#I FORGOT THE FUCKING BRACELETS. AGAIN

[pengillys]

hi besties 🫶🏻

[eli0004]

Some random Levi relationship HCs

Summary: Just some random lil Levi things I’ve had on my brain lately :D

Rating: 18+ [Minors DNI]

A/n: I can do a part two if anyone is interested

If you compliment him on his appearance, say you like his hair when it’s longer in the front, tell him he looks lovely in that shade of green, he will never forget that shit. He’ll start leaving his hair longer and wearing your favorite colors on him more often, because he loves knowing you’re finding him attractive.

When Levi catches you checking him out, he acts appalled, absolutely flabbergasted, how dare you objectify him like this. He’ll roll his eyes and scoff, waving you off like he can’t believe you’d be so openly perverted like this, but then you’ll spot the blush spreading over his cheeks, and if you’re lucky, you might even catch a glimpse of his lips curling up in a playful smirk as he turns away from you.

He’s not always “stoic”, he just has a very dry sense of humor. Sarcasm, deadpan jokes and teasing actually make him chuckle occasionally, and he loves when you go back and forth with him.

He doesn’t have a great social battery, but when he loves you, he wants you around regardless. Sometimes his favorite moments are sitting together in comfortable silence, and having you rake your fingers through his dark hair, or scratch his back.

I think he has a pretty normal sex drive, but sometimes he needs a lot of foreplay to get comfortable, because the second that sex starts to feel like mindless fucking rather than an expression of love, he feels unnerved and off put.

He’s such a giver, that if you give him something back he’ll be absolutely touched. Make him a bracelet? He’ll never take it off. Bring him something he forgot on his way out the door that morning? He’s thinking about putting a ring on your finger. Cook him his favorite meal? He’ll melt into a puddle of soft sappy feelings.

Honestly, he’s really just a hopeless romantic. Once upon a time he was a little boy that day-dreamt of finally being loved, being held, and doted on. Up until now, he was starting to get used to the idea of being alone, so he’ll do anything to keep you happy and content with him.

I think levi is a switch, but he leans towards submissive because, again, he loves being doted on. He likes sensual touching, thumb against his cheek, fingers gripping his thighs, running your nails down his abdomen and feeling it tense up. He fantasizes about that kind of thing. He wants your hands all over him.

He gets super turned on by possessive behavior, in and out of the bedroom. Bite him, yank on his hair, ask him who’s cock this is, he loves that shit. If you get jealous easily, he’ll roll his eyes and tell you you’re being immature, but he’s such a bad liar because his ego is soaring. He’ll be walking around with a little more confidence that day.

If you keep eye contact and tell him you love him during sex, he might bust on the spot.

In the colder months, he tends to become depressed easily. He benefits from having someone who won’t allow him to shut himself away.

Husband material, marry him immediately.

[maxlarens]

i promise i'm writing my max oneshot CURRENTLY but i had to get the sillies out about this really badly. australian spring/summer i love u i love u i love u!!!! also at this point i think the difference between a one shot and drabble on this account is non existent and simply based on vibes. this is only a one shot bcs it feels a bit more coherent i suppose?

LN: australia street

pairing(s): lando norris x piastri!reader, oscar piastri & piastri!reader

word count: 1.3k+

It all feels very familiar, nostalgic even— though you've never been in quite this situation before. With Oscar sure; you always rope your brother into doing things when you're in Australia again. But this is the first time that Lando's joined you.

It's nice, to be home.

Not that it's yours or Oscar's home anymore (that's not true. It always will be, no matter where in the world you jet off to). It's certainly not Lando's. It's hard to put words to the feeling, you just know it's nice.

You're driving, of course, because Oscar and Lando can never decide which of the two of them should drive. So you'd snatched the keys to the Piastri family '96 Holden Commodore and slammed the driver door behind you before either of them could say boo. Lando had snagged the passenger seat in a mad dash that you'd watched play out in the rear-view mirror, while Oscar had complained all the way to the backseat.

"Whered'ya wanna go?", you half turn your head to ask Oscar, checking your blind spot at the same time.

Oscar hums as he thinks. You can feel Lando's eyes burning a hole into the side of your face.

"Do you remember that fish and chips shop—"

You do, "Where Dad used to take us? Yeah, it closed down," then you add, "Besides, Lando hates fish. Jeez, Osc."

"Ah fuck," Oscar groans, "That sucks."

Lando makes a noise, indignant, "I can't believe you forgot. It's my one thing."

Oscar rolls his eyes, "It's not your one thing, Lando. You have plenty of things."

They start to bicker, devolving into an argument that you only understand about half of, about pet peeves and the things the other one does that get on the other’s nerves. You chime in a few times to agree about Oscar’s annoying habits, the things you'd grown up complaining to your Mum about. Quietly to yourself, you decide on a route to an old Italian place you know is still kicking around— they won't mind.

You roll your window down, feel the balmy spring breeze in your hair, on your face. It smells like the bloom of jasmine flowers, of warmth, of the smoke of people BBQ-ing in their backyards. You breathe deeply, absently aware of the petered-out conversation. Oscar dozing in the backseat like he always does. Lando looking out the other window, watching gum trees and bottlebrush on the sides of the road. 'M looking for koala’s he'd said the other day, which had made you laugh. You'd been tempted to tell him about drop bears, but you're sure that Daniel had already warned him of the dangers.

"Do you miss it here?", Lando asks suddenly.

"Mm," you affirm, "I do."

"A lot?"

You shrug at the question, not sure why he's pressing it, "Sure, Lan."

"Then why do you travel with Oscar?", you spare a glance at him, he's fiddling with a bracelet on his wrist, the one you'd made him that matched the one you'd made Oscar that matched the one you wore, "Don't you want to, y'know, settle down here?"

You raise an eyebrow, scoff a little, "God, I'm not an old maid, dude. I'm not ready to pop out babies yet. Far out."

"No, no," he's blushing, you know he is, you don't even need to check, his tan cheeks growing a little darker, redder, "Fuck. That's not what I meant. You know what I meant."

You snicker. You do. But Lando is fun to rile up.

A latent sigh leaves your mouth, "I dunno," you admit, "It's my favourite place. But I have the rest of my life to come back, and besides, it's more special like this. I appreciate it more when I'm only here for a short time."

Lando hums, turning your words over in his head. You think he may be about to say something else—

"Do you like it here, Lan?"

You're not sure why you ask. No, you are. There's this fantasy that keeps floating around in your head. Little bits of it have been coming true on this trip. Lando standing in the garage with your Dad, talking about project cars and then showing him grease covered parts, explaining where they'll eventually end up. Your Mum roping you, Lando and Oscar into helping her cut vegetables at the kitchen counter. Your younger sisters giving you loaded looks behind Lando's back, you trying to pretend you have no idea what they mean by them. It's a pipedream, it's weird and you need to stop doing it.

But you can't. Sometimes, you look at Lando and your thoughts just pick up and run away with themselves.

Lando nods in answer to your question, "'Course. It's very," he trails off, fingers finding the beads on his bracelet again, he hums, "It's very you. Hm, does that make sense?"

You feel warm all of a sudden. Something creeps up your neck, settles at the base of your skull. You blink a few times, remind yourself to focus on the road.

You skitter out a laugh, an awkward thing, you're trying not to look at him, your hands tight on the wheel, "Yeah— uh— it does. I s'pose."

You lapse into silence for a short while. The sky is eggshell orange and purple and red, stretching out in front of you. Punctuated by the star-brightness of the street lights, terracotta tiled roofs and the shadowed branches of towering Eucalyptus trees. It fills you with a feeling you can't name— there's nothing else quite like it out there. Not in London, not in Monaco, not in any of the many other cities you've traveled to or lived in for a stint.

They're all gorgeous and interesting in their own right, but they don't live up to the special peculiarities of suburban Australia. The flash of a possum's eyes where it's skittering across a powerline. The faint sounds of kookaburras laughing as dusk falls. The glow of families watching TV in living rooms coming through screen doors left unlocked. Old men tinkering in wide open garages. Wheelie bins with red and yellow lids out on the curb— cricket stumps painted on the sides.

It’s special. In the way that home is always special.

Then Lando says, apropos of nothing, “Pretty.”

“Huh.”

He shrugs, gestures around at the neighbourhood, “It’s pretty. Warm too. I can see why your parents live here. Raised you guys here. I can see myself doing that.”

You decide not to tell him about the bipolarity of Melbourne weather. Cold to hot to wet to dry to gusty all in a few hours. You let him enjoy the rare consistent spring day. And you try not think about what he’s saying, what he’s admitting. You try not to think about what you might be admitting, driving him through streets you used to play in, to places you used to go with your family, talking about settling down, like it’s on the horizon anytime soon.

It’s not— you’ve not met anyone to settle down with.

At least you don’t think you have.

It’s certainly not Lando, in the passenger seat of the old family car, fresh off a day of meeting your grandparents for fuckssake and taking a tour of your childhood bedroom. Laughing at your old boyband posters and the teenage girl shrine you’d kept to Niki Lauda. It can’t be Lando, who you turn to when you can’t turn to your brother, who gives you his hoodies when you’re cold even though he’s colder, who’s come on a bloody trip to Australia in his four week break because you’d said you wouldn’t know what to do without him for that long.

It can’t. It’s not.

He’s talking in hypotheticals and you’re getting carried away with yourself again. Like you always do.

listened to this playlist while writing😌

[the-saltiest-saltine]

Reservations and Repose

(Yan!Chrollo x Fem Reader)

@sukunasfavoritehole hopefully this is enough to tide you over until my ao3 finally gets an update hehe

Word count: ~7.3k

------

You’re naïve enough to believe Chrollo’s asleep. He loves that about you.

Warnings: NOT SFW, non -con thigh fucking, somnophilia, drugging, imagined not sfw scenarios etc

a/n: SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG IT WAS 3/4 FINISHED THEN I FORGOT ABOUT IT my sincerest apologies.

Also this is my first time writing smut so please go easy on me 😥

Chrollo is very disappointed in you.

You let him kiss your cheek this morning following a deep sleep. You didn’t reciprocate, though he continues to see your progress and knows that an ever-hopeful yet can be added to the end of that statement. To some extent, the allowance of such an act could be chalked up to his acceptance of you, flaws and all, willing to appreciate the neutrality of it as opposed to ardent rejection. In a matter of weeks, you’ll be returning the gesture. And in a matter of months, you’ll be doing it gladly. Warmth, or perhaps weariness, has slowly but surely seeped its way into your actions recently, your shaky hands finding a place in his, fingers interlaced.

Is that to say he was under the impression that you’d completely given yourself to him? Absolutely not. There’s fear in your smiles, as much as they may have metamorphosed from obviously and mockingly forced to meek and endearing. Chrollo has shown you all that you know he can do. This has been enough to keep you relatively restrained over the months. If he showed you all that he knows he can do, you’d most likely curl up into a ball and sob until you dried out. That’s not necessary, though. It’ll never be.

Like many things, it wasn’t linear. It was a path that went upwards and downwards and forwards and backwards and in cycles, cycles that would always leave you curled up, sobbing in his arms, grasping onto him for whatever comfort it would give. But progress is progress, right?

Ignorantly, he began to believe the crumbs of affection, of acceptance, of acquiescence. Stupidly, he thought you were making progress. It’s been a significant amount of time since he was last this naïve. If he wasn’t so disgruntled by your transgression, he’d most likely bask in the nostalgic feeling. But he can’t, for the time being, because you’re trying to do something very rash.

As unfortunate as it is, you’re trying to leave him.

It’s audacious, having thought that the monumental power difference between you two had been thoroughly demonstrated on multiple occasions, a well established and silently acknowledged fact of your travels with him.

It’s irritating, although regarded with the same irritation as one would have with a pet goldfish trying to jump out of its tank. You silly thing, why do you want to abandon the place in which you are safe?

It doesn’t particularly make sense, though. He’s checked his cards - nothing suspicious has been bought in his name. No travel tickets or prepaid car hire. He’s even checked the jewellery collection - maybe you’d snatched up a nice necklace or bracelet or pair of diamond earrings to pawn off. But again, nothing. No suspicious bags have been packed. No loose tiles or floorboards or ceiling panels to hide supplies in. Your clothes are all neatly folded and hung in your wardrobe. 

You’ve got something up your sleeve- something desperate and jittery and not fully thought out. Something that relies on luck and prayers far more than precision and blow-by-blow planning. He never particularly took you for a daredevil, but to see you get pushed to such a limit, to be forced against your own timid nature, is beyond satisfying. If he could pluck it out of you and analyse it under a microscope, he’d be elated. Or perhaps even, he supposes to himself, he’d be so fulfilled that he might abandon the current pathway of his life, aimless and bloody and cyclical, finally so consumed with his obsession over you that nothing else is valued in the slightest. 

He can’t say he didn’t expect an ulterior motive for your apparent benevolence, at least initially, but for it to be kept up for this long? The stares felt almost too natural. The gradual lessening of your flinches when he placed a hand on your shoulder, the way your gaze would be drawn to him rather than away, even if only to flick away immediately - the subtleties were downright impressive. To be able to track everything simultaneously, to be able to remember to exhibit so many behaviours at once…Perhaps he should be taking acting lessons from you.

Chrollo had watched you, humming a pop tune this morning, cheekily shaking your hips from side to side as you fried some eggs, over easy, the notes sometimes interrupted with a sharp inhale between your teeth when the oil spat just a bit too high and would burn you ever-so-slightly. A domestic sight.

You’d let him give you another kiss on the cheek before he shrugged his coat on, giving you one last lingering glance before he’d walked out the door and into the hallway of the apartment, locking it with warm Nen made of comfort rather than capture. He gave you another cheek kiss (despite his ever-growing urge to dip lower) when he got home to the smell of spices and vegetables and the bubbling sound of a low simmer. You don’t fight them anymore, and barely even recoil now, a result of steady but slight crossing of boundaries - his record was eleven times in one day (at least, his record for when you were conscious) when he was feeling particularly affectionate, although you’d definitely soured up by the end.

The…fantasies he’d had of domesticity…they were just that, weren’t they? Fantasies, mere ideas that were appealing enough to fully flesh out in his mind. Whatever actions you’ve taken, whether it be pecks to the cheek or folding his shirts, staining them with the scent of you, they’ve all been a means to an end. That certainly wasn’t part of the fantasy. 

You’ve been buttering him up like the thick slices of white bread next to his bowl. What a betrayal.

Tonight’s stew is spicy and chunky, served courteously by you. His palate is experienced from an adulthood of travel, wealth, and nights spent with gullible women who couldn’t tell the difference between a Prince Charming and a swindler. Truly, there is little he hasn’t at least tried. Including this.

So, if there’s no other signs of you wanting to leave the comfort of the apartment and the familiarity of his presence, then what could’ve possibly cued him into your motives?

It’s something tenuous, something that could’ve gone unnoticed to anyone else. It’s something subtle, buried under layers of rosemary and thyme and paprika. But diphenhydramine is such an acquired taste. And it’s one that’s made the past few weeks and months crumble to dust.

Oh, you sweet thing.

Acting as oblivious as ever, he spoons chunks of zucchini and carrot onto the bread, taking large bites, chewing and swallowing with purpose, the taste of the sedative lingering. He considers smacking his lips for good measure, to play around with you a bit, but eventually decides against it. That’ll come later.

You sit across from him, silence between you two. Normally, he’d fill it with tales from his busy day - but you’ve been so good lately, that he’s begun to refrain from doing that. Nowadays, he asks you what you’ve been up to, every painstaking detail from your dull days without him. But that’s only if you’ve been good, or at least if he’s under the impression that you’ve been good. As it turns out, you haven’t been good, you aren’t being compliant, and now he simply waits.

You stare into your bowl of stew, but he can tell you’re watching him in your periphery. It’s so very fascinating, the way you absorb each mouthful he takes, washed down with frequent sips of water (there’s no other substances in that, obviously). He takes another swill of the liquid, tilting his head slightly back, and in the corner of his eye, he can see the way you observe his Adam's apple bobbing with each gulp. Does it appease you, the sight? Does it intrigue you? Does it make you, even for a moment, reconsider what you’re about to do?

Chrollo pauses for a moment, before placing the half-empty glass back onto its coaster. He knows the smirk that comes onto his face is nothing short of wicked, but he truly can’t help himself. 

“Are you not hungry, my love? You’ve barely touched your food.”

Barely is an understatement. You haven’t touched it at all, in fact. Stupid, really. He knows that you know that he’s observant - but that information is irrelevant in this situation, considering it doesn’t take an keen eye to figure out your pattern of stirring your spoon around, picking up some carrot - even blowing on it for good measure - and nodding along with what few words he spoke initially, before giving an mhm! of agreement and letting it drop back into the bowl. You spend extensive amounts of time apparently fishing for just the right piece of zucchini, sorting through copious amounts of lentils (and seemingly taking the time to individually count them all), dragging chunks up the side of your bowl only to push them back down into the fray of assorted vegetables.

There’s almost a sort of jump in response to the words, ringing clear and well projected. But it’s contained above the shoulders - your head snaps to look at him, your eyes widening momentarily, staring into his own, trapped.

He can feel the shaky breath you take to steady yourself from over here, air stagnant and mouth dry.

“No,” you reply, “not particularly.”

He cocks an eyebrow at that, mouthing an oh before returning to his meal. It doesn’t matter whether you take the bait or not, his suspicions have long since been confirmed. Confirmed, in the sternest sense of the word, syllables enunciated with force, the knowledge of your true intentions well recognised. Whether that displays on his face or within his interactions with you is inconsequential to the known ending of your silly stunt.

The sound of you chewing is enough to bring his attention back out of the bowl. That’s not fake.

So you’re eating it too? It’s certainly a bold move, but one he wouldn’t dare put past you anymore. You were always a clever one, one to be placed a mere few tiers below his own intellect.

He hasn’t caught you swapping the bowl out for a fresh one. Maybe you’ve mastered the art so quickly that even he can’t notice?

No, not likely. Not in just a few months. That’d be impossible.

Your bites of pumpkin are preceded with the slightest hesitation, a quick breath to presumably psych yourself up to the self-sabotage. He hates to see you so scared when you’re properly sharing a meal with him like this, deciding to return to normalcy as a reward for your cooperation.

“Tell me, darling, what did you get up to today?”

Your eyes flick to his, momentarily ensnared in the grey, before looking up at the ceiling to aid in the process of giving a verbal description of what you read, how you cleaned, how you entertained yourself with rearranging your meagre book collection (not his, that would be asking for trouble). The response is practically identical to every other time he’s asked the question, plain and unindulgent. It’s boring, he thinks, even with the unacknowledged omission of the hours you spend staring at the walls and pacing around the living area. He’s tempted to pry into how you decided on tonight’s dish, but decides against it. Not for lenience or mercy, but rather amusement. To give away what he knows now would simply be a waste of a situation you’ll never attempt to put yourself in again.

If you knew what Chrollo knew, would you still bother to indulge him?

You stare at him for a moment, allowing him to draw things out, before nodding at the I see he gives in response. He gives a forward nod to your bowl, giving you gracious permission to eat again after starving you for the length of your interrogation, merciful as ever. Your fear is better contained behind a split second’s confusion before you register the nonverbal instruction, picking up your spoon once more and eating with more confidence this time, taking exaggerated bites of zucchini that barely make it past your teeth, chewed excessively into grey paste before being swallowed. Maybe you reason that if you chew enough, you can break the drug down into something that won’t knock you out. A cute thought.

The spices stain your lips an enticing red, the chilli making them plump up so deliciously. If he kissed them, would they burn him? Would the capsaicin leave his lips tingling, a reminder of your soft touch?

He likes to think he’ll know the answer soon.

Chrollo feigns sleepiness, furrowing his brows in mock confusion as he tells you that he can’t quite keep his eyes open - perhaps he overdid it at work today. 

Yes, work, as he loves to call it, like there’s the possibility of him spending his time away from you at a desk, punching in numbers on a computer, monotonous and repetitive and damn, couldn’t things just switch up for a day? Work, as in a beer-bellied husband whose idea of experimental fashion is changing which tie he wears with the same white button-up and black dress pants each day. Work, as in an assembly line employee who wakes up at three o’clock to be at the factory by four, ready and willing to make whatever sacrifices necessary to support his loved ones. Work, as in something at least vaguely respectable.

Work, as in literally anything other than stealing and slaughtering and scourging.

Chrollo relishes in the way your shoulders relax a little. It’s almost too adorable. Chrollo also relishes in the way they tense up again when he adds how it’s suspicious really. I don’t believe I’ve ever felt a tiredness such as this.

There’s an underlying anxiety in your pretty, pluckable, ever-so-slightly bloodshot eyes. Where others would be concerned for your health, he finds endearment, you precious thing. After admiring them silently for a moment, he announces that he’ll be off to bed now, darling. Remember to be there for me when I wake.

He leaves you alone in the kitchen to stew in your unease.

____________

Now he’s lying in bed, on the side closest to the door, limp as anything. It doesn’t matter whether his facade convinces you or not, he’ll have you in his arms by morning. The blinds aren’t fully down, leaving a pleasant blue hue that gives him a good visual of most of the room. Your side of the bed is still firmly tucked in from when he made it this morning, after running his hands up and down your arms until you’d given a great shudder and shoved him away - a pitiful attempt that he’d impishly gone along with. 

Anticipation tickles his nose and prods at his heart. Childishly, he wants you to get over with it already, to sprint in, swinging a knife wildly, or cue him to start the chase with a slam of the front door so violent that the hinges threaten to crack. It’s unfortunate how your faux compliance conditioned him to be unable to accept a halt, or even slowing, of progress.

Ah, some solace - he can hear your footsteps come up to the door, attempting, albeit poorly, to be quiet. Or maybe they are quiet, to the average man, but someone well-versed in the art of stealth can practically see the way you tiptoe closer. The faint sounds paint a detailed visualisation of your movements - the balls of your feet lifting from the ground, the flexing of your toes, the dorsiflexion at your ankles, the soft thud of your heels hitting the ground.

The bedroom door creaks open, a thin streak of light hitting his eyelids, making him see an ever-so-slight orange behind them. He might be able to visualise your walk accurately, but the same cannot be said for your face. Are you fearful, lips downturned and eyes wide? Are you determined yet cautious, eyes narrowed and lips pressed into a thin line? Are you smug? Condescending? Grinning from ear-to-ear, excited to finally have what you believe to be freedom?

You’re not, he discerns.

Instead, you huff a sigh, a sweet note that makes his heart jump, a small flutter that could only be instigated by you. It’s a sigh of relief. The door is shut. He expects another door to be slammed, too - the front door, hinges quaking as you sprint to the stairs as far as you can, too scared to wait for the elevator (and for your sake, he hopes you’ve brought a pair of running shoes - you’re on the 35th floor, after all). But that doesn’t happen.

Instead, he can hear the clanking of bowls and dishes, the smooth schwip as you push breadcrumbs off the chopping board into the bin with the back of the serrated-edge knife, and how you place said knife into the block without taking another one out.

So you’ve decided against stabbing him tonight? How agreeable.

In fact there seems to be no malice in the way you’re stacking the bowls, no scraps of extra force in how you shut the fridge. Whilst the sounds of your cleanup are nothing short of a ruckus to his alert ears, there’s an intentional tenderness he can hear. A conscious effort to be as quiet as possible with somebody sleeping peacefully in the next room.

It’s a gesture he’ll interpret in the best way he can. Even if he knows he’s deluding himself that you want to be quiet for his own peace rather than so you can escape, he’ll be sure to bring up the former as reasoning for your actions over the next few days, regardless of how you’ll spit venom at him, hissing that he couldn’t be more wrong.

Next is a movement he didn’t expect in the slightest.

You come back to the bedroom, with a pile of fabric in your hands - clothes, maybe? He thought you’d be off and away as soon as possible, or you wouldn’t get close to him again at the very least, standing patiently by the door until whatever you’re waiting for had occurred. 

The quiet-ish footsteps make their way past him this time, and straight into the ensuite.

There’s the soft sound of clothes falling, and then the tap is turned on.

You’re…showering before you leave?

You really are a good teacher of the quirks of humanity. Logical as ever, he’d most certainly take no time for hygiene practices if it reduced his chances of being able to go on a small, liberating adventure. But perhaps that’s part of the plan? Do you not want to have a speck of dirt on you so you don’t smell bad? Will you hide out at a fancy gala, and have to be as fresh as possible? Are you trying to wash off Nen, perhaps? 

No, that would never work, and he’s certain you know this too. Still, the idea of a little hopeless fire in you, taking a precaution you know is futile, makes his lips twitch.

So many questions, few of them answerable at present. His mind is stimulated so wondrously, for once not finding boredom in the predictability of human behaviour. He’s truly chosen well. 

And then there’s something else, rising above the sound of the rushing water, above the drain gurgling it down, greedily gulping it away.

You’re humming.

It’s relatively random, most likely improvised, and slightly off-tune, but endearing all the same. He can taste the notes, sweet and soothing, running down his throat smoothly and pooling warmth in his belly. 

You heave a sigh, and the tune changes. And then he recognises it.

It’s something he heard as a boy, back in Meteor City. He’d hear it at night, walking back to whatever semblance of a refuge he had with Franklin and Shalnark, past the hamlets of the younger children. Letting himself get lost in it, he can feel himself crawling to shelter on scraped knees, walking on calloused heels, eating stale bread, all accompanied by the faint smell of garbage, a smell that years of exposure had waned to a neutral accompaniment of the setting, rather than an inconvenience or hazard.

Despite the unhygienic nature of it all, it’s sweet. It’s these memories - memories of grime and rot and infection - that are the most pure. The most uncorrupted. They’re full of innocence and hope - just like you.

These qualities make you think you’ll leave him.

Upon remembering this, he’s tempted to barge in and ruin your peace, eager to hear your inevitable yelp and nervous laugh as he quizzes you about tonight’s events. But he doesn’t. Your lullaby is too enjoyable, the tune far too agreeable to stomp out yet. Resisting sin by committing another, he decides he doesn’t want to kill this mockingbird, if only to selfishly continue to hear it sing.

Few moments have come like this since you came to be with him. They’re all short-lived in comparison to the cold life he’s had, a firecracker popping on his tongue, fleetingly filling his mouth with syrupy sweetness before quickly dying off, barely an aftertaste to be savoured. He’s scratched them all down in an old leather journal with a quill and ink, lest he forgets what it feels like, or how to get that feeling again, but thankfully they’re scratched even deeper into his psyche. 

You’d been agreeable enough for a reward of a dinner somewhere several stories up, city lights shining behind you, framing your hair beautifully. You were reluctant at first, turning your nose up at him and the priceless food in front of you, opting for the bottle of red wine instead. It wasn’t supposed to be gulped down with such vulgarity like that, but that was part of your charm and by your second glass you were giggling and halfway through your third you looked at him right in the eye, cheeks tinged pink, and you smiled a smile that you’d forget by morning but he wouldn’t…

He’d returned to the villa after a long day to find the fans blasting, and you slumped over on the couch as credits rolled on the screen in front of you. He’d flicked the TV off, not before noting the rom-com’s name, and regarded you, with your deep, even breaths and singlet strap falling down. He picked you up and carried you to bed, laying you down on the thin blankets, fixing your strap despite the small voice that called to him to take off the thing entirely. Your head rested on the pillow, your face not scowling for once, and you’d huffed the sweetest of sighs…

That’s the kind of moment this is.

There’s no thought of what he’ll be doing with the troupe tomorrow, or in a week, or what move to make next depending on what you decide to do. Every nook and cranny of his mind, every convolution of his brain is filled with the thought of you. Tonight, it’s warm and viscous, slowing time and cutting both of you off from the rest of the world; the rest of its filth.

In this moment, he can see himself in the shower with you. He’s across from you, lathering body wash onto his shoulders, letting the foam run down his back. All the while, he keeps his gaze on you, watching how your hands run over your body, soap running along your sternum, between your breasts, along the curve of your hips, your ass, all whilst you hum that tune… shit, he can’t let himself get hard now. He manages to drag himself out of the daydream, barely, just managing to claw himself to the surface of reality.

Caps are popped open and the lathering of soaps can be heard over the course of your performance, with a finale of the tap being turned off. There’s a fumbling of fabrics before you come out, followed by yet another move he doesn’t expect.

You walk up to the bed, peel the sheets back, and lie down beside him. You then roll onto your side, facing him. After a few moments, you prop yourself up onto your elbow.

A moment of nothing. You’re frozen, as is he. Calm before the storm, he prepares himself to catch your wrist and hear you shriek.

You lean over.

And then there’s a featherlight sensation on his forehead, right in the middle of his tattoo. 

Had it been a split second later, he would’ve opened his eyes and turned to face you with a smirk as you screamed. But it’s not a split second later, it’s now, and now you’re kissing him. There’s no real benefit for doing such a thing that he can identify right now - perhaps you know he’s awake, and would like to make amends? Surely you know that that wouldn’t be enough to satisfy him.

The contact sends an electric zap to every corner of his body, although he manages to not make himself jolt. Months of stifled desire bubble up from his insides, desire that’s spent so long smothered by rationale of better outcomes and forcing himself to think of his bloodied obstacles and late nights alone in the shower. As often as his lips find their way to your forehead, unfortunately the reverse doesn’t occur even half as much.

You pull away, like you’re hesitant about what you’ve done, like you’re waiting for him to snap his eyes open and sit up with inhuman speed, ready to pin you down or tie you up or even slap you for tonight’s inconveniences. But that doesn’t make sense, because hesitation is supposed to occur before such an intrepid act, not afterward.

After receiving apparent confirmation that you’re not about to be attacked, he can sense your head slowly but surely coming to rest on your pillow. You shouldn’t strain your neck like that, someone like you could get hurt over time.

The back of his shirt is peeled up, slowly, delicately, and he has to focus to keep his breathing even.

There you lie, staring at the twelve-legged spider etched into his skin, his number a pale contrast to the black ink, practically jumping out at you.

0.

It’s your reminder, he supposes, of what he is. Theoretically and legally nonexistent, practically traceless. Zero evidence. Zero remorse. Zero morality.

Zero.

Then-

One, two, three.

Your lips mark a trail up his spine, at the bottom of the abdomen, right in the middle of the zero, on its head. Don’t shudder.

Once your deed is done, you pull back. There you lie, staring at the twelve-legged spider etched into his skin, so silent that you’re barely breathing.

The fabric of his nightshirt is guided back down. You roll over and proceed to go limp, succumbing to the drugs intended for him.

What was that?

You’re not touching him anymore. He can sense the gap between your bodies, one that he would close every night, pulling you close. 

Was it a relief? To go to sleep without him touching you?

You’d always stirred up such a fuss about his arms being around you as you slept. 

It had always been a cause for seething rage on your part, later argument, later whining, and more recently huffing. Even last night, the stiffness before you fell asleep was a cause of his own discomfort. But you didn’t have to deal with that tonight, and now you’ve fallen asleep in record time. He can’t say it was just from the pills.

Did you change your mind on leaving after you felt their effects? It doesn’t seem likely that you’d ditch all that to sleep. Rather, that you wanted to sleep on your own terms.

He’d spent so much time concerned with stopping a potential escape, that he didn’t stop to consider that maybe, just maybe, that was never the goal to begin with.

And now Chrollo rolls over to face you, gently tugging on your shoulder to pull you onto your back.

You’re serene as ever, a sight to behold. 

He brushes the back of his knuckles along your hair, feeling its texture, so light that his calloused hands - hands that have seen many a bruise and burn and slice and hangnail caught and ripped on the job - almost can’t feel it. Your exhales come out more as huffs and sighs now compared to gentle breathing, and he allows a chuckle (one that he finds incredibly endearing, as much as you’ve let your disagreement to that sentiment be known, preferring to describe it with wounding words such as “condescending” and “grating”) to slip past his lips. 

It reminds him of you when you’re awake, when you used to try so hard to be difficult for him, when you used to scream and scratch as he’d spoon you, grip ironclad, until all you could do was huff and puff and plead with him (and as much as he enjoyed your attempts to compromise, this was something he simply could not relinquish) and eventually, your cursing would die down, your muscles would go limp, and you’d fall asleep. 

Sometimes the sun would be up by the time you relented, and your breaths would be the heaviest then. It was amusing, how quickly you’d switch. One second, you were cussing him and his troupe out, the next, you were a paragon of tranquillity, the visage of an angel before him. He’d pray you love him.

He wants to grab your jaw, hold it firm, and kiss your lips as hard as he can. He wants to tilt his head and take and take and take. He wants to keep taking even if your breathing lightens. He wants to keep taking even if your eyelids flutter open, hazy doe-eyes looking at him with dozy confusion.

Well, he’d never deny his own indulgence.

Leaning in, he presses a kiss to your forehead, just as you did to him.

The touch is as gentle as he can make it, as gentle as he can permit himself to be. There’s a split second of what he could almost call fear, an image of accidentally squeezing you too hard and hearing your bones snap flashing in his mind.

He rubs his thumb over where his lips previously were, feeling an unanticipated wetness left behind.

It’s then that Chrollo realises his mouth is full of his own saliva - whether that was because he was so entranced by your actions that nothing else mattered, body as limp as he could allow, or because, like some sort of filthy animal, he couldn’t help but drool at the contact from you, starved for it like a hyena, he doesn’t know. He swallows. That’s better.

And now for the main event.

He dips down to your lips, and lightly presses his own against them. The feeling is so heavenly, he wonders if you really are an angel. If you were one, would you bless him? Would you destroy him?

If you were to know what he’s doing, would you hate him more?

He pulls away. 

The journey to get here was sizable. Memories of tonight flash by; your cooking, your conversation, your shower. Your humming.

Ah. The tune he heard as a boy. Innocent, naïve, hopeful.

Well, he’s a man now. And far less innocent.

He lets out a hum of his own, deep and rumbling.

Chrollo moves to straddle you, peeling the duvet and sheets back, layer by layer, unveiling the best present he’s ever gifted himself. Just moving into such an intimate position is enough to send pangs of heat downwards, the hardness he fought against earlier returning with an urgency.

For a moment, he tries to fight against it.

Is it to save himself from your hatred? Is it to save you from what he’s planning?

It’s neither, he discerns, as the attempt was doomed to fail before it even started. He knows it was never meant to succeed.

His groin only throbs harder, aching for friction. It’s a spur-of-the-moment thing, the way he presses it against your clothed crotch, rocking back and forth, the slight relief just momentary as his desire only grows.

He regards your unsuspecting face. Stunning. 

Restraint is draining faster now, but still is present just enough to stop him from grinding any harder despite the urge. But if he’s to stop his movements, he’ll need a different kind of stimulation.

He bunches your shirt up, pulling, sliding a hand under your back so he can slip it off your arms and neck.

Now your chest is bare. How ravishing.

His fingers hook under the band of your sleep pants, dragging them off in a clean motion.

And now your legs are bare. How alluring.

He doesn’t take your underwear off - that would simply be crude, and he doesn’t need to tempt himself anymore. If he got the privilege (or right, considering your standings) of seeing you fully nude, as opposed to having a single layer covering the most tantalising part of you, he’d be oh-so-inclined to do something regrettable. His logic fights to win space within his buzzing thoughts, fingers daring to twitch as his imagination fills in the gaps of what the thin black layer forces to be left to it.

Chrollo parts your thighs for good measure, the maximum he can allow himself at this moment. It’d be impossible to not let his hands and gaze trail up them, observing how as he roams upwards, your flesh gets softer, warmer; how the flimsy fabric can’t hide all of your darker flesh; how your lower lips are pressing against the cloth, visible despite the darkness…

God, you’re so fuckable.

There’s a pretentious voice in his head, albeit muffled, that cries protests at the use of such a word to describe you. You’re something far more than that - beautiful, exemplary, one-in-a-million, ethereal. Surely your mouth would be better put to use having a fulfilling conversation with him, a conversation he can dissect and steer and puppeteer, as opposed to just opening as wide as it can to accommodate his cock, taking it as deep as your gag reflex will allow, barely able to breathe, much less talk. Although, he thinks with a faint, deep groan, twitching in his pants, that’s certainly a hypothesis I’ll have to test.

With the sight of your breasts, nipples hard and skin goosebumped from the chill of the room, it’s decided. Just because making his cheeks warm and his cock rock hard isn’t your most prominent trait, doesn’t mean that you aren’t absolutely exceptional at it.

Temptation isn’t something he’s inclined to resist, brushing a thumb over your nipples before leaning down to take one into his mouth. He swears he can hear your breath hitch as his tongue swirls around, breathing getting slightly lighter. An eager hand reaches for the other one, kneading as gently as he thinks he can.

Soft is the first thing he thinks. Your flesh is so soft, so delicate, so tender. If you were awake, he’d vocalise his compliments - and do so loudly, unrestrained.

Your breathing changes as he points his tongue to lightly flick at your nipple repeatedly. Chances are you’re being taken out of REM sleep, but your consciousness doesn’t matter at this stage. And some part of him hopes for it, brief images flashing in his mind of barely-open teary eyes slowly rolling to the back of your head. They’re obscene, so utterly immoral to even fantasise about, yet even the split-second thought makes his stomach jump, shivering a bit as he feels himself be almost overcome by them.

He can’t help but slightly wet his lips in anticipation, relishing in the knowledge that his instincts are being held back with the slightest thread. If he moves even slightly faster than his rational, calculating, non-carnal mind intends, then it’ll snap. He’ll snap.

Almost trembling, he reaches across to his bedside table. The movements are imprecise, but he’s sure this practice will allow him to execute them with much more grace for the inevitable time you’ll be awake. Yes, you’ll be awake and whining and he’ll wet his lips in anticipation and be met with your lingering taste and you’ll want him as much as he wants you- 

He almost falls forward as his own lust threatens to overtake him. Focus on the necessary steps.

Taking a shuddering breath, he leans down to pull open the drawer, to find a bottle hidden at the back, purposefully concealed behind an upright copy of Tess of the D’Urbervilles. Quickly shifting his weight back, he pops the cap open, spreading some of the slick contents onto his fingertips. With his free hand, he pulls down the loose elastic of his pyjama pants, shucking them off, the cold air making him quiver slightly.

Time’s running out.

The movements are trembling, sloppy as he pours lube onto his length, and then onto your spread thighs. There’s a frantic inertia of sorts, a mad momentum - the more he does, the faster he has to go, the anticipation making his stomach swell and dip. He’s really going to do this. It’s really going to happen, and it’ll be amazing.

There. Done. Everything’s ready.

Chrollo takes a shaky breath, gripping just above your knees, and squeezes your thighs around his dick.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Your thighs are warm from the duvet, perfectly cosy and wet from the lube for his cock.

Little time is wasted as he begins to thrust his hips, trying not to give himself too much too soon. The steady pace is slowly increased, little by little, a fragile incline so he can drag this out for as long as possible. 

Can you feel it? Can you feel the warmth radiating from him? Is there some part of your mind that’s awake, but can’t do anything to stop him? Or better yet, is eager to please him?

He strains out a hiss through gritted teeth, peppering kisses over your exposed neck, trying his best not to bite. The pace increases yet again. His eyes are fixated on the mound in your underwear, a more sinister form of curiosity burning within. 

What does your pussy look like?

He won’t use En, that’s just cheating. He wonders and ponders and conjures up the most filthy images his mind can muster. A warm, tight hole that clenches for him as he slips in and out, teasing you. A pretty clit for him to tease with his fingers as you whine, for him to suckle on as you choke on sobs of pleasure. Folds for him to run his tongue through as you rut your hips against his face; for him to run his tip along, collecting your slick.

He imagines how his cock would look disappearing inside of your cunt, how your grip would be so suffocating, how your tits would bounce as he fucks it (because shit, they’re already moving so vigorously now, as he holds his strength, and he can’t even begin to picture what they’d look like if he loses control buried deep inside you, repeatedly stuffing you to the hilt as you cry out). He imagines how you’d tighten around him, babbling something incoherent as you wrap your arms and legs around him, and oh fuck, he can’t pull out now. He imagines the tension snapping, giving a rumbling groan as he shoves himself into you as deeply as possible, eyes screwing shut and burying his face in the junction between your neck and shoulder, riding out his high with a few shallow thrusts.

And finally, he imagines how his cum would look leaking out of your pussy, twitching and swollen from a nice good fuck. The afterglow. The squeak you’d give if he fingered it back into you, growling at you to not waste a drop, keep it all inside for me.

The thought makes his hips stutter a little, threatening to slip out of the plushness between your thighs. Once he regains his rhythm, though, they’re speeding up, relentlessly fucking himself into your thighs over and over, kneading the flesh as he squeezes them tighter and closer.

Chrollo cups your face with a single hand, and leans in. 

It’s the second time he’s properly kissed you tonight, and it feels fucking amazing. Your soft lips, your soft thighs, they’re all working together to make his head swim in bliss. You’re working to make him feel good. Yes, him. Nobody else. You’re his.

The thoughts run wild. He has as little control over them as he does his hips.

How would it feel to fuck you in some other position? How would it feel to flip you onto your stomach, pulling your hips back to meet his, as he stuffs himself into your sopping cunt over and over, watching your ass bounce? How would you cry out at the way his balls slap against your swollen clit, building up the pressure inside you until you just can’t take any more?

How would you grind on top of him? How would you moan as you bounce, tilting your head back as you stretch yourself on his length, panting? How many times could you do it until your legs trembled uncontrollably, forcing yourself to impale yourself on his cock just one more time? When he’d plant his feet on the bed firmly and thrust his hips up, grabbing yours and bouncing you in time, would you wail, or simply slump over, completely unable to form a thought as you cum around him for the nth time?

You’re flexible enough to fold into a mating press, right? How deep could he go? How fast could he go? How would your beautiful skin look covered in love bites?

The coil of pressure within him grows even tighter even faster, balls slapping against your thighs, hips pistoning rhythmlessly.

If he asked, oh-so-nicely, for you to get on your knees and please him with your mouth, would you oh-so-sweetly do it? Would you suckle his swollen tip? Would you tease him with a glint of mischief in your eyes? Would you find his most sensitive spots and exploit them? Would you trace your tongue along the veins? Would you massage his balls? Would you let him control the pace, a hand intertwined in your hair? Would you look up at him as you tear up, doe-eyes wide and eager to please? Would you rub your pretty pussy while he shoots thick ropes of cum down your throat, pressing your nose against his pelvis?

Yes, he decides as the coil begins to snap, you would.

Chrollo comes to a sudden halt, choking out a rich groan in a low timbre. The noise becomes more strained as he rides out the high, the overwhelming euphoria becoming just a bit too intense as it begins to morph into overstimulation. Once he’s sure the moment’s over, he lets go of your legs, pulling back to catch his breath and admire his work.

Ropes of cum paint your chest, some making it as far as your neck, your chin. It’s beautiful, the unruly mess he’s made - no, the mess you’ve made of him.

You’re a real beauty, you know that?

The bathroom tiles are cold against his feet as he grabs a washcloth to clean you up. It’s sad to see it go, to a primal extent, but it’s probably for the best to ensure he doesn’t get any ideas for a second round tonight.

For future nights, though? The chest he’s covering up will soon be exposed soon enough.

He’ll have to get more sleeping pills. You simply must try this again soon. 

Next time, he’ll taste you. The time after that, you’ll taste him. He can hardly wait, nor can he stop the dull throbbing starting up in his groin again.

He sates himself for the time being with the knowledge that the time after that, you’ll be awake.

[thoughtsfromlayla]

Trip Down Memory Lane

Summary: Dream gets absolutely fucked by a piece of metal

Notes: ~800 words

Warnings/Tags: None, have fun with this dumb fic, he doesn't get tetanus, queued post

Main Masterlist | One Shot Masterlist

“You humans are so attached to objects,” Dream commented when he comes into the mess that is your garage. 

You barely jump, having long since gotten used to his impromptu visits. You’re in your messy gym clothes from high school, the t-shirt full of holes, and the sandals that have walked through Hell and Earth with. In the garage, you’re surrounded by the things of your childhood and two large boxes simply labeled “Donate” and “Keep”

“It is trash, but it’s sentimental trash!” You defended as you held a broken Skip-It in your dirty hands. You throw the plastic toy into an unknown corner you have now labeled “Trash”

Dream is content with himself as he watches you dig around and sort your things. He watches as colorful toys of your childhood get stacked in the “donate” box. 

“Holy crap, I forgot about these,” You smile, holding the ziplock bag of endless amounts of Silly Bandz. 

You walk over to Dream, opening the bag, and ignoring the few strands that managed to escape. You pick out a few that you thought suited Dream: a red flower, a silver crown, a blue castle, and a black bird. 

“Gimme,” You ask while looking at his arm. 

Dream holds out his hand to which you stretch the rubber around his wrist before letting go and letting the bracelets snap to the shape of his wrist. 

“It’s useless,” He commented. 

You simply rolled your eyes as you tossed the rest of the bracelets into the “donate” box. “You had to be there to get it.” You blurbed out and began to dig around once again. 

“I was trapped during the time.” Dream stated. Still, he looks at the bracelets on his wrists, snapping at one of them against his skin. 

“Right… I forgot about that,” You turn around to him apologizing to which he merely brushed off. 

The day continues as you go down a nostalgic journey of toys from your childhood. Your parent’s house required a good cleaning, but who knew you would have your heartstrings tugged at as you held onto the American Girl Dolls that your mom still kept for you. 

They went into the “keep” box.

“They hold more significance than the others,” Dream comments as he notices you carefully brushing back the hairs on one of the dolls. 

“Yeah, I used to tell them about my day while I brushed their hair when I was little. I think they know more of my secrets than anyone else in the universe,” You confessed. 

“I see.”

You continued in your sorting, stopping once to place with a noise tub for a few minutes, and then stopped again as you brought forth a metal Razor scooter. 

“Oh… my God,” You squealed, holding onto the scooter as you walked out of the garage into the summer sun. 

You readjusted the length of the handle before you started pushing yourself around on the scooter, feeling the wind blow against your hair and clothes.

Noticing Dream watching you, you decided to show off. “Watch this,” You smiled as you jumped while skating around and with a flick of your wrist, the deck swung under and around the bar before you landed on it once again. 

You skated back over to Dream, who, if you squinted hard enough, had a small look of impression on his face. 

“You try it,” You giggled, handing him the scooter. “Bet you can’t.” 

Never one to back down from a challenge, he took to the scooter. The metal where your sweaty hands had gripped is still warm as he takes over. He mimicked what you did, skating to the middle of the driveway. He jumped, he flicked his wrist, and then…

You winced, covering your eyes with your hands. You watched between your fingers as the deck of the scooter hit him straight in the ankles. You feel his pain, having felt it many times back in the day. 

Morpheus writhes as the pain shoots through him. You’ve never seen him cuss before, but you think he’s on the brink of it as the pain starts to make him spasm. 

He goes from human to a flopping fish, to a cat, to a cabbage head, to a roaring sea-faring monster, and back to human again. Each time, the Silly Bandz still wrapped around some portion of him 

You’ve since run to his side. “Are you okay?” You asked, the laugh in the back of your throat was sorely hidden as you watched the Endless lay motionless in the middle of your driveway. 

“No.” 

“Yeah, fair enough. Let’s get you some ice,” You laughed. 

While you’re gone, Dream throws the scooter into the “Donate” box with a glare.

Main Masterlist | One Shot Masterlist

[vminizzle]

Sleepover

pairing : college boyfriend!jungkook x f. reader

genre : smut, fluffy tones

warnings : dacryphilia, teasing, making out, light dry humping, marking, use of sex toy, overstimulation, oral (f.receiving) , fingering , multiple orgasms (2) , use of pet names, praising

words count : 1.7k

A/N : i love college boyfriend!jungkook, usually he’s more confident but this time I decided to make him a bit flustered at the beginning because why not? Anyways, it’s finally the week-end!! I hope I did well with this fic,, gonna sneak a link in it lmao. REMINDER : POOR ENGLISH enjoy! love y’all - sunny

FEEDBACKS ARE VERY VERY WELCOMED

M RATED 

“make yourself at home babe.” you said kissing your boyfriend’s cheek as he entered the living room with his bag.

Tonight, you invited your boyfriend for a sleepover, watching movies all night and eating tons of snack until you knock out then cuddle to sleep: a ritual you had since you started dating.

Well, a ritual you get to do everytime your dad travels overseas for work. He didn’t really like the idea of you and your boyfriend being alone in your bedroom.

Even if it’s for "homework", he would always ask you to let your bedroom’s door open, and would occasionally come glance at what you both doing.

It’s not that he didn’t like your boyfriend. Not at all, he kinda appreciates "the biker" you’re dating but the thought of his innocent daughter doing forbidden things, such as kissing on the mouth with a boy make him anxious.

That’s why, everytime you both want to have "alone" times together, you would go to his dorm or he would sneak in through your window at night.

“I’m just gonna take a quick shower to freshen up.” you said making him nod.

Jungkook followed you to your bedroom, putting his bag on your desk chair.

You were about to close the bathroom’s door when he called you “baby wait wait wait! where can I find your laptop’s charger please? I forgot mine at the dorm.” he sighed.

“you can find it somewhere in my wardrobe.” you chuckled.

“but good luck it’s a mess.” you waved playfully as you closed the bathroom’s door.

Jungkook opened your huge wardrobe, a pair of jean and two big hoodies falling on his head.

“wasn’t kidding when she said it was a mess.” he laughed.

He put the clothes aside as he crouched down to look into the few drawers.

Opening one, he found your underwear. His ears instantly turning a deep red as he picked one of your panties up. He lifted the thin black fabric in front of his face, his cheeks burning as he imagined you wearing it.

Jungkook groaned feeling a bit guilty for invading your privacy like that. But the thought of you wearing it only for him to see made blood rush down there.

He shook his head before putting the panties back in the drawer before closing it.

He opened another one, random stuff filling the furniture such as hair bands, headbands, your hair brush, lip balm, random bracelets and earrings, and again it was a mess.

Jungkook chuckled at how messy you were. He was about to close the drawer, but something caught his eyes midway.

A purple little object stopped his movement.

He bit his bottom lip, hesitating to grab the suspicious object. He thought for a moment, debating on if he was doing something bad. He took a deep breath, curiosity eating him more and more.

“ah fuck it.” he said before grabbing the little bullet.

Jungkook stared at it for awhile, his imagination running wild as he realized what it was.

Since when do you own this?

Were you using it often?

were you using it because he can’t make you feel good? "no impossible." he furrowed his eyebrows at this one thought.

He couldn’t help but question himself.

But you must looked so pretty pleasuring yourself.

Just imagining the scene turned him on.

He was so immersed into his thoughts that he didn’t hear the bathroom door opening.

“babe.” you called out softly noticing him crouched down in front of your wardrobe.

You furrowed your eyebrows as you approached him “did you fi-” 

Jungkook turned around looking up at you a bit surprised before following your gaze.

“Oh no! That’s not what you think. Not at all. I mean yes ..but no! It’s just.. I was searching for the charger and I .. argh shit sorry baby I didn’t mean to.. y’know… I just found it accidentally.” he said panicked.

"I’m so so so sorry.” he finally stood up, guilt painted all over his face.

“it’s ok don’t worry” you reassured him, your cheeks burning as if he just found out one of your wildest secrets.

Was it? No?

You looked at his hand still holding the purple object. You stood there for a moment before he talked again “do you use it?” he asked curiously.

You looked up at him surprised by his question.

“no. not gonna lie, I forgot about it there is a long time ago now.” you laughed awkwardly.

“well..” you continued.

“I’ve bought this before we met. Like you know I’ve never dated someone before you .. and .. yea ..so I bought this ..y’know to.. yea” you gulped lowering your head.

Jungkook sighed almost in relief “I thought you bought this because I wasn’t.. good enough..” he admitted.

“Good enough?” You asked confused.

“yea I mean, good enough to satisfy you.. pleasure you..” he trailed out.

“oh no no! you’re perfect! you are more than good.. I mean .. you know” you avoided his eyes, embarrassment washing over you as you cringe at your words.

Your boyfriend smirked “am I ?” he teased.

You nodded looking away, fidgeting with your fingers.

He hummed coming closer to you “don’t be so shy my love.” he stroked your cheeks softly.

“I’m not shy” you whined rolling your eyes playfully.

“when was the last time you used this?” he gestured to the little vibrator.

“years ago? I don’t even really remember” you answered lowly.

“what about we use it again tonight darling?” he smirked pulling you closer to him, your chest flat on his.

You gasped softly his sudden confident startling you. You bit your lip before nodding, the idea of Jungkook using it on you excited you.

He smiled softly as he connected his lips with yours, kissing you softly, his hand on your hip, the other one still holding the little bullet as he made you walk backward to your bed.

You let your body fell back on the mattress as the back of your knees touched the edge of your bed, your boyfriend falling on top of you.

Your hands went to the back of his neck playing with the little black curls as he hummed into the kiss.

He hovered over you, one of his hand travelling down to your thigh lifting it up a bit as he started grinding on you.

“Jungkook” you moaned his name softly making him harden a bit more.

He let go of the vibrator putting it somewhere on the bed as his other hand caressed their way down to the elastic of your pajama short.

“Can I take this off?” You only nodded helping him to get rid of the garment.

Jungkook laid on his stomach between your legs, his plump lips dancing on the soft flesh of your thigh leaving little kisses and decorating the skin with love bites and hickeys.

You whimpered as he nibbled the flesh with his teeth making goosebumps raise on your skin. He smiled before leaving a peck on the abused and sensitive skin. 

His lips got higher as they reached the hem of your panties. The bridge of his nose brushed against your lightly-covered clit.

"f-fuck Kook” the little friction making you whine. He put his fingers under the elastic band of your panties waiting for you to give me the green light.

“go on, I’m all yours.” you whispered.

Jungkook smirked at your words “I love it when you say that you’re mine.”

He slid the fabric down your legs slowly, throwing it on the carpeted floor.

He spread your legs again, his head disappearing between them as he kissed your clit softly making you let out a breathy moan.

Jungkook started sucking on your glistening lips, his tongue pushing inside your entrance painfully slow.

He pulled away before inserting two fingers at once making you gasp. He started pumping slowly inside you, feeling your warm walls contracting around his fingers.

“fuck it feels so good.” you breathed out feeling hot already.

Jungkook reached for the bullet vibrator, "cleaning" it quickly with the sheet before turning it on, putting it gently on your bud of nerves.

You threw your head back, the added stimulation making you feel lightheaded.

He lift your shirt a bit, enough for him to leave kisses on your tummy.

“you’re doing so good for me. ” he said before pressing the vibrator a little bit more on your clit.

You nearly screamed as he hit your g-spot with his long fingers.

"d-dont stop oh my god! Jungkook! I’m so c-!”

Jungkook bit his lip at your ruined state, the way you furrowed your eyebrows, your lip trapped between your teeth, a thin layer of sweat covering your forehead.. you looked so pretty. He could cum at the sight.

You threw your head deep in the pillows as you came on his fingers, your loud moans coming out as melody to his ears.

He picked up the pace, your walls tightly convulsing around his fingers. The vibration on your throbbing clit now too much to handle as your hand went to grab his wrist.

“t-too much.” you whined a tear sliding down your cheek.

“C’mon my love, just a bit more hm?” Jungkook said softly.

“i know you can take it.” You gulped as you felt the oh-so-familiar feeling in your lower stomach.

“I’m- fuck I’m gonna-”

A wave of pleasure washed over you as you cummed on his fingers again, legs lightly trembling, hips bucking at the overstimulation.

Tears started spilling onto your cheeks, you cried out his name over and over as you felt your second orgasm coming.

Jungkook watched you in awe as you came for the second time. The tears sliding down your cheeks slowly making him twitch in his pants.

He turned off the vibrator, fingers moving slowly into you to help you ride your high.

“You did so good.. so good for me.” he whispered softly, caressing your thigh to soother you a bit. He leaned down kissing you throbbing clit gently making you hiss.

He got up to grab a warm wet towel in your bathroom to clean you up. He went to your wardrobe searching into your drawer for the red panties he saw earlier.

Jungkook smirked as he gave it to you “put these for me pretty please.”

You grabbed the thin panties chuckling. 

After a moment he cleared his voice making you look at him curiously.

”are you gonna help me with this?” he smirked looking down at his boner.

—

A/N : a part 2? 🤔 dad came back earlier? 👀 thanks for reading!!

[luveline]

This is very random but could we get something with Joel miller? Maybe reader has hurt her arm or something so he is helping her get dressed and comforting her because she’s really frustrated with herself for getting injured?

ty for your request ♡ fem!reader

"You okay?" Joel asks. 

You spin on your ass to the tent entrance to find him crouched down, watching you struggle with your shirt. You cringe away from his gaze, knowing you're a sight. Contusions stretch like stains up your ribs, under your armpit, and across your shoulder. The pain is nothing compared to the original injury —you dislocated your shoulder, Joel popped it back into the socket. 

The bruise is healing badly. 

"I must'a done something wrong," Joel says, eyeing the bruise. You're glad that he's ignoring your dirty bra, once white, now a mottling of yellow, grey, and blood rusted red. 

"Just bruises," you mutter, trying again to lift your arm. 

"Don't. I'll help." 

"I can do it," you insist, attempting another go quickly as he sets down on his knees in front of you. 

"Stop." His explanation goes unsaid. You're hurting yourself. "You could try listening to me. Every once in a while." 

"I was kind of busy keeping your stupid charge from pinwheeling off of a balcony, in case you forgot." 

"I meant when I told you to stop," Joel says, pulling your arms down gently to your lap. He pulls the back of your shirt over your craned head and quickly pushes your head through the neck.

You wince as he helps your arms through the sleeves. 

"I'm fucking stupid," you mutter. 

You've been thinking about it for a while. You're weak for getting hurt, weaker for saying aloud how you feel. You don't want Joel to think of you like that, and you wish you could take it back as soon as you've said it. His face is impassive as always, the slightest pinch to his brows as he finishes straightening the bottom of your shirt over your stomach. 

"For what?" he asks quietly. 

"Getting hurt." 

"You were getting hurt for a reason. Ellie," —he rests his hands on your hips— "she'd be dead if you didn't catch her. You popped your arm out so she didn't snap her neck. Doesn't make you stupid."

His touch makes you pause, terrified to lose it. It's not often he holds you. Maybe because he doesn't need to be touching someone as much as you want him to be, maybe because Ellie shadows him, a pale silhouette at his back. Your admission hasn't disgusted him as you'd worried. He's offering you reassurance in his way. Quiet, steady. 

"I never should've let her go by herself." 

"I shouldn't have let you," he argues. There's bite there suddenly. "Don't blame yourself for something that's my fault. Mine." 

You slouch, braceleting one of his wrists with the hand that doesn't burn to move. Every ligament in your opposite arm screams to be iced. All you want is half an oxy and a bed to lay in. 

"I should've been faster. Should've seen she was messing around." 

Joel's hands travers unexpectedly to the small of your back. He meets your eyes head on, the heat of his touch trailing up to your agonised shoulder. He smooths his hand over it carefully. It hurts, but you say nothing. 

"It's not your fault," he says. One moment you want it and the next he's holding your cheek in his hand. His skin smells of pine needles, wood and dirt. A fingertip traces under your eye likes he's following a dotted line, before he hooks his fingers behind your ear. "You wanna be mad at someone, you be mad at me." 

"Are you guys being gross in there?" Ellie asks from outside the tent. 

Joel kisses the top of your head and moves away.

"Hello?" Ellie asks, pulling aside the tent door. 

"Privacy," Joel says. 

"She's just sitting here." Ellie says, plopping down on her knees in the entryway. It's a small tent, bursting to capacity with her arrival. 

"She was getting changed." 

"I could've helped," Ellie says. She widens her eyes, eyebrows climbing her forehead with little in the way of subtlety. 

"I got it," Joel says firmly. 

Ellie's smile is smarmy. "I bet you do." 

[thefallennightmare]

Just Pretend-Chapter 28 Teaser

*all pictures found on Pinterest*

We're so close to the finish, guys! I'm scared, sad, happy, and so ready for the smut I have planned. The final three chapters are jam-packed so buckle up and prepare yourselves for a wild ride. Also, I forgot that I made a teaser post MONTHS ago about some future smut I had planned but now I can't find it ☹️

TEASER BELOW THE CUT!

My knee bounced with agitation as I held a firm grip on my phone. I wasn't angry with Y/N; far from it. I wanted her back home so I could have her bent over my knee, punishing her for all of the texts she sent me.

She'd been out all evening with the girls yet somehow managed to keep me on edge the entire time. I was at therapy when she left for her girls' night out so I wasn't able to see what she was wearing until she sent me a selfie of her in the bathroom mirror at the restaurant they were at. My eyes zoned in on her necklace and bracelet as it sparkled under the low light.

Angel 🪽: What, you don't like my red dress?

Me: You know I'm a sucker for you in red. I want to rip it off of you.

Me: Actually, I want to fuck you with it on.

Y/N kept me waiting for almost two hours for a reply. I did everything I could to keep my mind on something else and not the hard-on in my joggers. I read, cleaned the house, took Kuma for a walk, and was currently sitting on the couch with Jesse and Michael, definitely not paying attention to the movie.

When my phone buzzed, I nearly fell off the couch reaching for it.

"Someone misses Y/N," Jesse teased while ruffling my hair.

I shot him a look: you're the one to talk.

Angel 🪽: Don't make promises you can't keep, mochi.

Raising a brow, I discreetly adjusted my position on the couch so I was laying down, away from the guys.

Me: Are you getting sassy with me, angel? Do I need to keep you in line?

Angel 🪽: What are you going to do to me?

Quickly glancing towards the guys and noticing they couldn't see my phone, I typed out my response.

Me: I'm going to tie your hands behind your back and force you over my knee while I smack your ass with my belt. Then when you're crying out in pain, I'm going to push you to your knees and watch as you take my entire cock in your mouth, choking on it. You're going to get so wet that you're going to leave a puddle on the carpet. If you're still sassy, I'm going to make you lick it up.

Me: Or I'm going to cum all over that pretty face of yours. I haven't decided yet.

My dick was aching for some sort of release and I couldn't help myself from looking at the picture Y/N sent me again. Not even two minutes later, she responded and I nearly dropped the phone on my face.

Angel 🪽: You better go buy some binds then. I'll be home in an hour.

Smacking my thighs, I rose from the couch and bid a goodbye to the guys.

"Where are you headed?" Michael wondered.

Pocketing my keys and placing a hat low on my head, I motioned to the door. "I'm going to run and get some ice cream for Y/N. She should be home soon."

I was definitely not going to buy her some ice cream.

Well, maybe I could buy some and use it in other ways.

tags: @blueskylinesx @missduffsblog @hayleylatour @sleepyomens @loeytuan98 @artificialbreezy @marvelousmal @bngurngheart @lma1986 @dsireland86 @wild-child-7747 @calleyx13 @illmakeyousaywow @jaded-and-hollow-souls @exitwoundsx @shayzillaaaa @badomensls @princesspeach-00 @shadowseve @collective-heartbreak @klutzy-kay24 @sorrowsofsilence @sweetlittlekitsune @shilohrosechicken @itsafullmoon @toospooktocute @niicoleleigh @thatchickwiththecamera @hoe-for-daddywise @whenthesummerdies @cookiesupplier @concreteemo @thisbicc @sammyjoeee @joe9cool @ozwriterchick @teenblues @malice-ov-mercy @krisslee18 @xxkittenkissesxx @happi-goth @embracethereaper42 @softvgold @cncohshit @heyyoplayer @rain-down-on-me @bloody-delusion-expert @respectfulrebel @reader13000 @koskeepsake @malerieee @cheyyyyr @myownthoughts12 @noahsbong @laurpartyprogram @cloudykoookie @jessiskyee @a1ex-ba1ex @sideeyenoah @emzandthevoid @badomensls @bellaboo967 @waake-mee-up @rxdlstgn @anthemheatwave @lobolocaamo @cncohshit @amelia-acero @karenfranco @collidewiththesavannah @xserenax-13 @bleachampion @thepastelfae @supersquirrel1996 @madomens @themodern-daywednesday @oxythoughtin7715

[readychilledwine]

can we pleaseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee have some angst with rhys where he forgets her birthday?????????

A teeny tiny Rhys kind of angsty drabble with a plot twist ending 👉👈 it kind of took on a mind of its own when I began writing him using his money to get reader's forgiveness..

Plot Measures

Warning - Based on the fan theory that Rhysand is actually evil

The waitress silently handed you the bill. Her hands were shaking as if you were about to explode on her at any second. 

Your anger wasn't with her. She wasn't your mate, home for the first time in 50 years and already making promises they couldn't keep. 

You handed her the payment and a heavy tip, apologizing to her gently as you held her hand in hers and walked out into the streets of Velaris. 

You had shut your end of the bond down hours ago. Choosing to eat in silence at your table for two when you realized Rhysand wasn't coming. You didn't want him to feel your turmoil and burning rage. 

Fae bowed their heads to you, soft greets of “High Lady,” following the movement. You hadn't felt like a High Lady in months, though. Rhys had a new power toy he was all too excited to manipulate and play with, leaving you in the dark as his plotting had finally come to fruition. He was using her. You knew this.

You knew each member of his Inner Circle was a pawn. A piece he could use to achieve the High King Title one day.  Why should you have expected anything more for yourself? Being his mate, his equal in all of this, it didn't mean he treated you above that expectation. Especially with your powers. 

You shook that thought. Being his mate did mean he loves you, and you did at least know that as tendrils of darkness began to race towards you, finding you in the streets and leading you somewhere. 

You sighed outside of the jewelry shop, opening the door and raising a brow at your husband. “Pick whatever you'd like,” his voice was defeated. Face showing the obvious signs of his mistake. “I am sorry, darling.”

You nodded and began to browse as he held you close, kissing each finger. “I have no excuse. I forgot.”

You nodded again, pointing to a salt and pepper necklace and earring set, watching as it was removed from the case, and you continued looking. His lips were near your ear, purring softly enough only you could hear him, “I promise I will make it up to you in the end. That we will have our happy ending. Our perfect victory.” You pointed to another diamond necklace, almost drooling at how finely cut the stones were. "The bracelet and earrings too," Rhysand faked politeness. "I'd also like to see that set closer," he motioned towards a finely made amethyst necklace and earrings set.

You smiled, turning in his arms and playing coy as the worker was preoccupied bagging the expensive gemsets, including the amethyst set Rhysand had approved. "And when you were that crown, will you fuck me on that throne in front of her? Put her in her place and remind her she is truly nothing more than your whore?”

"I'll buy the store if you want. Bathe you in a tub of diamonds, gems, and gold until you forgive me. I'll kneel at your feet, worship you, my queen." You pointed to another piece, a gorgeous choker that fell into body chains. "Gods wear that for me with nothing below it, darling. Let me show you how sorry I am. Anything you ask is yours, my mate."

Rhysand's eyes darkened. “Nightly, if that it what it takes for my darling to forgive me.”

[james-is-here]

My first two thoughts when I saw these photos were "Cute slut" and "Pretty Boy" so I did something with it. Also, I wrote this for @succubus-hansol 😁

It's been a while since I remembered to add tags. Sorry about that. 😔

Tags: @belladonna6-6-6 @heartbinn @leezanetheofficial @yongbokkk @michelle4eve @dontwannaexsist

Contains: BJ (both receiving), Y.J being called baby & slut, one use of whore, messy, lots of spit, fingering (Y.J), throat fuck, super subby Innie?, he's just needy for Mn, semi-public (Bathroom), used a lot of cussing in this one.

[LMK if I forgot anything or if you want to be added to the taglist. It's 4am and I'm tired]

When you were fixing your shirt and pulling up your pants, he didn't fail to miss the band of your boxers and when you look up from your adjustment and caught his eye, you smirk at him and walk away.

It didn't help that you were wearing white ripped jeans, a white button up with the sleeves rolled up, untucked, and unbuttoned by three buttons with a loosened black tie. Your hair also looked messy like you rolled out of bed and you wore fake black brow-line glasses and a watch with a couple bracelets on your left wrist and your hands are decorated with a couple rings.

Were you trying to kill him???

He's instantly out of his seat and hurrying after you, grabbing your hand and pulling you the opposite direction and over to the bathrooms.

It was a single stall bathroom, Jeongin looks around before shoving you in and you laugh but it's cut short when he follows you, pushing you back as he shuts the door and you collide with the door as he locks it at the same time his hand reaches up, grabs your tie and pulls you down to press his lips to yours.

His free hand moved to your waist, fisting your shirt and trying to pull you closer as your hands fall to his hips. His hand on your tie slides up over your pec, your collar, and to the back of your neck. The other moves under your shirt, dragging his nails over your skin and attempting to pull you impossibly closer as you lick his bottom lip and he lets you slip your tongue past his lips to tangle it with his.

You push him back slightly and turn around to push him against the door this time. Bending your knees, you move your hands to his thighs and lift him up, tilting your head and stepping forward into him to hold him against the door as his legs wrap around your waist and his arms around your neck.

You pull back, moving to his neck. He lets out little gasps and sighs, your kisses wet as you resist marking him as you move past his necklace and move his shirt collar with your chin to kiss his collar bone and shoulder.

"M-Mn~" He finally spoke since dragging you to the bathroom and you hum against his neck under his chin as you move to the other side under his neck. "P-Please~ H-Hyung, I n-need you, please, ah~!" You push your hips further into his and bite his ear lobe. "Baby, I don't think we have time." Your hands push his shorts further up and squeeze his thighs as one of his hands moves to tangle in your hair. "Please, Hyung? Just let me suck you off, please? That's all I'm asking for right now, please. Please Hyung." He begs and you pull back, looking at his blown pupils and slightly flushed face.

"That's all? Then you'll be a good boy and wait until we go home?" "Yes! Yes, I'll be good and wait till later, please." "Okay, baby."

You set him down and he immediately switches spots again and pushes you against the door before dropping to his knees, you unbutton the rest of your shirt just to get it out of his way and his eyes scan over your torso before he goes back to removing your belt, unbuttoning your jeans then palms you over your boxers that started this whole thing.

"It's these boxers fault we're here." "You gonna do as they say?" "Yes." "Then get to it, baby. We do have a time limit." He moves one hand to the waistband and pulls it down as his other hand wraps around you, a small whine coming from the back of his throat as he waits no more and surges forward, his heavy amount of saliva pooling on his tongue as he drags it from your base to your tip before taking you past his lips and immediately sinking down to your base.

You exhale softly and place a hand on his head, brushing his hair out of his eyes as he looks up at you over the rim of his own glasses. "Fuck, you look so fucking slutty like this, baby. So fucking cute." He hums around you, his tongue sliding on the underside of your dick, tracing along a vein before he pulls back, parting his lips as he strokes you at a gentle pace, your tip resting heavily on his tongue before he sinks back down and starts bobbing his head.

When he pulls off you again with a pop, he gasps, catching his breath as he strokes you not too slow but not too fast. "Shit, feels so good, baby." Your chest moves rapidly as you withhold your noises, simply gasping and sighing with a few groans. "Take out your cock, baby, get yourself off." "R-Really?" "Go ahead."

He takes you back into his mouth, all the way to the base as your tip reaches the back of his throat and you reaches down to unzip his shorts and pull down his waist band while spreading his knees further apart. His left hand slowly jerks himself off as his right moves back up to your thigh before he moves up and down your length.

You raise your hand to glance at your watch and your right tightens in his hair. "Can I fuck your mouth, baby? We need to hurry." He nods gently and switches hands as he sits up on his knees from his kneeling position, his left hand instinctively moving behind his back as you push on the back of his head.

You immediately fuck into his mouth at a fast pace, his hand stroking himself at the same pace as he moans, the vibration bringing you closer to the edge, his tongue attempting to swipe the underside of your cock but he eventually just relaxes his jaw and lets you fuck down his throat, eyes shining up at you with unshed tears and a choked whimper.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum, baby, shit~" A couple more thrusts and bringing him down to your base you cum down his throat before pulling back halfway and cumming on his tongue. "Ah~ So good, baby. So good for me."

You pull out, his tongue following your tip as you stroke yourself until your body jolts from sensitivity. "You look so dirty, Innie baby." His tongue moves back into his mouth and he swallows the rest of your load before opening his mouth again and licks your tip before kissing it and smiling up at you with a cock-drunk smile. He moves to the side of your cock, pressing his plush, pouty lips and leaving behind soft kisses before kissing you hip and pulling back completely.

"I'm gonna call you cock whore at this rate." He giggles softly and you realize he's let himself go and his hand is resting on his thigh, kneeling back on his heels. "Do you still need to cum baby?" He nods and you put yourself away before you pull him to stand up.

Kissing him, you take him into your hand. He gasps against your lips, hand grasping at your arms as he thrusts into your fist and moans into your mouth.

You pull back, slipping two fingers into his mouth as you turn to your left and pushing him into the wall. His tongue wets your fingers before you pull them out, reconnecting your lips to his in a sloppy kiss as you slip your hand into the back of his boxers.

You let him go for a moment to pull his leg up to your hip then holding him again as your other hand circles his rim before pushing in, your rings are still cold against his cock and your fingers are long enough that your able to thrust your fingers into his prostate. "Fuck! Fuck, Hyung, g-gonna...S-So close, Hyung."

He whines when you pull away but moans softly when you're getting on your knees, pulling his shorts and boxers down enough so you reach under him to reinsert your fingers and take his tip into your mouth.

His hands grasp your hair, whines and soft, choked moans leave him as you finger fuck his prostate and suck on his tip. "Shit, shit, shit- Hyung! HAh~!" His grip tightens as he pulls you closer and you sink to his base and he cums down your throat with a whine.

Your fingers and tongue slowly help him ride his high before he taps your head and you pull away, gently removing your fingers as well before standing up, bringing his bottoms up with you before you catch him as his legs buckle out from under him.

"Woah, you okay, Innie?" He lets out a weak sound of confirmation as he leans further into you. Smiling softly you move to sit on the toilet and turn him around so he leans back against you as you fix his boxers and shorts and button them back up.

"Innie? You with me?" "Yeah. Thank you, Hyung." "Of course, Innie baby." "Can you promise me something?" "Anything, baby." "You fuck me real hard later because I really want your dick in me." You laugh, thrown off by his bluntness but also amused cause his voice gave away the fact that he's still horny and needy. "Okay, baby, I'll fuck you into the sheets, yeah?" "Please. Now stop talking, we'll both end up hard again."

He stands up as you laugh before you catch him and stand up. "You go out first, I have to fix my shirt." "Okay." He leans up, hands on your chest as he puckers his lips for one last kiss but you roll your eyes, knowing he wants more then a quick peck as one hand pulls him closer by his hip and the other moves to his jaw, pressing your fingers into his cheeks so his mouth falls open and you swipe your tongue along his, licking his teeth and the roof of his mouth. Claiming him with your tongue before you pull back and he smiles breathlessly.

"That's not what I wanted but I'm not complaining." "Yeah, right, I know you better than you realize, baby, you didn't want some silly peck." "...Okay, you caught me." "uh huh, yeah. Now go." "I love you, Hyung." "I love you too, Innie."

You push him to the door and he giggles, stumbling out of the bathroom and you smile at him with a shake of your head as you move to button your shirt back up.

You're definitely gonna get another set of these boxers.

[freak-accident419]

Make Me

Joosh Futturman (J-Futz) x GN!Reader

Summary: You come by Joosh’s house a year since you’ve broken up with him, after realizing you left your box of important belongings there. Seeing each other again after a long time sparked not only bitterness and resumed arguments, but also unresolved tension.

WC: 3.7k

Content: 18+ Smut, MDNI, gender neutral reader, no specific genitals mentioned (vague penetration), more plot than porn (you can tell I do that a lot.. i’m a storyteller, what do you expect?), takes place during S01E12 “Prelude to an Apocalypse”—you may have to watch this episode especially to understand the ending, hate/angry/rough sex, sort of fluff by the end, a bit silly and unserious sometimes because Joosh/J-Futz is such an unserious concept :3

(A/n: I love bad boy Josh (Joosh). Anyways, I’d like to share something that maybe you might appreciate—I’d like to think that in Season 3, nut-face Josh also brings this timeline version of you to Haven, to save you from how shitty Joosh treated you, so yeah.)

-

“Fucking shit, where is it?” You muttered to yourself, digging out your closet, drawers, and under your bed. But you couldn’t find it anywhere.

You had a small, antique box full of things that meant a lot to you: polaroids, souvenirs, trinkets, and old letters. You only just remembered about it now, because while you were speaking to a lifelong friend, they brought up the matching friendship bracelet that you kept ever since grade school. And while it was old and would barely even fit you, it was treasure to you—it meant so much to you.

That led you to remember all the other important and nostalgic things you’ve kept in that memory box. But you couldn’t find the actual box itself.

Which then made you realize sourly…

That if it wasn’t at your place…

Then it was at your ex’s.

It was a messy break up. Terrible, rushed, and chaotic. So much so, that you forgot to even take the significant box with you as you finally moved out of his house.

You groaned in frustration. It wasn’t even that important or worth it to retrieve, right? If you forgot about it for a year, it shouldn’t be that important.

However, it was filled with memories… Ancient baby photos of yourself, your parents, friends, then friendship bracelets, rings, gifts, handwritten letters. And what if your ex finds it? Who knows what he would do with all your personal stuff?

So, you decided. You needed to get it back. Even if it meant seeing your ex-boyfriend again:

Joosh Futturman.

***

“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here.” Joosh spat as you stood on his front porch.

“Oh, save it, Joosh,” you say dismissively. He looked just about the same as you left him; a cocky and pissed off expression on his face, the small gold earring on his right ear, and the shitty, pretentious fashion choices. “I just left something important here. I forgot all about it because I was in a rush to leave. I don’t know how I forgot it after all these months, just… fuck, let me go get it and this’ll be the last time you’ll ever see me again.”

He glared at you for a while, observing you. This was the first time he’s seen you ever since you (rightfully) broke up with him. And you haven’t changed one bit.

He hated how no matter how much he believed he despised you, he still thought you were beautiful.

He shook his head to avoid that thought. “For the last fucking time, it’s J-Futz,” he corrected bitterly, which you would roll your eyes at. When you were still together, you were his exception. He hated whenever people called him Joosh instead of J-Futz because it triggered bad memories within him, but the way you said it was always like pure honey, no matter how ridiculous of a name it was. You two were aware that this exception wouldn’t apply anymore now that you’re broken up, but you continue to call him his real name out of spite.

After a brief moment of silence, Joosh decided to accept your proposal. “Fine, just… make it quick.”

It was definitely the moment you walked in that you knew: it was on. You hoped this encounter wouldn’t end with a messy argument again, but you already felt the tension in the atmosphere.

You still knew the house pretty well. You waltzed in, walking up the staircase to Joosh’s room, and kneeled by the bed, finally rummaging under it for your missing box. It took a while, since he ended up having a lot of junk under his bed, yet he acted so blamelessly impatient. “What’s taking so long?” He finally asked in irritation.

You scoffed, continuing to push other objects away. “Oh, fuck off. You’re the one who made this harder by putting all of your goddamn junk just stuffed under your bed.”

“Oh, please. I could easily get this all organized and cleaned up in less than an hour by any one of those guys who work for me,” he brazenly claimed, with an arrogant hinge of pride.

“You think that’s something you should be proud of?” You sneer, continuing to look through the mess. “Yeah, right, well, if anything, it’s just proving to me more how much of a careless, incompetent, lazy, man child of an asshole you are.”

“‘Lazy’? ‘Careless’? ‘Incompetent’? Are you hearing yourself, Y/n?” He scowled. “I am one of the most successful people on the planet. There is a reason why I’m rich and famous and admired. I am an entrepreneur, a CEO, an e-gaming sensation. And on top of that, I have a net worth of over six million euros.” You scoffed. You weren’t impressed or intimidated by any of this. “Take that for incompetent.”

You were just about fed up with this absurdly egotistical, selfish bastard. You popped your head out from under the bed and stood up, walking towards him until you were right in front of him. You wanted to wipe that stupid smirk off his stupid face. “You know what? No. You’re just a self-obsessed asshole. You think that everyone admires you, but actually, everyone hates you. You—Your old ‘friends’ work for you and are obligated to please you because at the end of the day, you control their pay checks. They don’t actually like you. No one would. You’re a pathetic man, Joosh. All you’ve ever done was use and hurt people.”

There was an aggravated expression on his face, insinuating that you got to him—that your words got to him.

“Do you really think that I care about any of that? None of that shit matters to me as long as I’m wealthy and successful. My life is fucking awesome, and it’s even better now that I don’t have a nagging bitch being all up on my ass all the time.”

What he said barely affected you, but you wanted to add on anyways. “You know, I cannot fucking believe I fell in love with you,” you said, trying to hide any underlying sadness with your anger. “You used to be so good. You know that? But then you got greedy because money and fame just blinded you, and now you became a fucking asshole. For—For fuck’s sake, you put your parents into a shitty senior home after declaring them mentally incompetent through a court order!”

“Goddammit, Y/n, you’re the one who broke up with me!” He snarled. “Do you know how much shit the press gave me for that?”

You roll your eyes. How could he only care about his status still? “Of course you only care about your public image—”

“Okay, fuck, it hurt me too, okay? You hurt me. When you broke up with me, I had the worst damn weeks of my life.”

“Oh, yeah? That’s real funny,” you scoff at his illogicality. “Are you that fucking dense? I broke up with you because you changed! You had a little breakthrough in e-gaming, and then the hangers-on rushed in, and then fame and money—including your Uncle Barry’s money—started to corrupt you. You’re—you’re seriously trying to be the victim here? Do you know how many times you fucked up in our relationship after that?” Your blood boiled as you continued. “I—You’re insufferable! I seriously don’t know how I spent—” You corrected yourself, “I wasted three years with you.”

“Yeah? You took years out of my life too, Y/n. You know what, actually, just go get your shit so you can leave, and shut the fuck up,” he replied sternly.

“Actually, no, I don’t think I will. In fact, I should just remind you how you are the most egotistical, selfish, most narcissistic asshole on the goddamn planet! You are fucking incorrigible!” You exclaim, your voice coarse.

“I said shut up,” he huffs, stepping towards you threateningly.

“And I hate how much you believe that your money and fame is everything—is your fucking shitty solution for everything.”

“Y/n, stop that before you might say something you’ll regret.”

“Well, you know what, Joosh? You can have all the money in the world, and all the goddamn sponsors and magazine covers and press conferences, and shit, mass productions of your shitty energy drink, but… You’re gonna die alone.”

“Fucking shut up!”

“Yeah? Why don’t you fucking make me!” You retort.

Joosh suddenly pressed his lips on yours roughly, grabbing at the back of your neck to bring you in closer. You gasped the second he did this in surprise, but immediately kissed him back, feeling his tongue run against yours.

While he proceeded to make out with you, he walked forward until he pushed you down on his bed, barely giving the two of you any time to breathe before he presses his lips to yours once more.

“You never know when to fucking shut up, do you?” He grumbles lowly in your lips, placing a firm hand on your hip.

You pant heavily. “Yeah, then how about you stop giving me more reasons to complain about you, asshole?” You retort, moving your lips with his roughly, tongues fiercely mashing against each other.

From the moment you appeared at his doorstep, there was a sort of aggravating tension, which you would then realize was sexual, fueled solely by anger and resentment. It’s been more than a year since you’ve last seen him, more than a year since you two even had sex. You didn’t know what drove you to reciprocate his actions once he kissed you, or rather, you didn’t want to admit it.

Joosh threw off his jacket, then lifted his shirt off of his body, reminding you of what used to be one of your favorite things about him: his left nipple piercing.

Coming out of your trance, you mimic his actions, slightly lifting your back off the mattress so that you could remove your own shirt. You two finally discarded all your clothing in a rush until you were both completely naked against each other.

Joosh’s hand went on your side, then trailed down to your ass, then to the back of your thigh as he began to leave harsh kisses and bites on your neck, making you breathe faster.

“I fucking hate you,” he said piercingly in between kisses.

You chuckle sarcastically. “See, that’s the worst part of it all: you don’t even mean that.”

You knew your ex-boyfriend well enough to know that it would take more than a breakup and a couple of insults to get him to fully hate you. Especially while he barely detested you, regardless of everything.

He moved his head from your neck to face you. “Fine, what, you wanna know the truth? I hate that I still fucking love you.” He scowled, which caught you off guard. He placed his thumb on your bottom lip. “Open.”

You sucked his fingers off once they penetrated your mouth, sensually running your tongue along his digits. You didn’t expect him to say that now, that he still loved you, but you weren’t surprised either. The two of you had a very complicated relationship. Knowing him before his fame impacted the connection you two had; simply put, you knew him well. And you knew him well enough to be able to tell if he still loved you, which he did. You two knew each other well enough to still love each other.

After a while, he finally took his fingers out of your mouth, essentially using your saliva as a lubricant as he rubbed at your entrance vigorously, getting a soft, pleasured gasp out of you.

“A-and what, you think I don’t as well?” You huffed in response. You couldn’t lie to yourself either—you still loved him too. “I loathe it.”

Joosh sneered as he spit in his hand, pumping his cock, letting out a few, quiet grunts. “I hate that you came here today.”

”And I hate that I had always been desperate for your sad, below-average co—“ You let out a sharp inhale as you felt his entire length slide into you resistlessly.

“Yeah, but you take it anyway, don’t you?” he replied arrogantly with utmost vulgarity, beginning to move lustfully inside you.

“You’re such a fucking asshole,” you say, however, immediately becoming distracted from all the sensational feelings. You gulped a moan, glaring into his dark eyes. “Fuck, don’t even think that this means anything. I’m practically using you,” you grumble.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he replied.

Joosh had his hands gripping your hips as he thrusted into you, already at a quick pace, practically jerking his hips into yours with low grunts and huffs of breath. His cock deliciously stretched and caressed your walls at an artful rhythm.

Your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head in pleasure, making you look up at the wall decor behind you, in which big, light up letters spelt out ‘SIN’. You let out quiet moans each time he pounded deeply into you, instinctively wrapping your legs around him to bring him even closer. His grip moved onto your thighs to support your legs, getting at an even better angle as his fingers dug into your skin. “Fuck… I really hate how you’re the only person in this world that knows exactly w-where and how to make me feel good,” you mutter as you look back at him.

The lewd, wet sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, alongside heavy breaths and moans beginning to increase. “And I hate that even after everything, I still want you. That I could get anyone I want with my status, but they’ll never be as good as you…” He let out a dark chuckle. “Look at you, so fucking needy for me…”

He pulled out, resulting in a whine escaping your lips, until he aggressively flipped you over on your stomach, making you take it from the back. His head is beside yours on the pillow as he let out soft moans, moving quickly into you, hitting all the right spots. It was like he remembered every little thing that kept you pleasured. You actually wouldn’t be surprised if he genuinely did.

The thing is, Joosh had always been a sweetheart. He was kind, considerate, and generous, all traits taught to him by his sweet parents. It wasn’t until after the fame where he began to rot.

Hell, you two used to make love. Then after, it was all quickies and straight up fucking.

So you couldn’t understand how or why he still loved you, but you know he does.

You moaned louder, feeling his fingertips digging into the skin of your hips as he pulled you towards him with every rough thrust.

“I hate that no matter how much of an asshole and jerk you’ve been, I’m still willing to forgive you,” you mutter.

Joosh moved his head to press a chaste kiss to your cheek, and then attacked your neck with even rougher kisses as he continued to move inside you. He kept confusing you with his brief moments of tenderness. “And I hate that we both know that you deserve better.”

You panted heavily as half of your face was pressed against the pillow. “Yeah, but you don’t even fucking try to work on yourself, knowing this fact.”

His hips stuttered as he felt himself getting closer to the edge. “You know me. I can’t change.”

You let out a soft gasp as you felt a sharp, deep thrust from him. “You can’t or you won’t?”

You hear his moans become more desperate and high pitched, his pace becoming inconsistent. His cock slid seamlessly inside you, bringing the two of you to become more vocal. While he let one of his hands remain on your hip, he moved his other one to grip the bed frame tightly, fucking into you even deeper.

“O-oh, f-fuck!” You whimper intensely as he continues to mercilessly pound into you, spilling out all the anger he felt from seeing you today, in which your presence reminded him of how messy the breakup was. Your whines became louder as he ruthlessly gripped your hip and pulled onto the bed frame to easily push you against his dick with each thrust.

“You talk about me being selfish and self-seeking all the time, as if you aren’t taking all of my fucking dick for your own pleasure,” he grumbles. You didn’t have a witty comeback for that—you were far too focused on how good you felt. Which sort of implied he was right, in some way.

Joosh let out louder grunts and slight moans, which was unsynchronized with the obscene, raucous sounds of lewd plaps of his consistent penetration. Plap, plap, plap, it would turn the both of you on even more.

“You’re just as pathetic as I am, Y/n,” he said coldly.

You felt so close to your climax, and as his thrusts became more stuttered, you could tell Joosh was as well.

“Fuck you, Joosh.”

He violently pushed into you deeply as your lips parted for a loud, torrid moan to escape your mouth, fingernails digging into the thick sheets as you came hard around his cock. Not even another thrust after, your ex-boyfriend came, making sure his dick was deeply and fully into you once his semen precipitously spilled inside of your body through exuberant spurts. His voice was high pitched and desperate, and you could swear you heard your name leave his lips in a small whisper.

He pulled out of you afterwards, rolling off your body as he breathed heavily, resting on his side as he faced the edge of the bed.

You turned to lay on your side, only to see his back facing you.

The atmosphere wasn’t tense, but it wasn’t calm either. It was sort of awkward in a way. You two were still exes after all. An entire minute has passed, of silence and heavy panting, the two of you catching your breaths from all that energy you just released. Most of the words that were exchanged earlier weren’t exactly true. It was moreso getting out all your anger and bitterness of the past, so that you could have a civil, compassionate talk later about your feelings and the state of the relationship.

Soon enough, you scooted towards him, then placed a deliberate, gentle kiss on his shoulder. Your fingertips began to mindlessly trace his back tattoo, which spelled out ‘J Futz’. He seemed to appreciate it, your touch.

Your finger traced over the ‘F’ on his back. “I want to make this work,” you murmured.

“I know,” you heard him say shamefully as your fingertip caressed along the lines of ink.

“But I don’t want you to change for me. I want you to change for yourself.”

He turned around to face you, soft, brown eyes meeting yours. It was like a part of his old self was still in there.

“I’m sorry… For everything,” he finally says.

“Me too.”

***

Joosh was in the shower while you were in the kitchen, eating a small snack, back to being fully clothed. You stared at your keepsake box that you finally found, which was now sitting on the dining table in front of you—he even helped you find it actually, while even criticizing his own lack of organization.

You two agreed to take things slow, followed by you encouraging him to make some reparations, probably starting with his parents first. Ultimately, he was going to work on himself—not just for you and the people he loved, but for himself, as you said.

You took a bite out of your snack, and then slightly flinched as you saw Joosh in the corner of your eye.

“Oh, wow. That was fast,” you observed. When he said he was going to take a quick shower, you didn’t know he was that literal about it. Especially since he sort of sucked at keeping his word.

What you didn’t know, however, was that Joosh was still in the shower, as you initially expected. The man in front of you would be Josh, basically your ex, but from another timeline. Ever since he was recruited by soldiers Tiger and Wolf of 2162, they were consistently fucking with the past through time travel, and the trio’s interferences only just created new realities, such as yours.

When Josh came back to 2017 after the 80s, he discovered that he was popular, that he was a rich celebrity, loved amongst everyone. However, it nearly broke his heart once he heard from Tracy and Paul that you dumped him—or, well, Joosh—the past year. The thing was, that no matter how many times he tampered with the timeline (for example, Lamar Price’s Blapple and the disappearance of Ray), you still remained his partner when he would come back to the present. So now, knowing that he allegedly screwed things up with you in this reality, then on top of that, finding out his parents despise him, he began to become disappointed by what he thought was going to be a great life for him.

He was confused, seeing you eat at the kitchen table, clearly unbothered by him. “Y/n?” His voice was higher pitched, reminding you of your Joosh before he was corrupted.

“Um, yeah?” You asked. “Did you even take a shower? Now I’m confused.” You look at his ear. “And you took off your earring.”

“Oh, um, yeah, and no, not yet, I—” Josh was very much confused. Didn’t his friends tell him how the two of you broke up? Were they wrong?

“You don’t look too hot,” you say, grabbing your box and walking over to him. “Thank you, Joosh. For, um… for finally listening to and understanding me. I know we’re both not perfect, but… I just… I’m glad we were able to… to talk this out.”

You look down at your box and then at him, who had an absentminded look on his face that you didn’t recognize. “I have to go now. Let’s talk more tomorrow, okay?” You press a soft kiss to Josh’s cheek, then made your way out the door.

What in the hell just happened?

Josh was befuddled, but also sort of relieved. Maybe he would be able to patch things up with you. He wasn’t sure how he was going to fix things with his parents after that encounter with his dad. Actually, he was still stressed out about that. Your idea for him to take a shower didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

That is, until he was met with this reality’s version of himself in the bathroom.

[cressidagrey]

Something good and right and real - Chapter 2

Summary:

Azriel had spent centuries believing that he of all people didn't deserve a mate. And if anything, the last three years had just galvinised that particular belief. And then he meets her.

The first time Oriana met Azriel, she thought that he reminded her of a skittish cat. Shy and a little bit broken. Good for him that she absolutely excelled in fixing the things around her.

Warnings:

Rhys Bashing, discussion of magical jewellery

Notes:

I put a lot of world building into this. If you don't recognise it from canon, I probably invented. Or I forgot that canon existed.

(thanks to @firefly-graphics for the super pretty dividers!)

It was a rest day when she finally pulled out research she hadn’t touched in decades. 

Though right now, she had a reason to do it. A very good reason if she was completely honest. 

Azriel was her reason. 

He showed up on her doorstep, bruised and scratched to hell and there was nothing that she could do against it. 

Patch him up and put him on her couch and ply him with food after an hour, and then some more food until most of it had healed and he had gone home. Even when she hadn’t wanted him to. 

But she hadn’t been able to protect him. 

And that stung

Mostly because it had been well known that Oriana had excelled at using her skills for protection . 

That had been what she had concentrated on. 

They made art, not war. 

But Oriana…Oriana made protection. 

Oriana fitted every child in her family with a personal enchanted bracelet. She had always just used them to alert the parents if the kid managed to get themselves into a bad situation. 

But the start of it was there. 

And then there was…her own necklace. 

She touched the thumb thick gold metal necklace around her throat. 

Her wedding necklace. It had been soldered around her throat when she had been 18 and she had never taken it off. Traditionally a female would wear it for the mourning period after her husband’s death and then take it off. She hadn’t. 

She was still mourning. 

At least as far as her people were concerned. 

A very visible sign to everybody that Oriana wasn’t available for anything other than friendship. Not even companionship. No sex without string attached. 

And after Wynstan had died…Oriana had made that visible reminder of her marriage into something else entirely. 

Wynstan would have hated it. She was certain about that. But she was also furious with him. And it was…fitting. In a way nobody but her would realise. 

That necklace was fitted with her own enchantment.  

It would keep any male from touching her in any way that she didn’t want. It would keep her safe. And it would violently dispel anybody that disagreed with that . 

She had only ever done that once. And she knew that it had been fucking suicidial to do it like she had done, etching in the runes, while it was around her neck. It could have blown up. She could have died. 

She hadn’t cared. Not one bit. 

Now with a few decades of distance she knew how fundemantelly stupid it had been what she had done. It went against everything she had ever been taught. 

And it was also the one and only time that Oriana had created something that she had willently imbued with the power to kill another person. 

It wasn’t…It wasn’t what she should have done. 

And still she had. 

She had done that and she hadn’t apologised or felt bad about it. 

And now….

Now Oriana was playing with that thought again. 

If she could make something that protected Azriel…something that would keep him safe…if it was something that…something that would kill his enemies, so he didn’t need to be in danger…she would do so in a heartbeat. 

But she hadn’t worked on anything like that in decades and starting with something complicated was going to be…fundamentally stupid once again. 

So she started small. 

She was a trained goldsmith, but Oriana had spent a few year learning blacksmithing as well. 

And she used both that day, as she sharpened the iron into blades. 

Knifes and stiletto blades, still lovely, with stone encrusted hilts…more art than function…though the function was very obvious. 

Azriel’s shadows hung around as well. She sometimes saw them out of the corner of her eyes and it amused her more than anything to see them swirl around, freeze in place when they thought she saw them. They didn’t even try to be subtle. 

“I can see you, you know,” she said drily, her voice amused besides herself. “Did Azriel put you up to it?” That thought did give her a warm glow. She quite liked to think that he checked up on her like that. 

She couldn’t help but flinch violently, when the voice was suddenly there. Like a hissing right in her brain. Not a real voice, not something that anybody else would hear, she was quite certain of that. But it was there, and she just knew that it was the shadows. A part of Azriel and then not a part at all. Both and neither at the same time. 

No, Mistress. Master doesn’t know we are here, they told her. 

She was amused beside himself. Even when Azriel didn’t outright check on her, a part of him was obviously still worried, enough that…well…His shadows did check on her. Even against their master’s orders. 

“And still here you are,” she muttered on her breath, jsut as one tendril wrapped itself around her wrist again, seemingly sinking between the bunch of bangles she wore every day and she reached out, patting it fondly. 

What is Mistress making? they asked her, another tendril seemingly investigating the knife that she was still holding in her hand. 

"Knives," Oriana gave back drily. 

For Master?  Somehow that made them excited. They swirled together, poised like a dog that was just waiting for her to throw a ball. It amused Oriana to no end. 

“Do you think he would like knives?” she asked his shadows, wondering. She had seen the knife that he kept strapped to his thigh, the one weapon that he wore openly and it made her wonder. Giving a warrior a weapon wouldn’t be out of order, right? And still, she didn’t think that Azriel, Azriel who seemed terrified of the idea of her being scared of him would like the idea of receiving something like that from her. 

Maybe it would be less of a sign of acceptance to her and more something that made him think that being a warrior was all she saw in him. And it wasn’t. It was just a small part of the male that she was getting to know and she didn’t want to reduce him to that. It didn’t seem fair. It wasn’t fair. 

Master would like anything Mistress makes. The shadows assured her, but Oriana just hummed uncommitingly. Maybe not a knife. Not at first…something else. She just wasn’t sure what yet. 

“Is he alright?” she asked the shadows instead. “You don’t need to tell me where he is or what he is doing, just…is he alright?” she asked them and they seemingly hummed with pleasure. 

Master is alright, they promised her. 

Alright then. 

“You can keep me company if you want?” she offered to the shadows. “But I need to solder, and I don’t want to hurt you, so maybe move up my arm?” she suggested. She could swear she nearly felt the amusement from them as they wrapped herself around the necklace she wore instead. 

Her two lives, intertwined. 

She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about it. 

“Comfortable?” she made sure and they seemingly hummed with pleasure. 

And that’s where they stayed, while she soldered and continued on with her knifes. 

Somebody is coming, Mistress, they said suddenly and their soft touch disappeared. She was quite sure that they bled into the shadows underneath her window, but she wasn’t certain. 

“Well, that’s --- practical, i guess,” she mumbled under her breath. 

Just seconds later she felt the ward pinged. A smile took over her face. 

“Well, hello there, little sister,” her older brother said as he came strolling into the forge.

While she had inherited the creepy eyes and a few wisps of shadows that clung to her legs sometimes, Cyrus seemingly had taken every bit the look of a High Fae. No shadows, no creepy eyes…but also absolutely no protection against fire. Oriana could walk through it. She could touch it with her bare hands like every other proper Tartera. Cyrus would just get burns for his troubles. 

So maybe it shouldn’t have surprised anybody that he had left the mountain as soon as he was able, while she had been willing to play the role she needed to play. 

Still, they were both half breeds, half Tartera, half High Fae…out of touch with both worlds and belonging to neither in a sense. “Haven’t seen you in a while,” Cyrus quipped as he sat down across from her, watching her work. 

“It has been less than a week,” she gave back drily. “Literally. How is Briony?” Her sister-in-law was High Fae, dark-haired with pale skin and beautiful. Cyrus had been a mess when he had first met her and somehow he had convinced her to marry him. Oriana still sometimes wondered how exactly he had managed that. 

“She’s good. The kids are good too,” her brother answered the unspoken question. “But..” he trailed off with a pointed look. 

“But?” she repeated absentmindedly, grabbing a rag and finally starting to polish one of the knives she had made. It looked…well. Not perfect, but then she had always been her own sharpest critic. However, for something that she hadn’t done in decades…she was chalking this up as a win. 

“You want to tell what is going on?” Cyrus asked drily. 

“Nothing,” she responded deadpan. Nothing that he needed to know at any rate. It was better that way. 

“Don’t lie to me, Oriana,” Cyrus gave back with a roll of his eyes. “I know you better than that.”

He did. 

“Are you sure you want to know?” she asked him instead, laying down her knife to meet his eyes. “If you know, you can’t tell our sibling. Or Mom. Or grandma,” she warned him tightly. 

She wasn’t ready for everybody to know. Especially because she knew that whatever she did, she would have her scandal. 

Oriana Belmond, Third daughter of the First daughter, mated to an Illyrian warrior of all people. 

Her grandmother would have opinions . 

Her mother would have a bloody conniption . 

“Well, now I am intrigued,” Cyrus said drily. “You haven’t told me that in decades. The last time was when you wanted to leave the mountain.” Right. 

When she had put her whole family in front of a fait accomplice. Well, it had worked. 

Her mother had not been on board with it. Then she had thought that she was just throwing a tantrum. Close to a century later, that was still what her mother thought, completely ignoring that Oriana had built herself a life out of the mountain, right here in Velaris. 

She just shrugged. 

Cyrus hummed. 

“Alright,” he agreed. “I swear that I won’t tell anybody what you just told me unless a tie where you are certain that you want it known,” he offered. She was the one who sealed the bargain, promising to tell him exactly what was going on. “So what is going on?” Cyrus asked her. “Wanting to go back into the mountain?” he asked her. He very carefully kept the judgement out of his voice, even when Oriana knew exactly what he thought about that. 

“Not in my lifetime,” she said drily. For a visit, sure. Back to living there? Never. “I…I met my mate,” she admitted quietly, 

Cyrus stared at her, opening his mouth to response and then stayed quiet. She picked up her knife again, checking on her work. “You…” Cyrus started, then stopped. “Alright. That’s…” he stared at her hands for a moment before he sighed. “ Oriana .”

“Yes?”

“You met your mate and you are making knives ,” Cyrus pointed out, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “What is really going on?”

“That's it. I met my mate,” Oriana repeated. “I met him, Cyrus.”

“And what happened to him that makes you think that you need to take up blacksmithing? Again?” he asked her drily. She said nothing. “What’s next? Are you going to start to go back to…” when she said nothing, again, Cyrus just stared at her. “You are,” he finally said flatly.

“It’s what I was trained for,” she gave back, crossing her arms. “I can’t spent the rest of my life making useless earrings and bracelets.”

“They aren’t useless, they are beautiful,” Cyrus disagreed sharply. “They are works of art. And we both know why you stopped being an enchantress in the first place.”

She couldn’t help but flinch. 

“Don’t bring that up,” she said tightly. It wasn’t…It wasn’t so much a sore spot as it was a gaping wound. 

“Don’t bring that up?” Cyrus asked incrediously. “You nearly died!” he snapped. 

Right. 

Ruby red blood trickling down her body. Spearing Pain in her stomach…Fire everywhere…the sound of an explosion…of magic escaping the prison it had been forced into. It was marked into her brain and Oriana could do nothing to escape it. 

She saw it all. 

She swallowed. Locking her memories back down. Forcing her hands not to start shaking. 

“That was all on Wynstan,” she said quietly.

“Yeah, it fucking well was,” Cyrus agreed sharply. “It was on Wynstan and it was on Mom. It was on Grandmother. It was on everybody but you, Oriana. Still…it happened. It wasn’t on you, but you don’t exactly have the best track record with males.” She didn’t disagree with that. 

“And you also don’t have the best track record of knowing when to cut your losses,” Cyrus continued, fixing her with a glare. 

Her hand strayed to her necklace. 

“You are still wearing it,” Cyrus pointed out his voice soft. “Why?”

She said nothing. 

Cyrus didn’t know about the enchantment on it. Neither did her mother. Or anybody else. Nobody else knew what she had done. 

Nobody else knew that she couldn’t just pry it off like it was usually done with wedding necklaces after the mourning period. 

Nobody but her. 

If she wanted to remove it…it wasn’t that easy to achieve. Not if she actually wanted to survive it. 

And she still didn’t know if she wanted to remove it. The enchantment? She could live with that. Before Azriel showed up on her doorstep it had not been anything she had ever really worried about. It wasn’t that she had a whole handful of suitors vying for her hand after all. And the few that had shown up over the years…well they had been nice enough to accept that she wasn’t very receptive to it. 

Still, the fact that she still wore her wedding necklace even when Wynstan was by now longer dead than he had ever been alive…Yeah. Yes, she wanted that off her. 

But recreating the enchantment she had made when she had been out of her mind with grief and trauma and pain…

it was something else entirely. 

The ward pinged and she felt Azriel enter the shop. She had very carefully altered her ward so that he would always be able to walk into her front door which wasn't exactly something that she allowed to lots of people. Namely Cyrus and Briony and that was it. 

She allowed him that though. 

Still, she swallowed as he entered and caught sight of her and her brother’s broad back. 

“I…I brought lunch?” Azriel brought out, caught aback and Oriana smiled at him. 

“Thank you.”

Her brother turned around and Oriana watched as he took in Azriel. 

Great. She hadn’t wanted that to happen until…well. 

“Cyrus, that’s Azriel. My mate,” Oriana said calmly as she left the forge to walk into her shop room, greeting Azriel with a bright smile that she wasn’t really feeling. “Azriel, Cyrus, my brother.”

Neither of them spoke. 

“Nice to meet you,” Cyrus finally said, his voice carefully even and Oriana wanted to roll her eyes at the posturing of both, of Azriel’s wings twitching like he was thinking about actually flaring them out and decided against it. 

Great. This is just what she needed. 

Instead, she picked up the bag of food he had brought with him, kept warm in a specially made warming bag 

“Likewise,” Azriel finally responded, his voice quiet. 

“Let’s go upstairs. I need to interrogate your mate,” Cyrus said abruptly and Oriana glared at him. 

“Cyrus,” she hissed at him, but her brother ignored her in favour of already climbing the stairs to her apartment. 

“Let’s hope he’s less of an asshole than the last one!” Cyrus called from upstairs and she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“Sorry, about that,” she apologised to Azriel. “I didn’t know you were going to come over before this evening or I would have warned you,” she said drily. Azriel shook his head. 

“No, I should have used my shadows to check that you were alone first. That was on me,” he disagreed. “Did your brother mean Wynstan with that?” he asked, sounding something like morbidly curious and Oriana sighed. 

“Yes. Yes, he does.” Well, she wasn’t going to get out of it now. “Seems like you are going to get an introduction to my family earlier rather than later. You coming?” she asked as she turned to walk up the stairs. 

To say that lunch was an awkward thing was an understatement. It wasn’t helped that Azriel had gone nearly completely mute and she was left playing mediator, between a ruffled Cyrus and a near-silent Azriel. 

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Cyrus finally commented and Oriana opened her mouth to respond but Azriel beat her to it. 

“If I have something to say,” he said calmly and Oriana bit back some amusement at her brother’s face, who looked like he had just bitten into a lemon. 

“Cyrus,” she said quietly, but her brother just crossed her arms, still glaring at Azriel. “ Cyrus .”

“You are Illyrian,” Cyrus said with a pointed look to the wings that Azriel kept tucked close to himself. 

There was a part of Oriana that really wished she would get to see them stretched out, that wondered how big they were like that…how it looked when he actually went flying and if…if the near iridescent leathery skiing that stretched between bones was soft to the touch. 

But she also hadn’t dared to ask because that just seemed like something intensely private. 

Still, Azriel nodded. 

“I do know how the lot of you treat your females. If you even think about treating Oriana anything like that I am going to kill you,” her brother then spat out and Oriana swallowed. 

Right. 

“Cyrus,” she said quietly. “He hasn’t done anything .” 

Her brother just held up his hand. “Forgive me, if I don’t exactly trust your word on that after what happened the last time,” Cyrus pointed out, his voice cutting. 

She couldn’t help but flinch. 

“I am serious,” Cyrus insisted.  “And don’t even think you are going to see me coming.”

Azriel inclined his head. A tacit agreement if there ever was one. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

He had been really, really stupid. 

Because in all of his…thoughts about Oriana and her own admission that she had her own set of scars, he had never even thought about the fact that Oriana had her own trauma. 

It hadn’t even crossed his mind, until he first met her brother. 

They did look alike, with the same big eyes, the same nose, though Oriana seemed to have inherited more of the Tartera characteristics

Still, it was obvious that her brother had a very good reason to feel protective over her and it all tied back to her husband. 

Oriana herself had said that he had been a better friend than a husband but Azriel had never even thought about what exactly she meant with that. 

“I am so sorry,” Oriana apologised to him with a grimace when Cyrus finally left, but not with another glare thrown in Azriel’s direction. He could understand that. The way females were treated in Illyrian war camps was abhorrent. His own mother had been one of them. And even when Rhys had outlawed Wing Clippings as soon as he had come into power…it wasn’t like everybody listened to their High Lord, which was another problem entirely. 

A problem that they still hadn’t found a solution for. 

“You don’t need to apologise,” Azriel disagreed, watching as her brother left. “He’s protective about you. He’s your brother. I understand that.”

“He’s overprotective, that’s what he is,” Oriana disagreed with a sigh. “I…We should have probably talked about this before. I told him that we were mates, but we made a bargain that he isn’t going to tell anybody until it was a time when I am ready,” she explained to him and his eyebrows lifted when he realised that she had done everything in her power to keep them both safe. He hadn’t expected her to even think about it. 

“You are good at keeping secrets,” he said fondly and Oriana shrugged. 

“I am not ready to tell my family and have them build themselves an opinion about it. Not until we have figured out where we stand,” she told him. He could understand that. He didn’t want to tell anybody yet. He kept any thought of Oriana locked away between the thickest mental shields he had ever been able to build. 

Keeping her safe and far removed from anything and anybody. 

“But you are ready for Cyrus to know?” he asked her curiously and she sighed. 

“He’s special to me,” she admitted. “We are close in age, just a few years apart…we both know how it is to not belong anywhere really,” she explained quietly. Azriel could understand that. 

He hummed in agreement.

“Are you going to tell your brothers?” she asked him, curious, but with no judgement in her voice. 

"No. Not…not right now,” he struggled to bring out these words. He didn’t want anybody to know. He wanted to keep it as close to his chest as he had ever been able to keep anything and he knew that that was ridiculous and that it wasn’t going to…always be that easy. And he didn’t even want to imagine the reaction when he finally did. “I am not ready for them to know.”

“Alright,” she agreed, reaching out to hold his hands across the table. He slipped his bigger one into her smaller one, her skin warm to the touch. She smiled at him. 

“Thank you for lunch,” she said softly, eyes soft, no flames anywhere to see.  “Sorry for destroying your romantic plans with my brother.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s alright,” he promised her. It was. There were going to be more lunches if he had his way. 

They went back downstairs into the forge not much later. By now, Oriana had somehow acquired a chair that accommodated his wings and put it in one corner, obviously making a space for him there and…somehow that quiet, unspoken act of acceptance made his chest painfully constrict. 

“What are you working on right now?” he asked her because he couldn’t quite put it into words and he needed to talk about something else so he wasn’t going to do anything stupid. Like, kiss her right then and there. 

“Knives,” Oriana said brightly, holding out a knife to him, hilt first. It was definitely one of the prettiest knives he had ever seen. Very ornamental, with wavy lines, a bit like vines growing up the hilt. 

“Somebody told me that you would enjoy them,” she said with some amusement and he stared at her. What? 

“Your shadows. They came to visit,” Oriana clarified at the expression on his face. “Told me that whatever I made you would like it,” she said with some amusement and he just stared at her. 

What? 

Never in his life had his shadows ever talked to anybody but him. He didn’t even know that they could if they wanted to. He had used them to secure knowledge and to torture people…but he had never sent them to talk to another person. He had never even thought that they would do that, because nobody else could hear them when they talked to him but Azriel himself. 

And now they…talked to Oriana? Had a conversation with her?

“They talked to you,” he repeated, ensuring he understood that correctly. 

Talking. To her. To Oriana. 

“Yes?” Oriana said questioningly. “Is that wrong? Should I not have talked to them?” she asked him, sounding worried but he just weakly shook his head. 

“No, it’s…fine.” He grimaced at how that sounded. “They just…don’t do that. Have never done that,” he hurried to explain. “I didn’t even know they could do that,” he admitted weakly. 

“Huh,” Oriana made a thoughtful noise in the back of her throat. “Do you think it’s because I am…your mate?” she asked him hesitantly. 

“I have no clue,” he admitted frankly. It was as good a theory as any other. Probably the one that made the most sense. 

What is this about? He asked them sharply and the shadows seemed to be doing the mental equivalent of a shrug. 

Mistress is intelligent. We are not going to ignore her questions. They responded immediately. 

Right. 

Fair enough. Remember to keep my secrets. He gave back. It resulted in a sharp pulling back of them, rushing to wrap themselves around Oriana’s wrists and even around her neck. 

He could just stare. She didn’t even flinch as they threaded themselves through the necklace she wore. 

“You hurt their feelings,” Oriana said drily and he just stared at her. 

What? 

“Are you getting that from them?” he asked her and she shrugged as she lifted her hand to pat the tendril that was wrapped around her neck gently. It flexed and shifted like it was a snake that enjoyed being petted.  He just sighed. “Do you really want me to apologise to my shadows?” he asked her, not thinking that she was serious but she nodded. 

“Shadows have feelings too,” she told him pointedly and he sighed. He could argue that point. 

“I am sorry,” he said instead, aloud, more for her benefit than for the shadows. They seemed more amused by her antics than anything else. 

Oriana reached out to flick his nose. He couldn’t help but grin, grasping her hand and tucking her close to him, breathing in that scent of hers that was like a warm hearth on a winter day.  

He watched as the flames danced in her eyes, no longer the pure black that was always a bit disconcerting to look at, but the flames that he was sure were her natural state. 

He hadn’t really thought this too though, because now she was so close to him and he could feel the warmth of her boy and it felt…a lot.

“So that was all that you made?” he managed to bring out, swallowing and she shook her head. 

“No, I made something else as well,” she agreed. “You know how some females put these pin..sticks in their hairstyles?” she asked him and he nodded. He had seen that a few times, holding in place some sort of updos. 

She pulled a pair of them from her workbench, that made the knife she had made look like a toddler had made it. The tiny details on it were… incredible. They weren’t finished yet, he could see it…they seemed to need something else, maybe the addition of some stones, as settings were already soldered on. 

Still, the last thing he had expected was for her to slowly unscrew the cap and pull out a stiletto blade, that she offered him. 

He stared at it. Lightly curved and silver. Stabbing something with that would be…painful. And nobody would ever think that ornamental hair decorations were anything but that. 

“Beautiful and deadly,” he said softly. “You are a genius,” he told her, and she preened at his praise. He stared at them for a moment longer.  “When you are finished with them, can I buy them?” he asked her and she grinned at him. 

“Why? Do you have many pretty females to hand deliver gifts to?” she teased him and he swallowed. Right. 

“I…” he stuttered. “It’s for my brother’s mate,” he rushed to explain and she laughed. 

“I was just teasing,” Oriana told him fondly. “Any colour preferences for the stones that I still need to add?” she asked him, stepping back as she started to rummage through a couple of boxes that she kept underneath her workbench. 

“Red,” he said immediately. She arched an eyebrow at him in question. “It matches his Siphons,” he explained and she hummed as she selected one box in particular and then pulled out a smaller box from it, filled to the top with red stones in every shade, which she placed on her workbench.

“So…” she said, turning towards him, a grin slowly covering her face.“Should I start stockpiling blue gems for myself?”

The sudden stab of desire was so visceral that it took Azriel by complete surprise. 

His hands curled into fists on top of the workbench as he suddenly couldn’t stop himself from imagining how Oriana would look if wore stones in the same colour of his siphons set into something like the necklace she wore…and nothing else. He swallowed against a sudden dry mouth. 

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” she asked him, a tinkling of laughter in her voice as she stepped into his space, without a care in the world. 

He still expected her to flinch from him, but she didn’t. She was so close to him, the flames flicking in her eyes and he was quite sure that that was the moment when he fell in love with her like a ton of bricks. 

The first clues had already been there, for that female that took him home with her and fed him dinner, that patched him up and forced him to eat sandwiches she made, that was so clever and so kind and seemingly didn’t realise that she was either. Or maybe took it for granted. That treated him like he was just another fae that she met and wasn’t scared of him for even a moment. 

He could just stare at her, a little bit in awe. 

“Would you?” he asked her, allowing his hands to settle on her hips and her lips broadened into a smile. Would she wear that?

“I think I would enjoy everything that makes it obvious that I am yours,” she whispered. 

He kissed her. He couldn’t stop himself. The heat that ran through him as his lips first met hers was terrifying and exhilarating and a little bit magical. 

She opened up underneath him, a soft shocked gasp escaping her, just as her hands clenched in the fabric of the jacket he wore, as she pulled him as close to her as she could. 

He should stop. He knew that. He should have made their first kiss a chaste peck and left it at that, but he just…couldn’t. He couldn’t stop, not when her taste and her scent and every bit of her warm willing body was promising to be his solace. 

Finally, finally, he managed to force himself to pull back to lean his forehead against hers, to look into her eyes, flames flicking at him. 

“Seems like I got my answer,” he quipped. He had no idea where that came from, but the shocked laugh that escaped her, made him grin. 

She leaned up to kiss him again, twining her hands behind his neck. 

“You did,” she agreed. “I’ll go and find myself some blue gems.” There was a heady promise in her voice at that. 

And somehow he couldn’t wait for it. 

Still, she stepped back, picking up the hairpins she had been making before he had interrupted her so rudely and started to sort through her box of red gems. 

He picked up the first knife that she had made, testing the weight of it in his hand. The size was off, just a little bit. He wasn’t quite sure if it would fit her hands comfortably. 

“Do you know how to use it?” he asked her, mustering her body with less appreciation and more trying to figure out if she was trained in self-defence. 

She should be. She definitely should be. She needed to know how to defend herself because he wasn’t always going to be there to protect her and if something happened to her it would be…

He didn’t want to imagine that. 

Especially if he could rectify it. 

She was quite tall, probably even taller than Nesta, though her body definitely was on the curvier side, with a pronounced waist and full hips. 

She stared at him like he had gone insane. “See, that is the blade…” she started, amusement apparent in her voice. 

He shook his head. “Do you know how to defend yourself?” he clarified. 

“The pointy bit goes into the other person,” she quipped, though she grew serious at his gaze. “You know, throwing fire at another person seems to be quite the good way to stop them to do anything else to me,” she said, serious. “And if that fails…well, at least against most men, I have something else.” He raised an eyebrow at that. “I have a…personal enchantment of sorts,” Oriana explained, her lips set firmly.

He had never heard of that. 

“It’s…if anybody touches me with intent to…sexually assault me or rape me, they will be more and more violently repelled,” she told him and he stared at her. 

“I have never heard of anything like that,” Azriel said carefully. It was…it would be safe. In a lot of ways. If that could be replicated, he was quite sure he would put that on every female he knew. Just for peace of mind. 

“Because you must be idiotic to do it,” Oriana spat out. “Crafting it is stupidly dangerous.”

She didn’t need to say anything else. He could read between the lines. 

“You made it,” he said softly and she just nodded, setting a bright red stone in the tops of her hairpins. “What happened that made you…”

“Think I needed it?” she ended his sentence with a sigh, her anger dissipating already. “Wynstan died.” Her husband.  “I wasn’t about to be put into another arranged marriage, so I did what I thought I had to. In the end, putting one of my suitors on fire was enough, but I preferred to be safe,” she said darkly. 

The anger that welled up in him at that was…harsh. “They were planning on that?” he asked, his voice gravelly. 

“They had their reasons,” Oriana said, waving him off. He could just stare at her. 

“What could possibly be a reason for it?” He snapped. 

She laughed, but there was no amusement in the sound. 

“The same reason why I was married off in the first place, Azriel. Political Maneuvring,” she said easily. “It could have been worse. Then, Wynstan was my best friend.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but finally swallowed it out. Something did tickle at the edges of his brain though. Then, Wynstand had been her best friend. Had that changed during the course of their marriage?

“So you wear that enchantment,” he said instead and she nodded. “How does it work?” he asked her curiously.  

“It’s intent-based. I wouldn’t suggest putting your hands on me if you are angry,” Oriana explained. “Or doing more than kissing me, at least until I have restructured it,” she mumbled under her breath. 

Oh. 

“It’s a chastity device?” he asked her and she grimaced. 

“Of sorts,” she allowed finally. “There is a price to pay for this kind of protection.” He didn’t doubt that for one moment. 

“It didn’t do anything to me right now,” he said carefully and Oriana sighed. 

“You didn’t want to do anything but kiss me,” she pointed out.  “And I wanted you to kiss me. So the enchantment didn’t need to do anything.”

“And if you didn’t want me to kiss you?” he asked her curiously. She grimaced. 

“You would have been shoved away…and then more and more violently repelled. If that didn’t stop you… you probably would lose a limb. Or your life,” she admitted, sounding less than pleased with it. 

“That’s…genius,” he said with wonder. It wasn’t like it would immediately go in for the kill. It would give ample warning. And really if somebody didn’t top after the first time they could live with the consequences. 

“You think limb removal is good?” Oriana asked him with a snort and Azriel just shrugged.

“If they don’t want to lose their hand, they should learn to keep their hands to themselves.” 

[anxious-witch]

Sooo, since like, literally three people asked(like I need more enabling lmao) here is a drabble/snippet from poly!JO soulmate au from August. It isn't finished and kinda a kess so read at your own risk, definitely not up to my usual quality.

Tw for alcohol, vomiting, character's drink being spiked (if I forgot anything, please let me know)

Bojan was born with four stripes on his stomach. Yellow, red, purple and blue. It reminded him of a mini rainbow. When he was little he used to trace them. Wondering how it related to his soulmate.

His parents seemed reluctant to tell him. And Bojan didn't understand. Not until his sister pulled him aside one day before he started school and explained. Soulmate marks indicated something about his soulmate, but his was special. Bojan remembered that she specifically used the word special.

Not weird, not odd. Special.

She said that since his has more than one color, it probably means more than one soulmate. That there was nothing wrong eith that, but that he had to be careful since not everyone would understand. 

She told him it was easy enough to cover with clothes, but in case he needed to, she showed him how to hide it with makeup.

Bojan hadn't been seven for awhile now. He was twenty four and he understood much, much better why his sister was so careful about all of it. At best, people with multiple marks were looked down upon. And Bojan didn't always have the best of luck, either.

He wished he could say that the reason he wanted to convince Kris to join the band was purely because of talent. Not that Kris wasn't extremly talented because he was. Bojan was already laying groundwork to ask him to join. And then Kris tied his hair back in a ponytail, revealing his soulmark.

Four stripes. Red, pink, purple and blue. Perfectly lined up. 

Bojan had to swallow past the lump in his throat. Found one of you. 

He didn't want Kris to join the band because of that thiugh. So instead he did his best to charm him. Teasing and laughing and promising. Kris agreed, under the condition that Jan may join too.

"He is my best friend and my soulmate. I am not going anywhere without him."

How could have Bojan refused?

Kris and Jan were polar opposites that somehow managed to work in perfect harmony. Kris charmed you with his cute laugh and politeness, while Jan disarmed you with flirting and downright filthy things he could say with a straight face.

Bojan planned on telling them about his mark. He really did. It was just that everytime he tried, fear of rejection wrapped itself over his chest.

What if they didn't want him? What if it would make things weird? 

He was a coward. He knew as much. He just couldn't bring himself to tell them. 

His mark ached sometimes. Especially when he saw how gently Jan would kiss the mark on Kris's neck, or Kris wrapping his fingers around the one on Jan's wrist. 

Jan made it worse with the way he wore his so openly. Like a badge of honor. Bojan suggested him to put a bracelet or some makeup on it once, to hide it.

He remembered Jan's fury to this day.

"What, do you have something against it? Do you think I should be fucking ashamed of my soulmates?"

Bojan took a step back, raising his hands in a placating gesture.

"No, of course not...I just think it might be wise not to show it off. People get beaten up for less. I don't want to see you hurt."

Jan looked at him for one very long moment. Bojan felt like he was being carved from inside out and examined.

"Let me worry about that. What business of yours is that, anyway?"

Bojan's mark pulsed under his shirt. He resisted the urge to rub the pain away. He shrugged.

"None."

They never spoke of it again. Years passed and Bojan got used to the yearing that came with being so close and yet so far. 

And then Jure came along. Bojan was still sad because of Matic leaving. That's the only excuse he had for not noticing Jure's mark sooner.

It came to a head during summer vacation. Jure joined them at the pool. And on his leg, just under his knee, was a mark. Four strips. Yellow, pink, red and purple.

Bojan heard Kris gasp from somewhere far away. His own mark throbbed underneath the band aid he put on. The lie he said was that he had a scar from surgery that he didn't want to show. Jan teased him for being vain, but no one ever questioned it. 

He and Martin exchanged a glance. Silently agreeing to leave and give them a moment. If Bojan's heart felt heavy or his mark burned, knowing he belonged there too, well. That was only for him to know.

Bojan was running out of excuses. Jure made a perfect new addition to Kris and Jan. While they certainly took some time to find a way to navigate a new configuration, they did work it out. Sometimes Bojan was so jealous he could taste it. 

Which usually meant he got hammered and left with the first person who wanted to take him home and fuck him. 

Other times, he just got hammered and called Luka through Skype. Luka who'd cursed him out and scolded him for being an idiot, but would still try and get him to take care of himself. Made sure he drank water and had a bucket nearby.

That was probably more than he deserved.

"So let me get this straight. Three of your soulmates recently got together. Which disproved your theory about them not wanting you because they are monogamous. Shocker, really. And instead of telling them now, you got hammer."

Bojan raised a finger in the air.

"And made out with a girl at the party in front of them."

Luka pinched his nose. He took a deep breath.

"And made out with a girl in front of them. Great! Lovely! What's the next step in your brilliant, self-destructive plan?"

Bojan shrugged. Luka sighed again.

"You are a menace. But you are also my friend. Which means I want you to be a happy menace. Please tell them."

"I'll think about it."

Luka shook his head and looked at him sadly.

"Sure you will."

---

He didn't end up telling them. In his defense, he really was preoccupied. Few days later, Martin told him he was leaving the band to concentrate on finishing college.

Bojan grieved the loss of another friend, as ridiculous as it sounded. While Kris and Jan loved Martin as well, it was different. They had each other and Jure now.

So Bojan arranged everything for Martin's last concert with them. And looked for the replacement. Which was how he found Nace. 

Bringing Jan along was his first mistake. Perhaps if he hadn't it could have been avoided. 

Nace fit into the criteria to perfectly replace Martin on stage. Jure even joked they looked similar enough that fans won't even notice the difference. Bojan would, though. He wasn't only losing a friend who he worked with since the beginning, but also his last line of defense. 

His mark ached harder than before ever since Jure joined in. 

He and Jan interviewed Nace and it was all going well. Bojan was finally starting to relax, realizing Nace would be a good fit. He was responsible, but knew how to joke still. They did need someone to keep them in check on occasion. And Nace didn't drink. His guitar skills were amazing too. All in all, perfect.

Up until he took off his leather jacket and stayed only in short sleeves. Showing off a soulmark on his right biceps.

Four stripes. Yellow, pink, red and blue. Bojan froze. 

"Nace," Jan said, sounding almost breathless, "is that your soulmark?"

Nace looked at him in confusion. Jan raised his hand to show off his wrist and Nace's eyes widened. 

"You are-"

"Yes. And I have found the other two. You are the forth."

Bojan felt like he was watching a private moment. Nace seems to be at a loss on what to say, simply looking at Jan like he was a miracle.

"So...only one remains."

A lump formed in Bojan's throat. His mark burned viciously. As if it was screaming: I am here!  Bojan got up.

"I'll leave you to settle...um. This. I think we can conclude Nace is a good fit by what was said already anyway. Have fun."

Jan's heavy gaze followed him until he took a turn in the alley, away from the view of the café. 

The next few weeks were torture. Watching them was torture. The way they all balanced each other perfectly. Jure's jokes and pranks contrasted Nace's mature, thought out responses. Kris' anxious energy was match by Jan's always relaxed state. They mixed and matched and still-

God, his mark burned. Bojan had too many moments where he had to excuse hinself and just breathe. Will the pain away. 

They were all there. Missing only one puzzle piece. All he had to do was go there and tell them. Just-

"Bojan?" Nace gently called out, startling him.

He turned from where he was leaning on the sink in the kitch to face him. Nace was always so measured in his movements, in his words. He told that that was because he used to be wild in his teenage years. He appriciated measured, gebtle approach a lot more now. 

"Sorry, I got lost in thought. Did you need something?"

"I just wanted to talk to you, if you have a minute?"

Bojan shrugged, even as his defense mechanisms rose up. Did he know? How would he have even realized? No. Impossible. 

"Sure. Shoot."

Nace's gaze traveled over his face and Bojan had the urge to squirm. All of them were attractive of course, but Nace and Jan had this odd ability to make him feel like they knew all his secrets. Bojan didn't have time to unpack why he was bith terrified and attracted to the feeling.

"I know this whole thing can't be easy for you. With all of us being bonded, you must feel left out. And I am sorry if I contributed to that by joining the band."

Bojan bit his lip. Oh. That was so thoughtful. He felt even more guilty about lying now. 

"It's not your fault. And I'm-I'm glad you guys found each other. It just gets a bit...much, sometimes."

Nace nodded.

"I can imagine. Kris told me you haven't found your own match yet, so it must be doubly hard for you."

God. He could just tell him. Bojan opened his mouth.

"Nace I-"

"Nace!" 

Jure came running, to show Nace a very specific cat video. It broke their moment and Bojan's sudden bravery disappeared.

He didn't tell him.

Which was why he ended up at the bar again. This time, without any of them around. He chatted up a guy who vaguely reminded him of Nace. Accidentally of course. 

It tricked his brain into feeling safe. So Bojan wasn't watching his drink as attentively as he should have.

He only realized his mistake when the room started to spin. Panic gripped him. If he went to the bathroom, he was going to show he was suspicious. But what could he do?

Now, Bojan will admit he wasn't someone who ever studied the soulmate bond. But even he knew about it. In theory. He tried to block in out of his mind most of the timez terrified of exposing himself.

But in his panic and confusion, he found it. He could feel faint flashes of what the other four felt. And he, idiotically, pushed all his fear and panic through the bond. 

The closest way to describe the feeling was smashing the fire alarm. 

Suddenly he could feel all of them. As if they they were reaching out to him. Jan's fierce protectiveness, Kris gentle reassurance. Jure's playfulness was there, even with his worry. And Nace was a warm, stable presence of comfort.

Bojan's phone rang. The guy he was drinking with seemed annoyed, but it gave him an excuse to step away and answer the phone. 

He managed to make it out of the club, to the fresh, cold air. 

"Hello?"

"Bojan, where are you?"

Jan's voice was sharp and urgent. It immediately brought tears to Bojan's eyes.

"At the bar near my apartment. I'm sorry I-I think the guy put something in my drink. Everything is kind of spinning and I swear I only had one drink! Jan, I'm scared."

He heard Jan swearing at the other end, and there was such an intense wave of protectivness that came through the bond that Bojan felt like it wrapped around him. 

"It's okay. We are coming to get you. I will give Kris the phone now, okay? Stay on the line."

"Okay."

He sat on the ground, to get the spinning under control. He was so tired.

"Bojan? Can you hear me?"

"Kris," he sighed contentedly. 

Kris had such a nice, soothing voice. Bojan wanted to fall asleep to him talking.

"Yes, it's me. Can you tell me how are you feeling?"

Bojan hummed, thoughtful. Woth everything they were feeling, it was hard to pinpoint how he felt.

"Tired. Kinda sick? Not like I'll throw up but like I didn't eat something right. And everything is still spinning."

Kris kept talking to him and asking him irrelevant questions just to keep him on the line. Bojan fought against drifting off, but it became harder.

"Kris," he whined, "I am so tired."

He gently shushed him.

"I know sweetheart. Just a bit longer. We'll be there in a minute."

The rest was a blur. He remembered them picking him up and driving him home, but drugs made everything hazy. Last thing he remembered was being put to bed and then everything going dark.

[1-800-cheolie]

sick + reverse birthday drabble because I was running low with a fever on my own bday 💀 happy birthday month to my May babies though.

word count: 491

katsuki and you were inseparable as kids, sticking together like super glue. you were both attached to the hip until one day, he saw that you weren’t at school.

immediately after classes were over, he rushed over to your dorm room, knocking loudly on it. slipping out of bed, you groggily stand up with a pounding headache and open the door.

“are you okay?!” katsuki yelled as he stepped inside your bedroom. he stopped as he took a moment to process everything.

you were pale, your hair damp with sweat. “fucking hell, what happened? how the fuck do you get sick on your own birthday, dumbass?!”

you wince at the loud tone he uses, slipping back into your bed sheets, body trembling a bit.

“can you not yell, katsu?” letting out a cough into your arm, you sigh and turn away from him and face the wall. “I dunno, might’ve been the rain from yesterday. forgot an umbrella”

katsuki sighed as he walked over to your bed and sat down, he looked at you with worry. “you need a drink or anything?” he asked quietly.

it made him feel a little bad seeing you like this, he hated when the people he cared about got sick. he rubbed his neck, sighing as well.

“chicken noodle soup and some painkillers….sorry we couldn’t go out for my birthday” there’s disappointment in your voice. katsuki decides he’ll give it to you later.

“s’fine. you need to get better first, we can worry about what to do later for your birthday”

after a few minutes of getting chicken noodle soup and some painkillers, katsuki suddenly pulls out a little white box, decorated with a red bow atop of it, calling out to you.

shifting your body, you flip into your side and sniff, nose runny with sweat beads trickling down your head. “hm?”

“here. I know, I know we couldn’t go out but I had something for you.” he shoves the the box into your hand, glancing away.

a soft gasp leaves your mouth and you giggle, pulling out the bracelet you wanted the other day. despite being sharp around the edges, katsuki was quite observant when it came to you. “you’re the best, katsu! thank you, thank you!”

“yeah, yeah, pipe it down, dumbass. it was nothing much, anyways. get some rest or we won’t be able to hang out”

you do as told, setting the box aside. “mkay, thanks again katsu. see you later?”

“see you later…” he takes one last peek at your sleeping figure, lips twitching, the corner of his mouth curls upward. “happy birthday, dumbass”

bonus:

“no way!” you jump in excitement, rubbing your cheek against katsuki’s own. he doesn’t even pull away or attempt to push you off, grumbling under his breath. “you truly are the best!”

he threw a surprise birthday party for you, knowing how devastated you had been when you got sick.

“shaddup and eat your cake”

[luciddaydreamsstuff]

Desert Duo Doodles! I am in way too many fandoms to count, including content creators and whatnot. It wasn’t until a doodle of some CCs that I realised how many were MCYTs. But I wanted to draw these two cause I liked how I drew Scar in the other original doodle and have drawn Grian a bunch but constantly changed the design. Now I have one that I like.

Under the cut are the individual drawings plus stickers that I forgot to add to the original but decided fuck it it’s done, plus some explanation about design choices and headcanons. (Does anyone even care about that?) Idk and idc, I’ll ramble anyways.

(you don’t have to read the stuff, I don’t really care, but you can if you want)

First off, this one was annoying since it was supposed to be a hug. I was too lazy to draw the Third/Sercet Life outfits, so they are in their default outfits with crowns representing the fact that they won at least one of the Life games.

Ramble: For Grian’s design, I wanted to keep the bird/avian hybrid but also reference other series or past friend. The Life series has the poppy has memorabilia, the blue and red bracelet represents YHS/TS, and the eye necklace is for Evo. The tail is more so a mix of Watcher magic and Avian DNA, bird feet cause why not. The wing ears are hidden to look similar enough to his regular hair, I like to imagine that wing ears are a rarer trait and to not draw too much attention, he would use Watcher magic to change the colour of the wing ears to match his hair. The freckles are based off of the idea that Angel Dust’s freckles are actually just eyes (which were shown in the show), and I liked that idea. He didn’t have freckles before Evo but after in Hermitcraft he did, they are just eyes that are always closed though he can see out of them. It’ll be clearer in the next piece, but his eyes are based off of some bird eyes so a black sclera with coloured pupils. Grian just hides his eyes under his hair since they are more sensitive than normal. Also I didn’t wanna draw his eyes cause it was one of the things I kept changing before.

I’ll go into Scar later since it’s just a half body but he goes by the same rule of his outfit showing where he’s been. So the poppy and lavender for Third Life and the heart necklace for Secret Life. The earrings are based off of the crystals from Season 7.

Alter Egos! Or at least Hot Guy and Arianna Griande. Not much here, but you can see what I meant with the eyes beforehand.

Also, I can’t be the only one to notice or at least point out that Ari and Cute Guy have like the same or a least a very similar colour palette of pink and white.

Final one, and the two are taking a much needed nap. This could take place anywhere though I like to imagine somewhere in Double Life or somewhere between Season 7 - 10

(also I find it very funny how close these two’s bases were for Season 6 - 10. both were near each other in the futuristic district of season six, then next door neighbours at the start of season seven, I don’t need to mention much besides boatem in season eight, again near the start and most of season nine with Scarland and Grian’s timejump build, then finally again in season ten with Magic Mountain. just funny to me for some reason)

Ramble: Scar is like a hybrid between an elf/fae creature and a cat centaur (that I cannot remember the proper name for). The cat half is based off of Jellie, RIP, and his body is scarred because well I mean the dude is accident-prone it’s bound to happen. I imagine that Scar would wear slightly baggy outfits, like they hang off just a bit to not hug his figure. His hair is more based off of Season 9 with him leaning into the whole elf aesthetic, and I both hate and like the hair but whatever. Idk, I kinda just wanted to make him centaur based cause that visual isn’t something I see often. I imagine that hind legs are weaker than the front so he would switch between a cane and a wheelchair that you would see for animals. I might draw that later idk, but yea

If you actually took the time to read this incoherent mess, idk comment a content creator you like, no matter how niche they may be

[bugstung]

(Pretty much) All my headcanons and symbolisms for my EmpiresSMP designs!

With some further detailling about some stuff under read more

Season 1

Pixl: Watchers are not some big bad evil Gods, but astral spirits watching over the worlds. As they See everything, they are often linked to the Vigil (as well as people given the gift of prophecy)

The life symbol was added after his alliance with Joey

Joel: A terracotta statue given life from the Mother Tree, he's flesh and bones (because magic), but him (and all the Mezalea habitants) returned to their statue form when Joel died of grief.

He does have other clothes to work in, but you're practically never going to see him in those.

Some other Mezalea headcanons

Jimmy: Most witches come from the swamp, and he's one of them. They specialize in potions and talismans.

Hair are important to codfolks, the act of brushing or braiding them are used in certain spells, thus why most codfolks don't have short hair.

His appearance is also more wild looking than before because of his slow transformation into a God.

The Cod Alliance gifted each other jewelries to remind and protect each others.

(Pixl and Joel's jewelries are under their clothes as necklaces)

Wizards vs Witches

Coldfolk culture and more

Some more codfolk thoughts

After killing a certain amount of salmons, codfolks get a tattoo of dead salmons somewhere on their body.

Pearl: Similarly to Mythland, they see physical activities and fights as important (mostly for work but also protect themselves from ennemies).

I. don't have anything from Shrub I'm sorry I didn't watch her and I don't know her lore very well

Gem: Gem and fWhip grew up together to be wizards in the Crystal Cliffs, pressured to be perfect by their elders. Gem turned out to be naturally talented at magic, so everything rested on her shoulders.

She still keeps a lot of her strict education, but tries to make a change in the stressful wizard society.

She has a ring to represent the WRA (and another for magic channeling), and lots of scars from magic experiments.

Hair and the Geminitays

Wizards vs Witches (again, but it's important for Gem and fWhip lore)

fWhip: As said in the posted linked above, fWhip failed the wizard exams (he doesn't have any magical powers) and ran away in the newly founded Grimlands. His ingenuousness made him Count of the Grimlands. The Grimlands do not do magic. They mix science, engineering and alchemy instead. Symbols similar to sigils (or those of alchemy) are often seen engraved in their creations.

The deepslate corruption gave him wings, but they were not strong enough to fly so he has prosthetics to help him fly

He's actually quite clumsy, and ended up with lots of scars, and a missing hand:

Joey: (clearer design of his crown, made to ressemble the pharmacy snake thingie)

He bleaches his own hair.

He bleeds gold, and his scars are golden as well from his over use of Totems of Undying

Him being an avian allowed him a easy access to the Lost Empire. He wears the Ocelot print to look a bit more like its habitants.

Also his spit has healing properties.

Sausage: Mythland and Magic

Blood sheeps are sacred, but also feared, thus the fur to protect the citizens a bit from them.

Sausage lost his eyes when sparring with fWhip when younger. fWhip made him the eye prosthesis, and Gem enchanted it. May or may not have become corrupted in the whole Xornoth thing so they did another one for him.

Scott: I surprisingly do not have much for him. His cape can turn into wings. He stopped being able to do that when his ice powers showed up because they froze.

Very strict haircut, elves must be tidy and proper all the time.

Lizzie: She adapted rather well to her transformation, mostly changed her clothes for better swimming. Joel jokingly made her a bracelet to replace her now too small ring "in case she grows again", but she wears it seriously.

S2 Joel has very similar clothes to her because of faint memories.

Katherine: Yeah I fucked and forgot to color her inking, she was supposed to look like this (I noticed too late and never bothered to correct it)

Katherine has this whole "I want to be friends with everyone" that I associate with lambs, thus her ears and hooves. She's a fae with some weird morals.

SEASON 2

I have wayyy less for season 2, especially for the empires themselves.

fWhip: Goblins are direct descendants from the Grimlands (and a few from Crystall Cliffs), that hid underground after the explosion. They kept digging and exploring the caves until they found a place to settle. The green skin, cat like paws and eyes are from them adapting to living in caves.

Food is very important to them, they eat several times a day, and often have banquets. They also kept the Grimlands technique of blacksmithing, but adapted it for gold.

Jimmy: Yeehaw he's a cowboy. Not much to say ngl, I do headcanon him as a werewolf depending on the day.

Tumble Town heard cows, but also creepers (where do you think they get that gunpowder from!!) (headcanon from @doodleshrimpsad). Also, cats are sacred there

Pixl: He's got some magical and futuristic technology making him able to see builds and events from the past.

Got some knees problems, thus the cane. It has sigils on it that he wrote himself based of books from old times (I'm thinking they're sigils from the Cod Empire and the Grimlands)

I desperatly need to think about more about Pixandria, and how tf David (or at least a newer version of it) arrived at the Ancient City.

Joel: Yeah he got top surgery and got a cool tattoo of laurels, but he also bleeds gold and his scars are golden. God don't bow to human rules anyway.

The braid come from a habit he can't doesn't remember getting. it feels important.

Lower Stratos got a lot of rituals, prayers and offering but I haven't figured those out exactly. Just know that I associate s2 Joel with Dionysus a lot so expect similar stuff /sweats/

False: I have literally no idea what's going in her empire, and even less in her lore. The hp name put me off so. Idk. Cool clocks. She got a prosthetic leg.

Sausage: I haven't gotten to his lore part of his videos so idk his backstory. But he does have a cape that ressemble parrot wings because jungle, animals yadda yadda

Scott: He was actually due a redesign that I haven't gotten to yet so.

The outfit I've drawn him in that lineup is an everyday look, while the costume is for empires meeting or exploring.

Oli: Silly bard, his hat has faling strings that reminded me of floppy bunny ears and I thought it was cute. He bleaches his hair.

Got a lot of magic in his songs, people often stops by at his Kingdom just to hear sing and dance. They're a bit hypnotic and people seem to feel better afterwards.

Katherine: That's her monster hunter clothes. She still wants to keep it cute so pink skirt it is. That would be her normal clothes (it's like reverse magical girl, her poofy dress is her everyday dress)

Shelby: I do not have much for her (again), but I can link my Wizard vs Witches post again because it has my headcanons of why witches have academies now.

After all the complicated spells, she likes to do simple fashion magic. Tying a knot or a bow is to seal a spell, so she uses them a lot to do some simple protection spells on her clothes.

Pirate Joe: He's wearing lots of stolen jewelries, some may be enchanted, some may be cursed. Who knows? Not him.

The gold earring come from that belief among pirates that having a golden earrings gives you a better eyesight ( it's from a acupuncture point, and for some, wearing gold in the proper pierced place would help your eyesight).

Katherine did that braid in his hair, and Joe (like cod folks and crystal cliffs habitants), believes that braiding someone's hair means they will fall in love with you.

Gem: I'll have to link back that link about Hair and Geminitays as it got everything I got for her. She sometimes fight with Katherine about hair and its importance. My start of headcanons kinda got crushed because she's linked to hc Gem so idk what to do with her or her kingdom anymore.

Lizzie: She's got her mask to hide her cat face, but her bow is actually a charm hiding her other cat features. The mask is just to be sure.