nesta asks, seemingly oblivious to the fact Cassian has stopped breathing. “You can throw it in my bag.”

Nesta finally looks up properly then, her eyes sweeping over Cassian. His skin prickles and flushes with the caress of her gaze, and Cassian clears his throat, quickly moving away. He grabs his towel and rolls it up, holding it out for Nesta to take, but she just stands there, her beach tote half opened against her shoulder. Staring at him. Blinking at him and his outstretched hand. Cassian is about to ask Nesta if she’s alright, but wherever her mind had gone, she jolts back to the present and snatches the towel, stuffing it into her bag and turning away from him.

“I have my book and sunscreen as well,” Nesta continues, already heading for the front door. “Do we need anything else?”

Cassian blinks a few times at the sudden change, but he hauls the cooler up and into his arms, following behind her. “Elain and Mor were in charge of snacks, so we should be all set.”

Nodding, Nesta yanks open the door, and they head down to Cassian’s truck. He loads the cooler into the back bed while Nesta hops into the passenger seat before sliding into the driver’s seat and turning the ignition. The drive to the shore is a bit long but straightforward once Cassian turns onto the highway. Nesta spends the first part of the drive furiously texting away on her phone, and when Cassian chances a glance toward her, she has her bottom lip tucked between her teeth and Cassian swears there’s a hint of a blush coloring her cheeks. He considers asking, but he knows Nesta will tell him if she wants, when she’s ready, so instead he leans forward and turns on the radio.

A sigh to his right has Cassian glancing over again, and this time, Nesta has put away her phone, her head resting on her hand as she stares out the window. Cassian can’t quite see her face, but it’s clear whatever is on her mind is still eating at her, and his hands flex on the steering wheel as he tries to bite his own tongue.

“Nes?” Cassian finally voices, unable to hold back anymore. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Nesta dismisses, sitting up straighter in her seat. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Just know that you can always talk to me. If you want.”

“I know.”

Silence settles between them again, but Nesta leans forward in her seat, turning the radio station until she’s satisfied. It takes a few moments, but Cassian recognizes the chords, the voice pouring from the speakers. He lets out a groan.

“Seriously?” Cassian asks in a deadpan voice. “This is the song you’re going with?”

“Need I remind you that you like Taylor Swift?”

“Exactly, let’s find that.”

Cassian reaches forward to change the station, but Nesta’s hand snaps out too, fingers curling around his palm and trying to hold him back. He uses his strength to pull his hand free, but Nesta just latches both hands around his wrist instead, nails digging in slightly in her effort to stop him. It takes some wiggling and Cassian practically dragging Nesta with him, but his fingers close around the radio knob.

It doesn’t take long to find a station playing Taylor Swift, and for extra good measure, Cassian turns up the volume too. Nesta groans as she releases her hold and settles back into her seat, but Cassian just rolls down the windows. He shouts along to the lyrics until Nesta’s laugh becomes the real summer breeze floating through the cab of the truck, settling a warmth between Cassian’s ribs and releasing all his tensions and worries.

The parking when they arrive at the beach is a bit slim, but luckily, there’s still a couple spots available. Cassian is about to pull into the first one he sees, but Nesta calls out for him to stop, instructing him to park at a spot further down. Cassian is confused by the change until a man steps out of the car next to them and he catches sight of red hair.

Thankfully, Nesta’s attention is on hopping out of his truck, so she doesn’t see the way Cassian rolls his eyes. He takes a moment to breathe and reign back in his own emotions, reminding himself once again that Nesta is happy, that all that matters is that Nesta is happy. With that, Cassian slips out of his truck, walking around to the truck bed and pulling down the cooler and the two chairs he’d stored back there.

“Nes,” Cassian calls out, holding out one of the chairs for her to take.

Nesta steps over to take the chair, but Eris trails just behind her, and he watches Cassian with slightly narrowed eyes. Cassian wants to snap at him, wants to ask what he’s staring at, maybe even make a snarky remark about the man’s designer swim trunks, but he knows Nesta wouldn’t appreciate it, so he focuses on shouldering his own chair and balancing the cooler in his hands.

“You know she hates when people call her that, right?” Eris finally speaks, his tone dripping with that quiet condescension that Cassian knows is all too familiar from people like him. “It’s just Nesta.”

Cassian can’t help but snort at that, as if Nesta hadn’t given up the fight against his nicknames for her years ago. A crueler, hidden part of him practically preens at Eris’ comment, though. At the knowledge that Nesta told her boyfriend not to call her that, that the nickname is for Cassian only, some secret held just between them.

“He doesn’t care,” Nesta explains with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Eris still looks unimpressed, his gaze almost dubious as his eyes dart back and forth between Cassian and Nesta, but he doesn’t say anything more. The three of them make their way down to the beach, finding where their family and friends have already arrived and set up a makeshift homebase in the sand.

Cassian sets the cooler down under the umbrella and sets up his chair, relaxing back into it. It’s certainly a gorgeous, end of summer day, the sky blue and clear and the afternoon sun bouncing off the water. Even over the crashing of the waves, Cassian hears Nesta’s laugh, and when he turns to look, he finds Nesta sat in the sand in front of Eris, the redhead rubbing sunscreen into her shoulders and back.

Cassian’s jaw clenches at the sight, at the way Nesta smiles over her shoulder at her boyfriend. His grip tightens on the arm rests of his chair, and he spins back around, staring resolutely at the sand between his toes. There’s a soft sigh to his right, and Cassian glances over just in time to watch Azriel take a seat beside. The look his brother settles him with is full of quiet sympathy, and it prickles at Cassian’s chest.

“Don’t,” Cassian mutters, taking the beer that Azriel holds out for him.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Azriel assures him, raising his own beer to his lips and taking a sip. “Except perhaps to comment on your swim trunks. Couldn’t find anything shorter?”

“This is what the ladies like, Az.”

“Some of us don’t have to resort to showing so much leg.”

“Yeah, because he already has a girlfriend,” Mor pipes up, settling in the sand on Cassian’s other side.

“You still can’t prove that,” Azriel dismisses, but Cassian swears he sees a smirk before his brother hides behind another sip of his beer.

“I will figure out who the mysterious redhead is,” Mor assures him, pointing an accusing finger.

“Maybe I was getting brunch with Lucien.”

At the sound of his name, the man in question raises his head from where he was lounging on a towel, but before he can answer, Elain is giggling and agreeing, “Lucien is a hot commodity.”

Elain and Lucien go back to their sunbathing after that, Mor and Azriel continuing their bickering even as they go to challenge Rhys and Feyre in a game of paddleball. For once, Cassian is left feeling alone sitting there. He chances another glance over his shoulder, but Nesta and Eris are deep in some, quiet conversation. With a soft sigh, Cassian decides to go join the paddleball game, deciding he can heckle his brothers and root for Mor and Feyre.

When the five of them return, ready to dig into the snacks and drinks after a very competitive match, Nesta has moved to spread her towel out beside Cassian’s chair. She’s sprawled out on her stomach, her book held delicately between her hands, and Cassian tries to subtly trace the lines of her curves and limbs as he settles in his seat. Worrying about being caught slips from Cassian’s mind, though, when he takes in the slight pink tinge to Nesta’s skin.

“Nes,” Cassian starts to get her attention.

Nesta hums in reply to let him know she heard, but she doesn’t turn toward him, doesn’t tear her eyes away from the words she’s currently devouring.

“Your shoulders are starting to burn,” Cassian points out. “You need to reapply your sunscreen.”

“I will,” Nesta assures him dismissively, but Cassian knows better.

He knows that trying to tear Nesta away from her book is like pulling nails from wood. Crooked nails from wood. He knows that one more page always becomes just the end of the chapter which becomes five more chapters. How many times has he seen her bedroom light still on well into the middle of the night? With a shake of his head, Cassian reaches into the little tote Nesta had packed and brought. He finds the bottle of sunscreen and pulls it out, squirting some into his palm before kneeling beside Nesta’s towel. She turns to scowl at him over her shoulder as soon as his hands brush her skin, but Cassian is unperturbed.

“You’ll thank me later, sweetheart,” Cassian reminds her with a wink before turning a grin toward Eris, the redhead watching them curiously, putting on his best teasing tone as he explains, “it’s impossible for her to put down a book, am I right?”

“It’s just getting to the good part,” Nesta defends with a huff.

“Oh, what? Are the characters about to fuck?” Cassian shoots back.

“Why? Looking for some tips?”

“Maybe I should read it aloud, so we can all enjoy it.”

Cassian reaches forward, but his fingers have just barely brushed against the smooth cover of Nesta’s book before she’s twisting out of his reach. Cassian settles a hand on the small of Nesta’s back, so he can hold her still and lean in to try again, but Nesta keeps a tight grip on the spine of her book, narrowing her eyes in a withering glare. As if that’s ever worked with him. Instead, Cassian meets her gaze and offers her an easy grin, raising an eyebrow in a clear challenge. It’s a staring match he’s determined to win.

“Anyone want to go for a swim?” Feyre’s voice cuts in, drawing Cassian’s attention.

It’s then that Cassian notices everyone is staring at him and Nesta. There’s certainly an array of expressions, Azriel and Rhys looking like they’re barely holding back laughter, Mor shocked, Lucien looking confused, and Feyre eyes wide with almost panic. Cassian doesn’t even dare look over toward Eris, swears he can feel the man’s gaze burning straight into his shoulder blades.

There’s various agreements in response to Feyre’s question, thankfully breaking the awkward bubble seconds away from exploding. Cassian retreats back to his chair, even as most of his family and friends stand up around him, and focuses on rooting around in the cooler for a fresh beer. Anything to keep his hands busy, to give him a distraction.

“Nesta? Are you coming?”

Cassian does raise his gaze again at the voice, watching as Eris stands in front of Nesta’s towel, hand outstretched toward her. Nesta eyes the hand in front of her for only a moment before resituating the way she’s lying and opening her book.

“In a bit,” Nesta dismisses, dropping her eyes to the pages. “I want to finish this chapter first.”

With her attention downcast, Nesta doesn’t see the way Eris’ hand drops back to his side, the way his mouth pinches infinitesimally in disappointment. But Cassian catches it all, made even worse when Eris’ eyes cut to him. Cassian glances away quickly, taking a long sip of his drink and squinting up at the sun.

“Come on, Eris!” Elain’s voice cuts through, sprawled across Lucien’s back as he carries her piggyback style across the sand.

One last look toward Nesta, and Eris turns to follow his brother and Elain down to the water, leaving just Cassian and Nesta still up at their homebase of towels and chairs. That prideful beast once again preens and purrs deep in Cassian’s gut, but there’s also the undeniable prickle of guilt, incessantly digging its claws in until Cassian has to swallow hard around a sip of his beer.

With a soft sigh, he turns toward Nesta. “You don’t want to join your boyfriend frolicking in the waves? It could be just like one of your romance novels.”

“You’re the worst,” Nesta tells him, and though she doesn’t look up from her book, Cassian can hear the eyeroll in her tone.

“I believe the word you’re actually looking for is best.”

“No, I’m quite certain it’s worst.”

“Guess I better live up to the description then.”

That draws Nesta’s attention, her head snapping toward him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rather than answer, Cassian throws back the rest of his beer, tossing the can into the growing pile of trash. He stands up and dusts the sand off his swim trunks, stepping over to loom over Nesta. He can see the exact moment she realizes what he intends, her eyes widening, lips parting on the start of a protest, but Cassian doesn’t give her the chance. He reaches down, quickly setting Nesta’s book aside before grabbing her around the waist and tossing her over his shoulder.

“Cassian, what the fuck?” Nesta screeches, beating her fists against his back while he walks them down to the water. “Put me down!”

“As you wish,” Cassian drawls, dropping Nesta down right into the waves.

The glares Nesta sends him is deadly, but it loses some of its edge with the way salt water drips off her hair and down her shoulders. More like an angry, wet kitten. The thought has Cassian laughing, which only seems to infuriate Nesta more. He knows he’s seconds away from a proper scolding, so Cassian scans the water until he finds Eris’ gaze, offering the man a mock salute before running deeper into the waves and tackling Azriel.

Everyone is sufficiently sunkissed, but happy by the time they’re pulling back on clothes and packing everything up. Cassian has pulled his shit back on over his shoulders and is scrubbing his towel through his hair when Mor sidles up beside him, the blonde linking arms with him and Azriel.

“Did you hear they opened up a new bar down the road?” Mor asks excitedly. “We should go.”

“I’m driving,” Cassian reminds her, tugging his arm free so he can fold up his chair.

“I’m not,” Mor argues. “I’ll drink enough for the both of us, and you can stick to water.”

“It’s whatever Nesta decides she wants us to do.”

“Oh, I’m getting a ride back with Eris,” Nesta pipes up.

It takes everything in Cassian to keep his face neutral, to turn back to Mor with a smile like he isn’t affected at all. “I guess I’m in then.”

~ * * * ~

Cassian feels exhausted by the time he’s stepping out of the elevators back at the Davenport. Between spending a day on the beach and the craziness of the bar afterwards, his limbs feel like they’re made of lead and every step is heavy. At least it means he’ll be able to shower, face plant into his bed, and not have to deal with his swirling and spiraling thoughts, the all encompassing tiredness promising to pull him under quickly.

He won’t have to think about Nesta in that tiny, red bathing suit. He won’t have to think about the way her eyes matched the waves that crashed against the shore. He won’t have to think about the way the sun had glinted off her hair until it was a halo of gold. He won’t have to think about the way her body had felt against his when he’s hauled her over his shoulder or how she’d laughed with him on the car ride down. He won’t have to think about that damned kiss, and he definitely won’t have to think about the fact Nesta went home with Eris.

Cassian yanks open the door to the apartment harder than he intends, but he can’t find it in himself to care, his mood already souring. He kicks off his shoes and sets his keys down, letting the cooler drop to the floor and deciding he’ll deal with it tomorrow. He’s about to walk to the bathroom to shower when he realizes the lights are on in the living room.

Nesta is perched on the sectional sofa, her hair still damp from her own shower but braided softly away from her face. She has on another oversized tee, legs curled up beneath the hem, and there’s a pint of ice cream balanced in her lap, a spoon poised between her fingers.

“What are you doing home?” Cassian asks cautiously, stepping closer. “I thought you were spending the night at Eris’ place.”

Somehow, it’s the wrong thing to say if the way Nesta’s expression shutters is anything to go by. She bites down on her bottom lip, her eyes dropping down to her ice cream. The reaction has lightning firing through Cassian’s blood, a whisper of anticipation skating down his spine and thrumming under his skin. The silence that hangs in the air between them feels charged and electric, and he doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until Nesta speaks again.

“Eris and I broke up.”

—

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