#‘it’s coming back!’ ‘ITS GOT THERE!!!!’ is seared into my mind for all time

[crowsflag]

thinking about jordan dawson kicking the winning goal at the 2022 round 3 showdown always, always and forever.

[tonycries]

Why Can't I Keep My Fingers Off You? [Part 2] - G.S. 

Synopsis. “Besides, Toru, just because it worked for you doesn’t mean it’ll work for me.” “Wanna bet?” For Satoru, convincing you to take the aphrodisiac chocolate too wasn’t the hard part - the hard part was being shoved into that bathroom stall, cock throbbing, mind spinning - trying not to beg for mercy. 

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected sex, slight femdom, overstimulation (male), lots of cum, you absolutely ruin Satoru, semi-public sex, subby! Satoru, aphrodisiac sex, multiple rounds, shutting up Gojo Satoru by making him cum in his pants, pet names (darling, my girl), swearing.

Word count. 3.7k

A/N. Can be read as a standalone, but PART 1 HERE.

Bros this was mad hard to write oml. Art by @_3aem on X.

Satoru had everything he needed to absolutely ruin you tonight.

Overpriced Cartier glasses? Check.

Jet-black Hellcat freshened up, ready with a little surprise for you inside? Check.

You, all dolled up and brows furrowed adorably at him? Holy shit, check.

“Toru, if we’ve missed our reservation because you had beef with the neighborhood cat again…”

“He was looking at you wrong! I had to defend your honor!” Dramatic protests falling on deaf ears, Satoru speeds through the darkening city streets, still grumbling under his breath about “cats these days”.

With your fiancé being absolutely swamped with missions recently, you’d been anticipating this night for weeks now.

Little did you know, Satoru had just as much - if not more.

Soon enough, the neon lights of that upscale, new restaurant you’d been absolutely dying to visit recently come into view. 

Okay, it’s time. 

“Y’know…” he begins, glancing at you with that familiar mirthful glint in his eyes. Laughter bubbling to his throat at your knowing stare, he plows on “Remember that one night where I just so happened to come across your special chocolate?”

“You mean swiped from my secret stash?”

“Semantics” he waves off. “But anyway, I was thinking…” he voice trails off mischievously as he swiftly turns to grab the mysterious black bag sitting on the backseat that you’d been eyeing suspiciously ever since you got in the car.

Oh shit, so that’s what he was onto. Eyes widening, “Toru, no.”

He whines, a pout forming on his lips. “C’monnn, no one’s gonna know except me. I want to make this night unforgettable, my girl.”

You raise a brow, “Unforgettable? Toru, your idea of unforgettable will end up with both of us arrested.”  After the madness of last time, you’d ignored his sticky note for a reason!

Letting out an exasperated sigh, you try to justify - probably to yourself just as much as Satoru, “And just because the aphrodisiac worked for you doesn’t mean it’ll work for me.”

He wiggles his eyebrows, twinkling eyes still undeterred. “Wanna bet? I’ll do the dishes for all of next month. We’ll never know till we find out, darling.” 

You narrow your eyes at the hand already snaking its way inside the bag, faded finger marks from last time still searing into your skin. Catching Satoru’s gaze - behind the amusement, something else shines darkly. 

Shit.

Goosebumps erupt down your spine. 

A beat passes. One. Two. Only the revving of the engine filling the tense air. 

“...two months.” 

It’s all Satoru can do to not jump in joy in his seat right now - knowing his girl, you’ll probably take back what you said and immediately bonk him on the head for being so ridiculous. 

“Deal.” he mutters lowly, pulling up to the driveway.

 A flash of hot pink. In the short time it takes the valet to reach your car, Satoru has already split that too-familiar chocolate, holding out the bigger part to you, eyes gleaming with excitement. “I swear this’ll be a night you won’t forget.” he grins, biting into the chocolate. 

God, he was going to be the death of you. 

The decadent flavor washes over your tongue, a slight tingling on your tastebuds. But, it’s still just chocolate, right? You scoff - at least you won’t have to do the dishes for two months.

Now, Satoru knows he won’t have to do the dishes for two months. 

Ah, how heavenly you’d be, splayed out and begging for mercy underneath him. Heels clacking against the polished tile and your hand warm in his as the maître d’hôtel ushers you both inside, dick twitching in anticipation. Shit, was the chocolate working already?

He risks a glance at how you’re faring - nope, still normal. That’s okay, he’ll be driving you crazy in no time.

---

Okay, maybe he won’t be driving you crazy in no time. 

How dare you sit there so gorgeous and unbothered, sipping slowly on your wine while he’s here mind whirling around how he’ll fuck you right here right now on this table without getting arrested for public indecency.

Fuck, it was hitting him hard.

Cock aching, heat rushing to his cheeks, eyes bleary - he sighs in frustration, resigning himself to do the dishes for two months.

Why did he even think of this? Damn his big fucking ego, he should’ve never taken that chocolate again. Maybe if he eats you out just right he could lower it to-

A feathery touch on his thigh. Too light for any sort of friction - just enough to set his skin ablaze. So deft that Satoru thinks he must’ve imagined it.

Until there it is again. Soft caress dancing delicately up his thigh. 

You.

A shiver creeps down his spine, blood rushing straight to his dick. Probably for the first time in his life, Satoru is speechless - maybe because you’ve reached underneath the table, teasingly sliding a heel along the top of his thigh.

“…darling…”

“Hmm?”

He blinks away the haze in his eyes, raising them to meet yours. “Wha-”

Oh. Oh, fuck.

What has he gotten himself into?

Eyes half-lidded, brows furrowed, and looking into his soul with a predatory glint that jolts the great Gojo Satoru right to his very core - and to his throbbing cock. He’d be lucky to make it out alive. Maybe he should just beg for his life right now.

Minutes tick by - or maybe it was seconds - Satoru is clueless. Mind only focused on the heel inching closer and closer, dangerously near to where he needed you the most. A smug smirk curls your pretty lips as his mouth drops into a soft oh.

The air crackles with an unspoken tension - his hips trying to subtly move you towards the erection furiously straining against his pants. He needed it so bad. It’s fucking pathetic, he knows. But he couldn’t give less of a fuck as your sole grazes his aching head. Pressing down. Hard.

“Fuck!”

Stomach flipping - before Satoru could fully process what the fuck was happening - he cums embarrassingly in thick spurts that pool on his pants, soaking right through the fabric, probably smearing on your new heels.

Head spinning, he bites his knuckles hard enough to draw blood, muffling the desperate moans threatening to escape his lips. 

He grinds his hips in shallow, mindless motions in a desperate attempt for more friction.

Instead, he gets the opposite.

“Behave, Toru.” you warn, swiftly resting your heel back on the floor, voice strained with something that makes his sensitive dick quiver animalistically. 

You huff out a chuckle at the almost-inaudible whimper of disappointment that rips from his throat. It’s laughable, really, he was supposed to be the one ruining you. This was so not fucking suave.

Face burning - whether due to the chocolate or embarrassment at the warm patch on his pants, he doesn’t even know - Satoru wishes the Earth would swallow him up whole. Would it be overkill to just teleport outta here?

The only thing that snaps Satoru out of his little reverie is your pretty lips forming into a tut. “Now now, Toru. It’s rude to make a mess at a restaurant. Why don’t we go to the restrooms and get you cleaned up, hm?”

Oh. Shit. 

A firm grip on his arm, his hands desperately covering his crotch. 

He was not going to make it out of this alive. 

Honestly, it wasn’t hard to bribe the waitress into letting you follow into the restroom after your fiancé - and put up an Out of Order sign promptly afterward. The actual hard part was trying not to rip off his clothes and give into your desires before you two even made it there. But you couldn’t let anyone else see him like that, of course. 

You were sure that if you had Satoru’s powers then you would’ve hollow purpled everyone here and taken him already.

You were going to ruin him.

Mind running a mile a minute, Satoru wouldn’t even be surprised if he’d just teleported to the restroom. If he was in a better state of mind he might’ve even admired the decor.

“My girl.” he breathes out, voice ragged. It’s all that is said before your lips are on his. 

It was like a fever dream - the bruising urgency of your lips, your aching pussy, and the heat of the stall as your quickened breaths mingle in a desperate dance. Your tongue intertwining with his. 

Manicured nails ripping his shirt open, you don’t have half the mind to register the designer buttons hitting the floor.

Satoru’s lips hazily chase yours as you pull away delicate strings of spit snapping just as quickly as your sanity. 

Your mouth waters at Satoru’s chest in all its chiseled glory, creamy skin peeking out from whatever remnants of the shirt were clinging to his sculpted shoulders. You wanted to ruin him.

“You dirtied my heels, Toru.” you frown, mockingly innocent. A choked-up gasp leaves his throat as you snake a hand down to firmly grip the erection straining against Satoru’s wet pants. Unmoving. “What shall we do about that, hmm?” 

“Ah! Please, my girl.”

“Please what? Use your words, Toru.”

“Please. Wanna cum so bad.”

Satoru learned the hard way that he could never turn back after uttering those words. 

Though, he already had an inkling once you immediately slam him against the stall door, fumbling with his belt, nails digging hard into his prominent v-line. “If you say so, Toru. Better not stop till you’re shooting blanks.”

The only thing that registers in his mind is the deadbolt echoing throughout the empty bathroom and his still-rock hard cock throbbing in your hands. 

“Ah- hah! Fuck.” low groans leave his throat at each jerky movement down his length. 

Head thrown back, pants bunched underneath his heavy balls, your tits pressing against his body as your hands urgently move along his veined length - up, up, up. 

Your thumb harshly teases his flushed head, spreading the precum from his leaking tip lewdly. “Oh God.”

His knees buckle, hands slamming against the top of the stall hard enough to make the walls tremble, desperately trying to keep himself from collapsing. Mind spinning, he doesn’t even know if he’s on planet Earth anymore.

“Toru~ Gonna let me join in on the fun?” your dangerous purr sends his cock twitching, breath hot against his ear.

Your cunt quivers, slick soaking your panties and trailing down your legs at the pornographic moans spilling from his lips as you fucked his thick cock with your fist. You wanted him so badly it was driving you insane.

Straddling a muscled thigh, your clothed core meets the fabric of his pants. It was already ruined, so what was another stain?

You grind your hips down on him, hard. Humping him like an animal in heat. 

Your slick seeping into the fabric of his leg. Harsh texture stimulating your needy cunt so painfully good. Swollen folds parting, mewls of pleasure leave your swollen lips as your clit catches on the rough fabric of his overly expensive pants. Over and over. 

Distantly, you register a strong hand tugging roughly on the thin fabric of your panties - easily ripping it and letting it fall to god-knows-where. 

Your hand doesn’t let up either, milking Satoru’s cock mercilessly the way you’d been dying to ever since you stepped foot into his restaurant. Your head spins, hips moving so animalistically on Satoru’s thigh.

A hand reaches down to sensually massage his heavy balls, squeezing and pressing hard circles - just the way you knew he liked it. 

“Oh, my girl. Always so good t’me- Ah! Hngh, gonna-” 

Satoru doesn’t get to finish his sentence before he’s pumping hot ropes of seed that decorate your pretty hands. Hips fucking up into you desperately.

You’re not far behind, juices squirting all over that expensive fabric, pooling on the tiled ground with a drip! drip! drip! that bounces off the walls of the restroom.

You two were so fucking loud. 

But right now, you wouldn’t even mind if anyone walked in to see your Satoru so debauched - as long as they see you fucking the soul out of him as well. 

It wasn’t enough.

“You said you wanted to cum, didn’t you, Toru?”

A shiver runs down his spine - all the way to his dick. “What? W-wait, darling. Fuck- Oh!” the strained words tumble out of Satoru’s kiss-bitten lips as you push down his soaked pants, kneeling to leave a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down to his twitching, thick base. 

“I won’t be merciful, Toru.”

Ah, you could do this forever.

Nipping teasingly till you’re satisfied with the bite marks decorating his pelvis, you pool the saliva in your mouth, spitting a long stream into his furiously flushed head.

Once. Twice. Mixing enticingly with his precum, trailing down his length. “Ah! Hngh- oh, darling. So sensitive-” he bucks his hips into you, moaning loudly.

“You can do it f’me, Toru.” you murmur darkly against his twitching tip. Satoru keens as you take him until his fat head hits the back of your throat, pulsing around your warm mouth.

Your fiancé’s choking on his breaths more than you as you hollow your mouth, bobbing up and down at a ruthless pace. Gagging, you shove his throbbing dick all the way in with a desperation that eclipses the need for air, till you’re nose-deep in those tufts of snowy hair. 

“Oh, darling. Jus’ like that. Losing m’mind.” he whines.

Your pussy quivers at Satoru’s slightly salty taste, making you moan around his rock-hard length. Drool and precum dribble down the corner of your mouth, mixing with the mascara running down your cheeks. It was debauched. It was messy. And it was exactly how you wanted him. 

Tonguing Satoru’s sensitive slit in a delicate dance, you feel drunk off his sinful moans as you suck on him desperately. Breathless. Craving for more. 

Looking up to see a delicate streak of tears falling down his pretty face at the overstimulation, your cunt clenches around nothing. Fuck, you could just devour him.

“Cum, Toru.”

It was too much for him- 

Tight balls twitching sensitively, he cums onto your ready tongue. Fucked out whimpers leave his lips, tears clinging to his long, white lashes as he paints your pretty mouth with his thick, white seed.

Ah, he was always your favorite taste. Tasted so good - so good that you could cum untouched. 

And you do.

Eyes rolling to the back of your head and pussy clamping down on nothing as you reach your high.

You milk his cock ruthlessly, relishing in the thick cum flowing down your throat. But it still wasn’t enough.

Removing yourself off his dick with a lewd pop! you reach a hand to grab Satoru’s flushed throat, nails placed right over his thundering pulse. With a single tug, the great Gojo Satoru is on his knees before you, in the bathroom of some fancy restaurant. 

Walls still quivering, you stand over him, connecting your sweaty forehead - and your mouth - with his. 

Kiss-bitten and smeared with your lipstick, Satoru’s lips are soft - or maybe that’s the cum coating yours. A part of you delights in his half-lidded, fucked out gaze as your eyes bore into his - does he even know what he’s doing anymore? 

Hot seed flowing down his throat, Satoru can do nothing else but kneel there and take it. He feels lightheaded, all the blood in his brain rushing to his cock as you suck on his tongue. This was driving him insane. You were insane.

And he fucking loved it.

“You d-drive me insane, my girl.” his words muffled by your hand still around his throat. His voice cracks with sensitivity in a way he would definitely be embarrassed about if he were in the right mind. 

Yet, how could he ever be with the slow, feral smile that spread across your beautiful face?

Leaning down, you whisper lowly against his ear. “I’m the same, Toru.” 

Maybe it’s your words, and the hot breath that sends shivers down his spine. Or maybe it’s the way you lift your dress so alluringly - cunt dripping on full display, slick trailing down your legs. 

All Satoru knows is, he’s surging forwards. He’s got your front pressed against the cold wall, cock twitching to life and bullying its way through your swollen folds. 

Mindlessly, a strong hand smacks against the stall as Satoru tries to keep himself steady. Too drunk off of you - off of your whimpers of his name, and the feeling of your plush walls clamping down on his throbbing erection, struggling to accommodate his size despite being so dripping wet. 

He doesn’t give a fuck. 

“Hngh- S’tight. Oh, fuck! S-sucking my cock back hah- in s-so needily” 

Ramming in and out of your hole at a merciless cadence, Satoru’s balls smack your clit so animalistically. You two feel like a pair of fucking animals. 

Shudders of overstimulation and pleasure wrack his body. Chest heaving, his blown-out eyes roll to the back of his head at the rapid, desperate thrusts inside your warm core. 

Pulling out all the way to slam back in mercilessly, Satoru could pass out at the sight of your ass jiggling as it arches to meet the rhythm of his hips. 

“God, m’girl. Gonna- gonna cum ah! Fill this pussy the way you want-” he groans raspily into the heady air of the stall, exhausted cock shooting wispy strings of cum that fill you up - some missing as he pumps into you, spilling out to paint your swollen folds white.

Before he knows it, a low hiss leaves his throat as you remove yourself off of his furiously pulsing cock - only to shove him seated on the commode. 

You take a split-second to admire your gorgeous fiancé - face flushed as much as the prettily leaking tip of his throbbing cock, eyes dazed and miles away, curtained by his sweaty white locks. A delicate trail of drool made its way down the corner of his ruby, kiss-bitten lips. Exactly how you wanted him.

What a fucking picture. Maybe you should take that chocolate more often…

“Toru~ Remember what I said? You’re not tapping out, are you?” you hum, eyes narrowing at the way his erection twitches so ferally at your dangerous tone. 

“Ah- don’t know- Can’t, please.”

You loom dangerously close, a hand reaching out to mockingly push his cheeks together, drool pooling at your fingertips. “I’ve told you before, Toru. Use your words. Please what?”

“M-mercy, please!” pathetic pleas muffled by your hand.

“Mercy?”

“Mercy!”

“No mercy for you, my darling Toru.”

The great Gojo Satoru, begging for mercy, will face none at your hands. 

You straddle his muscled legs, shivering with sensitivity. “Ah! Hah- Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god-” he whines nonstop as his quivering tip teases your swollen, messy folds. In one, fluid motion, you sheath him fully in your dripping cunt.

Ah, you feel so full. 

You relish in the way he twitches instinctively inside you. Steadying yourself using Satoru’s shoulders, you drag your cunt along his length, his prominent veins grazing that one spot inside you. Pulling out till his thick head teases your entrance, you drop down - inch by inch - over and over.

Satoru thinks he could cry right now - or maybe he already is. He doesn’t know, nor does he care - not when you’re so beautiful and fucked out, nails digging into his shoulders and heart eyes palpable in your gaze as you ride his sensitive cock into insanity.

He can’t stop the ragged moans that escape his swollen lips, head thrown back and hips bucking up exhaustedly into you to meet your every bounce. A hand is at his throat, pulling your face to his, “Don’t run away, Toru~”

He felt so raw. More a feral beast than a man as he watches his abused cock get swallowed up over and over by your wet pussy.

If he thought his dick was broken after this time then it’s really unsalvageable now.

He wanted to run away. He wanted more. He wanted you to keep looking at him with that fucking predatory gaze that made a carnal part of him twitch so good. He wanted to cum.

“I wan’- I wanna cum, please, my girl.” Satoru gasps out, teary eyes blown and looking up at you so delicately.

“Cum?”

“Yes.”

“Cum, Toru.”

Maybe it was the glint of fondness in your eyes, maybe it was the piercing of teeth as you bit down hard into the crook of his neck. Or maybe it was the way your snug cunt clamped down on him so sinfully as you cum as around him. But Satoru is immediately bucking up into your hips - reaching his climax, if you can even call it that. Poor, exhausted cock cumming dry. “Ah- Cumming- M’cumming hgnh-”

Satoru doesn’t even know if he feels his orgasm, just waves of pleasure that overwhelm him as he rides it out on your cunt. 

Ah, he thinks if heaven was a person then it would be you. 

Maybe he’s died already.

“Toru? Open your eyes, darling.”

Slowly opening the eyes that he didn’t even realize he had furiously scrunched closed, Satoru slowly blinks his vision back.

An angel?

“No, Toru, your fiancé.” you huff out a laugh. Oh shit, he said that out loud? 

Head still reeling from, well, everything - the great Gojo Satoru can do nothing else but sit there, exhausted and fucked out of his mind as you slowly remove yourself off his twitching cock. He’s never felt so vulnerable - so ruined.

Ah, someone remind him to never let you have a bite of that chocolate every again. 

A low hiss leaves him, along with a few tears that later he swears were never there. 

As you tenderly clean both yourselves up in the humid stall, Satoru thinks he’s never been handled with so much care. Ah, he loves your gentle hands. He loves you.

“I love you too, Toru.” you whisper into the intimate silence. Oh, shit, he said that out loud again?

Your beautiful laugh, “Yes, you did, Toru.” Throwing away the used tissues, you grin “Y’know they’ve probably brought out our food by now.”

Absent-mindedly, “Mhm?”

“I was thinking I wanted chocolate for dessert.”

A/N. Oh Satoru, you poor, innocent fool…

Also this turned out longer than expected. Reblogs so so appreciated!

Plagiarism not authorized.

Taglist:

@sage-ove @mo0nforme @thirtykiwis @planetzetra

[memorabxlia]

All I Want for Christmas Is You ━ 홍중

genre: fluff (just a tad), smut summary: after getting stranded in your car during a winter storm with Hongjoong, you find other means to pass the time warnings: est relationship, fingering, unprotected sex (wrap up irl!), car sex (defintely forgot something) pairing: nonidol!hongjoong x fem!reader wc: 1.9k a/n: DAY 4!!! nets: @blossomnet @k-labels @k-films

The wind howled outside, slamming against the windows of your car like a wild animal trying to break in. Snowflakes swirled in chaotic spirals, obscuring the road ahead and coating everything in a thick blanket of white. You tugged your coat tighter around you, but it was no use—the cold had already seeped into your bones. The heater sputtered weakly, barely holding its own against the storm.

“Hongjoong,” you murmured, your teeth chattering as you glanced at him in the driver’s seat. His hands were still gripping the wheel, even though the car hadn’t moved in what felt like hours. “How long do you think we’re going to be stuck here?”

He exhaled sharply, his breath visible in the frigid air. “I don’t know. The tow truck said they’d come as soon as they could, but…” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely at the windshield. “This isn’t exactly ideal weather for rescuing stranded idiots.”

You snorted despite yourself. “Speak for yourself. You’re the one who thought driving through this was a good idea.”

Hongjoong shot you a look, his dark brows knitting together in mock offense. “Oh, so now it’s my fault? Remind me again who begged to stop for ‘just one more coffee’ before we left?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the grin tugging at his lips stopped you. Even in the middle of a snowstorm, half-frozen and completely stranded, he had a way of making you forget everything else. Your fiancé’s sharp features were softened by the dim glow of the dashboard lights, his black hair tousled from running his fingers through it in frustration. His leather jacket clung to his shoulders, and you couldn’t help but notice how the faint sheen of sweat on his skin caught the light.

You bit your lip, suddenly feeling warmer than you had a moment ago. “Okay, fine. Maybe I’m partially to blame.”

“Partially?” Hongjoong raised an eyebrow, leaning closer. His voice dropped, low and teasing. “Try fully.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was racing now. The space between you seemed to shrink with every second, the tension thickening like the snow piling up outside. You reached out, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “You’re such a brat, you know that?”

His smirk widened, and before you could react, he caught your hand in his. His touch was warm, sending a jolt of electricity through you. “And yet, here you are. Stuck with me.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The world outside faded away, leaving only the sound of your breathing and the faint thrum of the engine. Hongjoong’s gaze flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes, and you felt a familiar heat stir deep within you. It wasn’t just the cold making you shiver anymore.

“You’re staring,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the storm.

“So are you,” he countered, his thumb tracing slow circles on your palm. His touch was maddening, deliberate and unhurried, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to you. “What are you thinking about?”

You swallowed hard, your mind spinning. “That maybe… we should find a way to pass the time.”

“Oh?” His eyes darkened, and his grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly. “And what did you have in mind?”

You didn’t answer—not with words, anyway. Instead, you leaned in, closing the gap between you until your lips were just a breath apart. Hongjoong’s sharp intake of air was the only warning you got before he closed the distance, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss.

It was all fire and need, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that made your head spin. One of his hands slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as the other found your hip, his fingers digging into your flesh through the fabric of your jeans. You gasped into his mouth, your hands flying to his chest to steady yourself, but that only seemed to spur him on. He broke the kiss just long enough to murmur, “Tell me what you want,” before reclaiming your lips with a fierceness that left you breathless.

Your mind raced, torn between the rational part of you that knew this was madness and the part that didn’t care. The storm raged on outside, but inside the car, the only thing that mattered was the way Hongjoong’s body pressed against yours, the way his touch set your skin ablaze.

“God, Hongjoong,” you breathed, your fingers tangling in his hair. “I want—”

Before you could finish, he cut you off with another kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your toes curl. His hands moved lower, slipping under the hem of your sweater to explore the bare skin underneath. The contrast between his warm palms and the icy air sent a shiver down your spine, and you arched into his touch with a soft moan.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he growled against your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse point. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, not when his lips were trailing kisses along your jaw, not when his hands were roaming your body with a possessiveness that made your knees weak. Instead, you let your actions speak for you, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt until your hands met the hard planes of his chest. His skin was hot beneath your fingertips, and you couldn’t resist leaning in to press a kiss to the hollow of his throat.

Hongjoong groaned, his hands tightening on your hips as he pulled you into his lap. The steering wheel dug into your back, but you barely noticed—not when his erection was pressing insistently against your thigh, not when his lips were skimming over the curve of your ear.

“You feel that?” he rasped, his voice rough with desire. “That’s all for you.”

You whimpered, grinding against him instinctively. The friction was delicious, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you. “Joong—”

“Tell me,” he demanded, his fingers hooking under the waistband of your pants. “Tell me you want this.”

You nodded frantically, your nails digging into his shoulders as he pulled your jeans down just far enough to expose your wetness to the cold air. “Yes, yes, please—”

“Good girl,” he purred, his fingers slipping between your folds to tease you with maddening precision. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense, as he added, “Now let me hear you.”

You arched into him, desperate for more friction, more heat, more of him. The car windows were fogged up from your ragged breaths, the world outside forgotten as the storm raged on. All that mattered was the way his fingers curled inside you, stroking just right to make your hips jerk uncontrollably.

“Joong—” you gasped, clutching at his arm. “I can’t—please—”

“Can’t what?” he taunted, his voice low and rough. He added a second finger, stretching you deliciously, and you moaned at the sensation. His free hand gripped your thigh, holding you open for him as he worked you relentlessly. “Tell me exactly what you want.”

You whined, your head falling back against the seat as pleasure coiled tight in your core. “I need you,” you begged, your voice trembling. “I need you inside me, Joong—please.”

Hongjoong’s eyes darkened, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmured, “Since you asked so nicely…” He withdrew his fingers, leaving you whimpering at the loss, and shifted in the cramped space of the car. His hands fumbled with his belt buckle, the sound of it unbuckling sending a jolt of anticipation through you.

When he finally pushed down his jeans, freeing his hard length, you couldn’t help but reach for him. Your fingers wrapped around him, stroking lightly, and he hissed through clenched teeth. “Fuck, you’re impatient,” he muttered, though the way his hips bucked into your touch betrayed his own desperation.

You smirked up at him, even as your pulse raced. “You like it.”

He growled, catching your wrist and pinning it above your head. “Careful,” he warned, his tone playful but edged with hunger. “Not sure if you’ve noticed, but we’re not exactly spoiled for space here. Thought you might appreciate me taking my time.”

You bit your lip, squirming under his hold. “Take your time later,” you urged, dragging your free hand down his chest. “Right now, I just need you.”

Hongjoong groaned, releasing your wrist to brace himself against the car seat. He positioned himself between your legs, his tip brushing against your slick entrance, and you shivered at the contact. “You’re sure?” he asked, his voice softer now, laced with concern despite the tension thick in the air.

You nodded, lifting your hips to meet his. “Yes,” you breathed. “I’m sure.”

With a low growl, he sank into you in one slow, torturous thrust. The stretch was exquisite, filling you completely, and you gasped out his name as he stilled, giving you a moment to adjust. His forehead rested against yours, his breathing ragged as he fought to keep control.

“You feel so fucking good,” he rasped, his hands gripping your hips tightly. “Always so perfect for me.”

You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders as he began to move. The pace was steady at first, each stroke deep and deliberate, but it didn’t take long for his restraint to fracture. His thrusts grew faster, harder, the sound of skin against skin mixing with the howling wind outside. The car rocked slightly with the force of them, but neither of you cared.

Every nerve in your body was alight, every touch, every kiss, every word from his lips driving you closer to the edge. His mouth found yours again, kissing you hungrily as he fucked you with relentless intensity. You could feel the coil inside you tightening, winding tighter and tighter until—

“Joong, I’m close,” you panted, breaking the kiss to bury your face in his shoulder. “Please—don’t stop—”

He chuckled darkly, slowing his pace just enough to drive you mad. “Beg for it,” he demanded, his voice rough with desire. “Tell me how much you want to come.”

You let out a frustrated whine, your hips jerking up to chase his. “Please, Joong, I need it—want to come for you—need you to make me—”

“Good girl,” he praised, his hand slipping between your bodies to circle your clit. His touch was electric, and combined with the way he filled you, it was too much. Pleasure crashed over you in waves, your body shaking as you cried out his name.

Hongjoong swore under his breath, his own release hitting him hard. He buried himself deep inside you, his movements growing erratic as he followed you over the edge. For a moment, everything was quiet except for the sound of your mingled breaths and the faint creak of the car settling.

He collapsed against you, his weight pressing you into the seat, but you didn’t mind. His lips brushed against your neck, trailing lazy kisses as he murmured, “Told you we’d find a way to pass the time.”

You laughed softly, running your fingers through his hair. “You were right,” you admitted, though your smile faded as you glanced out the fogged-up window. The storm showed no signs of letting up, and the thought of someone finding you both like this sent a rush of embarrassment through you. “What if—?”

“Don’t worry,” he interrupted, his tone reassuring. “We’ll hear them coming.” He kissed you again, slow and sweet, before adding with a mischievous grin, “Besides, I’m not done with you yet.”

Your breath caught at the promise in his words, and before you could respond, his hands were already moving again, exploring, teasing. “Joong—”

“Shh,” he whispered, his lips tracing the curve of your ear. “Let me take care of you.”

❥﹒ ateez taglist: @casemoa143 @minkilicious @lice @amarecerasus

[stottlemorgan]

ꨄ Low Honour Arthur Morgan NSFW Headcanons (Female Reader) ꨄ

Author's note: Much like my Mid-High Honour NSFW Headcanons for Arthur, these are for me to flesh out his character in my head. Low Honour Arthur is much more warbled ground for me as I feel he can go in many different directions!! He’s a little toxiccccc, girlies (I know y’all eat it up like I do). I’ve used my first headcanon post as a framework in order to have it be some sort of pair piece to the Mid-High Honour side. This has some deeper bits about Arthur’s character within the smuttiness, I hope that it’s still enjoyable! Female Reader btw! Love y’all <333 This is 18+ smut, MDNI! Word count: 2,562

♡ Oh, this man will hold it all in until he bursts. He is a boiling concoction of self-loathing, shame, fear, and desperation. All he wants is to be wanted, to be loved, but he won’t allow it for himself because he can’t imagine any instance where he genuinely deserves it.

♡ When it comes to PDA, well, don’t count on him being consistent. One moment, he’ll let you wrap an arm around his waist or plant a kiss on his cheek, sometimes he’ll even squeeze your rear or hold your waist if he’s up for it. The next moment? A mighty volte-face. He’ll dodge your hands, turn away, glare at you as if you’re insane for trying to touch him.

♡ If you keep trying to rile him up, he’ll genuinely get agitated. Each time you touch him, he almost snarls, his mind tearing itself apart, both aflame with need and extinguishing it all at once. He’ll snap at you whilst his fingers twitch and his eyes rake down your body. “Simmer down, girl.” “None o’that now.” “I said quit it. I ain’t in the mood.”

♡ He’ll even go as far as to insult you to get you to back off, even if it in turn makes him feel worse. “Ain’t got two pennies on my person right now, Miss.” “Why don’chu go wear yourself out doin’ some work instead seein’ as you ain’t helped none today.” “Not sure you need makin’ more stupid today, darlin’. Go ‘n’ help Grimshaw.”

♡ There is one thing that he enjoys quite greedily though… You sitting in his lap. Your plush rear settled into the cradle of his groin and your soft body applying the most calming pressure to his person as he swills a sup of whiskey about his mouth. He’ll allow you to sink onto his lap at almost any time, in any way. It gives him a blazing kick of control and though he won’t admit it, it helps ground him.

♡ If you want to turn him on, it takes some time but not because his body is failing to react. He’ll grow solid as stone but you have to get him to a point where he feels ready enough to touch you in return.

♡ Some nights, he’ll allow himself a simple, rough bout of self-pleasure. His hands move quickly, sloppily, like his whole being is searing with an unscratchable itch. He’ll huff and grunt and spill over his fist without thinking too much, before he can think too much. He cleans up and tucks away his cock as though he’s uncomfortably tending to a wound, his eyes only flitting down occasionally to make sure he’s not missed anything.

♡ He doesn’t deserve the pleasure. He doesn’t deserve to be loved or held or valued for much more than the services he can provide. For the workhorse needs nothing more than a mere carrot to serve its master.

♡ But he also wants to take. To snatch what he so desperately wants from the world around him, from you. Whether he deserves it or not. He just wants a taste, he knows it won’t last for very long.

♡ Like a cat to cream, he just wants to lap insatiably before the hand that feeds him so sporadically rips it away again.

♡ He isn’t all that talkative a lot of the time. He can be vocal but it’s more subdued. Grunting, groaning, but through clenched teeth, huffing. Puffing very loud breaths through his nose as he squeezes his eyes shut and maintains a vice-like grip on your hips. The majority of his thoughts stay caged within his mind. I don’t deserve this. God, I don’t deserve this at all. I’m ruining this poor woman. I can’t stop myself. Foolish and desperate as always. Arthur, you sick son of a bitch.

♡ When he does feel like talking, he’s quite blunt. Telling you what to do to give him what he wants, telling you what to do so that you get what you want. “Up now, girl.” “Lean forward, now.” “C’mon.” “Come now, girl.” “That’s good.” “Doin’ well.” “S’at good enough?”

♡ His way of praising you is a bit more forceful. He wants you to feel it, not just hear it. Sometimes he’ll praise you through words, his voice strained, “That’s it, girl.” “Mm, you’re feelin’ good tonight, girl.” “Oh, there y’go. That’s it.” “Gooood girl, good girl, keep at it.” “Mm, right- right there– That- that’s it- beautiful-” 

♡ Other times he’ll praise you physically - squeezing your waist, smacking your ass, thrusting into you a few times a little quicker with a hum and a sharkish grin to show he’s enjoying you, mouthing at your skin, licking his lips after tasting you.

♡ You can praise him in return, but be prepared to hear him sigh. His face will scrunch as if you’d just kicked him in the stomach, and to him, it feels as though you have. “Wha’d I say ‘bout talkin’ like that? Mhm, yeah, I said quit it.” “You tryna piss me off?” “Shit, girl– Stop with all that.” “Shut up.”

♡ If you catch him out on a particularly tiring or stressful day, your words will choke him of breath. His eyes will dart up, he’ll blink uncomfortably, his mouth opening and closing, his tongue nervously wetting his lips as his self-loathing funnels down from his brain and floods his lungs, melting the usual bite from his voice. His forehead will land on your shoulder, or against his palm. “None o’that today.” “Please, darlin’.”

♡ Once in a blue moon, something more will slip from him, the pleasureful haze brewing a drunken feeling in his chest akin to romance. His touch will soften, his movements slowing, his gaze shining with a strange clarity… And he in those moments he lets you see him. “Ain’t deservin’ of you, darlin’.” “You been on my mind all week, I- I been thinkin’ ‘bout takin’ you into town.” “I weren’t plannin’ to leave ‘til mornin’. If you’ll have me.”

♡ If he smothers you, that’s just how it is, he won’t even think about it unless you let him know he’s doing it. “Mm– Arthur– You’re crushin’ me.” “Apologies, Miss.” His voice will leave him cattish, very almost chuckling.

♡ He’ll be gone for days or weeks at a time and return to camp abruptly in the middle of the night, practically ripping through the flap of his or your tent, grabbing, mouthy, and greedy. “Get up, girly.” “Evenin’ to ya, Miss. You’re lookin’ mighty warm ‘n’ comfortable.” “In my tent again, I see? You’d think you were waitin’ for somethin’.”

♡ If you try to look him in the eye, he’s quick to duck his head down, fuck you harder to make your eyes roll back and away from him, pinch you, push your chin up. Trying to form a consistent connection with him is futile, he won’t allow it. He’ll groan, the sound towing the line between vulnerable and truculent. “Stop that.” He’ll flip you over and shove your face into the pillows if he has to.

♡ If you’re persistent in your efforts, he’ll become genuinely agitated with you. “M’not here for that. Stop.” And if he’s feeling particularly unfond of the attention, his body will falter, his cock softening, the solidity and heat flowing up and through to instead fence off his heart.

♡ When you climb atop him, whether it be to ride his cock or his face, he has a habit of averting his gaze to the sight of your glistening core adorning the cruel landscape of his body the same way a stream runs over the jagged rock of the bed. If he has an arm free, he’ll bring it over his eyes, chest heaving, teeth bared as he groans.

♡ This man will buck up into you, no question about it. He loves to roll his full length into you when he’s on top, feeling you pulse around him as you whine, so it’s not different when the roles are reversed. Take, take, take, give, give, give.

♡ By your umpteenth orgasm, you’re sheening with one another’s sweat. His skin sticks to yours, his musk sharpening your sweet scent as you breathe each other in through sloppy kisses. You’ll have to change your clothes, if you’re wearing any, as will he. Though, only with a full bath will you remove the tang of his sweat.

♡ This man is a glutton in all ways he allows himself to be. He’ll unabashedly devour you, his thick fingers dipping into your skin as he viciously mouths his way up and down between your clit and your core. He needs you to huff and gasp and moan, he needs to hear and feel what you’re feeling from him, for him. He’ll groan, pressing his cock into whatever’s beneath him. He’ll overstimulate you with purpose, watching you as your head falls back, as your heels dig into his back, as you cry out his name. His lips and tongue will be flushed a sweet pink when he pulls away only to take a few breaths before planting heavy kisses about your groin.

♡ When you kiss your way down his chest, his stomach, inching lower, his breaths tighten. His hands will already twitch with the urge to grab your head, want and discomfort waging a fearsome war behind his dilating pupils. He’ll grab at whatever is at his sides and his mouth will drop open with a low groan as you gently guide his cock into your mouth, you’d almost think you’re hurting him. He’ll stammer out a few half words as you start to suck and if you look up quickly enough, you’ll catch his gaze, wide and focused on you. So many words want to burst from him, yet they never do. His brow will furrow and his jaw will tense as he thrusts into your mouth, his breaths verging on whimpers. At some point, a hand will come to the back of your head and he’ll stroke your hair, his fingers occasionally twitching, grabbing as the pace increases. He’ll grunt and squeeze his eyes shut, the muscles in his jaw flickering, his body writhing. The need for more starts to slosh about in his stomach like gasoline, one spark of nervous thought away from combusting, from pushing you away and singeing you both.

♡ On occasion, he has wordlessly and swiftly ushered you out of his tent or left yours in a few long strides, heavy with his brutish build but also fear and discomfort. If he feels that you saw him a little too closely, feels that you were a little too kind, too familiar, his skin will burn with the compulsion to put as much distance between you as possible despite you remaining firmly at the forefront of his mind.

♡ In those moments, rough, strained huffs escape his chest as he quells the hot and gentle tears coalescing at his eyelashes. His stomach becomes an angry, swinging weight, dragging him about, seeking some sort of solace. He knows he could find it in you if he went back but he just can’t bring himself to bare more than his body to you.

♡ If you’re growing to be a little too loud during sex, especially if you’re semi-public, he won’t hesitate to clamp a palm over your mouth, giving your head a little shake. “Now now, enough o’that. You’re soundin’ like you’re wantin’ to be caught.” He’ll shove his tongue into your mouth, or even apply a light pressure to your throat, juuuust enough to stifle your moans into squeaks. “I said quiet now, sweetheart.”

♡ He likes to paw at your rear, your hips, your thighs, pushing them apart, moving to your breasts, his hands warm and rough and kneading your shoulders as he mouths at your jaw. When he settles into it, he loves massaging your body, giving you what he won’t give himself, a unique bristly tenderness. He’ll stabilise you, holding you, but there’s a lasciviousness to it. He’s helping you but his own gain is of equal thought.

♡ He’ll suckle on your skin, nipping at you, grinning as he pulls little gasps from you and purples your skin. If you don’t complain too much, he’ll pinch and squeeze you here and there, digging his blunt nails into your skin and bringing you flush to him with a low hum.

♡ You’re permitted to mark him in turn, “If you’d like.” Scratching his back and drawing a shiver and a hungry moan from him. He’s quite fond of you biting his shoulders, tonguing at his skin as you suck as his neck, bruising his back with your heels as he thrusts into you. “S’a dangerous mouth you got there, girl.” “Christ- c- careful, darlin’.”

♡ He’ll check in with you, though it’s quick. If you’re on your front, he’ll lean forward and cup the side of your head, guiding you to look at him briefly. “Y’alright?” “Yeah?” “That’s it, ain’t it?” If you’re on your back, he’ll nuzzle into your neck, kissing and humming. “How’s that feelin’, darlin’?”

♡ He’ll soak your skin with messy kisses, practically biting you as he moves to your mouth, your teeth clinking together. He’ll grin as you laugh into his mouth, a grating hum sounding in his palette, something sounding so close to him calling you his girl. “Mmm’girl. C’mere.”

♡ He’s not one to often tolerate an attitude. He’ll tense, his brow furrowing, eyes narrowing, jaw setting. He’ll grasp you, putting you into position, leaning in close, his lips brushing yours. “You gon’ keep grousin’?” “What’s that about, hm, girl?” “You wanna tell me what you think you’re doin’ talkin’ to me that way?”

♡ He’ll also click his tongue or tut at you, and even shake his head while he’s doing it if he’s feeling especially snarky.

♡ If you’re feeling overwhelmed, he’s not likely to stop if he thinks you can handle it. He’ll slow down for a moment, let you have a few breaths, but while you do, he’s palming at you, kissing your back or chest, riling you up still. “Shhh, shh, sh, c’mon now. You can take it, can’chya? I seen you do it before… Mhm, that’s it, good girl.”

♡ If it really is too much for you, he’ll hook his arms beneath yours from whichever way you're facing and bring you up to sit in his lap, a heavy sigh escaping him as he snuffs out the nasty compulsion to snap at you. He wouldn’t want to snap at you deep down, it’s just his body seething with need. “Come on, darlin’. Why don’chu take a minute? Here, come.” He’ll hold you to him, tense with arousal, his eyes closing, fighting how exposed the gesture makes him feel.

♡ He’s quite dominating, but the blade of his controlling nature has blunted edges when it comes to you. He can be aloof, snippy, rolling his eyes, but he’ll still kiss you and rub your shoulders or waist as he’s snapping at you. He won’t always say no to you taking some of the control either; though he has to guide you into it or tell you to take control.

Tags for my sweethearts (I can't remember exactly who, so sorry if I've missed you or tagged you accidentally! Love y'all!): @frillydolle @pinescent-and-gingerbread @zae-heeyyy @thoughts-of-bear @kayyqua @thundermartini

[guiltyasdave]

glitch

pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

word count: ~1k

summary: Prequel to nights are so starry, blood moonlit. How you and Javi became neighbors with benefits.

warnings/tags: explicit smut (-> 18+ only!), smoking, alcohol consumption, able-bodied reader, a hint of dom!Javi, unprotected p in v, kinda rough sex, ass slaps, dirty talk, oral (f receiving), Javi is a menace, a hint of angst and feelings because of who i am as a person

a/n: written for @iamasaddie’s writing challenge 2.0 with the prompt "never knew you were such a freak", and since my first story about these two was also part of one of aly's writing challenges, it just made sense to revisit them :)

dividers as always by @saradika-graphics <3

find my full masterlist here and follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates!

It had started out with fleeting glances in the hallway, quick greetings when your apartment doors opened at the same time, then short conversations on your adjoining balconies, late night talks with your feet propped up on the railing and his back leaning against it, sometimes exchanging a cigarette or a light, or occasionally a bottle of beer when one of you had run out. 

Of course you noticed the ridiculously tight jeans that really shouldn't look that good on him, the way his broad shoulders strained against his clothes, and the way his shirts always revealed a little too much of his golden-skinned chest. You couldn't deny the fact that your neighbor was incredibly attractive, and that he knew it. 

You probably should have said no when late one evening, after Javi had found you on your balcony, smoking and watching the glistening city lights, he invited you to share a glass of bourbon. Together. At his place. 

He had been flirting with you, which you suspected he did with every woman he met, and you had tried not to pay it any mind, but you were well aware of how this evening would end if you accepted. 

You should have said no, and a stronger, less lonely version of you might have, but you craved human contact, craved to be touched by someone else than yourself, and if the sounds that traveled through the thin walls from his bedroom to yours frequently enough were any indication, Javi knew what he was doing. 

You should have said no, because it became clear to you very quickly that Javier Peña would ruin you for all other men.

He was more gentle, more caring than you had expected him to be and he prioritized your pleasure in a way that you had never experienced from any man before. He took you to heights that you hadn’t thought possible before, and it was addicting.

You should have said no, but you hadn’t, and now you keep coming back for more. 

You keep coming back for the way his skin tastes under your tongue, for the way his lips press against yours, swallowing moans and whimpers, for the way his fingers and his cock reach so deep inside of you that you still feel him hours later, when you have said your good nights and crawled under the covers of your own bed. Never his, never crossing the line to a different kind of intimacy.

It’s another one of those nights, a soft knock on a door, a mutual understanding passing between you, gentle touches that burned under your skin until they got more demanding, until you both gave in to that pull that kept you coming back. 

He’s already made you come on his tongue twice, until you were dripping onto his sheets, his name the only word in your mind and on your lips. You’re on your hands and knees, limbs shaking, trying to accommodate his length and the harsh rhythm that he’s setting. 

“Taking me so fucking well,” he pants, running his hands down your back and over your ass. You chase his touch, goosebumps forming in its wake, your moans filling the air as he keeps hitting impossibly deep inside of you. 

His palm connects with your skin, nothing more than a playful swat, but the sensation sears through you, lighting your nerve endings on fire as you all but scream your pleasure into the softly lit bedroom.

“Oh?” His voice is low, rough in his throat. You don’t need to turn your head and look behind you to know that he’s smirking down at you right now. “You liked that, huh?” 

You nod eagerly, too far gone to be ashamed of the way your hips are bucking back against him, working desperately to feel him deeper inside of you. 

He slaps you again, harder this time, and you feel yourself clenching around him, feel the way a new wave of slick is coating his cock. His fingers dig into your shoulder and he pulls you up, until your torso is pressed against his, his mouth moving against the delicate skin of your neck. 

“Never knew you were such a freak, baby,” he whispers, his lips curling into a grin, teeth nipping at you.

“Shut up.” You try to hold your voice steady, ignore the throbbing need between your thighs, but he just chuckles and presses another kiss against the side of your throat before he loosens his hold and pushes you back towards the mattress. 

His hands grab your hips instead, pulling you into his thrusts, filling you so deeply that you see stars behind your eyelids.

“You want me to do it again?” You hate how smug he sounds, would love to deny him the satisfaction, but god, you do want him to. 

“Fuck– please, Javi.” You’re breathless, reduced to a mess of trembling thighs and desperate whimpers, and you wish that you could stay like this forever. 

He slaps your ass twice in quick succession and deepens his thrusts at the same time, punching all air from your lungs. His hand snakes down to graze your clit and you’re overwhelmed with sensations, pure pleasure coursing through your veins so suddenly that it’s almost disorienting. You collapse onto the sheets, your pussy pulsing around him as your body shakes through its third orgasm of the night and you’re whimpering his name as he buries himself deep inside of you and comes with a groan, painting your insides with his release. 

After more kisses, more touches, and a shared cigarette, you get dressed and eventually, his apartment door clicks shut behind you. You lean your back against the wall, closing your eyes and breathing deeply for a moment before you enter your own place.

Again, you know that you’ll be coming back for more. And that no matter how many times you come back, it will never be enough.

thank you for reading 🤍 if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask, it truly makes my day every single time!

[aanoia]

Orphic (pt.1)

pairing; Ao'nung x Sully!reader Orphic; (adj.) mysterious and entrancing; beyond ordinary understanding words; 3,719 warnings; injury, mentions of death Pt. 2; Pt. 3 Important note; this is sort of a continuation of a previous story that can be found on my Wattpad. It's not required to read that story, in fact it was written years ago (now it's very poorly written, but then it was my best writing). It will give backstory on your parents. Speaking of your parents, you were born to Tsu'tey and Y/n. Tsu'tey died the same death as in the movie, and Y/n died during childbirth. Jake and Neytiri took you in and named you after your mother. You're basically twins with Neteyam :) Bold is English :) the normal text is Na'vi

Decided to stray from my Marauders era for the time being, as I rewatched the Avatar movies and that phase is coming back. This is mostly a trial to see if I want to post this series on Tumblr, or just on Wattpad. The format will probably change a bit as time goes on :)

The ground beneath her rushes past as her ikran races through the air, following closely behind the group of older warriors. She stays steady on her ikran, completely in tune with her surroundings as her sharp eyes scan across the moving terrain. The unpleasant hum of the skywalker machines fill her ears, and her lip subconsciously curls into a sneer. Into view comes a train upon its foreign tracks, two helicopter-like vehicles hovering above it. 

“Ground team, move.” Her father’s voice instructs in her ear. The track explodes, sending the front of the train flying and causing the aircrafts to veer off track. The experienced warriors dive, and she aches to follow suit, but she refrains. Only two others stay high in the sky, her brothers, Neteyam and Lo’ak. She knows they crave the same thing she does, to go down and fight with the others. However, their father’s orders echo in their minds. The group of Na’vi work swiftly, bringing down the aircrafts and searching through the various cargo bins.

“Yo, we have got to get down there,” Lo’ak says, looking at his elder siblings with an excited look on his face.

“No way! Dad will skin us!” Neteyam protests.

  “Come on, don’t be a wuss!” Lo’ak half shrugs, and his ikran changes directions, beginning to dive.

Y/n sighs, glancing at Neteyam, “Come on, little brother, we can’t let him have all the fun.” She grins, and flies after Lo’ak.

“Lo’ak! Y/n! Get back here- argh!” Neteyam groans, before reluctantly going along with them. The trio land, and Y/n gracefully dismounts her ikran, swinging her bow across her shoulder. Once again, she’s scanning her surroundings, taking note of any possible dangers, anything that could hurt her brothers.

“Come on, let’s go!” Lo’ak urges, already running into action.

“Lo’ak!” Neteyam growls, running after the boy. 

Said boy runs to a supply crate, where a warrior hands him a gun. “Go boy, take it.” Lo’ak happily takes the firearm, ululating proudly. Y/n and Neteyam walk towards him, the latter rather pissed off. 

“You don’t even know how to use it.” He sneers, glancing distastefully at the gun in his hand.

Lo’ak successfully loads the gun, a smug grin on his face, “Dad taught me.” He raises the gun in the air, pretending to aim at something. “I bet you can’t aim.”

Y/n rolls her eyes, “Lo’ak, you can’t either.”

“Yeah- but I bet he’s worse than I am.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Neteyam mutters. A warrior calls out, and once again their father’s voice fills the air.

“Gunship’s inbound! Fall back!” He yells, and the three kids immediately take off to their ikrans. Neteyam urges the two others to run faster, and they all push. However, their efforts are in vain as an explosive goes off behind them, sending the three flying in the air. Y/n yelps, landing on a jagged piece of metal. She hisses at the pain searing through her back. She sits up, reaching behind her to find her fingers coated in a wet substance.

“Shit, dad is gonna kill me.” She mutters to herself, pushing herself to her feet. “Neteyam!? Lo’ak!?” She spots her father, turning over a blue body. She rushes over, dread filling her body. “Dad- is that-”

Neteyam groans, his face scrunched in pain, “Dad?”

Jake takes Neteyam by the back of his neck, lifting him up to check his back for any injuries. Upon seeing none, he growls at the boy. “What are you doing here, boy? What the hell were you thinking?” He glances at Y/n. “And you- are you alright?”

She bites her tongue and nods, “Yes, I’m sorry, sir.”

“I’m- sor-sorry,” Neteyam grunts out, pain lacing his words as Jake lifts him over his shoulders.

“Go, Y/n. Now.” She nods upon her fathers demand, and rushes back to her ikran. She quietly calms its worried squawks, and takes off in flight. She follows the group through the mountains, trying to ignore the stinging in her back as she hangs her head low, afraid to meet her father’s stern gaze.

A loud horn blows as they make it home, and many Na’vi cheer and whoop upon their arrival. Y/n lands on the rock with a solemn face, and she winces softly as she dismounts, not so graceful as last time. She pets her ikran’s face gently, cooing.

“You did good, girl, thank you.” She whispers, restings her forehead against her ikran’s.

“Fall in.” Her father commands and she sucks in a breath. She pulls away from her ikran, following her father’s orders. He looks at the three children with an irritated look, and Y/n can’t help but notice the hints of worry mixed in. “You’re supposed to spotters. You spot bogeys, and you call ‘em in. From a distance.” He growls, looking back and forth between the children. “Does any of this sound familiar? Get here!” He commands Lo’ak, and the boy steps forward, joining the line. “Jesus, I let you three geniuses fly a mission, and you disobey direct orders.” In a softer voice he adds, “Kiri, can you go help your grandmother with the wounded? Please?” Y/n hisses softly as her mothers hands gently caress the skin around her wound. 

Kiri glances at her father, “My brother is wounded.” She says in an obvious tone.

“It’s fine.” Neteyam reassures.

“Baby girl, please.” Jake pleads as Tuk gazes curiously at the scene. “Tuk, go with her, go!”

“Dad- sir, I take full responsibility.” Neteyam tries as Kiri and Tuk sigh and join their grandmother.

“What- no, he doesn’t.” Y/n butts in, glaring slightly at Neteyam.

“You do. That’s right. ‘Cause you’re the older brother, you gotta act like it.” Y/n looks at him with a distasteful look. She’s the eldest. She was born many moments before Neteyam was. She looks at her feet, a dull ache in her chest.

“MaJake.” Neytiri says softly, a nice change in tone. “Your son, and your daughter, are actually bleeding.”

Jake looks between the two, and his gaze settles on Y/n. “You said you weren’t hurt.”

“I’m fine, sir.” She says quickly.

He stares at her for a moment, before sighing, “Just go and get patched up. Both of you. Go on, dismissed.” She hesitates for a second, but with her mother’s urging hand on her lower back, she walks, leaving Lo’ak alone to deal with their father. 

Neteyam grunts in pain, hissing slightly. Y/n watches quietly from the corner of the room, having already gone through this. Lo’ak laughs, arms crossed as he taunts his brother. Their grandmother, the Tsahik, shakes her head at his antics as Tuk hands Neteyam a bowl and gently instructs him to drink.

“I would use yalna bark.” Kiri says out loud, standing to walk to her grandmother. 

“Oh, you would? And who is Tsahik?” Her grandmother asks, continuing with patching her grandson. 

“You are grand- move!” She shoves Lo’ak over. “You are, Grandmother. But yalna bark is better.” Neteyam hisses in pain. “Stings less.”

“Mighty warrior.” Lo’ak teases, earning himself a slap to his leg from his grandmother.

Y/n tunes the group out, zoning in on a spot on the floor. Her hands clasp tightly around her beaded necklace, one that belonged to her birth father. She wonders if he would have let her go down and join the rest, or if he would also have her be just lookout. Would he be angry at her, the way Jake seems to always be? She’s heard many stories about him. He was a great warrior. The People trusted him to bring them to victory against the sky people, and he died attempting to do so. He was mighty, and she feels like anything but. Her thoughts shift to her mother, Jake’s best friend. She was kind, and fierce. People would always speak of her fondly. She had to end her father’s suffering, breaking her own heart in the process. And then, once Y/n was born, she died. All Y/n has left of her is her name.

She will forever be thankful to Jake and Neytiri, who have filled the position of her mother and father. But she can’t help but wonder how her life would be different if her birth parents were alive. She feels a presence beside her and sighs softly, glancing over. 

“Hey, sis, you alright?” Neteyam asks softly, looking over at her.

She nods a little, “Lo’ak got grounded.” She says quietly as said boy leaves with Kiri.

He hums, “I heard. No flying for a month.” He sucks in a breath, thankful he somehow avoided the punishment. Y/n nods and Neteyam studies her for moment. He notices the way she protectively holds onto her necklace. “Are you thinking about Tsu’tey again?”

“I always am.” She responds, back to looking at the floor. “I miss him, and I don’t even know him.”

He scoots a bit closer, nodding. “It’s alright, sis. He’s with Eywa, and he’s watching over you. I’m sure he’s proud of you.”

She makes a face, “Yeah, maybe.” She glances up as Neytiri and Jake walk into the tent. She makes brief eye contact with her father, but quickly looks away. His sad gaze lingers on the girl, but upon Tuk’s begs to be picked up, he looks away.

Neteyam sighs softly, wrapping his arm around his sister’s shoulders, “Either way, you have me, big sister.”

Y/n glances at him, a ghost of a smile on her face. She holds out her pinky, “Little brother.”

He grins, locking his finger with hers, “Big sister.”

“No matter how old we get.” She finishes softly, shaking his pinky like a handshake. “Thank you, Neteyam.”

He half shrugs nonchalantly, “It’s no biggie.” He pulls his hand away, and ruffles the top of her head. “I'll leave you to ponder, I need to speak to father.”

She smiles, “Try to keep your head.”

He stands, “I'll do my best.” And he walks towards their parents. 

Y/n uses this chance to sneak off unnoticed. She silently slips out of the tent, and once she's a good distance away, she calls for her ikran. She takes a deep breath, and jumps from the edge, landing seamlessly on her ikran. The two immediately take off, and she ululates loudly as they go. Once his wings meet a steady rhythm, she spreads her arms out, basking in the final moments of sunlight. The warmth of the rays brings comfort to her skin, and she sighs deeply. The built up stress slowly fades away and her muscles relax. 

Moments like these, completely alone and serene, not a worry in the world, are her favorite. It’s the only time she can truly relax. However, she doesn’t get many. The tight leash her father holds her on seems to be suffocating. She can never leave without notifying someone - and even then she can never leave by herself. Her father’s fear of something happening took over her life. So, whenever she gets the chance, she slips away, giving herself a moment of freedom. 

Her ikran perches on the side of a cliff, and Y/n carefully climbs onto the small landing. She rests against a rock, looking up at the night sky. Her ikran purrs softly and curls up beside her, resting his head on her lap. She gently pets him, caught up in her own world.

Her serenity was interrupted by the hum of vehicles below her. She furrows her brows as her ikrans head perks up. She peers over the edge of the landing, her eyes searching for the noise. A seemingly rogue amp suit trudges through the forest, gun at the ready. She glances at her ikran, and in only a moment she’s on his back, stealthily gliding down. The sun slowly falls behind the trees, and the world gets darker, but she doesn’t turn for home. The pair land in the trees, and she silently instructs her ikran to stay back. 

She runs through the trees, tracking the noises of the amp suit. The bow slung across her shoulder gently hits her thigh, and her ears perk up at every sound. She eventually catches up with the suit, and watches intently from the trees. A young man occupies the suit, and she notes his particular ugliness. Her stomach settles uncomfortably, and she swallows thickly. 

“Mule, do you read?” Her dad’s irritated voice fills her ears, and she freezes. The sound catches her off guard, and she falls short of the branch she was reaching for. She yelps as she loses her balance on the tree. She shrieks, flailing her arms as she falls. She hits the ground with a thud and a groan, and the amp suit already has his gun pointed at her.

“Well, what do we have here?” He sneers, a nasty look on his features. She grunts, pushing herself to her feet despite the ache in her ankle. She doesn’t answer, instead slowly inching her hands to her bow. “Don’t you touch that thing.” 

“Mule, I asked, "Do you read?””

“It’s getting dark out, did mommy and daddy not tell you to be home before the light dies?” He takes a step closer to the girl, and she bites her cheek, glancing around.

“I do not speak English, dipshit.” She sneers, glaring up at him. 

“What was that? Speak English, beast.” A squawk fills the air, and the man's attention is drawn. Y/n takes this moment to dart between the robot's legs, pulling her bow off her shoulders. She swiftly climbs on top of the tree, pointing the arrow at the man. He points his gun, and fires aimlessly. The arrow leaves her bow, and strikes beside his head. She loads another arrow, and a searing pain shoots up her thigh. But she holds steady, and releases this arrow. The suit slumps, and falls to the ground. 

Y/n glances down at her thigh and a pained look crosses her face, she lifts her hand to her throat. “Devil dog, I read.” She grunts out.

The answer is immediate, “Where’s your playground?”

She stumbles down the tree, calling for her ikran before answering, “By the mountain-” She hisses. “South side.”

There’s a pause, “Are you hurt?”

She sighs deeply, her ikran landing beside her. “Yes. I’m coming home.”

“No, stay where you are.” She takes off. “Mule, do you read?” No answer. “Goddamnit, Y/n.” She makes it home quickly, and her siblings immediately crowd her. 

“Y/n- what were you thinking?” Neteyam rushes out, pushing past his siblings.

She grunts, feeling slightly dizzy from her bleeding bullet wound, “My leg.” She mutters, afraid to look down at it. 

“My daughter!” Her mother shrieks, shoving the growing crowd. “My child- what has happened?”

“Mama-” She slides off of her ikran into her arms. Her leg gives out and she screws her eyes shut.

“Y/n!” It’s her father this time, who also shoves through the crowd. “Shit, Y/n- move! Everyone move!” Neytiri picks up the girl and follows after her mate, her face etched in worry. 

“I’m sorry-” She whispers to her parents.

“Shh, save your energy, child.” Neytiri instructs softly as she sets her down on a fur blanket in their tent. Mo’at rushes in, gently pushing Jake aside to assess the wound. She makes quick work of setting up her supplies, a deep frown on her face.

“Y/n!” Neteyam rushes inside, despite his father’s protests. He slides next to Y/n, taking her hand tightly.

“We must remove the bullet. It will hurt, grandchild.” Mo’at says calmly. “Are you ready?” Y/n swallows thickly and nods.

“Okay,” She whispers, dreading the next few seconds. Her fear proved to be justified, as the pain of large makeshift tweezers digging through her thigh is unbearable. She tries to stay quiet, but a few whimpers and cries manage to escape. She relaxes once the bullet is removed, and sighs. “Ouch.” She mutters, sniffling softly.

Neytiri frowns at her daughter, “What were you doing out there so late?” Jake watches from the front of the tent, a hard look in his eyes.

“I just wanted-” She hisses. “To be alone, for a moment. I lost track of time.”

“And the sky people?”

“Came out of nowhere… he was alone. I was watching him, and then dad called for me, and I fell.” She doesn’t make eye contact with anyone, shame filling her body.

“Where is this man?”

“Dead.” She replies grimly, slightly relieved as Mo’at wraps her thigh. 

“You killed him?” Neteyam asks quietly, wonder in his eyes. Y/n nods solemnly. “Woah, cool.”

“Not cool.” Their father butts in, stepping forward. His hard gaze sets on his eldest. “I’m disappointed in you. You defied multiple rules. Don’t go anywhere alone. Don’t go out when it’s getting dark. Don’t interact with the sky people.” His arms are crossed, and his jaw clenched. “You could've died, do you realize that?”

Y/n’s gaze lowers, and she nods. “Yes, sir.”

Neytiri gives her mate a pointed look, “She could have died, so be thankful she didn’t. She has already received the punishment of her mistakes. All you must do is comfort her.”

“A shot to the leg isn’t enough- she should be grounded.”

“MaJake.” The heat in her eyes successfully quiets the man, and he sighs, shaking his head and storming out of the tent. Y/n frowns, sitting up slowly.

“I’m tired.” She mumbles.

“You cannot walk on your own, granddaughter. Your leg requires healing, and you must give it time to do so.” Mo’at says, a rare gentle tone in her voice. “I shall have a healer bring you crutches.”

Y/n nods, “Thank you, grandmother.” Mo’at nods and collects her things. She exchanges a few words with her daughter, before walking out. Her presence was replaced by a crying Tuk. She runs in and jumps into Y/n’s arms. “Woah- Tuk?”

“Are you dying?” Tuk asks, her eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, no, no, Tuk. I’m alright. I’m not dying, silly.” She says softly, kissing Tuk’s forehead.

“Is your leg going to be cut off?” Lo’ak questions, much too excited about the idea, as he walks in.

“You wish.” She grins. Her siblings can always cheer her up, even if they aren’t trying to do so.

“I think you’re an idiot.” Kiri mentions.

“I think father agrees with you.” Y/n shrugs, still holding tightly onto Tuk. “Is my ikran okay?”

Kiri nods, “You’re ikran is just fine.”

She smiles gratefully, “Thank you. Now, let me sleep. I require slumber.”

Y/n sits, gently humming to herself as she makes a necklace. It’s only been a few days since she was injured, and she’s spent her down time making things for the people she’s loved. She’s already finished the things for her siblings, her mother, and her grandmother. All that’s left is her father. She must admit that she contemplated even making him one, but he really does mean the world to her. She’s determined to make this necklace perfect for him. 

She glances up at the sound of ikrans landing, and her family is there. She hides the necklace quickly, and lifts herself up. She uses her crutches to step outside of the tent, a questioning look on her face.

“What’s going on?” She asks, and meets Lo’ak’s eyes. The boys gaze drifts to the ground and her brows furrow.

“All of you, go. I need to speak with your mother.” Jake demands and no one protests. The group of them go around the tent, and instead of giving them space, they eavesdrop on the conversation. The adults manage to get a few private words exchanged before the children listen in, “This thing. This Quaritch.” Y/n’s ears perk at the name. The villain of her parents’ stories. “Whatever he is- he walked right in here. He can walk right under Eywa’s nose.”

“This is our family! This is our home!” Neytiri defends.

“This is about our family! This is about our little ones.”

“I cannot. You cannot ask this.” Her mother steps past Jake. “I cannot leave my People. I will not.”

“He’s hunting us. He’s targeting our family.”

“You cannot ask this!” Neytiri snaps. “The children. Everything they’ve ever known. The forest. This is our home!” She yells, her voice urgent. 

“He had our children. He had ‘em under his knife!” There’s a moment of silence before Neytiri let’s out a shaky breath. 

“My father gave me this bow as he lay dying.” It wasn’t difficult for Y/n to know which bow she was speaking of. “And he said “Protect the People.” You’re Toruk Makto!”

“This will protect the People!” Jake yells.  “Quaritch has Spider.” Y/n gasps softly, looking at Kiri with sad eyes. “And that kid knows everything. He knows our whole operation, and he can lead them right in here.” The eldest kids share a look. “If the People harbor us, they will die. Do you understand?” They’re silent for a moment. “Look, I got nothing. I got no plan. But I can protect this family. That I can do.” Neytiri gasps softly, her face twisting in pain. “But I know one thing.” Her father whispers. “Wherever we go, this family is our fortress.”

Neytiri sighs, and embraces her mate tearily. Jake sighs softly, his heart heavy. Y/n glances between her siblings.

“You guys need to tell me what happened. Now.”

Y/n waits patiently on her ikran for the ceremony to end. She cannot walk well, so she doesn’t attempt to stand with her family as the new Olo’eyktan to “kill” her father. She keeps her bag close to her hip, her creations kept safely stored inside. She frowns as her family walks towards her, her mother cries silently. 

Not a word is spoken as they begin their journey to the islands. Y/n glances behind her at the forest for the last time, and she can’t help but feel as if she’s leaving behind a vital part of her. She’s leaving behind her birth parents. Their memories. She sighs and looks forward, holding tightly onto her necklace. 

A father protects. It’s what gives him meaning. One life ends. Another begins.

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[ladykailitha]

You're a Dream to Me Part 3

Whoohoo! And we're back with this lovely story! This will be its forever home until it's completed. So every Sunday you will a new chapter of this wonderfully fun soulmate fic!

In this one we have Chrissy making it up to the band and Steve getting his first hint of who his soulmate is (denial is a river in Egypt Steve!)

Part 1 Part 2

~

Steve was on top of an old van, a blanket laid out under them, watching the sun set. He was sitting with his back pressed to his soulmate’s chest as he ran his fingers through the riot of curls. The man’s hair was soft and silky, like he knew how to take care of it.

“You can’t resist my hair, can you, baby?” his soulmate rumbled. His arms wrapped tighter around Steve’s waist.

Steve sighed happily. “I can’t resist you.”

His soulmate nuzzled his neck and then his hands started to wander. Steve’s body arched into the touch. He looked down at the hands and saw rings on almost every finger. All except the ring finger on the left hand. Steve laced their fingers together and then pulled the man down for a kiss. It was searing and sensual, leaving Steve feeling warm all over.

His soulmate’s hands began to drift toward his belt and lower–

BEEEEP! BEEEP! BEEP!

Steve jolted awake, sitting straight up in his bed, disorientated. He panted for breath. He looked around to see that he was in his bedroom and it was still dark outside. He picked up his phone, silencing the alarm.

“Fuck!”

Steve ran his hands over his face. He had forgotten to turn off his alarm. He wasn’t meant to be into the bookstore until the afternoon. He flopped his head back onto the pillows, staring up at the ceiling.

That soulmate dream had started toward the steamy. While he had heard of them happening to other people, he had always assumed that they were when they were about to meet, not the second clear dream ever.

But like all the other dreams he had of his soulmate it was very tender and intimate. He knew that once he met his soulmate that they would be perfect for each other. He knew that sounded bit like hyperbole, but he could feel it with every new dream he had about his soulmate.

He curled up into a ball and tried to drift back to sleep, all the while in the back of his mind it fused the memory of the rings on his soulmate’s long fingers.

~

Fuck!

Eddie hated having to wake up early on performance days because it meant that he would be running on empty from the get go. But there was some major sporting event in town where everyone had come from far away to watch this game. And even though Chrissy had gotten them hotel rooms before the game was announced in the city, they had been bumped to make room.

Chrissy had spent hours screaming at the poor guy who did reservations to no avail. There were no rooms in the whole fucking town to be had. So they had to get a hotel in a city about an hour away and then wake up early to drive into the city so that they could get everything set up.

He rubbed his eyes and then pressed the heels of his palms into them. That dream last night was so fucking domestic that it made his teeth ache. The way Steve murmured that he couldn’t resist all of Eddie? God that was like fucking catnip to him. The casual affection was addictive as hell.

He crawled out of bed and started making the coffee as he padded into the bathroom for a shower. He hoped the combination of the two would make him less of a zombie and more of person by the time he got down to the lobby to meet with Chrissy and the rest of the band.

He scrubbed his hair and had to stop for a moment to catch his breath. The feeling of Steve’s hand in his hair had decided to make an indelible mark on his psyche today. The way that it feel was tender and possessing all at once. Like Steve had laid claim to him to care for him.

Eddie pressed his hand to his chest were the tattoo of the black, thorny crown was etched into his skin. He had gotten after their first song had gone platinum. ‘King of My Heart’ was a song off their third album. They had had songs go gold and whole albums go platinum, but that was the first time a song theirs had done so.

The guys knew it was about Steve, but everyone else thought it had been about Eddie’s then boyfriend, Ferdie Olivier. Ferdie’s parents were big Shakespeare fans and that’s how he got the name Ferdinand. Dude was hot, but wasn’t meant for the life under the bright lights. He loved being a small character actor, not the boyfriend of megastar Eddie Munson.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there taking in the memories of his dreams, but not long enough that the water went cold before he got out. The coffee was still hot and he put it in a little to-go cup, adding enough cream and sugar to kill a horse. He finished getting dressed and then grabbed his stuff and coffee on the way out the door.

He was the first down in the lobby and sat down in a nearby chair as he eyed a croissant hungrily. Jeff came down and swiped two croissants, tossing him one.

“Jesus fuck,” Jeff huffed as he sat down next to him, “just fucking eat if you’re hungry. You don’t need to go looking like fucking Oliver Twist, dude.”

Eddie blushed as he bit down on his buttery croissant. “Thanks.”

After he munched on the pastry he stood up and got a couple of bagels and some cream cheese spread. By the time Chrissy arrived, the band had eaten and were fully caffeinated.

She raised an eyebrow, but wisely said nothing. Their PA took their luggage and packed up the car they had rent for the day. Once they were on the road Chrissy spoke up.

“I’ve got a treat for the whole band really,” she said, “though it started as a way to make up for being a bitch the other morning.”

“Wha’cha got?” Gareth asked, leaning forward and propping himself up with his elbow to the seat.

“You know how we have three days between Indy and Bloomington?” she asked with a huge grin on her face.

Brian rolled his eyes and huffed. “Don’t we know it. We were going to spend it with our families, maybe get the cops to chase us for old time’s sake.”

“Well...” Chrissy said, “what would be another thing you’d like to do for old time’s sake?”

Eddie blinked for a moment. “There is no fucking way. They’d never agree to it, they’re like a country western bar now or some shit.”

Chrissy turned around and smirked. “Not anymore. It’s not even a dive bar anymore. It’s a full on metal and leather bar now.”

They all stared at her in shock and suddenly they were all talking at once over top of each other as they expressed their excitement and in Gareth’s case incredulity. Eddie put his fingers to his lips and let out a loud, piercing whistle.

Everyone went stock still.

“Thank you,” Eddie murmured. “So you are telling us that not only is The Hideout a metal and leather bar, but that you got us a gig there during our three day layover in Hawkins?”

“Yup!” Chrissy said brightly. “So I couldn’t decide which say you guys would have wanted; day one, two, or three. So I figured, I’d let you decide and then call them with the exact day.”

All at once everyone was talking over each other again, this time Eddie joining with them, while Chrissy settled in her seat with delighted giggle.

In the end they chose the last day. That way they had plenty of time to spend with their families, and a chance to bow out of town on one hell of a high.

Chrissy called The Hideout and made sure they had the date set. She might have fucked up but she was pretty sure this more than made up for it.

~

Steve went through the day in a haze. He had spent some time in the health section of the bookstore looking at the books on soulmate dreams. Especially the ones on sex and found out that the sooner those types of dreams started between soulmates the tighter the bond was between the two.

So the fact that they had almost had sex or at least almost made out like horny teenagers in the the second dream meant that they were destined for a bond that would last their entire lives. Soulmates came in all sorts of flavors from good friends to a love that would last the ages. And according to the seven books he looked at, that’s what he was headed for.

On the one hand, it was heartwarming to know that having waited a long time he was about to meet the other half of his soul, the person that would complete him in ways he couldn’t even imagine. But on the other hand, that pressure was immense. How was he supposed to live up that kind of fairy tale romance?

He was absently drawing one of the rings that he saw on his soulmate’s hands when Dustin came in with his mom to look for a new knitting book she had heard of that had patterns from ancient times.

When Dustin came up to the cash register, he spotted the drawing.

“Hey, I didn’t know you drew,” he said cocking his head to the side. “Wha’cha drawing?”

Steve sighed but handed the drawing over to him. “My soulmate likes lots of chunky rings, I guess.”

Claudia leaned over Dustin’s shoulder to look at the picture. “Oh my heavens! Is that a pig?!”

“Yeah,” he replied with a shrug. “The one of the others was a skull ring and the last one was like a coffin or something because it had a cross and skulls on it.”

Dustin frowned at the description of the rings.

“What’s up, Dusty?” he asked.

Dustin pulled out his phone and began searching. When Steve opened his mouth to ask again, Dustin held up his finger.

“Dusty,” Claudia admonished, “don’t be rude and answer Steve.”

“Ah ha!” he cried. “I thought that sounded familiar!” He turned the phone over for Steve to see.

Steve took it from him to look at the picture more closely. It showed the close up of a man playing guitar and all three of the rings looked about right and even on the same fingers.

“Yeah,” Steve said with a nod. “That’s what they looked like.”

“Those are Eddie Munson’s rings,” Dustin cried. “Like could he be your soulmate?”

Steve frowned for a moment as he tried to place the name. “He’s that guy from Hawkins who made it big with that rock band right?”

“Metal band,” Dustin said rolling his eyes. “But yes. Corroded Coffin. You know, the music you said plays in your soulmate dreams.”

“Yes, okay,” Steve side biting his lip. “But I’m not really Eddie’s type. Or at least I wouldn’t have been in high school. He prefers the dudes that look like him.”

“It’s more likely,” Claudia said gently trying to not get Dustin’s hopes up, “that the rings in Steve’s dreams aren’t exactly the same ones that Eddie Munson wears.”

Dustin looked at the phone in Steve’s hand. “Maybe your soulmate is an uber fan or something if he got replicas of Eddie’s rings.” He looked up at Steve.

Steve handed the phone back to Dustin. “That’s probably it. Plus, Eddie’s a metal star now and what would he want with a mousy bookstore owner, anyway?”

“Well,” Dustin said with a grimace, “when you do meet your soulmate, ask him where he got his rings because they look so spot on for Eddie’s and I’d like to buy some too.”

Steve huffed out a small breathy laugh. “Sure thing, bud. I’ll be sure and ask.”

Dustin grinned and finally allowed Steve to ring them up.

Steve mouthed the name ‘Eddie Munson’ and then shook his head.

Nah. It couldn’t be.

Could it?

~

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Tag List: FOUR SLOTS REMAINING

1- @itsall-taken @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @irregular-child @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @themoonagainstmers @eyehartart @tartarusknight @chaotic-waffle @dotdot-wierdlife

10- @stedestielfrattficlover

[moonlight-prose]

STRANGE ADDICTION

➻ 01. BEAUTIFUL DEATH

a/n: i have rewritten this chapter about two times just to get it right. i want it to feel like the show, but also i'm a perfectionist when it comes to posting in a new fandom. this story has been in my head since s1 dropped and well it feels great to finally put it somewhere. even if the love for silco has sorta died down. i've had the most fun writing this so i hope you enjoy!

summary: dinner with an old friend leads to revelations about your past. about whether you chose the right path - the future meant for you. or if time indeed stands still beyond what science and magic tells you.

word count: 4.5k+

pairing: silco x f!reader; viktor x f!reader (platonic)

warnings: not explicit, angst, friendships, flashbacks, arguing, hesitation to tell the truth, pining (not by reader), the haunting of past relationships.

NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

The sun beat down harder than ever before. A bright scorching ball of light that seemed intent on searing through the fabric of your gown. Although you weren't entirely opposed, given the weight of the material that clung to your skin.

It seemed that the sun favored topside more than anywhere else. You'd known this for a while, your eyes fixed on the horizon at each turning of the clock. Dusk assumed its duties for the day, bringing forth the moon that hid until the time was right to reveal herself. Flames licked across the sky and suddenly you were a child again. Stunned by the magnificence and beauty of something so normal.

When you were younger you held the belief that only those in the grand city would be able to witness this. To watch as sunset broke along brilliant blue before sinking below—away from the towers of the grand house.

Although the term house felt humble and dishonest given the lavish setting. Castle seemed like a better word. Or kingdom.

Piltover. The land of progress.

How ironic that just below the surface lay the vastness of a city that thrived on the opposite. You felt like royalty amidst the opulence around you. Someone who was crowned long ago by the people who deemed you worthy enough. Yet it wasn't that long ago that you were a young kid vying for a glimpse at a clear sky. Topside rarely accepted those that didn't belong; unsurprising but still a bitter disappointment.

How you managed to trick them—fool their wits—into allowing you access escaped you.

This felt too extravagant. So unlike the person you once knew. It felt fictional. A tale as old as time now finally bestowed upon someone like you.

"Unbelievable," you muttered, eyes wide at the brilliant orange that painted itself over pinks and yellows.

A voice echoed in the distance, someone calling your name, and with a sigh you were pulled away from the ambience of this view. You preferred a chance to stay here but you recognized the lilt of his voice, the familiar drawl of his words. With a sigh you let go of the balcony railing and turned towards the room you were staying in. His room. He offered and gave no room for an argument.

That didn't stop you from trying.

"Dinner is being planned," he announced, balancing his weight on the cane held in his tight grip.

"All this trouble isn't necessary." Pulling the chair by his bed close, you took the opposite one with a grin. "I'm not that important."

He huffed, long and loud enough to keep you quiet. "I don't see you often enough. Dinner is the least I can do."

"Viktor–" His hand went up before you could state your case—the argument ready to fly off the tip of your tongue.

"I've argued with you enough over the years to know when you will start." His smile is warm, an old piece of the past that still resides in the back of your mind.

"I call that an unfair advantage," you muttered.

"I would call it strategy."

"Strategy requires the mind of a politician," you joked. The words rolled out of your mouth with ease as you scrutinized the man before you.

He shrugged. "I've got politician friends."

"Right."

Over the years you often wondered where your paths might cross again. Where on the timeline of your lives Viktor would once more become your ally. You both found one another in your younger years—when things were simpler. The time in your life where you were starting to be recognized for your mind and him with his mind.

Two intellectuals forged in the fires of the Undercity. At one point in your life this might have felt humorous. Almost ironic.

Now you tried to grasp at what kept the two of you together. Especially since your step back away from the atmosphere of progress.

"I–"

"While you are here, would you mind—uh—looking over the research I have accumulated over the years of your absence?" The notebook he draws from the table beside him is crammed with scraps of paper. The binding was ready to burst at the seams. A sight that so utterly and undeniably the young man you met in the Undercity. "I trust your intelligence more than mine sometimes."

You could recall the hours spent pouring over books, each one filled with information you never thought you'd have the opportunity to learn. They brought the both of you closer to something that he felt would do the world some good. Knowledge was power in Piltover—you simply learned to utilize it for your own good. As a way to escape the past you tried your best to ignore.

Flipping to the first bookmarked page, you attempted to discern his writing. At times it was illegible, but you knew it better than yours. After years of looking at the same scratch marks and symbols, you were able to pick through Viktor's work with ease. Your heart stuttered at the research before you—the truth that rang silently in his hopeful expression.

"You want to find a power source?" you exclaimed, glancing up to see his eyes grow apprehensive.

Of course he would be wary about this. Every line scribbled, each night of hard work, all amounted to his life's legacy. The weight of his name was placed on loose pages and ink that bled between the compact journal. Running your finger over the foreign symbols etched onto each page and margin, you felt their power—the meaning behind each mark made.

"Viktor it's..." You wanted to call this emotion pride but the word felt minuscule given how much effort had been put into this. "Magnificent."

He grinned, settling back with a sigh of relief. "My partner Jayce—who you will meet tonight—has made a remarkable discovery."

"Remarkable is putting it lightly," you cut in, absentmindedly following the curve of the largest rune on the page, marking it in your memory.

Ducking his head, you watched his hands clasp together tightly, his thumb pressing against the pulse point of his wrist. "I have to do something...that will help."

That much you could understand.

"Ever since I've known you–" Shifting, you felt the skirt of your gown tug upwards—your leg exposed to the slight chill in the evening air. "You wanted to be remembered as a great scientist. Someone whose mind would be their legacy. I think you're closer to that than you think."

He scoffed. "I only told you that to stop the questions."

"About where you came from? Or something else."

The silence gave you enough of an answer. Explanations of his past came with little to no details. Merely stories that were fleeting, sinking beneath the depths long before you got a chance to figure them out entirely. He remained a mystery to you even now. Although...you couldn't say you were any different.

"Did you ever want that for yourself?" He leaned closer, his gaze attempting to pry beneath the depths of your mind.

"No," you breathed, catching one last glance at the sky. "It has always been better for my name to die with me."

"That I don't believe."

"No?" His eyes burned into the side of your face. A silent plea to finally let him in on the secret. To spill about the past you couldn't even accept for yourself.

Even as the years passed quicker than you could comprehend, Viktor never changed. Despite his age now surfacing across his face, he still felt familiar with each new slight wrinkle and faint mark that hadn't been there before. Beneath the fancy clothing and grim expression, he was still the boy you once knew. The ravenous scientist with a hunger to know more.

A man on a never ending journey for knowledge.

"You're brilliant," he said. "You always have been. I never quite understood why you chose to only be a..."

"A healer?" He nodded. "I didn't fit into Topside as smoothly as you did."

Whether he wished to admit it or not, the turmoil that tore through his body and mind was there. Hiding beneath the surface. Even as he refused to meet your gaze. Time may have intertwined you with him, but his dreams remained different—his hopes were vast enough to drag him away from the life you once knew.

Where he found the grandeur of a scientist working for someone brilliant, you found solace in your small shop surrounded with various concoctions and potions. A space that let you be the person you were always meant to be.

"You're talented enough to make a name for yourself. If you let me talk to the counsel–"

"No." The word sliced the air swiftly, silencing him with the sharp end of a whip.

He froze, drawing you out of the stupor your mind hastened to put you in. Upsetting him was the last thing you wanted, but you knew if he didn't stop now things would already be too late. Viktor had a tendency to escalate matters far more than necessary. It's why you were hesitant to even take his call—to give him leeway back into your life like this.

"Why?" he asked, his brows furrowed and eyes piercing through to the depths of your mind.

The answer lay at the back of your tongue—clear and ready to be pronounced with ease. But saying them out loud felt like a feat you'd never be able to manage.

"There are things in my past that are better left where they are," you replied, brushing off the way he looked at you.

A puzzle yet to be figured out. A math problem that held a solution to fix all that was broken.

But that was the thing...you couldn't be fixed. There remained no potion, no herbal remedy that could heal what had torn you to shreds. Who shattered you beyond repair.

Viktor left to pursue his Topside dreams—his pride in himself larger than anything you'd seen. Yet you remained behind. You stayed in the darkness of the Undercity with the promise to one day find him—to celebrate your dreams together. But that was before the battle plans, before you were recruited to help heal those that couldn't heal themselves. Before...him.

When it came down to it, you found yourself in a life far different from the one you dared to imagine with Viktor. The intention to follow him still existed somewhere as a fading dream that might never come true. But once you grew up, saw the world for how it was, you understood why you would never receive the same welcome he did.

You were a soldier first above it all and that was the one thing he would never know.

The secret you held in the confines of your heart.

"My past is the same as yours," he said. "We come from the same land. Surely if they accepted me, they will do the same for you."

You didn't fall in love with the devil.

The words that would never see the sunlight of Topside.

Reaching forward, you pat his knee in a gesture that offered a friendship despite all the secrets. Viktor would do what he wished; you couldn't stop him. That had always been the way of things since you were younger and so it would remain.

Merely two people who once offered to save one another from the bleak aspect of a future ready to eat you alive. Yet now there you were as adults. Sitting close enough to be friends yet miles a part from where you originally started.

You snapped the notebook shut and handed it back to him with a reluctant smile. The distaste of keeping him in the dark was pungent in your mouth, but this choice wasn't up to you to decide. It was always a mutual agreement between two people that were forced to be parted. He wouldn't speak about what happened and you'd do the same.

You were always meant to become a ghost of the Undercity and he a ghost of Topside.

Two fates that were never to intertwine again.

"Tell me," you said, moving to the still open balcony doors. "What's your partner Jayce like?"

He straightened in the chair, relief crossing his face at the realization that he hadn't offended you by pushing too far.

"You will like him."

"Oh I don't know about that," you drawled, a sly smile crossing your lips. "Don't you recall the night of the dinner party?"

He cringed as the memory of that disastrous debacle came to mind. You got into it with a certain doctor he befriended—a man with an ego large enough to choke the very air out of any room. The night ended with you unceremoniously chucking your drink into the man's face to save yourself the harsh act of slapping him. You refused to see Viktor for weeks—your own self worth having been burnt to the ground and defiled.

"I did not know he was going to insult you the way he had."

Scoffing, you leaned your back against the balcony railing. "You knew he wasn't good."

"Unfortunately that I did know." He stood on shaky legs, the clack of his cane against marble echoing off the walls as he joined you. "I can promise that Jayce is nothing like that."

"I'll determine that for myself." You sighed, glancing up at a darkened sky—the stars shimmering bright enough to rival the moon. "Besides, dinner is just us, right? Not a surprise interview to induct me into your hall of science. Because as flattered as I am–"

His laughter spilled over into your chest as he nudged your shoulder with his. "There will be no inducting. Not if you don't wish for it."

"Good." The clock across the room ticked away with expedited force—as if speeding up the flow of time to get you out of here. Yet you found yourself longing to stay, to remain in this small bubble. "Does he know who I am?"

"He knows what I've told him."

"All good I hope," you humored him, offering a placating smile that could be mistaken for charm. In the hopes that you'd make it through this night unscathed.

"There may have been a few stories." Swatting his shoulder, you ignored the shift he made towards you. "Are you okay?"

"Of course." You clutched the railing behind you until your knuckles hurt, your gut filled with the foreboding dread that came with treading the waters of your past. "I'm perfectly okay," you replied confidently.

Even if the words rang with the transparency of a lie.

Piltover at night held no comparison after witnessing the beauty of sunset. Yet after three glasses of wine and a dinner large enough to feed the village, you felt the thrill of excitement fill your chest at the thought of exploring parts you'd yet to see. Looping your arm around Viktor's you fell into step beside him—mere feet behind Jayce and a woman they introduced as Mel.

Of course, you knew who she was. Everyone in the city knew her name, but for the sake of a peaceful dinner void of any politics, you didn't make that fact obvious.

"It was a nice dinner," you said, the breeze off the water skimming the bare skin of your back.

"We should do it again." His voice remained steady, like a piece of home you never thought you'd get back. His eyes however...screamed something entirely different.

A divot in the road you weren't prepared for—one you didn't see yourself wanting.

"We should," you agreed, finding a spot against the railing. The blue of the ocean gleamed beneath the light of the moon. Truly Piltover at its finest. "Maybe next month?"

The irritated sigh slipped past his lips before he could reign it in, but that was all you needed to understand his intentions. You'd been afraid of this since you came to visit him the very first time. An execrable feeling weighed heavy in your stomach as time went on and his silence prevailed.

He stood beside you now with hope in his heart. The voices of Jayce and Mel faded into the background as they walked further away. And you were left with the friend you never wished to lose—the boy you longed to keep knowing.

"I haven't said—I should have said it already but–"

"Viktor," you interrupted, standing upright.

Suddenly the wine and the excessive amount of food didn't sound like a good idea after all. Your heart pounded against your chest, reverberating through your entire body—each nerve alight and waiting for the worst possible scenario to this outcome. He'd been your oldest friend, someone you counted on when you had no one else and the thought of ruining that left you feeling sick.

Each second he looked at you as if you held all the answers to what he pined for made your heart twist painfully.

With a shaky breath, you finally relented to the truth. "I can't."

"What do you mean?" His cheeks flushed vermilion as he fixed his gaze back to the water.

Shutting your eyes to collect your thoughts carefully, you sighed. "I know what you want me—us—to be and I can't...give that to you."

"Oh."

"I do care for you." Somehow the words echoed with hollow deceit, despite how true they felt in your heart.

"It's because of him."

You reared back, startled. "What?"

His eyes—plagued with sorrow deep enough to slice right through you—met yours waiting for a different answer. An explanation as to where your heart belonged. But you stood as still as stone—unable to form thoughts let alone coherent words. He ripped right down to the bone, pulled at your weak tendons and bit down on frayed nerves.

Yet he wasn't done.

"I'm not oblivious. When you finally came to Piltover you wouldn't tell me about what you did when I wasn't there. I only assumed you had feelings for someone. A man you didn't wish to speak about."

You exhaled slowly—the icy chill of relief swallowing you whole. "Oh...yes I...there was someone."

"Do you still love him?"

Glancing across the water, you glimpsed the bridge standing tall—a beacon of this city's hope for progress. But to your eyes it felt like a separation—a division between the two worlds of your life. One filled with enough pain to leave you staggering where you stool and other...a world of grandeur that overflowed with the option of peace.

At one point you had wanted to watch it burn. His betrayal tainted everything good about that place. A scar carved deep enough to leave an everlasting wound that never healed. You longed to forget it—to rid yourself of the memories he plagued—but you still knew one day...you'd stand upon that same ground again.

"I don't know," you breathed, the past clawing its way up your throat—shoving towards the very front of your mind.

BEFORE

The streets were overrun with people as they moved and flowed like the waves on a shore. You felt shoulders knock into you, exasperated glances thrown your way as you fumbled with the plants still gripped in your hands. They grew at the edge of the bridge—hidden in the shadows as a safeguard from the sun. Dirt packed itself beneath your fingernails, mud coating the thin fabric of your pants from where you dug.

"You should really have that looked at," you grumbled, shoving the plant into your satchel.

Garnering no response, you were left to get lost in your own thoughts. Whether or not he was actually in pain didn't concern you. Not when you had a job given by Vander who insisted you focus solely on healing rather than fighting. It's not as if you entirely disagreed with him—you were more than happy being a healer rather than a soldier—you simply couldn't figure how this would help in the long run.

What exactly were you supposed to do when people acted stubborn and brash?

"What are you writing?" he barked, stopping abruptly. You rammed into him with a sneer.

"Nothing that's of any concern to you." Shoving your pen and notebook into the bag, you watched as he huffed in response, turning away. "I'll tell you again since you seem to be hard of hearing. You should really have your wound–" He stopped, eyes flashing over his shoulder with a glare. “–looked at."

"You sure do talk a lot," he snipped.

"It's a gesture of kindness. You don't have to be an ass about it."

How did you manage to get stuck with this man? You were more than capable of sneaking around the border of Topside without anyone's help. Vander assigning you an escort seemed synonymous with the actions of an older brother being overly protective. Yet you weren't related in any way shape or form—you were simply someone who understood the need for change.

Arguing would get you nowhere and so you did your best to ignore his quick glances. Coming up with a correct judgment for what you found took precedence over the man in front of you.

The heat of the day seeped into your clothes—sticking to your exposed skin—the longer you trekked back. If it were possible to steal some time, you'd search for that small pool you and Viktor used to play at—just to submerge yourself in cold water. But with a guard at your side, you were left with only one option. Dreaming about weather cooler than this.

"You're walking too slow," he called over his shoulder.

The desperation for escape called to you, begged you to leave him behind and go somewhere quiet. But before you could sprint in the opposite direction, he turned. Ignoring him didn't seem to be a well thought out solution, but that never stopped you from trying. Even as he glared at you.

What little sunlight remained began to dip below the horizon—a sight you'd neve grow tired of. If only you had the chance to see it over the ocean with a clear sky above.

"You need that fixed before we return." Avoiding the incensed glare directed your way, you settled on the edge of a wall.

"What I need is for you to keep going. So I can go home."

"Listen—whoever you are—I know that when you return you're going to be questioned about why you're in pain. Either you let me patch up that wound or you get Vander. Your pick."

The arguing ceased with a defiant raise of your brows, lips curling into a sly grin that pinned him where he stood. There really was no other option than submission. What was a quick check before you were on your merry way. Much to your delight, he seemed to come to the same conclusion as he joined you on the wall, undoing his vest with an indignant sigh.

Silence filled the empty space between you. Slipping between the cracks and shadows that cast across his angular face. You'd seen him before on the edge of your vision, leaning against the bar with a book in his face—long fingers trailing the rim of his glass absentmindedly. Whether you liked it or not, the two of you differed.

Where you wanted to roam, he longed to be back making plans with Vander instead of trapped in the task of guard duty for a healer he'd never met before.

"Who shot you?" The glow of sunset illuminated the pale skin beneath his shirt—a long jagged scar etched into the skin threw you off for a moment as your fingers searched for blood.

The sharp wince in his face said you'd found it. "I couldn't see their face."

Nodding, you moved his hand to keep the fabric up and out of the way. A quick rummage in your bag for the salve you made earlier caught his attention—turquoise gleamed in your peripheral, prying you open with enough ease to jar you down to the bone.

"The bullet only scraped you. This should help close it up by the end of the week." You pressed the dark mixture along his wound, catching the subtle flinch he tried to smother. "Sorry."

"I'm fine," he mumbled in a whispered tone.

"I can fix it up properly when we return. Get you a real bandage to keep it from getting worse."

You nearly missed it. That slow imperceptible grin that curled at the edge of his lips. But your eyes latched onto it like a kid with candy, savoring the quick glimpse of something surreal. It threw you off balance, forced you to reckon with the thought of never knowing him before today.

Ethereal. Empyrean.

He sat before you a stranger with the eyes of a fond ally. A friend you had yet to be properly introduced to. It seemed he harbored the same thought—his mouth forming the question as if it fell right out of your head and into his lap.

"You're a friend of Vander?" Slipping his vest back on, you noticed he left it unbuttoned.

You found you preferred it that way.

"So are you. I've seen you...uh...with him. Around the bar you know."

The quiet echo of the water lapping at rocks and voices in the distance didn't feel bitter, but rather settled the nerves leaping beneath your skin. It was nice to sit there and watch the night sky show itself to the world once again. Eventually you'd be forced to return to a life that teemed with a clear understanding that hung over everyone's heads. There would be a fight. An inevitable battle for what you believed was right.

But for this transcendent moment you basked in the few moments of peace life allotted you.

The calm before the storm.

"I don't know your name," you admitted, turning your head slightly to catch his gaze already faced in your direction. "Vander never told me."

If he caught you in the middle of a blatant lie, he didn't call you on it. You could tell he saw right through you—the glint in his eyes shining brighter than moments before. This wasn't a clarification for Vander's sake or the battle. You wanted to know his name for yourself. A small token of the man you may never interact with again save for tonight.

After a moment his voice came with a soft breath of air. "Silco."

Teeth dug into your lip to keep the blooming smile at bay. "Silco," you said under your breath.

He latched onto it, dug his fingers into the tangible feeling they created in his chest, and felt a smile pulling wider at his own mouth. You said it again, unable to stop yourself as a thrill of excitement fluttered at the base of your stomach. So simple, so smooth off the tip of your tongue. Yet filled with enough power to stir your chest with a feeling you wished to inspect further.

The lilt of it hung in the air as you turned back to the sky with a satisfied hum, relishing in the time you had left with him at your side.

[writethrough]

How about a comfort fic with Vessel/reader? Your choice on if Vessel comforts the reader or the reader comforts Vessel!

Just Like Rain

(Vessel x Gender Neutral Reader)

Synopsis: Your anxieties overtake you, and Vessel is there to guide you through them.

Warnings: Self-deprecation, thoughts of unworthiness and self-hatred, language, unintentionally cathartic for me

Word Count: 1557

A/N: Thank you so much for requesting this, anon! I'm so excited for you to read my first Vessel fic!

A little housekeeping for those who have read through my Request Guidelines, and may be confused about me writing for a real person when it says I don't. That is still the case, but Vessel is a character when it comes down to it. So, I feel comfortable writing for him, especially in the way I've written him here.

Also—and I hope this goes without saying—I will not entertain theories and rumors about any of Sleep Token's identities.

Enjoy the music for what it is, as the band intended. And I truly hope you enjoy my interpretation of Vessel.

The burn felt good. The steam made you breathe heavier, but you didn’t want this to be easy. You wanted to feel every inhale—stand under the water until you were seared from within; until it felt like you were in your body and not a whisper away from being dragged into oblivion. 

You choked back a sob; still so fearful someone would hear you when you were the only one home. 

There was no reason for you to cry. 

So many people had it so much worse. 

But here you were, on the verge of panic because you didn’t feel like yourself. You didn’t even feel human. 

You wished you could put a name to it, but you couldn’t. 

What was wrong with you? 

Why did you have to feel like this? It came out of nowhere. Like you were struck by a fucking semi. 

You just wanted it to stop. You wanted to feel normal, to not have these sudden bouts of...of what? Melancholia? Sadness? Anger? No word seemed strong enough for it. 

All you wanted was to rip it out. 

Your tears fell harder. 

The water cooled. You turned the knob further. 

And then there were arms around you. 

You tensed, choking back your sobs and covering your mouth as if you could hide what he had already seen. 

Slowly, carefully, as if you would break, Vessel turned you to face him. 

Without a word, he cupped the back of your head and brought it into the crook of his neck. 

You refused to remove your hand. 

All it did was make your shoulders tremble. 

His fingers traced up and down your arm, more of a breeze than a touch. His other hand slid down to the back of your neck. The pressure of it spread through your body. 

Your hand dropped from your mouth and tentatively found its way to his chest. And as he inhaled, you let your hands travel to his back as you stepped closer. 

He held you there, head resting atop yours. 

It was only when you shivered that you realized he had turned you, blocking you from the piping hot spray. 

You sniffled, finally looking at him. 

He cupped your cheeks, brushing away the tear tracks, then pressed his forehead to yours. 

Let us go to our room, my love. 

His words passed into your mind. You nodded. 

He stopped the water, helped you out of the shower, and dried you both. 

He guided your limbs into your sleepwear and covered himself with loose black pants. He looked almost...human...like this. 

You couldn’t help thinking that he was more human than most everyone out there. 

---

Your day started out fine. 

You woke from a wonderful dream—one Vessel had created. A peaceful afternoon beneath a willow tree, snuggled into his side, his fingers trailing along your forearm, down to your fingertips. 

He had tilted your face toward his, kissing your forehead. You had closed your eyes, and when you opened them, you were in bed, his lips still pressed to your skin. 

You got ready for work, Vessel watching as you moved through your room to the bathroom and back. He enjoyed observing you. The personal rituals you did for different occasions, different times of day. Perhaps the one he enjoyed the most was when you asked for his opinion when your ensemble was complete. 

He’d stand from his perch on the foot of your bed and step toward you as if in a trance. 

“You are breathtaking, my love.” He always spoke it. He wanted you to hear the power in the words—the power you held over him. 

You left, and Vessel would gather with the others. You’d ask him about his day, but admittedly, you were still confused about everything they could do—everything they were charged with doing. 

Maybe that was where is started.

You didn't understand. Could never understand.

And a chasm opened.

You were so fucking stupid.

You deserved to feel like this.

Insignificant.

Unneeded.

Unwanted.

Everyone was better off without you.

He’d be happier without you. 

All these fucking noises.

Why was everything so goddamn loud.

Dogs barking. Cars honking. That fucking clock that wouldn’t shut the fuck up! 

It all made you so angry. Why were you so angry? 

You had to make it stop. 

That’s how you ended up in the shower. At least there you could control the noise. You could feel it mark you. Let the heat punish you. 

A hand on your back pulled you back to reality. 

Let me see you, darling. 

You didn’t move, wished you didn’t need to breathe.  

He didn’t deserve this. He needed someone as extraordinary as him, someone who could understand. You could barely wrap your mind around how vast he was; he was everything, and you were—

“You are my heart.” 

A sob escaped. You had forgotten. Too consumed in your own thoughts that you forgot to keep them from him, to stop projecting them. 

He whispered your name, and all you heard was his heartbreak. 

You refused to look at him, covering your mouth to keep your cries back. 

“Please,” he urged. “Please believe me. You are the most precious to me. Do not think of yourself with such loathing.” 

His hand rested on your side, a silent plea to face him. When you didn’t, he forced you to. He never did that—used his strength against you—but this was an exception. 

“I am the one who does not deserve you. My existence is burdensome to you...but I am too selfish. I cannot lose you. I will not leave you willingly. I...I will stay by your side...until you demand otherwise.” 

It pained him to imagine it. He was so bad at hiding his emotions. And yet, it was what you needed. That break in his voice parted your darkness. The thought of him ever not being here scared you.

“I don’t—” You hiccupped. “I don’t want you to leave.” 

“Darling,” he breathed, sympathy and relief in that one word. “Come here.” 

You wrapped your arms around his waist while his settled over your shoulders. 

“My place is by your side,” he said. “Thank you for allowing me here.” 

Squeezing, you nuzzled your face into his neck. The edges of his mask-like features settled you into reality. He was here and so were you, and you were together. 

You sniffled; throat too thick to speak. 

I love you. 

His mouth pressed into your crown. 

You are the one I cherish most. 

At the end of your exhale, relaxation enveloped you—a heaviness only he could instill. 

You didn’t want to talk. You didn’t need to. You just needed this day to be over. 

Sleep, my beloved. And awake anew. 

--- 

You didn’t dream that night, and you were grateful. It was the kind of emptiness you needed. 

When you opened your eyes, you were facing Vessel. Your fingers were touching, bodies apart but connected, always. 

Sometimes it was difficult to tell if he was awake. Even facing one another, the spaces where his eyes should be neither opened nor closed. His breathing was what gave him away. But not this morning. Today, it was the way his pinky finger wrapped around yours. 

Dearest one. 

It moved through your mind like a gentle breeze, and it sounded like “good morning.” 

He seemed to move before you did, anticipating you shifting closer, so his arm wrapped around you and his hand caressed the back of your head. 

You are rested? 

You hummed. He always asked when you both knew he didn’t need to. His insecurities needed the reassurance that he had helped you.

Yes. Thank you. 

You punctuated it by gliding your lips along his throat and placing a kiss above his Adam’s apple. 

The purr that erupted pulled the corner of your mouth up. He was always responsive in the mornings, less guarded before the walls of your bubble faded. 

What are you feeling? 

Not “how,” but “what.”  

Inhaling, you took stock of yourself. You recalled your pain from yesterday, but that already felt so long ago. Like your mind was trying to protect itself after what it put you through.

All you really felt was him. 

Safe. 

His head tilted downward so your foreheads touched. 

That pleases me. 

You rubbed your nose with his. Content to simply feel him. 

The others and I have decided I shall remain with you today. 

It had taken you a while to get used to the connection him and the rest shared. Honestly, you were a bit jealous. After all, how convenient it was to cancel plans just by thinking about it. He probably did it in the seconds before you woke up. 

So, what should we do? 

Anything that will make you happy. 

That sincerity always made you pause and scrutinize him. How could anyone truly mean that? 

Yet somehow, he did. Every time. 

And if I said this? 

You traced curves and swirls onto his back, reveling in the strength you felt within. Sometimes you swore his power was tangible. 

“Then I shall continue to warm your bed.” 

Your flush was instantaneous, and you knew he could feel it against his neck. But before you could stutter a reply, your stomach growled. 

“Perhaps breakfast first?” he asked. 

You nodded. “Definitely.” 

Taglist: @steph-speaks because one of my only points of pride is introducing you to ST.

Comment or message me if you wanna be tagged in future Vessel fics!

[frankenkyle19]

Hold Me

warnings: Tate, Smut, handjobs, mentions of violence

word count: 688

basically just a little thing I just typed up. Not proofread and honestly not my best work but I wanted to put out something at least for you guys since it’s been over a week

Tate was… Well, odd to put it lightly. He had the hottest temper, but yet seemed to melt whenever he saw you. He hated everyone but you (his words). He wasn’t a benevolent spirit, despite what others might say. In your opinion he was misunderstood. You never excused his atrocious acts, but in all reality he hadn’t been able to stop it. The house had chosen him to do its bidding. Nothing could have stopped it and if Tate hadn’t been the vessel, another resident of the house would have been. He was different now. Far from the murderous psychotic teenager you’d first met. It was a full 180 switch from everything he’d been. He didn’t need therapy, he didn’t need meds. He needed you. You were his medicine (again, his words) and he couldn’t go a day without you.

So when you left to visit your friends out of state, Tate had no clue what to do with himself. He paced the halls, wandering aimlessly, searching for a distraction that he didn’t find. There was nothing to do in the damned house and he needed you. 

Without you the dark thoughts crawled back into his mind, clawing at the edges of his skull as the searing pain of remembrance took over. How good it had felt to take the lives of others. No matter how much Tate had changed, there was a dark part of him locked away that longed to get free. 

The only thing he could think to do was go to your room and keep himself in there until you got back. It was only a weekend trip, you’d be back Monday afternoon, but still the empty ringing in Tate’s ears drove him crazy. Caused him to fidget and pick at his nails. He slept most of the time, or a ghost version of sleep, a barely conscious rest where you’re aware of everything around you but get a bit of rest fullness. It was unsatisfactory most of the time.

When you had gotten home Tate practically ran to you, attaching himself to you like a parasite. That was Tate. He always had to be in contact with you. It helped ground him. 

The next thing you knew he was whining against your neck, leaving hot, wet kisses there. He was the neediest person you’d ever met… as well as the horniest. You settled him into the bed and stripped him of his clothing, the whole time with him whining and begging you to just touch him already. He was anything but patient.

Finally your hand wrapped around his searing hot cock, gently spreading the pre-cum from the tip to use as lube. You’d think he was a virgin all over again with the way he moaned, arching up into your touch as if he’d never felt pleasure like this before when in all reality he usually begged for your touch at least once a day.

Sometimes his clinginess and neediness was annoying, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. It was, in a way… cute.

His cock twitched, hot and heavy in your hand as Tate threw his head back into the pillows, his beautiful pale chest heaving with every harsh inhale. His whole body reacted to the pleasure, tensing up and jolting around. He never stayed still.

“Come on baby, you’re almost there. Let go for me” his whines increased at your words, his thrusts upwards into your hand becoming more desperate as he came closer and closer to the edge.

A few more strokes and he was cumming in ribbons of white, covering his already abnormally pale body in an even lighter color. You eased up on him, giving one or two more strokes to his spent cock before letting go, watching as it fell onto his stomach, twitching with the aftershocks of pleasure before settling. 

You cleaned Tate up and helped him into his boxers, despite his protests at wearing clothing. He snuggled up close to you after that, feeling as content as ever as he promised to return the favor as soon as he got his energy back. 

[steddieas-shegoes]

sew you up

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt 'hurt/comfort' rated t wc: 993 cw: injury tags: post-vecna, someone finally takes care of steve's bat bite, getting together

-----------------------------------------

He just had to get them all safe. Then he could take care of the bite.

He just had to keep an eye on Eddie, make sure no government officials tried to take him or let the police arrest him. Then he could take care of the bite.

He just had to help Wayne get them moved into their new trailer. Then he could take care of the bite.

Excuses kept piling up, one after another, and the pulsing, searing pain of the bite became easier to ignore. That meant it was healing, right?

But one month later, the bite was still as open and ugly as it had been when the bat latched on, and he had to face the facts.

“You okay over there?” Eddie asked from his bed.

He was mostly mobile, but moved much slower than he used to and had a lot of aches and pains from still-healing scar tissue. He rested in bed more than he did anything else, and Steve usually kept him company long after everyone else left.

“Yeah, think I’m just tired.”

He was tired. But he was also in pain, and could feel the sweat beading on his forehead as he clenched his jaw to avoid groaning.

He’d just moved wrong a little while ago and the pain wasn’t subsiding like it usually did. He’d be fine.

“You’re pretty pale, Stevie.”

“Might be coming down with something,” he shrugged it off. It could be true, after all. He was feeling feverish.

“Oh! Meant to ask you the other day. How’s that bite doing?” Eddie asked casually.

Too casually.

Steve stared back at him, eyes squinting in suspicion.

“It’s fine.”

“Yeah? Mine’s kinda hurting still. Can’t bend down all the way.”

Still so casual.

“Yours was worse than mine, man.”

Eddie nodded, seemingly accepting that as a response, almost looking like he was going to move on.

“I saw a doctor for mine. Many doctors. A few nurses. One government person who took an hour bandaging it up. Not sure what that was about,” Eddie shook himself out of a thought. “But you didn’t see anyone, did you?”

Steve bit his lip.

“No. But mine wasn’t that bad. It’s healing.”

Eddie put his notebook down and took in Steve’s posture. Steve tried to sit up straighter in the desk chair he was lounging in, but as soon as he tried, he let out a hiss and small whimper.

“Let me see it.”

Eddie’s tone was short, serious, something Steve had never heard from him before.

He stood up slowly, wincing as the area around the bite pulled painfully.

Eddie slowly moved to the edge of his bed and parted his legs, waving his hand to get Steve to come closer.

Steve moved closer, ignoring the way his stomach fluttered when Eddie’s hand gripped his uninjured hip to tug him even closer.

His other hand lifted Steve’s shirt up enough to see the wound.

“Steve,” he breathed out. “This needs to be stitched up. It’s too deep to heal on its own. You’ve just been walking around with this?”

“I mean, yeah. It’s gotten a little better.”

Eddie looked up at him with wide eyes.

“This is better?”

Steve nodded.

“This is. Steve, does Robin know it’s this bad?”

Steve shook his head.

“Does anyone?”

Steve shook his head again.

“Alright. I’m fixing this.” Eddie started to get up, gently pushing Steve away from him, but not removing his hand from his hip. “You lay down. I’m grabbing my sewing kit and alcohol.”

“Wait. What?” Steve felt himself panic. “You can’t- you’re not!”

“Steve. Do what I tell you to do before I call Robin and tell her you’ve been ignoring a fucking demobat bite for a month.”

So Steve got as comfortable as he could on the bed, lifted his shirt up to his chest, and waited.

Eddie took his time, but Steve didn’t mind, would much rather wait than Eddie hurt himself worse.

Eventually, Eddie came back and pulled the chair to the side of the bed.

He worked slowly, but confidently. He gave Steve a pillow to hold so he wouldn’t flinch too much while he worked, closing up the main part of the bite so it could actually heal.

When he was done, he bandaged it up tight, and then traced the edges of the bandage.

“Why didn’t you say something?” He whispered.

“Didn’t think it was that bad,” Steve whispered back.

“You didn’t think an open wound like that was bad? Jesus.” Eddie shook his head. “I knew you were self-sacrificial, but this is insane. You can’t hide this shit, Stevie. You could get an infection, you could die.”

Steve gulped.

He’d considered it a few times, but figured he would have already ended up in the hospital if it was going to happen.

“Yeah. But you fixed it, so I’ll be fine.”

“You better let me change your bandages every day for the next week so I can make sure it’s healing right.”

“Won’t that get annoying?” Steve asked.

Eddie didn’t answer for a moment, just watched as Steve pulled his shirt back down.

And then his lips were gently pressing against Steve’s forehead, lingering heat making Steve close his eyes.

“You could never annoy me. The only thing annoying to me is that you thought that being taken care of was annoying,” Eddie said, lips still resting against Steve’s skin, his breath almost tickling.

“So you’re my nurse, now?” Steve asked with a smirk.

Eddie pulled back and cupped his cheek.

“Yep. You better be a good patient.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll steal your hairspray.”

Steve gasped.

“You wouldn’t!”

“I would. So you better do as I say and make sure you take care of this.”

“Fine. Do I get a real kiss for being on my best behavior?”

Eddie bit his bottom lip, his cheeks going red.

“Maybe if you make room for me in bed.”

“Deal.”

[prettynpinkputhy]

🕷️Caught in your web🕷️

Miguel O’haraxspiderwoman!reader

Warning:18+NSFW,Breeding,Praise,language,violence, blood play, rough sex, Bondage, size kink etc

Summary: Spider y/n falls through a portal and ends up in the year 2099

Comment if you’d like part 2🎀

Word count: 5.k

The cuffs around your wrist squeeze tighter the more you struggle against them. That weird electric prickly feeling begins to set in before you decide to conserve your energy. It was useless with your web supply cut off, A burning sears across your cheek as the guard delivers another blow. A metallic taste of blood pools in your mouth,you spit resentfully at his army green boots.

“If that’s all you got we’re gonna be here all day.” You sneer. The guard raises his hand pulling back with more momentum than before, striking you again. Your head hangs with exhaustion, sweat dripping onto the concrete floor. “The serum. I want it.” The sound of calculated clicks fill the space as a voice makes its way closer and closer. The footsteps get louder before stopping completely, Your spidey senses are off the charts. A calloused finger taps the underside of your chin putting your bloodied face on display. “Fascinating…your wounds have already started repairing themselves” your head whips away from his touch,repulsed. He continues “That serum is the missing link to a suit that could withstand the molecular pressure of traveling through the multiverse. The human body is far too fragile to have its cells ripped apart and woven back together, trust me we’ve tested that theory.” The blind fold is snatched away from your eyes. You squint at the sudden change in lighting, the room is fuzzy before coming into focus. You’re in what seems to be a warehouse… a huge warehouse. This building had to be connected to something bigger and judging by the advanced technology, Array of computers, and Enormous Hexagonal machine at the center of the room, it was most likely a laboratory of some kind. A man in a midnight suit towers over you with an unhinged look in his eye. “You’re my missing link.” He practically drools. A feeling of dread stabs you, this wasn't looking good.

“You’ll have to kill me. Oh wait you can’t… because… your missing link…it’s in my head.” You smile giving a small labored laugh.

“Oh Doctor Y/LN who needs your mind when I have your body. These powers you have…I assume you weren’t born this way. This isn’t some comic book fairytale. People aren’t born special. We make ourselves special…and that’s exactly what you did, isn't it doctor?” He crouches glaring deeply into your eyes.

“I am going to wring every last drop of serum from your body, you will be nothing but a husk when I am done with you.” He grins before shooting back to his feet.

“Activate the machine and get her hooked up to the destabilizer. I want this thing up and running by tonight” He places a cigarette between his lips, striking it with a gold plated lighter, smoke swirls in the air.

“Kill her nice and slow for wasting so much of my time.” He Flicks the still burning cigarette in your direction,the red hot cherry barely missing your skin.

Two guards force you to your feet, dragging you to a chair riddled with tubes and wires.

Shit.shit.shit. You think, going limp and using your body weight to slow them down. They unlock your handcuffs in order to strap you into the machine, without thinking you shoot two webs in random directions grabbing whatever they land on and yank them towards the guards. A desk and filing shelf come flying at the men knocking them unconscious. You attempt to shoot a web at the guard who stood at the entrance but they unfortunately got away, you hear them call for backup on their radio.

I’m outnumbered… your mind races

A red button in the middle of the control center catches your eye.

That’s my way out, you conclude flipping over the unconscious men and landing gracefully on top of the command center.

Big scary red button…what can go wrong? With nothing to lose you slam the button. The machine activates with an obnoxious roar, lights begin to flicker from the insane power output. You walk up the stairs leading to the device, it seems to be made up of millions of tiny pixels, each spec representing a possible reality or dimension. Colors you didn’t even know existed vibrated within this portal.

“Don’t you dare! This is my life’s work!” A guttural scream shreds the air.

“Well I guess…better luck next life?” You give a cheeky salute before falling into the unknown.

~

“ay dios mío, I don’t need a spidey sense to see she’s wearing a suit.” The voice sounds distant but close enough for you to make out their conversation. “Yes I am sure, I checked, there are web shooters…right, she hasn’t woken up yet…Okay.” he sighs. Your eyes flutter open and you’re greeted by a blue sky and fluffy white clouds. A Dark shadow cast over your view before you can fully appreciate it. Another me?… you think to yourself unsure if you’re seeing things right or if it’s a hallucination from the interdimensional travel.

“Where am I?” You push off the ground with a grunt.

“Nueva York” He states with an annoyed tone.

“Nueva York? You mean New York City? How did I end up in New York City…” You ramble frantically.

“Idiota, Nueva York, have you been living under a rock for the last century?” He kneels down edging forward evaluating your features. With a curious hand, he brushes your hair back. You wince as his finger accidentally glides over the fresh slash on your cheek. For a split second his eyes go wide with concern before resting back to judgemental slits.

“What happened here?” His hand hovers over your wound, keeping a good distance to avoid hurting you any further. Miguel didn’t have many moral compasses but one of his top three rules was to always protect women and children. Any villains who dared make the mistake of harming either were given no mercy. Killing was never his first option, but it wasn’t completely off the table if needed. His blood boils at the sight of you, his instinct is to destroy whoever would do something so vile. His teeth bare down, the tips of his fangs prick the smooth skin of his inner lip, a subtle hint of blood hits his tongue.

“Who did this to you?” He asks again, more aggressive than before.

“The Director.” You mutter. Running from a fight wasn’t in your nature but The Director’s forces were too much to handle. You needed to get away, regroup, and being shackled to a cold slab of metal wasn’t the best place to do that.

“Director, most likely a new wannabe villain…leave this to me. You’ve had enough fun playing dress up for one day.” He says as he gets back up. His eyebrow perks inquisitively for a second before turning around. “Cool toy by the way.” He waves off. Impulsively you shoot a web that whips around his ankles holding him in place. Knees bending Miguel centers himself, stabilizing his balance.

“How’s that for a toy?” You push off the ground, palms flat, landing a forward front flip straight onto your feet.

You approach cautiously, nearly walking on the tips of your toes, he doesn’t budge or even speak. He looks dangerous, measuring in at 6'9, his chiseled physique, red eyes that seemed to see right through you, and fangs didn’t help much with looking friendly. Standing at arm's length. You speak slowly.

“I’m not here to fight-”

“Wouldn’t be much of a fight.” he growls, baring his claws.

“It’s my turn for questioning.” You say.

“You must have stolen that device. I will have to detain you.” He lunges at you stumbling clumsily.

“What’s your name?” You question. Miguel stays silent for a while pondering if he should give out such sensitive information to an imposter.

“Isn’t it obvious,Spider-Man.” He states finally looking down at the red spider symbol on his suit.

“This can’t be real. It couldn’t have actually worked. I thought I’d get sent to a McDonald’s a few blocks away or something…I’m really in a different universe” you grumble to yourself, pacing back and forth.

“Are you on something right now?” His brow scrunches accentuating the lines in his forehead.

“W-what do you mean by that! Are you asking if I’m on drugs?” You’re snatched away from your personal monologue by his ludicrous accusation.

“It’s alright I'm used to super fans, just tell me where you live and I can get you back home safely.”

“Super fans? Do you think I’m supposed to be dressed up as you? My suit is way better than yours; if anything you’re cosplaying me!” You wince, doubling over, the adrenaline has started wearing off.

“You need a hospital. Libérame(set me free), I can help you.” He struggles against your webs once more,failing to break free.

“I am fine I just need to rest for…a…minute-“ your words trail off.

Miguel breaks into action, the webs resist before shredding apart as he surges forward catching you in his solid arms.

“Joder(fuck),she’s out cold” he supports your body. His web shoots, sticking to the opposite building. A strong arm locks you in place as he jumps swinging through the maze of businesses and skyscrapers.

~

shooting up in a cold sweat, your chest heaves heavily struggling for breath.

“Just a dream” you exhale relieved holding the blanket to your bare chest.

“Oh great,You’re awake.” At the corner of the room Spider-Man leans against the wall,smirking.

Your hands scramble for more blanket to shield your nude body.

“Where are my clothes?!” A hot blush creeps on your cheeks.

“I haven’t quite figured that out myself, some time after you passed out your…suit somehow submerged itself into your flesh. Disintegrating right in front of my eyes” He looks down stroking his chin.

“The suit deactivated because of my low brain activity, it thought I was transforming back. Oh god did you see anything?” You ask curling into yourself.

“Wasn’t much to see.” He shrugs.

You scoff before noticing a fresh set of clothes sprawled in the chair beside the bed.

“I came to let you know where the bathroom is, I’m sure you want to get cleaned up after everything that’s happened.”

“Why did you bring me here…and where is here exactly?”

“This is my place. I couldn’t just leave a fellow spider person unconscious on a rooftop. It doesn’t really help the brand. Whatever you have inside you is way too powerful to let a villian get lucky and stumble upon.” He explains. So it’s about my powers huh? Typical. You think holding eye contact with the spider jerk. The color of his eyes stand out to you, their vibrant red hue shines in the dim light. The more you observe him the more intense his features become, he’s extremely handsome under that constant grimace. You find your eyes lingering on his spandex clad body, tracing how the fabric molds to the shape of each muscle. So tight you could see even the slightest twitch or flex. He folds his arms awaiting your reply, This movement forces you to look down at the sheets,flustered.

“Y-yeah that’s true, thanks, I’ll uh go take that shower now.”

“The bathrooms down the hall to the left, I have towels folded on the sink along with toiletries. Have a nice bath…you need it.” He holds his nostrils closed exiting the room dramatically.

Lifting your arm you take a quick sniff. Your nose scrunches at the smell of battle. Interdimensional travel is quite the workout. Your toes wiggle on the cool hardwood floor seeing if it’d crumble underneath your feet. To your surprise it doesn’t, meaning this place is actually real life and not just some simulation. Peeking your head from behind the security of the door frame, you scan the area before scurrying down the hall. Miguel stands in the living area mumbling something under his breath.

“So her picture is nowhere in the police database?…no, ugh Tan molesto(so annoying), check again lyla.” He commands.

He really thinks I’m a crazy stalker fan you think in disbelief, you sneak down the hall stepping through the open bathroom door, you close it behind yourself . The bathroom had dark simplistic themes with splashes of red that popped. The sink and bathtub are made with the same charcoal colored marble, the sink is neatly decorated with necessities such as a toothbrush, electric razor, hair brush, cologne and deodorant. To the left of the sink are expertly folded black towels, one for washing and one for drying. The mirror is larger than average and sits rectangular at the same length as the sink.Turning around a glimpse of your back stops you in your tracks. The wounds have closed but the scars and bruises remain. A reminder of your goal…to take down the director. Your fingers trail the scar on your cheek and anger

bubbles from a place deep within . He’d taken everything from you and he had a debt to pay for those atrocities. You wanted his life as payment. Pulling back the scarlet shower curtain you twist the handle all the way to hot, nothing was better than a steaming hot shower to wash away a day. Grabbing the small washcloth you unroll it and step into the tub, holding it under the water before lathering with the body wash propped at the edge of the bathtub. It smelled strongly of musk and deep woody undertones befitting for an attractive egotistical Superhero. The scent of him causes your thighs to squeeze shut as the throbbing sets in. You close your eyes, gliding the towel slowly over your skin imagining his touch. Your head falls back as the towel travels up your neck, the muscles in your throat contract as you swallow back a moan imagining his large hands gripping you there. Washing your chest the fibers of the towel cause a gentle friction over your now stiff nipples earning a small yelp from you. Everything is feeling too good. The bathroom is steamy, the scent of him floating all around you. Absent-mindedly your fingers slide down the length of your stomach trailing a line to your pulsating heat. The hot shower stream collides with your sensitive flesh. The water sprays firmly on your chest stimulating your taut pearls. It’s too much to handle, behind your eye lids you can see him stepping into this shower and fucking you ruthlessly against the shower wall. That rebellious finger teases the slick line of your womanhood, just barely pushing past the soft folds. The tip of your finger slides over your slippery bud, a soft moan falls from your lips. Miguel notices you’ve been in the shower for some time now and begins to worry for your well-being. Just as his fist hovers over the door to knock, he is stopped in his tracks at the sound of desperate whimpers and groans. She isn’t…she couldn’t be. He shakes away the notion concluding you may just be sick from today's events. Regardless he didn’t want to disturb you unless you called for him. For some reason he couldn’t seem to walk away from the door, on the contrary he takes a step closer, curiosity getting the better of him. His heart rate skyrockets as he listens intently.

“Uhn p-please touch me…please.” You beg.

The tips of his ears are warm with blush. The crotch of his suit tightens, suffocating the raging hard on he desperately tries to suppress. His forehead rests on the door as he tries to slow his heavy breathing. Blood rushes through his veins enhancing his already heightened senses. It’s almost as if he could feel you through the wall, the only thing separating him was the door,which he could break down with ease. His lips part exposing sharp ivory fangs, his breath is labored and his body shaking with need. He needed to release these feelings deep inside you. breaking down that door and completely having his way with you on the bathroom floor was the only way to tame the fire burning deep inside him. Every muscle in his body tensed and quivered as he became solid with arousal. I need her. I need to be inside her now. A voice growls in his mind. Suddenly the water cuts off. He steps away from the door chest heaving up and down. Biting his lip he walks away, going into his bedroom to find a change of clothes that will allow his throbbing erection to feel a bit more comfortable. You grab the dry off towel and secure it around your frame.

The clothes. You think realizing they were left in the bedroom.

With a quick peek outside, the coast is clear the spider jerk is nowhere in sight so you B line it to the bedroom. An audible gasp escapes as you cover your mouth in shock. There he stood half naked wearing only a pair of navy blue briefs. His body could have been sculpted by gods, never had you seen someone so beautiful. He turns around glaring at you through his curly hair, eyes gleaming like ruby’s.

“I-I left my clothes, I’m sorry I didn’t know you were in here.” You quickly look away, the image still fresh in your mind.

“It’s fine. I was just changing.” He slips on his white tee shirt, closing the drawer.

“Right of course this is your room, in your house, and your clothes…” you ramble.

“Yeah. Sure. Hurry and get dressed, we need to talk.” He says with an unamused tone.

“O-kay!” He bumps your shoulder as he exits the room.

“Ouch.” You exclaim, holding your arm.

Grumbling angrily under your breath, you pick up the oversized tee and shorts combo. The clothes swallow you naturally considering his massive size. You make your way to the living room. your hands work tying your hair back as you sit on the opposite side of the couch watching him closely.

“I was thinking about your suit.” He starts.

“Please don’t bring up how I was naked earlier.” You plead hiding your face.

“W- no I’m not talking about…that.” His voice becomes deeper as he rubs the back of his neck reminiscing on how hard the sound of your voice made him just minutes ago.

“I’m talking about the technology. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen…something that hasn’t been explored, Ever. Something almost otherworldly.” He scratches his head in confusion.

“Okay so now do you believe I’m not some psycho fangirl?”

“It isn’t completely off the table. But if you are really a spider person…prove it. Prove it isn’t some kind of illusion.” He leans back, arms stretched across the back of the couch, his legs parted comfortably. You can’t help your eyes wandering to the visible bulge that tented between his thighs.

“What was the question again?” Your eyes are glossy and cheeks flustered. Miguel follows your line of vision seeing the lustful gaze consume you. His cock twitches, making him shoot up, using his arms to cover the evidence.

“Prove you have powers!” He raises his voice slightly.

“Okay okay no need to yell.” You stand taking a few steps away from the couch.

His eyes follow you curiously as you stop about three feet in front of him. In mere seconds his hands are forced together by a string of abnormally strong webbing. Wrapping the loose string Around your palm,you pull yanking him to his feet.

“The more you struggle the tighter it becomes.” You inform him. His eyes are low and his lips have a rosy hot blush. You advance forward using the remaining web to bind his wrist tighter. With one final pull it is secured firmly in place.

“ Te deseo tanto(I want you so much)” Miguel moans before quickly regaining his composure.

“Huh what does that mean?” You inquire unsure if you heard him correctly.

“N-nothing it doesn’t mean anything. Where are the webs coming from?”

“Here.” You point to your wrist.

“Then why do you have a web shooter? Sounds like a trick to me.” He says through clenched teeth.

“The shooter strengthens the quality of my webs. It wouldn't be fun swinging fifty feet in the air and having a web break on you.”

“That’s true. You seem to have some experience with this lifestyle. I can assume you’ve been this way for a long time.”

“Yeah…a few years actually.” You sound far away.

“I can’t believe another spider person has gone undetected for so long.” He looks deep in thought.

“I'm not from here exactly.”

“Did you move from a different state? A lot of things have changed after the Heroic age so it would make sense you were in hiding-“ he speaks matter-a factly.

“What year is it?” You interrupt.

“Year? I think you might have hit your head pretty hard. It's the year 2099 don’t you remember?” The world starts spinning around you.

“20…99.You’re Spider-Man from the year 2099? This isn’t right, I shouldn't be here!” Tears stream down your face as you realize just how far away from home you really are.

Without thinking he lifts his bound hands over your head pulling you flush against his rock solid chest.

His chin nestles in your hair, you can feel his warm breath on your cheek. With each sob he pulls you closer,deeper into him.

“Eres demasiado bonita para llorar.” He whispers in your ear. The sudden change in language catches your attention, halting the flow of tears.

“W-what does that mean?” Your head leans back, staring up at him with blurry eyes.

“You’re too pretty to cry.” He breathes.

Giving into the temptation his arms lock around your waist hoisting you to his eye level. You nod, wanting to listen to the only thing that made sense in that moment ,the only thing that felt real…your body. He exhales a sigh of relief at your nod of consent taking advantage of your position he closes the distance with his lips. You hadn’t even recognized the amount of tension in your body until completely relaxing in his arms. The kiss is hungry as you two struggle for power, he clearly wants to take control but you wouldn’t make it that easy. You snake your arms out of his grasp, tangling your hands in his chestnut curls. Your feet are dangling off the ground, taking advantage of this you wrap your legs around his waist. His tongue sneakily slips past your lips petting the inside of your mouth, tasting you for the very first time.

“Tan deliciosa(so delicious)” he mumbles into your mouth.

His warm wet appendage entangles with your eager tongue dancing together in a tango of passion. With a pained groan he forces his wrist apart breaking through the barrier of your webs, desperate to touch you.

“Need…more” he is no longer able to articulate full sentences. The lust drowns him and he pulls you down with him. His now free hands roam your body leaving no place undiscovered. His giant hand grips the back of your neck pulling you deeper into the kiss. He holds you still as he finds solace in your lips, there is no place he’d rather be in this moment than Buried hilt deep inside your walls. His other hand grips your ass kneading the soft skin. As you begin to slip, he bounces you with one arm, holding you even tighter. He blindly sits down on the couch, a bit of a bumpy ride but you land gently straddling his hips. He pulls away to stare fervently at you with rose colored eyes. Without bothering to remove your shirt in a humane way, he slashed a talon between your breasts, roughly splitting the fabric.

“So fucking beautiful” he runs his tongue up the length of your torso all the way to your neck. You tremble beneath his touch. He plants warm kisses up your throat, sucking and nipping the smooth flesh. His fang pokes dangerously close with each lap, threatening to sink in at any moment. He softly bares down breaking just the surface of your skin, a small trickle of blood pools at both sides of the bite. You gasp at the sudden pain but quickly melt as he licks it away. The fact you’re both spider people his venom doesn’t work the same way it would on a human. It is not poisonous or toxic. Your body processes it by turning it into dopamine intensifying your bodily sensitivity. The effects take action immediately; electricity vibrates every cell in your body.

“W-wait i don’t even know your name…your real name.” You huff trying to catch your breath.

“Miguel. Yours?” He smiles, the lines in his face stand out making him look even more charming.

“Y/n” your eyes move side to side as he leans in again this time lower.

“Nice to meet you, Now por favor fóllame(please fuck me)

“Oh god…ah…please” you plead as he sucks your erect peaks. He sucks and teases your nipples, he moans as you grab his hair for support.

“Uhn…mamita harder, pull harder” he groans, flicking his tongue over your hard pearls. You obey, pulling with a little more force than before. A shiver runs down his spine, his eyes flutter as they roll back.

In an instant he turns around flipping you onto your back, he kneels between your legs on the living room floor. He ejects a web plastering your ankles together. Your back is flat on the couch cushion and your lower half hangs being supported only by his firm grip on your ankles. Just as before he doesn’t bother with removing your bottoms. He lifts your legs up, creating tension in the fabric and slicing at the resistance point splitting the shorts in two exposing your eager slit.

“Oh dios te necesito ahora(oh god I need you right now)” he pants.

Using the hand grasping your ankles, he pushes your legs back putting your plush entrance on display. He salivates at the sight of you so vulnerable and open before him, the muscles in your legs tremble as he bends down splaying soft kisses on your inner thighs. You can feel his warm breath on your wet folds. A growl rumbles in his throat as he traces the line of your flower with his tongue, savoring your nectar .

“f-fuck…s-so good” you moan, biting back a scream of pleasure. Utilizing his free hand, he teases your slick canal with two thick digits before easing them inside. His tongue and fingers work in unison petting your inner and outer sweet spots. Never had he felt someone so tight and inviting, his cock twitches as your walls squeeze his fingers. Pumping his fingers in and out he simultaneously licks your clit, sucking and lapping at the bundle of nerves. Your hips buck and hands find his hair grinding deeper into his touch. He picks up the pace as your pussy quivers. his head moves rhythmically as he absolutely devours you. His chin is slick with your juices as he licks and sucks every inch of your inner labia. Your legs twitch and shake as the climax edges near, maintaining the same speed he pushes you past your breaking point.

“Can’t take anymore…i-its too much.” You sob gripping him tighter.

“It’s okay estás haciendo un buen trabajo(You’re doing such a good job) don’t give up on me…that’s it…good girl.” He praises finger fucking you through your orgasm. With a final yelp the gates open and you cum harder than you’ve came before, coating his fingers in your delicious cream. Slow and gently he slips his fingers from your spent cunt leaving you shivering and incoherent. Instinctively he puts those same fingers in his mouth sucking away the mess you made. Before you can even think of catching your breath, he sits up removing the barrier of his shirt and shorts. The elastic waistband of his shorts slides down exposing the defined V lines on his hips. His throbbing manhood burst free, the veins pulsing visibly with frustration. His head hangs hiding his red hot blush and low set eyelids, this feeling could only be described as animalistic. Using his fangs he shreds the webbing holding your ankles in place, setting you free. Your knees fall in exhaustion at either side of you giving him full access to your cunt once again. He towers over you, hands on the back of the couch to support his massive weight. You feel his cock fall thick and heavy on your glistening lips. He breathes deeply, rubbing his member along your split, his mouth opens slightly a pained expression pulls to his face.

“Me vuelves loca(you drive me crazy) I can’t wait anymore.” He growls lining his tip with your slick hole. He plunges deep and desperately inside you, his claws slice the back of the couch as he ruts into you. Those piercing red eyes bore into yours as he pistons into your pillowy heat. Your pussy clenches sucking him in further, the tip of his cock slams your g spot with each stroke. The grooves of your inner walls massage all eight inches of his thick rod.

“Me encanta tu cuerpo(I love your body)…te sientes muy bien(you feel so good)…No puedo resistirme a ti(I can’t resist you)” he groans low in your ear. He places his calloused hand under your knee pushing it back and opening you wider. He pumps in and out at a fervent pace, suddenly he switches the position of his hands to rest on your hips. With his Cock buried deep inside you, he stands hoisting you by your waist. Naturally your legs hang around his hips leaving you at his mercy. You’re a frightening 6’9 inches from the ground being fucked like a rag doll. His hands grip your ass as he rocks you back and forth on his dick. Your toes curl as he rails you slamming up while forcing you down on his cock. It’s hard and needy. He can’t control himself, his talons prick your flesh as he grips you tightly. His manhood throbs begging for release,head falling back as he forces you up and down on his shaft.

“Need to cum…can’t hold it f-fuck.” With a final thrust he slams deep within exploding and spraying your walls with hot cum. He holds you close as his body trembles, a thin layer of sweat glistens on his body. His cock twitches still hard inside you.

“Another round,hermosa(beautiful)?” He pants.

“Yes please.” You breathe.

[ladykailitha]

Grief (A Friend Indeed) Part 12

And here we are at the end. Thank you so much for being on this journey with me.

Here we have Steve's POV of the last scene from last week, he talks to Hopper and Steve's uncle further proves he'd be a better parent than Clint Harrington.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9 Pt 10 Pt 11

****

Steve watched Eddie march to the truck and let out a shuddering breath. He thought that they had really connected here. But now as they were going back to Hawkins it appeared that Eddie was just going to leave that here in Ashland.

He got to his car and looked at the sad little cooler and just lost it. He started cursing and hitting the steer wheel.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” he hissed. “You never did hear a name, did you, Harrington? Apparently he was in love with someone else all this time and was only being nice because you were having a mental break down.”

He could feel the tears stream down his face. Bitter and angry. “You should have been supporting him not the other way round. That’s probably why he’s soooo pissed at you. Because he was grieving and you made it all about you. Like you always do. Fuck!”

Just then the passenger side door was wrenched open and Eddie slid in.

The tears dried up instantly in his surprise. “Eds?”

And then Eddie proceeded to just knock all his intrusive thoughts out of the fucking ballpark. Just sent them running like a scared dog with its tail between its legs.

Then kissed him about it.

They still needed to have a proper conversation but that could wait until they were back in Hawkins.

Steve could live with that.

*

When they got home they had that talk. Eddie learned about all the different girls who had propositioned him and was pissed on his behalf.

“That’s fucking bullshit,” he said. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with that.”

Steve shrugged. “You had enough on your plate. Plus, I sicced Uncle Danny after them.”

Eddie blinked. “Oh. I think I would have paid good money to see that.”

“I didn’t have to send anyone after Beth though,” Steve said with a grin, “Lauren did that all on her own.”

“I’m so glad you two got along,” Eddie murmured. “But in the future, you tell me these things. I want to protect you, the way you protect everyone else, okay?”

Steve agreed.

Wayne walked into the new house provided by the government, wiping his hands on an old rag.

“Everything is in the garage for us to sort and place later,” he told Eddie.

“You two going to be wanting help getting everything in?” Steve asked.

Wayne shook his head. “Lauren and her Uncle Hal are coming out next week to help out.”

Eddie ran his tongue over his teeth thoughtfully. “Yeah? I didn’t hear about that.”

Wayne had the presence of mind to blush. “It must have slipped my mind.”

“Uh-huh,” Steve and Eddie said together.

Wayne cleared his throat. “So I’m going to be seeing you a lot more now that you and Ed are together?”

Steve grinned, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist and putting his head on his shoulder. “I’ll be here so often, you’ll think I live here.”

Wayne hummed. “We’ll come back to that in a few months.”

Eddie blushed. “Nice to know you aren’t planning the wedding already, old man.”

Wayne blinked innocently. “Oh I am, but I’m thinking fall of next year or the year after.”

Eddie coughed and sputtered as Steve laughed.

He turned to Steve. “Why aren’t you defending me against this?” He waved at Wayne’s smug expression.

“Because I’m already coming up with arguments for a late spring early summer wedding instead.”

Eddie’s jaw dropped. “That’s some confidence you got there, darlin’. What makes you think I’ll say yes.”

Steve kissed him, slow and searing.

Eddie blushed. “Yup. Okay. Uh-huh. Point made.”

Wayne just smiled fondly.

*

Steve was really starting to regret setting the party on his Uncles Percy and David.

Robin, El, and Will had kidnapped Percy, while Dustin, Mike, and Nancy had absconded with David somewhere.

Eddie, Lauren, and Jonathan were talking to Hal and Lucas, Max, and Erica were talking to Wayne.

Hopper came up to Steve and put his arm around his shoulders.

Steve relaxed into the embrace.

“You did good, kid,” Hopper said. “I’m proud of you.”

Steve nodded and then rubbed the end of his nose, trying to fight back the tears.

“I had a long talk with Joyce about some of her choices that she made while I was gone,” he continued. “I’m glad I’m out of that hell hole, but she should have made sure everyone was safe first.”

“She had a lot on her plate,” Steve murmured.

Hopped cuffed the back of his head. “Don’t you go forgiving her without her apologizing first. I had to go back to California because apparently some fucked up general decided to shoot up the Byers house in Lenora.”

Steve looked over at Hopper in shock. “They did what now?”

Hopper nodded. “It was a complete shit show. But you have to know, I wouldn’t have just left you behind if I didn’t think you could handle it.”

“I know, I just...”

“Just wish you didn’t have to handle it?” he asked. Steve nodded. “I getcha. I wish you didn’t have to either. But I trust you to take care of everyone here, because I know they’re in safe hands with you.”

Steve choked back a sob. “Thanks, Hop.”

“Still can’t believe you’re dating that Munson kid,” he teased.

Steve pushed Hop way playfully. “Oh fuck off. He’s a good man.”

Hop looked over at him talking to Jonathan and Hal. “If he gets you to take care yourself or at least does it for you, he gets a pass from me.”

Steve blushed. “He takes care of me. It’s incredible how easy he makes it look.”

“I know your family was shit growing up,” Hop said. “But look at it now.”

Steve looked out at the fifteen-sixteen people out there lounging around the swimming pool with fondness.

“I always wanted a big family,” he said softly. “Who would have thought that all it would take is some extra-dimensional monsters to make it happen.”

Hopper chuckled. “I feel you kid. Before I started all this, I had lost my daughter to cancer and my wife to divorce. Now, not only do I have another daughter to take care of, I have a woman I love and her two boys that are like her sons to me.”

Steve made a grimace. “Does that mean Jonathan is my step-brother, because ew.”

“I heard that Harrington!” Jonathan called out.

Steve and Hopper laughed.

Eddie came bounding up to Steve. “I’m not sure I want the Chief as a father-in-law, babe.”

Steve smiled. “Oh that is going to make for some very awkward family dinners.

Percy came up behind Eddie.

“Hello, I’m Steve’s uncle, Percy,” he said extending his hand to Hopper to shake.

“Yeah,” Hopper said. “I’ve been hearing all about you. I’m sorry Clint Harrington kept you away from Steve for all this time.”

Percy nodded. “Jasper being an idiot didn’t help, unfortunately. But I’m in Steve’s life for good. There’s nothing that his parents could do that would change that.”

Steve gave Percy a hug in gratitude.

“Welcome to Hawkins then,” Hopper said with a smile. “It’s bit of a mess at the moment, but it’s home.”

“Well,” Percy said with a smile, “the welcome so far has been amazing I’m happy Steven has a support system now.” He turned to Steve. “May I pull you away for a moment. There’s something I would like to talk to you about.”

Steve looked at Hopper and Eddie who both shrugged. “Sure, lead the way.”

Percy went inside the kitchen and sat down at the counter. “When you told me that you didn’t get into the colleges and universities you applied for, I called around.”

Steve frowned. “Why? My grades slipped after Christmas my senior year. I ended at 2.76 GPA. I figured that wasn’t good enough to get in.”

“Yes,” Percy said. “If they only looked at your senior year. But they don’t. They look at a cumulative GPA from all your years at high school. You had a cumulative GPA of 3.16. Which is more than enough to get into any college you wanted. Especially with you still winning medals in swimming.”

His frown deepened. “But Dad said that I didn’t get into any of those schools.”

“Yes, which I thought was odd,” Percy further explained. “Which is why I called. Steven, you got accepted into two thirds of the schools you applied for.”

Steve leaned back. “What? That’s not possible.”

“I’m guessing Clint only showed you the one third you didn’t get into and told you the rest was the same.”

“Why?” he breathed. “Why would he do that?”

“Because the schools you got into weren’t the ones he wanted you to go to is my next guess.”

“I can go to college?” Steve asked, his lip quivering. “I don’t have to be stuck here my whole life?”

Percy shook his head. “You are a smart young man, and David and I are very committed to helping you get to where you want to go in life. Your parents mail have failed you, but I promise we won’t.”

Steve let out a shaky breath. “Thank you so much.”

Percy got up and hugged him. “Now go back out to your boy, he’ll be worried about you.”

Steve nodded and walked back out.

Percy followed close behind and wrapped his arm around David’s waist.

“You think they’re going to be okay?” David asked as they watch Steve and Eddie cling to each other.

“Oh yes,” Percy said. “It may have taken a tragedy to get them here, but they are smart boys with a great support system. There is nothing those boys can’t do now.”

“I’m happy to have met them,” David said.

“Me too.”

****

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @messrs-weasley @goodolefashionedloverboi @maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @emly03 @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @bookworm0690 @itsall-taken @bookbinderbitch @redfreckledwolf @vecnuthy @littlewildflowerkitten @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @gutterflower77 @genderless-spoon @hel-spawn @ellietheasexylibrarian @anne-bennett-cosplayer @mamafaithful @yikes-a-bee @dragonmama76 @flaming-reauxster @r0binscript @awkotaco24 @ilikeititspretty @5ammi90

[matrixbearer2024]

Grief Of The Gifted

Ford doesn't get a perfect score and kind of has a meltdown, luckily Stan is there to ground him back to reality against self-imposed unrealistic expectations.

That moment when I decide to write for my modernity AU and it's actually completely freaking bonkers HAHAHA- but yeah, college AU set circa 202X because why not, have some Stan twins dynamic while I flesh out the rest of the AU with Fidds and Bill LOL-

Also yes, FIlbrick being a piece of shit father because OF COURSE HE IS- totally not projecting my own parental issues onto these two HAHAHAHA

The classroom was a ghost town when the final bell rang, sunlight filtering through the smudged windows in lazy, golden streaks. The world outside seemed to hum with freedom, the chatter of students in the hallways slowly dissolving into echoes, but for Stanford Pines, time stood still. He sat hunched over his desk, his fingers clutching the paper like it might burn through his skin, and in some ways, it already had.

That crimson “99” was seared into his mind like a brand, mocking him with its audacious imperfection. It wasn’t just a number— it was a reflection, a twisted mirror held up to his relentless expectations. The wrong answer wasn’t a simple mistake; it was a flaw in his very existence.

The sharp edge of disappointment cut deeper than he thought possible, leaving him hollow. When had learning— his sanctuary, his passion— become such an unbearable weight? Once, the pursuit of knowledge had felt like the thrill of a treasure hunt, a constant chase after the glittering unknown. But now, the treasures he uncovered weren’t enough to quench the insatiable hunger for approval that gnawed at him.

Approval he’d never truly receive.

His father’s voice echoed in his mind, not in words of comfort, but in the deafening silence of withheld affection. His achievements weren’t milestones— they were currency, cashed in for a fleeting glance of acknowledgment. And today, he had come up short. One point short. He could almost feel his father’s eyes glance past him, unimpressed.

Stanford blinked furiously, willing the hot sting of tears to retreat, but they came anyway, unbidden and burning. His hands twisted the fabric of his jeans, nails digging into his palms. The gloves he wore— itched, suffocated, hid— mocked him almost as much as the paper. Everything about him felt wrong, from the six fingers to the single missing point.

The classroom door creaked, snapping him from his spiraling thoughts. A familiar voice filled the silence.

“Hey, you doin’ okay?"

Stanley’s tone was soft, but his presence filled the room, grounding and real.

Stanford tried to speak, tried to muster some semblance of a reply, but his throat felt raw, as if the weight of that single red number had lodged itself there. His twin didn’t need words to understand; Stanley had always been attuned to him in a way that others weren’t, a mirror reflecting what Ford tried so hard to hide.

“You got the highest grade in the class, didn’t you?”

Stanley ventured, his tone casual, but his eyes brimming with a rare sincerity. There wasn't any of his typical joking sarcasm.

"That test was brutal. I’m lucky I squeaked out a B. You pulled an A+— that’s somethin’, Sixer.”

It wasn’t, though. Not to Ford. It wasn’t enough. The perfection he sought was like the horizon— always in view, never in reach. He felt the frustration bubble over, the words rising to his lips only to falter when Stanley smiled at him. That comforting, crooked grin— an unspoken reassurance that said, “It’s okay to let it out.”

And Ford did. The tears broke free, rolling down his cheeks as his body shook with the force of the emotions he’d kept bottled up. Anger, shame, exhaustion— it all spilled over, raw and unfiltered. He hated how weak he felt, how utterly vulnerable, but Stanley didn’t flinch. He didn’t pull away.

Instead, his twin stepped closer, wrapping his arms around Ford in a firm hug that anchored him in the storm of his own making. The world shrank down to just the two of them, the paper falling forgotten to the desk. Ford sobbed into Stanley’s shoulder, his brother’s steady presence a lifeline.

“Hey, it’s okay."

Stan murmured, his hand resting lightly on Ford’s back, careful not to press too hard.

“You’re killin’ yourself over one point, Six. One stupid point. You’re still the smartest guy I know. Ain’t nobody else gettin' an A+ from this damn prof."

But it wasn’t about the grade— it was never about the grade. It was about the invisible chains of expectation Ford had wrapped around himself, links forged by years of trying to be enough for a father who never gave him the keys to love.

Stan knew this, even if he couldn’t put it into words. He just held on, steady as a lighthouse in a storm, letting Ford cry until the tide ebbed and the weight of that red ink felt a little less crushing.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The classroom around them was quiet now, bathed in the soft, fading light of the evening sun. Ford’s sobs subsided into shuddering breaths, and Stan finally pulled back, resting his hands on his twin’s shoulders.

“Let it go, Sixer."

Stanley said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

“That number doesn’t define you. You’re more than that.”

For the first time that day, Ford met his brother’s gaze. The shame, the anger— they were still there, but they were softened by the warmth in Stanley’s expression. For a fleeting moment, Stanford believed him.

Because if anyone knew the weight of grief, of expectations unmet, it was Stanley. He bore it in his own way, in his own silence. And yet, here he was, holding Ford together when it felt like he was falling apart.

Maybe that was what love really was— not the transactional kind that demanded unrealistic expectation, but the kind that stayed, even when you felt like nothing more than a failure.

The grief of the gifted was a heavy burden. But once more, Stanford was reminded that he didn’t have to carry it alone.

Not when he had one hell of a brother by his side.

Tell me what you guys think about this one! Might continue with this AU as well as the fics for the time lord twins one :D

[quibble-auk]

@thebrokenmechanicalpencil

Dropmix trials stuff. We finally know what happened to Sunstreaker yippee!

Next

Idk if this is what you had in mind but I had fun with it. Gotta make the judgmental man on my desk suffer…. It was awkward to look up and have him staring at me as I wrote this. Like yeah sorry man you’re not having a fun time….

Some masterful art for this that cannot be ignored

Anyway how high do you think Sideswipe is?

—

Sunstreaker groaned as consciousness washed over him like a tidal wave of unpleasant feelings and discomfort. He was immediately bombarded by sensor notifications and alerts, trying to helpfully notify him of the damage he had taken. Maybe they would have been helpful if they weren’t so annoying. His head throbbed and he quickly gave up on trying to make out what any of the alerts were trying to tell him.

He just wanted five more minutes. Why couldn’t Sideswipe give him–

No, that wasn’t right. Sunstreaker forced his eyes to open just to close them tightly again at the bright world that had greeted him, hissing slightly. When he woke up in their hab-suite he wasn’t harassed with countless alerts on what had broken… he should have realized that immediately.

If the seemingly endless cascading static filled notifications weren’t a good sign, his inability to recall what exactly happened definitely wasn't.

The yellow bot tried to shift, attempting to get some of the weight off of his chest—he had mistaken it for a sleeping Comet earlier—only to be met with searing pain. Sunstreaker tensed painfully, wincing and hissing. Whatever was on top of him didn’t budge in the slightest, its heavy weight pressing him uncomfortably into the dirty ground.

Sunstreaker opened his eyes slowly, staring up at the smoke-filled sky. His eyes refused to focus on anything, any details lost as everything blurred together as a massive gray blob. Obviously his vision would not be aiding in reminding him of what happened. Nonetheless, slowly the memories started to trickle in.

There had been chaos when the convoy was attacked. Seekers’ engines screeched as they attacked from above. When the air raid had finally ceased, Decepticon ground troops quickly moved in to pick off the survivors. It had been a brutal and effective strategy, overwhelming the autobots swiftly. Any attempt at a controlled counter attack or proper defence had quickly become impossible amongst the panic. There was no doubt in Sunstreaker’s mind that the consequences had been catastrophic.

That's how Sunstreaker had found himself in his current situation. At least that's what he assumed. His memory was still catching up with him, slowly coming back to him… much slower than he’d prefer for being trapped under something and in the middle of a battlezone.

If this was still a battle zone, it wasn’t an active one anymore. The sky was empty, at least from what he could see. Granted, everything was still blurry and unfocused. The sounds of blaster fire were distant and far away. But everything sounded distorted, like he was dreaming. Was he dreaming? Weren’t you not supposed to feel pain in dreams? Maybe some of those notifications he had pushed aside had been about his hearing being damaged or something.

He shifted his weight again, trying to figure out what exactly was pinned under whatever was on top of him. Sunstreaker couldn’t move his legs at all but his arms seemed to be free. It was less than ideal but at least it seemed that all his limbs were intact. That was always a good sign when you woke up on the ground with no idea how you got there.

The harsh reality of his situation was starting to become more and more evident. Sunstreaker was in a tough spot and needed the ability to think clearly to get out of it alive. He clenched his jaw tightly, trying to will himself to remember what had happened, why he couldn’t move. Maybe remember if there had been anyone else nearby that he could call out to.

It was a transportation trailer. It had been sent airborne because of a large explosion, he recalled. He hadn’t noticed it in time, he had been too busy trying to help another injured Autobot get out of the line of fire.

Sunstreaker grunted, blinking harshly and trying to get his eyes to focus on something. After what felt like an eternity—and a migraine later—his vision finally steadied. He puffed out a breath, trying to ground himself from the way his mind swam in and out of coherent thoughts. His vision still swam slightly, but things looked clearer. Slowly he moved his head to the side, ignoring the overwhelming pain that surged through his systems at the movement.

The yellow bot looked over to see the injured mech he had been attempting to aid. He must have managed to shove them out of the way in time; they weren’t trapped like he was. However, the large ashy crater in their chest was a clear sign that his rescue attempt had been in vain. They were dead, no doubt about it. Sunstreaker just needed to make sure he didn’t succumb to the same fate.

The Decepticons that had killed the other must have mistaken his own unconsciousness for death, or left to be killed by some lesser mech. Obviously, no other bot had thought he was alive and had left him… Perhaps they had just thought it was amusing to leave him to die slowly of energon loss.

He couldn’t care less about why they had left him, honestly, what mattered was he was still alive and he just needed to find Comet and Sideswipe and get out of here. He attempted to reach out to Sideswipe through the bond, urgently prodding at where his brother should be.

Sideswipe wasn’t there.

From what Sunstreaker could tell, there was nothing on the other side of the bond.

He reached again. Pushed at the bond. Nothing. Now was not the time for Sideswipe to be difficult, Sunstreaker needed him to respond. Fine. He felt a growl rise in his throat. If Sideswipe was trying to ignore him as some kind of joke it was falling flat. He’d put the fragger in his place when he saw him again.

Sunstreaker reached out again, more forcefully than his previous attempts. He intentionally sent some of his own pain with it this time. That should send the message.

Nothing.

He did it again and waited.

Sunstreaker looked at his communicator, trying to send a message that way to his twin. He was greeted with a system error. It wasn’t working. Either he couldn’t send out messages… Or Sideswipe wasn’t receiving them.

The yellow bot felt his breath hitch.

He reached out desperately trying to grasp at his brother.

Nothing.

No. No, that wasn’t right. He reached again, harder. Searched. Dug. And still there was nothing. Sunstreaker couldn’t feel him. Sideswipe was gone. There was nothing where there should have been something. Anything.

It was harder to breathe now, his mind filled with a strange static like fog.

He tried to reach out to Comet through his communicator. Again and again. Every time he was met with the same frustrating red words: System error. It didn’t matter, he sent another one to Cometeater. Then again to Sideswipe. He reached out again, clawing at where his twin was supposed to be.

Sunstreaker didn’t realize he was desperately trying to escape the prison that the trailer had trapped him in until he realized how raw his hands felt. The edge of the trailer was dented and scratched, energon smeared over the surface.

Where were they?

His chest heaved as he struggled to fight back the growing urge to cry out. He sent message after message. Over and over again. He was met with error code after error code. The red message stained his mind. They were supposed to answer. It wasn’t fair. They couldn’t leave him. They had to respond.

The red message popped up again and this time he did cry out in desperate frustration, fist meeting the metal that refused to release him. He didn’t stop.

They had to be out there, somewhere. Sunstreaker needed them to be. They couldn’t be gone. Not really. They wouldn’t leave him alone. Not like this. He just needed to find them. He would find them. He just needed to get out.

Something akin to a sob was pulled from his mouth as he was once again met with a red message.

There had to be someone left. The messages he was trying to send out were no longer coherent. There was nothing. Nothing. No one was there. Nobody. Sunstreaker whined slightly. His vision swam all over again as he frantically looked around for anyone.

The only mechs who remained were corpses, empty and gone.

Sunstreaker was alone.

He didn’t remember clawing himself out.

His hands hurt.

Sunstreaker began looking.

[pictureinme]

kinktober day vii. OVERSTIMULATION – jonathan crane

word count: ~800 tags: bondage, sex toys, s/m masterlist | ao3

“Come on, you can’t be tired already, (Y/N),” Jonathan’s words were distant as he held a small, barely buzzing vibrator against your clit, “You’ve only orgasmed 3 times if you’ve counted truthfully.”

You know he didn’t really expect you to respond in your condition, but you still tried with a broken whine.

For the past hour, Dr. Jonathan Crane has been teasing and playing with you, all while you’re strapped to your shared bed by the arms and legs. He loved seeing you like this, pliant and supine, as he always told you. A toy, a plaything he would experiment with various items and techniques on. You loved every second of it, even if it ended up in your being sore for a week straight.

He always took great care in helping you heal though, using the best methods available to heal your bruises or cuts. Jonathan wasn’t a cruel man, at least not to you. Hopelessly sadistic, yes; evil, no.

You clench weakly around the plug in your hole while he moves the overused toy away from your clit. Jonathan returns with a much longer vibrator, one that reaches the most delicious part inside of you. You bite your lip weakly as he prods it against your entrance– he hadn’t entered you once the entire evening, so this was a very welcome sensation. Your eyes, lidded, gaze at him as he analyzes each and every reaction you so lovingly gave him.

Jonathan’s expression was unreadable as he turned the toy to its lowest setting, even as your back arched instantaneously. The feeling of relief you felt as he entered you with the rather long vibrator was indescribable– it just felt right. The tremors it was creating within you, even at its lowest, were delicious and you couldn’t help but beg for more.

“Jonny, please…” 

Even those two words were barely understood by him, but he got the message loud and clear, “There’s my good girl.”

He turns it up, per your vague request, and your eyes shut tightly at the sensations it was creating. You mewl at the pleasure as he thrusts it shallowly within you, not yet reaching the area it was built to.

“You look perfect like this, (Y/N),” Jonathan hums, cocking his head as the toy hits a particularly pleasurable spot inside of you. “All fucked out of your mind.”

Nodding mindlessly, you try your best to angle your hips so it can that familiar spot again and again, and he allows you to do so. His movements were calculated, compiled from months of studying your body and its various reactions to his touch– he knew how to make you fall apart and was, thus, addicted to it.

The toy rubs against that part inside of you, and Jonathan moves it to practically bruise your soft walls. You thrash against the restraints, something you’ve done enough in the past hour to redden your ankles and wrists– you were close again.

“Jon– fuck– ‘m close, please, God!”

He laughs at your high-pitched plea and it only makes you whine further into the pleasure, “I haven’t even changed the setting, dear. Are you really that sensitive now?”

As if on command, he ups the vibrations by one, and you feel your mind go white as your entire body spasms– as much as it can, with the restraints. The orgasm overtook you like no other, it was beyond painful but you couldn’t help but moan the loudest you had that night.

Your eyes were shut the whole time, but you knew Jonathan’s eyes were nowhere else but on you. As you ride out the final sparks of your release, he slowly moves the vibrator out of you, and onto your clit. You choke on a gasp at the stimulation– it was searing hot, on the cusp of being too much. The noises you made were unintelligible, even you didn’t know what you were saying, but it was mostly a flurry of curses.

Jonathan cooed at you as he lowered the setting back down to a base level, “Come on, you can do it for me again, can’t you? Don’t you want to be a good girl?”

There was really no choice in the matter, you were already orgasming again by the end of his sentence. Your release was the biggest yet– it wettened not only the bedspread beneath your thighs but the front of Jonathan’s shirt. You were beyond inebriated from the pleasure, only sobering when he removed both the vibrator and the plug in your ass– slowly, so as to not cause any more harm, but you still whined beyond belief.

Your eyes squint open, gazing upon the heavily breathing man before you. His eyes glinted with something you hadn’t seen outside of his place of work: a very specific kind of sadistic pleasure, only dampened by some sense of satisfaction.

“My perfect little one,” Jonathan moves to crawl on top of you, unzipping his pants quickly, “You’re gonna be good for me, right?”