#Since tumblr hates exposed skin i made this instead

[spicyet]

What do you mean, this isn't how their hug went?

[snifflesthemouse]

This morning, I read an article titled “I went undercover in the sinister world of Meghan Markle hate accounts" posted to Refinery 29. The title gives the impression of a journalist disguising one’s self as a “Meghan Markle hater” for the sake of getting to the bottom of something. However, the content of the article is nothing like its title.

Before I go further, let me stress the importance of perspective. My post isn’t an attack on the article’s author. I’ve never even heard of the author before now, and I’ve no right or reason to attack a perfect stranger because I vehemently disagree with the content of their work. Making assumptions about someone solely on what they write is lazy and sloppy in my opinion. I may be lazy and sloppy, but a hypocrite I try not to be. Therefore, go forward remembering my issues are with content, not creator.

The article starts out explaining the origins of the term “Megxit”. It continues with other hashtags, conspiracy theories, and so on. The article even mentions various media platforms “attacking" the Duchess, as well as crude posts witnessed by the author.

Then the name dropping begins. First with Murky Meg, then Sue Blackhurst, then According2Taz, then Skippyv20 on Tumblr, then Yankee Wally. Eventually, names of Royal Rota journalists are dropped. Then people like Angela Levin and Omid Scobie get mentioned, with interviews from the latter. Instead of an undercover sting, we get a “Who’s Who" of Megxit, a few anonymous Sussex Squad quotations, and Omid trying his best to be fair.

What this article accomplishes is very little when it comes to objectivity. The title is a misconception, and the content essentially paints targets on the backs of the people the author carelessly considers “Meghan Markle Haters". The article reduces anyone who disagrees with Meghan’s behavior as racist, misogynist, conspiracy theorist nutters. So, not only is the content of the article sloppy and lazy, it also lacks originality. We’ve all heard this sad song-and-dance number a million times.

I guess at face value, it becomes very easy, effortless really, for outsiders looking in to reduce an entire group of people with similar views to the basic stereotypes as old as time. It takes very little thought, consideration, or critical analysis, to assume things because they seem to correlate. But correlation is not causation. Just because some people opposing of Meghan Markle’s behavior happen to be racist doesn’t mean every single opposing person is also racist. Again, lazy and sloppy.

Just like assuming every single Meghan Markle fan is also vegan, anti-monarchy, feminist, woke warriors is downright sloppy and lazy. This author has personally interacted with and found common ground with Sussex Squad people many times. Some even became social media friends. They believe what they do, and I believe what I do. We do not agree with most things regarding Harry and Meghan, but we do agree to disagree and be civil.

So, contrary to the article, not all people “hate" Meghan Markle just because they detest her behavior. It’s important to remember extremes exist for all spectrums. Every topic, especially those politicized or made popular by media platforms, have extremes. There is no denying the fact that there are people who hate Meghan Markle because of her ethnicity. Those extremists who hate Meghan for her ethnicity ironically do not discriminate, though. If they hate her for her ethnicity, they hate ALL people of that same ethnicity.

On the flip side of this coin, is the other extreme. The face is the same on each side because the face represents extremism. There is no denying the fact that there are extremists who see anyone opposing Meghan as racists. Extremists who, by default, view every issue in the world through the lens of racism. While racism is a serious problem that deserves no place in society, assuming racism is the root cause of every conflict is also lazy and sloppy. And the same could be said that these extremists do not discriminate, either. If they see race as the only issue for why people “hate" Meghan Markle, they see race as the only issue for most everything.

The problem with both extremes is when everything and everyone is reduced to racial identity, racism only continues to exist. A racist using skin color as a disqualifier perpetuates racism. Assuming racism is the only reason behind disdain for someone only perpetuates racism. Focusing on race or racism allows no room for content of character.

Especially when people defend Meghan Markle being the victim of racism with a racist rule. When opposing critics say “I didn’t even know she was Black" or suggest her physical features, her Hollywood CV, or past involvement with Black causes were nonexistent before she became a duchess or stepped down from being a working royal, the extremists on the other side often resort to the One Drop Rule.

Which means their defense for calling Meghan Markle “haters" racists, even though they might have never knew she was mixed race, is a form of racism. The One Drop Rule was borne from the Reconstruction Era post-Civil War. The “rule" essentially said anyone who appeared to have Black features were considered Black.

The One Drop Rule was the precursor and eventual backbone to Jim Crow Laws of the South. It was used to oppress and segregate Americans based on physical appearance. Considering most people who never heard of Meghan before Harry came along were ignorant to her mixed heritage, it seems grossly negligent to assume race is the real issue. How can one be racist toward Meghan when they didn’t know she was mixed race? This author wasn’t aware of Meghan’s ethnicity prior to it being pointed out (by her and Harry. Repeatedly.), mainly because this author didn’t care.

Like so many, when I first saw Meghan and Harry together for the engagement interview, I was more excited about a fellow American joining the Royal Family. After learning she was biracial, well it was even better. It represented change and progress. Does that mean I saw the Royal Family as racists beforehand? No. It means I saw them as exactly the opposite. Had they been racist, she’d not be a duchess. Her being American and divorced was more a shock to me than being mixed.

The point of all this is there are extremists on every spectrum. For a journalist to say they went undercover, when in fact they did not, to expose the true motives behind Meghan Markle “haters", only to find they did very little to really understand the other side was disappointing. Not surprising, just disappointing. This could’ve been an excellent opportunity for someone to take the reigns and make bridges between two very passionate factions. Instead it became nothing more than a hit piece.

The article fails to acknowledge the possibility – no, the probability – that most people who object to Meghan Markle do so because of how she behaves. The article only considers one possibility behind this “hate". And by calling the objections “hate", the article in turn defines all criticisms as hate speech. Again, unoriginal, sloppy, and lazy.

So here we have it, yet another article grouping and stereotyping anyone who disapproves of Meghan and Harry as racist haters. Yet again, another article name dropping people “deemed racist haters", essentially painting even bigger targets on the backs of those people. Like they didn’t already have enough hate mail. Yet again, another sloppy, lazy, article that never digs below the surface to understand why instead of assuming it.

This isn’t new, it’s just another slop drop from the sensationalism machine that has replaced fair, legitimate journalism. It would be different if there weren’t so many questions surrounding the births. It would be different if Meghan Markle actually lived by the example she so vehemently preaches. It would be different if Meghan Markle would make amends with her own family before telling the world how they should treat people. It would be different if Meghan Markle were a strong woman instead of claiming to be one.

But it’s not different. She hasn’t spoken to her father since two days before her wedding three years ago. She denies the family connections that existed before her fame. She ghosts people once they are no longer of benefit. She preaches equality and universal service while using her title every chance given. She and her husband criticize the “family she never had" while naming their second child after that family’s Matriarch. All of those are behaviors that incite strong emotional responses. Behaviors. And behavior has no racial identity.

A final note… hypocrisy is the main reason people have issues with anything. When one group of people tells another group to stop attacking a public figure, while using assumptions as their crusade call, it’s hypocrisy. One cannot say “if you can’t take the heat, then shut up!” to another without being a hypocrite. When that happens, don’t be surprised when the same exact thing is said back. If Meghan or her fans can’t take the criticism, they shouldn’t participate in it. We all have the right to choose. Just like if I couldn’t handle the criticism, I’d not be writing this.

Life is not fair. The world is a dark, cruel place. When we expect the world to bend to the will of a few, we are setting ourselves above the majority. A strong woman would know this. A strong woman fighting for others would also know that the only person responsible for how one feels is one’s self. External feedback isn’t responsible for internal turmoil. Internal feedback is. That is all.

REFERENCE:

Amoako, A. (2021 June 11). I went undercover in the sinister world of Meghan Markle hate accounts. Refinery29. Retrieved from: https://www.refinery29.com/en-gb/2021/06/10518195/megxit-meghan-markle-anti-fandom

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair

Chapter 23: Wings of a Flutterby

Summary: “Jamie had always considered the presence of a flutterby to be a blessing.”

Read on AO3

Read chp 23 on tumblr below the cut

Previous, master list, next

A/n: After seeing a very cute thread on twitter about how Jamie canonically calls butterflies "flutterbys," I had to make the addition to this chapter because it was too soft to pass up. So, inspired by @Sassenach7471, thanks for reminding me of this sweetness!

Chapter 23: Wings of a Flutterby

***

Claire lay on her stomach in front of Jamie in the middle of the living room floor, her arms folded underneath her head as she lazed. Jamie, for his part, sat cross-legged behind her, completely and utterly enamored. 

The dress she was wearing had a large open back, covered only by tiny straps, which left her beautiful, translucent wings exposed. Jamie’s fingers were delicately tracing the edge of them where they lay flat on her back. They were so incredibly soft, so delicate, that Jamie could only bring himself to give them the barest hint of a touch. But he was entranced. 

He’s always been told never to touch the wings of a flutterby for fear of damaging them, so when Claire had given him permission to touch hers (after he'd gaped open-mouthed at her in that dress), it felt so deliciously forbidden. Even though he’d never exactly touched a flutterby’s wings before, he’d felt them flap against his skin as the flutterby hovered around him, the flitting sensation of softness before it was gone, out of reach. Claire’s wings felt much the same as he’d imagine a flutterby’s would if he could touch them in this way, only Claire kept hers still and on display for him to pay due reverence. 

Jamie had always seen the presence of a flutterby as a blessing— if they were near him, it was because of their choice, not his. He remembered as a kid being out in his mother’s garden, sitting as still as possible in hopes that one might land on him in passing. 

Claire was much the same. An ethereal creature that somehow had landed on his life, had chosen him… him… over anything else, giving herself fully and utterly without hesitation. 

Growing more bold, he trailed a finger down across one of the silvery veins that stretched across her wing. Claire gave a little shudder, making Jamie pause, but it was followed immediately by a contented sigh. 

“How does it feel?” Jamie asked as he continued to wander the surface of her wing with gentle exploratory touches. 

“Hmmn… nice,” Claire hummed. 

Jamie spared a glance up at her face to find her eyes were closed. Her cheek was squished just slightly where it lay against her arm, and Jamie nearly melted at the sight.  

“Like when I touch yer skin?” he probed. In demonstration, he brought his fingers to the skin of her back in between her wings, smoothing them down along the bumps of her spine. 

She shivered again, shifting her head, and then answered dreamily, “no. It’s different. I can’t really explain, it’s like… my wings are more… sensitive.” 

Jamie hummed in acknowledgement and returned his touch to her wings. They fluttered a little at the unexpected sensation, flitting against his hands, and that only served to make him more eager. As they settled again, Jamie began drawing absent circles over the surface with his fingertips. 

They weren’t paper thin, but still so heartbreakingly delicate. Their golden hue seemed to shimmer in the light from the window, although it was soft and barely noticeable if he hadn’t been studying them so closely. He couldn't get enough. 

It was unreal. 

His body was nearly trembling with excitement over this strange experience. As relaxed as Claire was, Jamie was pulsing with energy, thrilled by this newfound intimacy. He could touch her forever and never tire of it— wings or no. The thought that this strange creature was his awed him to no end... 

Absorbed as he was, he barely even noticed Claire was moving until she had sat up, her wings fluttering freely as she did. Jamie drew back, not wanting to hurt her as they moved, and he sat watching like a besotted fool as she turned to him. 

Her eyes seemed glazed with serenity, her whole posture carefree and relaxed. His touch had melted her into a puddle of soft warmth, and Jamie came to the realization that she was about to be all over him the second before she did just that.

She moved slowly but nonetheless insistently, and Jamie found himself absolutely covered in faerie a second later. She had straddled him and pushed him down on the floor as Jamie obediently relented. He let her drape herself over him as he leaned back, staring up at her in enrapturement. The second he was laying on the ground, Claire spread out at length upon him, she purred, “It’s your turn.” 

A dhia. 

“What?” He sputtered, his brain having halted all proper function at the feeling of her body spread on top of him. 

Lord give him strength. 

“It’s your turn,” she repeated, “On your front.” 

Jamie’s brain snapped back into his head as he realized what she was asking. Getting himself in check through some monumental force of will, Jamie managed to smile up at the hooded eyes above him. 

“Lass, I canna turn over when ye’re on top of me.” 

Claire was too tranquil to laugh or flush. She just hummed in acknowledgement, brushed her nose against Jamie’s once (making his wame twist), and then removed herself from his body. 

Jamie mourned the loss instantly, but he turned over onto his stomach as ordered, mirroring the position Claire had just been in, lounging on his front. 

As soon as he was settled, soft wee hands slid under his tee shirt, pushing it up. Then, lips met skin. 

He had to resist the impulse to jerk away as she kissed the scars, her lips warm and tender. No one had ever touched him fondly there— before her— and never in his life had he imagined someone kissing him the ugly evidence of his pain. 

Her lips touched the scarred flesh again, this time further up, and Jamie shivered. Gooseflesh broke out along his arms as her hand smoothed down the length of his back. She took her time, her touch gentle and intentional. 

“You’re so beautiful,” she said reverently. 

Every insecurity in Jamie screamed at him to deny it, to say something to the contrary, or even just joke about getting her eyesight checked. But the next brush of lips made the words die in his throat. He simply remained silent as tears gathered in his eyes. 

Her fingers traced the criss-cross of his scars for a long time, easing the tension from his muscles with her soft touch until Jamie was just as relaxed as his faerie. 

He wasn’t expecting it when a solid weight rested on his back, and he realized she’d laid her head down on him. 

“I love you,” she said softly, her fingers still tracing over his shoulder blade, “all of you.” 

Jamie wished that he were sitting up— or anywhere that he wasn’t trapped like this— so he could embrace her as he answered, “that means more than ye know, mo nighean donn.” 

Her hand smoothed back and forth over his side in response. He could feel her breathing— slow and deep— against him. 

“Dinna fall asleep on me there, lass,” he joked quietly. 

“I’m not.” She answered so softly that he wasn’t entirely convinced of the validity of the statement. “I just want you to know that I love every part of you.” 

The warmth in Jamie’s chest could have melted even the most ancient ice. Claire’s loving his scars couldn’t take away his insecurities— couldn’t magically heal the years of hating his body— but she gave him hope that one day he might be able to love himself with even a fraction of the intensity with which she loved him. 

Jamie pushed up on his elbows (Claire letting out a displeased noise at his disruption), and he hastily sat up to take her into his arms as he’d been wishing to do ever since she’d begun her ministrations. 

She went willingly as he pulled her into his chest, and they stayed pressed together as two parts of the same whole, serenity wrapped around them with the comfort of a blanket. 

*** 

Later that day, Jamie finally had the chance to introduce Claire to the wonders of literature. After finding out weeks ago that the fair folk didn’t have a written language, Jamie had been positively itching to introduce Claire to some of his favorite books. The choice had been brutal—Jamie being the book lover that he was— but finally, he had decided on Lord of the Rings. 

As soon as the decision had been made, he’d begun to prepare Claire, telling her everything he could think of about reading and books and human literature so she’d be ready before hearing the story. 

When the time finally came— and Claire had draped herself over Jamie’s lap, holding onto his neck and laying her head on his shoulder so she could stare the book as he read— Jamie found it rather hard to concentrate on the words. He had to block out her touches and reactions in order to give her the proper experience of hearing him read. After not too long, Jamie began to get the hang of it— it’d been a long while since he’d read aloud to anyone, but the story came alive as he grew more comfortable. 

Claire had hummed with excitement the whole time, stifling her wonderment into Jamie’s shoulder as he read with enthusiasm. 

“You’re a wonderful story teller, Jamie,” she praised during a break at the end of a chapter. 

“Thank ye, lass, but it isna so hard when the story is just here in front of me.” 

“You’re getting all that story from there?” she asked, pointing dubiously at the page. 

“Aye, much easier than remembering the whole thing,” he answered. 

She’d pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You humans are so sweet,” she said fondly, “we just treasure everything worth telling inside of us.” 

“Oh lass,” Jamie said, “I canna wait until ye hear more. There’s so much out there, more than we could ever remember ourselves. I’ll make a bookworm out of ye yet.” 

Getting back to business, Jamie squeezed Claire closer with his free arm and resumed reading. Her attention soon shifted from the page (which was meaningless to her) and instead rested on Jamie’s face as he read. He found himself distracted by her regard and her wandering hands that were doing their best to draw him away from his reading. 

“A nighean,” he said at one point, looking away from the book to level her with a mock stern look. Her hand froze over his nose where she’d been tracing up and down the bridge of it, “I canna concentrate on reading.” 

“Oh,” she said, abashed, withdrawing her hands, “sorry.” 

“Are ye enjoying the story so far, a leannan?” he asked. He had to prepare himself for the possibility that he was boring her, although hearing her say out loud that she didn’t like Lord of the Rings would probably break his heart. 

“I love it!” she exclaimed quickly, straightening herself against him, “it’s amazing. I’m sorry, please keep going.” 

“Okay,” he chuckled, “maybe jes’ let me focus on the reading for a bit, aye?” 

*

After they’d finished their section of reading— Jamie closing the book as if parting from an old friend— Claire pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek. 

“Thank you for telling me your story,” she said softly. 

He couldn’t help but laugh at hearing it referred to as “his,” but he didn’t have it in his heart to correct her outright. 

“We’ll read more of Tolkien’s story another time. Would ye like that?” 

She nodded enthusiastically, her curls bouncing and her smile melting his heart all over again. How could anyone ever look at her and not love her?— he wondered. He would spend all day, every day pouring out his soul just to see a glimpse of that smile. 

“Would ye tell me a story of the fair folk?” Jamie asked suddenly, longing to experience a part of her world as she was experiencing his. 

She raised up from where her head had just rested back on his shoulder. 

“I would love to tell you a story, Jamie,” she said, but something about the tone of her voice seemed… off. Was she sad? Had bringing up her home been a mistake? “But later. I don’t know, I… I don’t really feel much like storytelling at the moment.”

“That’s alright, a leannan,” Jamie reassured, “I just want ye to ken how much I care about yer stories too.” 

Claire wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her head underneath his jaw, squeezing tightly. 

“I love you, Jamie,” she said. 

“I love you more, mo nighean donn.”

***

Next

[sevens-binarycode]

This is my first fan fiction ever and my first post ever on Tumblr so lets see how this goes. Also warning: I am not caught up on MHA so this is based mainly on what I’ve seen others write about and this is self indulgent because I just really want to write Kirishima fluff.... Oops

Kirshima x female reader (chubby version)

The light from your phone burns your eyes as the colorful outfits pass your screen. Girls with the perfect hourglass body and flawless makeup fill our vision. Comments praising them for looking that way come in by the thousands. Your hand lifts to rest on your stomach, cringing at the plush skin underneath. Your mind fills with thoughts of hatred. If only you looked like those girls. They look so pretty, wearing crop tops and shorts that barely cover their butts. If only you had a flat stomach, one that didn’t poke out over your jeans and jiggle when you laughed. You wake from your daze when your phone screen goes black from inactivity. There, you see your face, smooshed with a double chin from laying on your bed. You stare at the girl in the reflection, her cheeks puffy and chin squshed from the fat underneath it. No tears fall from your eyes however, instead your body and mind is numb. You have shut down. You lower your phone and stare at the ceiling thinking about how unnatractive you are. Thinking about the extra weight that keeps adding on, preventing you from wearing cute clothes or even clothes you used to be able to wear. You just stare, numb and motionless, not even the sound of Kirishima entering the house and calling your name takes you out of your trance.

Kirishima POV

Keys jingle as the spiky redhead opens the door to his and his girlfriends apartment. He knows she is off work today and has been having a hard time recently so after he finished at his agency he stopped by to get her favorite pastries. Thinking about his beautiful girlfriend makes the boy smile as he pushes open the door and calls for her only to get no response. Normally she is out in the living room or kitchen, but seeing as she is not he can only assume she is in their room taking a nap, after all, she has been stressed and overworked lately. He takes of his shoes and sheds his jacket before heading to their bedroom. He grabs the door handle and turns to open it, there he finds the girl he loves laying in bed. He smiles at her figure, taking in her outfit. She was wearing a baggy shirt and sweat pants but she still looked adorable in his eyes. Looking at her torso he saw that she was mindlessly pinching her stomach under her shirt, her plush skin rising and falling at the pressure, his heart skipped a beat seeing this, only to stop when he saw her face. She laid there, staring at the ceiling, completely spaces out. It was them that he realized what was going on. She was judging herself again. His smile long forgotten as his heart ached at the sight. His beautiful girlfriend, the one and only love of his life, was hating on herself. He never really understood how she didn’t like her appearance, from the moment he laid eyes on her, he thought she wes the most beautiful creature to walk this Earth. Her thick thighs kissing each other, tummy looking so soft and comfy, he just wanted to hug her, touch her, feel the squish of her skin in his arms. He soon found out that what he saw as perfect, were the things she hated the most. That the things he loved haunted her everyday. He tried to tell her that she was gorgeous in every way but she could never fully believe him. She tried not to talk about it with him, not wanting to bother him so he thought it was getting better, that he was finally getting through her thick skull, but seeing her like this only broke his heart. She wasn’t getting better, she was suffering alone. He dropped the bags and forced his feet to walk towards her on the bed. The shifting snapped her out of her trance but before she could react she felt warm lips kissing her hand on her stomach along with a hand slowly removing it, allowing his mouth to touch her tummy. The soft contact made her eyes wide. She tried to fight him, pulling her shirt down but he forced her hands away, looking at her with pleading eyes a soft please falling from his lips. Her heart ached seeing her boyfriend finding her like this. His gaze moved down to her stomach, plump and beautiful. He landed one more kiss on it before resting his head on her, taking a deep breath before speaking.

“Pebble. What were you thinking about?” He asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Nothing Kiri, can you please get off.” The girl replied, feeling self conscious of her exposed skin. She felt his hands squeeze hers a little before letting go, still not moving. She tried to push his shoulders to get him off but he wouldn’t budge.

“I know you were judging yourself again pebble. You were hating on yourself again” The red head says, moving his hand to the side of her waist, he squeezed a little trying to calm himself down but it only made the girl more self conscious. “You were hating your beautiful tummy, and your perfect thighs weren’t you?” The boy asks.

“They aren’t beautiful or perfect, they are ugly and gross.” The girl mumbled. Kirishima felt his heart break at her words. He lifted his head to look at her but she stared a the ceiling. His brows furrowed a little at the sight. He would not put up with anyone hating on his girlfriend, even if it was herself. He lifted her shirt a little more before biting on the exposed skin a little. The girl jumped at the pain and looked down at him.

“They aren’t ugly and they are most definitely not gross. They are apart of you, and not a single part of your is gross or ugly. You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen and anyone who says otherwise can fuck off because you are perfect.” He says never breaking eye contact. The earnest words make the girls heart ache a little. Maybe she was to hard on herself. Maybe she wasn’t as gross as she thought. After all, she was able to rope in an amazing, beautiful guy like Kirishima. Maybe.... She wasn’t as bad as she thought. Her lips curled slightly as her eyes began to water. The boys hard face softened into a sympathetic smile, he brought a hand to her face, holding her cheek as swiping a thumb under her eye. Finally, his words reached her, at least a little bit. “Now, how about some pastries? I bought your favorite.” The boy said starting to raise himself off the girl only to feel a hand pull him back down.

“Can you... Kiss my tummy.... One more time?” The girl asked shyly. Her face was red at her request. She wasn’t fully comfortable with the idea but she decided that exposure was the best thing to getting over this. The boys smile widened and his eyes sparkled. Let’s just say that it wasn’t just once :)

Thanks for reading. I’m really bad at proof reading my own work since I already know what I was saying/ meant to say and get bored easily so I miss mistakes that aren’t super obvious. Sorry if there are any mistakes :)

[alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer]

all gone, all gone, all gone

part 3: it will not be at all or any better

CW: kidnapping, suicidal thoughts, manipulation, descriptions of bullying, child abuse, and toxic relationship

as a disclaimer (and acknowledgement), some of the dialogue is from what I remember of the book, and some of it is based on takes i've seen on tumblr that I agreed with!

Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3 | Masterlist

Thomas never made it to the Devil Tavern that night. His throat burned when he woke, a mixture of dehydration and whatever drug had been used to incapacitate him.

“There you are,” a familiar voice drawled. “Finally. I was worried I’d perhaps gotten the dosage incorrect and killed you.”

Alastair. “You were worried about me?”

“Ha, I suppose not. Would have been a lot more work if you’d died, though. Belial surely wouldn’t’ve been happy if I killed you before he got his hands on you.” He approached Thomas with a glass of water. “Drink,” he ordered.

Thomas wanted to refuse, but he was so thirsty that he could not stop to worry about whatever Alastair may have snuck into the drink. When Alastair finally took the glass away, he attempted to regain his composure. “What do you want from me?”

Alastair shrugged. “I’m sure Belial has his uses for you. Until then… I am to get as much information from you as I can.” He picked up a knife from a table and spun it around with a flourish. “Whilst leaving you in one piece.”

“Why are you doing this?” He hadn’t entirely intended to ask the question out loud, but it hung in the air anyways.

Alastair rolled his eyes. “What, you expect me to hold some sort of loyalty to you? What’ve you ever done to earn it? You truly expect the world to be handed to you, still? You despise me, Thomas. You send me rude letters and threaten me at large gatherings. Give me one reason why I should ever choose your side instead of Belial’s.”

A wave of guilt crashed over Thomas. He knew he’d made mistakes. He was simply angry. He was never trying to hurt Alastair. Thomas wondered whether he would have treated him differently if he’d known what he was hiding. “Cordelia. What about your sister?”

He shook his head. “Before, I had all of these ideas about what I owed her and the world and what I deserved myself. I felt it sensible to give all of myself to others, to give endless compassion and protection and patience to the people I cared about and accept when they gave me nothing in return. Belial helped me to see clearly.”

“What did he do to you?”

Alastair flung the knife, it soaring right past Thomas’ head. He braced himself but never felt an impact. The blade splinted the wood behind him. “Belial made me strong,” Alastair said coolly. Thomas could tell his outburst was not out of anger; he was making a play at intimidation. Thomas would not show him just how terrified he truly was.

“You were already strong.” Thomas’ heart ached for the boy beneath this creature that Belial had created. Though that wasn’t entirely true, was it? It had not just been Belial, it had been Elias, it had been every cut and lash that had led Alastair to the bridge that night. Perhaps some inflicted by Thomas himself.

“I was weak. Love is weakness. Perhaps it is not for everyone, but in my family? In my family, the cost of love is hopelessness. All of us are destined to love those who will never truly care for us.” Thomas thought of Cordelia. Did he know the marriage had been false?

“What did you think I couldn’t see how deeply my sister felt for James? How he disregarded her over and over again for Grace Blackthorn? I understand now that the situation was more complex, but my sister did not marry him thinking that he did not love her back because of a bracelet, she believed he did not love her at all. Such seems to be our curse. So when Belial came to me, when he offered me our deal, I thought, wouldn’t it be nice to not care, too?”

“Love makes us human, Alastair.”

“Good thing, then, that you and your friends already thought me a heartless monster.”

Thomas bit at the inside of his cheek. It was true. He’d spent months, years convincing himself that Alastair was cruel and uncaring. He wanted desperately to know how he could have confused hurting for heartlessness. A thought creeped into his mind, one that had been pestering him ever since he learned of Cordelia’s letter. Had Thomas been one of those people? One of the ones Alastair gave himself to and received nothing in return? He studied his expression, but could read nothing. “It was you, wasn’t it? The person who was following me when I went out at night? You- You were protecting me.”

Alastair didn’t waver. “Perhaps I was.”

“But… why?” He was correct, Thomas had treated him more than poorly the past few months. Why would he risk his life to protect him? Why would he do it all in secret, not even leaving behind a trace of his true intentions in his letter to his sister? In fact, he was fairly certain that if Alastair had been killed, if it were not immediately apparent that he had been following Thomas, he would have assumed that Alastair had some completely separate business that he was taking care of, and they merely happened to be in similar places at the same time. Why would he do that? Perhaps he did not want to risk exposing what Thomas was doing? Or… perhaps he wanted to save him from the guilt?

Alastair approached him non-threateningly, but he could not forget the dagger in his hand. “Because you have shown me kindness in the past, and there are not many people in this world who have done so. I thought it would be most unfortunate for you to die alone, recklessly trying to repair your guilt over not saving your sister.”

“I- I wasn’t- I was just trying to find the killer. So that no one else would get hurt. I had to go alone; going in pairs or groups… it’s too obvious. He would hear you coming.”

“Is that what you told your friends?”

Admittedly, his friends hadn’t asked very many questions about his whereabouts and his actions, so he hadn’t explained it to them. He didn’t answer.

“There may be an element of truth to that, but you and I both know that’s not the whole of it. You couldn’t save your sister. The killer may not have been responsible for her death, but it didn’t matter. Evil is evil, whatever form it takes. You went alone because you knew the risk you were taking, you knew the danger you were putting yourself in, and you didn’t want anyone going down with you.”

“How- How do you know that?”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re not the only one who can be observant, Thomas.”

“I- I don’t understand.”

“Just another piece of evidence, proving human weakness. You were never going to save Barbara. You’re guilty over nothing. You risked your life for nothing.”

Thomas felt his anger rising again. “That’s not- If we had-”

“Did you think it was a coincidence that her and Oliver both got so much sicker so much faster than the others? That they were simply unlucky? There was nothing unintentional about her death. Oliver was unlucky, certainly. Unlucky to have loved her, perhaps. But your sister was dead the moment Belial marked her.”

“The welcome ball,” Thomas realized. “But why?”

“Tatiana,” Alastair answered without hesitation. “She has quite the grudge against your father. You’re the icing on the cake, of course. When your family learns of your death, when your father finally realizes why… The guilt will consume him. He will never forgive himself. Tatiana will finally have her revenge.”

“You- you said you weren’t going to kill me.”

“I’m not going to kill you, no, but only time will tell what Belial plans on doing with you.”

Thomas could find no words, only stare at him in fear and shock. That was what he wanted wasn’t it? Alastair placed his fingers against his cheek, and he flinched away. After a long pause, Alastair sighed. “Do you want to know what my favorite memory from Paris was?”

“No.”

“It was you.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Why is that? I would never tell you lies, Thomas.”

Thomas swallowed hard. Alastair’s voice was soft, filled with longing. It’s not real, he told himself. “All you have done is tell me lies! From the very beginning. I know you were in Paris with Charles Fairchild, anyways. I’ve seen the ways you look at each other. When we were together, your eyes lit up every time you mentioned him.”

Alastair hesitated for the briefest moment at the mention of Charles. Thomas cursed himself for still feeling the slightest pang of jealousy. “Pathetic, isn’t it? But no. My favorite memory,” his voice softened again, a sickly sweet melody in Thomas’ ears, “was taking you to see that film. I’d fallen in love with moving pictures during my stay in Paris. I’d fretted all night over it, worried that you would find it silly, or worse, you would mock me for it. But I wanted so desperately for someone to share it with. Charles never had an appreciation for art, not that he would have ever dared to go somewhere that public with me anyways. Afterwards, looking into your eyes, I thought… in another life... in another life, I could have been here with him.”

Thomas hated how his heart ached in his chest. He hated Alastair, even before this whole deal with Belial. That’s what he told himself, anyways. In another life… These are lies. He’s using you. “No chance we could go now then? I hear it’s beautiful during the holidays.”

Alastair smirked. He ran the cool blade lightly against the skin of Thomas’ throat. “Don’t you feel guilty, Thomas? You couldn’t have saved your sister, but you could have saved me.”

He hoped Alastair could not feel how hard his heart was beating. “No- no, that’s not true. There’s no saving someone like you.” He knew they were lies.

“No, not someone like me. Someone like him.” Alastair leaned forward so that Thomas could feel the breath on his neck as Alastair hissed, “He loved you. He would have died for you, in secret, even knowing how openly you disdained him. You gave him hope last summer. You helped him realize he deserved more than a lover who lied every time he claimed to love him, who never cared for him more than a Clave meeting and always left before the sun rose.” He frowned. “You could have saved him, if you wanted to. But you didn’t think he was worth it.”

“I- That’s not- I-” Thomas tugged at his bindings, suddenly filled with rage. “Shut up! I hate you! You now and you before! You’re cruel and callous! You never cared for anyone but yourself! Why were you even so mean to us at school? We never gave you any reason for it! Your family is friends with the Herondales; you could have at least been kinder to James.”

Alastair looked away wistfully. Thomas loathed it, how easily he replicated emotions. He felt none of them. “If you wanted an apology, Thomas, you should have asked for it two weeks ago.”

“Just explain it to me. You wish for me to feel something for the person you once were? Explain it.”

“When I arrived at school, talk about my family preceded me. The rumors about my father’s drinking, the speculation about why we moved so much. The fact that my family couldn’t afford tutors for us. I looked different than them; talked different than them. Shadowhunters like to pretend that such prejudices don’t touch them, but it’s only to make themselves feel better. I had no friends; I knew no one when I arrived. Who better to beat up than the Persian boy whose father would never show up when he was injured?”

“So you were jealous, that day after the prank. I thought you might-”

“No. I wasn’t jealous. I was angry. I was put in the infirmary for two weeks, I nearly died, would have were I a mundane, and all my father did was lecture me when I came home for the holidays about how I needed to be more careful and how much of a burden I was to him. You, James, your friends, you had everything. You had pretty homes with nice parents, parents who loved you, who cared for you. You arrived at the Academy expecting the world to embrace you, as it never had me.”

“So, what? You needed to even the scores?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. There are no scores, and if there were, I would never be able to even them. It had to be someone. It was the only way to keep them from hurting me. I had nothing, no one, but I had my tongue, and when I cut some poor student down to size, the other boys were so amused that they forgot about ever hurting me. I never hit anyone, never got my hands dirty, but it didn’t matter, did it? I was one of them. It had to be someone, so I chose you. I chose James.” He paused. “So, what about now?”

“What?” Thomas’ throat ached from holding back tears.

“Do you think I could have been saved?”

“I don’t know.” His voice was just above a whisper, more of an echo. It was the truth. He understood what Alastair was telling him. The decision he’d come to was not a rash, impulsive decision. It was one that was built up over many, many years. And with that was the knowledge that time after time, year after year, someone, anyone, could have helped, could have saved him, like Thomas’ own father had been saved when breaking free of his father, but no one did. No one noticed, and the ones that did didn’t care. “You deserved better.” A still silence fell on them. “You’re stalling.”

“How do you figure?”

“You’re meant to torture me, but you can’t do it. You never physically hurt anyone at school, and you can’t now. Maybe it’s morals, maybe your mind is still caught in your past, maybe some part of you still cares for me. It doesn’t matter; you can’t do it.”

“That’s quite the gamble.”

It was. There was no telling whether his speculation was correct or whether Alastair was about to place him on a skewer. He was simply trusting his intuition. “Prove me wrong. Hurt me or let me go.”

Alastair moved closer to him, essentially on top of him, but Thomas kept his eyes locked with his, not showing a flicker of fear. When Alastair’s arms dug in, however, he felt no stab of pain. His wrists came free. He watched as he slashed the binds at his ankles. Alastair kept his eyes on him as he left, his expression never swaying. I’ll free you next, Thomas thought.

* * *

"You let the Lightwood go?"

"He esc-"

"Don't lie to me! What, do you think you're special now? Do you fancy yourself human? Redeemable? You think yourself better, more moral, than I? You would betray me for them? You are exactly what I make you. If you wish to be sentimental so badly, you need only ask." With that Belial disappeared. The doors to the room slammed shut and Alastair nearly stumbled to ground. It felt like he couldn't breathe. It felt like- It felt like heartache.

He ran first to the doors, but he knew they wouldn't budge. There were no windows to this room and only one vent that would not move no matter how hard he tried to pry it open.

He gasped for breath, knowing there was no escape. Belial would not let him go free. Not after Thomas. He’d had a lapse in judgement, and he would not make the same one again. Alastair was trapped here, alone. Alone with nothing but the feeling of the world crumbling around him, of his guilt crushing his chest. Finally, he was all the things other people believed him to be: evil and heartless and cruel. Finally, he was all the things his father and Charles had called him: pathetic and weak and useless. Finally, he was the monster he’d always feared becoming.

There was no redemption for him, not anymore. Not after Belial. Not after betraying Cordelia. Not after kidnapping Thomas.

He looked to his blades laid out on the table. He could not leave the warehouse physically, but… He lifted one, and it felt oddly heavy in his hands. His grasp shook and he sunk to his knees. He gripped it tighter and he realized that Belial would never let him.

He had not let him die the first time, and he would not now. Belial wanted this, he wanted him to give up. It made him much easier to control. Belial wanted him to have no motivations, no loyalties, no reason to betray him. If he wanted him dead, he would be dead. Belial still had uses for him, and the only thing Alastair knew was that he could not let him win.

thanks for reading! we're almost done actually! taglist (lmk to be +/-): @jem-nasium @littlx-songbxrd @fortheloveofthecarstairs @cant-think-of-anything @vampireeugenia-deactivated20210

Part 4

[likeiwishiknew]

Azriel & Gwyn - Look of a Valkyrie

She stood at the center of the shop, decked out in custom leathers. It had been Emerie’s idea to get the three of them fitted for them. Something about looking the part, if they were to be warriors. And if things continued deteriorate, as they had been, they might very well be preparing for war. 

  It  was a genuine concern that sat in the back of all of all their minds. Koschei was still out there. The human queens were still out there. And Beron was still a threat as long as he remained in power as High Lord of the Autumn Court. Last she’d heard from Nesta, Eris was still no closer to unseating his father. 

She pulled her auburn hair free from her collar as the seamstress buttoned it up. Nesta had gone outside to contact Cassian to have him ask Mor to come pick them up. Which left her alone to assess the fit of her new gear. 

Form fitting, the custom leathers hugged her every curve. Highlighting parts of her body she’d mostly kept hidden beneath her priestess’ robes. 

Staring in the mirror, she almost didn’t recognize herself. 

Her brightly colored hair and eyes were a sharp contrast to the beautiful, yet muted gray and black of the battle leathers. 

She heard footsteps behind her and turned expecting to see Nesta. 

“Nesta what do think-”

Her words cut off. 

Standing there was neither of her heart sisters.

Instead, shadows danced out to greet her. Coming from the quiet male who now stood in front of her. She swallowed the lump forming in her throat. 

Azriel was here.

- - -

He stood back, watching in silence as he always did. 

Mor had asked him to pick up the girls in her place, since she found herself otherwise occupied. When he’d arrived he had not seen either them waiting outside, so he’d headed into the shop to check on them. 

The shop owner had eyed him curiously. A mixture of attraction and nervousness. He was used to the latter. His shadows tended to make everyone a bit nervous. He’d asked after Nesta and Gwyn and the lady had directed him to the back. 

Azriel had not intended to keep his presence hidden, but out of habit that was exactly what had happened. 

The first thing he saw when he walked through the arched doorway was her smile. 

Gwyn stood in front of a mirror, the faintest smile on her face as she smoothed down her fighting leathers. The sight warmed him.

Beautiful. A voice inside of him whispered. 

A woman who must’ve worked here helped Gwyn button the top of her collar. 

He’d watched almost breathlessly as she’d lifted her thick auburn hair to keep it all from getting tangled inside, exposing her neck. 

Once the woman was done Gwyn dropped her hand and her hair fell flawlessly over her shoulders in rich, silky waves. 

The worker retreated to the back somewhere, leaving them alone. 

Azriel remained silent as she turned left and right accessing the fit of her new uniform. One that he would admit fit her perfectly. 

Without thinking, he took several steps forward. She must’ve heard him, because she spun around with a huge smile on her face. 

A smile that died the moment her eyes landed on him.

That stark happiness he witnessed was replaced by a cutting wariness. 

And he hated it.

Hated that he’d done that to her. To them.

That she no longer seemed at ease in his presence. 

He needed to fix it. 

“I-” he struggled with what to say, and in his cowardice went with what was easy, “Mor got busy with something, so she asked me to come get you and Nesta.” 

Gwyn simply stared at him, saying nothing at first. He waited, praying she’d at least say something. Finally, she had mercy on him. 

“Oh, right of course. Nesta must still be outside somewhere. I’ll hurry up so that we can go and look for her.” 

He watched as she struggled to reach behind her head to try and undo the top buttons of the suit. 

He moved forward to help. Only to realize halfway that he hadn’t asked her if she wanted his help. He stopped in his tracks. 

“Please...allow me to help you,” he offered, barely a foot of space between them. She glanced over her shoulder at him, lips pressed together nervously, looking as though she would reject him. Azriel held deathly still in wait. A moment later, to his surprise, she nodded in consent. He had to fight not to let out a sigh of relief. 

Stepping up behind her, he brushed back the strands of her hair that lay in the way and managed to accidentally graze her neck. He swore he heard her inhale sharply, but when she said nothing of it he chalked it up to his imagination. 

He would have to bring up this design issue with Nesta. It wouldn’t make sense for the girls to require help to put on their own leathers. When he finished on the last button, Gwyn put distance between them, as though she could not get away from him fast enough. He pressed his lips together in a hard line. 

“I - thank you,” she stammered out, briefly looking his way. 

He gave her a practiced smile. One he felt certain she would see through. But if she did, she made no comment. 

As she moved to pass him, his hand shot out - catching her by the wrist. He held her loosely. His scarred hands barely touching her skin. 

“I’m sorry,” he managed. 

Her head turned and it was only then he realized how close they were standing. Their noses narrowly an inch from touching. He could feel her breath on his skin. 

“The fault is my own,” Gwyn returned, “I am the one who mistakenly thought the necklace meant something. But don’t worry. I promise, things will return to how they were. I only need some time.” 

With that she pulled herself free of his hold and disappeared behind the curtain to change. While he was left alone with his thoughts. Her words tugging on him. Things would return to how they were, if only he would give her time. 

Time for what exactly? 

And what if he did not want to go back to how things were? What if he wanted something else? Something more. 

Was that too much to ask? 

- - -

Notes: Hey everyone, so as promised I’m posting Chapter 2 to tumblr as well. Going forward my game plan is to post chapters updates to AO3 on Fridays and Tumblr updates on Saturdays. As always, if you enjoyed this please do like, comment and share! I do adore reading your comments. 

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29716227/chapters/73082502

[chuckbass-love]

Intrusion | Andy Barber

A/N : I’m so excited to be entering my first ever writing challenge on this blog. This is probably the first of many entries and i hope everyone enjoys. This is for the Shameless Hoes for Chris challenge. Feedback is welcomed and encouraged, it’ll help me improve. 

Disclaimer: My work is not to be posted anywhere else other than MY Tumblr, Wattpad and Ao3 without my permission. However, reblogs are welcome.

Thank you so much for doing this challenge @stargazingfangirl18​ & @navybrat817​ enjoy...

Pairing : Andy Barber x Reader

Word count : 2,462

Summary : You accidentally walk in on Andy naked...

Warnings : explicit language, sexual content and smut. 18+ 

I used scenario prompt 13. ‘Accidentally seeing the other naked’

GIF NOT MINE!!! Credit to whoever made this gif, if anyone knows who made it pls let me know so I can give credit. I genuinely just search gifs up on google and I never manage to find out where the original gif is from bc of so many people re posting gifs. I never wanna give credit to the wrong person! So if this gif is yours or if it’s someone you know then let me know and I’ll credit them. Thank you💗

It’s Friday afternoon and you’re stuck at work in the last meeting of the day before you get to go home and relax for the weekend. 

You’ve got plans to hang out with your neighbour Andy tonight. The two of you got rather close once him and Laurie split, he got quite lonely in that house which was understandable. 

You recall the time you saw him get takeout for the third time that week and you couldn’t stand the sight of it. So you made some lasagne and took it over to him in an oven dish. 

He was beyond grateful for the kind gesture and even invited you in to eat with him to which you gladly accepted.

Ever since the two of you have developed quite the friendship. He wasn’t ready for anything romantic so despite your little crush on him, you decided it was never going to happen. You had gotten used to it being strictly platonic. 

You always had plans with him every Friday night and tonight was no exception. Tonight is movie night at his place.

“Right okay, that’ll be all then guys” your boss calls out, breaking you from your daze. You have to admit, you didn’t pay attention during that meeting. Hopefully it wasn’t anything too important though.

You gather your stuff and head back to your office to collect your bag before heading out to your car. Once you reach it you check your phone to find a text from Andy.

‘Hey, just checking we’re still on for tonight. I’m gonna jump in the shower, back door is unlocked so let yourself in’

You smile down at your phone before starting the car and driving out of the parking lot. Once you reach your road and pull onto the drive next to your house, you contemplate showering first before going over but decide against it. Instead you walk across the road to Andy’s, going straight to his backdoor. 

You notice some popcorn on the kitchen counter, he must’ve picked that up on his way home. You start to wonder around whilst you wait but he seems to be taking forever. 

Surely he wasn’t still showering, he must have been in there for 30 minutes now. You wonder over to the staircase and start climbing, noticing that the shower isn’t on and you don’t hear any noise coming from the second floor.

“Andy, are you in he- OH SHIT” you curse as you walk into his room to find him stood there butt naked. You quickly rush out of the room and run downstairs. You’re utterly mortified. You can’t imagine he’s feeling any different.

Well, now you’ve seen your friend naked. Guess you can tick that one off the old list of things to do. You put the popcorn bag into the microwave and stand there in shock, attempting to process the sight that stood before you no less than a minute ago.

As much as you hate to admit it, the crush you had on him was still very much present now. Walking in on him naked has not helped in the slightest. You can’t get over his body, hell even his dick is huge. Just like you always imagined it to be. 

You try to wash away the impure thoughts, luckily for you, you’re snapped out of them by his voice.

“So... about that” 

“That was my fault, i’m sorry. I just wondered where you were. I shouldn’t have snooped” you ramble.

He lets out a deep sigh, walking over to you. You get the popcorn out and pour it into a bowl before walking away from him and into the living room. You plop yourself down onto the couch, seconds later he joins. 

“What movie have you picked?” you ask, in hopes that he’ll drop the awkward subject. Thankfully he does. 

“I chose American Psycho” one of your all-time favourites. You grin at his suggestion as he sets it up on the tv.

“I love this movie” you kick your feet up onto the couch, your skirt riding up your thighs slightly but not enough to give anything away.

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

The credits roll up and you yawn and stretch, moving the bowl to the coffee table in front. It’s been a long week at work and tired is an understatement, you are well and truly shattered.

You sit upright and turn to Andy who is looking back at you, his lips curling into a smile.

“What?” you giggle nervously, unsure of what he’s smiling at.

“You just look really good” you both freeze, did he really just say that? You sit there for a second, not sure of how to respond to him but soon enough the sarcasm comes.

“Well, don’t i always?” you flick your hair in a sassy motion, he chuckles “I can’t deny that” is this what you think it is? is he hitting on you?

“Anyways, i bet-”

“Did you like what you saw?” you know exactly what he means but you decide to play dumb.

“I’m sorry what?”

He shuffles closer to you on the couch, closing the space. 

“You know what i mean, did you like my body earlier, when you walked in on me?” you try to fight the smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth but it’s no use, your cheesy grin comes out to play and you feel your cheeks heat up.

“I’ll take that as a yes then” he traces his finger over your bare arms until he reaches your shoulder. His mouth soon replaces his finger as he presses a kiss to your shoulder, then moving the kiss to your neck, then jawline and then finally he reaches your mouth.

Your faces are inches apart and you can feel his breath hitting you, you can’t help yourself anymore. You tried but failed. You crash your lips to his passionately. All your feelings for him come out in the kiss, you can just tell he feels it.

His kiss is rough and nasty but also intimate and loving all at once. You feel like you see fireworks going off in your mind, like all of time is standing still for the two of you. 

You get the impression that he’s wanted this for a long time, just like you.

You break away and your chests are heaving.

“That was one hell of a kiss” you pant, he releases a small laugh, nodding his head in agreement to your statement.

“I’ll admit, i’ve wanted to do that since the moment i first met you” you just give a look as if to say ‘i know’

You can’t believe your ears though, you felt it but to hear him say it out loud is something else entirely. 

“I’ve had a crush on you for so long” you look everywhere but his eyes, you feel nervous now, really, really nervous.

“I know” you cover your face with your hands, had you made it that obvious?

“You actually admitted it to me when we were drinking once. I ignored it because i wasn’t in any position to act upon it despite feeling the same. But i’m more than ready to act upon it now” you make direct eye contact with him and within seconds, he pulls you onto his lap so you’re straddling him.

He grabs a hold of your hair, pulling your head back as his mouth attacks your sweet spot. You feel him start to bite down, almost as though he intends to mark his territory. Like you belong to him now.

You let out a breathy moan, biting down on your lip at the intense feeling, he’s not holding back. You were sure to wake up with more than just a couple of hickeys in the morning but none of that matters right now. You want to live freely in this moment.

“Let’s take this elsewhere” he stands up and your legs wrap around his torso.

He makes sure the doors are locked before taking you to his room and throwing you down on the bed like you don’t weigh a thing.

He removes his shirt and pants, leaving him in just his boxers. You can see the huge situation forming and you can’t help but lick your lips at the sight and thought of him eventually being inside of you.

“Now, let’s remove this shall we?” he tugs at your blouse, you untuck it from your skirt and he rips it off your skin. That’s one blouse you won’t be wearing again. 

“I’ll buy you a new one” he mutters whilst sliding your skirt down to reveal your red laced panties.

A grunt leaves his mouth as he removes them too, exposing how soaked you are for him. You spy his dick getting harder and harder.

“All this for me baby?” you hum in response, desperate for him to touch you.

“Please Andy” you whimper underneath him.

“Please what?” you prop yourself up onto your elbows “touch me” you beg, he smirks down at you.

He starts peppering kisses along the inside of your thigh, teasing you until he’s inches away from your sex. You try to buck your hips up but he pushes you down.

“Patience baby girl” he warns and you relax onto the bed, awaiting his touch.

It feels like you’ve been waiting forever but just when you go to speak up his mouth starts sucking on your clit and he slides two fingers inside of you, without a warning.

“Ah yes, just like that” your eyes roll to the back of your head, the pleasure he’s giving you consumes you entirely. He’s skilled, you gotta give it to him.

“Please fuck me daddy” did you really just say that? You feel the touching come to a halt and he crawls his way back up so he’s face to face with you.

“Daddy huh?” you open your eyes to find a cocky expression plastered across his face.

“I’m sorry-”

“You want daddy’s cock huh? Well then you’re gonna have to beg for it sweetheart” you gulp, his mere presence turns you on and is words only make matters worse. You feel shivers run down your spine. 

“Please daddy, please fuck me” you put on your seductive voice, spreading your legs wider for him and reaching your hand down to palm him through his boxers. You then use your other hand to rub at your clit.

“I need it, so badly” your eyes go wide, your teeth tug at your bottom lip. You know for certain that he’ll give in now. Sure enough... he does. 

He sighs as he watches you beg for him, he can’t hold it any longer. He gets off the bed to rid himself of his boxers. His face returns to it’s position between your legs and his tongue licks up your folds, stealing one last taste of you. 

“You taste so sweet” you giggle at him, pulling him up the bed.

You pump his hard cock a couple of times before urging him to bring it closer to your entrance. He tuts at your desperate state, taking your hands, lifting them above you and pressing them down into the mattress.

“No touching”

You feel his tip pushing at your tight hole and all of a sudden he rams himself into you, shifting you up the bed.

“Oh fuck” you curse as he stretches you out but the pain soon gets replaced by mind blowing pleasure. Your back arches and you try to remove your hands from his grip but you fail.

“Is this what you’ve wanted all this time?” thrust “to be fucked like this, fucked like the dirty girl you are” thrust “bet you walked in on me on purpose, wanted to see me all exposed” thrust. You wrap your legs around him, signalling for him to go deeper. Your wish is his command.

He releases your hands and you hold onto his biceps. He grips your legs, forcing them all the way back to your head.

“Andy, fuck” this new angle is allowing him better access, he’s hitting your cervix repeatedly. You know you won’t be able to last long if this goes on. You clench down onto his length, earning a grunt from him.

“Such a tight fucking cunt. That’s it, cum on this cock princess” his words push you closer and closer to your peak. You always guessed he was a talker in the bedroom and hearing it now is a million times better than all those nights you imagined it whilst touching yourself.

“Keep going, i’m gonna cum daddy” you whine, digging your nails into his biceps, the sharp pain causes him to jolt slightly, he only uses the pain to fuck into you harder. The sound of his skin slapping against yours mixed with your combined moans is like heaven to your ears. All your fantasies about this moment were nothing like this, this was better in every way.

With every thrust, moan and hit to your cervix your toes start to curl a little more. You feel it, it’s coming.

“FUCK” you release all around him, clenching down harder than ever before. Your back arches, your now chest to chest. He sits up, leaning back and pulling you with him. You’re now straddling him, you clench down again, milking him for all that he’s got.

He twitches inside of you and you feel his hot seed fill you up. You throw your head back and he wraps his arms around your body, squeezing you tight.

You stay like that for a couple of minutes, allowing you both time to ride out your intense highs. He eventually lifts you off of him and you both fall down onto the bed. 

“Well that was quite something” you both burst out into laughter.

He stands up, walking over to the bathroom and whilst his back is turned you can’t help but check out his ass. He was definitely a sex god, sculpted to perfection.

“Here, let me clean you up” he bends down to wipe up the mess the pair of you made before cleaning himself up too.

You can’t believe that just happened. It happened so quickly, you’re still in shock.

He joins you in bed, pulling you onto his chest and his arm drapes around your shoulder. He starts tracing his finger along your back, making you shiver.

“You up for staying the night because i’d quite like to do that again in the morning” a smile forms on both of your faces as you lean your chin on his chest, looking up into his eyes. 

“I’d love to”

You stay like that for a a while before eventually drifting into a deep slumber. It finally happened. You feel so happy.

[orbitariums]

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 | 𝐧𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 (𝟓)

note - once again, thank you for reading!! it took me a while for this chapter and i wanted to execute it properly. it’s long so i hope y’all got a place to sittt!!! srry if it has typos i didn’t go thru in depth!!

i introduced a new character in this named alex. i see him being portrayed as alex turner or oscar isaac, but you’re free to picture anyone!!!

let me know what y’all think of this chapter!!!!! i love some of the scenes in this, i feel like i structured it differently than how i usually do and you get to see their lives a lil more <3

new taglist

playlist

warnings - angst, stucky mission!, angst!, cigarette smoking, hints of 2013-2014 tumblr vibes for sure 

word count: 9.7k

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞: 𝐧𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬

    "Back to working late nights, I see."

As Steve looked over his shoulder, he was met with the sight of Natasha leaning against the jamb of the open door to his office. The light from the hallway flooded into his dimly lit office, the only lighting being the lamp on his desk. She had her arms folded, a small smile on her face as Steve looked up at her.

    Locking eyes with him, it was no surprise that he had the same tired gaze that had been lingering in his eyes for the past three weeks since he'd stopped talking to you, almost a month. And while Nat may not have been surprised, she, like everyone else, was concerned. Steve was different from the man he had been just a few weeks ago, the man who seemed suddenly uplifted. He had rose up from his bad mood only to re-enter the slump he was in before, only worse.

    This time, the slump Steve was in wasn't irritated and unnecessarily aggressive due to pent up sexual frustration, but it was lethargic, a melancholia that creeped in slowly. He seemed sad and gloomy, "not in the mood." Before any of Steve's mood swings, he was just the kind of calm and serious person that Steve Rogers was.

Then you came along and he was Steve Rogers in Wonderland. Now that you were gone, it was like he'd buried himself into a dark and deep hole, and not the one that Alice fell into. He was just sort of somber and quiet, too quiet. Isolated, like he was now - deep into his work, but not in a good way.

   Steve didn't even muster a smile. He just slumped back slightly into his chair and sighed, the cold gloom in his eyes unwavering.

   "Working on something from the Sokovia unit."

   Nat offered a small, sad smile,

    "Need anything? You're missing out on movie night."

    Steve shook his head. He knew that Nat was checking on him for other reasons, but he didn't want to be the one to address it. He hadn't talked to anyone about it, not even Bucky, who was the only one to flat out ask what was happening. The others sort of danced around the topic. But it bothered Natasha greatly. She had to ask, because even she couldn't figure it out.

    "Don't need anything. Thanks."

    "Steve. What's going on?" Nat asked, fed up. She walked in further and closed the door behind her. "You're acting strange again."

    Steve mustered the tiniest of smiles, shrugging,

    "Just been busy these days."

    "No, you've been purposefully making yourself busy. You're all cooped up in here. You're by yourself all the time, even when you're around us. What's going on?" Nat sat on the edge of the table, looking down at him with her eyebrows drawn together. "No one else is asking, but we're all wondering it."

    Steve sighed. He'd been isolating himself, burying himself in work to distract himself from the thought of you. The two of you had ended on such a rough note, and it was hard for him to even process it. It scared him, how much more he thought about you now that he had stopped talking to you, thinking that would be the solution.

Thinking that leaving you alone would stop things from escalating. And they had, maybe in the way of your actual relationship with each other. But for Steve individually? The feelings were worse than they had been. He was hurt that he had hurt you, and it was like leaving you only exposed how much he really did need you.

    And to think of it that way felt like his biggest defeat. Like he was letting his responsibilities down. He couldn't feel this way about someone he met online, not in the way that he met you. He couldn't let it get to this point, and yet it was impacting him so strongly, much more than he'd expected.

    So he retracted, recoiled to be alone. He hated the way it had gone down - hated the fact that he had scared himself, hated the fact that he had even allowed things to feel that serious. But mostly he hated the fact that he couldn't be honest with himself - or maybe he hated the fact that now that he was being honest with himself, he was depriving himself of a good thing out of fear. And he had virtually no one to talk this out with, because he'd have to tell the full story, and he still forbid himself to do that.

    It was over, and he didn't want to put this on his team's plate, even if it was over with. Now that he had ended things, he didn't have anything to hide anymore, but that didn't mean he was just going to reveal everything. He still felt like his leadership would be at stake if he were to, although not selfishly. It felt like something so private. He needed to think this out with himself.

    So while he knew why Natasha was checking in, and knew that she was right to, because clearly something was happening, he still couldn't open up. So he just dismissed it with a wave of his hand and a false smile,

    "Don't worry, I've just been tired." Steve hopped up from his desk, allowing a burst of energy, even if ingenuine, to take over.

He didn't want the others to worry about him like this. The situation was a big enough deal already. He didn't want them in on his own personal pain, which he had fully decided to take care of himself - though he wasn't doing a very good job of it. He continued, grinning.

   "I'll join you guys for movie night," he decided.

He hadn't magically gotten better, but if this was what it might take to ensure his team that he was fine, he would bring himself out of his little hole, just for a few hours. He needed a break anyway, he'd been starting to drift when Natalie came in, thinking of you specifically.

    But Natasha wasn't buying it, the fake smile, the sudden burst of energy. It was like he was putting on a show, but she wasn't a fan of his performance.

    She stood up and sort of blocked him, staring him down with a dead serious look in her eyes, her arms folded. She wasn't angry, but she was disappointed by Steve's behavior. The past few months had been so topsy turvy with him, his changes in mood weren't making any sense. Out of anyone on the team, she felt like he understood her, had made the effort to make a true connection with her, rather than just gaze on, intimidated by her.

    "I know you, Steve. You're not fooling anyone." As Steve's smile turned into a frown, Natasha turned around, walking out of his office. On her way out she followed with, "Come back when you're ready to be honest."

♡ ♡ ♡ 

     "Can we get another round of mimosas, please?"

     Aaliyah's voice brought you back down to earth. The spring air bristled against your dewy skin, the sun shining down on you from where you were both sitting in the seating area outside the cafe. If anything, you were grateful for California's sunshine. It kept you sane, and reminded you that no matter what, you'd always have the sun.

      You were sitting outside you and Aaliyah's favorite brunch place (with bottomless mimosas), just to catch up and talk. You'd been busy dealing with school work and your personal life. And just now, you were a bit distracted, thinking of all the things that led you to this point. You were thinking of Steve, who still came around the wild landscape of your mind once in a while, like the shadow of a maintenance man who you never quite met. It had been almost a month since you stopped talking to Steve.

     It still hurt sometimes when you thought about it, because you missed the rush of talking to him - your experience with Steve was so unique to your experience with any other customer. But it wasn't all about the rush - you missed really talking to him and getting to know him. Even though it felt like it had been all for naught, you felt a warm feeling in your chest when you thought about him.

     You hadn't felt that way with a customer, and while you realized it was silly and irresponsible for the both of you to get as caught up as you had, you still loved every moment of talking to him. It took a special person for you to want to talk to Steve as much as you did - doing private shows for him, requesting him instead of the other way around. It was truly one of the more wholesome experiences you'd had with a customer. The rush was a part of it - it was exciting and thrilling.

     But it was also calming, full of comforting conversation and freeing interactions. It was like this unhinged pleasure you were inviting each other to share, in every sense of the word - it wasn't just you servicing him, though that was a part of it. It felt like in a sense, he also served you.

    The feelings were mutual. You listened to each other, you felt like you knew each other. So, since you were being honest with yourself, you could admit it hurt. But you didn't let it drag you down, especially now that it had been over three weeks. Mostly, when you thought of him, it was nostalgic, like you were waking up from a dream and only remembering traces of it. Just remembering, not grieving.

     Aaliyah noticed your silence and offered you a tiny, shy smile. Ever you had been focusing on yourself, you hadn't been talking to Aaliyah nearly as much. Now that you felt comfortable being in the same spaces as before, you were together, talking it out.

     You'd only told her bits and pieces of the story - that meant she only really knew about the situation with your ex and schoolwork. As for Steve, you kept most of that to yourself.

       "You good, babe?" she reached over and squeezed your shoulder, clad in a loose blouse top.

You grinned, and it was genuine, biting down on your straw as you shook your head playfully,

      "More now than ever."

Aaliyah's smile widened. She knew when you were being genuine, and she was glad to see that this was one of those times. You'd been withdrawn recently, but with good purpose and even better intentions. You were taking all that time to heal for yourself. And amazingly, you had never been more honest with yourself in your life. Ever since Steve, you went through it for a few days.

    You were saddened by the abrupt loss of Steve, even if he was only in your life for a short time. But you didn't lose sight of the realities of your relationship - it would never work out that way. You let yourself sink into sadness only for the first few days afterwards.

     You knew that to let your sadness continue would be extremely unhealthy, and would only cause you to question whether or not you were really fit for this job, where making connections with strangers was pretty important. This couldn't happen frequently, or at all.

     And on top of that, you had been drowning in stress from school and stress from your personal life: morose after the situation with Steve, feeling so much emotional turmoil from your situation with your ex boyfriend. But after a while, you were able to lift yourself up. You knew how unhealthy it would be if you let yourself stay sad because of Steve - you didn't even know him and he had proven that he was just a customer.

     Though that didn't mean you doubted your connection for one minute. You just hated the way you had underestimated what that meant when it came to boundaries, both for you and Steve. You had overshared. It just reminded you that there seemed to be a certain pattern in the relationships in your life, and they all taught you one thing: don't get too comfortable.

But after about a week of beating yourself up over that, feeling stupid and naive and embarrassed for opening up, you moved on to the more important things that needed to be handled - your school work, and how you would successfully move on from your toxic ex. You already had, but when you got that text, it felt like you were relapsing.

    This wasn't just moving on, it was moving on completely and fully. It wouldn't be done by magic, through a divine snap of the fingers. But instead it was a process, an incredibly healing process, one that you actually wanted to find your way through.

     It felt like despite all the progress you had made- all the patching up you'd done as a result of not just that one, but many toxic relationships in your life - you cracked so easily just being reminded of one of them. You didn't want that to be you anymore, even if it didn't mean you weren't strong. It just meant you were human.

     You didn't dismiss all the growth you had made ever since you broke up with your ex, all the bad habits you had broken and the new spaces you had welcomed yourself into. But you didn't want to be the kind of person who cracked under pressure. Part of those toxic relationships was acknowledging the fact that those people will try again to get back into your life after realizing their loss.

    And you understood that now. Your ultimate goal now was to get back on your feet and allow yourself to be as strong as you were and work on how you dealt with personal stressors such as these.

     Your campus offered professional mental help and you took advantage of it as much as possible. You didn't disclose everything, especially not the details of your other job, but you talked about your emotions and your relationships and how you felt like you needed to learn how to handle times of duress. So, you got into therapy; it was a life saver. It wasn't that the incident with Steve had triggered you so much that you needed to get therapy, but the context of the incident and the feelings that roused you to that breaking point on screen with him made you realize you needed help.

     You had done everything yourself before, all your healing, all your growth - but it wasn't shameful to get help. You realized that while you felt sated being a lone wolf and doing everything yourself, that while it was what you were used to and you never complained about it, you didn't have to go through this alone.

     Part of why you never did before was because you didn't realize you could, too. That therapy wasn't just for people who were in situations much worse than your own. You could have a place to healthily let out your feelings, instead of letting them overflow inside of you, or to strangers.

     "Therapy's helping," you nodded, and Aaliyah sat back and listened. "It's helpful for situational things like this, but I think I should've been in therapy like, a really long time ago."

      "I'll drink to that," Aaliyah nodded intensely and raised her mimosa glass to clink with yours before bringing it to her lips and taking a sip.

You laughed, and you were almost surprised to hear the sound of your own laugh, so uncaring and so free. Not the kind of laugh you let out when you're restricting your joy. Just full, pure, laughter. You didn't have to become this hysterical ultrasad woman just because of your experiences - you were proof that things could and did get better.

       You were living just fine before the crash of life came down upon you, you were satisfied with life. But now you felt like you had accomplished some form of ego death, and realized there was more than just being "satisfied." You hadn't thought there was before.

     "For real though, I'm proud of you," Aaliyah nodded, making direct eye contact with you. "I'm glad you took this time to yourself. You glow better when you're happy."

     "And when I'm not being bothered by idiotic men," you rolled your eyes.

Multiple, your brain reminded you - your ex-boyfriend, your idiot professor, and Steve, to an extent. You appreciated what it was that you two had, an undeniable chemistry, but he reminded you of most men - afraid to open up. Though you couldn't feel spiteful towards him. In this context, it made perfect sense that he didn't want to open up.

     "Oh yeah, update me on that? I know it's over with your ex-"

     "Yup. I told him not to contact me again. Then I blocked him," you replied with a heaving sigh - a sigh of release. It felt good to say that out loud again. It felt good to know that your response was final, and that any further badgering you received wasn't as a result of your invitation.

It was as easy as that, even though it took you days just to even figure out what kind of message to send. You could've met up with him, talked things out - at the worst, gotten together again, but you knew you'd never let that happen. You could've listened to whatever he had to say.

    But you had decided that whatever he wanted to tell you, whatever apology he was going to issue, could've been avoided had he just treated you right, instead of constantly dismissing you, instead of reacting to everything with nonchalance. So you didn't need to hear it, and you didn't need to light yourself on fire just to decide whether or not to forgive him- you didn't need to decide at all. So you left it alone, and left him blocked.

Aaliyah just smiled softly at you, so grateful for your steady energy and your strong presence. You were such close friends, it felt like your experiences were mutual. Everything you went through, she was by your side, and vice versa. She was so proud of you for making the decisions you made, and so proud that you came to that result.

     "As you should!" Aaliyah squealed, reaching over and squeezing your hands excitedly. "You really are that bitch. And your project... he said it's a go?"

You smiled bashfully as you squeezed Aaliyah's hands back.

     "Yeah, we talked it out. I still have to modify it which is a huge pain in my ass, but I can manage. So it's fine. At least I'm not dealing with a million other things on top of that."

Aaliyah smirked, again raising her glass to tap it against yours,

     "Cheers to that, babe."

So you had been on this journey, and you had sought out help where it was most valuable - in yourself, in friends, in professionals, and in the world around you. And in return you had learned that you didn't have to be strong all the time, that it was okay to break sometimes - as long as you knew how to cope. And that advice went such a long way.

    Things were looking up from here.

♡ ♡ ♡ 

    Ever since his confrontation with Natasha, Steve had been in deep thought. He was disappointed in himself for letting it get to the point where his interactions with his team felt hostile. Where he appeared so lonely and even sulky. It wasn't like him as a leader, and it wasn't who his team looked up to.

    He didn't want his interactions with people to feel so unfulfilling as a result of his own personal catastrophes, especially when it came to someone like Nat, who was the only one to boldly address his change in mood. He felt like a loser for allowing himself to go as dark as he had. It was something he should've had more control over, something he should've never let creep into his life the way it had.

     Steve wasn't some creepy old man slowly dilapidating in a lonesome one-bedroom home, with no friends and no lovers. He had gone onto the site to find some kind of sexual release, because he had nowhere else to realistically take out his pent up energy, at least not in his eyes. He wanted that connection, and he found it with you.

    He should've been satisfied. The only problem was that he was in for more than he was prepared for. And maybe it was because he was old fashioned and really wanted that kind of connection, because Stark easily went through girls like Moonrose like it was nothing, no strings attached. It only further proved that Steve wasn't built for that.

     He figured that as long as he was distracting himself from the problem by burying himself in work and isolating himself, he at least wasn't doing his job any harm. That was the most important to him - his work.

    But the people that mattered most to Steve were beginning to point out to him that ignoring a personal problem wasn't going to solve it. And Steve should've known that naturally, because one of the biggest elements of his job was to solve problems. He was a logical person, he loved answering the unanswered and finding solutions.

     But that was his job. This was a personal issue, and it was unlike anything he'd been through. He supposed he'd never known how to cope, and that talking to you was just a sliver of one of the ways he did cope.

    He didn't put everything on you, nor did he want to - that was why he'd stopped talking to you. You knowing everything he was going through would be dangerous for the both of you, for obvious reasons. Though you felt like you knew each other, you didn't really know who he was, and maybe that wouldn't have been such a big deal if it weren't for the fact that he was Captain America.

    So when he stopped talking to you, it was like a part of him stopped coping. Lucky for him, not everyone was just going to let him sulk around.

    "Alright, Steve. What's this all about?" Bucky asked, walking beside Steve while they were on a mission together. This may have been the worst time for Bucky to bring this up, considering Steve was focused on nothing less and nothing more than his mission. He thought of you a lot, sure, but not during times like these.

    "What's what all about?" Steve replied gruffly, mindlessly elbowing some approaching Hydra member off the ship they were infiltrating, the sound of splashing water resonating in the distance.

    "You know," Bucky grunted, sweep kicking another member and sending him flying.

The two of them often talked to each other side by side on missions, so disciplined and highly skilled that they could easily do both at once, but not about things like this, and not conversations that required much more attention. Bucky continued,

    "You've been all sad lately."

Steve sighed and shook his head, latching his shield back onto his back,

    "Is that what we're going to be talking about?"

    "Are you gonna answer me?" Bucky raised his brows, cocking the gun he had tucked under his arm and firing ahead of him.

    "Can't really talk right now, Buck," Steve grunted, preparing himself for what was ahead.

    "I think I know what it is!" Bucky exclaimed, jumping away from Steve as he took on a combatant in front of him, Steve doing the same.

     "Please, enlighten me!" Steve called out sarcastically, going hand to hand with another guy, flinging his shield out in front of him.

    Bucky aimed a kick at his guy's crotch, sending him flying to the floor, then standing over him and continuing to pummel him, all the while yelling over at Steve.

     "You think you don't have anyone to talk to about how you're feeling so you're isolating yourself! I know you. It's a very Steve thing to do!"

Steve sighed, shaking his head. He wasn't too keen on having this conversation at all, but especially not now. But he knew once Bucky got started, there was no stopping it. Even in the midst of a fight, in the midst of a mission. But Bucky wasn't entirely wrong, and that was the dangerous part about it - Steve knew Bucky could figure him out if he really set his mind to it. And he was constantly being reminded how much other people knew him, whether it was you, Natasha, or Bucky.

     He may have masked himself as un-phased and even tempered, but anyone could see past that now. Natasha had been close to figuring out just what was going on, and although she was one of the smarter Avengers, who could figure anybody out, Bucky and Steve were the closest of friends, twin flames. Steve knew Bucky would have him figured out in a minute, and he was getting dangerously close.

     "Buck, not now!" he had to at least try.

     "You still talking to that girl?" Bucky ignored Steve's pleas and continued - he had came to his own conclusion, putting together the pieces.

     Steve sighed again, kneeling down on the floor and hanging his head. His silence, his lack of a response, told Bucky all he needed to know. He was in his head, thinking about you, something he never did on a mission. He was thinking of how before this, you were one of the people he actually talked to to cope, even though he didn't delve too deep into his personal problems. But still, you had been there.

     And now that you weren't, he was thinking of all the reasons why you weren't, almost all of them rooted in his own silly fear. The fear he'd been letting go for weeks until you asked him that question. Before you opened up to him to that extent.

     Bucky got up, dusting his hands off. Both him and Steve had knocked their guys clean. Bucky signaled into his ear piece that the coast was clear and they were leaving the building, before heading over to walk next to Steve. Bucky had a sort of victorious smile on his face, knowing he had cracked the code.

       Steve had been withdrawn before you, then excitingly different when you came around. It would make sense that he'd be withdrawn without you again. Especially if things had ended harshly. Since Bucky was the only one who knew about the connection Steve felt he had with Moonrose, it was easier for him to guess. The others might have known that Steve was using the site, but Steve made sure they didn't know all the specifics.

     Although, Bucky did. And he wanted to know just what was going on. He put his arm around Steve's shoulders as a way of letting him know he was there, and that he did have someone to talk to besides you.

     "You know, Steve, whatever happened, you've got me. You've got all of us."

Steve shook his head and looked down at the ground, mustering a small smile that was one of the more genuine smiles he'd shown in the past few weeks,

     "I know."

     "Then why didn't you talk to any of us? You've been like a hermit for the past month almost," Bucky inquired.

     He wasn't attacking Steve, but he still had questions to ask. He wanted to have an honest conversation. He didn't want to have to sit back and watch as Steve alienated himself because he didn't know how to properly deal with his own issues. As an Avenger, it made both him and Steve look irresponsible. And as a friend, he physically couldn't watch any longer.

He didn't think he'd seen Steve so withdrawn, not even when his parents died, because Bucky forced his way in every chance he could get. When Steve was alone, things got dark. Bucky decided he'd be the one to actually help guide Steve out of it, by any means.

     Although, he was surprised that all this was caused by a girl who Steve hadn't even met. A girl who Steve had expressed his worries about to Bucky. It seemed as though Steve wouldn't let things get this far or impact him this much. He had been so quick to deny Bucky when he asked if there was anything more there, and maybe it was because it scared him to think about because it was true. Was it expected, though? Not entirely.

     "I didn't just want to air this out to everyone. It felt like something I shouldn't be doing, not in the position I'm in... I didn't want to disappoint people. And I feel like I have just by acting like this, even though they don't know why I've been this way. It's bad, I know, and I feel stupid for it. It's embarrassing to feel like this. Like... like I don't know any better," Steve replied, and Bucky understood, nodding.

      "I get it. It's like, why would boss man have some strange attachment to a naked stranger?" Bucky responded, not realizing how crude he sounded, making Steve glare over at him with his brows knit together.

      "Well, especially when you put it like that, Buck," Steve said, but he couldn't help but chuckle.

     "Sorry," Bucky smiled, shaking his head. A beat, then he continued. "So you've stopped talking to this girl. For what reason?"

     "I was afraid. It just... got too serious. And I guess it shows, because I've been acting like this as a result," Steve laughed bitterly. "I can't say I expected this to be the result. I think it hurts, but I've really been acting this way because..."

     Steve took a deep breath. It felt like a lot to express his feelings or emotions on any given day, but especially when it came to this. He had been keeping nearly everything associated with you to himself. It felt like such a big deal to express something out loud when he had intentionally been keeping it extra personal. Even if it was Bucky. It felt like something so close to him - he still felt slightly idiotic for the entire ordeal.

    He continued,

     "I guess because I've been trying hard not to think about her as much as my mind does when I'm not distracted. So I have to keep to myself and do work so that I'm not thinking about it as much. And I guess in the process I just neglected my own self care."

    Bucky nodded with a hum of assurance.

     "Mm. Well you're right. Maybe it did go too far. But that can't always be a bad thing."

    Steve cocked his head,

     "What do you mean?"

     "I mean, it's like me and Nat. No one would've trusted us years ago, but here we are now. On this incredibly elite team, fighting injustice with the best of them. I get it, you have to be safe, you can't let strangers get too close, you can't just do anything. But that doesn't mean you have to be so afraid all the time. You care about her. I knew that the minute you asked me about her. Because if it wasn't destined to end up this way, you would've never said a thing. You're good at keeping things to yourself, Rogers. The fact that you even asked me for advice on this, all those weeks ago. It says something. And maybe this all means that not only can you not stay away -  but that maybe... you shouldn't."

♡ ♡ ♡ 

    You hadn't been out out in a long time. You had been using the past three or more weeks to focus on yourself, to fully heal and regenerate and learn to cope. This was your therapeutic week, your week of release.

     But now, you were going out. You made an effort to look extra cute, because it had been a while since you got all dolled up. You couldn't be out super late, you still had a show later tonight, but you'd go out and enjoy a few drinks with friends. You were also going to be meeting new people, which was something you didn't do regardless of your emotional situation, unless it was for work - but those were colleagues.

    These were people who were potential friends, and potential lovers. But you couldn't have made it more clear to Aaliyah, who was tying this all together:

     "I'm not looking for a relationship right now! You know that!" you exclaimed, shaking your head, but she just smirked at you, and pulled the straps of your dress tighter as you both walked into the bar where you would be meeting some friends and new people tonight.

     "Mhm," Aaliyah said dismissively, slinging her arm around your shoulders. "That doesn't mean you can't meet someone and you know..."

     "Aht aht," you chuckled, though you appreciated her vigor. "I don't do random hookups unless it's online."

    Both of you cackled at that, but it was true. You were very put together and determined, especially when it came to actual relationships. Your sex life outside of your job on the internet was sort of quiet at the moment, and you liked it that way. You enjoyed sex and the sensual, pleasurable and freeing feeling that came with having sex in real life, or performing sexual acts on the internet for money. But it wasn't everything to you, you still navigated the world like any human would, except maybe you were hyper aware of your mindfulness, even more than people with conventional jobs.

You didn't let just anybody in, emotionally or physically, not when it came to real life. Though maybe Aaliyah had a little bit of a point. Not wanting a relationship didn't mean you couldn't have fun. You wouldn't force it though. If it were meant to be, it would be.

Tonight, you were going to be watching a local band play, sitting at a table in the audience with some friends, ordering drinks and just having a good time together. You were excited - it felt good to get out, good to be back on your feet. You were getting the normality back into your life, and you were enjoying it, as well as the healing process that came with it - no toxic ex, no hardships with school... when it came to Steve, you still missed him. But it didn't interrupt your ability to function, not anymore. You weren't quite preoccupied with him in this moment.

You were glad to be sitting down with friends, and meeting new people as well. It felt almost strange - you felt out of the loop, like you were getting back onto the scene for the first time in years, when it hadn't even been that long. You figured it was just the fact that there had been such an intense shift, and you had matured so much in just less than a month. You felt excited for the endless possibilities.

The bar was dimly lit, the band was tuning their instruments, drinks were going around, everyone seemed to be in a good, vivacious mood. It was very lively in a way you could appreciate, because you liked the spontaneity and eventfulness of life just like you enjoyed the organized, pragmatic parts of life that you endured in all of your careers and your lifestyle. You liked to have fun, there was no doubt about that. It was just a matter of when you had time for it.

As you sat down at the table, reunions and introductions went all around. Everyone was friendly, and everyone was a college student. You were excited to be with this specific group of people, full of friends and new faces. But there was one new face that truly intrigued you, belonging to a ridiculously attractive guy with a rockabilly quiff and a strand of hair styled at the front, a knowing look in his deep brown eyes. He didn't have to say he was cool, the oversized leather jacket he wore practically spelled that out.

     He leaned across the table to shake your hand, his eyes sparkling when he looked at you, his smile bright and charming,

       "Hey. I'm Alex. It's nice to meet you."

It must have shown on your face how immediately taken you were - he was hot and the energy he emanated was good, and purely sensual. Aaliyah took notice, smirking over at you and watching as you took his hand. You blinked, and smiled. He felt it, you felt it. There was no use in hiding it.  You thought about how much you insisted to Aaliyah that you weren't looking to hook up - but this one guy may have changed your mind, just by his smile.

     "I'm YN. Nice to meet you too."

Even as he let go of your hand and sat back in his chair, he didn't break eye contact with you, a small, playful smirk on his lips. But two could play at that game. Your job, doing what you did, made you ten times more confident than the average person. Just because you weren't on the dating scene didn't mean you didn't know how to flirt.

    And just because you weren't interested in dating didn't mean you couldn't get to know someone in a different sense of the word. Just from looking into his eyes, reading the smirk on his smooth lips, you knew you would definitely be getting to know him tonight. With no strings attached.

| | |

     "You smoke?" you asked Alex, standing in front of him outside the bar as he lit a cigarette. You were both standing in the alleyway beside the bar.

The both of you had ended up here, not completely on purpose, but Alex couldn't say he didn't notice when you excused yourself so that you could make a call to confirm another therapy appointment. You ended up out there for longer than intended as you started scrolling on your phone. But it was Alex who kept you out there, the night sky starry and clear above you. It was quiet, except for the faint sound of indie rock music coming from inside the bar. But it was a calming, comforting atmosphere. It felt like it was just the two of you, and in a sense, it really was.

     "Yeah," Alex smiled almost shyly, unsure how you might approach that. People usually turned up their noses.

You in particular didn't see cigarette smoking as your idea of a good time- recreational marijuana, in moderation. You only ever really drank or smoked socially, but sometimes you could have a lot of fun drinking wine alone. In the heat of the moment though, it wasn't a very big deal to you. That was the other thing about you - you were spontaneous but well balanced, and let people live their lives how they wanted to, even if they were living just a bit on the edge. You knew people definitely would have choice words for your own lifestyle, and that just made you more open minded.

     "Hmm," you hummed, simply thinking to yourself and nodding.

Alex shifted slightly, as if he were unsure of himself, but took a drag anyway.

      "Nasty habit, I'm sure."

     "Can I try?" you asked, leaning up against the brick wall behind you, and gazing up at him.

Looking into your eyes, he could see the glint of innocence and anticipation there, but there was something more- this sort of hot and flashy desire. The chemistry in your simple introduction was undoubtable, and it led you both to think there could be something else. But if there was, there was already an unspoken agreement in Alex's smirk and your smile - whatever it was would be purely physical.

You were too deep into your process of healing to fully put yourself out there, to even want to share yourself with another. Ever since your last relationship, you weren't looking for any one - no one to be your baby, no one to depend on, and no one who depended on you. You didn't want that. But this, whatever it was, was just a little bit of fun. You only ever really engaged in this kind of banter on the internet. It was about time you got a taste of it in real life.

Alex raised his brows at you, surprised. You didn't strike him as the type, and honestly, you didn't strike yourself as the type, either. You were just going with the flow. He just glanced at you and cocked his head to the side,

     "I don't know if you really want to do that."

     "What makes you say that?" you challenged, quirking your eyebrow quizzically, and tilting your head up at him. He wasn't wrong though - you almost immediately questioned why you asked if you could try.

     "You don't strike me as the type. And you're a very pretty girl," Alex eased closer to you, and you felt his rough, wide hand against your cheek, caressing gently as he looked down at you, looking intently into your eyes. You felt his thumb against your cheek, running against your soft skin in smooth, slow circles, and you couldn't help but grin devilishly at the sense of danger it gave you, the kind of danger you only found deep within layers of pleasure. He continued. "Wouldn't want your... skin to fall off."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his anti-cigarette warning, shaking your head and laughing quietly, him joining in. He couldn't ignore the brightness of your smile, how genuine it seemed, how much it struck him. For you, laughter felt like medicine right now, like it was pushing you through this transition phase you were in.

     "Really, is that what's gonna happen?" you smirked playfully, never looking away from him. He smiled, nodding,

      "Yeah, that's exactly what happens."

A beat of silence passed between of you, but the tension emanating between the two of you was louder than ever, pulling you to each other with a tantalizing magnetic force. You watched his lids flutter gently as his eyes traveled down to your lips, the thumb that had previously been on your cheek drifting to your lips, hands moving languidly against your skin. A shiver ran all through your body, resonating in your core, just at the feeling of his touch, and at the knowledge that eyes were on you.

Real, human eyes, eyes that you had summoned through the power of your divine sensuality. You could find these connections online, but in real life it was so electrifying, so genuine- almost like it had been with Steve, though he was the last thing on your mind right now.

     "Pretty girls have the nastiest habits," you blinked, letting him toy with your lips until you gently took his thumb in your mouth, wrapping your lips around it, all the while never breaking eye contact with him.

You knew exactly what you were doing, and you knew your intentions while you were doing it. They weren't anything good, but they weren't bad either.

Alex nearly shuddered, taking in a deep breath. You both had amazing sex appeal and an instant connection, but you were taking him for a ride that he didn't even expect. He nodded slowly, his eyelids heavy, watching your lips around his fingers.

     "Mm," he hummed.

He placed his hand on the wall above you as he towered over you. You felt covered by him, in a good way. He was all over you in the only way either of you wanted to be. His fingers left your lips and now held his cigarette. He leaned in and lifted your chin up, the cigarette smoke lifting up from his cigarette and swirling around your nose, just before he pressed his lips against yours.

    Your lips were hot against his, which were smoky and tasted like his own vice, an open mouthed kiss with nothing but passion and craving within the little space between your lips. The kiss lingered, his hands then beginning to travel all around you, not just your face, but your entire body. You felt his hands on your sides, traveling up your thighs, his body and his lips smashing into your own. There was nothing wholesome about it, and yet you couldn't help but want more.

You only pulled away, panting, to remind him of one thing,

     "You know this is it, right? I'm not looking for a relationship."

He shook his head, reattaching his lips to yours, breathlessly replying,

      "Me neither."

He couldn't care less for the clarifications - he was caught up in you, he just wanted more, in whatever way you would allow. It was quick and fast paced, that seemed to be the basis of your newly forged relationship. Not much thought went into your very needy motions, all abrupt and reckless.

But you pulled away again, placing a hand on his chest,

     "And we're not having sex."

     "Fine. That's fine. I just want to kiss you. Can I kiss you?" he asked, unable to keep his eyes from flickering between your eyes and your lips.

You smiled, nodding eagerly, sated by his needy disposition and the sexual prowess you had over him. He didn't even know the half of your nasty habits. In response, you cooed,

      "Yeah, you can kiss me."

♡ ♡ ♡ 

      Ever since the mission, it was both lucky and unfortunate for Steve that all he had left on his hands was time. All that time consumed him, and you were on his mind all through it. He also thought about what Bucky had to say. Bucky's words were a reminder that he couldn't let things consume him out of fear. It reminded Steve that while he was right to feel weary, he was right to trust, too. Trust was a big part of the Avengers Initiative.

     They all depended on it, and it took a lot of trust in individuals that no one else would probably ever take under their wing. But placing that trust in each other worked, and formed the greatest group of justice defenders on this earth. The people Steve considered his closest friends still had yet to gain true trust from some of the most important figures in the country. That didn't mean Steve trusted them any less.

      He'd had the revelation many times before, but he was having it again. The two of you had something- you had almost everything except for trust.

     It was a big leap he was taking, a big contrast from the way he felt beforehand. But he'd spent all his time thinking and worrying and letting fear and irrational darkness take over him for too long. It was time he took the matters that involved his feelings and personal health into his own hands. And to start, he had to take that big leap of faith.

      Was he making a stupid decision? Likely. But was it rash? No, it was the result of so much reflection and thought. It was like he took a look inside of himself and realized what he had to do. And even though this wouldn't solve the problem entirely, it was at least a start. A promise to himself and an apology to you. If this was how it was without you, then he didn't want it to feel that way ever again, by any means.

     You were more than the controversy of the relationship you had with him and the context surrounding that relationship. Loyalty was one of the most important qualities to Steve. He didn't want a friend if they weren't loyal, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized that you were a friend, no matter how much he tried to push away the legitimacy of the connection.

     Months ago, he would've never done this. On any conditions. But that was before he met you. So now, he was sitting in his room after a shower, falling back into the old routine. It was Friday. You'd be live in a few hours.

♡ ♡ ♡  

You came back home from the bar exhilarated, the touch of the man you'd been so close with lingering on your body, and in the best way you could imagine. You knew he wanted more physically, but you weren't at an emotional position where you could give it to him.

     And he had respected that, even though the yearning was so clear. The thrill of the moment felt like it would never dissipate. The spontaneity of the moment and the heat of it all reminded you how powerful you were.

     He had practically whined into your mouth for more. Sure, you had men online who would give up all their belongings for you, but it felt different when you were experiencing this with a man who you could touch, a man who you could genuinely feel that zing! feeling with just by looking at him.

     You weren't sure when you'd see him again, or if you ever would. And that was the beauty of the entire situation. You didn't feel like you had some type of emotional obligation to him, or like you would have to follow up. You could leave it at that and hold this moment in your heart guilt free. It didn't matter that you didn't know him well - all that mattered was that you still felt whole afterwards and not trapped, that it brought you just as much pleasure as it brought him. And it did. It was like your hot girl summer was starting early.

And you had enjoyed your night out, ending it on a positive note as you watched the bands close up. You filled Aaliyah in on your little detour with Alex. You came home so amped for your performance. This was the most excited you had been for a show since Steve left. You loved your work, but the knowledge that Steve would be watching or would be talking to you afterwards made your shows just a little better.

But now, Steve wasn't on your mind, and you couldn't even say Alex was either. So what was on your mind? Mainly the joie de vivre, the sudden burst of energy you felt after a night out, the invigorating feeling that you were returning to normalcy.

     So when you logged on that night, you were more than ready to give a show, not knowing that you were in for a big storm.

     Steve got the notification that you were on, but he decided to wait it out. He didn't necessarily want to watch the show because he wanted to talk to you. He didn't want to feel awkward, watching you perform overtly sexual acts when all he wanted to do was talk to you. This way you could talk alone. So he didn't watch the show, just waited until you were off. He did some things to occupy himself while he waited, leaving his screen for a moment.

       Your show went by smoothly. It was quick, and mainly full of interaction. You didn't do anything too crazy that night, except for parade around on screen in your lingerie and strike suggestive poses, and make conversation with your regulars as well as welcome new comers. You appreciated the simple life — no extra special connection with anyone made your life a lot easier, even though you had to say that special connection felt like a bonus. But this was nice. Just sitting and talking about the most mundane of things. Dry eyed, cute, and paid.

       You read a few comments as you prepared to finish. Almost everyone was talking about how happy you seemed, how you were glowing more than usual. You just chuckled as you read them, and thanked each commenter.

      "Okay guys!" you cooed into the camera, smiling and giving a three fingered wave as you prepared to sign off. "I'm gonna get going, but it was so great talking to each and every one of you. I hope you guys have a good night. Private sessions tomorrow!"

     You blew a kiss into the camera, and ended the show for that night. You would've logged off completely and gotten ready for bed had it not been for the notification you received, and boy did it grab your attention.

Grant Rogers would like to chat.

    You made a face, blinking as you looked at the screen. It had been about a month since you had last talked to Steve. You thought for sure he was a goner, and you had gotten accustomed to the fact a long time ago. You were surprised he was coming back to talk to you at all, though you were glad your reaction was solely surprise and confusion. You weren't reacting in a way that would send you into another spiral, and you also didn't expect yourself to.

    But you couldn't help but think of the odd circumstances that you had left on, and wonder if it was worth the stress of reconnecting.

    Fuck it, you thought. You'd been through so much. What was a little more? You had the skills you needed to react accordingly, to keep sight of who you were and who you were talking to. You could cope. So you pressed "accept."

    Again, you were met with a black screen. You weren't sure why some part of you expected anything else, but for some reason you had this little voice in you that was cheering to see what Steve looked like. You swallowed that voice down though, and listened to his own, which came after moments of an awkward silence.

    "Hi," Steve said, and you flushed at the sound of his voice, remembering the things it did to you, the way it made you feel — remembering the sound of his voice when he decided to cut things off.

Don't get emotional, you reminded yourself. It doesn't make sense.

     "... Hi," you replied, still confused, not able to hide your furrowed brows and slightly open mouth.

    "I know this is weird of me, and maybe even selfish..." Steve sighed, and in that sigh was his final decision. Even when he decided that he was going to go through with this, the whole time he waited for your show to be over, he went back and forth with himself.

Was this even a slightly plausible idea that he was going through with? He wondered. He had to reassure himself that it wasn't as dangerous as he had convinced himself it was, because you weren't dangerous, because he trusted you. As scary as it was to say. And lastly, what were the consequences?

     It wasn't like Bucky told him to do this, but his talk with Bucky made him realize that it was what he had to do. He didn't want anybody else taking the blame if there was a major fall. It was all on him, and the knowledge of that make him panic. Yet, not enough to stop.

So in that sigh, he was making that final decision to really follow through with it. He was already speaking, so he finished his thought, letting the weight lift off his chest.

      "But I felt like it was only right. We left off on a strange note, and that’s entirely my own fault. I want you to know that. I want you to know that I didn't mean to shut you down, and it's not about me, but I feel... terrible for letting that happen. I shouldn't have let you open up like that if I knew I wasn't even accepting what it was that we had. If I was going to be scared."

      You were starting to become worried, furrowing your brows as you gazed into the black screen ahead of you. It didn't make any sense, what he was saying. It was verging into the same kind of conversation that had made him uncomfortable. The kind of unnecessarily emotional conversation that neither of you were ready to have with each other.

    And you didn't know exactly what he was saying, but you had an idea. He was going back to try and reignite this connection, but it felt like he was overthinking it. Like he was about to blow things out of proportion. And for your own safety, you didn't want to let him.

    "Steve, I don't think-" you started, shaking your head as your face morphed into further confusion, but he cut you off.

    "Just... let me show you what I'm talking about."

    This conversation couldn't get anymore confusing. He was being so unnatural and cryptic, so randomly opening up to you. It scared you, and it didn't feel like the conversations you had with Steve before all this. You were rethinking everything, ready to just call it a night and take a break for a few days just so you could process what he was even saying and why he was coming back after nearly a month.

    It was irregular before, but in the way that you liked — irregular in the sense that you felt such a strong connection with a customer that you'd never felt before, irregular in the sense that you wanted to talk to him so often, irregular in the sense that it made you happy, but it didn't take up all your time. Now it was just strange. And you almost laughed at the way the universe seemed to be taunting you - of course right when you were feeling free, of course right when you were ridding yourself of your emotional baggage, taking your sexual freedom into your own hands, this would happen. It felt like a compromise right now, even if a part of you was happy to be hearing from him. 

    And then, a pause. The sound of shuffling. And then he turned his own camera on. And you weren't looking at a black screen anymore. Confusion, a blur in your mind — were you mistaking exactly who you were looking at? A brain hiccup, followed by clarity. An abrupt realization that you weren't mistaken.

    The sight in front of you when that camera turned on made you sit right up, your eyes nearly popping out of your head. There was no fucking way. It was some sort of sick joke. Because the man behind the camera simply could not be who you thought it was.

    "What. The. Fuck."

note: ummm!!!!

!!!

i told y’all it’d be getting crazyyyy

yes there will b a part six!!!

give me all of ur thoughts !!! gimme all of them !

will be adding tags in reblogs <3

[kkysolo]

Stuck On You / Chpt. 2

Prologue / Chapter One

Pairing: Ben Solo|Kylo Ren/Reader (female) Setting: Modern AU - Cyberpunk, dystopia, gangs, best friends to lovers.  Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, language, emotional reactions, classism, poverty, war, co-dependent relationships (eventual fluff, smut, romance).

A/N: Yeah, I know I said I wasn’t gonna post this story on tumblr anymore because of the anxiety posting on here causes me, but here we are in our clown shoes posting anyway. There is a major language warning for this chapter. Listen, I grew up in a pretty small town in Ireland where many of us were from poorer households and swearing as punctuation just seemed to be how we all spoke growing up. So that’s been a huge inspiration for how our characters in this story speak, though their circumstances are far more dire. Also, a very dialogue heavy chapter. Also, I tend to write in second-person omniscient, which is why you’ll see a lot of head-hopping.

Fic Summary: 

The year is 2084.

Despite its advances, society has collapsed on itself. The world is crooked, damaged, dying. Rezoned into new territories, separating the elite from the unworthy. Civilization is crumbling at your very feet, and in the midst of it all, your best friend, Ben Solo, has been missing for three years. You desperately cling to what’s left of him, hoping that he’ll come home, praying that things will fall back into place.

And then he does. And they don’t. Because life is different when you’re a scoundrel in the midst of a class war.

Available under the cut, and here on AO3

You wake with a start, inhaling sharply as your eyes adjust to the morning light. It cracks through a crooked break in the rotting window shutters, the black paint has long since flaked away to expose it’s decaying wood. You yawn, nuzzling into your pillow. You relish in the quiet of mornings like these - a brief sliver of serenity, of tranquility, amidst a raging war. There’s no patrols this morning, no roar of ion engines, no gunshots, no screaming. No sound, no peep at all from the hell you’ve come to live in. Just the quiet rumble of resistance vehicles, the soothing hum of conversing pedestrians. You stretch, elongating your limbs as you turn away from the window, groggily humming as you do. 

And then, you see him. And then, you scream. 

The pitch of your glass-shattering screech startles him awake, and he jumps out of his sleeping position - his head resting heavily against his fist, his elbow supporting his upper body weight on the arm of one of the only two chairs you own. You scuttle backward frantically, your back hitting the wall - you couldn’t afford a headboard even if you saved. Your bed doesn’t even have a frame. 

“Woah,” he grunts. “You scared the shit out of me.” 

You blink. You can feel it, the panic. You know it’s coming, and you try in vain to calm your heart as it begins to race, pounding against your flesh. You can hear it in your ears, can hear the blood draining from your face. Your breathing starts to catch in your throat as your chest tightens, and you think, for a moment, that you might vomit all over your knees. 

“You look like you’re going to puke,” he comments, rising from his seat. He steps closer to you, but you flinch, and your breathing only accelerates. “It’s alright, it’s just me, it’s Ben,” his tone drops to a soothing murmur as he continues his approach. “It’s just me, sunshine.” 

It’s the nickname that does it, that throws you over the edge. Sobs erupt from your chest with a force, causing you to cough and choke as tears start to spurt, cascading down your cheeks and streaming past your lips. The bed dips as he appears beside you, pulling you to him, right into his chest - and the feeling, how it feels to finally have you like this again, right in front of him, your skin beneath his fingertips, your hair tickling the plains of his cheeks. The moment, this indulgent little fragment of repose, it doesn’t last. You thrash against him, shoving him away with every ounce of strength you can muster first thing in the morning. 

“What the fuck, Ben?” You wail, kicking him away and scooting to the opposite side of the bed. “W-what the fuck are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you to wake up,” he says - and calmly, too. Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

You look at him incredulously, frantically wiping the tears from your face. Your shock is replaced by a glower. 

“Where have you been,” you grit out, enunciating each word with as much venom as you can. “For the past three fucking years?” 

Ben pauses, eyes falling to the floor. 

“Smuggling,” he mumbles, almost too low for you to hear. 

“Smuggling,” you repeat the word indignantly. “You left us. You left the Resistance, your family, me, to go and fucking smuggle?” 

“It’s not that simpl-” 

You cut him off. You don’t care if it’s not that simple. Everything is that simple. 

“Well what the fuck are you smuggling?” “Just weapons at first, but now with the whole alcohol thing-” “Jesus, Ben, how the fuck did you end up in this mess?” “The Knights of Ren-” “The Kni- the fucking bounty hunters? The fucking gang? Are you fucking for real?” “They fucking found me on the outer rim on that mission with a top tier warrant on my head!” “And?”

“Wh-” Ben looks at you incredulously, mouth half hanging open. “What the fuck do you mean ‘and’? They cut me a deal, I work for them, they don’t hand me over to the Empire.” 

“Work for them? What, you’re hunting bounties, now? Picking us off?”

Ben shifts backward in surprise, a hand running through his raven hair. It’s longer now, than it used to be. 

“No, Jesus. The deal was that I bring in their credits. I smuggle whatever they want me to, I do whatever they want me to - they keep me away from the Empire, and they leave the Resistance alone.”  “Sounds like a sweet fucking deal, bet you’re living the life of luxury,” you fold your arms across your chest, sniffling quietly. 

“Well, I made them enough fucking credits,” he makes a gesture of exasperation with his hands. “But I don’t get a cut. Them leaving you alone is payment enough, as far as they’re concerned. They lose a lot of fucking money not picking up your bounties,” he pauses for a moment, his eyes that had settled on the ground now snap up to meet yours. “Do you know you’ve got a second tier warrant on you?”

You ignore him. Of course you know. 

“I can’t believe that’s what you were doing, that that’s where you were.”  “I was staying alive,”  “We needed you.” “And what fucking use would I have been to anyone dead?” He roars, and you jump only slightly. “What fucking use am I to you if I’m dead?”  “You were as good as, you dick.”  “I always knew I was coming back,” he tries to settle his temper. “I couldn’t have left you forever.” “You left for long enough, didn’t you, though? Because we didn’t know you were coming back.”  “I couldn’t-” “You could have fucking called!” You shriek. “I texted your stupid fucking phone every fucking time I thought of you, which was all the damn time.”  “I know,” he murmurs. “I got them. Your voicemail, too.” 

You can’t help the whimper that escapes you. It feels somewhat like your whole life has just shattered around you.

“I fucking hate you,” you sob. “I absolutely fucking hate you.” 

“No,” Ben murmurs, and he reaches for you again. You swat at him. “You don’t, sunshine. You know you don’t.”

“I do,” you cry. But Ben shakes his head again, and you don’t even see, don’t even notice that he’s crying, that he’s been crying. 

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” he whispers. “Please,” and he tries again - arms winding around your waist as he pulls you to him, sliding you onto his lap. You don’t resist this time. Your head lolls against his chest as you cry, and cry and cry and cry until it feels like your throat is coated in splinters. And he holds you like that, while your hands clutch at his shirt, bunching it in your fists, and he rocks you gently. Humming softly as his own tears drip down onto your scalp. Humming a song - that song. Your song. 

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. 

_______________________________________________________________________

“She can’t see me,” Ben toys with his coffee cup. He sits, hunched over at your kitchen table - if you can call a decaying wooden crate with two chairs as much. “She can’t know.”

“You’re not gonna tell your own mother that you’re alive?”  You’re standing at the counter, watching him from a safe distance. Your anger, your fury has simmered, but hasn’t dissipated. “What the fuck has happened to you?”

“I’m not supposed to be here,” he grits, grinding his teeth. You’ve always hated when he does that. The noise of it would wake you during the night when you’d both shared a closet-sized bedroom some years ago. You’d shared a damp mattress, too. Mold ridden and lumpy and cold. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have come.”

“Then why did you?”

Ben rolls his eyes. 

“What fucking good is it explaining anything to you? You don’t listen.”  “I’ve been listening.”

“Well, you’re not fucking hearing me, then,” he mumbles, focusing his attention on your feet instead of your face. He’s irritated, irate with himself for thinking this would be easy - that you’d leap into his arms without a second thought. Because really, you’ve always been this way. Stubborn, unyielding. The two things he’s always so deeply admired about you are now serving only to undermine his feeble plan. 

“Even if you did want to tell her, she’s leaving on a mission today.” “And dad?” “Going with her,” you sip at your own coffee. It tastes of used filters. “You know Han doesn’t let her go alone.” 

Ben nods solemnly, twirling his cup in his hands. 

“I came for you,” he murmurs. “That’s why I’m here.”  “For me?” 

“I needed to see you,” his voice drops an octave, and it trembles only slightly as he speaks. “And I can keep you safe.” 

You scoff. The concept of safety has been long lost on you. For years now, you’ve endured, survived - but you’ve lost sleep, jumping awake at the sound of an ion engine. You’ve lost blood, lost hair, lost half your sanity simply trying to stay alive. 

“There’s no safety, not here, not anywhere.”

“I can keep you safe,” he springs up from his seat, knocking his empty cup over as he does. “But you need to trust me.” 

“What about your parents? Your friends?” 

He’s inches from you now, biting at his lip in that way that he does, the way that makes them red raw and swollen. He’s determined, adamant that this will work - that you’ll hear him, that you’ll come with him. He needs to know that the past three years haven’t been in vain, that they haven’t been for nothing, that his work, his fucking slavery meant something. 

“My parents don’t need my help, you know that as well as I do,” he murmurs, his voice dropping deeper. “They’re untouchable. You aren’t.” 

“None of us are.”

“You’re my priority,” he insists, and the power he holds with his stance, his figure that looms over you alone almost convinces you of it - that you are. 

“Didn’t feel like that when you fucking disappeared,” you grumble, not stepping back when he moves closer. “And I don’t see how you’re going to be able to protect me. Ben Solo the smuggler, what hold do you have on the Empire?” 

He cocks an eyebrow, his honey eyes twinkling as a soft smirk forms on his lips - and all you can think of is trouble, because that smirk, those eyes - they’ve never led to anything good. 

“Ben Solo? Nothing,” he shrugs. “Kylo Ren, though? Everything.” 

[wanna-do-bad-things]

On Purpose.

Summary: Henry has finished season one of The Witcher and his wife is in need of sex. Type: Smut. Detailed smut. Word count: 2589 Warnings: Frustration, coaxing, Henry using dirty talk, use of vibrator, restraints, unprotected sex, brief mention of creampie. A/N: So I’m pretty new here to this fandom and this is the first thing that I’ve written for him. If you read this, please give it a like/reblog and my ask is open if you’d like to drop me a message :) When I’m not writing reader insert, I write as an unnamed oc “she”. This was written as a request from someone on my Patreon but she asked that it was shared with tumblr. This was backed up by another friend who agreed it should be shared here, so I hope it’s enjoyed!.

The original request:  henry Cavill, he has wrapped up season one of witcher. His wife is super horny from watching season 1 and needs him to come home asap and fuck her asap. But mr henry comes home, eats, plays video games, teases her with showing his thighs. She is annoyed so goes up to room, later on he goes up, ties her up, rips her clothes and goes slow at first then picks up the speed and watches her body shake and she cums right on him. He stops her, getting naked and shoves his dick inside her and pounds her to oblivion smacking her ass Sorry for any mistakes in this.

_____

She’d been on the set for a lot of the scenes, watching as Henry worked his ass off to achieve the most realistic scenes he possibly could. She watched as he worked off set with the choreographers for the fight scenes, heard the way he shared his input for the way the weapons should look, feel and work. She’d felt her heart burst with pride as he held the attention of those within the room and felt her underwear soak as she watched him in action. 

She knew oh too well what he was capable of, had been manhandled by him on more than one occasion and watching as he moved with ease, the way his muscles flex beneath his skin and his expressions had her feeling weak. The cast and crew spent the final week going over everything and had a viewing of the full first series and all it had done for her was leave her even more sexually frustrated. 

He had a few more things that he needed to do before season one was fully wrapped up and had been out of the house for most of the morning and afternoon. All it had done, leaving her with her thoughts and images whirling in her mind, was increase her desire for him. By the time Henry comes home, she’s ready to jump him. 

“I’ve just got home, give me a few minutes yeah,” he kisses her on the tip of her nose and momentarily holds her against him. 

“But I-”

“I know. But give me time to wind down.”

“I could help with that.” She trails her hand down his chest, but he captures it before it gets too low. 

“Not that kind.” He gives her a small smile. “It’s been a long day already, I need to eat something – not you,” he adds quickly, “I need to eat, relax and shower. Maybe later?”

He moves out of her way, and though she understands his need and want for some downtime because of the strict schedule he’s had to adhere to, that doesn’t fix her craving for him. 

She gives it time, busies herself with a few other chores that she can think to do and also showers. Slipping on a robe with nothing underneath, she makes her way downstairs to where she finds him, sitting in his study with his game is open, a plate of finished food beside him and his attention completely on the screen before him. He sits with his headset on, a plain white V neck shirt and some cut off sweatpant shorts. The way he sits, his shorts ride up, exposing several inches of his thigh as he sits with his legs open. This was unfair. This was cruel. 

“How was your food?” She asks, stepping into the room and running her hands over his shoulders. Henry pushes one of his headphones out of the way so he can hear and briefly turns his head to acknowledge her. 

“Nice. Good. Just what I needed.”

“Got your fill?” She asks as she rounds his body and places her thighs on either side of his knee. She allows the robe to fall open, just enough to let him know, let him see just a brief hint of nipple as she sits herself down on. She’d played ever so briefly in the shower, not that she’d intended to but as she’d moved, spray from the shower had hit her body and couldn’t help but use her fingers. Her wetness slicks against his thigh and this gets his attention. 

“You’re something else today, do you know that.” He says after muting his mic. She grins and rocks her hips against him. It’s not the first time she’s rode his thigh and knows that Henry gets off on seeing her do this as much as she gets off on doing it, but she has no intention of reaching her orgasm this way. She leans in to him, wraps her lips around his earlobe and bites ever so gently, knowing it gets him hard when he begins to say, “let me ju-” he doesn’t have time to finish his sentence before she sighs, and climbs off him. “Hey wait. You didn’t let me finish.”

“Well I didn’t either. You play your game Henry and I’ll just go play.” 

Her frustrations are making her crabby, but it’s been weeks since he last touched her, and her sex drive is higher than normal. All she wants is a little attention from him, but she’ll have to make do with thinking of the things she wants him to do to her instead of actually feeling it. 

She makes her way back to the bedroom and kicks the door shut, feeling the walls shake with the force of it. That might have been a little harder than intended but oh well. She drops the robe half-way between the door and the bed and slips between the sheets, kicking them off as she fumbles about in the bedside drawer for her newest purchase from an online toy store. 

With two sides on the top, one for precision and one with a curved yet flat side, designed to cover the whole clit, not just the tip like on the other side, she fully intends to play. This gets her to orgasm within a minute, two tops and right now, that’s what she wants. With its five settings, starting off slow and the highest setting making her lose her vision, her speech to no longer sound and her muscles to tighten up to the point where she had a cramp in her leg a few days later. 

No sooner had she turned the dial to switch it on, Henry is opening the door, a smirk on his face and his cock straining against his shorts. “Nothing makes me harder than seeing my girl all frustrated, wanting me and acting a brat about it.”

“You did this on purpose.” Her eyes widen in surprise, her jaw clenches and she glares at him. 

“Do you know how hot you are when you’re angry? Annoyed? Sexually frustrated?” he asks as he moves towards her. “When all you want is to be touched, licked and fucked?”

“Hen-”

“No, you’re going to listen since you made such a big display down there.” He’s above her before she can stop him, straddling her waist as she would his and he knocks the toy from her hands. it buzzes to itself on the bedding before he turns it off. “You want to be adored? Admired? Loved and fucked all at once? Is that what my wife wants? To have that bratty attitude fucked out of her?” She tries to move under his weight but doesn’t get very far. “Poor baby, guess you’ll have to lay there and endure this.”

She glares up at him, hating the wetness that builds between her thighs at his words. He always knows how to get her worked up, talking down to her like this, making her feel needy for wanting him in the most primal way. The way he looks at her - so bored, so unamused, only turns her on even more. “Touch me.”

“You’re in no position to make demands. In fact, since you need it so badly, I’ll give you exactly what you desire. I’ll give it to you repeatedly. How about that?” She nods eagerly, forgetting that she’s supposed to be mad at him. She willingly offers her wrists, allows him to bound them and tie them above her head to the solid wood bed frame. It’s not until he’s reaching for the toy that he so happily discarded that she realises what she’s done. 

“Henry - no.”

“Going to stop me, are you?” She swallows hard when the buzzing starts, “tell me right now that you don’t want this.”

“I don’t want to be teased.” She specifies. 

“But you want this, on your clit while I eat your pussy? Or maybe just inside of you, only just, to give you a taste of what’s to come as I pleasure you with my mouth?” He’s not pressed the toy against her yet and her eyes flutter closed at the mere thought of what his mouth can and will do to her. “Tell me you want it or you get nothing.”

“I want it. Please, I need it.”

“Only because you said please.” 

He starts the vibrator off on the lowest setting, trailing over her nipples which harden instantly under the silicon. The smoothness of the texture glides over her skin, goosebumps appear in its wake as he slowly trails it down her stomach, over her thighs and teases over everywhere but her clit. He gets close to her exposed clit, her wet core and her ass but never close enough. 

“I said no teasing.”

“And I said I’d teach you a lesson. You won’t learn if you’re just getting your own way all the time.” he dips it between her folds, the vibrations has her eyes closing completely and her breath slowly comes out as a long hiss. With her slick now coating the tip, he trails it up her slit and applies the lightest of touches to her bead. her thighs shake instantly, the build up starting in the shower finally taking its toll and before he can pull it away, she reaches her first orgasm. 

“Disappointing.” He declares. “I thought you’d last longer.” He presses the flat side, the one that covers her whole clit and presses down as he speeds up the vibration setting. Her mouth opens, her eyes roll and her back arches as she tugs on her restraints. Her stomach muscles flex, her belly visibly contracting before him as her legs shake. She can’t speak, can’t cry out as the pleasure takes over her. She’s barely had time to recover from her last when another one builds even faster, wracking her body at such a pace that her head hurts from the blood rush. She knows she needs to breathe but all she can do is accept the euphoria which floods her system. 

Henry pulls the vibrator from her, stares down at the wet bedding, her cum splattered thighs and takes in the sight of his wife completely undone. “Sensitive today. Abstinence really suits you.” 

“Don’t.” she manages to croak out, trying to close her legs but he holds them apart, running his fingers over her soaked core. 

“Thought you needed me?” He asks, his cock straining against his shorts as he kneels before her. “You can either suck my cock or let me fuck you. The choice is yours which hole I use.” He makes quick work, his clothes almost ripping under the force in which he pulls them from him. She drinks him in, torn between wanting him in her mouth but knowing with the way he’s behaving right now, that he wouldn’t go easy on her. 

She opens her legs, her knees lifting as she does so, watching as he palms his cock, pre-cum dotting at the slit. She wants to lick it away, take him between her lips but she’s not ready for the throat fucking that he’d give her and so prepares herself as he begins to lean forward, sinks himself into her in one long motion. He pulls her knee up to his chest and begins to thrust. He watches as her breasts bounce, the way she closes her eyes tightly and bites down on her lip. Clenching his jaw, he turns her body while he’s still inside of her and slaps her ass, feeling the way her pussy clenches around him at the contact. 

“You wanted this, now look at me while I’m fucking you,” he demands, pulling all the way out to the tip before slamming back into her fully. He takes her hard and fast, not giving her a moment to consider anything other than the way he drives himself into her. He spanks her again, enjoying the tightness increase when he does so and the moan that escapes her lips. He’s half tempted to get the toy, apply it to her clit once more and watch her come undone around him but he wouldn’t be able to keep the pace if he was holding that in place too. He’d need her to do so and he’s not giving her hands access again, not until this is over. 

The moment she’d sat on his knee - no, even the few seconds before she’d done so, he’d known that she’d be wet and how horny she’d been all day. Part of him really had wanted to de-stress in his own way but the other part enjoyed watching her get riled up, become so frustrated that she’d snap on her own accord. He loved that she became a victim to her own plan, suffering at her own hands. He knew she’d come up and play, get the new toy she’d denied purchasing but he’d heard her playing, seen the hazy post-orgasm eyes and blushed cheeks. He’d bide his time until this moment, not realising how effective it would actually be but it was a stunning reaction and one he fully intends to do again.

His hips continue to snap to hers, the sound of her wetness and skin on skin fills the room. She tries to hold back her moans but she’s mostly unsuccessful. The more she tries to hold it back, the harder Henry fucks her. He lifts her leg, her foot now on his shoulder, the slight shift in her position alters the way in which he enters her. It feels tighter and so he feels, if possible, bigger, now hitting spots which hadn’t been as accessible as before, or if they had, they certainly hadn’t come alive like this. His fingers dig into her skin, his short nails manage to nip at her, marking it with soft crescent shapes. His vocals reach her ears, his soft moans, deep grunts when she feels perfect around him and his growls when she tightens her core at just the right time. Hearing him is arousing, fresh wetness builds as she hears it and she pleads with him to cum. He grips her harder, one hand on her ankle, the other on her waist as he buries himself within her time after time until he halts, his cock throbbing as he climaxes, spilling everything within her. 

“Is that what you wanted?” He asks when his breathing has calmed and she rests her legs on either side of his thighs. 

“Mmmmm,” she moans softly, “something like that.” He pulls out of her, pausing for a moment with both hands on her inner thighs, holding her legs open just long enough to see the first drops of cum seep from her. “what a mess you’ve caused.” she comments and he grins. 

“You’re lucky I’m not making you sample it.” He leans over her with ease, resting his weight into his knees as he unties her. As she strokes over her wrists, he places his hands on either side of her ribs and leans forward, pressing his lips against hers and giving her soft, gentle kisses, a stark contrast to the performance he’s just given. “Let’s get you in that shower.”

“Yeah?”

“And then I’ll cook us something to eat, share that bottle of wine that’s been calling to us recently to celebrate the completion of season one and maybe…” he runs a hand up her thigh once more. “Have part two.”

[citrusella-flugpucker]

All 68 of my SU fics, apparently

((Because @novantinuum did it and then I wanted to do it and then they said “do it” and I took it as a dare

Compiling these gave me a sense of accomplishment. And pain. In my wrist.

Multi-line summaries nearly always squashed to lessen the vertical length of this post, even if most of it is below a readmore))

Multi-chapter fics, regardless of collection status (chronological order--oldest to newest):

And He Doesn’t Wake: My first SU fic, complete; “It can't end like this. Or: Waxing realistic as we examine the events of the episode "Bubbled".” Steven suffers halfway-realistic effects from being exposed to the vacuum of space. Probably not super canon compliant given what we learned in Growing Pains but a fic that branches off at Bubbled and rejoins canon around Mindful Education (and written around that timespan).

Diamond in the Rough: Incomplete; “Connie is in the hospital with a serious disorder, and her biggest chance is an experimental treatment combining minerals with blood transfusions. Little does anyone know...” Originally crack of “Connie gets powers from PD-infused blood” but then ASPR happened and I have to figure out where it goes now (and I want to! but...).

The Results Are In: Incomplete; “Sadie gets a piece of mail from her dad. For most people that'd be pretty mundane, but it's a little more complicated considering who exactly her dad is.” Barb/Blue Diamond crack (it makes sense in context) and affectionately called “Space Maury” internally for reasons that will make sense later. Has a similar but less “it flips the ENTIRE plot” issue with ASPR. I have many idea chunks but almost no connection between them

He’s Gone: Complete (and technically a oneshot with two “bonus chapters”); “Steven asks Peridot to get the shirt Connie got for him for his birthday from his closet. He says he wants to look nice. She's confused by his request. Greg and the Maheswarans are less confused and more terrified. He keeps saying it'll be okay. They'll be okay, even though he'll be going away. It'll just be a couple of days now. Or: Steven and Pink Steven are unable to fuse after being separated on Homeworld. That's not good for Steven.” Steven dies. That’s it. That’s the whole fic. Might potentially get an extra chapter or two still. Or not. Eh.

Thanks, Padparadscha: Incomplete/open-ended oneshot collection; “Stories about the best gem.” Padparadscha oneshots.

Your No-Good, Dirty-Rotten, Gem-Shattering, Rebellion-Leading Mother: Incomplete, little desire to finish; “What if Steven had gone to Camp Green Lake instead of Stanley? Or: If Steven Universe And Holes Were The Same Universe: A Fanfiction (thanks @captainjzh) Or, as the top of my Google Doc I started back exactly a year ago (*2019-01-07) says: SU x Holes: Because the fact that Steven Universe and Stanley Yelnats are both 14 is messing with me”. Wrote this as an exercise after reading the appalling original shopped screenplay for the Holes movie which was basically a nuclear fallout enthusiasts dream world but also quite possibly the worst and most uncomfortable thing ever written and I have had to have whole pages bleached from my memory

It’s Okay to Need Help: Incomplete (three chapters total planned), the last part of the pre-SUF-finale “Steven Corruption Theory” collection; “"Everybody needs support sometimes, and you need support right now, with this. And that's okay." She takes a deep breath. "It's okay to need help, Steven." Or: (Based in corrupted Steven theory as well as taking inspiration/using characteristics from a fic by @love-killed-the-superstar​) Sometime after coming back from corruption, Steven sees a therapist to try to hammer out some lingering issues.” Steven has specific lingering issues from corruption due to the way they had to mitigate it, and that affects how he communicates with his therapist some days. Just been blocked on the best way to write it

Waiting is Worse: Incomplete; “Is there anything more awful than the feeling of powerlessness?” The movie mostly ends the same, except Steven doesn’t un-rejuvenate.

Realism: Incomplete, strong desire to complete; “As much as he may want it to be, this is not a dream. He's not possessing anyone. It's not happening to someone else. It's real.” Steven has the same effects happen to him as the Watermelon Steven from Escapism--an arm and a leg are amputated.

The President Kisses Babies, and Other White House Briefs: Incomplete, open-ended oneshot collection with very little overarching plot; “Oneshot escapades of President Connie Maheswaran and her First Man, Crystal Gem and public speaker, Steven Universe.” Inspired by a Tumblr post and with more ideas in the pipeline! Love this fic even if I lost most inspiration for four years!!

Collection (series) oneshots (chronological order):

Citrusella Tries (And Succeeds!) to Write a Fic Each Day of the Bomb: A collection where I tried to write a fic each day of the HotCG (wedding) bomb. I succeeded but also kind of not? XD

Could You Imagine?: “Imagination is wish fulfillment. What are some of the things Pearl has imagined?” Now We’re Only Falling Apart

Partake In New Extraordinary And Pleasing Pizza Lover Experiences (Or: Kiki's Lament): “Kiki rarely hates her job. But she does hate pineapples.” What’s Your Problem? (Also the title spells PINEAPPLE o.o)

Acquired Taste: “Steven has a snack as he helps prepare for an important ceremony.” The Question

My Whole Life: “Some people are just born to go into certain careers.” Made of Honor

We Can Think About Hope: Incomplete multi-chapter with no hope of completion (why it’s not listed in the multi-chapters, BTW... also the “kind of not” regarding success); “What's going on? What do we do now? Can you still hear me? (Or: The end of Reunited plays out differently.) (Or or: And He Doesn't Wake: Part II: This time with weirder angst! And more not waking!)”

Citrusella's "Steven Corruption Theory" Collection: A collection of fics written on the corruption theory premise before it became canon. It’s Okay to Need Help not duplicated here but would be at the end.

Change: “Steven's come back from probably the most serious thing that's happened to him--save almost dying after his gem was ripped out--but that doesn't mean he came back unchanged. (Based on the "corrupted Steven theory".)”

My Skin: “Steven does a mental inventory of what's changed about him since his uncorruption and finds himself starting to fall into a hole of self-criticism, until a song playing downstairs sets him straight. (Based on the "corrupted Steven theory".)”

Eternity in a Moment: “It had only taken a few hours, and yet, an eternity.”

I Can't Say with Confidence: “Over an hour. He's been sitting in the tub, fully clothed, the bathroom a mess… for over an hour.It should be working! Why isn’t it working?!” Based on this art!

It’s Okay to Need Help

Happy Steven's Day!: Just after Steven discovers his mother is Pink Diamond, Mother's Day rolls around...Greg just doesn't want Steven to be in a slump about it anymore.

You Deserve All the Joy: “Because nothing is better than being surrounded by family and love. Or: Steven's once-a-year struggle with a holiday he doesn't exactly have the ability to traditionally celebrate.” It’s Mother’s Day and Steven is sad. Post-ASPR

Universe Day: “"Being your dad is the only present I really need." Or: Greg and Steven talk and realize their experiences with Mother's Day have been two sides of the same coin.” Post-SUF

Citrusella's Comfortember 2020 Fics: Fics written based on prompts for November 2020 Comfortember... not finished with it

Speed Bump: “Steven's first night on the open road isn't as smooth as he wanted it to be. Attempt to combine prompts 2-6 of Comfortember (prompt 1 just couldn't be squeezed in): "first day/night", "nightmare", anxiety", "cuddling", "afraid to sleep"”

In the After: “Steven wonders if it was corruption. Comfortember days 7-10, though only in the most tenuous, technical sense (and by that I mean all four phrases are mentioned): "blanket fort", "lashing out", "confession", "crying"”

Late Night Hot Chocolate (described in next section)

Zombie Club Chronicles: Steven endures a violent accident on Frightnight (Halloween) that changes his life forever.

Beach City Zombie Club

Prompt: [Randomly roll from list: Steven] doesn’t enjoy the Halloween season, but [Fill in: Steven] take(s) them on a well-meaning trip to an old Gem Ruin where they come to realize [Pick from list: They’ve made a terrible mistake in coming here]

On Frightnight when he is 17, Steven experiences the most serious event of his young life. Almost exactly a year later, Steven takes Steven to Lars' ship in hopes of being able to hop off at a truly secluded gem ruin to talk about something that Steven and Steven have been disagreeing on for several months. Lars has an idea, and Steven comes to a realization.

For the Cluster Spooky Writing Challenge!

Late Night Hot Chocolate (also a Comfortember fic)

"Steven? What are you doing?" He stares into the pot.

The gem half's voice comes monotone. "Making hot chocolate."

"It's three o'clock in the morning. Why on earth are you making… hot chocolate?"

The slyness on his face is one pixel away from nonexistent and yet it's practically a traffic cone to his other half, as he remarks flatly, "Because I've lost control of my life."

Or: Steven and Steven both have nightmares that threaten to take them back to... that night... One copes by making the other hot chocolate and pretending he really isn't having any problems.

Comfortember days 16-18: Protective, Flashbacks, Hot Cocoa

Standalone oneshots (reverse chronological order--newest to oldest):

Rumble Strips:

Prompt: [Randomly roll from list: Greg] notices [Fill in: Steven] is in a somber mood lately. Out of the goodness of their heart they try to cheer up the sad soul in the only way they know how: [Fill in: WHO WANTS TO GO ON A ROAD TRIP?!]

"I really thought I could handle myself on my own." He scoffed. "Even my own therapist didn't think I could do it."

"I bet she thought you could handle yourself just fine. She probably just thought you'd do better with your support system close, bud. Like, literally, I mean." His eye weaved through the thin line of gravel past the edge of the shoulder. "You started saying some pretty concerning things."

Or: Greg and Steven stop on the side of the interstate on their way to Empire City for New Year's, to have a conversation.

For the Cluster Christmas Writing Challenge!

Auto-Injector: “In an alternate timeline, Steven meets Bluebird at her welcome party but he cannot, under any circumstances, try her hors-d'oeuvres. Or: Steven ends up with allergies because why not” (I have three more ideas for chapters)

Don't Put Beans Up Your Nose: “"I know you want answers, and I wish I had some for you, really, Steven, but from what you've described…  those aren't things to play around with. It's unethical to knowingly subject you to those for the sake of 'experimenting', even if you consent." Or: Steven asks Dr. Maheswaran a question she's not ethically able to answer.”

The Exor-schist:

Prompt: A series of events have led to a terrifying effect on one or more of the series’ characters. [Randomly roll from list: Mr. and Dr. Maheswaran] are now suffering from [Randomly roll from list: Spiritual Possession]. How did this happen?

"This corrupted gem, it has a powerful connection to organic matter. Ones this powerful have been known to overtake and even kill humans."

For the Cluster Spooky Writing Challenge!

It's My Party and I'll Dry If I Want To: “You would dry too, if it happened to you! Or: Steven says he wants a pool party for his eighteenth birthday in Delmarva, after over a year of traveling the country. ...But why isn't he swimming?”

Ace Up Your Sleeve: “Or in your back pocket, same diff. Or: Steven's sad about potentially not getting to go to Pride.” (oneshot and an epilogue)

Milestone: “"Okay, so like, the books aren't, like, useless, but they assume you have like the perfect baby. Maybe consider the following: kids are dorks, man." Or: Steven went to the doctor. Once. Or: Greg thinks Steven, at 15 months, is being weird and missing milestones and is worried he's a bad dad so he goes to Vidalia for help.” May eventually be part of a babby Steeb over the years collection

Full Enclosure: “What am I going to tell you? You're better off not knowing the trouble I'm in. / I don't want you to worry about what I've just seen, about where I've just been. / You don't have to be a part of this, I don't think I want you to be! / You don't need this, you don't need me... Or: Steven defines himself by his connection to others. So when they all leave, then… he's no one. (In short: Steven is crushed by his need to be needed.)”

Vice: “He could stop whenever he wanted to. He just didn't want to. Or: Steven falls into a bad habit and tries to rationalize it as okay as long as he's not completely abandoning the idea of improving his life.”

Stairwell Solitude: “Over ten years, Greg wrote just six letters to his parents. What could they have contained?” Post-Mr. Universe

Striations: “At Connie's behest, Dr. Maheswaran makes a house call to Steven's place after his un-monstering. It's different than his last appointment, but its core is the same.”

Everything Stays: “Ever so slightly, daily and nightly, in little ways, when everything stays... Steven's therapist brings up something she's noticed about him outside his PTSD.”

I Do It For Me: “"Forgiveness is the intentional and voluntary process by which a victim undergoes a change in feelings and attitude regarding an offense, and overcomes negative emotions such as resentment and vengeance." Steven asks his therapist a question. The answer may surprise him.”

A Break in the Case: “Dr. Maheswaran takes a look at Steven's results but quickly finds herself in over her head.” Mid-Growing Pains

I have a couple entries in the @connieswap omake collection (Comic Relief and Same Old Steven)--I’m not linking them

Changing Tastes: “ Steven and Connie share a conversation after watching Crying Breakfast Friends: Under the Butterknife.”

Rejuvenated Regrets: “Someone calls Steven's name from downstairs. He's not listening closely enough to know who it is. He's not sure he cares right this moment. He wants Mom—Rose—Pink—and that's the one person he knows it's not.”

Gut Feeling: “Every time, he has to push his brain off that train of thought--what if she does it again?--but for someone with super-strength, he's surprisingly not very good at pushing.”

Lapis Watches Titanic (1997) ...There’s no summary

The Cluster Halloween Exquisite Corpse 2019 (I only wrote part of this!!): “Lars tells a horror story but loses track of it, or; a bunch of fic writers do an exquisite corpse and hilarity ensues. Written by DocCairo, citrusella, E350, love-killed-the-superstar and br42.”

Drift Away: “There are timelines where Steven fell into the biopoison when the Earth cracked under his feet. Here we see three times Steven (technically) lived despite a dive into pure poison, and one time he didn't.”

The Rose Wilts: “Once upon a time, he knew Rose. But he knew he didn't know everything.Sometimes it feels like he's learned more about her after she died than he ever knew while she was alive.“ Doug and Rose used to be friends

Tying the Knot: “Steven never wears shoes with laces, because he can't tie them. When Connie finds out, he's pretty chill about it.”

Haploid: “You're not sure if this is what being shattered feels like. You don't know if you want to be sure.” Mid-CYM

Thestral: “"How many have you seen?" "All of them." She answered without hesitation. "Oh." Or: Pearl and Steven talk about a type of gem that corruption has given some... special characteristics.”

500 Words a Secret Santa Gift: The Gratuitous Reference: “200 words a day, every day, until Under the Knife comes back. Or Crying Breakfast Friends. We're not picky at this point. Secret Santa edition! (A Secret Santa gift for @e350tb that deliberately and gratuitously references their 100 Words a Day series.)”

Sesimorp, Sesimorp: “A Lapis Lazuli makes a beautiful work of art.”

Ship Talk: “Lars and Steven share a moment on the Sun Incinerator.”

No Way Around It: “An order is an order.”

Give It A Try!: “Steven gets a Diamond to try something new.”

Better Off: “Peedee ponders what could have been.”

Steven x A Nice Calm Life Please and Thank You™: A Case for the Realization of a Bold New Ship: “Steven deserves a happy life free of interplanetary struggle and strife. It's my OTP. So I'm going to give him that! :D”

I Don't Know: “Will this ever make sense? Will this ever feel normal?” Post-ASPR

Force of Nature: “Her diamond gave her orders no longer.”

My Gemmortal (by XXXbloodstoneshardz666XXX): “the escupaids fo steven hardlight amnesia lion universe and his freinds n crushs” (this is exactly what it sounds like)

The Picture of Steven Pink: “It took a lot out of him.” (SU but Steven takes on the injuries he heals)

Self: “In the Connie Swap AU, Steven considers his identity and place in his family, community, culture, and himself. For a kid who at least tries to be all sunshine and rainbows, this isn't exactly the most fun thing to do, but sometimes it's necessary.” (these are different than the things in the CS omake collection)

I Really AM My Mom...: “"When you're singing, you want to use enough air that you could blow a throatful of peanut butter clear across the room." The crackiest of escape-from-Homeworld plots, based on a ClickHole article and a joke headcanon.”

Left: “Of course there's shame in bailing.”

Old shames (chronological order): Stories I just kinda cringe at now

Shrinking Rose: “Steven never felt bad about his stature. Until he did.” (I just don’t love it)

A Rose for Emily: “What if Rose wanted to spend the rest of her life with someone before Greg? ...It's safe to say she has a skeleton in her closet.” (less old shame than the others on this list but was hard to shoehorn in the A Rose for Emily style writing)

Alone: “Steven won't open up about how everything that happened is affecting him. Not even to himself.” (I know I’ve written other dark stuff but this one just hits different)

You Should've Asked Me, I'm Really Good at Naming Bands (November 2019 Unfinished WIPs): “(title subject to change) I did a challenge that I had to write my WIPs in November (revised to November and December) or be forced to post them unfinished. I got some updates done, but several not done. These are those stories. Dun-dun.” (only “shame” because they were things that were never finished--I also had a Connie Swap omake I was supposed to finish or the punishment was not to post it unfinished but to write Steven and Spinel (NOTP) but I just never did that)

[hecohansen31]

Requested by @walkxthexmoon​​

“ My last one i promise. Could you please write number 44+46 from the smut list with both our men Roman and ivar pretty please?”

(A/N): Bear with me guys,

I didn’t only pubblish the wrong ask, but guess what... TUMBLR DIDN’T SHOW IT UP IN MY TAGS (which is funny because like yesterday it DID SHOW UP IN MY TAGS... what the actual fuck Tumblr) (this is the main reason why I am honestly closing my asks, I can’t... I can’t do this shit anymore).

WARNIGS: Swinger Party, Pubblic Sex,  Mention of Teasing and DDLG Relationships.

When your lovers had suggested the party you hadn’t thought much of it.

Your naïve and innocent self certainly not realizing that what they had truly meant was that it was a ‘swinger party’, till a few days into after their proposal, when lavish pieces of lingerie had started being brought to your doorstep, with the order of wearing them on Saturday night.

And finally your innocent brain finally managed to realize what you had gotten yourself into.

But it excited you, since although you knew how possessive those two could be, you had always been curious about the feeling of somebody else’s eyes on your skin, meanwhile you did the dirty.

And the way the boys had worshipped you thoroughly the whole time with gifts and soft messages had only ignited the flames between your legs and when they came to take you out that night, in their elegant suits you were already wet, a small surprise hidden between your legs for them.

“… are you ready?” asked softly Ivar, as he moved to come and get your coat from your hands, adjusting it open on your shoulders, draping it elegantly, as he knew all too well about the breezy air outside, but certainly he enjoyed the sight of your elegant dress

Roman’s wolf whistled at you as you bowed softly your head, meanwhile he put a protective hand on your waist, eventually getting something out of his back, a little reddish mask, resembling a firebird, since you weren’t supposed to be recognized, although everybody surely knew who was who, under their masks.

But they knew better than to speak out.

“… here is your invite, miss” joked Roman, then proceeding to adjust the mask over your face, attentive at not tightening it too much to ruin your hairstyle, meanwhile Ivar adjusted his, a black wolf-shaped one with silver inserts that brought attention to his elegant face

Roman then did the same with his, slightly resembling a reptile, the accent this time having small details of gold that were probably not simply glittering dust, but pure gold.

“Are we all ready?” you said, as you slipped inside the private car, the driver immediately knowing to roll on the partition.

“Are you, little fox?” spoke softly Roman, as he moved close enough to swing an arm over your shoulder, whispering straight up in your ears.

He lightly followed the cold trail of your pendant earrings, making goosebumps appear on your neck, meanwhile Ivar’s wandering hand palmed you roughly over the fabric of your dress, making you smirk at his eagerness.

“Do you remember the rules?” asked instead Ivar, as he pointed out every passing minute with his hand raising higher over your knee, eventually getting closer to where you wanted him.

“Of course, sir” you addressed him, exposing your glittering diamond necklace, a combined gift of Roman and Ivar and some kind of elegant alternative for a collar, since they both thought they were all quite tacky, even more to show off at galas.

Their pets deserved better than rubber and spikes.

And you never forgot to wear it on special occasions.

And thank them for it.

“Then repeat them, little girl…” muttered Roman, as his cold fingers lightly dipped further down, till they were right on top of your cleavage “… for your daddies”.

“First of all, whenever I am uncomfortable I just have to tell the special world” you muttered, a bit annoyed but knowing all too well that they were doing this to make sure that you knew that you could back out at any given time and behaved yourself in a way that wouldn’t have put you at risk.

“… which is?” teased you Ivar, his hand finally slipping under the fabric of your sheer dress.

“… ‘Emma’ “ your favorite Jane Austen book, since it had been the first thing that had ever come up in your mind, feeling both familiar and both something that couldn’t be mistaken.

“Go on, little one” pushed you forward Roman, as his fingers entered your dress, gently moving down the valley of your chest.

“… and then I don’t have to speak unless my daddies allow me to” Ivar’s hand was quite distracting on your thigh, but you didn’t let it ruin your focus “… don’t let others touch you, unless your daddies allow you to”.

“The final one, now” ordered almost growling Roman, as his lips finally touched your cheeks, such a chaste gesture that utterly contrasted with the sinful way they were bullying your body in a relaxed seduction “… you are doing so amazingly good, baby”.

“Even if daddies allow me to have…” your headstate made you blush lightly at the words that escaped your lips, although you shamelessly moved to thrust into their movements, Ivar’s hand finally reaching the surprise you had prepared for both of them “… sex with others, they are the only ones I’ll go back with tonight”.

And then Ivar’s hands brushed against your completely naked folds, and although you moaned in pure satisfaction, Ivar’s eyes shone at first with delight and then annoyed satisfaction in them and he shot a quick look at Roman stopping from properly taking one of your breasts in his big hands.

“… what has the little minx done, now?” asked Roman tightly, knowing all too well what that look from Ivar truly meant.

“She didn’t wear her panties” commented Ivar, as his hands, caressed gently your folds, before he soundly slapped them, making you feel thoroughly surprised and you squealed loudly, almost in protest, stopped by Roman tightly wrapping his hand around your face to block you “… I wonder if she just forgot, or if she is simply a whore”.

“Definitely the second” commented loudly Roman, lightly loosening the grip on your face, enough for you to protest loudly.

“… I am not a whore, daddy!” it was loud enough that it earned another slap and again Roman’s hands tightly brought you to face his rageful eyes again, as Ivar enjoyed prying his hand away from you, knowing that the worst torture for you would be being held between the height of pleasure and the nothingness of teasing.

“No, you fucking are” retorted Roman, without the need to raise his voice "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into”

"Why don't you show me then?" you retorted, knowing that teasing them, being a brat was part of their favorite play, but soon you were turned to Ivar, Roman letting you go completely, as you already felt pain at the loss of his touch.

“… if you keep up this rude attitude, we’ll turn around and punish you at home” explained loudly Ivar, his severe blue eyes shocking you and you immediately shook your head, not wanting the fun to end up quickly.

“No please, daddies!” you pleaded desperately at first facing Ivar and then Roman as they slouched off on their seats, enjoying your cries and pleads, your silly excuses and the pretty way you looked “… I swear I didn’t… I am a silly girl… I just wanted to play…”.

“We all agree on the fact that you are indeed a silly girl…” commented Ivar.

“… and just because of that, and if you promise not to be a brat, we’ll allow a bit more of playing” finished Roman, leaning down for a soft kiss, to reassure you, hating to see you in tears, although you were always so pretty and adorable.

“… oh, thank you! Thank you, daddy!” you immediately throwed your hands around Roman’s body, making him smirk softly, meanwhile Ivar complained loudly about not receiving an hug, and you rushed to give him one “… to you both”.

The rest of the car ride was silent, spent in a giggly silence, as both your daddies took turns telling you silly thoughts and crazy ideas, and most importantly letting you know how much you’d enjoy everything.

‘Have you brought any other girls, there, before me?’ you asked, a bit jealous, as they both teased you for it, but answered negatively.

‘… do you think that girls even followed after Roman?’ teased him Ivar, as he moved to lower lightly one of the thin straps of your dress, to kiss the soft skin there.

‘Talk for yourself, Boneless’ shot back Roman as they faked a fight, solely for you to break them apart to get you to giggle loudly at them being extra.

But soon you were to the place, a rather antique villa, still anonymous enough that you were surprised the purpose for which it was used, but loved the whole aesthetic, and the insides were even better, completely matching a royal castle with marble colons and golden details.

A few guests were already around in the main room, ‘the one for chatting’, explained your daddies, but on the first floor, surrounded by a circular intern balcony there were private rooms and communal rooms, the keys to two being handed to you as you checked in.

The clerk who took your coats, shot you a quick look, his lips quirked up in a knowing look and you blushed, more than glad to hide your blushy face in Ivar’s chest.

His hands coming around you to shield you and protect you.

Since you were gaining quite the attention, from your entrance.

‘… do they have to look at her like that?’ mumbled annoyedly Ivar, meanwhile Roman chuckled, kissing softly your forehead, to stake his claim ‘… fuck, we know she is a pretty thing, but she is ours’.

The world ‘ours’ echoed in your stomach as you could feel the butterflies literally moving in your stomach.

“Don’t be grumpy, Ivar” reprimanded him Roman, as he gripped one of your hand in his, leading you through the crowd of people, the gazes being the only thing that set on your body, at least till you reached half of length of the room…

… and then the ‘come on’s started.

A couple, a beautiful black woman and a younger white man, tried it first.

The woman immediately went to kiss your cheeks something that made you blush as you checked in with your daddies, their angry gaze being on the girl and not on you.

‘… interested into discovering something else?’ she asked you, meanwhile the beautiful man with her, looked at both Roman and Ivar adoringly, making you huff lightly.

‘Sorry’ had retorted Ivar, keeping his most elegant tone, although you could feel he was straining against the rude opinion he was about to give ‘We are still browsing’.

And the woman backed off, although she commented ‘what a shame’ and you sent her a small smirk, blowing her a kiss, as she laughed loudly, moving forward with her boy to whom you showed your tongue.

Both Ivar and Roman laughed at that.

You had different people coming at you, but eventually you decided to simply settle up for a communal room, since you felt a bit too attached to both of your daddies, not fully wanting to share them yet.

And neither they.

And in the end, you moved to the communal room you had been assigned to, holding Roman’s and Ivar’s usual guests, the one they felt more comfortable with.

And before you went in, they both reminded you that you had to just what you felt comfortable with, alongside just having to say that word in case you wanted to move away.

‘You say the word and no matter what, no matter who…’ explained softly Ivar ‘… we go back home and watch Netflix with a huge amount of ice cream’.

‘… you have been already an amazing girl’ added Roman ‘… even if you aren’t wearing panties, little slut’.

You giggled at his comment, but nodded at their sweet worries, glad to have such professional doms, that loved you and cherished you.

As if you were their most important belonging.

Inside the room the situation hadn’t started boiling up, yet, the center of the circle, the part where all the toys were displayed alongside with a big bed, was already full of people touching each other.

Two couples for instance stood out, two males touching each other eagerly as two girls, who looked like their girls, exchanged a bit of champagne.

A flute of it was soon in your hand, as you looked around, finding another three couples doing the same, and you couldn’t help but look attentively at the women, comparing yourself with them, till a blonde one, that you had been worried from the start, came at you, and before you even knew what to do, she kissed you on your lips.

She giggled as you pushed away lightly from the kiss, nervously matching her laugh, as both Roman and Ivar sent her a reprimanding look, but the girl certainly didn’t back off, and you had to admit that you hadn’t completely hated the kiss.

It had just been a bit too sudden.

And you didn’t even know her name.

Although you were sure she wouldn’t have given you her true one.

Had you been asked, Roman and Ivar had instructed you to answer with ‘Catherina Morland’, as the main character of ‘Northanger Abbey’.

“Mor” reprimanded her teasingly Roman “… she is new, don’t scare her”.

“I can’t believe that you kept this little jewel to yourself all this time” muttered heavily the blonde woman, completely ignoring Ivar’s murderous gaze “… will she join us or is she only here to look?”.

“It depends” muttered Roman, being the more polite one “… she chooses”.

“Then, sweetheart…” and now Mor’s light gaze was set on you, as she took your hands in hers, almost as if you were nothing but a couple of besties “… I do hope you’ll choose to act, because you are too pretty to stand on the sidelines”.

Mor’s flirtatious nature had certainly dissipated the nervousness in your head, although you knew that both your lovers had decided that they’ll act in only if you allowed them, giving you the same power over them that you gave them over him).

“… I’ll think about it” you promised, and Mor left you with a lascivious look, her body swaying to the bed, where the two men were slowly undressing themselves and both the women were topless, touching and teasing each other, through brushing their perky nipples together.

Their moans were so pretty that your arousal could accompany the atmosphere around the room.

And soon you were red-cheeked but not for the warmth or embarrass.

But because you wanted some relief.

And Roman and Ivar were more than happy to comply it.

And soon Roman’s hands were the ones teasing your tight hole, meanwhile Ivar’s hands lightly pushed down the upper part of your dress showing him your naked nipples, as he took one immediately in his mouth, the sudden gestures, making you moan out loud and soon you felt everybody’s eyes on you.

And a strange kind of shyness settled on you.

But it did not make you stop.

"They're gonna hear us” it was your last attempt at resistance.

"Then I guess you better be quiet” they both uttered at the same time making a shiver go down your spine and as Mor’s light gaze moved on you, you didn’t deflect it.

You just held it.

And smiled.

You were definitely enjoying all the attention.

---

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Everything Taglist:

@maggiescarborough​​​, @flowers-in-your-hayr​​​

[adulttrio-imagines]

Yandere!Illumi x Reader Pt 1

A/N: This is going to be a 2-part series since I git a little carried away and didn’t want it to be too long. I’ll post part 2 soon. It’s also fairly dark, so please proceed with caution.

EDIT: I originally posted this answering an ask I was sent sometime back, but tumblr kept messing things up so I’m just going to re-post this

EDIT 2: Part 2 HERE

Prompt:  “I would give up everything for the chance to see your laugh again.” 

The man in the suit is beautiful. 

 He’s beautiful in a raw, delicate way that mirrors the unbridled strength his long lashes frame. It’s an uncommon beauty, unique to strange lands far beyond the clutches of York New. Some might even call him odd, with his arrogant face and brittle nose, hunched over the small booth his weak chin and long neck gave him the appearance of an overgrown crane. But as you continued to push your legs to the limit, stretching them wider and wider as you contort your back around the smooth exterior of your pole, you couldn’t help but to tear your eyes away from your adoring fans and observe his demeanor. 

This isn’t the first time he’s been to your shows, and based on the regularity he’s appeared at the past few months, you doubt it’ll be his last. He stares at you with impossibly large eyes that never blink (their starvation is pronounced, you feel their hunger even from here), lazily swirling a glass of whisky in one hand as he rests his chin in the other. You can’t see his legs from underneath the table at this distance, but from his posture you can tell they’re long and just as impossibly slender as the rest of his body. As you saunter around the stage, entertaining the roaring crowd that shower you with dollar bills, you note the silky texture of his suit (it’s expensive), the glint of his heavy-looking watch (possibly adorned with gold), and from the way he so effortlessly balances his glass in a well-manicured hand, you can tell he’s well-bred, wealthy, and sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the other noisy hooligans at the bar. 

The room spins in gaudy shades of pink and neon green as you twirl around some more, the rush of wind cooling your face. You make your way up the pole, taking extra effort to stretch your legs out and angling them just right to display the soft curves of your thigh, the heat from the room coloring your cheeks as you sneak another glance at the man. More than the money, you like the way his cheekbones arch and the pronounced slopes they produce, the way they shape his fine features when he curls his lips in pleasure and expose a set of perfectly straight teeth that makes your heart pound just a little too fast for it to be normal. 

You wink at the crowd before you, making sure to tilt of your waist just right to sneak a peak of your ass, teasingly arching your leg forward as you slowly hitched your already short skirt up just a little more, relishing in their excitement. You reward their charity with a flourish of your own, flashing your brightest smile when their thunderous cheers applaud your performance. 

Your eyes snap back at the man in the suit, who’s gaze has remained transfixed on you this whole time. He claps politely, but the amusement that your dance draws from your crowd isn’t reflected in his face as he returns your stare with an empty look of his own.

He’s beautiful yes, in a way that makes you want to twirl your fingers in his silky locks and tug then hard while you kiss into the early hours of the morning. A delicious shiver crawls its way up your spine and you blow a kiss to him. Groping hands reach out from underneath you, desperately reaching for your attention, but you keep your eyes on the strange man, who accepts your kiss with a curled fist. 

You lick your lips, unsure if the tremors you felt were from the rush of excitement, the heat of the room, the swirling pools of intent in his eyes, or a combination of all three. 

But you do know this. 

You’re making him yours.

.....

Your darling’s name is Illumi, and he doesn’t speak much.

It's not as if you aren’t trying. But he’s still as a statue and unmoving as stone, his face kept carefully blank as you dance around him like butterflies, slowly trying to coax him our his shell, whispering sweet words that drip with honey as you brush a hand against cheek (his skin is ice, and the tips of your skin freeze upon contact). He holds your eyes with his pair of dark abysses, directing your attention towards his mouth as you continue to wrap yourself around him, all but crawling into his lap, the hard wood of the booth creaking under your weight when you plant feather-soft kisses all around his face, paying special care to tease the corner of his lips as you press your hips hard against his throbbing groin.

He doesn’t return your steaming confessions, preferring to grunt one syllable answers in response to your questions, but he receives your affection with barely restraint lust, grabbing your thighs with spider-like hands as he nudges them open, letting out a low groan when you stop rubbing yourself against him and made movement to unbuckle his belt.

“Let me-“ He tells you between breathless kisses, “Let me take you home.”

You can barely contain your own pleasure as he slides a hand against the dip of your hips, struggling to nod.

“Sure.” You feel him smile, and a faint prick nicks the back of your neck.

The room goes dark.

And everything you know changes. 

......

The cellar Illumi keeps you in is better than most. There’s proper heating, a small equipped bathroom in the corner, and a warm nest of blankets for you to curl into whenever the coolness of the stone floor after a fit of misguided rage becomes too much and form sores on your delicate ankles.

There’re no windows here, so you make a game of counting the scratches on the wall, bathed in the comfort of the dark, to make time go faster, adding a collection of your own on the wall beside your bedding when the days slowly stretch into weeks, even when your nails are filed down to blunt tips and your fingers are raw and inflamed.

Sometimes the boredom of it all drives the final nail into your head and snaps your existence in half, and you would brokenly hum songs of distance past, following the buried memories of times long forgotten, dancing around the small room on delicate toes and graceful arches, so different from the bold movements you made from your stage at the bar, before the old pain from your left knee would force you crumpling to the ground and bury your screams into the blankets.

“Why won’t you eat the food I give you? Would you rather starve?” Illumi asks you calmly. You eye him warily and drop your gaze to the neatly arranged fruits that lined the plate. He visits twice a week, dressed in strange clothes dotted with circular yellow nubs of what you can only guess to be buttons, often bringing with him baskets filled with peace offerings of sweets and little trinkets, as if they will make you happy.

You nibble at a slice of apple, careful to keep your gaze on the ground as you fight down the urge to empty what little contents you had in your stomach, one part out of hunger, ninety-nine parts from the ache in your head when he slapped you into the stone wall and bashed your face into it with extra vigor for refusing to take a bite of the bread he brought down the week before.

“Good job!” And he’s empty, empty, empty. The hollowness in his joy almost scares you as much as when he leans down to pay the top of your head patronizingly, as if you were nothing more than a badly misbehaving puppy who finally learned to obey. His fingers dig into your scalp when he feels you flinch under them, and he rams you headfirst into the ground as you helplessly choke for air when he carefully applies pressure to your trachea, all but strangling you while staring down with sinking eyes that drown out everything else.

And you realize three things.

He’s neither human nor beast.

He’s a beautiful doll who carved his name into your flesh for no reason other than because he could do it.

And there’s nothing you can do to escape.

.....

“Dance for me.” Illumi demands one day during one of his many visits. You look up your cup of tea, and stare at the man sitting cross legged across from you on top of a checkered blanket, like some sort of demented underground picnic. Under the flickering light from his kerosene lamp, his skin looks especially pale, and the gaping holes that represent his eyes are especially haunting. His visits range in frequency, and you can’t tell if you like it more since his absence is peaceful, or hate it for how unpredictable he gets when he does see you.

Hesitantly, you get to your feet and walk into the center of the room where a lone pillar stands. You place a hand of it, inwardly grimacing from its roughness, and forcing your body to contort around it. But just as you start, he raises a hand and shakes his head.

“No, no, no, not that.” He says, hair shimmering like black waves out in the sea, as formless as his tone, “I want to see your other dance, the one you perform when I’m not here.” You blink, not surprised to learn that he keeps track of your movements frequently enough to see you dance on those rare occasions. Instead, you kneel down to his level and take a sip from your cup, smacking your lips loudly as you smile widely and say, “No.” He strikes you across the face, and breaks an arm for good measure. You can tell from how easily it crunches in his grasp that your nerves are destroyed, especially when it flop helpless next to you in the ground. It is the first time he inflicts permanent damage on you.. But it’s not the last. 

.....

You learn that your Illumi’s last name is Zoldyck. It’s hard to miss since it’s painted and hung high in every room he brings you in.

His change in mood is astounding and you’re cautious not too upset him. You’re unsure what flipped the switch, but suddenly your above ground for the first time in months and the sun that shines through the large French windows that span from ceiling to floor hurts your eyes, but it feels painfully good to feel the warmth of natural light grace your face.

You look wistfully out into the garden, where acres of woods stretched endlessly before your eyes, and a range of mountain lines dot the far edges of your vision. And wonder if you would even be so lucky to feel grass press against the soles of your feet again.

The Zoldyck mansion is huge, lined with riches and elegance that screams of old money, and it’s easy to lose yourself in the passage of time as you wonder aimlessly through the elaborate halls, admiring each ancient artefact that tastefully decorates each room. But even its size and grandeur pales in comparison to the aura Illumi exudes that makes you feel so insignificant and small, as if the universe itself would split and swallow you whole. You dance around the mansion, often in the dead of night on weeks where Illumi disappears into the shadows that cut unnaturally into the walls, your feet guiding you through both the lavishly decorated rooms to the empty halls. It’s easy to pretend that you were in a haunted mansion as you sang from door to door; you never see anyone else, but the continuous presence of following eyes that track each leap you take reminds you of old ghosts lurking behind corners. “Where’s your favorite part of your house?” You ask Illumi one sunny afternoon, when you’re both lounging in his sunroom and lapping up what limited time you had left with the sun before autumn arrived and brought the chill with it.

He is surprised by your question, as if no one has ever asked for his opinion in his life, and blinks impossibly slow in response. Placing a finger to his lip, he quirks his head and hums. “Hmmm. I don’t know. I don’t really care much for this house.”

And just like almost everything else he does, it’s horribly empty, and succeeds in shutting out your efforts and extension of friendship.

You return to starring listlessly at the lush gardens below, and make a mental note to ask Illumi if you could one day explore those grounds as well. There were only so many halls you could pass before turning into one of the many ghosts that haunt the mansion. 

..... 

Zeno Zoldyck is the first and only family member you ever meet. How you ran into him was mere coincidence. You’ve never left Illumi’s wing of the house. But by sheer coincidence do you run into the old patriarch on one of his rare ventures into the family library.

“It’s not easy playing chess alone. You don’t grow at all as a player if you’re only exposed to techniques you are familiar with.” He slams a pawn over your queen, ignoring the shriek of shock you return over his sudden appearance, and takes a sit across you. Despite yourself, you calm what nerves you had left and nervously prod your own pawn forward. He spares you fleeting glance and switches your rook out for his bishop.

And just like that, in the gaping hole that was Illumi Zoldyck’s home, you made a friend.

Zeno is a peculiar old man. He drinks only jasmine tea and likes it so hot it scalds the skin of his lips (you eye the scars that travel down his neck, self-inflicted and not from battle); like Illumi is gaze is piercingly empty, but unlike Illumi he can talk for hours on end and never fails to brighten your mood on days you felt as if your head was full of cotton and your eyes only saw the deaths of stars. You decide you like his straightforward ways and cheeky words, and you can only guess he likes how you’re the only person willing to entertain him in this lonely home on the most boring of days. He’s sprightly for an old geezer, and his wit tempt the corners of your lips ever so slightly.

And so you both meet once a week for a game of chess.

You’ll drink poison and burn your tongue if it meant filling up the empty spaces of time that suffocated you whole. 

“What was he like as a child?” You decide to ask one day. Zeno doesn’t take his eyes away from the board (you tried switching the pieces once, and now he knows better than to trust you). 

“Stupid. And ugly, if you ask me. Who knows what his mother ate.” He moves his king away from your bishop. 

“Like an ugly duckling.” You hum in agreement and move your knight over to his king instead. Grumbling incoherently, he retreats his king further. 

“Nothing like that. He’s was never really there,” tapping his forehead, he gives you a pitying grin, “I’m sure you understand.” You shrug in response. 

“He couldn’t have helped it.” His king narrowly misses your pawn, and you click your tongue in irritation. A comfortable silence draws on as you both analyzed the board. 

“Why do you defend him?” Zeno finally speaks after he slides his knight over to your king, and you bring your knees up to your seat, hiding the lower half of your face behind them before finally shrugging. 

“He was a child, there wasn’t much he could have done.” It’s difficult to ignore the bitter taste those words form, and you push them all away as you bring your surrounding pawn to his knight. Zeno frowns. 

“But he is now a man, and you are his prisoner.” 

You can’t help but sigh when his bishop finally corners your king, 

“I know.” 

..... 

On the nights where Illumi was home, he would occasionally demand you perform for him. Creeping hands dragging you from corner you curled into on the bed you unwillingly shared with him, not caring that the force of his careless throws injures your back further and colors your body with more bruises than you could possibly care to count.

“Why won’t you dance for me?” He demands you once again. It’s different this time though, you realize from watering eyes, choking on the cloud of poison that radiates from him, weighing you down to the floor as you feel your feet slowly turn to stone and merge with the tiles. You do not understand this sudden burst of anger (you think it’s anger; grief, rage and bitterness all swirl around you in endless clouds that it becomes very hard to differentiate one from the next) and you cannot stop yourself from begging for relief as the temperature in the room plummets to dangerously low levels.

“I can’t.” Dark circles creep dangerous close to the edges of your vision. He drives his foot further into your stomach.

“You can.” He nudges you hard, and the blood you cough out stains his foot.

“I can’t.” You want to scream in his face, and somehow he hears the resistance in your voice and digs his foot deeper.

“Why can’t you do this, for me?” He lifts you by your hair, forcing you to look right at him. “Is it because you can’t? Or is it because you won’t?” The last syllable rolls off his tongue with such harshness you never thought him possible of.

“Please,”  You plead instead, grabbing at his legs, “let me go.”

It’s only for a fraction of a second, but you see his eyes widen and the pure, unadulterated rage he spews strangles you, and it is so, so bitter that your heart stops and the world fades. He backhands you, and the stinging slap he gives hurts less than the searing pain that sets your chest aflame as holds your down and carves his name into your skin, right at where your collarbones dip and met, slowly and carefully etching something with needles he pulls seemingly out of his shirt. You put up a struggle, desperately screaming for someone, anyone to save you, but he just as easily pins you down and continues his task as if your screams were nothing (they probably weren’t).

“You are mine.” He says, after a long eternity, and your throat his hoarse and raw from all the begging. You can only stare at the name he forcefully carved into your skin with abject horror, shaking furiously, half from fear and half from grief, at how you would now be forever reminded of him.

He licks the blood off his needle, and whispers, “never forget that.”

[ohgodmyeyes]

Dream Boy

Pairing - Ferus x Anakin

Warnings - Smut, explicit sex, NSFW, slightly dubious consent

Summary - After catching Ferus staring at him one day in the library, Anakin decides to meddle with his fellow Padawan at what may very well be the only time he displays any semblance of vulnerability.

2650 words

(xPosting this story here because I didn’t realize how shamefully uncommon this pairing is. The internet as a whole needs more Ferus/Anakin. I might have close to zero followers on tumblr, but I’m determined to do my part for these boys anyway.)

...

"What's the matter, Ferus? Like what you see?"

"Of course I don't— now quiet yourself, Anakin. I can hardly hear my own thoughts."

 ...

 The boy was insufferable. He was careless and brash, and it seemed as though he scarcely ever took the time to think before speaking or acting. He was inordinately powerful, incredibly talented (unfairly so, for as little effort as he put into excelling), and treated far better by his Master than Ferus thought he deserved.

He had also, somehow, transformed over the course of the past few years into the most beautiful young man anybody was likely to ever lay their eyes on— and yes, of course Ferus liked what he saw. Hell if he would ever have admitted it, though.

"Damnit," Ferus cursed, as he rolled over onto his side. He was alone right now, alone in his bed; however, sleep on this particular night was not coming easily to him. Or, rather, it was— but it was being ceaselessly interrupted. Interrupted by him.

It had been this way for weeks, really... since long before the cheeky little remark from Anakin in the library which had no doubt exacerbated the problem. Sometimes the two of them would be standing before one another with their lightsabers drawn, and sometimes they would even duel. Those dreams weren't so bad; they didn't cause Ferus to sit bolt upright in a hot sweat with his own arousal shamefully plaguing him. The other dreams, though...

Those dreams only served to frustrate him; vex him— upset him. Ferus hated to feel upset, because to feel upset with no recourse was a symptom of blatant immoderation.

Tonight, they'd been wrapped up in each other's arms; naked, too— entirely naked, lips pressed together and hands grabbing, caressing, feeling. Feeling everything. Ferus did not want to feel Anakin this way; didn't want to feel victimized by his own desires. He shouldn't have desires, not ones like this. He was going to be a Jedi— he had no room for wanting, particularly not the kind of wanting that Anakin had begun to inspire in him. It was inexcusable.

Inexcusable, but present. Undeniably, unabashedly present.

He let his mind run for a moment, thinking that perhaps if he did it would run itself out; run itself into the ground. Then, he could sleep. He could allow his body to prepare itself for the day ahead of it; get the rest he needed, and forget about Anakin for as long as the boy would allow. (Of course, he never allowed it for very long.)

He closed his eyes, and let the thoughts come to him; thoughts of hard kisses, and discarded robes. Thoughts of clicking teeth, and blunt, dirty fingernails scraping down his back. Thoughts of those shoulders, that chest, that ass. He'd never seen Anakin undressed for more than a few moments at a time, but those moments had been all he had needed; all he'd needed to create an ostentatiously persistent image in his mind of that infuriatingly beautiful, naked boy. Why did he have to be so beautiful? Anakin didn't even seem to know he was handsome; in fact, he took it for granted the same way he took everything else as a given. It made Ferus angry, while at the same time making him throb.

How dare Anakin make him throb.

He cursed again, because his technique had proven ineffective. He was unclothed in his bed, as he always was, although right now he wished he wasn't. If he'd worn something to bed, it would have been easier; easier for him to disregard his misplaced attraction— easier for him to go soft and go to sleep and wake up the next morning having accomplished the feat of disregarding Anakin for another few hours. He wanted nothing more than to disregard him.

He couldn't, though; not tonight— and so against his own will; against his own typically principled integrity, he reached down beneath his sheets and began to stroke himself. He did so reluctantly; disdainfully. He was glad no one would ever have to know, because if anyone had known he was touching himself to thoughts of Anakin Skywalker, then he might as well have just gone ahead and died. His feral attraction to the younger boy made him want to crawl beneath a rock and never come out, such was his objection to Anakin's disposition.

He moaned, which he hated; after that, the very tip of his engorgement started to leak onto his own stomach, which he hated even more. He squeezed tightly and started to pick up his pace, because he wanted this to be over; over as soon as possible.

That was when he heard a voice... and not just any voice.

"You lied to me," said Anakin, stepping out of the shadows. He wasn't dressed; why would he be dressed? He didn't need clothes for what he planned on doing tonight.

"Get out of here!" Ferus cried, glad of the fact that his sheet was still pulled up. His shock, he thought, should have quelled his body's excitement; however, it didn't.

"I was right, wasn't I?" Anakin was smirking; Ferus hated his smirk. It was as intolerable as the rest of him.

"I'm sure you think you were," Ferus started, "but—"

"You were dreaming about me again," Anakin said matter-of-factly, already having started to skulk up to the side of the bed to look down on the young man who purported to dislike him.

"I was not— I mean, my dreams are none of your—"

"Shh. Wouldn't you like them to come true? Wouldn't that make you happy?" Anakin spoke coyly; demurely. It went with his smirk. He climbed up onto the end of the bed with his knees and started to crawl; he crawled until he was straddling Ferus, and the two of them were face-to-face. He could feel Ferus' shame poking up from under the sheet, brushing up against him. Anakin liked that he could make him feel this way.

Ferus should have shoved Anakin and he knew it; should have shoved him right off the bed and off of himself and onto the cold, hard floor. But he didn't. "Anakin," he said instead, "if you're the one who's been—"

"Of course it was me," grinned the younger of the two. "It's always been me." He'd been sneaking into Ferus' dreams for a while now; it wasn't a skill he'd mastered yet, but it was certainly one he'd been working at developing, for this precise purpose. "I see the way you look at me— everyone sees it."

Surely that couldn't be true. Ferus disdained Anakin; disdained everything about him. "I don't know where you ever got the idea that—"

"Shut up," Anakin interrupted, and all of a sudden those lips and those teeth and that infuriating, constantly-wagging tongue were upon Ferus; probing, pressing, and clicking about just as they had been in the dream— dreams— he'd tried so hard to will away. Could this merely have been one of those? Could it be that Ferus was still asleep, and that none of this was real? He'd have much preferred that, of course, but...

"Let's get this sheet off of you," Anakin said, after pulling away. He sat up high on his knees after that so he could remove the only thing between the two of them; the only thing stopping their bodies from pressing wantonly against one another. Once he'd shifted to discard the fluttering swath of white entirely to the floor, he crawled back down the bed a bit. After flashing Ferus an antagonizingly lovely grin, he enveloped the source of the older boy's frustration with his mouth.

"Anakin!" shouted Ferus, but he didn't move— didn't kick or recoil or roll away.

"What?" asked Anakin, through his mouthful of cock.

He didn't get an answer to that, so instead he went to work. He bobbed and licked, and swallowed at the tip as he forced his mouth down as far as he could make it go. He swirled his tongue around Ferus' head when he came up, and let his teeth clip his shaft as he went back down. He had been hard and wet since before Ferus had noticed his presence, and this only intensified his enthusiasm: He could feel himself thrumming and pulsing, and dripping eagerly onto the bed.

Ferus had never liked him; had always resented him. It was all pure jealousy, Anakin thought, of his power; his skill. Some of the other Padawans feared him, but Ferus had never seemed fearful— just willfully and unrelentingly indignant. Anakin wasn't much more fond of the older boy than the older boy was of him; however, even he had to acknowledge that both his appearance and lofty sense of utter superiority were strangely entrancing.

Besides that, he couldn't think of a better way to get under Ferus' skin than to force him to acknowledge that he wanted this.

Soon he became certain of the fact that Ferus was not too far from losing control of himself; from letting this end altogether too soon. He didn't want that, and besides, he hadn't had his own turn yet: He hadn't come here for the sole purpose of sucking on Ferus' dick. That would have been boring.

"Not yet," Anakin scolded, and he pulled his head back, exposing his rival to the room's cool air. That made Ferus shout again, and buck his hips. "You love this, don't you?" Anakin teased, pumping himself with his hand as he sat back up on his knees. He'd slicked his own cock generously after undressing, prior to Ferus' having woken to those unwanted thoughts of his. He was more than ready to take what he'd actually come for.

Ferus was starting to feel frightened, but not of Anakin— no, he was frightened of himself. Anakin was right; he did like this. He liked it very much, to the point where those lips pulling away from his cock had upset him perhaps more than his dreams had in the first place. He wanted to come, and he wanted Anakin to make him do it.

He hated himself for feeling that way, but it was what it was.

"What are you going to do, Anakin?" he asked, staring up at that body he'd already fantasized about more times than he cared to count.

"I'm going to fuck you, Ferus— would you like me to fuck you?"

At those words, Ferus felt himself pulse. In lieu of answering, he adjusted his body; pulled his knees up beside his ears. He felt like screaming, crying, and going off all at the same time. Everything about this was emblematic of the exact lack of restraint he loathed.

"Someone's eager, aren't they?" chuckled Anakin, venturing to tease Ferus' hole with one of his fingers, to which the older boy let out a desperate whimper. "You hate me for being right all the time— do you hate me for being right about this, too?" At that he gripped himself by the very base of his cock, and leaned in closely to prod at Ferus with his erection.

Now that they were nearly nose-to-nose, Ferus found it in himself to growl, "You're damn right I do."

That made Anakin laugh again, and finally begin to ease himself inside. He went slowly; he had no desire to actually hurt Ferus— he was, essentially, just here to make a point.

Once he was buried up to his sack, he took a deep and shuddering breath, because while he'd always called Ferus a tightass behind his back, he'd never known just how accurate the descriptor actually was. "You feel like heaven," he breathed, and then he started to buck his hips.

Ferus wanted to cry out; indeed, his instinct was to shout, but he didn't want to give Anakin that kind of satisfaction. Instead, he clenched his jaw and pursed his lips and stared upward as he felt himself be ravaged from the inside. It felt incredible; better than his own fingers, and better than anything he'd ever slipped into his pocket to play with in what should have been the privacy of his own room.

"Touch yourself," commanded Anakin. He knew Ferus wanted to.

"This is in direct violation of—"

"Shut up," Anakin demanded once again, this time with a particularly hard thrust. Ferus obeyed; stopped talking, and reached between the two of them to start to stroke himself just as he'd been doing beneath the sheets, before he'd registered Anakin's presence. How the hell had the boy hidden from him in the first place, anyway? He supposed that was a question for another time.

They went on like this for as long as they both could bear it; soon, Anakin felt his own climax coming on. He bit down on his lip, moaned through his teeth, and burst heartily; more heartily than he ever had when he'd been alone, in his own bed. He looked straight into Ferus' eyes as he did; saw them squeeze shut as he, too, reached his own shuddering peak.

"Anakin," Ferus growled, as he felt his own essence shoot all over the smooth, taut skin on his stomach.

"Ferus," Anakin cooed, revelling in the sound of his own name as he leaned in more closely to steal another kiss.

Their tongues danced as they each finished; finally, Anakin withdrew his cock, but he didn't quit probing Ferus' mouth. Simply put, it felt far too good to stop right away. Eventually, of course, he had to; he was very nearly out of breath. Ferus, for his part, had only just realized that he was holding his.

As they separated, Anakin sat back up on his knees, perhaps a bit unsteadily. He noticed Ferus scowling, and so he asked with a broad grin, "What's wrong? Don't you like it when your dreams come true?"

"Not this dream," Ferus barked, and he finally hoisted himself up from between Anakin's knees and into a seated position. He didn't know what to do. He wanted to shove Anakin away as he ought to have when this debacle had initiated itself; however, there wouldn't have been any point in doing that: He'd already had nearly every ounce of his control over himself wrenched away; he wasn't about to concede his anger, and give up the rest of it. Then he'd be no better than Anakin.

As it turned out, though, he didn't have to do anything— before he could think of what to say next, his intruder had jumped off of his bed and gone back to that darkened corner from which he'd first come into view. His clothes, apparently, had been sitting there in a pile; Ferus watched as he started to put them back on.

"What you just did was inexcusable," he said, with as much dignity as he could possibly muster.

"You mean what we just did," retorted Anakin, as he adjusted his robes and smoothed his pants.

Ferus clenched his fists, but didn't say another word as Anakin laughed at him one more time, turned, and sauntered casually out of the room; back to his own quarters, and to his own bed. He would certainly sleep well that night— not only did he feel more physically satisfied than he perhaps ever had, but Anakin also simply loved being proven right.

Ferus would rest soundly, too. In spite of his anger, and in spite of everything that had just happened (seemingly in the blink of an eye), he finally felt relieved; palliated— for tonight, at least, he knew he would be free of his dreams... those dreams.

Even so, as he listened to Anakin's footsteps disappear down the corridor, his disquieting words from the library echoed in Ferus’ mind: "What's the matter, Ferus? Like what you see?"

He feared he'd never again be able to convincingly deny that he did.

[not-safe-for-bts]

Terms and Conditions of Friendship {JHS}

I wish I had it in me to apologise for this disgusting smut, but I just don’t. I just... don’t. Also I wrote so much I had to split it into two halves bc tumblr hates long posts sorry

Warnings: swearing (it’s me), fuckboy!BTS, sexual tension with like all of the members, a road trip with 7 rowdy men, slight exhibitionism, teensy bit of masturbation,smallest mention of thigh riding, intentional (but not obvious) orgasm denial, Jung Hoseok being rude aF, fratboy Bangtan shenanigans as per

Summary: 13 has always been an unlucky number. Always. It’s just... written into the laws of nature at this point. So it’s no surprise that when you hit the 13th month of your - ahem - dry spell, you do the one thing you swore you’d never do.

Part 2 || Masterlist

~^*^~

Just as you think you’ve successfully made it through the hallway, a voice calls your name and you audibly sigh and turn to the owner of said voice. Jungkook has his head peering around the door from, looking at you.

“Where ya going?” He inquires.

“To the bathroom...” you trail off, hoping that he doesn’t catch on to the very obvious need in your voice.

“Why did you sneak off?”

“Because I didn’t want to interrupt you guys. Enough interrogation I need to go.”

You ignore any more words coming from his mouth, as you’re already practically sprinting to the bathroom. Fuck Min Yoongi. God, you’d like to. Why he chose on having you sit on his lap during the movie, why he had to keep flexing his fucking thigh every time he so much as shuffled, why he had to keep a grip on your waist was beyond you and now you were all riled up. Well... technically, you’d been riled up for the last nine days and you were nearing insanity. You know that it was around the time that you are ovulating, so of course your body is craving a little more than usual but... this is a lot more than usual. This is tons more than usual. And hanging out with the Bangtan Fraternity is not helping your case.

No, it never helped your case. Because all seven members are hot. Yesterday, Namjoon had appeared in the kitchen shirtless and he’s been working out for the last five months and he’s got some real nice pecs and a faint but still obvious set of abs and- you inhaled your orange juice through your nose and Taehyung had a fit. He couldn’t stop laughing and you made Namjoon smirk because that fucker knew he’d struck a cord by coming in shirtless. Way to boost his ego.

A few days before that incident, you had slept over after a party and Seokjin had been getting it on with one of the sorority girls (you think her nae was Rose or something like that) and holy shit, hearing his grunts and moans sent you into a frenzy. You’d never really had a thing for Seokjin but it was hard to face him the next morning, that’s for sure.

Right now, though, you are close to calling a male prostitute or doing something because holy shit you hadn’t had sex in thirteen whole months. Your last rendezvous had been with Jackson Wang, your then boyfriend who had promptly dumped you just two days after. Something about needing space. Clearly he needed space to fuck that stupid Taeyeon or whatever her name is. Whatever. You’re totally over it.

Except you really miss sex. You really miss sex. To the point that you’re currently on your way to the bathroom to maybe get one orgasm out of the way so that you can focus on the rest of the movie. Of course, that doesn’t happen.

“Ey, [First], hurry up, I need to pee after.”

“Hoseok, there is a bathroom upstairs.” You grit your teeth, turning your head as you near the bathroom door.

“Yeah, exactly. This one is closer. So hurry up.”

He’s in a pair of grey material shorts and a black t-shirt and somehow he looks better than models on a runway. He’s looking at you with an accusatory gaze. Why are you being so feisty?

“Wait are you going for a shit-“

“No-“ you cut him off, “I’m not!”

“Good well hurry.”

So, you slam the bathroom door shut and stand there for a moment. You stare at yourself in the mirror and mutter to yourself in an attempt to cool your ever growing body temperature. Your eyes are blown wide and there’s a rosey hue to your cheeks. You look exactly how you feel and you know at least one of the members has caught on to what’s bothering you.

As you run a hand through your hair, the door knocks.

“Come on!”

Fucking Hoseok.

You tear the door open, giving him a glare.

“You didn’t flush.” He points out with a disgusted look.

“I didn’t do anything. You put me off.” Technically it isn’t a lie. Hoseok gives you a weird look and tugs you out of the room so that he can go in. He doesn’t even shut the door properly. Disgusting.

Why are you even friends with these disgusting frat boys? You do have to wonder. Your legs are starting to shake a little. You decide to sit down in the kitchen, opting you stay away from the room full of guys for a moment. You need to catch your breath. You hear the bathroom door shut and Hoseok whistles as he makes his way back to the living room. With him gone, you could totally just go back to the bathroom...

You’re seriously debating it. It’s so tempting and Yoongi’s actions have caused a horrible burn in the pit of your stomach. Your guts are doing summersalts and your fingers are itching to relieve yourself.

You could totally-

“Oh, there you are!” A boxy grin greets you and it takes every ounce of will power to not scream.

What the hell has gotten into you? Since when were you so horned up? You seriously need to cool it.

“Yes, here I am.” You mask over the frustration in your voice and give Taehyung as much of a smile as you can.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah...” you turn your attention to the fruit bowl, turning an apple with your index finger.

“Everything doesn’t seem alright. You jumped off of Yoongi Hyung like he was hot.”

“Yoongi is hot.” You roll your eyes.

“You know what I meant.”

“Everything’s okay, Tae, I promise.” You look back up at him and give him another smile.

He takes one proper look at your face and it takes a lot to not call you out. He knows that if you wanted help, you would definitely ask and you were obviously trying to ignore your whole situation. Your lips are bruising a little from how badly you’ve been biting them, your eyes are clouded and blown wide, your cheeks are gently flushed and so if the expanse of your chest from what he can make out of the skin peeking out of your shirt. You’re horny.

You suddenly feel as though Tae is eye-fucking you and you cross your arms over your chest, awkwardly turning away from him. Both of you have grown comfortable with one another. You usually send for Tae in your times of need (aka wanting someone to platonically cuddle with) because he has expressed no romantic interest in you. There’s no chance it could ever possible happen. So, you feel comfortable with him.

But right now, seeing only just a fraction of how you’d look being completely ruined, Tae can’t help but kind of okay really want to bend you over the counter and help you out.

He clears his throat.

“Okay well... if you say so.”

You hum in response and then turn to him again.

“The movie is kinda boring so I’m gonna chill out in here instead.” You announce, voice suddenly weak.

“Okay...” he barely manages a whisper and turns away immediately.

What the fuck was that?!

Did you just get eye-fucked by Kim Taehyung?

You slip into one of the cool bar stools and immediately there’s a burning cold running up and down your exposed legs. The plastic nips into your hot flesh and you sigh.

The clock is ticking behind you and you can barely make out the sound of people outside. There’s a good 30-40ft of distance between the frat house next door and so you don’t have to worry too much about their noise. It’s mostly quiet and the sun isn’t on this side of the house. The room is still bright, though.

Another sigh leaves your lips after a moment passes. Maybe it’s the coolness of the seat, but you’re finally feeling a little better. You definitely need to invest in finding more female friends.

~^*^~

“Psst.”

You ignore it. Just ignore it. Maybe he’ll stop.

“Pssst.”

Again, you pretend not to hear, jotting down another note.

“Pssssst!” A finger jabs into your side and you finally cave, head snapping to your right.

You come face to face with some coffee coloured orbs which are a little wide and sparkling in mischief (albeit a little regret after your angry face turns to him), he’s got mousy hair and plump-ish lips and holy shit he’s kind of cute. You don’t let your face falter, though. This is the first lecture of the year and he’s already interrupting and talking?

“Could I borrow a pen?” He whispers sheepishly, “I left my pencil case back home...”

You huff, not uttering a single word to him as you open your case and practically throw a pen at him.

“Thanks...” he whispers and now he feels bad. It was a genuine mistake, though! He got a little busy with Jimin and the PlayStation and before he knew it, he had like 20 minutes to get ready and get to class and it’s a seven minute walk from the frat house to this lecture hall so he only had 13 minutes to get ready and- he kind of left his pencil case on the kitchen counter, “...I’m Jungkook by the way.”

You don’t respond. He doesn’t say anything else until the lecture ends and he’s watching you throw things into your rucksack. It’s very cliche - and trust, he knows this - but you are the first girl who’s not melted at the look of him and he kind of likes that? He likes that you haven’t given in so easily.

“I’m sorry about all that,” he begins once people start to up and leave. You turn to him.

“It’s fine. Keep the pen.”

And you’re gone.

Jungkook spends the rest of the day thinking about you and he feels so guilty. It was the first day! How could he forget one of the two things that are going to carry him through his university. You can’t have paper without pen! Okay, that makes no sense but, he still feels really bad. So he goes out and buys this lowkey expensive pen as an apology and he’s super early the next day. He catches you outside and tugs you away from the doors.

“I hope you don’t want another pen-“ you snap at him.

“No, listen, I just wanted to apologise for yesterday. It was totally my fault and I’m sorry for making such a bad impression of myself. Here.” Jungkook has never done the whole gift-to-a-girl thing before so he just kind of thrusts you an unwrapped box. It’s a pretty pen. A muted metallic rose gold. It also comes with refills.

Oh. That was sweet. But you immediately realise how much this must’ve cost him and you decide-

“I can’t accept this, Jungkook.” You offer politely, reaching out to give it him back.

“Please, I really want you to have it. I felt awful after you looked at me like you wanted to bite my head off.” He rubs the back of his neck, unable to look at you for a moment. You ponder. This is a really sweet gesture.

“Alright,” you sigh, “but you’re not giving me a lot of choice. Thank you, Jungkook.”

“You’re welcome...” he trails off so that you can fill in your name.

“[First]. I’m [First].” You give him a smile.

Before you know where you are, you’re being pushed through the cafeteria by Jungkook and he’s screaming out “Hyung!” And then six different guys are all staring at you. Jungkook introduces you to them, sits you down next to the one called Taehyung and takes the biggest bite you’ve ever seen out of Namjoon’s sandwich. This happens for the next few days until you start to willingly accompany Jungkook.

~^*^~

Three years have passed since then and you are now sitting in their kitchen trying not to jump the bones of the next one that walks through the door.

You think about Jungkook back then. He’s always had a little bit of a baby face, but back then he was still a little lanky so it was more obvious. He had a pretty weak build. Obviously, since then, he’s been going to the gym like twice (sometimes thrice) a day because he’s earnt the nickname muscle pig. Somehow you also know that he’s gotten stronger because he can “hold an entire girl up with ease without needing any support” (it was also the worst sex he ever had, so he’d not done it since). Great. Now you’re thinking about Jungkook holding you up and-

No. No, you are not going to think about Jungkook like that. It’s bad enough you’re sitting in here avoiding the seven of them like the plague because you know that if you have to sit on Yoongi’s lap again you’ll end up riding his thigh like your life depends on it.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Jimin’s voice rips you out of your thoughts about Yoongi’s thighs and you look up at him. He’s recently dyed his hair black and holy shit he is the epitome of sex on legs. He walks across the kitchen to grab a glass and turns to you for a minute.

“Hello? Am I talking to the wall?”

“Sorry,” you find yourself finally finding words, “bored.”

“There’s a whole Fast and Furious in the living room-“

“Yeah but it’s boring.”

“Tokyo Drift is not boring.”

“Yes it is. And the main character isn’t even hot so it’s not worth it.”

Jimin blows his teeth out at your response. Of course you wouldn’t want to watch a movie because the main character isn’t hot. He fills his glass with water and takes a swig.

“Well sorry he’s not Leonardo Di-whatever his name is.”

“First of all, rude, second of all I didn’t realise you guys missed my company so.”

“It’s nice having female company.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“You’re disgusting, Park.”

“Not as disgusting as the girl who blatantly tried to ride Yoongi hyung’s thigh like ten minutes ago.”

He throws the words over his shoulder as he leaves the room and your face explodes in red. Shit. Okay. You need to leave right now if you want to save face. You pray to god that only Jimin saw because you cannot emotionally handle the guys making fun of you right now. You need to go home, get your vib and go to town for a couple of hours. You’ll feel better.

You almost jump off of the stool in your anticipation to leave. Part of you wants to go and say goodbye to the boys, but you know you’ll end up coerced into staying if you do. They’ll text if they worry about you.

Your feet are moving towards the front door and you pause just before you walk past the living room. The door is wide open (typical Jimin) and there is no way they won’t spot you. Round the back it is.

Who would’ve thought you of all people would be sneaking out of the frat house?

It’s not under the same circumstances as the other girls but, you’re still sneaking out and you still kind of feel like James Bond so it totally counts. The back door (as expected) is unlocked and you’re pleasantly surprised to see that the pool is actually covered. The boys have finally taken heed after two and a half years of you giving them shit for not covering it over.

You’re so close to leaving when you realise your fatal misstep in this whole mission. Your phone. It’s still on the sofa next to Yoongi. Fuck.

Maybe if you found a way to distract the guys and lure them outside, you could just rush back in and-

“What are you doing?”

The sass in the voice alerts you to who it is immediately. You literally don’t know how to answer him bevause your standing at the side of the house, looking out at the street that’s so close but so far away, nervously biting at your cuticles.

“I’m, uh, getting some fresh air.”

“Yeah, right. You can’t just leave, [First]!” Seokjin scolds and he’s pulling you back towards the back door.

“But I’m bored!” You whine.

“You let Jungkook choose the movie.”

“Yeah but he gave me his puppy eyes and an extra mini-cookie.”

The movie apparently just finished because Hoseok, Yoongi and Namjoon are standing in the kitchen. You can hear Jungkook and Jimin squabbling in the kitchen and you’re kind of a little too embarrassed to see Tae right now. None of them pay much attention to Seokjin or yourself as he scolds you for trying to leave without saying goodbye. You apologise to him before excusing yourself to grab your phone. You pass Jungkook in the hall and he grins at you.

“Hi baby,” he blows a kiss.

“Suck it, Jeon.” You playfully scowl and make your way to your precious phone.

You clutch it up and look at your notifications. Just a couple of snaps from Hyuna. Nothing out of the ordinary. Jimin is lolling on the sofa watching you. He knows he was the only member that saw what you were doing, and Yoongi probably didn’t even realise what was happening until you’d leapt from his grasp.

“[First],” he calls out.

“Hm?” You’re trying to act nonchalant.

“What the hell was that? With Yoongi Hyung.” His voice is a whisper and you draw yourself close to him.

“You don’t think anyone else saw, do you?” For a moment your mind flashes to Hoseok. God you hope Hoseok didn’t see.

It may have been pointed out by Jimin that you have a phat (with a capital PH) crush on Hoseok. Whilst that is certainly not true, it’s also not not true. You definitely have a thing for Hoseok but it’s not a crush, per se. There’s the obvious, first, that the man is fucking gorgeous in every sense of the word. He must’ve been sculpted by the gods themselves because no one should have a jawline that sharp, or a nose that perfectly sloping and pointed. And definitely not lips like that. Plump to just the right size and form the shape of a heart whenever he smiles. Also, the rest of him, his arms (which you notice he’s been working on lately. He came back after dance practise wearing a vest and you almost creamed right there - Jimin didn’t shut up for like a week), his hands, his fluffy hair, his legs, that slab of chocolate-shaped abs that you want to run your damn tongue over-

Okay you have a thing for Hoseok. But it’s only physical. Anyone would be crazy to not crush on him. He’s gorgeous. He’s a an absolute beauty of a man and with being a dancer, you can only imagine how much stamina he has.

But he’s also the most good-hearted person you’ve ever met in your life. He laughs so loudly, he smiles so brightly and it’s all so genuine. He’s always been there for the other frat members and for you whenever you’ve needed him. He’s gotten up at 3am to console a sobbing Namjoon after his girlfriend broke up with him. He’s gone to the gym to help a small and fragile Jungkook work on his personal goals. He’s sat with you for hours helping you revise for exams. He goofs off a lot and doesn’t care woo looks, but he’s not afraid to cry in front of his frat members and you. He finds the dumbest things funny and he’s also the biggest scaredy-cat you’ve ever met and he’s just so... so Jung Hoseok. Everything about him is so inviting from his raspy laugh to his sparking eyes. He makes you feel secure in being yourself because he’s definitely not going to judge. Hell, if someone can go to all of their lectures for a day wearing just a mankini because they lost a bet to the maknaes, they’re definitely not going to judge you for dancing on the kitchen counter to a little bit of the Rolling Stones.

He, of course, is a fuckboy, yes. He brings home a lot of girls. You’ve been over at the house when you’ve heard “oh god-! Hoseok! Oh~!” and felt that pang of whatever the fuck that feeling is whenever he brings a girl home. But you’d never ever go that far with him yourself. Hoseok doesn’t want a full-time relationship. He doesn’t have the time for it. At least, that’s what he’s told you when you randomly asked why he doesn’t date. And you don’t want to be just a fling to him. You want to be able to hold his hand and show him off because he’s the best guy in the world. You want to sit on his lap while he studies and run your hands through his hair and reassure him that everything is going to be ok when he’s stressing over the smallest things. You want to go with him to Hope World (his personal studio for his Producing class) and sit on that little couch with the flower plushy and watch him tack tack tack away as he works hard. You want to go places with him and just him and have him all to yourself always. But you definitely don’t have a crush on him.

“[First] did you hear a word of what I just said?”

“Huh?”

“What the hell are you thinking about?” Jimin launches a pillow at you and you manage to catch it.

“Nothing, what were you saying?”

“I was answering your question. I was the only one that saw you trying to get yourself off on Yoongi and I’m fairly sure he didn’t even realise himself but - why the fuck were you trying to get off on Yoongi?”

Hoseok is laughing at something Yoongi has just said when he remembers that he was in the middle of texting that cute girl from the club a few nights ago. He reaches into his left pocket and then his right and finds... well nothing. Where’s his phone?

He looks around on the counter and sees only Namjoon’s phone and Seokjin’s keys and shit he must’ve left them in the living room. He can hear Taehyung upstairs listening to his classical music. He’s probably studying or jerking off. Jungkook is no longer making a ruckus in the living room so he’s guessing it’s empty.

He excuses himself from the conversation and slowly makes his way back to grab his phone. Hopefully there will be another lacy surprise waiting for him.

“[First] did you hear a word of what I just said?” Jimin’s voice is hushed and low. Clearly he doesn’t want to be heard. Hoseok stops in his tracks. He pressed his back against the wall, standing right next to the arch where the door is. He doesn’t want to eavesdrop but he also doesn’t want to interrupt.

“Huh?” The confusion in your voice is evidence that you didn’t.

“What the hell are you thinking about?” There’s a sound. A soft ‘puft’ kind of sound. It reminds him of a pillow.

“Nothing, what were you saying?” Hosoek knows you well enough that he catches the breath of a lie twisting your words. You were thinking about something.

“I was answering your question. I was the only one that saw you trying to get yourself off on Yoongi and I’m fairly sure he didn’t even realise himself but - why the fuck were you trying to get off on Yoongi?”

Woah - back up. You were trying to get off on Yoongi?! During the movie?! Hoseok’s breath catches in his throat. He didn’t see you- yes he did. You were perched on Yoongi’s lap.... oh.

“Okay, look,” you sigh, defeated, “you can’t tell anyone this, alright?” Your voice lowers to a hush but Hoseok can still just about make out the words.

“Alright.” Jimin whispers.

For some reason, Hoseok feels really dirty. Maybe he shouldn’t be listening to this-

“I haven’t...” your voice trails off to a mumble.

“Huh?” It seems Jimin didn’t catch your words, either.

“I... I haven’t had...” again you trail away.

“Seriously, stop mumbling.” Jimin is growing a little irked.

“I haven’t had sex in over a year!” You hiss and Hoseok’s jaw literally drops.

“WHAT?!” Jimin leaps up and you smack your hand over his mouth. His eyes are swimming with genuine shock and your about to cry now that he’s alerted the entire street.

“Jimin!” You whine, “shut up!”

“Sorry-“ his mouth is muffled against your hand and it takes a strip of his tongue over your hand for you to pull away, “hope that didn’t turn you on more. If it’s even possible.”

“Oh shut up, Jimin.” You hiss, “it’s no big deal, obviously. It’s just getting to me a little. I’ll be alright. I just need to go home and have some... you know...” you look down at your feet. Oh god, this is awkward.

“I can always help.” Jimin wiggles his eyebrows.

“Help with what?”

You freeze up and Jimin looks like the heavens have just opened for him. His eyes light up and you’ve never seen anyone try to hold back such a huge, shit-eating grin.

Hoseok steps into the room like he wasn’t just listening to you confess you’ve experiencing the longest dry-spell of your life.

“[First] has a bit of a problem. Actually it’s a huge problem,” Jimin starts and your sending him a look of warning. But Jimin knows you’re so whipped for Hoseok so maybe if he just hints a little, he can get you some dick and some Jung dick at that, “it’s a real burning blunder. It’s a hot, hot issue, let me tell ya Hyung.”

“Park Jimin.” You warm quietly through gritted teeth.

“Oh yeah?” Hoseok’s grabbed his phone now and he’s looking between you and Jimin. You’re standing really close to one another and you instinctively step away. Hoseok wants to say that he knows what your problem is and looking at your face, he doesn’t know how it wasn’t given away much earlier. Fuck, you look hot with the need swimming in your eyes.

“Yeah. It’s a real peak of an issue, wouldnt you say? I bet it’ll be a pretty orgasmic feeling when you solve it.”

Never in your life have you considered murder. But right now? Yeah, right now you could smash Jimin’s coy smirk right into the fucking wall.

Hoseok wants to burst out laughing. He knows Jimin is teasing you and he can see the anger flooding your face. He pins that Jimin is trying to get him to catch on to your problem but he already knows. He figures he’ll have a little fun.

“Oh, by the way, [First], we’re going on a spontaneous trip tomorrow. Wanna come?” He’s smiling at you.

Oh god. Hoseok’s asking you on a trip? Technically it’s wil the others but your heart just skipped a beat and Jimin is certain that you’re going to cry out of happiness.

“I, uh, I don’t know I-“

“She’d love to!” Jimin answers for you, “you don’t have any plans whatsoever do you?”

You’re giving him such an evil eye that’s screaming ‘you know I have plans you evil fucking leprechaun-ass looking motherfucker’ and he’s giving you a look back that’s screaming ‘a date with your vibrator isn’t plans’.

“Great!” Hoseok is showing some serious enthusiasm, “you might as well stay the night, then. You have clothes here, right?” You nod in response, “cool. Well, now that I’ve got this,” he waves his phone about, “I’m gonna go jerk off or something.” He stalks out. Hoseok... jerking off... in the same house as you...

You now and swolloy a dry lump. Jimin has just sealed you in for at least another 24 hours of absolute no relief whatsoever. And now Hoseok’s gone and said that! You could kill Jimin.

So now you’re lying in the middle of Hoseok’a bed with Hoseok to your right and Jungkook to your left. Back to the Future is playing on the TV but only Jungkook is really paying any attention. It’s dark and the light illuminating from Hoseok’s phone is beginning to hurt your vision. You keep looking at his hands. They wrap around his phone easily and you wonder what he did earlier. If he did... you know. There’s a burning right at the pit of your stomach and the room is hot and you’ve got two of the hottest guys you know laying on either side of you.

Jungkook’s biceps are hard and his flesh is a little clammy and hot. His pecs are pushing against the material of his shirt and his basketball shorts leave very little to the imagination.

“Yeah but I saw it on a... rerun...” you can hear Marty McFly talking in the background but the blood is pumping through your ears.

Hoseok takes a look at you. Your face is red and you’re biting your lips. You’re drawing circles on your leg with your fingertips. Oh. You’re nervous. Hoseok turns, making a point to make a small little groan as he does so and you shift next to him. He’s facing you now but his phone is still in his hands. He’s tapping away furiously and you wonder who’s on the receiving end.

It’s most certainly a girl. It has to be. The only time Hoseok types so damn much on his phone is when he’s scolding one of the frat members for something and as Jimin, Taehyung and Yoongi have gone to another frat party and Seokjin and Namjoon have already gone to bed, you know that it’s not that. You eye him, careful not to out yourself. He smirks just a little. The light from his phone illuminated his face. How are his pores so small? And his eyebrows are so neatly kept. And his lips look so soft.

His eyes snap up to you and you are fast to look away. He smirks. God, you must be going batshit crazy right now. Hoseok isn’t narcissistic. He isn’t in love with himself like other people he knows coughjincough but he knows that he’s attractive. And he knows that Jungkook is attractive, too. And he knows that you haven’t had sex in over a year. He knows how hot the room is. He knows how little you all have on. He knows how easy it would be to touch you right now bevause Jungkook is way too busy watching the move.

But then he wonders if you’d make a noise. Probably given how blown out your pupils are right now. He can practically see steam coming off of your skin. He wonders how loud you could be. Would you scream out? Would you cry? What did you like?

Great. Now he’s getting hard.

‘Way to go, asswipe.’ He thinks to himself and lies back on to his back.

The last thing he wants is to press his cock into your side. You might just combust and he likes this bed. You peer over at Hoseok as he moves and hOLY SHIT HE’S HARD. You gulp hard and Jungkook actually notices.

“I’m gonna-“

You’re quick to push up and you clamber over Jungkook. Hoseok sees a damp spot on your shorts. Fuck. He’s getting harder and now he’s alone in a bed with Jungkook. This is really fucking weird.

“Jungkook can’t you fuck off? I wanna sleep.” Hoseok rolls to face away from Jungkook, placing his phone down on the nightstand. Whatever that Sara, Stacey, Sue - whatever her fucking name is - is saying is definitely going to be nowhere near as hot as what he’s just seen between your damn legs. You’re so fucking wet - how are you staying so composed?

“Can’t I watch the rest of this?”

“No.” Hoseok grumbles, “go sleep we’re taking a long drive tomorrow.”

Jungkook huffs loduly in protest but he gets up anyway and leaves the room.

You stand in the bathroom looking at yourself in the mirror. Your chest is rising and falling and you can feel your slick between your legs. It’s like a damn pool down there. What the he’ll is wrong with you?! Hoseok and Jungkook are your friends!

A few moments pass and you don’t return. Hoseok begins to think that maybe you aren’t coming back. Maybe you don’t feel comfortable sharing a bed with him but it’s getting cooler and he doesn’t like the chill biting at his back. He pulls himself up and he is straining against his shorts. Fuck. He makes his way out into the hallway. Silence except for the whir of the fan in the bathroom. The fan automatically comes on with the light so you must be in there. He moved towards the door. Maybe you’re feeling a little sick?

Hoseok nears the door and that’s when he hears it. Even the sound of the fan can’t drown out those small whimpers. Jesus. He presses his ear against the door.

“Oh my god.” You whisper. He thanks god for not fucking with his hearing. Your breathing is growing and your whimpers are slowly growing to be whines, “fuck,” Hoseok is biting his lip as he listens. He’s sure he’s rock hard until, “Hosoek,” you gasp.

Holy mother fucking shit.

Did you just-?

His name?

wHAT?

And now he feels 10x harder and he’s sure he’s never felt this hard in his life. Not even when that hot substitute in 10th grade had her blouse pop open because her breasts were just too big to not bust it open. Fuck. Shit fuck.

But then an idea pops into his head. He likes the game. He likes the chase and he wants to see how desperate you’ll get. Even when you were with Jackson, you were still kind of reserved when it came to sex. You’ve always been that way. Maybe that’s why you haven’t fucked any of the guys yet. And Hoseok kind of doesn’t want you to now that he’s heard you. He kind of wants you all to himself.

And so he knocks.

The noises stop immediately and your heart is thundering. You were so close! Just another couple seconds and you would have easily came. You freeze. Did they hear you? The pleasure isn’t really ebbing away. It’s just sitting there in your core, waiting to snap.

“Um, [First]?” Your face flushed a deep crimson. Why Hoseok?! Did he hear you?

“Y-yeah?” You try to sound normal, like your voice isn’t cracking, like you don’t want to burst into tears because you need to come so badly.

“Everything alright?” No. Absolutely not. You want to come. You kind of want him to come in and make you come. Over his cock.

“Yeah, everything’s peachy. I’ll be out in a mo’.”

“Alright.”

He stands there. He doesn’t know what to do now. He decides he’ll go in after you and maybe try to calm himself down after that. When the door eventually cracks open, you step out. Your vest is a little twisted and he realises he’s never seen you so exposed. Your chest is bigger than he originally thought. Why do you wear such tight clothes - you’re so hot! Your legs are long and gleaming. He wonders how they’ll feel wrapped around him. Your face is deeply blushed and your lips are really swollen now. How badly have you been biting them? Your eyes are sparkling with tears - just a little but Hoseok sees them. God, how pent up are you?

You look over Hoseok and the images that were in your head aren’t subsiding. He’s rock hard against his shorts. You think that’s he thinks because it’s dark you can’t see but Jesus Chris when it’s that big it’s hard to miss. You quickly look away and Hoseok coughs before stepping into the bathroom.

Anger is one emotion flooding your veins. You just need something. Anything. You don’t know when this is going to stop because you don’t know how long the boys plan on staying wherever you’re going. You should have left your dam phone here at the house and gone a night without it. It’s not like your laptop doesn’t have a link to your phone contacts anyway. God damn.

You clamber back into Hoseok’s bed and don’t bother pulling the covers up. Hoseok is gone for a while and you don’t know what’s taking him so long. What if he heard you? What if he’s gone to sleep downstairs? Dear god. Well that’s your friendship fucked with him. Oh lord.

If only you knew. His knuckles gripping the edge of the sink, his other hand being the reason for such an intense wave of pleasure coursing his veins. Thinking of the way his name rolled off of your tongue as you gasped for breath. Did you think about his tongue, or his fingers, or his cock? God he doesn’t care. Any of them will do to make you sound like that again.

And then there’s white coating the sink and dripping down and fuck. Hoseok’s never done that to the thought of you before. Now he has to get back into bed with you and act like that didn’t just happen.

He doesn’t realise how long he’s been until he pass back into the room. You’re facing the other side of the room but fuck. Your shorts have ridden up a little, your ass is exposed - since when did you have such a nice ass? Your curves are on full display since you’re lying on your side and when Hoseok moves around the bed to get into his side, your practically spilling out of your vest. Your lips are parted, brows a little furrowed but you look peaceful. All hints of the utter torture you’ve been enduring are wiped from your face and you look kind of cute.

You? Cute? Ew, no. You’re [First]. The dorky girl Jungkook brought to lunch a few days after he first started at the uni. You’re the sweet little thing that scolded Jungkook for eating half of Namjoon’a sandwiches in one bite. You’re [First] who always brings cupcakes on a Thursday and you always give each cake icing which is the favourite colour intended for its recipient. You’re the girl who brings extra pens just in case Jungkook forgets his again, and who dances with Jimin when he’s drunk and you just want him to not fall over again, and who reads to Namjoon when he’s sleepy. You’re [First] who somehow gets along with Yoongi really well and makes him laugh all the time, who sits with Jin and is the only one who sings “yummy, yummy, yummy I’ve got food in my tummy” with him when he’s cooking.

You’re [First] who showed up one day holding hands with a senior guy and who looked so in love Hoseok thought his heart was going to burst right there. You’re [First] who always brought Hoseok water and food to his dance practice, who visited him at Hope World to remind him to take a break. You’re [First] who once broke the coffee machine and went out the same day and spent all your wages on a brand new one because you felt so bad. You’re [First] who came crying to Hoseok first when Jackson broke your heart, who called him at 2am and just asked him to speak to you because you needed to hear someone’s voice and you always liked his for some reason. You’re...

You’re extraordinary.

Hoseok doesn’t realise that his hand is caressing your cheek until you melt into his touch. He pulls away as if you’re hot to the touch. What is he doing?

The next morning, you’re not there when Hoseok wakes up and he feels a little... deflated. It’s only about 7am and he decides to get up despite a little lack of sleep. He feels groggy. He feels a little ache-y. He’s quiet as he manuvers down the stairs. He knows that Seokjin is driving today and he doesn’t feel like waking him up early and getting a lecture.

There’s a smell coming from the kitchen and Hoseok quite literally almost has a stroke when he sees you pottering around the kitchen in his hoodie and your shorts (which the hoodie is covering so it looks like you’re wearing nothing but his hoodie). You’re making pancakes and there’s all sorts of toppings already lined up on the counter. When you turn, you give Hoseok a smile.

“Morning, Hobi!”

His heart flutters in his chest. All he wants right now is to kiss you. You look so good in his clothes... You’re smiling at him and the sun is bursting through the windows. You’re glowing. He can still see that subtle hint in your eyes where you’re burning up but it seems you’re pushing it back for the time being. Maybe you relieved yourself before he woke up?

“Morning...” he has to be honest, he’s a little... taken back. You’re not usually a morning person. He knows this because one time you slept over and you had an 8:30am lecture the next morning. It took him, Jungkook and Jimin to get you out of bed and then for some reason you decided to temporarily bond with him for the morning. He had to drop you off at class and you had a toothpaste mark on the corner of your lip, your hair was just pulled into a messy ponytail and you’d thrown an outfit together. You were glaring at anyone and anything that came within a 1m radius of you except for Hoseok. So seeing you standing there smiling with a spatula in your hand at 7am is most likely the most shocking thing he’s ever seen.

“I made pancakes.” You hummed, turning back to the stove.

“I can see...” he’s still a little tired and his voice is so husky. He looks so good right now with a little bit of a bed head and his eyes not quite as bright as they usually are. You pretend the heat on your face is from the heat of the stove and you laugh it off quietly. This is fine. You’re fine. Fine.

“Would you like one?”

“Sure. Why not?”

Hoseok is sure he’s never tasted anything this good in his life. You tell him that it’s your grandmother’s recipe and he makes a mental note to meet the woman who taught you how to cook so well. Right now, you’re seeming like the full package. Until Hoseok reminds himself that he doesn’t do relationships. It’s too hard. But then again, it’s you. He’s looking at you again and you’re not looking at him. You’re currently overloading your pancake with syrup and he doesn’t know how you can intake so much sugar so early in the morning. He doesn’t understand why his heart is threatening to burst open his chest but he scoffs down his packcake so that you’ll make him another. It’s not long before the other members start to wake.

~^*^~

“-WHEN I’M WITH YOU ALL I GET IS WILD THOUGHTS!” The chanting around you has you shrinking further into your seat. Not that it did anything, you have Taehyung on your left and Namjoon on your right. Hoseok is sitting right in front of you with Jimin on his right and Jungkook on his left. Yoongi is in the passenger seat and Seokjin is driving.

Taehyung is trying to get you to dance with him in the very limited space and you’re trying to become invisible. Hoseok is laughing and you swear your heart is leaping into your throat. Why did you agree to this again? Oh, right, you didn’t. You’re burning a nice hole in the back of Jimin’s leg when your phone makes a noise.

From: Jimin ‘stop glaring at me’

To: Jimin ‘I wasn’t’

From: Jimin ‘I can literally see you in the mirror’

To: Jimin ‘in that case it’s just my face’

From: Jimin ‘no it’s not. Especially when you’re looking at Hosoek it ISNT’

To: Jimin: shut it Park

Jimin turns and gives you a flash of his smile and if you were close enough you would have hit him. Taehyung gives you a curious look and you bat him off.

“White girl wasted on brown liquor! I probably shouldn't be around you! 'Cause you get wild, wild, wild! You looking like there's nothing that you won't do!” The boys are still belting out the lyrics, but Hoseok’s head turning to lock eyes with you makes you nearly whimper. Fuck. He knows.

You don’t know how, it’s not even that logical that he would know about 1) your fat crush on him 2) your current horniness levels being through the roof 3) your want to ease your horniness with your big fat crush - so why are you panicking?! Jimin wouldn’t have told him. Jimin is an asshole, but he knows when to stop. He wouldn’t tell Hoseok. You hope.

When you pull up to this gorgeous summerhouse, you’re blown away by the scenery that surrounds it and well, the house itself. So much so that Taehyung has to pull you out of the car.

“This is technically Seokjin’s parents’ but they only use it for like two weeks in July so it’s ours for the rest of the year.” Jungkook explains and you nod at his words. You look around and Hoseok, despite being in a conversation with Seokjin and Jimin, is staring right at you. You look away.

“We could totally skinny dip.” Taehyung muses.

“You seven are more than welcome to engage in said sausage fest. I don’t feel like getting algae in my vagina.” You roll your eyes.

“Strictly speaking, you can’t really get algae in your pus-“ Namjoon is stepping over now.

“Why are you guys talking about [First]’s pussy?” Oh, there’s Hoseok, too. Great.

Please, lord, just let a small [First]-sized sink hole open up right under your feet and KILL YOU.

All seven members are now debating on if you can actually get algae in a vagina and you’ve literally never felt more uncomfortable. Hoseok is laughing at the chaos he’s had a hand in causing and your heart constricts alongside the bubbling, angry pit in your stomach. A pair of ripped denim shorts, a huge oversized white t-shirt (so large that he has to tuck it in to the front of the shorts so that it doesn’t look like a dress), an orange cap and matching vans. He looks... hot. As usual, in line with every other Jung Hoseok ™ look, he is so fucking hot.

Instead of standing around with the boys, you venture inside for a while. The house is very spacious but there’s only four bedrooms which means that everyone is going to have to bunk up. Apparently Seokjin normally gets a room to himself so he’s a little disgruntled at having to share a bed with Yoongi. Jimin is quick to pick Taehyung to bunk with and Jungkook decides he wants Namjoon because “Namjoonie Hyung sucks at switch games” which means... you’re bunking with Hoseok.

Holy shit you’re bunking with Hosoek.

You honeslty don’t know why you’re freaking out because you’ve slept (not like that) with Hoseok before. You guys like to cuddle every now and then and sometimes you’ve just straight up told Hoseok you’re sleeping in his bed because it’s really comfy (he has a memory foam mattress). Many times you’ve woken with his arms around your waist, nose pressed into the crook of your neck. But right now, something feels different. It feels like... like something has shifted monumentally between you and Hoseok. You’re starting to think that he really did hear you last night. You’re starting to think he knows you have a crush on him and you feel so stupid. There’s no way he likes you back so now you’re stuck with having to share a bed with him.

The first day is quick to pass as you get to the house at like 2pm. Seokjin whips up lunch and you guys sit out the back, looking at the large pond/small lake that sits at the back of the house. It’s a relatively warm day and it goes by pretty quickly. Before you know where you are, you’re lying in a bed next to Hoseok. It’s dark and your shoulder is touching Hoseok’s because somehow you also got stuck with the small double. Apparently it’s “too sexual” for two guys to share a bed and be that close but you know it’s bullshit because Jungkook and Taehyung literally compared dick sizes by whipping them out and holding them side-by-side. How is that- you know, you don’t even want to venture into that anymore.

You don’t know if Hoseok is asleep next to you. His chest is rising and falling but his breathing is a little too fast for someone who’s sleeping. He also keeps fumbling with his hands just a little and you’ve slept next to him enough to know that he stills when he’s officially asleep. Even so, you refuse to call out to him. But... he’s so close. And you’re beginning to burn up again. Oh god why now? Why next to Hoseok? Which reminds you, you need to smack Jimin when you see him tomorrow. Making you lie in this small-ass bed with Hoseok of all people, fully knowing how physically pent up you are. You find yourself rolling over, turning away from Hosoek and gulping in a breath. You are t h r o b b i n g. Since when had you become so hot? Before you know where you are, your fingers are over the material of your pyjama shorts and you’re biting into the pillow so that you don’t make a sound.

Fuck. This is so wrong. This is so so wrong. But you can’t help yourself. 13 months you been in this hell-like state. 13 months you’ve suffered. Your body can’t handle it any longer. You know how wrong this is. Getting yourself off with Hoseok lying beside you. Your friend Hoseok. Heavens above, you know he’s a sex god. You’ve heard more than your fair share of his sexcapades and you know girls don’t cry out like that if the sex isn’t great. You have a great mind to just roll over and beg him to fuck you. But you can’t. Because it. is. Hoseok. Because you know you’ll never live it down and you’ll definitely end up crushing on him more if he fucks you good. Your fingers are working at your bundle of nerves and oh, Lord, you’re close already. Can you come like this? Is this as needy as you’ve gotten? You’re willing to come for the first time in like four days sleeping next to one of your best friends/crush?

You don’t get the chance. Hoseok rolls over, grunting a little as he does. His arm tangled around your waist and he pulls himself close. He hums in your ear. You freeze. Your fingers are digging down into your core. Your eyes are wide open now and your heart is beating so quickly. Hoseok doesn’t make any further movement. He’s sleeping.

Except he’s not. He knows exactly what you’re up to and you are not about to come right next to him like that. Even with the pillow muffling you, you’re still a little loud and whiney. He’s smirking as he listens to your racing heart and your rugged breath. He’s pinning your arm against you and he knows you won’t move now. You’re trapped like this until he really does fall sleep. You’re trapped with your fingers on your cunt, so close to coming and nothing gives Hoseok bigger pleasure than knowing you’re shut down again. How much further will you need to be pushed before you crack?

The next day, you wake after Hoseok. He’s already up and you find him outside bending open the open bonnet of a red car. It’s a Golf R and you’re not entirely sure where it came from but Hoseok seems pretty busy so you sit down on the porch steps and wait for him to notice you. He’s gone with some ripped jeans today and a white tank top. His muscles flex every time his arms dip in and out of the metal and you’re flushing already. Get a grip, girl, it’s only 8:45! Hoseok turns after a while and flashes you a smile. Then, he’s calling you over. You don’t think that you can stand but you push yourself up and make your way towards him. {Part 2}

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

Complexities Unknowable- Chapter Two

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23274334/chapters/55737937

Chapter One Link: https://tha-best-url-evar.tumblr.com/post/613354402381807616/complexities-unknowable-chapter-one

Masterpost

Relationships: Established Relationship Dukeceit, eventual intrualiceit, background analogince.

Warnings: Remus Says Things, everyone is sympathetic (but there are some misunderstandings and misconceptions about each other at first), food mention, Things will be sad and they will get more sad but then they will get much less sad very quickly as this story progresses (sorry idk how to tag chapter fics??? on tumblr???), cursing, lmk If I missed anything.

Word Count: 1,373

Deceit despised Patton, there was no doubt about that. He didn’t murder-despise him (he wasn’t a monster), but it was still very hard to find anything to like about the things Morality did. And said. And the ways he said it. And especially, especially, the way that sugar-coated empty-headed cotton ball looked at him- like Deceit actually had murdered someone (although Deceit would concede that when those looks were directed at Remus... it was pretty justified).  

But on the subject of things he hated! Being in The Conscious! Whenever he appeared it felt like a million little needles pricking him and reminding him that he was unwelcome. Another con: Deceit struggled without the ability to flow through rooms, undetectable, like in his half of the mindscape. He was far too exposed for his liking. 

Remus, however, loved being topside, and now that word about him was out he was visiting constantly. Remus also loved doing things that were dangerous and hazardous to himself and others when left unsupervised. And Deceit (regrettably) loved Remus. So. 

It was as the snake lifted his head to see a very upset Patton that he began to question if love was worth it, though. This was going to go so well for them.

Deceit had done what he always did when he was thrust into a situation he wanted no part in. He shut his mouth and observed. And instead of yelling at them, or having a fucking heart attack and insisting that Thomas was a terrible person, Patton extended an offer to prolong their time together. Because nothing about Morality was consistent or made even a little sense. 

Deceit had steered Remus away and teleported them back home as soon as they were out of sight. Immediately, Remus turned to him with his hands on his hips and his nose scrunched up. 

“Since when do you care about making a good impression? You love fucking with them! I know I do.”

“Correction: I don’t fuck with them, I make  a formal appearance and explain my point, only to have them act as though I’m fucking with them. I sure love that! My goddamn favorite.”

“Okay, we both know how dramatic you love to get with your ‘formal appearances’. I say split the difference and just drive a screwdriver through his eye; it makes you harder to ignore and it saves you tons of energy! Or show up naked- he’d have a fit!”

“Because I totally wanted to show up in the first place,” Deceit tossed himself onto the couch, (he hardly had to keep up appearances here). Remus flopped down next to him and took up the rest of the sofa without even trying. He wrapped his arms around the other’s middle, right below Deceit’s third set of limbs. 

“I was doing fine on my own!” Remus explained, punctuating the point by burying his face in Deceit’s ribs. 

“Objectively you weren’t.” 

“You know we can’t really hurt each other. I couldn’t have done anything worse than mentally scar Patton!” Remus’ voice was muffled by the fabric of Deceit’s shirt, but he made no move to get up. 

“It’s not them I’m worried about, you moron.”

The snake-like trait heard a tiny gasp from below him. Remus dragged himself up to throw his arms around Deceit’s shoulders.

“Awwww, you care about me, that’s so embarrassing,” he cooed, smashing their lips together messily. He was grinning more softly than usually when he pulled away.

Despite Deceit’s best efforts, a cackle escaped him. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, halfheartedly pushing Remus back. He let himself wrap a few arms around the creative side as his laughter subsided. For a moment, they were calm.

“I wasn’t being serious, by the way. I know you’re absolutely impervious to emotion.”

“I’m fine,” Remus’ response was too quick. 

“Where do you expect to get by lying to me? You think I don’t know why you were so invested in your most recent project? You think I don’t know why you felt the need to crawl up to The Conscious for caffeine instead of conjuring your own rancid brew like usual? I know you’re distracting yourself, Honey.” 

The other trait was silent for an uncomfortable stretch. When he spoke next, it was barely more than a whisper.

“... Sorry, Dee.”

That shook Deceit down to his core. He couldn’t bring himself to be upset at Remus, and he wouldn’t dare think of any of this as his fault. The protective side pulled him up to look him dead in the eyes. 

“Hey- look at me. I’m not angry. Don’t ever think that I’m mad at you for missing your br- for missing him.” 

Slowly, Remus nodded, and Deceit let go of his face. “We don’t need to talk about it,” the reptilian amended. 

If Remus had made him talk all the times that he’d been overflowing with emotion. All the times he’d sworn on his life it wasn’t because he missed Virgil, but of course it was. If Rem had forced him to drag it all out, rather than just holding him close and letting him distract himself- Deceit was sure he would have died by now. So he returned the favor.

He heard the hitching of Remus’ breath as the trait tried desperately to fight down sobs, but he didn’t say anything. It was impossible not to hold some resent for the “light sides”, when this is what they did to them. When this is what they were left with.

He held Remus close and never, ever wanted to let go.

Before long, Deceit had put on a film to occupy their minds. One of their mutual favorites- Pan’s Labyrinth. They’d been completely immersed in the movie before being so rudely interrupted by a certain someone. A certain someone who was somehow an even better cook than Deceit had presumed. Despite such, he would not be swayed. 

Remus, however, looked pretty damn swayed.

“That was weird, huh?” He stated, chomping on cookies (he’d seemed in much better spirits over the past half-hour, thankfully). Deceit merely raised his eyebrows, still standing in the middle of the room. 

“Not a bit out of the ordinary whatsoever,” he double-spoke, too preoccupied with thought to focus on talking front-ways,  “In fact, I don’t think he was put off by your assertion that he’s not usually ‘nice’. He doesn’t seem like the defensive type, does he?” 

Remus shrugged, flopping face-first down into the couch and grabbing the remote.

“Whatever, now we have movie-watching snacks! They could use more finger-nail clippings, but other than that they’re almost as good as mine!” 

Deceit didn’t respond. He paced the floor, tapping his fingers against his leg. Distantly, he was aware of Remus rambling about something or other- but he couldn’t think about that now. There was a very promising opportunity to consider here, if he could just gather it all together.

“Dee-Dee?” Remus had sat up now, leaning forward to peer curiously at the plotting side.

“Mhm.” Deceit muttered automatically. 

“Hey, Budget Scalesona!”

“I agree completely.”

“Dee!” 

Deceit’s head snapped up to look at Remus, whose face was split with a wide grin. He was practically hanging off of the arm of the couch.

“You’re scheming, aren’t you? You’ve got your scheming face on,” he said with delight, “What are we gonna do? How gory do you want it to get?”

“Nothing like that, you sadist, I’m just... thinking.” It was only about 35% sadistic, but who didn’t love to indulge in a little schadenfreude every now and then? If Patton wanted to know why they weren’t huge fans of his, well, then they’d just have to show him. It would be all too easy to get under his skin, get a nice outburst from him that would show him just how mean he could be. The best way to get to Thomas would certainly be his heart (nevermind the old saying, as the closest thing they had to a stomach side would be the insatiable pit that was Remus).  

“I think we’ll have to finish this film later, Dearest,” Deceit hissed, smirking rather slyly.

Remus sighed dreamily, leaning his chin on his hands.

“You’re so hot when you’re planning revenge.”

Chapter Three Link: https://tha-best-url-evar.tumblr.com/post/616160448347275265/complexities-unknowable-chapter-3