#are your eyes different colours or have i had too much wine???

[antaripirate]

this is the exact scene from ACOL just before they board The Ghost, actually

[upsidedownwithsteve]

eye-rolling "Well, I guess I can do that for you."

pretty please with Steve? 🥰🥰

You weren’t Steve’s girlfriend, not at all. In fact, the man hadn’t even managed to take you on a date. Not yet.

But Steve was pretty damn sure he was borderline besotted with you. Affection made him ache, the longing worse. He felt like a teenager again, a schoolboy with a soul shattering crush that he wasn’t sure he could hide much longer…

…from you, anyway. Everyone else knew.

Which is why Nancy grinned and Eddie laughed into his beer when you found him at the party, a small get together with some old high school friends that had turned into someone bigger and messier as more people returned home to Hawkins for the holidays.

Steve had been watching you move around the room for a while, sandwiched between the sofa arm and Robin, gaze watching the way you hugged each old friend, your eyes bright with excitement, your touch warm and affectionate as you hugged everyone you’d missed.

Steve didn’t even really have time to feel jealous before you were leaning over the back of the couch, your chin on Steve’s shoulder, your perfume familiar and heart racing. You were grinning when you stole his beer bottle with light fingers, non pleased as you brought it to your lips to steal a swig, uncaring that it was borderline warm from the way Steve had nursed it all night.

You didn’t notice the way Jonathan snickered at Steve’s expression, the way Eddie smirked and Robin nudged Steve’s ribs with a bony elbow. You couldn’t see how the poor man had turned pink, face flushed and chest almost still as you leaned closer, your cheek almost touching his.

And then you turned into him, lips so close to his, your nose nudging his temple as the cheap wine you’d been drinking made you bolder, less caring of your audience.

“Hey, Steve?”

Steve didn’t dare turn his head with you this close. He didn’t need his friends to witness him short circuit. He knew you’d be close, closer than ever, close enough to count the fan of your lashes, the flecks of different colours in your eyes, the tiny silver scar on your chin that you got when you were six.

So he hummed instead, taking his beer back from your hand and downing a long drag. He could barely taste the bitterness of it over the leftover stain of your cherry lip balm. It’s like he’d forgotten how to breathe—

“I was wondering, if it’s not too much hassle,” your hand found his shoulder, warm and familiar and affection as it slipped over the front of his chest, playing with his collar. “If you’re still taking Robin home, could you drop me off on the way?”

Steve took too long to reply, the feeling of your small hand against his chest too much for him to comprehend and Eddie was sitting across from his, his grin absolutely wild and Robin’s heel was grinding down on top of his trainers, urging him to answer.

“I—”

“It’s just,” you went onto explain, taking his overwhelmed silence for apprehension, “I was supposed to crash at Jenny’s but she’s going home with Chris now and I don’t really wanna walk, y’know?”

Eddie butted in then, all cheek and charm and Steve wanted to throttle him. He was still grinning, too wide and knowing, and he knocked his boot against Steve’s shin. He tsked, frowning exaggeratedly. “Hey now,” he told you, “Harrington won’t have you walkin’ anywhere, isn’t that right Steve? He’d love to give you a ride.”

Robin almost spat her drink out, waving you away when you looked at her concerned, coughing furiously into her fist and Steve was done.

He gave in then and turned, silently thankful that you moved back just a little, your eyes warm as he met your gaze and you grinned at the sight of him, like you’d missed him as much as he had you.

Fuck, you were pretty. So, so pretty.

And Steve didn’t know what to do. So he did what he always done and played his part, that character that he had in his back pocket from high school, the one he’d learned to tone down just a little and use as a shield. So he rolled his eyes but it only made you grin wider because fucking hell, you could see right through him and Steve knew that.

It’s why you kept your hand on his chest, your arm draped over his shoulder, touching him like he belonged to you and god— he did, he did, he did.

“Yeah, uh, sure,” Steve pretended to consider it. “I can do that for you.”

You tilted your head at him, all quiet flirtation, coy and knowing and your fingertips ran up his chest and over the neckline of his shirt until you were touching bare skin- just for a second.

It was enough to make Steve’s brain buzz, full shutdown, engine screeching, loading screen frozen.

“For me?” You pouted.

You were still too close and your lips were glossy and Steve knew they tasted like cherry. All his friends were staring.

“Yeah,” he nodded, throat dry, eyes on your mouth and the way it curled into a smile. The act was over, his play pretend crumbling. He was too soft for you to try and keep it up for very long. “For you.”

And when you thanked him with a too quick press of your lips to his cheek and then disappeared into the crowd again, his friends waited all of six seconds before they exploded.

[ravenna-reid]

CRIMSON RED

Jason Todd x Pain Inflictor Reader

TW: nothing crazy, just swearing and mentions of violence

˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖

All they called you was Crimson.

Maybe because of your signature lipstick and that lace that was always in your hair.

Or maybe because of the blood you drew out of your targets without so much as raising a finger.

A telekinetic pain inflictor. The worst kind of metahuman.

But Red Hood had no reason to worry about you just yet. You tended to keep a low profile and there were bigger fish to fry. And if he was being honest, the sound of you and your abilities were kind of terrifying.

Jason's little mission all went wrong though, given his intel was missing key information. Now he was bound to a chair in a warehouse with a dripping roof. And that dripping eerily echoed as he sat and waited. Desperately keeping his fears and demons at bay.

Being tied to a chair. The looming threat of torture. It all hit a little too close to home.

Two-Face eventually sauntered into view, the rest of the warehouse behind and beside him concealed in shadows. Jason had to grimace every time he saw his face.

"You ugly bastard." Jason retorted, masking his fear with snarky insults and sarcasm. "Gotten work done recently?" He nodded towards Harvey's face with his head.

"Son of a bitch." Two-Face's face contorted with rage. "I would watch my mouth if I were you. You're finally gonna die tonight, and this time you won't be coming back."

Jason swallowed hard, pissed off that he didn't have his helmet to hide the fear-inducing anticipation on his pale face.

"But we'll let the coin decide how this is gonna play out."

So Harvey went on with his odd ritual and flipped his coin. It landed on the tarnish side, and Jason had no idea what that meant. Suddenly, Two-Face was calling out to someone behind him. Someone hidden deep within the darkness of the abandoned warehouse. Jason waited and waited, sweat dripping down the side of his face.

He expected a gruesome looking thug or some other high profile villain. Maybe Penguin, or even Harley.

The sound of heeled boots slowly echoed through out his bleak surroundings, accompanied by a laugh like velvet. You soon came into view.

Crimson mask concealing the top half of your face, the colour matching that string of lace that sat comfortably in your hair. Your usual deep red outfit hugged your body, similar to Catwoman's except for the fact that it wasn't a whole bodysuit. And of course, your stark, scarlet lips were contorted into a sinister smile.

He'd seen you around. But seeing you this close in person was a different story. Jason's breath hitched once you were right in front of him. Truthfully, he never intended to meet you. And now it was so much worse given you would be the one torturing him tonight.

Fuck this mission really went south.

"Here, the coin says you get to toy with him tonight." Two-Face said with a dismissive wave of his hand and scoff as he turned his back. "I have a deal I need to be making soon."

Jason watched as he left, muscles stiff with frustration and venom in his eyes. This was the deal Jason was supposed to be preventing.

As Jason's eyes lingered on Two-Face, your eyes were focused on him. His ivory skin and deep, jet black hair. The aggravated expression painted across his face. That muscular figure.

And that odd looking J scar on the side of his face.

"Red Hood..." Your voice lingered and shivers suddenly went down Jason's arms. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"Can't say I feel the same way." He responded harshly, avoiding eye contact and instead trying to devise an escape plan. Which would, most likely, be futile and stupid.

"Mmm, mean. It's not like you're a saint Red." You calmly pointed out, voice smooth like wine.

And then he looked up at you. "Oh, really? You're one to talk? Ms snaps someones bones and crushes their lungs with a blink of an eye."

Finally making contact, you saw the confliction swirling in those eyes, and for some odd reason something tightened your throat.

Jason didn't miss the subtle furrow of your brows as you neared him. Slowly circling him like a predator.

"Deciding what bone you're going to break first?"

You scoffed, but it was more like a laugh. As you walked behind Jason he began to feel his skin crawl, his heart beat faster. He wished you were standing in front of him again. Staring down at him the way you were.

As you went around him, you noticed the back of his shirt was slightly tugged down, revealing slithers of iridescent scars. Many, many scars.

"What are you doing?" He snapped, but you remained silent until you faced him again. And this time all you did was stare back at him, mind deep in thought. Something stirred deep in your chest. Regret? Sympathy?

"You're just a kid." The words left your mouth in a gentle whisper as you realised he was probably no older than you.

So no, he wasn't a kid. But he wasn't old enough to have his body broken by you. Sure, you butchered people with your mind all the time. But they were criminals. Enemies. Scum. They always had it coming. But him? Red Hood?

You just couldn't do it. It was ridiculous, you knew that. But you couldn't. You wondered where Two-Face was and how he'd react to your odd decision. But hell, you didn't care about ignoring Two-Face's order. Rules and regulations never stopped you before, and what was he going to do?

Jason initially wanted to get even more mad about that statement. Insulted that you just called him a boy when he was in his 20's. But he kept to himself, continuing to watch you closely.

"So what are you gonna do now huh? Cause this game is getting a little boring Crimson."

His attitude made you smirk a little. You suddenly slipped a red-blade dagger from your belt. Jason frowned, wondering why you wouldn't just use you powers, when you cut the zip ties and rope keeping him bound.

Now he was glancing up at you, eyes wide with confusion and suspicion.

"You gonna go or did you actually want me to hurt you?" You asked, brows raised. But already knowing the answer, you were turning to leave.

"Why are you doing this?" He sounded like he was accusing you of something. You turned to look back over your shoulder.

The sympathy was back, but also a few other feelings. Butterflies in your stomach and what not. Shit he was handsome.

"I don't know," you shrugged. "You're kinda cute."

He scoffed before grabbing his helmet from the floor. "Spare me."

Suddenly a sharp pain began in his knees before they turned into brittle leaves. He dropped down onto them and stayed there as the pain began to subside. Then he shot a glare up at you. You were already standing before Jason and looking down at him, that smug smile on your pretty face.

"Mm," You hummed, eyes dancing across his features as you took him in. "Very cute."

Then you turned to leave, and Jason was left blushing and speechless.

Part 2

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[themotherofblood]

CHAPTER 2 | RIVER OF GOLD | The Bedding | T.L x READER

series masterlist | main masterlist | chapter 1

tw: infantalism, major age gap, loss of virginity, misogynistic views, allusions to blood, breeding, unprotected

~ the lion’s in the house, the flowers are up in the air ~

“The wedding was quaint I suppose, followed by the customs of the Seven. I had hoped to have a Ryonish wedding, just as my cousins did, the dress lord Tywin, or I suppose my husband had gotten redone from my mother’s old gown, had freshwater pearls. I lit a candle at the Sept. I felt her. My mother’s warmth embraced at my back. She is watching me, I think. I miss her terribly.”

The feast that gathered in your father’s Great Hall was elaborate, surely the money came from Tywin’s coffers as you had never seen your father spend on such baseless things as he had said. Your martial cloak still laid heavy upon your shoulders as you ate what you could from your plate. People danced and jovial banter followed the tables, your sisters taking turns dancing with Olvyar. Lord Kevan had ridden from Casterly Rock to be in attendance, Tywin’s only family present. You knew not to hope for this agreement to be extravagant nor joyous, this was a  deal struck well. Your womb for the Lannister offspring and you showered in riches and power, perhaps if you gave him a son or two. You could return to Dorne. 

There was a fiddly sense of belonging between the two of you, there should have been a first dance, which he refused, he doesn’t smile, why doesn’t he smile? You would have danced, you loved dancing however whatever simple vows spoken at the altar seemed to have mellowed your making entirely as you sat there from the hour of crow to the hour of the bat. Feasting away as your father regaled of this most triumphant match and how honoured his daughter - you who sat right in front of him was. 

What you worried for most was the bedding, you should have taken up the offer of your cousin Nymeria when she had laid attractive ideals upon your lap to flitter you away with her to the most extravagant of brothels on the eastern streets of Sunspear. Though a maiden, you weren’t entirely daft due to the very colourful tapestries and paintings that flowered you to a whole different - erogenous - world. What kind of lover was your husband to be? Was there even warmth to expel within the sheets from his stone heart? He doesn’t even smile, not once. 

Tywin in truth was a fine man for his age, though his pockets (mines) were the true seduction of his being, if one could get past the stern glare, no… judgement in his eyes with which he glanced at a room. There had to be more to a man of his stature, of his experience. You could name a rumour or two, your aunt, but your mind mostly wondered about his children. Much, much older children. There was sedation, you knew this much as he promised this to you “You would be safe.” Perhaps the debt he owed to your mother was one of the grave consequences. 

“Now, the night grows cold my lords!” Loren exclaimed, raising his glass to you, his pale cheeks red from the intoxication of the strong wines your Dornish ship had brought along. “Shall we send for the bedding ceremony,” he cheered, downing his cup with an animalistic growl. Your father, your boorish father. Never leaving one opportunity to humiliate you, having your clothes pulled off in front of a very populated crowd, you shuffled back uncomfortably in your seat, clutching your skirts in balled fists. Would it be inappropriate to punch a lord? 

“What you say, my lord,” Loren turned to his liege lord, your husband who looked rather unamused as he finally looked at you after the wedding ceremony. His eyes narrowed further before he turned to your father. 

“There will be no bedding,” he said, voice lowly and intimidating. He rose, holding his hand out for you to take. His palms were warm, too warm as you clutched his palm. He fixated a subtle glare towards your father and pulled you from the feast. You walked behind him, mildly shocked that he would protect you, he promised it. You pattered along behind him, the anklets hidden under your gown chiming as you walked with him. He let go of your hand once the doors behind you closed, letting you lead him to your childhood quarters. 

Like falling marbles, your heart fluttered each time you thought of ways to present yourself to him. When you entered your bed-chambers, a slight dread filled your belly. Tywin looked around, face stoic as ever until his eyes fell on the dolls that sat atop a chest, he looked at your questioningly, eyebrows raised making your sheepishly scratch your neck. 

“I haven’t been in these rooms since I was seven,” you told him, a simple explanation to the many toys decorated around the chambers, the books stacked across the walls and shelves. Patches of embroidered neatly folded onto a pile by the receiving table. Your handmaidens had left behind a tray of refreshments, wines and dried fruit. You are his wife - wife, the realisation seemed to have slowly trickled its way to your consciousness. You are married - you are married and you would now have to lose your maidenhead. 

“Why do you do that?” Tywin pulled you from your intense line of thought, looking at you as though he was reading you, a droll book with its finest pages being ripped away and hidden. 

“Do what?” You blurted, watching him intuitively as he poured himself a cup of wine and filled another for you. 

“Your mind, you think too hard,” he grunted, sitting himself down on the great chair turned away from the heart, it was utterly comical if you thought over the scenery. His much - much larger frame situated upon a very small, cushiony great chair made of lilac cloth and blue embroidery to match its footstool. Your chair, you wanted to sit there but instead pick up the cup of wine from the table. Taking ginger sips of the wine and frowning at its taste, twelve summers at Sunspear and your tongue still couldn’t accustom to the fizzled burn upon your throat. 

“I- I just…” you trailed, taking a larger swig this time, unsure of what to talk about, the talking wasn’t necessary, was it? “How would you like me, my lord?” 

You bit your tongue, hard. Trusting yourself up like a whore, how would you like me, seriously?

“Are you afraid of me, girl?” the green of his eyes glinted over your doe eyes face, the confusion and torn countenance. 

“No, not afraid,” you took a seat next to him, curving near the rip of your cup with your finger “You are very unreadable- I do not wish to disappoint you,” he grunted, and almost a broken chuckle fell from his lips. 

“I can’t tell if you are pleased or not I… you do not smile, my lord.” 

He looked up, right into you. The menacing gaze of his eyes, almost a glare made you want to cower. Be swallowed whole by this chair, shutupshutupshutp, your mind in frenzy began to scream at you. This time you gulped down the cup entirely. What the fuck had you gotten yourself into?

“You’ve picked a fine one brother,” Kevan patted Tywin’s back “She and Genna will surely create quite the trouble.” 

Tywin grunted out a chuckle “She deceived me the first we met, fourteen years and not one lie went through me. But this one,” Tywin shook his head as he buttoned his cuffs. “She’s of exceptional breeding, wide enough hips for childbearing and a sharp wit.”

“Gods, Tywin, you are to make her your wife, not butcher her for meat.” Kevan rolled his eyes at his brother’s straightforward description of you. 

Tywin brushed his hands down his doublet, he swore to not think of this beforehand. Yet a man’s mind was only so fortified as he thought of Joanna, you looked nothing like her, the distinct lack of yellow-blonde and greenish eyes he could spend dusk till dawn. This was a necessity, his children had all failed him, and he couldn’t trust Cersei to feasibly manage Casterly Rock, her concentrated arrogance was much of Tywin’s fault. His golden boy, the fine knight he was, politically a mouse and Tyrion- better call him something else than Tywin’s son. 

His brother Kevan, was trustworthy and most capable of being his heir but he wanted just another chance, to build his legacy from his blood, his lineage, and his seed. A young enough wife to mould to his liking, you were a challenge, your mind too sharp behind the polite curtain upon your eyes. He found no reason to be curt or cold to you, you were to share his bed. A fine creature- soft and poised with an amalgamated refinery of Westerslands blood and Dornish brawl. 

Now, as you sat in front of him. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t let this bedding be a rut-pump-fill engagement. The heavy lower lip long stripped from its pinkish rogue, filled with colour due to your constant biting. He stopped drinking at the feast a while back, not wanting to blurt Joanna’s name while within you. He had done far too many times to the whores of Lannisport. However as he watched you, the possibility dwindled, your aura too commanding to be thought of as anything else than who you were, the strong scent of sandalwood and lilies. An inviting little thing, the lusts of a man no different than his youth. 

He rose from his seat, reaching forward to cup your jaw to make you look at him, his thumb itching to graze over your supple cheek. “I am pleased,” he said sincerely behind his monotone behaviour. “Come.” He whispered. 

Your softer hand once more took his as he led you to the foot of your bed. He could tell how hard you were breathing from your breasts pushing against the bindings of your gown, spilling parts of it over and deflating once more. His hand with a find of his let his pointer trace against the curve of cheek down your neck. “I will return in moments.”

He ventured to ante chambers to strip into far appropriate and comfortable attire for tonight. In a soft white tunic and trousers, his mind wandered to the vision that were you. A titillating scene, one devoid of the performative bait of the whores he had gotten used to. You were a terrified thing, surely taught or read about the consummation. He wouldn’t let it hurt, he hadn’t felt a maiden in a while, the vile thought stirred warmth within his breeches as he re-entered your chambers to find you in your night rail. Soft white with flowers - flowers, his eyes raked down your body. You are undone hair, thick and wild. Shoulders bared, kissable the nape of your neck, the marks he could leave upon your collarbones. The gentle glow of the lit hearth against your skin and the scent. 

The incense, that’s what you smelled of, it teased him for days since you agreed to marry him. You sat at the edge of the bed, legs tucked together as you toyed with your fingers nervously. Your eyes widened for a moment when you noticed his silhouette standing a few breaths away from you. You were trying to will bravado into your nerves, turn them ice cold to stop with the gentle tremble on your fingertips. 

He approached you one more, towering over your frame. The space between his thumb and pointer fits perfectly at the curve of your chin as he held your face. “My lord,” you whispered. 

His lips pushed against yours, unlike the chaste close-mouthed peck. This one commanded you to learn, to receive his affections with equal attention. Your lips parted, letting his tongue within, you floundered for a moment. A buzz ran down your spine as you felt his other hand pull you closer, you whimpered into the kiss, finding a distinct lack of air within as Tywin pulled away. 

“You ought to stop calling me my lord.” Tywin admired your features, a lamb for the lion to feast upon, your lips so sweet, laced with the very strong wine that lingered in Tywin’s lips. He wondered if his young bride was sweet everywhere. You nibbled on your bottom lips. The flush of your cheeks - The Maiden in the flesh as your rail shielding the ample globes upon your chest. A mellow-tempered beauty, pure and untouched. As much as his mind wished him to strip you bare, it would be unlike his station to impose you further from your comfort. 

He gestured towards the pillows, letting you crawl further in as he rid himself of his tunic. For his age, Tywin maintained the regime of a knight. Finding no reason to laze away to his growing age, he would die many ways happily. Other than a fat country lord. His frame engulfed yours as he positioned himself on his knees. His thumb grazed your lips, parting them as he pushed in two fingers. 

“Suck on them,” he commanded as you obliged like a doll on strings. Suctioning your lips around his pointer and middle finger. The skin between your legs was divinely soft as he stroked them open, and your stomach churned. You were his wife now, his to pry open until you were swollen with his babe. 

He felt the sickish soft hairs against your skin, trimmed to a perfect mound as the pads of his fingertips strum against your petals, coating them slick with the wetness from your mouth. You gasped, a kittenish yelp, eyes wide and cheeks flushed as your husband prepared you for your bedding. 

“It’s alright, this will make it more bearable,” he stated, his features long softened that you didn’t notice until now. He laid next to you with your legs held open as he rubbed tight circles onto your bud. 

“My…my lord,” you mewled, making Tywin return to his stern glare as a warning. “Husband.” The word so foreign against your tongue, your noses touching one another as your eyes scrunched close. 

A malicious urge flared over Tywin as he couldn’t wait longer to feel you clenching around his cock. He kissed your lips once more before situating himself atop you. You squealed as he positioned you by yanking you down by the hip. Your rubescent folds are ever inviting, beginning to have his cock sliding through the slick. He pushes his breeches off, letting his semi-harden length, the mushroom tip resting against your entrance. He was waiting, waiting for you. 

There was apprehension, mayhaps fear in your eyes. You shuffled your hips making Tywin but his tongue, feeling the friction against his leaky tip, “Please.” You whispered. 

His tip pushed against your rejecting core, unyielding to the foreign feeling as his thumb gingerly swiped over your bud to mask the sting you were to soon feel. You bleat, choking at the feeling of his cock pushing in, you grasp onto his shoulder a little too hard, nails digging in. You hiss out an apology, all he did was shush you, like a learning child. It would be fine, he would make it better. Your eyes dropped heavy eyelids fixated upon him as he bludgeoned himself smug into your cunt, he wavered for a moment. A lowly groan rumbled from within him as your silent sobs persisted. He waited once more, watching over your scrunched face. 

Drunk from the lust he fought to not fuck into you, reminding himself you were no whore, you would break too easy if he inflicted any more strain. He didn’t understand what you were doing to him as he placed a kiss upon your forehead as your cunt fluttered around him. There was a different depravity in the thought of moulding something this young, and warm to stretch himself. Making a delicate home for his seed within you, reaching for your womb for his heir, his—this was his.

“Please move— husband,” you hissed, gently rocking your hips to soothe the waves of pain flaring through your abdomen. It faded, the hurt was pleasurable against the tweaks at your pearl. 

Tywin groaned, his hips rolling into yours as he set a gentle pace. Your pretty hair spread about the pillow, full lips parted open with gasps of harsh air - taking thrust after thrust for him. It didn’t go unnoticed as your fingertips caressed against the backs of his shoulders. Don’t fucking do it — Tywin valiantly fought against the urge to grasp at a handful of your breasts. Your nipples were hard behind the cotton fabric, the shoulders pulled so far down they threatened to spill from their coverings. 

“Say my name, say my name wife,” he groaned, holding your jaw with the green of his eyes making you dizzy. 

“T-Tywin— it feels so good,” you mewled, of course, it does, pretty maiden being fucked open for your first coupling as he took much care of you. Tywin, some doe-eyed witch you were, maybe his wine laced with a potion. His name never sounded so sweet. 

His hand clutched your hips, truly the perfect width, his cock stirred some more at the thought of your soft pouch swelling further. The glow in your cheek is even radiant while carrying his heirs “Such a good girl,” he groaned. “Fuck.” He groaned under his breath, trying to keep his equanimity.

His cock twitched feeling your cunt squelch as he flicked his thumb against your bundle of nerves, a rut and a pump more and he sweared “fuck, there—take it.” You mewled under him, legs shuddering as his cock pumped itself to completion. Warm seed coating your environs as his sweat-beaded head fell against your forehead.

The heavy after loom oddly weaved your legs against him, the gentle weight of his body resting against yours anchored you to the ticklish warmth you felt. Eyes heavy and shut and your heart hammered against your chest. Tywin pulled you up when you could gather your bearings once he dressed.

The service bell was rung for Maester Crasden, your father Loren and Tywin’s brother Kevan to inspect the sheets. You sat hidden behind your husband’s silhouette, the sheets stained thoroughly, though the flush of your cheeks was indication enough that marriage was indeed consummated. Maester Crasden checked on you as Tywin conversed with Loren. 

“We ride tomorrow at noon, make a night's journey home,” Tywin instructed your father is more than happy to be rid of one daughter with such an auspicious match. Kevan nodded before exiting the chambers along with Loren. Maester Crasden laced a cup of water with two drops of Milk of The Poppy to ease any pains you might feel in the morrow. When he left, there was yet again an awkward silence between the two of you, mostly on your part.

Tywin on the other hand admired the dishevelled beauty sat by the hearth, “You need your rest, we are to leave tomorrow.” He stated. 

“Leave?” You questioned, putting the empty cup away as you stood, legs a little sore as you grimaced at the feel of his leaking seed. 

“For Casterly Rock,” he shrugged, awaiting any disappointments that might flare within your eyes. You looked at the hearth as your lips pulled to a line. 

You walked to him and reached onto your toes to press a kiss upon his cheek “Goodnight husband.” 

Tywin nodded as he helped you onto your bed before gracefully turning in his heel and leaving for his bed chambers. 

To Casterly Rock then.

next chapter

[gay-dorito-dust]

Taglist: @souyasbabyy @kittekat420 @mellozhi @bro-let-me-sleep

This was long overdue…also do I have any idea where this series is going? Honestly I’m just wining it, so if it seems like there’s no consistency…that’s probably bc of me wining it.

Warning: ooc hobie? Shit writing?

Butterflies can’t see the colour of their wings series:

Part 1

Part 2

part 3 (you are here)

When Hobie told you that he’d be there if you were going through something; he meant it.

When Hobie told you that you could come to him for anything that might be plaguing your mind with doubt; he meant it.

He meant every promise he’s ever made.

Every. Last. One.

However Hobie knew that to push you into telling him everything wasn’t the right way to go about solving things, and instead he should wait until you were ready to talk about the issue on your own terms. You’re amazing Hobie and I’m not dismissing your help or anything but I’m sure I can figure this out on my own, if I can’t then I’ll come to you. Were the words you spoke to him. You always wanted to figure things out yourself first before resorting to relying on others for help. While that was admirable, Hobie secretly wanted to be the one you relied on most; after overhearing what you said to Miles about the consequences of wanting what you can’t have because you felt as though you didn’t fit with him.

Which -for clarification- Hobie found to be utter and total bullshit because to him, you couldn’t have fitted better with him. He could give less of a shit about how different you were, whether it was based on lifestyles, aesthetics or differences in personalities, because at the end of the day Hobie only wished to help you realise how beautiful your butterfly wings were; and they are the most beautiful he’s ever seen that to try and describe them would be a fruitless endeavour for you made him feel all kinds of things and those things you made him feel were new and exciting.

How he wishes he could find the way to rid you forever of your self doubt and insecurities that run so deep within yourself that it was nearly impossible to find where it was that the seed of doubt was placed within your heart and soul. Hobie knew he can only say so much before it begins to sound like he was rehashing those same words in a multitude of different ways until they held no emotion nor meaning.

Another thing he often pondered to himself in his spare time was the kiss you left engraved upon his cheek that day as he often ran his calloused fingertips across it gingerly, still feeling the phantom of your lips there. He first wondered if that kiss was merely a gesture of thanks for his offer to help; nothing to be looked deeply upon for it untimely meant nothing outside your appreciation for the strong platonic bond you both built since meeting one another; Whereas he sometimes wished it was you slowly accepting his willingness to become more integrated with your life then he already is but to a more deeper and intimate level.

A level where in his fantasy you both could sit in a together in total silence as you both did your own thing, easily finding comfort within one another’s presence and knowing that you’d never be too far away from actively seeking for one another when wanting to show something.

A level where you would wear his vest outside of the excuse that you looked cold but more so because it would inherit your scent within the fabric, so that whenever he was away he would be reminded of the piece of you that he had with him, telling him that you were waiting for him back home.

A level where he could look into your eyes and see his entire life within them.

A level where he would’ve finally found a way in making you see you from his point of view; for you were a butterfly who would one day realise the colour of your wings and he was the human that would help you see their beauty and worth.

[holdmytesseract]

... and a Happy New Year!

This was going to be interesting, Loki thought as he was approaching the French doors, which led to the quite big balcony. It was December 31st - 11:55 p.m. to be exactly. The start of the new year was just around the corner.

The god smiled; feeling for the sparklers which had been stowed away in his trouser pockets. "Darling, are you coming? It's almost time!" He called out for you; looking back over his shoulder. "Yes!" Loki heard you calling back - approximately from the kitchen. "I'm on my way! One second!" "Alright!"

There was silence for a short time until your voice urged to his ears again. "Do you have the ear protector, babe?" _Ohhh, right... He almost forgot._ Loki's gaze drifted down to where his baby daughter was resting against his chest; safely secured by his right hand and arm. Ella was sucking on her dummy; tiny hands clawed into his hoodie. Once she felt her father's gaze on herself, the small girl looked up as well; causing blue eyes to meet blue eyes. Loki smiled at her and pressed a lingering kiss on the crown of her head.

It was Ella's first New Year's Eve. Yours and his first New Year's Eve as parents - and his first New Year's Eve as a _father_. It was thrilling. Absolutely exciting for the god.

And since Ella was still very little, she had to wear an ear protector in order to protect her hearing and also of course to prevent that she got scared.

"Not yet! Would you fetch them?"

"I'll try!"

Only a minute later, you appeared in the living room; ear protector dangling around your neck and two glasses alongside a bottle of sparkling wine in your hands. "Let's go, babe!" You ushered. "It's almost midnight!"

Loki nodded with a smile; took the ear protector and placed them on Ella's head. Both you and Loki couldn't deny that she looked hilariously cute with such a big 'headpiece' on such a tiny head. "Let's go."

You and your husband stepped on the balcony. Loki took a deep breath of the cold night air and gently bounced Ella on his arm (mostly to keep her awake for a little longer), while you opened the sparkling wine bottle and poured two glasses.

"Okay, babe... Time check?" The god smiled; reaching for your hand and pulled you against his side. "One minute." You looked up at Loki with a loving smile.

At 30 seconds until midnight, Loki reached for the sparklers and handed you one.

At 15 seconds, he snapped his finger and they started to burn beautifully.

At 10 seconds you and him started to count.

"10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 - Happy new year!" You both chanted happily; Loki bounced Ella once again on his arm. Fireworks erupted all around you; dipping the night sky above New York City in various different colours. It was loud and kind of chaotic, but it looked also so amazing and stunningly beautiful. Ella was totally amazed, too. Her little eyes quickly darted from A to B; not knowing where to look first.

"There's so much to see, right princess?" Loki spoke rather loudly through the noise; kissing her head again. You chuckled; gently tickling her cheek. "Indeed - but she definitely loves it! I mean, she loved the Bifrost, too, so..." Your husband nodded, while you exchanged the burnt down sparklers with the glasses of sparkling wine.

"Happy new year, babe." You smiled; clinking your glass against his. The god reciprocated your smile, of course. "Happy new year, my love. It is going to be wonderful, I just know it." His gaze darted from you to his baby daughter and back.

Then you both took a big sip and watched the fireworks with Ella for a little while - until you suddenly remembered something. It struck you like lightning and your eyes widened. "Lokiiii!" His head snapped over to look at you - slightly panicky. "Yes?! What is it, love?!" "We almost missed the most important thing!" He blinked, "Which would be...?" and you almost groaned in frustration. "The new year's kiss! Quick!"

Loki chuckled, but gently cupped your cheek and pulled you into a mind-blowing kiss. A kiss fitting to the fireworks around you - and without a doubt worthy to be a new year's kiss.

a/n: Happy New Year - from me & the Baby Fever blorbos! 🥳🥂💚 I want to thank my crew for the amazing support and all the love my stories received! You've been amazing and I can't wish for better readers, mutuals and friends! 🙏🏼💚 Here's to the next year! May it be just as blessed as 2023! 🥂🧡

Baby Fever Crew: @lady-rose-moon @muddyorbsblr @chennqingg @smolvenger @alexakeyloveloki @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @jennyggggrrr @stupidthoughtsinwriting @eleniblue @loz-3 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @fictive-sl0th @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @lovingchoices14 @glitchquake @lokidbadguy @icytrickster17 @mandywholock1980 @november-rayne @xthatpottahfanx @simping-for-marvel @lou12346789 @aagn360 @anukulee @multifandom-worlds @hisredheadedgoddess28 @vbecker10 @jaidenhawke @km-ffluv @lokiforever @crimson25 @kimanne723 @cakesandtom @buttercupcookies-blog @salvinaa @javagirl328 @noideakitten @zombiesnips-blog @dustychinchilla74 @frzntrx @lokisgoodgirl @princess-ofthe-pages @coldnique @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokisrealpurpous @huntedmusicgardenn @lokischambermaid

[thegettingbyp2]

smut with older, experienced, philadelphia jess maybe?

Old Flames

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Seeing Jess again after 10 years felt like a shock to your system. You’d dated when you were younger but had broken up because you both seemed to be heading in different directions and neither of you wanted to hold the other back. So, when you opened your door to see an older, more muscular looking Jess, you were shocked, you had pretty much convinced yourself that you were never going to see him again and you’d made peace with that.

‘What are you doing here?’ you asked, surprise colouring your voice, not remembering to say anything else.

‘I was here visiting Uncle Luke and he said that you still lived here so I thought I’d pop over and say hi. I brought a bottle of wine, but I can always go if you want,’ he said, nervous as he held the bottle of wine up.

‘No,’ you said quickly before noticing the slightly hurt look from Jess. ‘I mean, no I don’t want you to go. Come in,’ you explained, opening the door wider and stepping to the side so Jess could walk in. It felt weird having Jess in your home, you hadn’t dated for years and you could clearly see how much the years had changed you both since you’d last seen each other but seeing Jess standing in your house felt right somehow.

You wandered through to the kitchen to grab a couple of wine glasses and before you knew it, the two of you were sitting on the sofa, the bottle of wine empty as you both thought back over your memories.

‘Do you remember that date I took you on to the bookshop?’ he asked, grinning at you.

‘How could I forget! You told me that I could pick as many books as I wanted and you went as pale as a ghost when I turned up with a whole stack!’ you exclaimed, laughing as you thought back to the joke you’d played on him.

‘That was horrible! I felt so bad having to tell you that I couldn’t afford them all!’ Jess replied, laughing along with you.

It wasn’t too long after that the both of you found yourselves inching closer to each other, his hand landing on your thigh as his breath fanned your hair gently. ‘So, how long are you here for?’ you asked, trying to think of anything to say to avoid thinking about how good Jess’ hand felt on you.

‘Well, that all depends,’ he murmured lowly as he looked at you.

‘On what?’

‘On how everything goes here in town.’

‘Doesn’t your girlfriend want to know when you’ll be home?’

‘What makes you think I have a girlfriend?’

His reply pulled you up short, you were sure that someone like Jess out there in somewhere like Philadelphia was bound to have a girlfriend. ‘You don’t?’ you asked quietly, looking at him from the corner of your eye.

‘No,’ he said, breathing out before his finger came to rest underneath your chin as he tilted your head up to face him and you were surprised to see just how close his mouth was to yours. ‘So, now you know that, can I do what I’ve been wanting to do from the minute you opened the door?’

You nodded and the next thing you knew, Jess’ lips were on yours. His tongue traced your bottom lip, begging for entrance and you parted your lips, letting his tongue dip languidly into your mouth. You couldn’t help but notice the difference in this kiss compared to all of the other kisses you’d shared with Jess. Years ago, he’d kiss you with a hurried urgency, like he was scared that you’d disappear. Now, he kissed you as though he knew that he could take his time and he was taking advantage of that. Your hands moved up to twist in his hair, keeping his lips pressed against you as he moved you into his lap.

As soon as you were sat in his lap, your fingers moved to his t-shirt, slipping your hands underneath it as you tried to pull it up his body and off of his head. When you couldn’t, small whimpers began to leave your lips, making Jess break the kiss to look at you.

‘Hold on, we don’t have to do this here,’ he said, brushing his thumbs against your cheeks softly.

‘I want you,’ you whined, tugging on his top again making him groan and help you take his t-shirt off before pressing his lips back against yours. Your hips started absentmindedly grinding against his crotch and you smirked against his lips when you felt him harden underneath you.

He pushed your sundress up around your hips and promptly dragged your panties down your legs, lifting one of your legs to rest on his shoulder as he pushed his jeans down his legs, discarding them on the floor before leaning over you, the angle of your leg on his shoulder, allowing him to rub against your pussy as he kissed you.

Trailing his fingers down your body, you gasped against his lips when you felt his fingers brush lightly against your clit as he wrapped his hand around his cock, nudging at your entrance lightly, making your hips buck up against him, trying to get more. ‘Patience,’ he shushed you when you began to whine as he bumped against your clit. ‘There’s no rush.’

‘What happened to you,’ you joked, used to the Jess that would jump on you pretty much the second the two of you were alone.

‘I grew up,’ he replied, grinning down at you before pressing his lips back to yours, ‘I learnt how to take my time.’

As he spoke, he slowly pushed into you, making your eyes flutter closed and your lips fall open as a quiet moan escaped. When his hips were flushed with yours, you couldn’t help the smile that appeared on your lips, remembering back to how right he felt inside you all those years ago and how that hadn’t changed one single bit. ‘Okay, but we can take our time later, please, Jess.’

Burying his head in your neck, his hips began to snap against you in a bruising pace that had the breath being pushed from your lungs every time his hips collided with yours. Your nails dug into his back, pulling a sharp his from his lips before he nipped your neck, soothing his tongue over the bite instantly. One of your hands left his back to blindly feel for his face, moving his head out of your neck and making him look at you before you leaned up and pressed your lips against his, the both of you swallowing each others moans.

You could feel that you were close when he adjusted his hips slightly so his cock slammed against the spot that made you see stars every time he entered you and you found yourself gasping with every thrust.

‘Hold on, baby,’ Jess murmured, trailing his nose along your jawline as his eyes closed and his hips began to snap harder into yours.

‘I can’t,’ you whined, trying to hold off your orgasm.

‘Yes, you can, I’m almost there,’ he said, moving his hand down so his thumb could trace circles on your clit. At the first swipe of his thumb, you clenched down around him, throwing the both of you into your orgasms together.

The two of you panted into each others mouths as you both came down from your highs, grinning at each other. ‘That was,’

‘Amazing,’ Jess finished for you before he slowly pulled out of you, grabbing a blanket from the back of the sofa and draping it over you, pressing a kiss to your knee before he got up to look for his clothes.

‘What are you doing?’ you asked, frowning at him as you sat up, holding the blanket to your chest.

‘I need to find my clothes and then I’ll go.’

‘I don’t want you to go.’

‘You don’t?’ he asked, looking up at you, a shimmer of hope in his eyes.

‘No, I don’t want you to go again, it’s taken this long for us to find each other again. Please stay,’ you said quietly, panicking that he wasn’t on the same page as you.

‘You really want me to stay?’ Jess asked softly, moving back over to you and sitting on the sofa, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek, tracing with his thumb gently.

‘Please,’ you said in an almost whisper, nodding frantically, not caring if it made you look desperate or not.

Jess smiled at you before pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. ‘Then you’re going to have to let me in this blanket.’

[joequinnisgod]

(I Just) Died In Your Arms (Part II)

Part I Part II Part III

Pairing: Joseph Quinn x reader (as best friends)

Summary: After that weekend, the group reunites, angst ensues between Joe and you.

Warnings: angst, no smut in this one

Word count: 3.1k

A/N: Soo…it’s been a while since inspiration and I have hung out, but it happened eventually!! :) This is not the final part of our journey, probably part III will be.

Winter soon arrived to London with heavy snow and a low temperature. The sound of the fresh snow crunching under boots followed people's steps everywhere, as the festive lights lead the way alongside with the street lamps in the darkening late afternoon hours.

You were on your way to Jamie and Jess's house to have an early Christmas celebration with the others. As a few of you are going to be out of town for the holidays, the friend group figured you could have an early celebration and play the game of Secret Santa. On a night out you wrote your names on small pieces of paper, put it in a baseball hat and everyone picked one. Praying you wouldn't grab that name, you were quite relieved when you saw 'Jess' written in black ink.

"Hey, come in." Jamie opened the door with a wide smile on his face.

"Hi. This is for the hosts." You held up a bottle of wine with a red bow in it.

"You didn't have to. Thank you." He gestured to the wine.

He helped you take your coat off and after removing your shoes as well, you walked to the living room where the others were already deep in conversation.

"Hey." You placed the present under the tree. "What'd I miss?"

"Nothing, don't worry." Maya smiled as you sat beside her on the couch. Your eye scanned the room, but stilled on something.

On someone.

He already had his eyes on you, but looked away when your stares met. You hadn't seen Joe for the past two months.

In practice, avoiding him was actually easier than you'd thought. Majority of the group got busy with work, – including yourself – so the group chat hadn't been the liveliest. Since that weekend the group had hung out maybe three or four times, most of those occasions declined by you, expect for one; when he declined before you had the chance to.

Theoretically though, it was way harder. He wandered through your mind multiple times every day – the longest time you spent without having him on your mind wasn't more that just a couple hours. At this point he was living in your head. Sometimes, when you thought about it too much, it felt torturous, but a part of you had convinced yourself that you deserved it for rejecting him.

"Everyone's here now, so..how about we open gifts?" Jamie suggested as he walked back into the living room.

Everyone picked up the box that had the little paper with their name on it and sat back down. Wrapping paper was all over the floor in no second as everybody was curious to see what it was hiding. When you took your box in your hands, you noticed the small tag hanging from it saying 'From: Jess'.

"What's the chance? I'm also your Secret San..." You look up at Jess, only to see a different box in her hands from the one you brought. Your eyes scanned the room for the box wrapped in the red Santa hats covered paper. When your gaze caught it, you realised, the pattern of the little hats was being torn – slowly and hesitantly – by hands a little too familiar.

His hands.

Joseph had your gift.

The box with black, fluffy handcuffs and a blindfold in it was in Joe's hands.

By the time you realised what was happening in front of your eyes, it was too late. His head shot up, the confused stare of wide, rounded eyes burning into yours as he saw what was inside the box. The shade of your face started to grow the same as the colour of the santa hats.

"Hm?" Jess looked up as she heard your voice. She saw the uneasy look on your face and followed your eyes.

"That's supposed to be Jess' gift, I'm her Secret Santa, not yours!" You tried to stay as calm as possible.

"It says my name on it." He held up the paper.

"No, it says Jess!"

"No, I got Jess." You heard Maya's voice.

"It literally says 'Joe' on it!" Joseph handed you the small note that quickly became your enemy in a few seconds; it was responsible for this awkward situation.

"That's Jess." You murmured as arguing seemed easier, rather than to just accept the fact that you had actually been Joe's secret Santa all along.

"It says Joe, that's an 'o' and an 'e' at the end!" He followed the line of the pen on the paper, drawing the letters with his finger, growing more and more annoyed with the situation.

"Since when do you have such a messy handwriting? Couldn't you just write 'Joseph'?!" You sighed.

"It's not my fault you can't read three fucking letters!" He stood from the couch.

"Woah, it's okay, calm down." Jamie said as everyone else was too stunned to speak. "You misread his name, it's no big deal. Don't loose your mind over it...Nice gift, by the way." He wiggled his eyebrows with a small laugh, trying to ease the thick tension hanging in the air.

"It's..fuck...I was sure it said 'Jess'."

"Maybe you just wanted it to have 'Jess' on it." He scoffed with annoyance written all over his face.

"What is your problem?" You snapped at his attitude.

"What's my problem? What's yours?!"

"Okay, enough! Go outside and talk it out or stop it. It was supposed to be just a nice gesture, don't take it so bloody seriously for fuck's sake."

You and Joseph just eyed each other for a couple seconds, before he grabbed his pack of cigarettes and lighter from the coffee table and stormed outside, leaving you with prying looks as everyone sat in silence, not daring to move.

"I'll talk to him." Jamie walked to the front door, grabbing his own and Joseph's coat before heading outside, following him.

"What was that?" He stood next to him and held the coat open for Joseph.

"Nothing."

"Well it was quite a big scene for nothing." He humphed. "Seriously, what's the matter? You've been weird ever since she got here."

"I'm just tired."

"Don't bullshit me. What is it? You like her, so why'd you snap at her like that?" Jamie examined his face, only guessing what could have been causing so much tension.

"We, uh...we slept together." Muttered Joseph barely audibly as he sighed, his thumb and ring finger pinching the bridge of his nose as he held the cigarette between his pointing and middle finger.

"No shit." Said Jamie, unsurprised.

"What? How do you know?"

"Oh, c'mon. Even the blind can see something happened between you two."

"Do you think the others know?"

"I have no idea. I didn't say anything to anyone, so...when did it happen?"

"Uh, remember the weekend we spent at that house?"

"You two did it while Jess and I were on the other side of the wall? Seriously?"

"Well, not exactly.."

"My goodness..where?"

"The kitchen.." Mumbled Joe.

"You're kidding, right? In the kitchen? Where we had fucking breakfast?" He chuckled in disbelief, but his face dropped when he realised. "That's why you were there when I went downstairs!"

"Well, kind of..yeah."

"And what happened then? What went wrong?"

"Well..the following day we talked about it. I asked if there could ever be more between us." He stopped and sighed.

"And she..?"

"Said we should just forget it." He said as he ashed the cigarette, remembering how much those words stung when he heard them fall from your lips. Jamie hissed in empathy, only imagining how his best friend must have felt.

"Have you talked ever since that?"

"Yeah, a few minutes ago." He huffed.

They stood in silence, just listening to the busy streets of London as the cold winter air started to creep under their clothes – almost like it was trying to get under their skin, all the way to their bones.

"Let's go back inside. I'm fucking freezing."

"What do I do? I can't just go back in and act like nothing happened."

"You're going to apologise for snapping at her like that and tell them that you're just tired."

The atmosphere shifted from awkward to painfully awkward when Joe and Jamie came back inside, everyone staying silent, unsure about what to say, or do.

"Sorry for snapping at you like that. I'm just really tired." He glanced at your for a second before sitting down across from you, rather avoiding eye contact.

"It's okay." A quiet sigh escaped from you. "I'm sorry for misreading the paper."

" 'S okay." He muttered.

"Tired, eh? You had a long night?" Keery looked at Joe with a grin on his face.

The previous night some of the boys payed a visit to the group's favourite pub. Joseph sent a text to the group chat last minute, in the late evening. He just had a shit day and wanted to blow some steam off before spending a whole day around you with the endless tension. He did chat with a blondie but he found her to be rather tiring with all the talking; chitchatting with her was the last thing on his mind. He ended up leaving the pub alone, with a failed mission.

"What? No, nothing like that." Joe shook his head, not really feeling like having a conversation of that type.

"What happened to that blondie?"

"Nothing happened. It's a long story."

"You kidding me? She was all over you!"

"Whatever." Joe tried cutting the conversation short.

A nasty feeling creeped up on you suddenly by the thought of Joe flirting with other girls and even taking them home possibly. Jealousy flashed its green eyes at you, leaving you frustrated due to not really being able to do anything about it.

Two months have passed since that weekend, during which you were able to think things through. You started reminiscing about your friendship and how you always got along so well with him. Before Jason came along, you actually almost thought you had started liking Joseph, but the thought of possibly ruining your friendship scared you. But now here you were, and the more time passed without seeing him or talking to him, the more you missed him. And now that he was here in front of you, you wanted nothing more than to apologise to him. All evening you looked for moments to get him alone, unsuccessfully. During dinner he sat the furthest away from you, he avoided any interaction with you, which left you somewhat confused and hurt. It might've been cruel to decline him on that weekend, but did it really hurt him so bad?

Everything became suffocating and frustrating all of the sudden and you needed a minute alone.

"I'll be right back." You got up and walked out of the living room, to the bathroom at the end of the hallway. After closing the door behind you, you were met with your reflection in the mirror, which looked different than when you left your home. It was care-worn and anxious now, your thoughts written on your face. You were surprised nobody pointed it out. Deciding to take your mind off the topic for the rest of the night, you took a deep breath.

Upon exiting the bathroom you saw Joseph putting on his shoes and taking his coat from the rack.

"You're leaving already?" Your voice startled him.

"Uh..yeah. I have to..good night."

"Good night." You said hesitantly.

He stilled and looked at you before he walked out and the front door closed behind him with a soft click. Your mind didn't even have time to process what you were doing, and before you knew it, you already had your shoes on, reaching for the doorknob, following Joseph.

"Joe!" You saw him standing in the snow, mid-conversation, facing in the direction of the corner of the front porch, where Jamie stood, smoking. Joe's eyes examined you as you were looking at Jamie.

Your common sense caught up to you, immediately starting to curse at you for going after him.

All three of you stood in silence for a few seconds, just waiting for something to happen. Jamie ended up moving first. He put out his cigarette and walked to the front door, nodded at Joe encouragingly and went inside. Your eyes rested on the freshly fallen snow covering everything, before eventually looking at Joe who stared at you with a surprised, awaiting expression.

"I'm sorry." You barely recognised your voice, it sounded so unsure as all the courage had left you, the sudden rush of adrenaline dying down, letting the freezing temperature slowly get to you.

"You just misread my name, I'll live." He shrugged his shoulders, a tad uncomfortable in the situation.

"No, not that. I'm sorry for saying that we should just forget what happened..between us."

He didn't say anything, just nodded, unamused – not exactly the reaction you expected, so you continued. "This wasn't how it was supposed to go. I really didn't regret it, but it still feels somewhat wrong. I didn't intend to make you feel used…you weren't a rebound."

"Then what was I?" He asked, clearly hurt.

"I don't know, but definitely not just a rebound. Listen, I'm not ready for any sort of romantic commitment yet." It got quiet for a few moments before you carried on, with a voice barely above a whisper. "I miss you. I miss us being best friends."

"And what do you want me to say to that?" He huffed.

"I don't know." You said quietly, completely regretting coming after him now.

"Is there anything you know?" Mockery and disbelief was dripping from his tone, making you feel small, and more embarrassed and frustrated than ever.

"You know what I know? I know that I fucked up and I hurt you, but after two months of avoiding each other I'm standing here, apologising. I said sorry, sincerely, and I also know that in this very moment you're being a jackass!"

"Me, a jackass?!" His eyebrows almost met his hairline in disbelief.

"Yeah, because I'm saying sorry and feeling bad for hurting you and you can't accept my fucking apology! What else could I say to make you believe I truly am sorry?! I never thought you'd get so caught up in this."

"Of course I'm gonna get caught up in this! Just when I finally feel like I might have a chance with you, you reject me!"

"What's that even supposed to mean?"

"It means that I've liked you for fucking ages, for fuck's sake! And I understand that you were confused and the last thing I wanted to do was forcing myself upon you, but you also have to understand that this isn't easy for me! I tried getting over you, but I see you in every woman I talk to!"

You were stunned, to say the least. Silence settled between you – the kind that makes you feel like you're walking on very thin ice.

"You liked me?"

"Of course I did!" He threw his arms in the air in disbelief. "I do."

"Since when? And why didn't you say anything?!"

"For about a year now. And I was gonna tell you.."

"When?"

"When you introduced fucking Jason to us! I was going to make a move on you that night."

You truly didn't know what to say or do at this point. Your thoughts were racing as the eye contact never broke between you two.

"So what now?"

"What now?" He reciprocated your question. "You're flying home for Christmas, I guess?"

"I am." You nodded.

"When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow, in the early afternoon. I'm coming back on the 28th."

At that moment it felt like everything that had to be, was said. You just stood there, your eyes wandering from each other to the landscape. You both waited for the other to say something, neither of you truly wanting to say goodbye yet.

"I um..I have to wake up early tomorrow." His voice sounded eventually. "So..take care. And get inside, it's freezing."

"Take care."

"Good night."

You said goodbye to him before he got into his car. Your eyes followed the taillights of his car with an upset, distressed gaze. You were truly hoping this tension filled situation would come to an end finally. With a heavy heart you walked back inside, only now noticing the cruelly low temperature outside.

You didn't sleep so much throughout the night. His words kept you awake as you replayed them in your head on an endless loop. The more you remembered him saying he liked you, the more it warmed your heart and made you feel excited. Regret and shame filled every part of your body for doing all of this to him, for creating such a mess – even though you never intended to.

As you were packing your suitcases in the early morning, you were secretly hoping – not even admitting it to yourself – that Joe would show up. The sound of your doorbell – which you usually absolutely despised as it always stressed you out when hearing it – was all you wanted to hear. It would've been the sweetest sound at that very moment.

Actually, you were sure at this point you had forgotten to pack something, but you couldn’t be bothered to care – you just couldn't stop thinking about him for not even a second. Not when you were packing, not in the back of the cab on your way to the airport, but most certainly not at the airport, where all you could see were couples. Suddenly you were the only single person left on the planet, it felt like. It was like a twisted game karma was playing with you, with a nasty grin on its face. Seeing lovers telling their goodbyes while hugging and kissing, squeezing in a laugh or two between their falling tears felt sickening all of the sudden.

When you heard the announcement from the speakers saying that your flight was boarding, you just wanted to cry.

Maybe this was the moment he is going to show up?

Running through the airport, chasing after you to tell you he'll forgive you, and ask you that question again?

But soon you had to get back to reality and realise this wasn't Love Actually and Joe wasn't the older version of Sam, just like you weren't the older version of Joanna.

You sat in your seat on the plane, just blankly staring at your phone's darkened screen, waiting for it to light up with his name written across it. You glanced up occasionally, watching people claiming their seats.

Couples everywhere again.

They just can't seem run out for Christ's sake, now can they?

You waited until the last second, before turning your phone off, accepting the silence.

Taglist:

@plk-18

Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed it! Requests are open. Take care, have a lovely day / night !! :)

[cacoetheswriting]

heyy

can you do a angst with fluffy ending with eddie x reader on reader birthday (but not that he forgot pls 🙏🏻) you can decide the rest

thank you so much!! 💖💖

gosh i am sooooo sorry for only getting this out to you now! it's been sitting in my drafts, half-finished for far too long! again, super sorry for the delay - and i hope you enjoy 🤍

-

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader word count: 2.3k content warnings: talk of breakups / heartbreak (eddie & reader are exes), adult language, use of pet names, mentions of alcohol consumption, - very much unedited - pls let me know if i missed anything!

Birthdays weren’t really your thing.

Celebrating getting older stopped being fun when the gifts turned from colourful toys to cards with generic wishes, and when parties went from having bright bouncy castles to drinking cheap wine alone in a messy apartment at the end of an even messier night. From pure, unfiltered joy, to misery and feeling like your life was slipping through your fingers, fast.

There were a few expectations over the last few years — four lucky birthdays to be exact. And these happy memories came into existence thanks to a certain curly-haired, brown-eyed boy.

Eddie first asked you out a few days before your nineteenth birthday and even though the two of you never really talked prior, there was no denying he was really fucking pretty and you had a big fat silent crush on him for quite some time before that faithful afternoon.

He invited you out for burgers, and in the midst of natural conversation, when you let slip that it was your birthday, Eddie also got you ice-cream, asking the waiter to place a single candle in the colourful sundae.

Till this day, it was the most genuine thing anyone has ever done for you. The most romantic too.

And every birthday that followed, every birthday you spent together with the metalhead was beyond special. He made them special.

From balloons and love notes, to heartfelt gifts, various activities during the day and dinners at his trailer or out in town. He even rallied your friends and threw you parties that no longer ended with loneliness. No year was the same. Eddie made them unique and memorable — which you adored him for wholeheartedly.

Unfortunately, the genuine love you shared was not enough and the relationship came to an unforeseen end.

Eddie had big plans of one day becoming a rockstar, practicing guitar in his free time till his fingers bled, and you were studying day and night, working towards your dream degree. Your lives were heading in completely different directions and there came a point where you only saw each other once every fortnight, while your already irregular phone calls were often cut short.

That was three months ago. A breakup as natural as breathing, yet equally as earth shattering.

Even though it was a mutual decision, the pain was ever present and you cried yourself to sleep for weeks after. Eddie took a piece of you when he left and your whole body was in mourning. It didn’t help that everything in what remained of your life reminded you of him. Physical items like the printed t-shirts in your drawer or the mug he branded as his and you never let anyone else use. A Dio song you’d hear randomly or the diner he took you to on your first date. Then there was the emotional side, the soft glimmer in his eyes you remembered when you closed yours and the sound of his laughter you wished you’d hear again.

Things eventually got easier ‘cause it’s not like you saw Eddie often when you were together. Plus studying for an ungodly amount of hours kept you busy, distracted. And after giving yourself an appropriate time to feel everything, there was honestly no more time for heartbreak.

That is until your birthday rolled around.

When you opened your eyes late morning, you wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole — which in Hawkins was more than likely to happen. The last four birthdays were nothing short of perfect and now…  

The nausea followed shortly after.

Your plan was to stay in bed all day, and it was going quite well since at six o’clock that evening you were glued to the same spot, until Robin barged into your room, Steve close on her heels, with a glass of water and a poorly decorated cake. Their singing gave you a headache, but you were still grateful for their attempt to make this day end on a better note.

“Now, go get your ass dressed,” Robin orders, glancing at Steve for his rehearsed words of encouragement.

He’s wide-eyed at first, nose buried in icing, but quickly nods at Robin’s words and looks in your direction.

“Y-yes, yes! We have an evening of fun planned!” Steve exclaims after swallowing a mouth full of vanilla cake.

Your roommates, however sweet they were trying to be, failed to realise the one place you really didn’t want to spend your birthday was The Hideout, and that’s exactly where they brought you.

The Hideout, presenting its usual lurking charm from the moment you stepped inside, was the one place in Hawkins you knew guaranteed an awkward bump-in with Eddie. Or maybe a needed interaction? Seeing him in his element could possibly bring some sort of closure after three months of no contact… No. No. Seeing him would only bring back the pain you tried real hard to bury.

A stench of old man sweat mixed with spilled booze hits your senses while you hurry closely behind Robin and Steve. In the dim light, your eyes are focused on the floor below, partially because you’re trying not to slip or trip over your own two feet, but mainly ‘cause you’re fearful of catching a glimpse of a certain head of wild brown locks. You only look up when the three of you approach a table closer to the back, away from most of the noise, and are greeted with hugs from Nancy, Jonathan, and Argyle. 

Settling yourself on one of the chairs, you exchange pleasantries with the rest of your friends while Steve orders a round of shots for the group. They all raise a toast to your health, their cheers attracting some attention in the process, but you don’t think anything of it, starting to instead feel glad you agreed to this.

“Birthday girl isn’t allowed to pay for her own drinks, got it?” Robin addresses the group and they all nod in unison. You wanna protest, but she swats at you from across the table before the words escape your lips. Her eyes saying that you need this, your eyes saying that you’re grateful she’s your friend. I know, Robin mouths as Jonathan takes everyone’s drink order.

Every shot you take, you chase with a rum and coke. The liquid burns down your throat. Third, fourth, fifth round down. You’re feeling buzzed, happy. Most importantly, no longer thinking of the boy that would normally also be hanging out with this group — blissfully unaware that he was actually watching your every move from the other side of the bar.

Eddie hadn’t initially planned on going out tonight. After a long day of working at the garage, then band practice right after, he really just wanted to smoke and fall asleep. As he got out of the shower however, instead of jumping into bed, he reached for a clean t-shirt. He couldn’t really explain why. It was stupid to think something inside of him was urging him to come to The Hideout tonight. He was wrecked beyond belief, yet his feet carried him here.

Then he heard it. Your name, followed by a mini-eruption of woohoos.

Head snapping in the direction of the sound, Eddie’s gaze found the source of the noise and then scanned the small group until he reached your relaxed frame. Christ, he thought, palms getting clammy. To say you looked gorgeous would be a vast understatement. And to say he didn’t realise just how much he missed you until this very moment would be nothing short of the truth.

Sure, after the breakup, Eddie found it hard to get through the day-to-day. Constantly distracted, thinking about you and second guessing the decision you both made. But then he reminded himself this was for the best, convinced himself that people can have more than one great love in their life, and things got easier.

There were days he hoped he’d accidentally run into you. At the store, out for coffee, or just wandering the streets of Hawkins. No such luck. When he started working at the shop to save some extra cash, he thought maybe you’d come in with your clunk of shit car since he was always telling you to get it looked at, but again, it never happened. 

Three months passed like nothing.

Eddie would’ve never thought that today, your fucking birthday of all days, would be when he saw you next.

Cold beer in hand, he thought about walking up to the table you sat at with your mutual friends. And he was about to, but then you laughed at something Argyle said and the honey-like sound froze him in place. Clearly, you were having a good time. Eddie didn’t want to ruin that, so he opted for watching you like some fucking creep. 

Four beers later, he’s still in the same spot.

Nancy takes over the jukebox duties. Billy Idol’s White Wedding starts to play as she pulls you to your feet, an excited squeal escaping her lips when you don’t protest. Swaying your hips to the music, you feel elated. Even more so when Robin joins in, singing along as Nancy twirls around the two of you. The boys clap, grinning like idiots, and you know you’re going to remember this moment forever, or at least until you unintentionally go over your drink limit and black out.

A smile tugs at the corners of Eddie’s lips as he continues to shamelessly stare at you. Carefree, is the word he’d use now to describe you and in all honesty, he hasn’t seen you like this in a while. Then his smile falters before it really fully appears ‘cause he finds himself wishing he was the reason for your current mood. Was ending things a mistake?

Mid-song, you spin and as you do, your eyes skim the bar, passing a set of curly hair. The air hitches in your throat as you double back. Just to make sure your drunken gaze wasn’t deceiving you, you tell yourself, but the reality is much different. Please be him, please be him, please be him…

When your eyes do lock with his, your tummy burns.

The copious amount of alcohol trifling through your veins right now gives you that extra push you need to start a short strut towards your ex-boyfriend. Someone’s arm is on you, attempting to pull you back slightly, but you don’t pay attention to it. Then you hear Steve say, “let her go, she needs this.”, and you’re free to continue your journey. 

In a trance, gaze glued to Eddie’s chocolate one, you push through the people until you’re leaning against the bar he was sitting at, observing as his features turn from awe into something you couldn’t quite decipher.

“Hey, pretty girl.” Eddie greets nonchalantly, as if no time has passed, as if nothing has changed between the two of you.

So you follow in his footsteps, carefully hoisting yourself up on the stool next to his, bare knee brushing against his denim-clad one. 

“Wanna order me a drink?”

Eddie smirks. “Straight to the point, as always.”

“Well, since it is my birthday, Robin said I’m not allowed to pay for my own poison,” you tell him, shrugging lightly, “So if you have a problem with that, you gotta take it up with her.”

He huffs out a laugh. 

“I’d rather not go against Buckley.” And with that he orders a shot of tequila each.

When the small glasses are in front of you, accompanied by a lime wedge, he takes your hand without asking, then licks between your thumb and index finger, doe-eyes never leaving yours. 

A shiver runs down your spine at the sudden contact and you try to play it cool, but in reality your heart is racing. Though Eddie doesn’t give you time to think about what he’s done with no warning, pouring salt in the spot he’s just salivated. He then hastily repeats the action on his own hand and pushes a shot glass in your direction. 

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

The toast is short and sweet. He raises the glass in front of his face as the words escape his lips, licks the salt off his own hand (which you’re a little disappointed in, unsurprisingly already missing the sensation that was his gentle touch), and downs the liquid in one go.

You quickly follow suit, not wanting to seem like he got you all flustered. But as the two of you sit and stare at one another while sucking on the lime wedges for a little longer than normal, you realise he’s just as rattled as you are — good.

“I hate tequila,” Eddie announces, discarding the wedge.

“I don’t mind it,” you say, wiping the corners of your mouth.

His gaze drops slightly, to where your finger presses against your puffy lips, and he bites down on his own rather shamelessly. There is a brief moment of silence in which Eddie thinks back to seconds before, when his tongue caressed your soft skin. He hates himself a little ‘cause he doesn’t wanna mess with your head, but fuck did that feel good. He’d like to do it again, if not more. Is that crazy?

And while you continue to look into his eyes, the butterflies in your stomach are going wild since you know exactly what he’s thinking. The only problem is you don’t know how to tell him because there’s so much else to be said first. Three months of catching up, to be precise, but did exes even do that?

“How about we get out of here?” Eddie offers, voice nothing short of a murmur.

You nod. Of course you nod. You’d go to the end of the world if he’d ask.

Before you know it, Eddie’s hand is on the small of your back, leading you through The Hideout crowd and out the front door. You don’t say goodbye to your friends, you can apologise tomorrow for leaving without a word. Instead, you inhale the fresh air, a wobble in your step as you turn to once again look at your ex-boyfriend.

“Where do you wanna go?”

Eddie throws his arm around your shoulders, pulling you in as close as he possibly can. He tilts his head to meet your gaze and smiles. A genuine smile.

“There’s this diner not far from here,” he answers simply and your heart swells. Then once again, tenfold, as he places a kiss to your crown before whispering in your ear, “Back to where it all started, pretty girl.”.

as always, thank you for reading! pls don't hesitate to reblog & tell me what you think - ily!

eddie munson masterlist | main masterlist

[foxhopfics]

Shot for shot

Jealous Kaeya Alberich/gn!vision wielder!reader

Rating: T

Requested by: N/a

Word count: 1182

Short fic inspired by @electrosair from their post "Jealous headcanons anemo + cryo ver."

Notes: hi hope u dont mind this!! I got really inspired by the kaeya section and well the writing gods just had to possess me :,) this was supposed to be a drabble but then I blinked and I hit 1k words

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

You and Kaeya were shot for shot so far. Bar hopping in Mond was a treat for you, even if it was a little more regular for your boyfriend. Unfortunately, your daily habits did not lend themselves well to a constant stupor.

But every so often, for a special evening of fun, Kaeya would dress the both of you in your favourite clothes and whizz you out the door for a night on the town.

The Angel's Share was your last stop for the night. You'd already said hi to Diona and many of the other working bartenders at your regular places, and now Charles was setting the two of you up with a special limited time new flavour of dandelion wine.

You watched as he poured the ingredients into two tall glasses, vision swimming as you watched green pearlescent liquid swirl in to mix with the wine. You smile dopily at it, swinging your head loosely around to look at your partner. "Babe look it's like. It's like Venti," you giggle out. "It's green and sparkly."

Kaeya, just as plastered as you, snorts out a laugh into the back of his hand. "I'll say. Contains just the right amount of wine, too."

You turn back to Charles. "Has Venti had one of these yet?"

He tops off your glasses and pushes them towards you, moving on to collect other empty glasses from patrons around the bar adjacent to them. "No," he thinks, "but I'll tell him you recommend it next time he comes in."

You shrug, drunkenly content with that answer. This was only released within the last few days, and it wasn't like the bard was at the Angel's Share every night. Taking the glass, you take a gulp of the drink.

To say it's new is an understatement. You have no idea what kind of things Diluc was experimenting with, but this topped anything he'd ever done. The ice in the bottom kept it chilly as sweet wine, a hint of Mondstat's sweet mint, a little side of lime, and something just distinctly flavoured as green slides down your tongue. It's a refreshing taste after the last bar, which was arguably one of the cheapest ones in town.

A sound makes its way out of your mouth, unsure in it's own sound if it's some kind of moan, warble, or drunken hiccup.

You blink. Wiping your mouth, you can't help but giggle. "Sorry Charles, I'm really drunk and that is going to be a smash hit."

When you look back at your boyfriend, he's staring at you, but not at your face, mouth open in soft wonder, eyes dancing in a glinting light.

"Kaeya? What's wrong?"

"Your vision..." he responds softly. You look over to where it's attached to you. It's glowing a faint light, not quite enough to rival the firelight from the torches, but enough to ad a coloured hue. The other patrons in the bar hush down to look at what's making the light.

After a moment, the wave of drunk from taking another sip passes and the light fades back to nothingness.

You stare at your vision, head swimming with too much inebriation to make any sense of what just happened.

The two of you look at Charles. He glances between the both of you, but shrugs. "We've never had anyone with a vision try it yet."

You scan yourself up and down. "Well..." you meet Kaeya's eyes to reassure him. "I don't feel any different. Not bad, just drunk." You give him a sloppy thumbs up, elbow supported up by the table.

Kaeya shakes his head at you, smiling. You can hear his amusement in his voice, "I'll try that next, but I gotta hit the head before I give it a shot." He runs a hand over your hair that lazily slides down your cheek before he gets up and goes to find the bathroom.

As he does so, a large group of patrons exit the bar for the night, so Charles picks up his empty plate tray and swings his towel over his shoulder. "Holler if you need anything," he says, and you swivel your thumbs up towards him.

He leaves the bar to collect the glasses and trays, and as he does so you turn to ponder your drink.

Your thoughts space out, mingling images of Venti's happy, laughing face and what his thoughts would be on this drink, shifting over to Kaeya, his hands on your face, resting against him at the bar, and—

"Excuse me?" You jolt up, focus broken from the still slowly swirling beverage in front of you.

"Can I help you?" You direct your gaze towards them. It's a man, a young man, with windswept brown hair dressed in the knight's uniform. His cheeks are rosy, but clearly he has more of his wits about him than you.

Not that you couldn't hold your own against him, regardless. But he didn't seem to know that.

He sits down in Kaeya's seat to look at you.

"I saw your vision when it started glowing. That was really cool."

You turn and give him a smile. At least he's friendly. "Thanks! I got it from doing things." You give him your best serious wobbly nod and he chuckles at you.

"Well, anyway, I'm Browen."

"Nice to meet you Browen, I'm [___]".

He smirks at you, taking your answer as an invitation to continue. "I have a vision myself you know."

Your eyebrows raise. "Really?" You glance around his form, but don't spot the framed crystal anywhere.

"Yeah," he says, "I keep it at home because I'm not supposed to wear it around the other knights." He leans close to you, putting his hand up to his mouth like he's sharing a secret. "They get jealous." He winks over at the table where his knight companions are more focused on their own drink and camaraderie than on whatever was happening here.

"I could take you home, show it to you," he prompts, and you feel disappointment rush through you. Of course he's a liar who just wants to get into your pants because you have a vision. You need to tell Jean to whip these men into better shape.

"What would you like to show us, Browen?" A hand claps hard onto the knight's shoulder as a familiarly sultry voice soothes your agitated nerves. The man shoots up straight, expression changing to one like a dog caught stealing.

He stands up, stumbling over himself to get back to his original table. "N-nothing, Captain. Sorry to bother you."

You sigh as he leaves, tension flooding out of you. "That's more like it."

"Come on, love." Kaeya swings his arms around your shoulders and tosses coin on the table for Charles when he returns.

"Where are we going? We're not going to finish?" You glance up at him, your shoulders at his rib level.

The hand around your arm squeezes as he ducks down to whisper in your ear, "oh, I think my home private show is going to remain private."

[upsidedownwithsteve]

for blurb day i was thinking maybe just some soft fluff of the morning after steve and r say I love you for the first time? i love your writing<3

Steve’s room was bathed in a rosy glow, an early morning peach light that turned his bare, white walls into the colour of the rising sun.

He’d moved into his new apartment only two days before, boxes half unpacked and stacked against a still empty dresser that held a red wine bottle and Ruby tinted glasses beside it. You hadn’t gotten round to making the bed frame, not yet, not when Steve had made use of all the floor space to spin you around, an old cassette playing Fleetwood Mac as you laughed into his chest.

You’d both led the empty Chinese food cartons on the living room floor boards, cushions scattered instead of a couch, a lamp by the mantle and the small fern Robin had brought sitting by the window.

You’d let the boy pull you into bed, just a mattress on the bedroom floor, sheets fresh and piled on top, crushed under your weight as he kissed you stupid, wine on his tongue, his tongue on yours. You couldn’t remember what date this was, what number, not when days bled into weeks and months and suddenly it had been so easy to let Steve slip off your clothes at night and start calling you his girlfriend, cheeks pink and eyes unsure.

You’d kissed away any uncertainty, pulled his clothes off too with just as much conviction. It had been months of firsts, of new things, exciting things, pretty things that made your stomach tumble and your heart grow a little bigger.

It swelled even more when you woke up that morning, Steve’s arms around your middle, big hands on your bare stomach, fingers climbing across your ribs and you wondered if he could feel your heartbeat even whilst he slept. His breath picked up as he woke, warm huffs across the back of your neck, all that bare skin pressed against yours as he shifted between you and the sheets.

“Mornin’, baby,” he husked, voice sleepy and rough. You felt him smile, felt in paint itself against your neck. “Sleep alright?”

You hummed in return, a happy sound that made Steve’s toes curl, made warmth bloom across his chest and hold you to him a little tighter. He couldn’t stop it, couldn’t help himself, not when the words had been stuck in his throat for weeks now, cloying and thick with affection and he was too sleepy to stop it—

“God, I love you.”

It made your heart stop, a sudden pause in the moment, even though you were so sure you could hear it in the air. A thundering, a wonderful kind of noise. You tried to turn in Steve’s arms, more awake than you’d ever been but Steve groaned, hands gripping at your hips so you couldn’t budge.

“You— you, sorry, I— you don’t have to say it back.” You heard the boy swallow, heard the crack in his voice. “I’m sorry. I mean, I’m not sorry, I meant it— shit, I did. But… you don’t have to say it back if you don’t want to.”

You grinned, cheek pressed into the pillow where Steve couldn’t see and your hands found his under the sheets, prying his fingers from your hips until he eased off. He let you gather his hands in your own, a small feat considering the difference in size, but you felt his chest move in relief when you brought them to your lips.

A kiss, one for each knuckle, soft and gentle until Steve softened behind you, the tension leaving his body.

“Can I turn round now?” You asked him. “So I can look at you when I say it back?”

You couldn’t see him yet, but Steve beamed.

[eastwindmlk]

In the cards

So,I originally wrote this for the Bittersweet challenge for @jilytoberfest where, and I got to turn an angsty quote into a sweet one. “You have given me so much pain.” has inspired this cracktacular piece of fiction. It did get yoinked at some point, but I will reupload for your consideration this @jilymicrofics (807 words) Enjoy!

Game night was always a big thing with the Potters. It was the one night a week when no one was allowed to make other plans. They took turns picking and bringing games, ordered food and poured generously from whatever alcohol was being served that night. It was cosy. Something to look forward to during the week. This was one of those weeks that James really looked forward to a night of friendly competition and hours of conversation.

Depending on whose turn it was to pick the game, the night turned out differently. James favoured co-op games, working together to get to the goal. Sirius, on the other hand, liked trivia games, things that he knew he would excel at. Peter preferred the silly sort of game, something active and guaranteed to give you the giggles. Remus always seemed to find amazing niche games with complicated plots and mysteries. Rich in storytelling and creative solutions.

And then there was Lily. Lily had a way of finding the most competitive, aggravating, friendship-ending games. Which had all started with Monopoly, a game that was now banned from the table. As a direct result of a gruelling, no-prisoners game that lasted seven hours before they collectively gave up. Which launched a series of game nights that only a masochist would enjoy. So clearly, all of them had the time of their life.

Other games brought by the redhead and subsequently banned were: Sorry, Settlers of Catan, Scrabble and for unrelated reasons charades. Which they mutually agreed was better kept for when they were forced to stay family-friendly. It did not always go wrong though. There had been a few fine games and one that everyone seemed to enjoy a lot more, despite multiple squabbles and disagreements. Risk, which was added to the permanent rotation.

Tonight was Lily’s turn and everyone was equal parts excited and apprehensive. Hoping she would finally fail in her streak of finding the worst games. So, when James got him and saw the pack of cards sitting on the table in the living room. He was relieved. Cards were usually fine. They had several card games they rotated. But this was Lily they were talking about.

For a moment James inspected the package, it looked innocent enough. Pretty straightforward too. But this was Lily. He was sure that there was some chaos involved, but he really could not see too much pain in a card game called UNO. Little did he know just how wrong he would be.

The first few rounds were rather tame. While the rules were simple, everyone seemed to hold back a little. Testing the waters. Not wanting to get into too much trouble until after dinner. Much to Remus’s dismay, Chinese food arrived. Halting the round for everyone to eat their fill and crack open another bottle of wine.

What happened next was the most unfortunate set of circumstances James could have ever imagined. He was riding high with only two cards left in his hand, the colour in his favour and he even had a mythical plus four cards ready to mess with Remus on his right. But right before the round could get to him Sirius threw down a skip card, moving his turn to Remus instead. Which was disappointing, but he could do another round.

Or not. Luck seemed to be smiling down on him when Remus reversed the turn order. That is where it all went wrong for him. Emboldened by his stroke of luck, he threw down the plus four proudly announcing: “Uno!” He smirked along the table when he caught the glint in Lily’s eye. And as if in slow motion he watched Sirius place a plus two on the board. Watching Lily doubt what card she should be putting down, made him nervous. For good reason too. Watching her place down another plus four.

Peter added a plus two, deciding on the colour red. His lucky colour. Which did not let him down when Remus was merciful, playing a reverse card. Seemingly saving him from his fate. The rollercoaster continues with Lily putting on a third plus four. It was now all up to Sirius, who paused just long enough for James to remark: “You have given me so much pain already. Just do it.”

Deflating when his friend placed down another plus two. Making the total cards he was drawing sixteen. Enough cards to force them to reshuffle the pile just so he could draw more. Muttering, much to everyone’s entertainment. “Lils picked this game alright.” Feeling hands on his shoulders from all sides. Consoling what would be a devastating loss on his part. Something only mildly mediated by Lily saying “Don’t worry love, I will make it up to you when everyone leaves.” Her wink made him feel only a little better.

[maybege]

“Only got to see you at the dinner, that one time, remember?”

Summary: You meet Paz Vizsla for the first time.

Pairing: alpha!Paz Vizsla x omega!fem!Reader

Wordcount: 1.9k | Rating: M

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics

Wrote a little something today based on a line in Marital Favours and deeply inspired by 3x01. I hope you enjoy it ❤️

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

gif by @themandaloriandaily

“I can’t wait for this dinner to end.”

“You’re only saying that because you cannot wait to go back to a certain alpha I saw buir talk to.”

“Oh, shut up, you’re only jealous because buir doesn’t allow you to meet that alpha boy from the kitchens.”

“Of course, I am! Look around! All these alphas and we aren’t allowed to talk to them – what a waste, if you ask me.”

“Only that nobody asked you.”

You took a long sip from your wine cup, hiding your smile at your sisters’ antics. Their endless bickering had been your constant companion ever since you were little and today was no different. Only that it was much more bearable because today was the day you had been looking forward to for months now.

Every other year, the three major clans of the region came together for peace negotiations. It was a big event, considering the clans never came together on any other occasion, and everyone who was anyone came along.

This year, after six years, it was your parents’ turn to host and it was the first time you were old enough to mingle with the high-ranking guests. They never allowed you to travel with them outside of clan borders so it was pure and utter luck that you could attend tonight and see all these different people.

You spotted your parents at the far end of the hall and you were relieved to find that they did not seem to be too worried about you and your sisters now. Which meant you could roam your eyes over the guests, letting them linger on the alphas in particular. The bustling crowds were so colourful and so different from your sheltered everyday life, you could hardly sit still, wanting to gather the courage to talk to every single person and ask them about their travels and their life and the way they thought peace could finally be reached.

Sometimes you wondered if your life would have been different if you and your sisters had not turned out to be omegas. Because as soon as your brother had presented as a beta, it seemed like the world and its opportunities opened up just for him. Meanwhile, Moira, Zifre and you just spent your days whiling away in the palace, yearning for the day you were allowed to actually talk to people without them having been chosen by your parents.

Your parents were very protective of you and your sisters. Always had been and probably always would be. You were sure that they must have some kind of reason for keeping you in the palace like some kind of prison but the more time passed, the more you felt like one of those banthas kept in the fields to be petted and cooed at by the foundlings.

Moira, the eldest, had just been engaged to one of your buir’s counsellors and it had been fascinating to see how your usually stoic and straightforward sister had tuned into a puddle at the sight of the tall alpha. You had never met an alpha before and you had not been very impressed by the polite, yet arrogant, man your sister had fallen for. But, still, in the dead of night, you allowed yourself to dream what it might be like to meet someone who just intrinsically … fit.

And what better way to actually know what alphas were like than to meet them?

As one of the daughters of the clan leaders, it had been your job to organize the festivities and what had cost weeks of stress and work and several close calls to nervous breakdowns, it had turned out phenomenal. The guests were mingling on the open terrace of the main building of the covert. It had taken ages to find the right lanterns but now that you saw them glittering on the docks, colouring everything in a warm light, you knew all the effort had been worth it.

“Ugh, what is he doing here?” Zifre huffed and pulled you from your thoughts.

You followed your sister’s gaze and she did not say anything more.

“He is a clan leader, he was invited,” mocked your older sister but her voice sounded oddly far away.

Paz Vizsla was a name you had never associated with anything pleasant. Quite the opposite actually. The Vizsla Clan bordered yours and you did not remember a time when your clan were ever at peace. Even during your great-great-great-grandmother’s reign, your clan had been at war with the Vizslas and maybe even before.

There were only a few things you knew about the man. You knew that he was younger than your parents, his buirs having died just a few years prior and leaving the seat of clan leader to him. You knew that he was “a beast on the battlefield” according to your father and “too arrogant for a man of his intelligence” according to your mother. And you knew that if you wanted to sour the mood at the dinner table, you just had to utter his name.

But now, seeing him for the first time, you noticed many things you had never considered before. You noticed how tall he was, and how broad. He positively towered over the people around him and you were sure that even without his dark blue armour, he would be an impressive figure. You also noticed how regal he looked in his cape designating him as the clan leader. And that he smelled incredible.

His helmet turned to you and your sisters and although his visor was black, you got the feeling that he was looking straight at you.

Your heart jumped into your throat and you quickly looked down, trying to pretend like you had not been staring at him anyway.

“Is he toasting us?” Zifre asked, completely shocked, and you felt heat rise to your cheeks. Maybe if you just kept looking down

“C’mon, girls,” you heard your father’s voice from behind you, clearly displeased, “Let us go. It is time for the walk.”

*

The night air was brisk but not unpleasant and you enjoyed the view out on the deep waters. The moon was standing high and the lanterns that adorned the way just added to the cosy atmosphere of the night. Several of the guests complimented you on your work in organizing the dinner which you accepted with a wide smile.

Then the world fell away from you.

There was a lot of screaming and you could hear water splashing as the dock gave out from underneath you. For a fraction of a moment, you saw what you could only describe as a giant crocodile breaking through the water and crashing partly on the dock before you fell into the water yourself.

You were too stunned to do anything. It was cold. It was really really cold.

A hand reached through the water, grabbing yours and hoisting you up to dry land. You hardly saw anything, you barely knew how to stand for a second and instead just clung to the body that was in front of you.

“Are you all right?” a deep voice rumbled and you shivered, your clothes sopping wet.

And then it all came crashing down.

“The young ones!” you gasped, trying to blink against the water in your eyes, “The foundlings!”

“Where are they?” you didn’t recognize the stranger’s voice but something about it made you feel safe. His big hands held you by the shoulders but you could also feel his body right in front of yours. You had never been that close to a stranger before.

“That way,” you pointed to the right, where the docks had collapsed, “What if they – What if –“

The warm hands fell from your shoulders. He shouted a command you did not quite understand but it made more people in the. “Stay,” he said to you, “I will take care of it.”

“No but what –“

“Stay here, omega,” the man said, and you froze, a warm feeling rushing through your body, shocking you to your core.

Omega.

Nobody had called you omega before.

The realization that the man had been an alpha hit you out of nowhere and the panic of

“What are you standing here?” Zifre shouted, panic laced in her voice, “Let’s fucking go!”

She took hold of your hand and together, you ran down the shore, hurrying to where the children’s quarters were located at the edge of the water. In the darkness, you could hear and see the blaster shots and explosion and the warrior on the shore and in the air, doing their best to take the monster down.

Your feet pounded on the sand and your clothes felt heavy from the water. But the fear that something could happen to the children of the clan spurred you on and you were not the only ones making their way down that side of the shore. You just needed to make sure they were safe.

By the time you had reached the foundling’s quarters, you were completely out of breath and terrified at the sight of the humongous scaly … thing that was attempting to snap at anything in reach.

“Get the little ones inside!” Paz Vizsla called and you saw him fly up in the air, shooting straight into the open mouth of the beast.

You could see the hesitation in the warriors of your clan at having received an order of the enemy clan’s leader. You did not know what had gotten into you but you stepped closer to the battle unfolding in front of your very eyes.

“You heard him!” you screamed at the top of your lungs, hoping to be heard over all the noise, “Get them inside and keep them safe!”

And they did.

It did not take long for your parents arrived and soon enough, the shore was filled with every warrior that had been at the dinner, some of then still dripping from their involuntary dip in the water. You watched with wide eyes as the monster gave a final attempt and then it fell back into the water and all of a sudden, the eerie silence swallowed everything.

You saw your parents coming back up the shore again, together with the other clan leaders, Paz Vizsla among them.

“Well that is not how I thought this evening would go,” Moira announced from behind you and you turned around to see her right next to her fiancée, his arm around your shoulders.

“I’d say none of us expected it to go like this,” Zifre replied drily.

When you turned back around, your parents had just passed you, walking straight to their circle of advisors. Everyone just kind of … hovered, and you were highly aware of a certain clan leader that stood next to you. And when Zifre made her way to Moira, you saw your chance to say something to the burly alpha.

“Thank you,” you whispered, convinced your parents wouldn’t hear you, “For saving them.”

Paz Vizsla did not look at you and for a moment, you feared that he had not heard you as well. And you weren’t sure if you were brave enough to speak to him again.

“Make no mention of it, princess,” a warm, deep voice said and it took you a second to realize that it was him, the man from the shore, “Little ones are precious all over the clans.”

[moxley]

Your Needs, My Needs - Raphael/Haarlep, Explicit - 4800

READ ON AO3 INSTEAD

Summary:

Some days are for denying Haarlep anything at all, for demanding attention and withholding it from them. Some are for the use of toys: rare souls that handed themselves over to Haarlep willingly, to watch as Haarlep has them, as they feed pretty dolls to all manner of monsters. Some are far bloodier than this, the rending of flesh and re-knitting it with magic. It’s possible to go exquisitely far in the creation of new holes before one must concede that some damage is being done. This day is bullish, calls for the correction of force and coarse language. Yet all days, in the House of Hope, are inevitably and equally welcome, bloody or otherwise. Raphael gets pushed around by Haarlep, sexually. That's it. That's the fic.

Notes: The title of the Word document was 'get wrecked' and the goal was always to be shamelessly self-indulgent in having Raphael be severely topped by Haarlep. I hope you enjoy!

YOUR NEEDS, MY NEEDS

It should be a welcome sight, to pass into the boudoir and see Haarlep where they always are, sprawled waiting and ready to be made wanting at any given moment. Sometimes on the bed, sometimes in a chair. Sometimes reading, sometimes eating fruit or cooked meat; but always licking juices off their fingers, fitting their tongue under the curve of their claws. A beautiful thing, with a body not warm but hot.

Raphael loathes them.

Today, anyway. Tomorrow he might feel differently about them. Their imperfect mirror, their strange youth, the apparent stride with which they take anything that Raphael throws at them. Wine and oranges are their indulgence of choice today, their sharp teeth tearing obscenely into sunset-coloured flesh, dropping the mangled skins of quarters onto a burnished silver tray. Haarlep picks up the wine and sips, and over the glass chalice, they spy Raphael. The languid ease they have changes, only slightly, posture shifting: shoulders drawing back, knees parting expectantly. A raised eyebrow, then, and his own voice purrs at him from across the room, shaded and rounded by Haarlep’s own speech pattern.

“You,” they drawl, “look like you’ve had a terrible day, my master.” He hasn’t. He’s simply brimming with hate, and it shows, in the furrow of his brow. It’s hate for this creature. His concubine. He walks towards the bed and takes the carafe of dark wine, pouring his own measure into a bronze cup, and Haarlep bats just-too-long eyelashes up at him. They run a clawed finger around the edge of their glass. “Do you need my attention?”

Wine doesn’t do much for a devil. But a rich spiced red feels good on the way down anyway, and drinking it himself stops him from thinking about the taste of it on Haarlep’s mouth. His own mouth. Treacherous line of thinking when he’s trying to bask in all his simmering hate. He knocks the whole cup back in one long draught, and then sneers, “No.” He slams the goblet down. “Why would I need you? You bore me. Tedious. Don’t think you stay here unscathed, that I’m misguided and don’t understand you. My distraction. You’re the source of my ire, not the cure for it.”

This was not the first time he had decided that he loathed them. It wouldn’t be the last. He never quite swung the pendulum all the way over to love, but there were days of tolerance, days that who and what Haarlep was didn’t feel like quite as much an affront. There were endless, infernal nights that fell outside of that scope entirely.

Haarlep set their wine aside, turning, rising onto their knees. Raphael’s eyes flickered over the curve of their spine, the flick of their tail. They are him, but not him. They don’t move like him. They move with a critical level of sensuality, even in these small moments, drawing themselves up in front of Raphael.

They tilt their head, their own expressions living in the lines of Raphael’s face. It’s a torment, the gorgeous twisted mirror, the warping of his own frame. Their tongue peeks out between their teeth when they smile. “Are you done?”

His jaw clenches. How dare Haarlep speak to him like this. Look at them, like this, this close, being so fucking blasé and contemptuous. “You’re a wretch,” he spits. “A slave. Little better than the sole of my boot, though it could be said that my shoes do more for me.”

“And yet here you are,” Haarlep says, a thin chill of calculation entering their voice. “Bonded to me still, your secrets, my secrets. Your needs, my needs. Don’t you think it all a little contradictory? After all …” Haarlep trails off, and Raphael watches as they run their fingers down the planes of their stomach. He feels it. Haarlep’s palm presses over leather, between their thighs. Raphael feels that, too, and turns his head away, mouth twitching as he represses a shiver. “If you think me boring, a wretch, you must think the same of yourself.”

They lean closer. Their breath ghosts his face, tickling. “You can take your temper and your contradictions out on me all that you like, Raphael—but you could send me away, shut me out of your bedroom, out of your bed, and you haven’t for as long as I’ve been here.”

Mm. Pride, or his ego, stubbornly unable to turn away a gift this good, even if it’s a gift that talks back. Raphael growls, but he takes hold of Haarlep’s hips, broad palms either side, thumbs rubbing against leather bindings. He leans forward.

To his frustration, the incubus leans back, dipping away from being kissed. His temper flares exponentially, hot and bright and humiliated, then stunting when he sees the wicked grin on Haarlep’s face. “Take this,” Haarlep says, gesturing a finger up and down at Raphael’s body, “off.”

The anger turns to a simmering heat. Haarlep makes a good game of things, of their casual disdain for their position, for being a gift from father to son—but they always ask him to take off the disguise. If they didn’t want to see him, if they didn’t take the same perverse pleasure in looking at one’s self, they wouldn’t say a word. The two of them despise and enjoy each other far more than either will say. He hums and flicks his wrist, dispelling the human guise in an instant.

Haarlep watches appraisingly, approvingly, as Raphael’s great arched horns burn into view, the pallor of humanity melting away in favour of the deep infernal red, eyes burning coals, dark veins and black claws. He hooks one claw under the leather at their hip. Patronising, voice rolling into a smoky purr: “Is that better?”

“There you are,” Haarlep murmurs, sparks glowing in their eyes, the point of their tongue pressing into a sharp tooth before they lean in close to Raphael. They run hands over the fabric of his clothing before unhooking the fastens, tugging his doublet and then his shirt open. “See, what’s the point in making yourself a mirror you can touch when you spend so much time parading around as a human.”

Raphael rolls his eyes. “You could stand to talk less,” he snarls, and crushes Haarlep’s mouth under his own, a brutal coaxing open, his tongue skimming against fangs. Heated and for the moment silent; power over this thing, this beast he calls his own.

It doesn’t last. It never does. Haarlep’s body is his own, and so they are privy to every last one of Raphael’s physical needs, desires that he doesn’t and refuses to voice. Some people mistake pride for shame, but Raphael isn’t ashamed of his proclivities: he simply doesn’t trust anyone but himself with them. Nobody can fuck you the way you can. Bards don’t like to play borrowed lyres, and all that. Haarlep knows how to play him.

It starts with pressure: Haarlep pushes back against him, denying him the lead of the kiss, taking over, his tongue in Raphael’s mouth, licking obscenely. Then they curl a hand around the smallest, leftmost horn, and pull, dragging Raphael out of the kiss and shoving him down into the bed. He grunts as his wings crumple under him, rolling onto his back to try and flatten them out, but Haarlep has a hand against his neck in a moment, leaning over him on the bed.

He groans, inhaling deeply, the knot in his throat moving uncomfortably against Haarlep’s palm. He can feel the grip from within and without, the twin flames of power and powerlessness. It stokes his blood, makes his heart pound faster. Haarlep always seemed so pleased with themselves here, the early call and response. They shove their knee between Raphael’s thighs and press up. “I don’t know that anyone boring could have you like this,” they remark, “from a real dog to a bitch in heat in moments.”

He would protest, but Haarlep’s palm presses harder against his skin. It takes so much more than this to hurt him, but it does choke off his ability to speak, and he grimaces, both hands grabbing at their forearm. “Open,” they say, and Raphael growls. “Open your mouth, darling,” Haarlep insists, placid as a lake no matter the scorch of their gaze. They supply motivation: “Or I won’t fuck you.”

It’s an empty threat. Is it? In the midst of it, Raphael’s control begins to blur, on the way to collapsing, and he can never quite place if Haarlep could really follow through with such a thing. He doesn’t want to find out. He opens his mouth, scowling, but his tongue rests on his teeth, touching his lower lip, wanting, expecting, knowing.

No praise for obedience, not here. Haarlep has never mistaken Raphael’s needs as desiring a gentle lover. They spit directly into his mouth, without ceremony. It’s warm and awful and the shudder that runs through Raphael when he swallows has him bearing his hips down to meet Haarlep’s thigh. He can feel all of it. The heat of his own thighs clamped around his thigh, his palm against his throat, his spit in his own mouth, a debasing and glorious ouroboros. He devours himself, this way, gladly, hatefully, delicious and terrible, over and over.

After a moment, they deny him the friction; they deny him everything. They move so quickly that the absence of feeling is so sudden to be nearly devastating, and Raphael sits up, furiously, to see Haarlep stood beside the bed, drinking wine out of their glass once more. They lick their lips. “Undress yourself,” they say. “You don’t allow me the luxury of several layers of clothing to get through, so why should I have such patience for you?”

“Pathetic,” Raphael answers, dragging himself into a sitting position and flicking his wings out. “And petty, when I well know that you enjoy it.” But it’s to humiliate him. Make him take his human skin off, force him to deal with the complications of wing and tail in a tightly tailored doublet—or, as he does now, make him draw on reserves of magic to simply fizzle clothing away with a gesture. There should be little difference between his nakedness and Haarlep’s skimpy leather bindings, but not so; there’s a gulf, a little powerlessness that comes with it. “Perhaps next time I’ll give you a good reason that you can’t undress me. Such as having no hands.”

Haarlep’s smile is so sweet, coming to stand between Raphael’s knees, tracing a hand almost tenderly along his horns, the heavy, hard weight of them. He’s anticipating them being pulled on again, which is perhaps why Haarlep does not. “Take my hands,” they said, softly, “if you want. It’s really no business if mine if you’d rather not be touched. I think you’d miss my fingers though, no?”

“Cur,” Raphael growls. “The insolence. There’s not a soul on any plane with the temerity to speak to me the way you do.”

“Isn’t that why you’ve kept me? Razor-sharp wit and a brazen approach? Just like you, don’t you think?” Haarlep takes hold of him by the jaw, then pulls. Forward, always zagging when Raphael expects them to zig; he thought they would shove him back onto the bed, but they wrench him the other way, throwing him to the floor.

The air goes out of him. He feels the surge of throwing, as much as being thrown, and then before he can recover, Haarlep’s heat is beside him, and their hand is wrapped around his tail, and they pull. Raphael groans, all nerves struck like flint making sparks, all blood stirring south, and Haarlep pulls harder, forcing him onto his knees, head down. The pleasure of dominance is in the clench of Haarlep’s hand around his tail, lifting it, exposing him like he’s nothing, common, ripe for treating this way.

“I don’t think you’ve done anything to earn the softness of a bed,” says Haarlep, drawing claws shivering-soft over the bare flesh of Raphael’s thighs, between them, skating away from the most sensitive areas, where he wants to be touched, where he’s gotten hard quickly enough to ache pathetically. Instead, they palm a handful of his ass, let their claws dig in, and then spit again. They slick the spit over his hole with their fingers, and the feeling wrenches a shameful, wanting sound out of Raphael’s throat, and he presses his forehead to the stone floor, gritting his teeth.

“—but”—all Hells, they never shut up, on purpose, teasing their fingertips against him, circling and kneading and spitting again and never breaching—“from the look on your face today, you need this. No easy fuck on your back today, master.”

Snapping, frustration a bowstring in his chest: “Fuck me already or take your soliloquy elsewhere.”

Relief, momentary but staggering, when Haarlep yanks on his tail again and presses two fingers inside him. There’s a caution to it, claws considered, but Haarlep is nothing if not practiced with their shared body, and they sink in quickly to the knuckle, in perfect tension with the pull on his tail. Raphael’s wings rustle in an uncontrolled shudder.

Haarlep hums, all delight and pleasure to have Raphael so compromised. “I admit,” they said, something thready like want sneaking into their voice; desire is a real thing, a poison, in this room, “this is a perk of the job. Debasing you. Generally, if I’d been made aware what a brat you are ahead of time,” they move their palm; fuck him with their fingers, leave him too drunk on being tight and wanting to protest when they say, “I would have been more grateful to your father.”

“Don’t,” Raphael growls, all warning, all sincere warning to boot; talking about Mephistopheles with their fingers inside Raphael is nearly a bridge too far, to put it lightly.

But Haarlep knows how to manipulate and press a knife to a boundary without cutting through. They’ll talk enough to make him uncomfortable, to make his head spin, all the things he would do if he were the one fucking Haarlep instead. He can warn and crow and bark, but it’s empty air. There is so much empty air between the two of them. It’s a game.

They drag their hand along his tail, yank from lower down. “Don’t?” Wilful misinterpretation, using real ire to push and push and push. “Don’t what, Raphael? Would you like me to stop?”

There’s no good answer. He groans, head still down against the floor, back an obscene arch. If he says yes, Haarlep will stop. If he says no, Haarlep will take another victory in a string of their victories, today.

Other days are different. Many of them have been. Some days are in bed, Haarlep between his thighs, hitching his knees either side of their hips, looking himself in the eye, kissing, open mouthed and a different kind of heat than this. To be entirely pleasured, rather than taken.

Some days are for denying Haarlep anything at all, for demanding attention and withholding it from them. Some are for the use of toys: rare souls that handed themselves over to Haarlep willingly, to watch as Haarlep has them, as they feed pretty dolls to all manner of monsters. Some are far bloodier than this, the rending of flesh and re-knitting it with magic. It’s possible to go exquisitely far in the creation of new holes before one must concede that some damage is being done. This day is bullish, calls for the correction of force and coarse language.

Yet all days, in the House of Hope, are inevitably and equally welcome, bloody or otherwise.

But he still has not given Haarlep an answer, and that the incubus will not stand. He’s taken too long; they drop his tail, reaching over his wings, and they grab one of his horns, forcing his head off the floor. Tension rattles along his horns to his skull, and Haarlep moves their fingers pointedly, pressing. Raphael’s cock twitches, untouched, and he half-growls, half-groans.

“Don’t stop,” he manages, air half-caught in his throat, and Haarlep pulls harder on his horns. Almost pain, his head being pulled back, and—“Yes, fuck—“

“Beg,” Haarlep instructs, voice cutting through the haze, “If you’d like me to fill you up, you’re going to need to beg me.”

The instinct is to bite back. But he does want to be full, and taken, and filled up, and pushed around, and he can argue when Haarlep is fucking him and he can feel it through them. He steadies a prideful breath, and then, “Haarlep,” said nearly soft, said wanting. “Please. I need it.” A devil of any kind likes to have their egos stroked, and Haarlep is no exception; Raphael need only give them a little more, to get what he wants in kind. “I need you.”

Haarlep tugs one more time on Raphael’s horns. They sound overtly, sickly pleased when they say, “Good boy,” and Raphael shudders, half-repulsed, unable to stop the way it sends heat down his spine. It’s a uniquely irritating feeling, the way he would gouge the eyes out of anyone else who spoke to him like that.

He’s left cold when Haarlep is gone, then, leaving him empty, all hands off—the release of his horns means he can drop his head forward heavily, taking a deep breath. He glances over his shoulder, watches their silhouette, now naked, leather straps all gone, making them look more like him than ever. The sense of anticipation is delicious.

They shove him down, and his cheek hits the floor hard. He grimaces, flesh of his cheek cut against his sharp teeth, a little sulphuric iron flooding his mouth; grotesque, familiar, his own blood. Haarlep’s weight, quite exact to his own, settles heavily behind him, hands grasping at his hips. They slide their—his, Raphael’s, identical in every way—cock between his cheeks. Uncanny and so promising, and Raphael caves, just a little, arching his spine, silent please, silent pleading, silent bait. Haarlep has been known to protest otherwise, but they get something from this, their back and forth. After all, what a gift Raphael gives him, the ability to mouth off to an Archdevil’s son, to see him debased and looking to be taken.

They take a hand off his hip and Raphael closes his eyes, focuses in on the feeling, where he can feel Haarlep wrapping their fingers around their cock, can almost see it the way one can see a memory. Raphael inhales. Haarlep spits again—on Raphael, in their palm, slicking their hand over themselves. They press the leaking head of their cock to his hole and breach him so slowly that Raphael makes a frustrated, torturous sound, teeth gritting together, jaw clenched.

Half the agony is the pace that Haarlep works into him; the other half is he can feel how tight he is, through Haarlep, and has no control over the urge to be flush and home and deep. Raphael wants to fuck and be fucked, and Haarlep is intent on drawing this part out—presumably specifically to pile on the little miseries, the little humiliations.

“You can do better than that,” he hisses, trying for antagonism. The two of them are so closely entwined that acquiescence is indulgence; they both know what the other is trying to do, at all times, always, what intent sits on the back of their tongues.

Haarlep sighs, says, “You are so impatient”—and then obliges. They dig their claws into Raphael’s hips and snap their own forward, and the noise Raphael makes is loud enough to be heard in the halls of the House, he’s certain—and entirely doesn’t care. Let every soul know that Raphael has pleasure where they do not. When Haarlep moves in earnest, it’s as rough as they promised, hard and fast.

He'll never tire of feeling all of it. His eyes roll back, groaning, everything doubled up, the intensity getting him the closest thing to drunk that anything really can. He pushes himself back to meet Haarlep’s thrusts and feels that, too, his own eagerness echoing back at him. Haarlep is enjoying themselves, enjoying the curve of Raphael’s back, losing themselves in the in-out pressure, in what they’re doing to him. The pleasure of humiliation and humiliating.

“You,” oh, there’s a sweet airlessness in Haarlep’s voice now, clearly affected by their own desire, “look so delicious, taken down a peg or two—sometimes I think this is exactly where you belong, not with your—oh—endless scheming, but doing nothing but taking cock for eternity.”

Raphael shudders, presses his forehead to the floor, panting. “You would have me as one of our brain-dead dolls, mm?”

“Oh no, darling,” Haarlep purrs, and then takes the wind out of Raphael by shoving him down flat to the ground—no longer on his knees—and following closely. Their weight settles all over Raphael, so close and so deep with every rolling thrust of their hips, their chest pressed against his back. His wings are trapped, something about the discomfort so fitting, so correct. They wrap their fingers around the front of Raphael’s throat, teeth scraping his ear, biting the lobe.

It’s so much at once—every nerve ending is white hot—that Raphael cries out, no; whimpers Haarlep’s name, which only drives them on. He groans. “What, then?”

“Mm? Oh, I would want you full conscious and aware for all of it.” Haarlep’s tongue flickers over his earlobe, their mouth on his neck. “You would let me love you, you already do. But any beast in the Hells you would let fuck you open. Orthons are particularly large, I know you’ve already thought about that—”

No more struggling for power. No more anything. With Haarlep inside him, processing every sensation of his body in use, the thing he likes, fucking and being fucked, flat on the ground and being taken so roughly, it’s nearly easy to picture it. To imagine letting go. Raphael lets the incubus paint images like that. For just a little while, imagining being nothing is a sweet escape.

“Just a dog on a leash,” Haarlep groans, voice a terrible, promising whisper. Their hand presses harder on Raphael’s throat, making him dizzy. “Just a hole for other’s pleasure. Yours incidental. Nothing more and less. Wouldn’t you like that?”

It is just an escape, but Raphael gasps, “Yes,” anyway, all thought of fighting back discarded, because yes will keep Haarlep inside him, because yes feels good, because his cock is neglected and untouched but so hard, pinned against his stomach, and it’s all so abjectly obscene and—“Keep talking.”

There are some instructions Haarlep delights in following. The stroke of their hips quickens. “Do you want me to come inside you?” Before he can answer: “Really, you want you to come inside you. All of the benefits, none of the work. Pleasuring yourself”—they lose themselves, for a glorious moment, and bite down hard on Raphael’s shoulder, muffling a moan between their teeth before they can recover—“This is why being a bitch would suit you so well.”

Yes, yes. Nobody understands him the way he understands himself, nobody can push his buttons better than someone sharing his body, inside himself, taking himself, all-encompassing. In that too is that he likes to be ruined, and who else can he trust to ruin him? Yet—the fantasy is a nice one, and Raphael cries out for the press of teeth, how Haarlep bites hard enough to break skin and then licks up the blood.

“Tell me,” Haarlep growls, “Answer the question—"

“Come inside me,” Raphael says, something breaking inside him, desperate, willing in all his desperation, “I want you to—”

Haarlep gasps, bites Raphael again with a shuddering moan, “Yes, beg me—oh, beg for me, just like that.”

He does. He pleads, far better than before, far prettier, “Use me,” trying so hard to push back onto Haarlep’s cock but they have him pinned and at their whims, at their control, “fuck me, fill me up, I need you to come inside me. I need to feel it, or. Fuck.”

They make a sound of interest, of delight, nearly a laugh. “Or what?”

“I need it to come,” he admits. He knows he does, he knows that like this—where Haarlep is all but refusing to touch his cock—he needs the feeling, the kind of ruination, the marking, the claiming.

Haarlep is all too smug, when they say, “You’re so well behaved when you’re desperate.” They nip at his earlobe again, hand leaving Raphael’s throat to instead push fingers into his mouth—giving him no room to argue, and before he thinks to bite them off, he presses his tongue around them instead, groaning, sucking on Haarlep’s fingers. He feels that from within and without, too, as if he made the choice to put their-his fingers into his-their mouth.

“Good boy,” they murmur again, and Raphael flushes with hateful heat for it, the same as before, the same as always. Their claws press into his tongue. Their hips stutter. They don’t need to wax poetic about how close they are, they don’t need to ask if Raphael can tell; he feels it, and it floods through him.

Talk falling away in favour of breathing, in favour of moaning; Haarlep’s mouth against Raphael’s skin, Raphael whimpering around fingers. They’re both so close it’s nearly unbearable. He has a terrible, sneaking feeling that Haarlep is drawing it out on purpose—again—but he’s helpless, entirely held beneath them, and really, they both knew he would cease argument eventually, that he would be here, wanting and needing them to fuck him like this, however hateful an entrance he made.

As though hearing Raphael’s thought: “I could do this for hours,” Haarlep says, soft and dangerous. It’s not a tease, it’s the perfect, taut midpoint of a threat and a promise. “I know my stamina is better than yours. I could keep you here. On the edge. Maybe let you come, even if I’m not finished, then keep fucking you.”

“No,” Raphael says, letting Haarlep’s fingers fall from his mouth, aware that he sounds entirely pathetic, startled even. “No—I begged for you—”

Even as he’s saying it, he realises they wanted this: the most earnest kind of begging, the most pitiful kind, wanting their come so badly that he can’t stand the idea of being kept here all night. Their victory, again, and they take it from him. The true desperation pushes them over the edge, is what completes it for them, the most final kind of giving over—Haarlep’s hips jerk hard and they press flush, and stars shatter in front of Raphael’s vision. Their hand curls around his throat again, sweet pressure.

He less feels it than he experiences it, as though it’s him, buried flush in himself, cock pulsing, a shameless and hungry filling up. He feels himself gripping his own neck. He’s so tight around Haarlep, taking all of them and their come in turn, and Raphael thinks of how their come will trickle between his thighs later and all of it—the multi-layered, over-heightened, over-sensitive feeling—has him losing control, hips twitching towards nothing as his orgasm takes him.

It’s a filthy mess, between his stomach and the floor. There’s no air to be had. He squeezes his eyes shut, waves crashing, stomach clenching, muscles taut. It’s only when Haarlep releases the hold on his throat that he feels he can open his eyes, gasping. His eyes prickle damply, and he blinks fast, and shudders when Haarlep presses a kiss to the wound they made on his shoulder.

“Very good,” Haarlep murmurs. Their weight is, much as Raphael is loath to admit it, missed, when they draw away from him. He winces when they pull out. The heat of the Hells is nearly a cool breeze over his bare back, where they no longer touch him.

In his blurry peripheral, he sees Haarlep settle onto the floor beside him, sitting on their hip. He focuses on them. They are a welcome sight, skin dotted with sweat, naked and spent, their wings spreading out behind them. They tilt their head. “Needs? Other than to be helped off the floor.”

Raphael grunts. He unfolds his own wings, unrumpling them, shaking them out. He’s not quite ready to look at the spread of come, sticky and cooling, beneath him. Does he hate them less, now? Yes. For today, for the moment. “Perhaps you would roll me head-first into the bath so that I might drown.”

Haarlep laughs, leaning on their palm. “It might be arranged, but then what would your House do without you?” They kneel, reaching for him. “Come. I won’t drown you today.”

After a moment, Raphael reaches for them, too.

[yandere-romanticaa]

A little experiment for Tighnari if you will. While his design is all over the place and simply looking at him felt a little odd to me but I adore his personality and how gentle he is, especially with Collei. I'm still not too familiar with him but I did finish the first part of the Archon quest in which he appears. I hope I did him justice!

The scent of herbal tea and cooked food filled the room as you lay in bed, dizzy to the point where you can't stand on your feet and so sick that the food that would usually tempt anything and anyone into having a bite was doing the exact opposite for you. The choice of becoming a forest ranger was a sudden one but over the past few months you've been here you started to see the charms of this place despite the many dangers that lurked above and beyond the sky high trees.

As a forest ranger you had many different duties to perform, some mundane while others that could have almost cost you your life - but no matter what you took on all of the challenges with a bright smile, even if you did end up being covered in blood in bruises by the end of it.

The endless courage and optimism was something to be proud of but the same could not be said for the lack of your knowledge in botany and anything related to plans...

Forest rangers were required to take several different tests throughout different times of the year, ranging from their physical education and endurance, the strength of their emotional stability and general knowledge about the flora and fauna of Sumeru, possibly from even beyond that if the situation called for it. It would be a lie to say that you passed your tests with flying colours but you did manage to get by, just enough to earn a comfortable salary and stay close to your new friends.

Tighnari being one of them.

He was the best teacher anyone could dreamed of having - from his endless patience and understanding to his sharp wit and kind heart, it was impossible not to like the guy. There were times when you were more than tempted to rough up his tail and ears but you knew better.

It also didn't help that he'd catch you staring at him every single time.

Despite spending so much time with him you were still utterly clueless when it came to plants and Tighnari would do everything in his power to change that. Whenever your hand would be draped in thorn covered wines you'd come running to him, tears in your eyes and tears falling down your cheeks as he sat you down on the floor, always bandaging you and maybe even lightly kissing the pain away if he was feeling more bold that evening. It was a chase kiss that never lingered for too long, always on the inside of you wrist too, where your pulse was.

You never asked him why he did that. You simply took it as a token as his endless gratitude.

And that's why you were here now, in bed with a fever with Tighnari himself nursing you back to health. Like it or not he was ready to shove the harsh medicine down your throat if need be but you just decided to go down the path of least resistance and just went along with his rules.

Tighnari always warned you never to fully trust anyone and that you ought to watch you back lest someone tried to do something vile to you. He included himself in that statement too because at this very moment he was giving you just a third of the required medicine, to keep you docile but still just healthy enough to stand on your feet.

The forests of Sumeru hid many secrets but the one Tighnari hid was one of the biggest ones yes. His burning love was consuming him and unless he put his foot down, archons know what would happen to him.

🍒 TAGS: @genshinarchives, @mod-kisa-blog, @morigumy, @juuuuuj101010

[queerofthedagger]

Hullo~ with much joy I saw that you're doing December fic gifts 😍 (first of all, very kind and generous, and a lovely idea!)

I would love to request a dreamling fic if i may!

Several prompts seem similarly appealing and are essentially just different flavours of the same thing?

So my favourite is of course from the fluff list: #37 "Because i love you goddamnit!". But Fluff only becomes sweeter with a bit of angst, so essentially mixed with the same prompt (#32 from the Angst list)? Maybe a bit of #32 from the drabble list: "I think I'm in love with you, and I'm terrified"?

Does that make sense? I hope you find a way to have fun with it anyway ♡

If you do decide to write this, could it be gifted to me (AHopefulSun) on A03 please? 🥺👉👈

Anyway, once again thank you very much and happy holiday time ♡

Thank you so much for the prompt!! I changed the dialogue a bit to make it work, and I'm afraid it ended quite heavily on the fluffier side of things, but there is a hint of angst? 😄<3

(The languages Hob uses are Basque, Croatian, Hebrew, Catalan, and Gaelic; it'll make sense in a hot second, I promise 😄)

Speaking in Tongues

“Are you sure that you’re not cold?” Hob asks, five minutes into their walk back to the New Inn.

The street they are walking down is quiet, snow blanketing this corner of London in glittering jewels of white, and something treacherous flutters in Dream’s stomach at the open concern.

“I believe to have told you before that I do not experience temperatures as you do.”

Hob stops him with a light touch to his wrist; Dream feels it all the way down his spine.

“And I believe I’ve told you before that it doesn’t mean you can’t be uncomfortable,” Hob says, exasperated affection pressed into the corners of his mouth. He turns Dream with another touch and begins to unwind the scarf from around his neck.

“What—” Dream starts, but the words get stuck in his throat when Hob looks at him, smiling and bright-eyed, cheeks flushed from mulled wine and the cold.

Hob had insisted to take him to the Christmas market in Camden, much as he is now insisting to wrap his scarf around Dream’s neck, calloused fingers brushing the skin of his throat. Which is to say, he hadn’t let Dream protest, no matter that Dream did not want to do so, neither then nor now.  

“I know, I know, self-knitted isn’t really your style, and dark blue isn’t part of your usual colour scheme,” Hob says, and his hands rest on Dream’s chest even as his expression seems to grow bashful. “But at least I have a proper winter jacket, and if you really don’t want to wear it, not even until we’re back at the Inn, you obviously don’t—”

Dream catches Hob’s wrist just as he is about to pull away, heat flaring in his chest that is both terrifying and thawing something ancient he thought long dead. “No, I would—I would like to keep it. For now.”

For as long as you’ll let me have it, he does not say.

Hob tilts his head. “You do not look certain of that.”

“I am. I merely… You are much more likely to get cold than I am; why would you give me this?”

It is a loaded question, is about more than a scarf and Hob’s gentle tenacity.

Silence stretches for longer than it should. Hob is looking past Dream until his shoulders straighten with a shuddering breath.

When he speaks, his voice is too steady to sound light-hearted. “Because I love you, and I want you to have it. To know it.”

He states it like a fact, something axiomatic and indelible; night follows day and humans dream. The sun keeps rising, and Hob Gadling loves Dream of the Endless.

Dream swallows, helpless, even as Hob’s eyes stay fixed on him.

“Does this not scare you?” he asks, voice hoarse as the words trip off his tongue.

“Of course, it does; it’s terrifying. That does not change the truth of it, though, does it?”

Dream searches Hob’s face; he is not sure for what. He searches for his own courage and finds it in the warmth of a scarf wrapped around him with care. Finds it in the memory of outrageously sweet coffee orders and cups of mulled wine, in stories told over centuries, and in an Inn built for him. In Hob waiting, always waiting for Dream to catch up.

He admits, “It is terrifying to me, too,” and watches as Hob’s expression morphs through shock and disbelief, finally settling on caution. “You did not expect reciprocation.”

Hob huffs a laugh that borders on hysterical. “I—no, I did not. The last time I dared to call you my friend, you stormed out on me.”

“I apologised; I—”

“No, I know, I’m not…” Hob sighs, and beneath the lingering caution, a hint of a smile starts to form.

A part of Dream itches to vanish into the safety of his own realm, to wrap layers of iron-clad protection back around himself and hide the soft, tender, human pieces once more.

Stepping closer, Hob slips his hands inside Dream’s coat. His palms are warm on Dream’s waist, and it calms his racing, non-existent heart.

“If I kiss you, would it scare you off for good?” Hob asks. His smile is solid now, warm as if sun-soaked in a way only he ever is.

Dream finds that his terror is melting beneath Hob’s touch like snow in a child’s hand. Distantly, he thinks that should scare him. He also finds that he is quite exactly where he wants to be.

“You may; under one condition.”

Hob laughs, his eyes glistening with it. “Of course. Anything.”

Swaying forward, Dream leans into him and closes his eyes. “Tell me again.”

Hob’s fingers dig into Dream’s skin. When he speaks, his breath fans across Dream’s mouth.

“I love you,” Hob says, voice low with the weight of it. “I love you so much that it burns, and I will tell you as many times as you want. I will tell you in languages that I have never used to tell—”

Dream kisses him, falling into it, inevitable; Hob tastes like winter nights and spices, cinnamon and anise and orange. His mouth opens beneath Dream’s as if he has been waiting for this through all his lifetimes.

“Maite Zaitut.”

Pushing closer, Dream cards his fingers into Hob’s hair. “Again.”

“Volim te.”

He bites Hob’s bottom lip and swallows the sound it elicits, tucking it away beneath his ribs for safekeeping. “Again. Please.”

“Ani ohevet otcha. T’estimo. Tá grá agam ort.”

Any more of this, and Dream fears he might choke on his affection. “You know a great many languages to say this in.”

Hob smiles. “Come home with me, and I might tell you why.”

“Incorrigible.”

“You love me, really,” Hob shoots back; beneath the affected cockiness, he looks as if he might need to hear it a few more times, too.

Dream brushes his mouth over Hob’s temple and says, “Indeed I do. Dearest.”

✨December Gift Ficlets ✨