#whatever he is has to spin something on its head

[gumii-bearr]

❝ you hitting on me? ❞

summary: megumi doesn't like clubs, but then he sees you.

featuring… megumi fushiguro

content warning: MDNI (18+), afab!reader, alt!megumi, piercings and tattoos, reader is a babe fr, pet names, car sex, rough sex, fingering, riding, dick piercing (what who said that??), teasing, edging, choking, crying (omg), spanking (a lil bit), unprotected sex (don’t do that!!!!!), bit of subspace??, alcohol mentioned, smoking mentioned (don’t smoke, it’s bad for you!), vaping mentioned, these two are so horny for each other like wtf

author’s note: this was a request by a lovely anon!!! ... also its 4k words

Megumi doesn’t like going out. It’s not his thing, really. He prefers to stay at home to play video games or be his own company, and if he has to be social he prefers a more intimate get together over… whatever the hell Yuji is dragging him along too. 

“Trust, it’ll be fun,” Yuji nudges Megumi’s shoulder lightly. Megumi keeps his hands stuffed in the pockets of his black hoodie, a resting annoyed expression plastered across his face. He’s not sure how Yuji roped him into coming to this gig, maybe it was because Megumi kind of owed Yuji for turning down hanging out with him for the past… many times. 

Megumi doesn’t respond, just wordlessly follows behind Yuji as he weaves through groups of people socialising, vaping and drinking outside the bar Megumi was conned into coming to.

Yuji mentioned something about his friend’s band playing at this bar tonight and there may have been mentions of meeting up with Nobara but Megumi kind of tuned him out after he started going on and on about how Megumi was being anti-social and bringing up the numerous times he cancelled on Yuji (it was a ploy to make him feel bad and it unfortunately worked).

The moment they walk down the graffitied hallway, Megumi is again reminded why he doesn’t like going out. The bar is packed with drunk people and it smells of alcohol and sweat. Megumi inwardly cringes at the whole atmosphere and nearly, nearly, spins on his heel and leaves when some drunk girl bumps into Megumi while giggling and slightly dry heaving.

Before Megumi can even make a comment, Yuji is grabbing his arm, “don’t be a party-pooper, Fushiguro, we haven’t even seen Nobara yet!”

“I didn’t say anything,” Megumi deadpans.

“Yeah, but your face said it all,” Yuji retorts, “come on!” Yuji tugs on his friend’s arm, dragging his friend toward the loud thumping music.

His head hurts already. The music is loud and the random LED lights flying over the crowd are bright and annoying. Megumi is annoyed, to be fair, he’s always slightly annoyed but right now it’s increased tenfold by the overstimulating nightmare that is this club.

Megumi doesn’t even know where Yuji is going. Yuji is staring at his phone, then looking around, then back at his phone again. He’s talking to Megumi but the music is so loud that Megumi doesn’t know what the hell he’s saying. 

“There she is!” okay, he caught that.

Yuji walks a little faster, Megumi attempting to weave through the crowd of people without touching anyone (it’s not working, he’s very uncomfortable). The crowd seems to dissipate as they reach the back of the club by the bar, numerous tables dotting the back wall. Megumi spots Nobara as she leaps up from the table, waving her arm around obnoxiously.

“Itadori!” she’s yelling and if Megumi knows anything about Nobara, it’s that her voice really carries. “Fushiguro!”

Megumi raises his hand from his pocket as a slight wave, his lips forming a tight line. Nobara is already shoving a drink into Yuji’s hand then reaching over to give one to Megumi, “dunno what it is but it’s getting me drunk!”

Megumi tunes out whatever Nobara is saying the moment he sees you. 

You’re chuckling as you watch Nobara and Yuji feed off of each other’s excitement. You’re holding a drink in your hand, absentmindedly swirling the ice around with your straw. 

You’re also trying to remain super nonchalant at the fact you’re totally checking out Yuji’s friend.

He looks completely uninterested in what’s happening, his tired eyes glancing at anything other than the social situation in front of him. His hair is messy and framing his gorgeous face. His hoodie sleeves are rolled up and your eyes trace down his veiny arms adorned with pretty tattoos all the way to his hands. He’s got a couple of nose piercings and an eyebrow piercing, his whole vibe is dark and brooding and you’re so into it.

Where the fuck has this cutie been?

“Y/N, this is my friend Fushiguro,” you sit up a little straighter at the mention of your name. Nobara tugs on Megumi’s arm bringing him closer to the bar table, “say hi, you emo bitch.”

Megumi eyes you and you have no idea what he’s thinking. “Uh, hey,” he says awkwardly. Oh god, he’s a dork. You must have him.

He’s remaining as poker-faced as possible as his eyes glance over you, from the fishnet stocking adorning your legs to the subtle colour of your glossed lips. You’re smiling at him softly through mascaraed lashes and he finds himself peeking down at your lips.

Megumi thinks you’re really pretty.

He mostly just listens as you, Nobara and Yuji talk about college and work, opting for tapping his finger against the glass in front of him. He likes the way you talk, hand gestures accompanying your enthusiastic ramble about your college degree. He also likes the way you laugh, though he finds himself becoming slightly annoyed by the fact that Yuji’s the one making you laugh. 

He decides he needs a smoke, his head is pounding from the loud music and the flashing lights; he needs a break.

Megumi gets up from his seat, nudging Yuji’s arm, “‘m just going out for a smoke.”

Yuji waves him off and Megumi sets off toward the smoking area outside the bar. It’s colder outside but god, it’s so much quieter, just the bustling of cars down the street and the occasional police siren. He pulls a cigarette out of his pocket, flicking his lighter and holding it to the end until the smoke fills his mouth. 

He leans against the wall, cigarette perched between his lips as he scrolls on his phone. He debates it for a while, but eventually gives in and searches your name up on instagram. He finds your account, noticing you’re already friends with Itadori. He scrolls through your posts, feeling like a fucking teenager stalking your social media–

“Fuck.”

Megumi’s eyes snap to you, now with an oversized leather jacket pulled around your shoulders as you rifle through your purse. There’s an unlit cigarette pressed between your glossy lips and your brows are furrowed.

Megumi fishes his lighter back out of his pocket, he walks over to you and nudges your arm, holding the lighter out for you.

You look up at him with your pretty eyes, a smile pulling at your lips, “thanks, Fushiguro.”

You take the lighter from his hand, attempting to flick the lighter to life to light your cigarette. You try a couple more times before Megumi chuckles softly, taking it from your smaller hands and lighting it the first try.

He wordlessly cups the end of your cigarette, shielding it from the wind as he lights your cigarette for you, his darker eyes flickering up to yours briefly. 

The two of you stand in silence for a moment before you speak.

“I like your tattoos,” you say sweetly.

“Hm?”

“Your tattoos, they’re cool,” you repeat with a soft chuckle.

“Oh, thank you,” Megumi replies, absentmindedly running a hand along his inked arm. He feels his heart race a little when you reach a manicured hand out and run your finger along the dragon twisting around his forearm.

“Nobara told me you weren’t much of a talker,” you say, your smaller hand still fiddling with his larger more angular hands as you admire his tattoos. It’s strangely intimate of you to touch him in such a way.

“You talked about me?” Megumi teases, taking another drag from his cigarette with a smirk tugging at his lips.

“All good things, don’t worry,” you retort, finally letting go of his arm to bring your cigarette back up to your lips.

“Didn’t take you for a smoker.”

“Trying to quit, just smoke when I drink,” you shrug. You sigh then turn your head to face him, you look him up and down, “you got a girlfriend?”

Megumi lets out a laugh, coughing slightly on the smoke still swirling around in his chest, “no, why?”

You grin, “‘m hitting on you.”

“Oh, you are, are you?” Megumi presses.

“You’re pretty cute,” you shrug.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Megumi asks, turning his head to blow the smoke away from you.

“No, no boyfriend… why? Are you hitting on me?” You ask curiously with a shit-eating grin plastered across your pretty glossy lips. 

Megumi looks at you and the two of you hold eye contact for a moment. His eyes flicker to your lips briefly before he squashes out the rest of his cigarette, “I’ll buy you a drink.”

“So you are hitting on me,” you tease.

Megumi takes the cigarette from your fingers, stealing your last puff and inwardly beaming at the cherry flavour of your lip gloss before squashing it out for you, “I’m buying you a drink.”

Megumi does indeed buy you a drink, bringing it back to the table for you, even getting you a straw.

“Thank you, Fushiguro,” you smile sweetly.

“Megumi is fine,” he says, pulling his chair out to sit next to you.

You suppress a smile, “okay, Megumi.”

The both of you miss as Yuji reluctantly slips Nobara some cash. 

The two of you talk all night. Megumi is a little more laid back after you manage to get two drinks into him. The time slips away from you and you find yourself not even interested in what Nobara and Yuji are talking about as you talk to Megumi. 

Megumi lets you toy with his fingers, your nails dragging along his tattooed hand and up his arm. You suddenly grow curious, wondering if he’s got any other tattoos underneath his clothes, you feel like a bit of a perv coming onto this guy you just met, but you’re so drawn to him and he seems to be just as into you.

You catch Megumi’s eyes drifting down to your tits before he quickly clears his throat to answer whatever question you asked him. You think it’s cute and you decide to tease him a little by wriggling a little closer to him, your fishnet-clad thigh pressing against his. 

He knows what you’re doing and he’s not even mad about it. He lets you laugh and hang off him, lets you toy with the hem of his hoodie sleeves and lets you bump shoulders with him. In all honesty, he lets you because you’re hot and you’re into him.

“God, it’s so late,” Nobara sighs, wincing at the brightness of her phone.

Megumi checks his own phone; 12:54am. God, it is late.

“Open your phone,” you mutter, your chin resting on his shoulder.

“Why?”

“Just open your phone,” you giggle.

He does as you say and he nearly has a fucking heart attack when his phone opens to your Instagram that he was totally not stalking just a few hours ago.

“Fuck,” he knows he’s caught red-handed when you start to laugh softly, his hand falling slack in his lap.

“Aw, you’re stalking me, Gumi?” 

Megumi feels his chest tighten at the little nickname and he rolls his eyes but doesn’t offer any kind of explanation as he hands you his phone to do whatever it is you wanted to do.

You scroll to his contacts, quickly putting your name and number in his phone (you also make sure to follow your Instagram from his phone) before clicking it shut and handing it back to him. 

“Don’t forget to call me, kay?” you give him the prettiest doe eyes and quickly stand up, grabbing your jacket to join Nobara as she leaves. “It was nice to meet you, Megumi.”

He sits there dumbfounded as you and Nobara leave, he watches your back, watching your little skirt ride up over your ass a bit as you walk away. Fucking hell.

“Dude!” Yuji nudges his arm, “you got her number!”

“Shut up,” Megumi retorts.

“Told you you’d have fun.”

“Shut up!”

Megumi shoves a laughing Yuji away as he reaches for his own stuff to leave. The club is mostly empty by now, Megumi not realising how much time they’d spent here because he was so fucking distracted by you.

He and Yuji go to leave when Megumi notices your purse is still hanging over your chair. He quickly grabs it, scanning the crowd with his tall frame in hopes you’re still hanging around. You’re not, so he quickly pulls on Yuji to catch you before you go. Not that you’ll get far without your keys.

-

“Fuck,” you stand by your car and realise you left your purse in the club. You’re almost two blocks away from said club and Nobara has already left, leaving you somewhat stranded. You sigh, pulling your phone out of your pocket to text Nobara and ask her to turn around and take you home because you’re too tired and your feet hurt too much to walk all the way back.

“Hey, Y/N,” you perk up at the sound of your name, spinning on your heel and watching as Megumi catches up to you, your purse slung over his shoulder.

“Oh fuck, thank you!” you sigh with relief as Megumi hands you back your purse. You fish through your purse for your keys, “did Yuji drive you?”

“Yeah, but he’s already left,” he says.

You give him a look, “he has, huh?”

“Thought I could drive you… since you’ve had a couple,” Megumi tilts his head at you and you grin knowingly.

“What a gentleman,” you tease. “My place or yours?” you joke.

Megumi just looks at you and there’s a thick tension hanging in the air. He suddenly surges forward, capturing your pretty glossy lips in a hard kiss.

You kiss him back almost instantly, lifting your arms to wrap around his neck. Even with heels on, Megumi is taller than you and you have to arch your back to catch his slightly chapped lips as he leans over you, his large hands landing on your waist to pull your hips against his.

“Here’s fine,” he mutters against your lips with a cheeky smirk, you can only laugh softly as one of his tattooed hands comes up to hold the back of your head, forcing you to deepen the kiss.

He forces his tongue into your mouth and you whine softly. He tastes of tobacco and spiced rum and it makes you fucking dizzy. You thread your fingers through his messy black hair, tugging on it as he moves you to press your back against the cold car window.

“You bring my purse all the way here just to kiss me?” You quirk a brow at him, panting slightly.

“Maybe,” he grins, trailing his lips down your jaw to your neck. “You leave your purse on purpose so I’d bring it to you?”

“Maybe.” 

Megumi’s hands trail down your waist to your ass, gently kneading the soft flesh over your tiny skirt. Your pretty nails push up the hem of his hoodie, feeling up his toned as fuck abs that tense slightly under your touch.

He kisses you again, his thumb coming to rest on your throat as his fingers squeeze slightly, god you really want him to choke you while he fucks you–

“Unlock the car, Y/N,” he says against your ear, his voice low and sexy. 

You pull your keys out of your purse and unlock your car (you’re lucky your car is parked in the dark at the back of the parking lot). 

You clamber over each other in the backseat until you’re straddling Megumi’s lap, your fingers in his hair once again while he kisses and sucks on your neck. His hands knead your ass, his fingers slipping down to lift your tiny skirt over your ass.

“Mm, touch me, Gumi,” you whine against his ear.

Megumi smiles against your neck before pulling away from you. You whine a little at the loss of contact but he quickly kisses you again, one of his hands snaking up the bottom of your top to grope your tits. You hold his hand over your top, forcing him to squeeze your soft skin.

You let out a soft moan at the feeling of his cold rings nipping at your hot skin. You grind your hips down against his, feeling his bulge rub against your wet panties. He groans at the feeling, his free hand curling into the plush skin of your ass before he reels it back to deliver a smack! to your ass.

You moan at the slight sting, hands holding Megumi’s face to kiss him as he forces your hips to grind against his hard-on.

“You’ve been teasing me all night,” Megumi pants against your lips.

“I just wanted you t’fuck me,” you retort playfully.

“Such a slut,” he kneads your ass again before reaching his hand down further to run his middle finger across your slit over your panties. “Someone’s excited, hm?”

“Shut up,” you whine as he traces his finger over your clothed clit. You curl your fists into the fabric of his hoodie, moaning against his shoulder as he presses his finger a little harder against your clit.

He suddenly reaches both hands down, ripping apart your fishnets for better access. He pulls your pretty lacy panties aside, the pad of his finger prodding at your soaked hole. He traces his fingertip around the opening, chuckling as you whine and hump his lap looking for friction.

“Don’t tease me,” you grumble.

“You’re so cute when you’re needy,” he teases. You pout and he chuckles, pressing a wet kiss to your lips as he plunges his finger into your awaiting heat. 

You moan at the feeling, pressing your face into his shoulder as he pumps his middle finger into your tight cunt. You’re so fucking tight and you’re only taking a finger– he can only imagine how heavenly you would feel wrapped around his cock.

Your little hand presses against the buckle of his belt and Megumi delivers another hard smack! to your reddened ass. You moan out again, your trembling hands clutching his hoodie.

“So fucking impatient,” Megumi presses a second finger into your cunt, peering over your shoulder and watching as your slick starts to coat his palm and probably his clothed thigh.

“Mm, hah–” you sigh, feeling as Megumi scissors your poor little cunt open, his fingers prodding and curling against the spongy spot inside you. Your pussy makes lewd squelches as Megumi fucks his fingers into you. You grind your hips against his hard cock in his boxers, the friction rubbing your poor neglected clit.

You feel your lower belly start to burn as you whine and hump against Megumi’s clothed cock, your hole beginning to tighten and spasm around his fingers.

Megumi suddenly pulls his fingers from your soaked little pussy. You let out a frustrated whine as the burn in your belly subsides and you pant against Megumi’s neck. 

His fingers prod at your lips without warning and you open your mouth just slightly and he forces his fingers into your mouth, pressing down on your cute little tongue.

You suck on his fingers, your smaller hand curling around his wrist as you make cute little noises. Megumi kisses your temple before his lips ghost over the shell of your ear, “I want you to cum on my cock… can you do that f’me, baby?”

You nod your head quickly.

“Words, baby,” he coos, his hand kneading over the harsh red welt blooming on your ass. 

“Mhm… I can do it,” you pant, a thin sheen of sweat coating your skin. “Please.”

Megumi’s hand reaches for his belt buckle, quickly undoing his belt and unzipping his pants. If he wasn’t so impatient, he would have taken you home and had you spread your legs for him to fuck you with his tongue and his fingers. Then he would have forced you onto your knees and fucked your face until you cried before he put his dick anywhere near your cunt.

But this is just as good.

Megumi pulls his cock from his boxers, groaning as he pumps himself a few times. Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head at the sheer size of him, but also the fact that underneath the pink head of his cock is a little silver barbell. 

“You got a condom, baby?

“N-No,... you have your dick pierced?”

Megumi almost forgets he has it half the time, “yeah… feels good, don’t worry.”

You bite your lip, suddenly a little jealous of how he exactly figured out his piercing felt good. Megumi notices your flushed face and the way you chew on your lip. His large hand gently cups your face, forcing you to look at him so he can press a soft kiss to your lips.

He reaches for your hand, bringing it down to wrap around his hard cock. It’s heavy in your hand and you gently squeeze, jerking him off.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Megumi kisses at your skin, “promise ‘m gonna take you on a date tomorrow.”

You giggle at his attempt to make you feel better, “you better, cus if you’re gonna fuck me raw you better buy me dinner.”

Megumi chuckles through a low groan, grabbing your wrist and forcing you to stop squeezing and jerking him off because if you keep doing it he’s gonna cum like a teenager because you’re the prettiest fucking girl he’s ever seen and now you’re on top of him with your top pushed over your pretty tits and your pussy waiting for him.

Megumi kisses you again, his tongue pressing against yours as you lift yourself up a little, your hand wrapping around the base of Megumi’s big fucking cock to line him up with your sopping hole. 

Megumi’s hands land on your hips, his dark eyes meeting yours as his tip prods as your hole. You feel his piercing catch on the outside of your hole and you tip your head back and moan as you sink down, Megumi peppering kisses across your tits as he helps you lower yourself down on his cock.

You’re so fucking tight around him when he finally bottoms out, your pussy wrapped so snug, pulsing slightly as you pant and moan.

“S’big, Gumi,” you whine.

“I’ll be gentle,” he says as he lifts your hips, slowly pulling you back down on his cock. “You gotta help me out, princess.”

You pant, only just noticing how foggy your windows are. The two of you are coated in a thin sheen of sweat and you lean back, planting your hands on the tops of Megumi’s knees so you can bounce on his cock.

You start off slow before you get lost in the feeling of his cock and the piercing dragging against your tight walls. Megumi’s hands bruise your hips as he helps you bounce on his cock, his eyes unable to look away from where your pussy sucks in his cock.

Your slick is forming a white ring around the base of his cock, your wetness dripping down the inside of your thighs and down onto his pants. You’re fucked stupid on his dick as you babble and moan incoherently, unable to stop bouncing as you chase your orgasm.

You pull almost all the way off his dick before forcing yourself back down, your eyes screwing shut at the feeling of his cock kissing your cervix. Megumi’s hand presses against the slight bulge in your tummy, the feeling making you fucking dizzy.

“Harder, please Gumi, fuck me harder,” you cry out, your finger sinking down between your thighs to rub circles on your clit. 

Megumi feels like he gets harder at the nickname, “fuck, baby,” he coos, his hands bruising your hips as he bullies your cunt, the tip of his cock bruising your poor cervix. One of Megumi’s hands wraps around your throat, squeezing on your pretty neck. You choke on your own moans as your orgasm nears.

“I’m gonna– Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you cry, tears pricking the corners of your eyes, mixing with your mascara and slipping down your pretty cheeks.

You feel your belly start to burn and your nails scratch at Megumi’s forearms as he lets go of your neck to press his own thumb against your sensitive little clit, forcing your orgasm out of you.

You cry when you feel the coil in your belly snap, your cunt spasming around Megumi’s cock and gushing around him.

“That’s it, princess. Fuck, that’s a good girl,” he eggs you on, your legs shaking at the feeling of your orgasm crashing into you. “You’re so tight, baby.”

You don’t respond, your vision turning white as your cunt clamps down on him. Megumi groans and grunts at the feeling, bouncing your hips on his lap and using your fucked out body to chase his own orgasm.

Megumi’s cock twitches inside you and you just whine and cry as he pumps you full of his cum, thick white ropes painting your insides. He forces your hips down onto his cock, finally ceasing his movements and just panting, attempting to catch his breath.

Your body shakes and you mewl softly, babbling incoherently. Megumi coos, pulling you against his chest and running a hand down your back to bring you back to earth, “shh, shh, you’re okay.”

“Mhm,” you hum.

“Too much?” he asks, petting your hair and kissing the crown of your head.

You shake your head, “best sex of my life,” you sigh.

Megumi chuckles, his hand gently rubbing up and down your back, his other hand fixing your shirt back over your boobs. “I’ll take you home now, kay?”

“You gonna stay?” you ask, peering up at him with a fucked out expression and dried mascara stuck to your cheeks.

“You want me to?” he smiles.

You nod, “mhm… otherwise how will you make me breakfast?”

Megumi laughs, lifting your head to press kisses to your face. 

After a moment longer, Megumi lifts you off of his softening dick, his cum leaking from your abused little hole. You sigh at the empty feeling, your thighs aching from the stretch. Megumi fixes your panties back into place, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

He manages to carry you and put you into the passenger seat, fastening your seatbelt for you before starting up your car and actually driving you home–

“Wait, where the hell am I going?”

You can only tiredly giggle from the passenger seat.

author's note: YEESH! i need a cold ass shower. dunno how i feel about it but!!! it’s here!!!

[birdmenanime]

taking my transgenderification beam and aiming it directly at the bird club

[suguann]

Being a camgirl comes with its fair share of ups and downs, but you never expected one of the downs to be one of your unboxings from a fan going horribly wrong during a live stream—the proof of it still buzzing between your thighs beyond your finger's reach. 

A rush of embarrassment comes with knocking on your roommate’s bedroom door and asking him for help because you’re nearing the brink of overstimulation and can’t think straight enough to get the words out. It’s worse when he stands there and says nothing—all imposing with two tattooed arms crossed over his chest—while you try to get through a sentence without moaning. 

Simon looks at you with a cocked brow and something akin to amusement as he watches you squirm in his doorway. 

Then he finally says, “Get on the bed,” in a steady and low voice, opening his bedroom door wider.

You fidget under his scrutinizing gaze as you settle back against his pillows, biting back whimpers with a too-hot face and sweat dripping down your back. 

Him settling a knee on the bed makes you jump, “Let’s take a look, love.” 

Simon crawls up the bed, forcing your knees open, and you’re suddenly very aware of how broad and big he looks, towering over you—every part of you laid bare for him to see. A large hand presses right below your belly button, jostling the toy inside you, and this time, you can’t hold back the squeal that rips from your chest. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs, voice imperceptibly deeper, his lips twitching like he’s trying to hold back a smile. “Okay, you’re going to feel a slight stretch.”

You bite your lip. “A-alright—”

Slight doesn’t even come close to the fingers sliding into you, spearing your sensitive walls open and pressing into a spot where you’ve never been able to reach with startling precision. You remind yourself that he has to do this, that he’s just being…friendly, or whatever makes the lines less blurred. 

None of this stops the fact your lower stomach burns with the promise of another orgasm when his fingers brush against the egg vibrator before accidentally pressing it deeper inside.

“Ah, there it is.”

At the sight of your scrunched nose, he asks if it hurts. You shake your head; eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to hold back the stinging pleasure racing up your spine. “N-no,” you whimper.

“Relax, okay?”

Simon doesn’t comment on how you’re implying that it feels good. So good, you think, his thumb just barely touching your clit as he twists his hand to try a different angle. Then he pushes down on your belly again, and his long fingers finally grip the vibrator.

“Oh!” you moan at the feel of it dragging down your front wall, your fingers gripping the sheets. 

He has to tell you to relax again, his voice cracking, but you hardly hear it over your heart beating loudly in your ears. His fingers drag the toy out slowly, almost too slow that you can feel it bumping against every slippery ridge inside you.

“Ah, sorry,” he says when you twitch—unapologetic—using his thumb to rub soothing circles into your stomach. “You’re so wet. I need to make sure I don’t lose it again.”

You nod, cunt clenching down at his words.

And then Simon’s fingers curl up: your thighs start quivering, breath caught in your throat, and your jaw locks up until your orgasm ripples through you. It’s unending, the strongest one yet, and just when you think it’s over, you feel the press of his palm against your clit.

“W-wait! Simon,” you moan, pushing at his hand. “No more, I‘m sensitive!”

He gets you to fall over the edge one more time before finally slipping the vibrator out of you, letting it hum softly on the bed, and your exhausted body sinks into the mattress once again. Simon gathers you into his lap, rocking you back and forth.

You swallow lungfuls of air against his chest, head still spinning and walls spasming from the aftershocks. 

He murmurs in your ear about how good you are, kisses your temple, and rubs your sides, and it’s… enlightening. Moments pass before you finally return to yourself, and when he pulls back, his brows furrow at your pout.

“All good?”

You shake your head and go with honesty. “I didn’t think you’d cuddle me afterward.”

He smiles, thumb flicking your bottom lip. “You wanted me to fuck you?” 

Your mouth falls open. “N-no—”

Then he leans down, lips brushing against your ear: “Don’t worry, love. Good girls get fucked hard.”

[ddejavvu]

Could you do a criminal minds x reader where reader is viewed as super sweet and dresses brighter and stuff like Penelope but one day they have to come in like super late/by surprise so everyone is in their normal clothes and the bau sees that reader has a big ass, super cool tattoo? And they’re all surprised and stuff

You're looking less-than professional in your backless halter top when you take your seat at the round table, but no one bats an eye until you stand from the chair to leave. Hotch's call of 'Wheels up in 20' means that the room clears as everyone hunts for their gobags, and the second you turn your back to your coworkers a litany of reactions fill the space.

Of course, the most dramatic is from Garcia, but you hear enough to count all of your coworkers, except one. Hotch's brows are raised when you turn back to see them, though - apparently he's not above being startled.

"Woah, hot stuff," Prentiss calls, a grin spreading over her face, "You've got some nice ink back there!"

"I didn't know you had tattoos," JJ muses, staring at you with curious amusement like she's recalculating your image in her mind, "That's really intricate. I like it."

"Oh, it's-" You reach a hand up to stroke awkwardly over the inked skin, "I kind of forgot you'd never seen it before."

"Turn around again!" Garcia gushes, "I wanna look at it."

You spin on command, and Hotch and Rossi are kind enough not to gawp with the others, passing you on their way to the door.

"You've got guts, kid," Rossi grimaces, "I've been in a lot of pain before, but I don't know if I'd willingly sit there for all of that."

"I wouldn't," Hotch shakes his head with a good-natured smile, "Haley and I got small, matching ones in college, and I had a hard time with that one."

"Is that based off of Norse mythology?" Spencer pokes his head around your shoulder to stare bright-eyed at you, "Some of the symbols remind me of-"

"It's just a sick-ass tattoo, Reid." Morgan shoves at his shoulder. peering avidly at the art, "Don't ruin this for everyone."

Reid takes the shove like a champion, smiling kindly, albeit awkwardly at you as he moves for the door himself, "I like it."

"Thanks, Reid," You call, flinching slightly as a hand traces one of the symbols on your back.

"Ooh! Sorry, pumpkin," Garcia calls, the hand drawn away in a flash, "I got too grabby. I just think it's really cool," she takes your hand, leading you towards the door while the others follow to continue staring at your tattoo, "I'd show you my own body art, but it's not really in a spot that I can display in the workplace."

"Well this I've gotta see," Morgan teases, "Let's all huddle in the bathroom on the jet, babygirl, and see what you're hiding."

"It is not for your eyes, Derek Morgan," She huffs, though she's grinning at his attempt. The look in her eyes suggests that the tattoo is not for his eyes because it's something to do with him, and you're eager to giggle over whatever part of her body she's tatted 'babygirl' over later.

For now, though, you rifle through your gobag and shrug on a cardigan, effectively covering your back and its ink.

"It is a crying shame to cover up that artwork," Prentiss laments, "I bet it looks awesome peeking over tank tops."

"You'll see it again at the hotel," You laugh, "I have plans to use the jacuzzi before we leave."

"A jacuzzi sounds fantastic," JJ sighs, "But let's all of us agree that Morgan isn't invited - I wanna see Garcia's tattoo."

[i-yap]

Jason todd x reader - clingy thoughts

(guys i have no motivation to start writing most days so like whenever I get comments or requests in my inbox I get rlly excited and actually feel like writing)

if jason could, he would melt his skin so it could stick to yours . He is so touch starved but more than that he is just ...starved. like he hasn't ever had anything properly good in his life. and then you're just there and he doesn't think something better could exist

he wants to look at you, he stares a lot. even when he is cuddling you, he's looking at your hands, your hair, whatever he can see in the position

he likes casual intimacy more than fancy intimacy. like linking pinkies when walking, resting your head on his shoulder on the bus, your legs being pressed against each other when you're sitting on a rooftop. something you'd do without thinking but he is constantly thinking about it.

he isn't the lift and spin sort of guy ( like after a mission or something) he is a holds you and falls to the ground from the pain of being separated from you for too long. he is the don't to dare pull away, tears in his eyes, body shaking sort of guy.

he hates being away from you, even across the table is too far. wants to sit next to you or hold your hand if you're sitting across. make sure the table isn't too big. the distance hurts him, its like he has an internal radar that if you cross , his head goes red .

give him any sign that you are just as clingy or even that you don't hate his guts and he will just freeze. he doesn't know how to reciprocate touch, feelings, words, everything but he really really wants to. so just because he stiffens up when you hug him doesn't mean he is gonna let you leave the hug .

his sweetest words come out at like 4am , when you're in the bathtub, sitting on a roof, eating snacks on the floor of your room or lying in bed . you cant be facing him cause he will forget whaT he wanted to say once he sees your face. he is super tired from crime fighting or after s'x or after a nightmare. don't make a big deal out of it cause he wont take it well and will get embarrassed.

he is just so protective, you rlly cant blame him.

[monstersholygrail]

Dragon hybrid meets fairy reader and tries to eat her by grilling her with his fire but sees that she’s actually fire proof? Obviously dragon falls in love instantly and eats her in another way ✨

How cool!! That’s a super fascinating combination and possible power dynamic between the two monsters.

Consider, the big bad Dragon of the mountain and one of the last of his kind, comes down to the forest below in order to hunt. His large stature doesn’t allow for very sneaky attacks but what does he need for stealth when he can breathe fire??

He thinks it’s his lucky day when he sees a clueless Fairy all lost in their own world, not paying attention to their surroundings. Fruit ripe for the picking, he thinks. He unhinges his jaw, fire building up in his throat and giving him that warm spark throughout his body. Just as he’s about to cook his meal, he sees the Fairy turn around and meet his eye. But instead of fear and panic crossing her face, she merely smirks.

The confrontation startles the dragon and the fire that bursts forth from his throat is weak and flimsy. Still, for any normal creature it would’ve made them a nice medium rare. Not his first choice but he wouldn’t complain. But when he looks at the Fairy she’s left standing, her curious yet alluring body still perfectly in tact. Not even a scorch mark on her skin!

Her clothes though… the Dragon supposes whatever magic this creature possesses doesn’t include her clothing as the Fairy is left standing completely naked before him.

Of course, the mighty Dragon has to inspect and investigate how such a small creature compared to him was able to thwart his fire attack. The Fairy, feeling very smug about having outsmarted the Dragon that towers over her, agrees to be played with. She was certain he would never guess.

The Dragon inspects her body, sniffing and searching for the warmth he senses within her. That warmth most evident between her fleshy thighs. The Fairy is surprised when the Dragon brings her to the ground, his tongue dipping into her cunt in search of the heat. The Fairy moans and her heat grows, making the Dragon all the more curious.

His giant tongue laps at the Fairy’s pretty cunt. He watches it as it grows slick, puffy, and hotter by the minute. He growls, wanting answers and his pace quickens, tongue swirling through her folds, trying to get to where she runs hottest.

Realizing it’s inside her the Dragon leans back, making the Fairy whine in protest. The Dragon releases another tunnel of fire from its jaws, though this one purposefully remaining gentle as it curls and travels inside the Fairy’s cunt. The Fairy gasps, her body shaking with pleasure as the Dragon fucks her with his fire. Thrusting in and out of her pussy as it longs for the mysterious heat inside her.

With the heat licking along her walls in a way that has her head spinning and her body tingling, it doesn’t take long for the Fairy to cum all over the length of the fire inside her. The Dragon can taste it as it travels through the tunnel and he growls, breathing more fire, forcing it to burrow deeper inside her. The Fairy moans, her body limp and allowing the Dragon in even deeper.

As the flames course through her body and intertwine with her very essence, the Dragon finally understands. Her heart beating with the strength of a Dragon and a Fairy. A half-breed. His flames leave her and he moves to rest beside her weak form, his tail curling around her form protectively.

Originally having been looking for a meal, the lonely Dragon found something much more special instead.

[onyourowndaisymae]

under where?

content + warnings: nsfw, x fem!reader, flashing, discussions of oral

prompt: "Imagine sitting across from the brothers and nonchalantly spreading your legs to reveal no underwear under your skirt. Just IMAGINE their reactions…" (via: @shyvien-obeyme)

there's a tension in the air, a mixture of seven different reactions to the same action. seven demons who knew their master had such a commanding presence, had fallen victim to "stay" time and time again-- yet here you are, bringing all of them to their knees without uttering a single word.

lucifer pales when your legs spread. a low, possessive growl threatens to rock his chest, but he swallows hard and averts his gaze. you can see his cheeks flush a little. he meets your gaze-- he's very determined to show you he doesn't see you as a piece of meat-- and opens his mouth to scold you for such vulgar behavior. but there's this heat in your gaze, almost inviting as your eyes smolder with want. his mouth closes. he takes another look between your spread legs. fuck. you're so wet it's obscene. were you really that needy, working yourself up like that over there? he can only imagine what's running through your head, what depraved thoughts linger beneath that cheshire smile. no matter. just say the word and he's whisk you away to his room, alone, ready to please his master until dawn breaks through the darkened skies.

mammon whines, the sound loud and uninhibited, his cheeks engulfing in flames-- yet he can't bring himself to be ashamed. it takes everything in him not to pounce on you. he wants to yell, too. why? why're you so comfortable spreading your legs like that in front of all his brothers, huh?! don't you know the kind of filthy thoughts running through their heads?! the conflicting feelings make his stomach flutter. he wants to close your legs, guarding your entrance like a dragon to its hoard, greedy to keep its greatest treasure private. but he also wants to fall to his knees in front of you. to wait for your permission before burying his face in your cunt, fucking you on his tongue in front of everyone. he's getting impatient now that the thought's entered his mind-- so can you please stop looking at him like that and let him touch you already, before he loses whatever mind he has left?

leviathan can feel his shame rush to his face, burning heat pooling at the back of his neck. it's embarassing how quickly his pants grow tight and cumbersome. this-- this is too much for him. he needs to hide away, now, burrowing into a fort of blankets in his bathtub until a century or two passes and he's sure everyone's forgotten about this moment in time. but he can't. because you're staring at him. your eyes crawl up his body, lingering on his shifty feet, his quivering hands, his tented pants-- your gaze makes his head spin. he's going to pass out if you keep watching him like that. you wet your lips briefly, eyes darting to meet his before your gaze falls between his legs again, and he swears to every authority in every realm that he can feel his cock throb in need. please say something, do something. either let him retreat to lick his wounds or ride him until he's a puddle of drool and slick underneath you.

satan's cheeks flush, but he keeps his gaze steady as he thoroughly observes your sopping wet cunt. he wants to think of something clever or witty to say, but his mouth is so dry and his brain is so fuzzy-- do you know what you do to him? he's aware that you're teasing him. it's frustrating. all these eyes on you, and yet you're only looking at him. like a cat that got the cream, you're smirking, lounging in your chair like he can't see the slick gathering around your entrance. it would be so easy for his finger to slip inside you, finger fucking you senseless until you're so sensitive you writhe and dig your nails into the arms of that chair. but that would be too easy, wouldn't it? no, you're teasing the avatar of wrath. while patience is not his favorite virtue, it will be the one he has tonight-- because the moment you're finally underneath him, he's going to toy with you as much as he wants, prowl around your exposed body until he decides to pounce. after all, you're the one who wanted to play cat and mouse.

asmodeus can feel his lips curl into a grin. oh, you naughty little thing! a giggle escapes his lips as he watches you with rapt attention. oh, that slippery little cunt of yours is so cute! would you mind if he got a closer look? he wants to bask in this moment. you're biting your bottom lip and grinning right back at him, and it takes everything in him not to break the tension by letting honey filth spew from his lustful lips. sure, there's a lot he could say, but don't actions speak louder than words? in that case, he wouldn't mind running his tongue along that pretty clit of yours to taste your slick himself. he can't think of a better way to express his love for you than to ravish you as thoroughly as the tried and true avatar of lust can. the room is delightfully hot and intense, making his head spin as surges of lust bounce off the walls. oh, darling, the anticipation is killing him-- won't you just share all the dirty thoughts caught in that pretty little head of yours?

beelzebub suddenly feels like he shouldn't be here. he notices the change in the air before he notices your legs spread, ever perceptive to the emotions of his loved ones. and all of those feelings lead him to you-- specifically, that wet spot between your legs that's got everyone so riled all of a sudden. it makes him nervous. at first, he worries you've exposed yourself on accident. he looks away as his cheeks turn pink, ashamed of how quickly his mind begins to wander. but then he hears you shuffling-- so naturally, he looks back at you-- to find you pulling your skirt up further, bunching it around your thighs to give everyone a clearer view. he realizes now that you want everyone to see your cunt. now he doesn't feel so bad about staring, about the groan sitting in the back of his throat. he'll never push, never question your motives or try to touch you without explicit permission, but he can't help the way his mouth waters and his erection stirs in his pants. and judging by the way you're staring at him like a five course meal, it seems you don't mind much either.

belphegor's eyes widen in shock, before a predatory grin engulfs his face. oh. you're in for it now. you've given the game away by exposing yourself as a needy whore, and it's clear from your haughty smirk that you think you've won this game. that's cute. but you're playing with demons-- manipulative, scheming, needy demons that'd do anything to bury themselves deep inside of the very hole you're so determined to tease them with. or maybe you're just teasing one particular demon. because your eyes linger on his just a bit too long to be coincidental, flitting away to the ground or a nearby wall before meeting his again. are you feeling nervous now? you should be. make no mistake-- he sees what you're doing here, and he's already thinking of ways to handle it. you're clearly getting aroused by all the attention. he wants to help, but he's just feeling so tired. you're already so prepped and eager-- maybe he should let you sink onto his cock in this very room? he's curious to see how well you can perform with an audience.

[senualothbrok]

Hello my friend!! Regarding your amazing “Tight Fit” fic from @daisyofwaterdeep’s 10/10 scenario, I’m obsessed with how Gale would act around Tav after the whole debacle:

Just adorably a mess. Shy, flustered. Stumbling over words.

Trying not to mention it in conversation. Trying to act normal. Occasionally failing on both counts with verbal flubs: “I wholeheartedly support whatever Tav decides. Our leader knows breast—BEST! I mean best!” etc. etc.

Praying Tav doesn’t hate him. Trying not to get aroused every time Tav smiles at him.

Going out of his way to be extra kind to Tav while simultaneously trying to avoid her.

Forcing himself not to daydream about it during the day, thinking about it literally every night. Reimagining every detail while in his bedroll. Instantly so hard he has to finish himself off or he won’t be able to sleep.

Climaxing so hard he’s legitimately concerned about his orb.

Berating himself internally, reminding himself he needs to learn some damned self-control…but then recalling Tav’s breath on his neck, the feeling of her fingers eagerly stroking him, and any hope of self-control is instantly lost

Would love to hear your and/or @daisyofwaterdeep’s thoughts 💖

Hello my dear friend! I 1000% agree with your thoughts on this and I have written something to describe how I think it might go. Hopefully this is enjoyable!

A Generous Portion

Summary: Gale is a flustered mess after you are locked in a room together. Sequel to A Tight Fit.

Set in early Act 1. Featuring matchmakers Karlach and Astarion, gentleman hero Wyll, I've-had-it-up-to-here Shadowheart, and oblivious Lae'zel.

Word count: 1.7k

AO3 link

Disclaimers: Non-18+. Blushy, flustered, awkward Gale. Sexual tension.

****

“Gale.” Wyll's voice is warm with delight. “You've outdone yourself.”

Gale beams as he passes a steaming plate to Wyll. The stew Gale ladles out is thick and rich, and your stomach rumbles at its buttery fragrance. He grins as he hands out generous portions to a nodding Shadowheart, a grunting Lae'zel. 

“It’s not every day that we cross paths with a butcher.” He bobs his head. “A good cook makes the most of every opportunity.”

You see none of the uneasy stiffness of the past few days, none of the squirming mania that has possessed Gale whenever your eyes have met. Karlach claps before she takes her plate from him, and he gives a playful half bow that makes you smile.

“Besides, a hearty meal is the best cure for a weary body and mind. And as far as hearty meals go–”

Since the last time you were alone, Gale has been avoiding you. He has fled from every look and conversation, as though it were a matter of survival. And yet, you have often felt his attention on you, stripping you bare. You feel it now, as his focus flits over your outstretched hand, as he serves you.

“–There’s nothing like some good Waterdhavian sausage.”

His eyes meet yours. Panic flares in his face. He jerks his head, a grimace clenching his features as he flinches away. You settle back in your seat next to Astarion, feeling strangely guilty. Astarion's smirk does not escape you. Nor does the bright flash of Karlach's eyes.

For an eternity, there is only the scraping of plates, the soft stirring of bodies. The sizzle and hiss of the campfire, punctuated by little hums of satisfied chewing. The stew is exquisite, and you almost forget the crackling tension around you as you devour it. It spills from your lips, trickling down your chin in your haste. You wipe it away with your fingers, sucking them clean, wasting nothing. 

When you look up, Gale is staring at you. He spins away, clearing his throat as he examines his stew with obsessive intensity. The flush of his cheeks makes your core swell with memory. The ghost of his hardness twitches against your fingers. You shift awkwardly.

When Wyll breaks the silence, you look at him with a newfound appreciation. 

“This is delicious, Gale,” Wyll says politely. “Truly delicious.” 

Relief surges in Gale’s frame. “It's my pleasure.” 

“We're spoiled to have you cooking for us.” 

You have never been so grateful for Wyll's courtly upbringing, his natural tact. You send out a missive of frantic admiration with your eyes. Wyll’s gaze flickers to yours for the briefest instant before returning to Gale.

Gale is chewing his lip, composing himself. His furrowed brow eases. He waves his hand in an approximation of dismissal.  

“I try my breast.”

You drop your spoon. Astarion bursts into laughter. Shadowheart buries her face in her hands.

“Best!” Gale is fully crimson now, his pitch higher than you have ever heard it. “I try my best!”

“I can't watch anymore,” Shadowheart murmurs under her breath. Karlach jostles her quiet. There is an excruciating pause. You glance at Wyll, pleading.

Wyll's jaw feathers as he leans forward, his smile tight and wide. 

“And tell us, Gale, where did you learn to cook?”

Gale combs frenzied fingers through his hair. His gaze darts around like a fish evading a net. 

“I learned from the best.” His words are slow and strained at first, snowballing as he recovers. “My formidable mother. A master cook, who could work miracles with modest and extravagant ingredients alike. She taught me everything I know.”

Wyll hums approvingly, patiently. You are beyond thankful to see Gale’s breaths levelling, his voice lowering to its usual timbre.

“In fact,” he draws himself up, “the last time I made her a meal, she said my food might even match hers.” 

Wyll lets out a courteous titter. “Well-deserved praise.”

“Your food is pleasant even to a Githyanki palate,” Lae’zel remarks matter of factly. She seems oblivious to tonight’s disasters - or perhaps indifferent to them.

“Awesome grub, mate.” Karlach gives an enthusiastic thumbs up. “Can't get enough.”

With each affirmation, Gale’s body uncoils a little. The alarming scarlet of his skin is fading to its usual golden bronze. You are desperate to give him relief. You nod furiously. 

“I love your food. I’d eat anything of yours.”

All heads turn to you – vistas of disbelief, delight, despair. Karlach lets out a guffaw as Astarion snickers. Shadowheart and Wyll press their hands to their temples. Lae'zel stares at Gale with disdain as he begins to cough, clutching his chest. He hacks and heaves, until you are genuinely concerned that he is choking.

“Are you alright, Gale?” 

“Fine!” he gasps, his hands whipping around him in frenetic arcs. “Absolutely fine!”

Anxiety seizes you as a flash of lavender peeks through the opening above his chest. Hurriedly, you pour him a glass of wine, moving forward to kneel beside him. 

“Well.” Astarion springs up, gesturing to Karlach pointedly. “This is as good a time as any for that thing you mentioned, Karlach.”

For a second, Karlach looks just as confused as you feel, her brow scrunched as she considers. The recognition that blooms on her face is like victory. She leaps up to join him.

“Right! That thing! That I wanted to show you. And Shadowheart. And Wyll. And Lae'zel. Right now! Somewhere else!”

She pulls them up in turn. You stare at each of them, bewildered, imploring. Gale wheezes beside you. 

“What are you–”

“Must dash!” Astarion calls out, grabbing and jostling at arms and elbows. “Places to go, people to be!”

You glare at your companions’ retreating backs. When Gale takes the glass from your hand, his fingers brush against yours. He looks away as he throws the wine down with a groan.

*****

“Are you sure you don't need anything?”

“Yes, I'm fine, thank you.”

“Because if you need anything, I can–”

“No, I'm quite alright, Tav. Thank you very much for your kindness.”

The politeness between you is painful. Gale’s hands jolt from his lap to his sides, his fingers rippling and fisting. You suddenly realise how close you are, your face an arm’s length from his knee, your eye line parallel to the crook of his…

You lurch back, perching on the log opposite him. Gale’s features writhe as he fumbles at his robe. He looks absolutely miserable. You cannot help but feel stung. Your friendship and affection for him had come so easily. You cannot say you do not miss it, and the promise of what it might become.

“Would you rather I left?” you ask finally. “If I'm bothering you, I can go.”

Is it shock in his widened eyes? Disbelief? You cannot tell. He shakes his head with surprising force. 

“No, Tav. You never bother me. You could never...”

He trails off, gaze fixed on the campfire with a fervour like fear. You sigh. You cannot skirt around the edges of it any longer.

“Gale, have I done something wrong?” 

He looks up then. His eyes quiver, sunlight on a brown sea. 

“Have I upset you in some way? Because if I have, I apologise. I never meant to cause you any distress, or any kind of offence–”

He winces, as though you have struck him. 

“Of course not,” he exclaims, a little too loudly. He bites his lip. A stray strand of silver falls over his eye. You ignore your urge to brush it away.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. You could never do anything to upset me. You're...”

Something in his tone simmers beneath your skin. It is breathy and hoarse, and you are reminded of the way he had moaned over your parted mouth as you grasped the bulge rising between you. Your skin throbs as your gaze drifts over the fullness of his cupid’s bow, the hard curves of his chest, the shadowed dip between his legs. You swallow.

He whirls away from you, as if he can read your thoughts. It is your turn to clear your throat now, to stare into the campfire as your face burns and you battle against the images that flood you. When, without warning, he jumps up and bounds away, you do not have words. Rudeness is a trait you did not think Gale possessed. You sit, stunned, wondering what to do with yourself.

You are taken aback when he returns from his tent. He stoops and stumbles slightly as he takes a seat beside you, close enough that his scent of sandalwood and sweat sends your head spinning. With gentle deliberation, he places a basket in your lap. You marvel at the peaches that fill it, sunset-blushed and plump, ripe to bursting. 

“Gale,” you breathe. “What is this?”

He rubs at the back of his neck. “Forgive me… but I couldn’t help but overhear you and Lae'zel the other day.” His throat bobs, his crow’s feet crinkling. “You were telling her about the food you love most, so when I saw these peaches at the market, I couldn’t help but…”

It takes all of your self control not to throw your arms around him. You press a peach to your nose and close your eyes, breathing deeply, savouring its fragrance, sweeter than the sweetest wine. The tickle of its down, the feel of its flesh, firm and soft at the same time. A little gasp of joy escapes you.

When you open your eyes, he is smiling - beaming - at you. He looks away quickly.

“Thank you, Gale,” you manage. “This is incredibly generous. How can I ever repay you?”

He dips his head. There is the hint of an arched eyebrow, a sideways curl of his lips, as his dark eyes flicker back to yours.

“Your pleasure… is all I desire.”

For a while, you simply look at him, speechless from relief, beauty, gratitude, yearning. The air around you is taut to snapping, the space between your bodies at once too much and too little. You open your mouth and sink your teeth into the peach in your hand. It bursts into a spurt of nectar, coating your lips and chin and fingers, sticky and smooth on your skin. You let out a small moan.

He trembles. A purple haze flares as your tongue follows the trail of juice winding down your fingers, catching the drips on your wrist. You lick your lips as he watches, still and rapt. Laid bare.

You hold the bitten peach out to him, an unspoken offering. He hesitates for an eternal moment before he leans forward, bathing you in his indigo glow. 

He holds your gaze as he bites down.

*****

Liked this fic? Check out my other work

[novemberheart]

{overview} Kyle wakes up

{warnings} fem reader, a/b/o dynamics, poly 141, short chapter, ghostsoap

Chapter 28 <- Chapter 29 -> Chapter 30

John had rubbed your back till you fell asleep again.

Not that you stayed asleep. Your eyes fluttered open, raw and sore. You peered over at Kyle. You feel like his anesthesia should've worn off by now. Has anyone even come to check on him?

“Gazza,” you mumbled softly. You pressed your lips against the bruise forming under his cheek. He didn't even twitch. You rubbed your eyes, carefully pulling yourself out of bed. You grabbed your phone, your hand resting against Johnny’s shoulder from where he slept on the floor.

“Yes, Bonnie?” he gasped awake, his hands held onto your thighs. He thought you were upset. You were, but that wasn't why you had woken him.

“I’m going to the bathroom. I want to find a nurse or doctor or something too,” you explained, your fingers straightening the sloppy bits of his mohawk. He yawned, nodding his head in agreement. He placed a kiss against your stomach before moving to get up. His back snapped as he stretched.

“Alright, peaches,” he sighed. “Thank you for waking me,” he added, giving your bottom a slight pat. “We’ll be back,” he said over his shoulder to the alpha who was just starting the sit up himself. Your eyes burned at the light from the hall, Johnny's hand resting above your brow to block it.

“Mac, this is the mens room,” you mumbled. Even through your squinting, you could see that.

“Aye, I have to go too. Don't worry I won’t let anything happen,” he affirmed. You shrugged, glad it was empty. You came out of the stall, trying your hardest not to look over at Johnny as you washed your hands.

A man entered. A big one. You could see his shadow moving behind you and you quickly kept your eyes trained on your hands. He took a few steps towards you and your head snapped over to Johnny wondering why he hadn't said anything.

You saw Simon’s reflection in the mirror. You squealed, not bothering to dry your hands, spinning on your heels. He grunted as you threw yourself at him, his hands gripping your sides as he hoisted you up.

“You lost, pup?” he grunted, letting you lift his mask and kiss at whatever skin you could reach. Johnny chuckled, pushing the two of you out of the way so he could wash his hands.

“That’s new,” you murmured against his jaw. He had a large, angry bruise where his jaw and neck met. You could feel him shiver. He hummed in agreement, pressing a firm kiss against your chin.

“Just a scratch,” he grumbled, nipping at your cheek. “Got a fever, pup,” he tsked, almost disapprovingly. His arm extended out, his hand resting against Johnny’s shoulder pulling the man towards him. Your mouth fell open as theirs collided. It was rough and needy and you forgot how to breathe just watching them. It was short, a string of saliva connecting them as they pulled away. Johnny swiped it away with his tongue. They turned to you, evil smirks on both their lips. They kissed your cheek softly, a mean comparison to how they were just acting. Simon didn't bother to set you down, carrying you back down the hall.

“Makin’ your beta better?” Simon asked, jostling you a bit. Your eyes grew wet suddenly, making him sigh. “S’alright, pup. The doctor says he’ll be fine. You're just here to speed up the process a bit so he doesn't hurt as long,” he soothed. You felt heavier in his arms, the weight of the pack on your shoulders. That wasn't for you to carry. It was his and John’s responsibility.

The room wasn't as dark before, John had turned on a soft lamp he had found somewhere. The machine was beeping faster than before. You tried to wiggle out of Simon's grasp and he let you.

“His heart rate picked up,” John spoke, his hand resting over his face. “I called a nurse. Should be here soon.”

Kyle's fever was back. His skin had lost its warm glow, and it would've looked cold to the touch of it were it not for the sheen of sweat covering his skin. You gained some hope when he started to twitch. It started with his good foot, then his fingers, the muscles on his face quickly following.

He didn't wake up.

Your hand reached out, your fingers tangling with his as you knelt on the bed. You swore you could hear him gasp, his body relaxing almost instantly.

“Kyky?” you questioned softly. You looked behind you at John, whose eyes were wavering back and forth between the two of you.

“Where’s the bloody nurse,” he growled, making his way out of the room.

“Stop holdin’ back,” Simon instructed, nodding his head downwards. You did as you were told, your cheek resting against Kyle’s shoulder. You breathed in his scent, a high whine leaving your throat. You couldn’t stop yourself this time. Your arms wrapping around his chest as you buried your face into the crook of his neck. Your legs tangled around his good one as you sobbed quietly against him. “That’s what he needs,” Simon grunted. Simon’s large hand rested against the back of your neck, giving you an encouraging squeeze. “Needs a push to wake up,” Simon continued.

Simon had been in Kyle's shoes before. Granted, at the time you hadn't known him yet, but he remembers what it was like to be trapped inside his body without being able to escape. He could hear everything, smell everything yet he had no way to express it. Kyle was trying. Trying to show that he was there and would be fine. All Kyle needed was a little push from you to gain the energy to come out of it.

It was what had woken Simon up that first day. The smell of you had infiltrated his brain, turning it into mush besides one lingering thought.

Wake up.

“His heart rate is goin’ down,” Johnny breathed a slight tremor in his own body. Simon shushed you gently, you growing restless from not receiving any comfort from Kyle. “Johnny get in next to her,” he commanded, his hand gripping his shoulder. Johnny obeyed, gladly cuddling up behind you. You sniffled harshly, your eyes peering at his over Kyle’s shoulder. He winced, his heart twisting painfully in his chest.

“It's alright,” was all Johnny could manage, his thumb brushing under your eye. Johnny didn't stay there for long, the nurse came back into the room.

“He’s responding?” she asked. You refused to pull your face away.

“When she leaves. Started twitchin’,” Simon explained.

“He was mumblin’ something too. Couldn't make it out though. Sounded a bit like your name though sweetheart,” John added. You gasped your head snapping over to meet his.

“Really?” you begged. John nodded his head, an affirming lift in his cheeks.

“That’s fairly common,” the nurse spoke. “He could tell you were gone and was trying to figure out where you were,” she explained. You tried not to feel any less special, curling your head under his chin. “Everything seems to be back to normal. Next time you plan on leaving let me know,” she sighed, patting the edge of the bed.

You couldn't go back to sleep. You requested Johnny curl up in bed with you. It hadn't helped.

“I need you to wake up,” you whispered. Your fingers danced over Kyle’s cheek, the skin twitching under the feathery touches. “I know you hear me. You'd probably smirk if you could,” you huffed. Despite that, you pressed a kiss against his cheek, which was probably feeling a bit raw with how little your lips had left it. When you pulled away you noticed the soft curve of his lips. “I knew it,” you grumbled with a relieved smile on your face.

His eyes fluttered open.

You wanted to squeal but you kept your mouth shut. You wanted a few moments with him alone.

“I missed you,” you murmured. Another soft smile graced his face. He leaned his forehead closer to yours, urging you to come closer. You rested your head between his and the pillow. “Are you hurt? Do you want me to go get a nurse?” you questioned, already beginning to pull away. He made a noise that sounded a bit like a strangled whine.

“Just you,” he croaked. Your body felt warm as you cuddled back up against him. “Price?” He groaned.

“He’s on the floor sleeping,” you explained softly. You felt his body relax. “Mac is here too,” you spoke, lifting the hand that was splayed across Kyle’s chest. “And Simon is hunting down breakfast somewhere,” you finished. You purred softly, breathing him in. His chest rumbled for a moment before he stopped himself, a small wince on his face.

“You were saying how much you missed me?” Kyle urged, making you roll your eyes.

“Would you like me to keep going?” You hummed. He hummed in agreement, a soothing warmth spreading through his chest.

You babbled on for a few moments. Taking a bit of pride when his heart rate picked up from your words.

“Food,” Simon grunted, entering the room again. His eyes softened when they met Kyle’s. “I’ll go get a nurse,” he murmured, his knuckles brushing over Kyle’s forehead. Your heart warmed at the interaction. As Simon left he patted John awake.

“You alright?” He asked instantly, his hands gripping onto the railing of the bed.

“Never better,” Kyle croaked, making you giggle. John rolled his eyes, his lips resting against Kyle’s hairline.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his jaw clenching. You bit your lip, adjusting yourself slowly so you were facing Johnny in an attempt to give them some privacy.

“Not your fault,” Kyle said slowly, his voice cracking. “Things happen,” he finished with a clear of his throat.

“Just came out of nowhere,” John sighed. “I-I,” he started. He couldn’t find the words. The feeling you get from watching a vehicle in front of you flip three times, knowing one of your greatest loves was in there without so much as a seatbelt was hard to put in words. “We’ll take care of you now,” John promised. “That situation has already been handled.” That sent a shiver up your spine. You knew first hand what John's idea of “handling” was. Yet if it was aimed at someone who deliberately hurt Kyle- you wouldn’t oppose it.

“I trust you,” Kyle groaned softly. You felt lips skim the back of your neck and you turned back over so you were cheek to cheek with Kyle. A happy rumble echoed through him before he cut himself off.

Simon reemerged with a nurse.

Hi everyone! Hope you enjoyed this short chapter! See you in four days for chapter 30!!!! Ahhhh! 🧡

[feyascorner]

at the end of the day

summary. you and astarion have your first genuine fight and the other companions try to patch things between the two of you.

warnings. comfort/fluff

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

a/n. have not written an actual one-shot in a while omg,...

Breakfast is eaten in silence. One that's been extending far past its welcome date now.

Shadowheart grips her fork, feeling the flitting glances exchanged amongst the others around the table while she maintains focus on the two individuals sitting on opposite sides of the table. Your eyes remain trained on the bread sitting on your plate and Astarion swirls his chalice aimlessly in his hand, neither of you even acknowledging the presence of the other. The cleric grimaces as you stand suddenly, your chair scraping against the floor as you do so.

"Thanks for the food, Gale," is all you mutter before leaving the room with your plate in hand. Astarion rises from his own chair in an instant, huffing.

"I must take my leave as well."

When both parties have left the room, all five other companions stare at one another in a knowing silence. Lae'zel is the only one who doesn't seem the slightest bothered. Wyll is the one to break the uncomfortable tension in the air, clearing his throat after Lae'zel nearly bites her fork off. "I see they're still amidst their lovers' quarrel."

"What are they even fighting about?" Karlach groans, slumping into her chair with an exasperated groan.

"It was nice the first few days to have a good night's sleep without their incessant noises," Shadowheart grumbles, shoving an egg into her mouth. "But now, this is arguable worse."

"Should we...aid them somehow?" Gale blinks.

Lae'zel snorts. "They're adults, we don't need to coddle them, wizard."

Despite her words, they do find themselves a few hours later in unanimous agreement to do something to ease the unfamiliar dryness of the camp dynamic. It comes in multiple attempts. And to say few---if not all--were unsuccessful, is an understatement.

First, when out in the woods, Gale makes an effort to spark a conversation that would prompt both you and Astarion to join in. You nod occasionally, though lost in thought, while Astarion promptly ignores whatever he's talking about. It's a pathetic attempt that has nobody but himself babbling away, which earns a grunt from Shadowheart. It's enough to shut him up, thankfully.

Second, Karlach uses her uncanny ability to lift someone's spirits. Jokes, dancing, all that jazz. Even booze. She urges you to let loose, but all you do in response is smile at her apologetically while Astarion just glares off into space. Another failed attempt. Lae'zel pats Karlach on the shoulder.

Wyll tells stories of his monster hunting days which you usually take an interest in. Astarion naturally listens to what a monster hunter does when he's not hunting monsters, but that's all it is. You and Astarion only listen. There are quips and lingering questions, but neither of you ever direct it at one another, or bother to add into the conversation either. The sheer amount of teasing questions has Wyll's head spinning by the end of it. Lae'zel rolls her eyes.

Just when things couldn't possibly get any worse, you're ambushed. It's a small horde of goblins---nothing beyond your capabilities, but your companions do take some small scratches here and there. Somehow, though he rarely does, as he prefers staying behind you or Karlach, Astarion does too. And despite his efforts to hide it behind his back, you also didn't miss the cut lining Astarion's arm to his elbow. It's not deep by any means, and if it were your own injury, you'd likely just brush it off.

But it's on his skin, and he'd gotten it when taking a hit from an arrow that should've cut your arm.

Blasted hells, you think, as he shrugs it off. Even when you can clearly see him clenching his jaw to bite away the pain.

If battle won't be the end of you, you're sure your idiot of a boyfriend might be instead.

"Come here, you fool," you mutter, holding out your hand. He doesn't even consider the fact that you're mad at one another and immediately extends his arm to you. Habits, you suppose.

You mumble out a weak scolding as he watches you wrap the wound through his lashes. He shivers as you lather a cool ointment on the cut, hoping it's enough to soothe the pain before Shadowheart's recovered enough to properly heal him. He lifts a pale hand to your face, and for a moment, you think he might pinch you. Instead, he runs a thumb across your cheek, spreading the ointment on a scratch you hadn't even realized was there in the first place.

You meet his eyes, your own softening as he cups his fingertips around your cheek. The way he looks at you is overwhelming sometimes---like you're the only thing he gives a damn about in this world---but it's a welcome feeling when he hasn't even looked you in the eye this way in days now. For a moment, you realize you don't even remember why the two of you were mad at one another in the first place.

A laugh threatens to escape your throat. How childish, truly.

And then he flicks your forehead, unable to help the grin etching onto his lips when you blink in surprise.

"That was for making me sleep by myself for three nights."

You swat at his arm while he dodges each of your lazy attempts to get back at him. And though the two of you continue bickering, unbeknownst to you, you have an audience a good bit away, watching you return to your old ways after making them worry for so long.

"What a sight it is--to see young people in love again," Wyll smiles.

Shadowheart deadpans. "Isn't Astarion nearing 240?"

"Who cares?" Karlach shrugs, slinging her arms on either side of her companions with a toothy beam. "What matters is that they made up...and we didn't even have to help them."

[illyrianbitch]

Of Our Own Devices — Part Five

For @erisweekofficial Day 5: War

Pairing: Reader x Eris

Summary: Since the moment he first tasted hatred, Eris Vanserra has harbored one relentless goal: to rid the world of his father. Now, the time has come to wage the war he's been preparing for his entire life—the war against his own blood.

Warnings: well... death, violence, cruelty, injury, mentions of animal abuse, animal death, mentions of child/spouse abuse. basically, we go into eris's mind as he kills beron.

Word Count: 5.1k

authors note: i'm not a huge fan of long fight scenes, so here is my spin on one. i thought it was important to show that wars are not only won on battlefields. this might be one of my most favorite writings.

Part Four | Part Six

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Eris knew that war wasn’t just physical; it was mental, political, emotional. He was a curious child, indeed. A collector. He'd collected secrets, absorbed the hatred and indifference around him like an animal adapting to its environment.

It taught him every skill he held dear. 

Eris was skilled in combat, of course. He'd trained himself to be. He fantasized about killing his father with his own hands, dreamt of watching the life leave him, longed for the feeling of his father's power draining into his own veins. But he knew this war would, inevitably, be won another way.

He understood that true victory was achieved through subtler means. That with the right words, with the right plan, you could convince a foe to destroy himself before you ever laid a hand on him. 

Eris scanned the room, his gaze sweeping across his men. They were scattered, blending seamlessly among the guests, but each one met his eyes the moment they felt his attention. Subtle nods. A flicker of recognition in their eyes. They were ready—every one of them, waiting for his signal, prepared to do whatever was necessary. 

Without needing to turn his head, Eris could feel the weight of Rhysand’s gaze on him, the High Lord's presence nearly tangible, a suffocating pressure that seemed to reverberate in his mind. As much as Eris hated to acknowledge it, to feed into his inflated ego, Rhysand's power pulsed like an unseen echo.  His father feared it for good reason, hid his fear through disdain, through disgust.

 Eris had seen Tarquin in another far corner. He’d managed to sway the young High Lord, convincing him that his rule was inevitable, promising that he could prove himself where his Father had faltered. He'd seen something in Eris's eyes. And somehow, it had worked.

Spring was absent, as expected. Tamlin had yet to appear in any event, had yet to return to his proper existence. Eris knew he should feel some semblance of empathy, that he should feel for a fellow male wronged by the cards dealt, a male who made errors under the presumption of the greater good. But he didn't.

 Winter was also absent—Vivianne had blocked any chance of their participation, had convinced Kallias to flee in haste and not spare a moment for the princeling. Eris had anticipated this, of course, had known that Mor’s influence would weaken his alliances in certain courts.

He had worked with Helion, though it had taken time and effort to even secure a meeting. Eris attributed Helion’s openness to Rhysand’s ability to balance his hatred for Eris with his vision of a stronger, united Prythian. Even he was shrewd enough to recognize that. 

Now, Helion stood poised and ready, a few feet from Rhysand, his eyes scanning the crowd as if he were searching for something specific, seeking for something he had yet to find. Dawn was unable to attend, but Thesan seemed more open to Eris's words, seemed willing to hear him out despite his presentation the last time he was in his court, his words during the High Lord meeting. 

It was enough.  

Because Eris wasn't relying solely on them.

His alliances were tools for strength and backup, sources of power he lacked himself—like the ability to cloud the minds of those who might intervene.  But other than that, Eris believed in his own abilities, believed in his rage even more.

The moment he had been preparing for his entire life had finally arrived. Every piece was moving exactly where he needed them to be.

Except for you.

Eris’s jaw tightened as his gaze fell on you once more. You hadn’t moved since the dance, your eyes still locked on him. He should have known better. 

His heart pounded harder in his chest. 

He almost growled in frustration, willing you to leave. Begging you, silently, to turn away, to walk out of the room before things spiraled further. But you didn’t move. You stood there, defiant as ever, and he knew in his bones that you wouldn’t leave him—not tonight, not ever, maybe. It was a comfort and a curse all at once, and he hated himself for expecting you to be anything but exactly what you always were: stubborn, unshakable, and entirely unwilling to leave him at surface level.

Eris thought he would've convinced you to leave, that you would've left the ball and never looked back.

He wanted you to give up on him. 

Well, perhaps wanted wasn't the right word. He needed you to give up on him. But the conversation of tonight had steered a different way, he'd felt a tug in chest, a longing to say something to you that you would hold onto. He wanted to make things right if this night didn't go as he had planned. Just in case. 

His hands clenched into fists, anger simmering under his skin. It wasn’t directed at you—no, it was at himself. For dragging you into this, for wanting you there even now when he should have been protecting you, not keeping you in the line of fire. His thoughts raced, but before he could find a way to fix this—to get you out of here—Beron's voice cut through the room.

“Thank you all for joining us this evening.” Beron’s voice carried a chilling glee as he addressed the assembly, his dull, dead gaze sweeping across the gathered guests. “Your presence here is both an honor and a testament to our shared interests.” 

Eris resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

His father stepped down from his throne, his movements slower than usual, though not without their characteristic arrogance. With a subtle struggle masked by his usual flair, Beron flicked his wrist, summoning long banquet tables in a grand, sweeping motion.

Eris knew what to expect—the feast was an integral part of the Autumn Equinox ball, a hallmark of Beron’s gatherings and a grotesque display of excess. It wasn’t just about wealth; it was Beron’s way of reminding everyone of his power. The elaborate food and endless wine were symbols of his dominance, meant to impress, to intimidate. Everything served had its own twisted meaning, every bite meant to feed not only the stomachs of his guests but Beron’s insatiable ego.

“Let this night be remembered,” Beron said, a thin smile creeping over his lips, “For it is not just a feast, but a celebration—a dedication.”

His eyes finally settled on Eris. “To my eldest son, my heir," He drawled, his voice mocking. “So powerful, isn’t he? Could stand here—just like me.”

The room fell into a hushed confusion. From the corner of his eye, Eris noticed Rhysand and Feyre exchange a subtle glance. Then he took notice of the slightest of movements from his men and Beron’s guards alike, their hands inching towards the hilts of their swords. 

“Why don’t you step forward? Take a seat." Beron’s grin sharpened as he gestured toward the throne looming behind him. "Tell me, is it warm enough for you?”

Eris didn't move. There was something in his father's eyes that unnerved him more than usual, something that prickled at his skin. Eris wanted to turn and look at you, wanted to find some feeling of comfort. He resisted the urge, resisted as he had for centuries. 

Even Eris’s brothers seemed to sense the sinister glint in Beron’s eyes, stepping aside from their usual positions, retreating from his throne and his shadow. Their movements were hesitant, almost apologetic, but they did not challenge Beron or attempt to shield Eris. Instead, they distanced themselves, as they often did.

Eris felt a sharp pang of betrayal. It was expected, of course, but it hurt him still. He had loved them, raised them, spent countless hours teaching them how to hold a sword, how to pet a hound— shared with them the fragments of compassion he had left. 

If Beron chose to make a move against him now, if he decided to execute him as he had done to others, as he had done to Lucien’s first love, Eris knew his brothers would not intervene. They would not rise to his defense. They would, instead, hold him down, their faces betraying no sign of conflict or hesitation. The years of affection and teaching he had given them would simply vanish, be replaced by a cold compliance that made them unrecognizable.

Eris didn’t loathe them for their cruelty. He understood their desire for acceptance, their need to survive in the oppressive shadow of their father. They weren’t as strong as he was—that was a fact Eris had long since accepted. But he did harbor a certain resentment, a bitterness reserved for those who shared his blood, for their spinelessness. It was a raw, bitter hatred born of disappointment, for they had succumbed to the very weakness he had fought to overcome.

Yet, deep down, Eris knew that hatred was unfair.  They weren't as strong as he was. They had found safety, a semblance of life, in aligning themselves with Beron, in becoming mere extensions of his will. They were each equally awful, equally numb, void of the personality and warmth that once marked their youth.

His heart ached when he reflected on it too long, when he looked at the males before him and saw only shadows of their younger selves—reminders of who they might have been before Beron had shaped them into tools of his power.

Beron’s lips twisted. “Seems like you’re stuck. Not enough energy? Don’t have the appetite?” His voice took on a mocking softness. With a sudden cruel smile, he motioned for the feast to be revealed. “Perhaps you need something to satiate you.”

Eris felt his stomach twist, but it didn't show on his face, didn't show in his stature. He’d perfected it over the years, that calm, amused mask. Yet beneath it, something churned—something he couldn’t name.

And then the reveal came.

With a nod of Beron's head, attendants moved swiftly to unveil the centerpiece of the feast.

The array of food was lavish, an impressive display of excess. But as the cover was lifted, a collective gasp rippled through the room, followed by a collective step back. Eris’s hearing fuzzed, his breath catching in his throat as a wave of despair crashed over him.

There, displayed as if it were the grandest prize of the night, was one of his hounds. One of the first he had ever raised, ever loved. The animal stared back at him, its body bound, gagged with an apple.

Slain and displayed as a macabre trophy. 

The sight sent a shudder through the room, a sense of disgust even reaching the eyes of Beron's soldiers, of the males standing around the room. 

And clearly, like a piercing alarm in the dead of night, Eris could hear your voice—a sound of horror, of sadness—interwoven with his own, as if your emotions were etched into his own heartbeat. But now only anger consumed him. He saw red.

Beron wallowed in the shock, bathed in it like a pig in mud. 

“My dear son, so arrogant, so ready to take my place. I hear the chatter.” He gestured disdainfully toward the hound. “What a shame that your beloved playthings aren’t immune to the cost of defiance.”

Eris took a deep breath. 

“You’ve spent your entire life preparing for this," Beron walked over to two of his guards. They presented him with two ornate swords. “How satisfying it must be to finally face your grand plan.”

He turned and threw a sword at Eris’s feet, the blade skidding across the floor with a clatter.

“Pick it up,” Beron commanded. “If you’re so eager to prove yourself, then do it properly. Give your court a show.”

Eris’s gaze followed the sword. While Eris knew he didn't need to fight to win, he wasn't going to miss out on a bit of fun, wasn't going to resist his chance to decorate himself in his father's blood before his plan came to fruition. He felt eerily calm, felt strangely numb, as he bent down to retrieve the weapon, feeling its weight settle into his hand.

The first time Beron had struck Eris with true malice, he had been no older than sixteen. Instead of the usual heavy hand, Beron had chosen a different method of discipline that day. 

He had targeted something deeper—something soft.

Eris was still young at the time, but old enough to have developed a bond with his hounds, creatures he had raised and trained with care. Only one of his brothers had been born at this time, too young to understand his affection for the animals, but Eris—Eris had always felt responsible, protective. He'd been the one to fight for them in the first place, had managed to summon the courage to convince his father they were useful, needed for the Court. 

It was a simple mistake during hunting, on a trip Beron had granted them all to take. Eris had let the hounds range too far ahead, and when one of them startled a stag too soon, Beron saw red. Instead of turning his fury on Eris immediately, he called for the hound.

Eris’s stomach had dropped when he saw his father’s eyes narrow, his jaw clenching in that way that signaled violence was coming. But it wasn’t for Eris—yet.

Without hesitation, Beron grabbed the dog by the scruff and brought his hand down with a sickening crack across the hound’s side. The sound of bone snapping and the sharp yelp that followed was enough to freeze Eris in place, horror clawing at his chest.

“Your mistake,” Beron had snarled, glancing at Eris as the hound crumpled to the ground, whimpering. “It’s only fair it pays the price.”

Eris had wanted to run to the animal, to shield it, to beg his father to stop, but Beron’s gaze had pinned him in place. The message was clear: any sign of weakness would only make things worse.

“That’s the thing about care,” Beron continued, voice calm, detached. “It makes you vulnerable. Weak. Never let them see.”

Eris's weakness wasn’t something entirely physical—it was the things he loved, the things he couldn’t afford to lose. He was sixteen and wanted to be great. He was sixteen and loved his family. But he knew, then and there, that Beron would never hesitate to use those things against him.

So Eris learned to mask it all, to bury the things he cared for deep beneath a layer of cold indifference. He learned to find the weaknesses in others and use them before they could be turned against him.

Find the thing that makes them vulnerable, Eris collected, and exploit it until they're weak. 

Beron’s vices had been his easiest prey— his pride, his paranoia. 

Beron was already acting out of fear, already on edge. He was quick to draw his sword, quick to make rash decisions. Who could blame him, Eris thought, after he’d come across those letters? He could still feel the seething anger, remember the way Beron’s face had twisted as he read those messages from his high-ranking officials, his allies.

They spoke of Beron’s incompetence, of their desire to betray him. It was so convenient how Eris’s brothers had intercepted those letters, so strangely timed that they ended up exactly where Beron would find them on that fateful night.

Beron had been so angry, so furious, that he hadn’t realized the writing in the letters carried Eris’s careful hand. The curve of the a’s, the dotting of the i’s. Eris hadn’t even fully attempted to hide it. It was a fun little game.

The first strike came fast, Beron’s sword flashing in the dim light as it clashed with Eris’s blade. The impact rattled up Eris’s arm, but he held steady, his face betraying nothing. His father advanced again, faster, more aggressive, but Eris met him blow for blow.

“You think you can stand against me?” Beron spat, swinging again. His strikes were wild, reckless, fueled by a rage that had long since burned out of control. “You think you can take what’s mine?”

Eris sidestepped the blow. “I think you’ve already lost it,” he said, parrying another strike. The blade sliced through a thin layer of skin on his father's arm, the fine fabric soaking up a pool of crimson. Beron’s lips curled in a snarl. The blows were becoming harder, less controlled. 

“Ungrateful whelp,” he hissed, “After everything I’ve given you, everything I’ve done.”

“Done to me,” Eris corrected, as his blade deflected another attack. The steel met his father's skin once more. 

He could feel the fury rising, could see the cracks forming in Beron’s controlled facade. Every swing was growing sloppier. Eris bit back a grin. 

Beron’s face twisted with rage, his teeth bared. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Playing your little games, whispering in the shadows.”

Eris didn’t flinch. His eyes locked on his father’s, unblinking, steady. “I learned from the best.”

As expected, Beron was desperate to prove his strength, his dominance. His face reddened, the veins in his neck bulging as he swung wildly. 

He kept his soldiers at bay, clearly wanting the court to witness him vanquish his son with his own hands, to send a powerful message. But as the fight wore on and Beron’s frustration mounted, Eris could see the flicker of temptation in his father’s eyes, the near impulse to call upon his troops.

Beron would be sorely surprised if he made the call. 

Eris briefly registered the movement of a few of his men, clad in his rich green colors, subtly inching closer to Beron’s soldiers. They didn’t advance to engage, no, but shared a knowing look with a few of the crimson-clad guards.

Before his brothers were born, Eris played often with his mother. She taught him countless games—strategy and thought alike. It was during those moments that Eris learned the most dangerous moves were the ones no one saw coming. He realized that the easiest games were often played with those unaware of the parts they were playing. At school, he could win every game if he hid just enough of the truth, allowing his tutors to think they knew the rules, when they didn’t know half of it.

Infiltration had been a long game. 

It had taken Eris years, centuries, to meticulously cultivate and train the right individuals. It was thanks to him, whether his father acknowledged it or not, that Beron's men were stronger than ever. His newest soldiers, only a couple hundred of years old, had risen swiftly in rank, filling positions of power precisely when Beron needed them most. They emerged just as Beron’s senior troops had fallen ill of a strange form of Autumn Fever. The healers had said it came with the weakened state of soldiers, that their bodies were too tired to fight off such potent infections. Their weakened state created an opportune void. 

The new recruits had seamlessly integrated, even believing themselves to be loyal supporters of Beron. Eris had been careful with them, had played the part of a helpful heir. They were eager for power, viewing their positions as a win-win—high-ranking regardless of whatever outcome. Eris had demonstrated his own worth, had shown his influence by granting them such positions. Without even trying, he'd earned their loyalty, ensured they had no reason to doubt him. 

They remained loyal to their benefactor. 

After all, everyone wanted to feel like they'd be on the winning side. 

The clashing of steel and the cries of combat filled the room. Eris felt the sting of a fresh wound on his side, a searing pain that only seemed to heighten his sense of power. He fought through the pain.

In the chaos, a fleeting thought crossed his mind—he hoped, with a fervent intensity, that you weren’t watching. That you had found a place to hide, tucked away safely from the brutality of the scene. The notion that you might be witnessing this carnage, seeing him in his raw, bloody glory, gnawed at him. 

He pushed the thoughts away. He couldn’t afford distractions now.

There was a time and a place for them. Because sometimes, distractions— disruptions— were useful. They could turn tides. 

The mercenaries were easy to hire. 

They didn't ask questions, didn't question the gold they were handed. Eris truly believed, deep in his core, that they found it fun, found enjoyment in creating chaos in the court's infrastructure. He was sure it was cathartic for them, therapeutic for these court outsiders to ruin the place they despised, to be paid to do so of all things. 

The acts, though not catastrophic, were enough to inconvenience Beron, to create issues in his supply lines. All of the small riots, the court disturbances—each one had begun to eat away at his composure, had begun to sow seeds of doubt. The constant irritation of these minor upheavals fueled his rage. It angered him to think that his lower-court members, the very people who had sworn loyalty to him, would dare to believe they could challenge his authority. In his mind, it was an affront to his pride. Beron was driven to prove himself repeatedly, to show that he was still the supreme ruler, to assert his dominance even more cruelly than before.

Eris moved with a grace that belied the savage intensity of the fight. If this fight, this moment with his father, were a symphony,  Eris was its masterful conductor. Precise, deadly. With a swift maneuver, he brought his blade to Beron’s neck, the tip dangerously close to ending the High Lord’s reign.

Beron’s eyes widened, a flicker of fear momentarily breaking through his usual composure.

As Eris had suspected, Beron's need to reassert control following the disturbances had led him to become increasingly harsh and unforgiving, to become the cruelest version of himself.  It wasn’t just the overt displays of cruelty; at times, even Beron’s own loyal men were visibly taken aback by the severity of his punishments. The once-feared High Lord now seemed to revel in his own brutality, meting out harsh reprisals for the smallest perceived slights. 

Citizens of the Autumn Court had begun to pray fervently for change.

Eris took note of their desperation. He began to frequent churches and visit temples more often, subtly goading the very prayers that begged for relief from Beron's tyranny. He felt a pang of guilt for the suffering inflicted on those innocent fae who bore the brunt of Beron’s cruelty. The weight of their pain was not lost on him. 

But their suffering was a necessary sacrifice for a greater cause. The freedom of all, the chance to redeem the Autumn Court from the grip of a tyrant, to restore his own tarnished name. 

Eris’s sword was struck from his hand with an almost too-easy motion, as if he had allowed it to happen, had planned for it. But Beron didn't notice, didn't think too much of the act as his grin widened. 

He examined the blade of his sword. Then, with a dismissive flick, he tossed the sword near where Eris’s lay, the clatter echoing through the chamber.

"My son," Beron sneered. "Let me show you how a real ruler fights."

He took a step forward. The crowd took a step back. And then, Beron threw a heavy punch at his son, the impact so forceful that Eris swore he heard a crack. As Eris staggered, Beron’s demeanor shifted, his mockery giving way to raw aggression. He moved in and began to deliver a relentless series of blows. 

There had been a point where Eris feared he might have undermined himself, might have jeopardized his plans. A moment where Beron confronted him, unevenly calm, about his meetings with Night Court trash. When he'd unleashed a fierce punishment in response to his alliance with Briallyn falling.

Beron had seen Eris for what he truly was: a significant threat. 

Beron was not stupid. 

But he was easily distracted, easily provoked. The more Beron’s attention was consumed by rage and suspicion, the less he could focus on the real threats closing in around him. Eris had shown submission, a form of fear, and his father's attention shifted to other alleged wrongdoings, other supposed acts of treachery.

Beron’s fists hammered into Eris with unrelenting force, each punch landing with a sickening thud. Eris’s world narrowed to the sharp pain with each strike. His father was monstrous now, uneased at how quickly his son seemed to fall. 

When Eris finally fell to his knees, he was barely conscious of the cold floor beneath him. His father's grip on his neck was ironclad, dragging him upright. He felt the trickle of his own blood mingling with the sweat on his face, the warm, metallic taste filling his mouth.

Through every blow, Eris's cheeked ached with the desire to smile. 

As a child, Eris had seen eager men tear each other apart in brutal brawls, rage consuming them entirely. He had watched with cold fascination as he stirred up hidden snakes beneath fallen leaves, prodding them into a vicious battle. He'd seen them strike and coil, each one consumed by its own fury.

He realized, even as a child, that the evil eat their own.

 All he needed to do was provoke them and step back.

Beron's supporters were as simple as he could be. Animals led by their desires, by their emotions. It had been endlessly entertaining to create disunity between them. Each faction, desperate to curry favor and secure their own power, began to betray one another. The resulting chaos caused Beron to question everyone’s loyalty, leaving him isolated and paranoid. The more they scrambled with conflicting stories and accusations, the more Beron became convinced that everyone was deceiving him. They all suffered. They all fought.

Beron’s eyes blazed with fury as he picked up his forgotten sword and pointed the blade at Eris. 

"Fight back!"

But his son did not. 

Eris had exploited Beron’s vices with a precision that only years of calculated cruelty could achieve. He was observant, had to become his father to know how to defeat him. And one thing about Beron: he indulged. He was gluttonous to his core, carelessly so. 

Beron’s high-ranking members had wanted to gift him something of luxury—something they’d only heard whispers about, whispers that they couldn’t trace but were plentiful. Interesting how that worked, Eris mused, how easily rumors could spread. But everyone wanted to get into the High Lord’s favor, so they pursued it, presented it to Beron. He accepted it with greedy, sin-sticky hands.

Beron hadn’t wanted the faebane antidote, never had enough contact with the poison to recognize it—didn’t know what it tasted like, how to test for it. It helped that, over the years, the crafters of Prythian had become inventive, altering and manipulating it, infusing it into drinks that were delectable, even addictive. The gradual degradation of Beron’s grasp on reality only made his anger more volatile. Eris wondered how his father hadn’t noticed his deteriorating health, why he never questioned why his strength seemed to ebb or why his flame flickered erratically when summoned.

But Eris also understood. Beron’s pride prevented him from admitting any weakness, from seeking help. He was desperate to maintain an image of invulnerability. What good was a High Lord who couldn't handle his liquor? 

What good was a High Lord who grew sick? 

None at all.

Eris took another kick and the slash with a stoic defiance.

“This is your chance, boy. Take it. Take it before I rid you of your pathetic life.”

Eris’s response was a grim chuckle, his laughter punctuated by a spray of blood. His chest ached with every breath, yet he couldn’t stop the dark humor from spilling out. 

"I already have."

When Eris was nineteen, a male his age was stung by a bee. It was a seemingly inconsequential event—just a small, buzzing creature that landed on the boy’s skin. Yet, within hours, he was dead. The sting had triggered an allergic reaction so severe that the male's immortal body couldn’t cope.

In the aftermath, as Eris watched the reactions of those around him, he learned a profound lesson. The deadliest threats often come in the most unassuming forms, in the things that are overlooked—vital to life, but neglected nonetheless. 

Beron lunged forward, blade aimed straight for Eris, for the heart he often forgot he had.  But just as the weapon descended, Eris’s gaze shifted to something behind his father. Despite the searing pain, despite the specks forming in his eyesight, a smile managed to curve Eris's lips. 

A wave of pride, of relief, washed over him as he watched his mother—sweet, neglected, and unassuming—strike true, slicing through Beron's back with a smooth, lethal precision.

The force of the strike caused Beron to stagger, his blade’s path shifting, falling and cutting deep into a lower area of Eris’s abdomen. With his slackened grip, the blade fell from his father's hold. Eris grimaced as its weight dragged it out of his flesh, as it went clattering to the floor beside him.

His vision was clouded with pain, but he remained transfixed as his mother moved with a fierce grace. Her hand, now wreathed in bright, licking flames, grasped Beron’s throat. With the other, she twisted the blade deeper into his father’s body, the fire searing his neck.

Eris’s ears rang, drowning out all but the relentless drum of his heartbeat. Despite the chaos, he could make out his mother’s voice, the words crisp in the oppressive silence.

“This is for my children.” 

There was a sputtering sound from Beron, sick and wet, as the blade was twisted deeper. Eris felt a burning sensation, pain so overwhelming it took his breath, his vision blurring as the agony consumed him. It was beautiful and excruciating all at once.

He had never felt so alive, so broken at the same time. 

Beron’s body crumpled beside him with a lifeless thud. Eris blinked through the haze.

Around him, chaos erupted—people running, screaming, power crackling in the air. He strained to focus, his gaze drifting past Beron’s corpse, and through the chaos, he saw something glorious. 

An angel, perhaps. Something of breathtaking beauty. The glow around it, a song that called to him. Rushing toward him, screaming his name.

It was you.

 At least, he believed it was you.  Eris wasn’t sure anymore.

No, he managed to tell himself, it was you. He knew you. 

He knew you the way one knows the pull of the moon on the tide, the way his soul knew the other half of itself.

It was your voice, mingling with the din of madness, your voice that called to him. Eris wanted to close his eyes at the sound, to bask in the feelings it stirred. You fell to your knees beside him. 

He felt his mother’s hands on him, steady and warm.

Then, everything went black.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note: hi guys how did i do??? i just think the idea of a sneaky lil eris letting the people around him fall like dominos is sooo entertaining. i strongly do believe his rise to power will be rooted in SUCH small, calculated moves hes made around people.

a big thank you to my love @sarawritestories for reading this for me<3 mwuah

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@angel-graces-world-of-chaos

[jiveyuncle]

Keith cringes at the hiss of the bedroom door sliding open and the unforgiving hall light racing in to fill the darkness. Still, Lance doesn't stir from where he lays sprawled out across the mattress, hair mussed in the pillow and foot hanging off the edge. Keith feels a twinge of guilt at encroaching on his space as he slides his jacket off to hang on the coat rack next to Lance's.

It's not that Keith isn't welcome here - he knows he is. This little back and forth pattern of theirs has been going on long enough that these motions should be as easy as sliding into his own bed, but it's not. Instead, it makes his heart ache just that little bit more, makes the pit of his stomach open up to swallow his insides and leave him feeling empty even as Lance pushes into his space each time to fill it. Because the problem is Lance is comfortable with Keith. He's comfortable with Keith because he is comfortable with everyone. It's who Lance is. Inviting. Open. Caring. He gives himself freely. And after the first few times of bumping into each other wandering the ship in the middle of the night in hopes of exhausting themselves into sleep, then actually falling asleep on the common room couch next to each other only to wake up with achy necks, Lance started boldly dragging Keith to bed and holding him in place to prevent him from wandering until morning.

“There's no way I'm letting you in bed with your shoes on.” Lance mumbles. A precautionary hand appears from under the sheets and flops down over the blanket to ward off any attempts to climb under them.

Keith lets out a huff of air that's just light enough to be considered a laugh. “I was going to kick them off.”

“No, no. We're civilized. Put them away.” The hand guarding the covers lifts and shoos him towards the wardrobe before dropping lazily.

“I wake up before you. You won't even see them.” Keith argues even as he crosses the room to oblige. The cabinet to the wardrobe cries out in protest as he opens it, and Keith winces, yet again, at any sound that disturbs the peaceful quiet. He makes a mental note to bug Hunk for some oil to grease the noisy hinges. If he's going to start putting his shoes in here, it's going to need to be quieter.

“I tripped over them when I got up to piss last time.”

Keith smiles to himself as he slinks back over, Lance already peeling the sheets back to invite him in. Keith slides down into the space to lie on his back and has to fight the urge to swallow hard when Lance's arm lowers down with the covers over his chest and never draws back away. “You're awake?” he says instead.

Lance hums quietly. “Brain won't shut off. The usual stuff. I was actually thinking about heading your way before you showed up.” Lance peeks an eye open, squinting through the exhaustion in the dim light. “You came in day clothes.”

“Walked a couple laps around the ship first. Didn’t know I was coming over.”

Lance lifts his chin in the hint of a nod before letting his eye fall back shut. “Glad I waited, then.” His fingers tug lightly near the collar of Keith's shirt, fiddling with the fabric in the mindless way he does with anything he can get his hands on - sometimes it's a leaf plucked from foliage as they trek through forested pathways, sometimes it's a pen spinning endlessly between his fingers during long diplomatic negotiations, sometimes it's a spoon that never settles back on his plate even an hour after he's taken his last bite and the conversation is flowing, and other times it's Keith’s shirt or hair or fingers at 3am when neither of them can sleep and whatever tension that is sustained in the daylight slips away.

And, as always, it sends a mixture of unwanted hope and desire through Keith's veins that quickly burns away to leave guilt in its destructive wake.

This habit. This closeness.

It means something different to each of them, and it's getting harder and harder for Keith's heart to remember that.

Keith reaches up to still the moving fingers on his chest, but Lance's unquestioning thumb seamlessly, innocently, agonizingly slips up along the side of his hand to trace over his knuckles instead.

Keith controls his next exhale and tries to ignore the gentle movement, but his mind can’t help supplying a word with each tender pass of a thumb: maybe.

Maybe.

Maybe there’s a chance. Maybe these things don't mean something quite so different to Lance. Maybe, if Keith offers a hand, then warm fingers will be there to take it.

Maybe.

He doesn't move again until Lance's breaths deepen and the soft brushes eventually slow to a stop.

When Keith rises in the morning, he bypasses the squeaky wardrobe, tugs on his jacket, and slides out into the hallway with only his socks to fight off the chill of the castleship floors from seeping into his feet. The warmth of a decision burns in his ribs as Keith settles into his lion 20 minutes later to start the early journey out to pick up a member of the Blade. Red senses the change, and a growl of approval rumbles through their bond, deep and affectionate and proud.

Keith’s mouth twitches up at the corner. He sends back his appreciation.

Dead Keith/Red Paladin Lance AU (Part 4/?)

Too bad he came to that decision a little late. Now, he’s kinda stuck not wanting to initiate something that he can no longer start.

Excited for y’all to spot where little nods to this snippet pop up in future chapters.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

You can now read this on AO3 as:

Empty Spaces You Left Behind

[revelboo]

Everything is Alright Pt 14

Soundwave x Reader- company

• It’s almost maddening, the chaos in that little, organic head of yours. The hurt and frustration that he can’t shut out. While Soundwave doesn’t know exactly what happened that night, he’d felt the immediate shift in you. And it’s worse now as he lets himself into Starscream’s quarters, those intrusive thoughts snaring him. Exhausting him. Wounding.

• His gift, his curse, makes it impossible to not know when something’s wrong. Mostly, he just needs to know if whatever storm is brewing is just a little squall or a hurricane. This isn’t anything major. He shouldn’t care. You’re Starscream’s pet. Or maybe project? Who knew, but the SIC isn’t faring much better. And he’s taking his frustration and anger out on everyone he can. Which is a problem for morale.

• You don’t bother looking up as Soundwave enters and approaches the desk. He lays a single servo on top of your head before shifting it to ever so carefully bop you on the nose, somehow not breaking it in the process. You still jerk back in surprise, eyes narrowing as you stare up at his visor, your own scowling, unkempt self glaring back in the reflection. Oh. Do you really look that rough? Turning your back on him so you won’t give in to the urge to use his visor as a mirror and try to finger comb your hair, you stiffen when he picks you up and sets you on the floor.

• And you can’t help but look at his huge peds. Starscream always keeps you trapped up high, sure, but it’s also safe from accidentally being stepped on. You bite into the inside of your cheek to keep from pleading to be put back. Down is good. You can try to escape if you’re not stuck on his desk. That’s what you want. Right? You’re not entirely sure and you hate it.

• “Eject,” Soundwave says from above you, that chest compartment he’s put you in before opening so huge cassettes can be launched out. Mouth falling open as they transform before hitting the ground, you stare at four smaller Decepticons. They’re still much bigger than you, but they can’t step on you at least. And he just carries them in his chest? You’re not sure why weird alien stuff still throws you at this point. Two look like bipedal robots like Starscream and Soundwave. One seems to be a big bird, an image it reinforces by tilting its head to stare at you. The other appears to be a panther. Looming over you and these new Decepticons, Soundwave holds up a single servo. “Behave.”

• What? He’s leaving you with them? Apparently so as he strides for the door and you just gape after him, protests catching in your throat. “You are tiny. Breakable.” A hand grips your arm, lifting it and you spin in alarm. Because the breakable comment has made your stomach lurch sickeningly. Soundwave wouldn’t have just ditched you with these mechs if they’re going to hurt you. Right? The purple one is frowning at you as he compares your hand with his own. You’re only able to yank out of his grip because he lets you and you’re well aware of that fact. “So, what do you for fun around here?” He asks, grinning down at you while you flounder.

• Your boring lack of fun doesn’t really impress them. Frenzy, Rumble, Ravage, and Lazerbeak aren’t interested in hiding in Starscream’s quarters or doodling on the data pad. So you find yourself dragged out into the halls. Literally. Frenzy pulls you along by the arm in their wake and no amount of struggling or digging your feet in is stopping him. If anything, he finds your panic funny. “I don’t think I’m supposed to be out here,” you say, reluctantly giving up your pointless struggle since it feels like you’re going to dislocate your arm long before he gets tired of dragging you. There’s no winning.

• “Definitely not,” Ravage mutters, glaring at you when you stare, because he can talk. Why it surprises you after everything, you’re not sure, but it does. Maybe your brain is finally starting to reach its ‘nope’ limit. And that limit is talking mecha panthers.

• You’re so distracted you almost miss the huge, bright green Decepticon rounding a corner for all of three seconds. Then you’re trying to hide behind Frenzy as its head tips down and it sees your little group. Its lip curls to flash denta and a foot lifts in a very obvious threat to squish you. “How’d that thing get in here? Don’t you know how fast they multiply?”

• “Stick it up your tailpipe, Scrapper,” Frenzy snarls, his seeming indifference for the fact that while he’s bigger than you, he’s still absolutely able to be stepped-on sized to the other Decepticons. He either really isn’t worried about retaliation or he’s just that dumb and you’re not sure which. The distinction seems very important, though. “You really think a human just wandered in? It’s supposed to be here.”

• And you’re being dragged past the big mech, who looks uncertain. Surely it’s not that easy? Frenzy tugs on your arm and you stumble forward, his hand pushing you forward so you’re in front of him and behind Rumble. Maybe he is worried then, you crane your neck to stare at the big Decepticon as it stares back in perplexed silence. “Don’t run, but walk faster. Even if he’s not the smartest Constructicon, he’s likely to scrape up enough processing power to wonder why a human is supposed to be here,” Ravage hisses softly and you’re hurried along deeper into the Decepticon base. Previous Next

Did I go watch TFO a third time this past weekend because it’s amazing? Yeah, I did. Go watch it. It’s just this gorgeous love letter to G1.

[ew-selfish-art]

Dp x Dc AU: Danny's final Interview with Tim Drake for the Wayne Enterprise's Space Program Operation Janus Crew... Demon Twin AU.

Danny had been waiting for his offer letter from WE to be officially part of the Janus Crew. He'd done all the standard rigorous testing and passed with flying colors. He'd talked to every single head engineer and interviewed at all levels to prove that he was the man for this mission. It was as good as gold, so Danny was surprised when he got a call from the PA to Tim Drake, the CEO himself, to come in for a final interview. Just a formality and mostly just to meet the man who was going to be the poster boy for their program. Makes sense, but is unnerving, nonetheless.

The second he walks into the office space, Tam Fox seemingly does a double take, blinking a few times when he explains that he's there for a final interview. She nods and he proceeds as if nothing about that was weird.

Tim Drake has four laptops in front of him and a scattering of papers, but looking up to see Danny, he closes them all and the image of a scattered young man trying to run a Fortune 500 company is replaced with some one of deadly capability.

"Danny Fenton. Great to meet you, I appreciate you coming by today." Tim says, but Danny can see the sharks fin in the water.

"Of course, I'm excited to be part of the Crew." Danny throws back, making it clear right away that Tim needs to cut to the chase if Danny's not going to be an astronaut with WE. NASA will take him back in a heartbeat if WE is going to try and play games.

"We're excited to have you, everyone speaks of you like the next Armstrong or Aldrin. I just had a few questions, as an informality, that I wanted answered."

"I feel like I've answered every question there could be about me, but go ahead. I'm an open book."

"Great. I suppose I'll start with asking about your adoptive family, the Fentons. Were they good to you when you transitioned to their home?"

"...It's not common knowledge that I'm adopted. Mom and Dad are fine. We have a strained relationship now because of my teenage rebellion but I still go home for most holidays." Danny is on edge, but also a bit excited? How did Tim find this out?

"I see. I'm an adopted child myself, you can understand maybe why I asked. Do you have any relationship with your birth family?" Tim asks, but its clear he's asking something else. Danny calls it how he sees it.

"What are you trying to find out? I mean really, you're very polite but this doesn't have to do with my job."

"I'll cut to the chase then. Do you hold any allegiance to Ra's al Ghul or the League of Assassins?"

"Woah." Danny blinks.

"Woah as in you're surprised I found out, or Woah in surprise that you've been found out?"

"Woah as in, what the fuck, I haven't thought of his name in decades. I escaped pretty young after being abused from birth."

"That's what I needed to know. You have a sister through the Fentons, and a cousin that I suspect is a clone, any other siblings?" Tim asks, his to the point question making Danny's head spin. How the fuck did this guy know about Dani?

"How do you-"

"Any other siblings, Danny?" Tim repeats, cutting him off.

"...Yeah. I should have a twin running around out there. But if this has to do with whatever crazy bullshit he might be up to, I swear i'm not in contact with him or his family. I haven't been since I freed myself."

Tim looks like he's contemplating something, his eyes are still evaluating Danny as though he were a frog in freshman year Bio.

"I have a little brother, Danny, and it's interesting. He's not particularly fascinated by space but he likes to keep up with all the astronauts. I took it upon myself to research you once you came on the roster two years ago for this position. I know you're capable and I had no doubt that you'd be the man for the job. Then I saw your picture."

"You... saw my picture?"

"My brother watches out for Astronauts because he holds onto the hope that someone from his past might be one some day. That it might lead to their reconciliation." Tim clarifies.

Danny can't do anything but stare. No. No way.

"I told Damian not to look into the astronauts for the Janus Crew. Want to guess why?" For the first time, Tim's eyes look soft around the edges. Danny stays silent for a while, head reeling from this information.

"...Is he. Is he free?" Danny finally asks.

"He's left the league and burned all allegiance he held for them, if that's what you're asking. Came to join his dad, my adoptive father, when he was about ten. So just a few years after you made your own way out without him."

"That's... That's good. I'm glad. He's healthy?" Danny can't help himself but inquire. He'd loved his brother until it literally broke him.

"Most days. He runs an animal sanctuary, has a girlfriend and a best friend, gets along with our large family."

"Woah." Danny's near speechless again.

"I'm telling you this because... He's going to find out Friday with the press release of you being our Crew Leader. He'll see you and no doubt try to contact you. I want you to have the choice of reaching out to him before that, or at least make your peace with what you have to say to him if you don't want a relationship."

"Why?"

"Because I don't care to see my siblings hurt. Here, it's my personal line, below it is Damian's. Reach out to me if you'd like for me to plan a meeting spot, reach out to him if you'd prefer I stay out of it. I understand completely if my questions have led you to not trust me." Tim offers him a piece of paper with two phone numbers on it, Danny takes it with shaking hands.

"I... See. Okay." and then after a moment, Danny added numbly "Thanks."

Tim stands and Danny follows, they're both walking towards the door and Danny can't help but feel like he's waiting for another shoe to drop. Tim has a look in his eye like Jazz might on his birthday.

"One last thing before you go and you're officially listed as our star Astronaut: I took care of those pesky case files and lab reports for you. The white ones. It is quite literally impossible for that heinous shit to every bother you again."

"Wait, What? Why would you do that for me? You couldn't have known-"

"It's what family is for. Have a good day, Janus Crew Lead Danny."

[wheeboo]

all yours | yoon jeonghan

SYNOPSIS. in which you get a bit too drunk on your special day. PAIRING. yoon jeonghan x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, established relationship WARNINGS. mentions of drinking alcohol and throwing up, reader has long enough hair to be pulled back, cursing, terms of endearment WORD COUNT. 1.4k

requested from anon: Hi hope all is well, just wanted to say Congrats on the milestone! You deserve it! And if it’s okay I would like to request #29 and #52 from prompt list 1 with Jeonghan thank you in advance if you do it. Congrats again to 2k you honestly deserve it :) - #29: "I do love you, you know. Even if I'm shit at showing it." - #52: "Shut up, you love me. Why else would you be here, taking care of me while I hurl into a toilet?"

notes: thank u sm anon 😭🫶 ur so so sweet ily AAAA sending consensual smooches ur way 😚😚 also genuinely did not know what to title this lmfao

join the 2k celebration!

Okay, maybe you've had a bit too much to drink tonight.

It's your birthday anyway, so surely you have the right to go a little bit overboard on your special day... right?

"Ugh, I feel like shit," You mumble groggily, your body drifting and hitting the bathtub right next to you with a thud as the sounds of the toilet flushing bounce off the walls of the bathroom.

Jeonghan just crosses his arms together, leaning against the doorway with a sly smirk to his face. His eyes peer over your flushed face, slightly tousled hair and overall cute, disheveled appearance. You huff a breath as your gaze meets his, and a small, almost dreamy smile of your own forms on your face despite knowing how absurd you look right now.

"How do I look?" You ask, drawing your words out drunkenly.

"Honestly?" Jeonghan starts, and you lift a brow in anticipation. "You look ravishingly awful."

The words that leave his mouth has your face twisting in confusion, your brain hardly processing whatever the hell he just said (you'll take it as a compliment nonetheless, thanks to your cloudy mind).

However, Jeonghan just chuckles, fully stepping his way into the bathroom and towards where you are plopped down on the tile floor. He carefully sits himself down on the rim of the bathtub, expression softening right away with concern as he reaches out to gently brush a stray strand of hair from your face, feeling the warmth on your face from the alcohol to his fingers.

You lean into his touch instinctively, closing your eyes for a few seconds. "My body is going to hate me in the morning."

Jeonghan retracts his hand slightly, but not before his fingertips lingers your cheek, sending a jolt through your already-buzzing body and causing your eyes to flutter open. You can feel the heat creeping back up your neck, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze.

"Hmm, not if I take care of you real well, yeah?" he muses teasingly, and you could only groan in response, feeling the alcohol earlier make your head spin once more. But a tiny, sober part of you registers the warmth in his gaze.

That is, until you can start to feel something bubble up your throat, and before you can react, your stomach lurches, and you're scrambling for the toilet just in time to expel the contents of your stomach. You heave and retch, feeling utterly miserable as Jeonghan helps by pulling back your hair and rubbing your back soothingly.

As the wave of nausea passes, your hand releases its hold on the cold porcelain of the toilet seat. You lean back once more, nearly toppling over before Jeonghan's hands catch you by the shoulders, helping to straighten up your posture. You let out a sluggish sigh.

"Well, maybe you're not wrong about your body hating you," he says jokingly, then squeezes your shoulders right after as if reassure you. "I would not want to be the receiving end of all... that."

You roll your eyes in playful annoyance and yank his grip off you, his laughter ringing in your ears. "I... Shut up, you love me. Why else would you be here, taking care of me while I hurl into a toilet?"

A feigned gasp leaves Jeonghan as he dramatically clutches his chest. But the inebriated glare you throw his way doesn't seem to faze him in the slightest. You catch the way his face quickly dissolves into his horribly distinguishable shit-eating grin.

"Ah, you figured out my secret, my dearest," he responds with an exaggerated flair, cupping your face gently with his hand. "You getting wasted made you more perceptive than I thought."

You swat at him weakly, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "You're impossible."

"Only for you." He cheesily presses a kiss to the top of your head. "How are you feeling? Can you stand up?"

"Mmmh... help me?" You laggardly open your arms up to him, a pout forming at your mouth.

Your eyes are too heavy to catch the way Jeonghan is gazing at you so adoringly right now. He takes your outstretched arms and helps to hoist you up to your feet. For a moment, you're eye-to-eye, your head spinning slightly from the sudden movement and the world tilting a little as you stand.

Jeonghan secures a hand at your lower back as he carefully leads you out of the bathroom and back into your bedroom, catching a glimpse to the remains of the party from earlier scattered about the room. Balloons hang lazily at the ceiling, confetti laying across the floor𑁋you can deal with it in the morning.

"You're a hot mess," he comments teasingly, though there's a fondness in his tone as he guides you to the bed.

You flop down onto the mattress with a groan, the softness of the pillows cushioning against your throbbing head. Jeonghan disappears for a minute to retrieve a bottle of pills from the bathroom and a glass of water from the kitchen, placing it on your bedside table before sitting down beside you, his hand reaching out to brush hair away from your forehead.

You crack open an eye to look at him, feeling yourself trying so hard to not fall asleep on the spot.

"Do... you think they know?"

Jeonghan looks back down at you. "Who?"

"Every... Everyone who came today, uh..." You mutter, motioning the air with your hand. "I didn't... do anything weird out there, right? We haven't really told anyone about us yet..."

Jeonghan purses his lips together, eyelids fluttering as if he's trying to remember the events of the party. He crosses his arms together, and you should probably know from the smirk appearing at his face that𑁋

"Hm, like, weird as in when you tried to kiss me earlier after you sang karaoke? Or𑁋"

"Are you being serious right now?!" There's a long, drawn out unintelligible sound that you whine as you bury your face into the pillow, the cool fabric soothing against your flushed cheeks. "Oh my god, I'm so stupid..."

"My love, I still don't entirely understand why we have to hide it," Jeonghan says gently, his fingers trailing lightly along your arm. "Your affection is pretty obvious, you know."

You snort at that, but you can't really deny it anyway since yeah, you are pretty affectionate with him. And it isn't that you don't want people to know. The thought of people knowing is completely fine, but it's really just that your friends can be absolute nutcases sometimes, and you really don't want to be at the teasing end of the stick right now when all you want is a bit of privacy, at least in the beginning.

"I just... I want you all to myself, you know?" You ramble drowsily, words still slightly slurred. "Just wanna... um, keep this between us for now. N-Not that I'm ashamed or anything, I just... want this to be ours."

Jeonghan lets his eyes take you in for a few moments, a soft look gracing over his features. He glances down at the way his hand seems to seems to instinctively find yours, your fingers intertwining loosely. Frankly, he’s already yours𑁋been yours from the moment the thought of you started to become a frequent visitor to his head.

"Of course," he assures lightly, not taking his eyes off you even while adjusting the pillows so you're in a more comfortable position. "Get some sleep now, okay?"

"M'kay," You utter out, feeling the weight of the bed lift when Jeonghan stands up. Yet as a thought crosses your mind, you call out to him, "Jeonghan?"

He pauses, turning back to look at you with gentle eyes.

"I... I do love you, you know," You confess slowly, almost hesitantly, like that small flicker of sobriety had finally peeked through the haze of alcohol. "Even if I'm shit at showing it."

Jeonghan feels his heart racing in his chest, and the heat flaring at the tips of his ears. On the surface, it's normally hard to detect such reactions to whatever loving, cheesy, romantic stuff you've said to him (since usually, he'd rather tease you into the grave instead). But on the inside, his heart is practically doing cartwheels, somersaults, and backflips all at once𑁋he would quite literally do anything for you.

"Are you going to remember any of this in the morning?" he remarks playfully.

You only shrug loosely, eyelids drooping from exhaustion. "I might... maybe. But, uh, at least you know, right?"

His lips just curl up lovingly. Even if you don’t remember it, those three words would be the first things he would say every morning anyway.

"I love you too, angel," he says against the skin of your temple. "Happy birthday."

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[slayfics]

could you do a husband pro-hero dynamight x fem reader? 😭🩷

Katsuki prepares to propose.

1,000 words~

Eijiro took another sip of his drink, his thoughts now starting to become clouded. It all started with Katsuki abruptly instructing him to tell Mina he'd be home late tonight.

"Tell Racoon Eyes we're going out for drinks tonight and not to wait up," he said in passing. Eijiro obliged wondering what Katsuki wanted to talk about. It wasn't often his best friend wanted to drink so Eijiro took the hint that something big must be on his mind.

It wasn't till 10 minutes into their drive that Katsuki dropped the bomb that they were actually going ring shopping.

Katsuki stormed into the jeweler demanding the biggest ring they had because he's "the best at everything". It didn't take long for Katsuki to find a ring that was entirely too huge and decide without a doubt that was the one.

Now the ring sat in the middle of the table between the two boys as Eijiro took sips of his drink and Katsuki uncharacteristically threw back drink after drink.

"I don't know how I'm gonna do it Eij," Katsuki said nervously, shaking his leg, hands interlaced under his chin as he eyed the ring.

"Do whatever feels natural," Eijiro encouraged.

"Tch- it's gotta be perfect," Katsuki said.

"Hasn't she given you any hints on how she wants to be asked?" Eijiro asked.

"HAH? No!" Katsuki exclaimed, finishing off the rest of his drink and signaling the waiter for two more.

Katsuki turned his attention back to Eijiro. "Racoon Eyes has given you hints?" he asked.

Eijiro gave a silent nod of thanks to the waiter that dropped off two more drinks. Although internally his stomach turned and the thought of finishing another. "Yeah, I mean we've talked about getting married before and what it might look like ya know?"

"No," Katsuki exclaimed in a huff.

"You two haven't talked about it before?" Eijiro clarified.

"NO. Fuck- should we have?!" Katsuki asked panic setting into his eyes. "Fuck- am I making a mistake?!"

"Relax man! Its ok! Every couple is different," Eijiro said trying to calm his friend. But it was too late, Katsuki saw the shock in his eyes that he never once talked with you about the future of your relationship.

Katsuki threw back more of his drink, "What if she says no?!" he asked rubbing a hand over his distressed face.

Even though Eijiro was one of the few people Katsuki would be vulnerable in front of, it still took him off guard every time Katsuki opened up to him.

"Relax man, after everything you two have been through- no way she says no," Eijiro said calming his friend and taking another small sip of his drink. His already spinning.

Katsuki let out a grunt in acknowledgment as he continued to drink. The rest of the night continued in a similar fashion. Katsuki found something else to be anxious about regarding the proposal and Eijiro did his best to calm his nerves.

Meanwhile you and Mina sat I her living room. The two of you decided to have a girl's night since the boys went out.

"I'm telling you Mina something is up. Katsuki has been super on edge recently and I don't know why," You spoke opening up to your friend about your recent concerns.

"Maybe it's just stress from the agency?" Mina suggested shrugging her shoulders.

"Yeah maybe... Hopefully some time with Eijiro will help... He always knows how to get to him," you replied, as Mina's phone lit up with a call from Eijiro.

"Hey babe," she greeted. "Wait what?!... Both of you??" She exclaimed her eyes wide with surprise. "No no! Of course it's not a problem, we will be right there. Ok see you soon," she said and hung up the call.

"What happened?!" You asked eagerly.

"Eijiro said they both got carried away with drinks and need to be picked up," Mina said.

Your mouth hung slightly agape. "Katsuki is drunk?!" You exclaimed in disbelief.

"That's what Eijiro said." Mina confirmed.

"See I told you something is up! Katsuki never gets drunk," you said as you both headed for the door to pick up the boys.

"I'm sure everything is fine. Sounds like he at least had a good time tonight," Mina said attempting to comfort you, but you still had your suspicions.

When the two of you entered the restaurant Katsuki spotted you right away.

"There she is!" He exclaimed excitedly gesturing at you. "Damn she's hot as fuck," he practically yelled. Heads turned in the restaurant to eye the noisy blond.

Your face flushed at his words, and you turned to Mina. Your eyes wide as if to say, 'What the hell is going on?'

Happy about the distraction, Eijiro quickly grabbed the ring off the table and hid it in his pocket. Barley remembering it was on the table in full view.

Another restaurant goer laughed, "I'd be excited too if my girl looked like that," he stated.

"HAH! You wish you damn extra!" Katsuki barked back. "Babe- come here. Sit in my lap," he said tapping his lap.

"What?" You asked in bewilderment as you made your way to their table.

"The hell you mean what?!" he asked as he guided you to sit in his lap. "You always do this," he said his bottom lip puffed out in a pout from your hesitation.

His puffed-out lip quickly changed back to a grin as your ran your fingers through his hair, "Yes- but I'm here to take you home," You reminded him.

"Hell yeah you are!" He said with a laugh. "Take me home and have your way with me," he said, squeezing your waist and pulling you further into him as he placed a drunken kiss on your cheek.

You couldn't help but giggle and look over at Mina and Eijiro who looked just as shocked as you felt at Katsuki's affection.

"Come on let's get you home then," You laughed standing up and pulling Katsuki with you. Katsuki followed your commands, taking your hand as you lead him out of the restaurant. His eyes hungrily sweeping over his soon to be fiancé.

I’m sorry if this wasn’t what you really had in mind. I have just had this scene playing out in my head for awhile now. I hope you enjoy it! Thank you for the request!

Tags: @queenpiranhadon @unofficialmuilover @maddietries @fiannee @i-heart-carlisle @derangedmango @matchat3a @bakugouswaif