#i can barely get food down. even SWALLOWING seems to inspire discomfort?????

[hollowtreesinhollowwoods]

okok whump idea: Creepy/intimate whumper, pet names (i like using 'doll' 'love' and 'pet'). I also looooove when the whumpee breaks and then is rescued by caretaker, but they need to be deconditioned. also just an abstract idea: collars and muzzles on wumpees who arent PET pets but still need to be obediant and shit. thanks so much for reading my little schpiel (i probably spelled that wrong) and i love your writing sm :D

Okay, let me first start out with: Oh my go sh you’re making me blush right now! I think you’re the second ask I’ve gotten ever so thank you so much?? I also love pet whump, especially when I have so many stories that I can implement it in!! I actually have this whole unexplored world of humans and fae that my SNQH series was gonna explore, with fae being a sort of controversial, grey area between human and animal(at least by the way humans see it). I’ve had a bit of writer’s block with that, but I feel like this is a great ask to introduce another of my characters 😈 I’m glad you like my stuff, so I hope you will like this, and thank you for giving me inspiration! (Also, at the time of completing this, I’m sorry it took so long! I had a lot of school to catch up on :’D)

My Little Dove

CW: pet whump, noncon(nonsexual? I mean not by human standards but by harpy standards its debatable but Imma just say nonsexual), drugging, implied drugging, creepy/intimate whumper, multiple whumpers, mentions of torture, forcing whumpee to wear certain clothes, headache, bindings, bound wings

“I’m going to have guests over again tonight, my little dove,” called Master’s voice behind her. By now, Pipeulae wasn’t sure if the squirming in her gut that she felt when he called her that was good or bad. She dismissed it, though, continuing in stirring the soup she’d been working on. That’s why he’d asked her to cook it, then.

“That sounds wonderful, Master,” she said quietly, in a hesitant voice that he could easily shut down or overpower if need be. At the old place she’d stayed, it was like walking on eggshells. Master, though, seemed to enjoy hearing her speak.

“These guests will be new, so I’d like you to be present and wear your best. Chaise lounge, as usual.” Master strode over to her side.

Pipeulae’s heart sank slightly, but she nodded, turning to look in his direction, “Of course, Master. Anything you like.” She turned back to look at the soup, twisting the dial down as the boiling broth retreated to a simmer.

“That’s my beautiful bird, so sweet and obedient,” Master said, running a hand up Pipeulae’s bare back--the shirt compromised there thanks to her huge wings, which were tied closed with scarves to keep them out of the way, and just tightly so that they ached mildly, but constantly. A small shudder ran up after his fingers, goosebumps prickling on her neck as his hand went to rest there. An almost inaudible gasp sucked into Pipeulae’s mouth, but she hid her discomfort, continuing to stir. “If you’re good, I’ll let you on a field day again. Wouldn’t want those wings to lose their luster, would we?”

“That’s very kind of you. Thank you, Master.”

“Of course, my little dove.” Master strode out of the room.

As Pipeulae looked back down into the soup, though she’d been hungry for ages, she suddenly wanted to avoid food very much.

--

She’d gotten quite good at looking “pretty”, whatever that was supposed to mean.

Pipeulae laid with her wings limply yet gracefully outstretched to the tile below. She tried to look drowsy. Look like she did when Master gave her his tonic. Like he had each day at the start of her residence here. Back when she’d been unruly, unpleasant. That tonic, he said, made her beauty more... easily accessible. Made the punishments less harsh. Soon, she was well behaved enough not to need it, so he saved it instead. Perhaps for a new pet, if he ever got one.

It wasn’t hard to look tired--the silver jewelry that had been draped on her head and body and hung from her ears sent buzzing pain through her head. Like most other things, she’d gotten used to it, though. Most of the conversation between the partygoers drifted right past Pipeulae’s ears, and she didn’t bother trying to listen. Occasionally, they came up to admire her. They’d say things like, “What a magnificent beast!” or “So serene. You’d think she was a statue until she blinked!” and Pipeulae assumed this was good. It certainly sounded that way, from the tones of their voices.

This time, though, she noticed them all approaching, and realized that the sound of clinking silverware was gone. She felt a sudden jolt of fear, but shoved the feeling down.

Then came the words.

“Would you like to preen her wings? The feathers are like silk,” Master’s voice came through hushed discussion. Pipeulae could feel the hint of lust in his voice. He and her were the only ones who knew, and when her eyes roamed over to his, his smile widened. “Especially the inner parts. She has trouble reaching those. Don’t you, my little dove?” He purred.

A sick feeling formed in Pipeulae’s gut. Preening was an intimate act. It was kept between romantic partners. Sometimes family members. But never strangers. Never strangers.

“Oh, poor dear. We’ll get your plumes all straightened out for you. Don’t worry about a thing,” said one of the guests, brushing the hair out of her face. “Just go on back to being careless, now. You look so beautiful when you do.”

So she did. Or at least, she tried. One of the men pulled a little too roughly at one of her coverts and her wing jerked back in reflex. The man let out a startled noise, and Pipeulae froze.

“Does it hurt?” He asked, though Master merely shook his head in dismissal, approaching Pipeulae.

“She had a bad home at previous, so you must forgive that she’s a little skittish sometimes. I have a drink to help calm her, though,” he pulled out a small bottle, holding it close to her lips.

“Please, Master,” Pipeulae mouthed, only a slight breath giving the words voice.

“It’s alright. You’re safe,” he said, loud enough for the others to hear. Loud enough to continue the charade. He pressed the bottle to her lips, tilting the bottom up as she swallowed the liquid. What other choice did she have?

Everything went unpleasantly numb and limp, and Pipeulae remembered just how much she hated his tonic.

Before forgetting again as it sent her into complacent bliss.

Her eyelids drooped tiredly, and her wings became pliant under their touch. As their coarse, thick fingers pulled and poked under her feathers, her stomach twisted, and she let out a long, low moan. Their voices were just sounds, now. Not words. Another moan, higher this time, slipped out of her lips as they dug deeper with those fingers. It tickled, and the corner of her mouth twitched as a high, soft whimper came out.

Moans, whimpers. They seemed not to mind these noises. Maybe they even liked them, because sometimes they’d press their stout fingers harder under the crevices between feathers just to hear them louder, she thought. They became more frequent when they moved to the inner plumes near her back.

One finger stroked a scapular gently, and a rogue trill of pleasure slipped out. Then another. She wanted to ask them to stop, but she didn’t know why. This felt wrong. That was all she knew.

The fingers dug deeper, pulled and pruned and plucked as she twitched and whined and trilled. She felt like curling up in a ball in a dark closet away from those stubby fingers, nothing like her kind’s own spindly, delicate ones that never overstayed their welcome. But another part of her pushed up into the touches. She hated that it felt... good. She hated it so much. What was wrong with her? Her next trill came out sad.

Then they must have straightened the last plume, because the hands left. Only one returned to stroke her head. “Such a beautiful bird I have. So meek and willing. That’s a fair reward for such behavior, isn’t it, my little dove?”

Pipeulae uttered a low moan in reply when she realized he was talking to her. But it wasn’t a reward. Not a reward at all. It was just another form of torture in disguise. A party trick to impress his friends. A disgusting form of entertainment for him. She felt like she was covered in grime. She wanted to scrub it all off, rub her skin raw if she had to. Clip all her feathers.

The hand left her head, and she was alone. The drug made her ears fill like they were stuffed with cotton, and after a while, it dragged her drowsily under the spell of sleep.

[lampmeeting]

For Toki/Magnus prompts! Hope that at least one of them helps spark inspiration!! 1.)In a surprising twist of events, it's Magnus who asks to see the latest Disney movie. 2.) They go through CDs that's in their native languages (if we go by the Magnus is Armenian headcanon) 3.) Toki ends up gifting Magnus something for his birthday or other way around 4.) Magnus actually tries to teach Toki to drive-

ohhhhh my goodness, ash, you have gifted me such wonderful ideas! T~T i’m SUCH a sucker for birthday fics, though, i dunno why. so i gotta pick that one. :3 all these other ideas are being stored in my brainvault for use in later things though, rest assured.

i went REAL self-indulgent with this aaaaahahahah... post-doomstar babey. magnus is having a hard time of things. this got so fucking long kjfgkdf

[tw for mentions of suicide]

=+=

After so many years of nothing on his plate, no band, no projects, no responsibility to anyone but himself, this pulled-in-all-directions bullshit was getting old fast. It had happened so quickly. Offdensen had needed a place for him to go once he could get up from the hospital bed, a place to keep him out of Mordhaus and away from the band, but close enough to keep an eye on him. He hadn’t had a moment to himself on his own terms since waking up out of the coma, and he kinda missed it. At least he slept in the coma.

Magnus left the latest staff meeting for the newly-built Dethklok Home for Wayward Musicians and returned to his on-site living quarters, aka his jail cell with a nice kitchen. There was a camera at the door to make sure he stayed or left when he was meant to stay or leave, and he’d been operating under the assumption that the place was bugged. Because why wouldn’t it be? 

And fuck his chest hurt. He unbuttoned his shirt and checked the incision in the hallway mirror. From just below the dip in his clavicle, a red, gnarled line split his chest for about twelve inches--a result of the surgery to repair the stab wound to his heart and whatever that fucking pipe had punctured. Awful. Just fucking awful. He wasn’t exactly taking care of it very well, either. Barely ate, barely slept. What did it matter, exactly? A fucked up scar to match his fucked up eye and his fucked up face and his fucked up life.

He took a deep, wincing breath and let it out as a long sigh. Whatever.

His phone rang. That fucking stupid “dethphone” everyone in the company seemed to have. Magnus fought it out of his back pocket, swearing as the little spines caught on his jeans. “What??”

“Oh! You pickeds up!”

Magnus swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He still had no goddamn idea why Toki wanted anything to do with him. They’d had their little moment in the hospital at Mordhaus, blubbering like babies, Magnus apologizing and Toki just so damn happy to see him alive for whatever reason. And he still wasn’t exactly sure why he hadn’t been left to bleed out in the street. Would’ve been a lot easier for everyone, Magnus included.

“Magnus?”

Shit, he kept doing that--getting lost in his own head when he should be speaking to people. He’d probably talked to more people in the past few weeks than he had in the past few years, and his brain just wanted it to stop already. “Yup, I’m here. What is it?”

“Are you gonna bes at home laters?”

Where else would he be? “Yeah.”

“Oh goods! I’m on my way, pal!”

Magnus nearly swore at him. “I’m sorry, you’re what?”

“I’m flyins over! Sees you in a few hours.”

“Okay, but why--” But Toki hung up. Magnus threw the phone at the wall which only sent a shock of grating pain through his sternum. He pressed a hand to the incision. “Ahh, son of a bitch.”

Fucking Toki. He really didn’t want to deal with him tonight. All the talking, all the laughing. They hadn’t seen each other since he’d left the hospital, but he had to imagine Toki wanted to pick up where they left off before everything went to shit. Probably wanted to drag his ass to laser tag or something equally asinine. God fucking damnit, all he wanted to do was sleep.

Easing down onto the couch, he closed his eyes and tried to breathe. Even if Toki came over, it wouldn’t be forever. Time would pass, the kid would return to Mordhaus. It would be okay. Magnus would just have to be patient. He could be patient. He was good at that. Or at least he used to be.

All right. All right. He was fine. 

So he waited for Toki. He sat in front of the TV for a while, attempted to nap with no success, made a frozen dinner that he barely touched. Through it all, his chest ached with increasing discomfort, the result of being too rough with himself lately. He wasn’t allowed to keep pain medication, though. Definitely not opioids given his history, but not even over-the-counter stuff. Assholes. If he wanted to kill himself again, it wouldn’t be with pills.

Toki finally knocked on the door with his typical shave-and-a-haircut, and Magnus called him in. “There’s no lock.”

Toki poked his head in the door and the rest of him followed after. He carried a white box in both hands and grinned from ear to ear. Magnus wrenched himself up from the couch and tried to keep the twist of agony off his face.

“Surprise!” Toki cried.

“It’s hardly a surprise, buddy, you told me you were coming.”

“No, no, this!” And Toki shoved the box at him. “Opens it, opens it! Oh, I can’ts waits to see you’s face!”

Screaming expletives in the safety of his head, Magnus tilted the box away from him and slowly opened the top, fully expecting something to pop out. When nothing happened, he peered inside.

Oh.

It was a cake. Small, homemade. Buttercream frosting, and scribbled on top in icing were two stick figures more or less recognizable as Toki and Magnus holding hands under a rainbow. Across the rainbow in white icing it read Happy Birthday Magnus!

“I...forgot it was my birthday.”

“That’s okay. Toki remembers.”

Magnus set the cake down on the kitchen table and stared at it, chest throbbing. “Why would you do this?”

“What you means ‘whys’? Because we’s friends!”

“I’m no friend of yours, Toki.”

“Sure you ams! You wents kinda crazy but you’s gettins better now.”

“Oh, I dunno about that.”

But Toki kept smiling. “Eats some cake. Cake’s whats makes bad feelings goes away.”

Magnus didn’t have the energy to argue. Toki went into the kitchen and shuffled through a few drawers before asking, “You don’ts has a knife?”

“Nope, not allowed.”

Toki went quiet, searched a little longer, then returned to the table with a fork. “Here!”

Magnus took the fork hesitantly. “Just one? You’re not having any?”

“I can’ts has sugar, remembers?”

Of course he remembered. He’d given Toki his insulin injections for a month.

“So wait, you made a cake that you can’t eat?”

Toki just laughed. “I mades it for you, not me.”

For some reason that made Magnus’ eyes well up. He bit the inside of his cheek and forced it all down. The doctors had told him it was normal to be more emotional than usual during recovery, but god damn. It was a fucking cake and he wanted to cry about it.

Magnus shoved the forked into his little stick figure foot and took a bite. Oh. It was really good. He’d been living off TV dinners and cheap pizza, hospital food before that, and finally having something actually edible in his mouth was heaven. He closed his eyes, chewing reverently. When he opened them, Toki had his fists curled excitedly under his chin.

“So?? Ams good?”

Magnus went for another bite. “Yeah.” Popped it in his mouth. He couldn’t get enough, and before he realized how much he’d been eating, about a third of the cake was gone. He put down the fork, embarrassed. “I’ll, uh. Save the rest for breakfast.”

Toki hadn’t stopped beaming at him for a second. “You wanna dos something now?”

Ah, here it came. What exhausting fucking outing did Toki have in mind? An arcade? The mall? “Sure, just, uh, not anything too--”

“Thoughts maybes we could just hangs out here, watch a movies.”

“Here?”

“If that’s okay.”

Magnus let go of a rough, relieved breath. “Yeah. Yeah, buddy, let’s do that.”

They’d found an old black and white samurai movie just starting on TV and settled in on the couch to watch. Toki sat cross-legged, enraptured, making little comments (”wowee!” “oh, brutal!”) every time something cool happened. Magnus rested back and stretched out his legs, trying to find a position that didn’t make his pain any worse. And once he did, he began to doze off.

He jerked his chin up from his chest, flinching awake, pressing subtly at his incision. Toki noticed. “Are yous okay?”

“Think so.”

Toki looked at the movie again for a moment then turned back to him. “Can I sees it?”

“You don’t wanna.”

“I dos.”

Magnus grumbled and shifted to face him a little better, not liking the grinding sensation in his sternum as he moved. Made him feel a little sick. Still, he unbuttoned his shirt and parted it just enough for Toki to get a good look.

Toki’s eyes went huge with shock, and in the light of the TV Magnus could see tears gathering and threatening to fall. He buttoned himself up again in a hurry, flustered. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, kid.”

“I’m sorries,” Toki wailed a little, rubbing at his eyes. “Just looks like it really, reallies hurts.”

“That’s ‘cause it does.” Magnus couldn’t deny that. He turned back to the movie just in time to see one of the samurai cut himself open with his own sword. He put a hand to his chest again, feeling his repaired heart pounding away in his ribs. Being allowed to die like that would’ve been nice, he thought. By his own hands. An atonement for all the terrible, unforgivable shit he’d done. Not something he was supposed to fucking wake up from in a hospital bed. Toki was silent. Magnus snatched up the remote to turn the TV off.

They sat in the dark for a moment until Toki spoke, his voice small. “Do you still wants to do that?”

“To do what?”

“To...die.”

Magnus grumbled noncommittally. “Maybe. I dunno. It doesn’t matter.” He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “More than anything I just wanna fucking sleep.”

The couch sprang up a little as Toki got up, and when Magnus lowered his hands he realized Toki was offering his.

“Then comes on. Let’s go to asleeps.”

Magnus looked up at him. This kid, this man, this god or whatever the fuck--why was he bothering? Why was he here, being so kind to him? Magnus didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve anything. Death, sleep, a friend. Not a goddamn thing.

Toki leaned down and took his hands. No one had touched him in weeks, and the last person had been Toki, too, now that he thought about it. “I means it. Ups.”

“...fine.”

He lumbered to his feet with Toki’s help and dragged ass into the bedroom. “You gets ready for bed,” Toki told him. “I’ll bes right back.”

In the dark of the bedroom, Magnus wormed carefully out of his clothes and pulled up a pair of pajama bottoms. He could feel the two halves of his breastbone click against each other as he reclined into the pillows, heard it in his fucking head, and he gulped down sudden nausea. His eyes drifted shut. He was so tired. But no matter how much he tried to sleep, there always came a point where he woke himself up, yanked himself from the edge of that deep, restorative sleep he really needed, as if he were afraid of going too far under and never resurfacing.

He heard soft footsteps on the carpet, felt the mattress sink a bit, and then something so warm draped over his chest and he groaned before he could think to stop himself. The pain retreated, not all the way, but enough to unknot his stomach. When he opened his eyes, Toki was there.

“Warms wash cloth,” he said. “It helps?”

“Yeah.” Magnus shuddered in relief, so grateful he could cry. And when Toki placed a hand so tenderly on his brow, he finally did. Just for a second. Just to get it out. “Sorry. Fuck...”

Toki smiled down at him, and even in the darkness he seemed to glow. Maybe he was a god.

“Try tos rest now. Ams gonna looks after yous all night, so don’ts worry abouts nothing.”

“...really?”

“Mm-hm.” Toki’s fingers started to weave into his curls. It was...nice. “Happy birthdays, Magnus.”

“...thanks, buddy.” And Magnus slept.

[mr-deblob]

Take Care

Description: Lucius has never quite gotten the grasp of how to deal with death. He isn't quite sure he'll ever know how. But a good talk can make things more bearable, at the very least.

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25475569

(It’s ya boi! Back at it again with actually writing fics! This one was part of Juletide 2020, a gift to @elennare who gave me some inspiration for this little (painful-esque) fic. Do hope y’all enjoy your Hurt/Comfort, cause this... this is Hurt/Comfort. Emphasis on both parts.)

As Bym’s body floated off into the Astral Void, Lucius couldn’t help but wonder: would he need to do this for one of his friends?

The thought wasn’t unfamiliar to him. After all, two of them had fallen before. It was only natural for his mind to think of what could happen if they didn’t come back.

But even then, there was a chance that they could come back. They had some way, some path given to them that could lead their soul (or Matrix, in Sentry’s case) back to their bodies to fight another day.

Out here, there was no telling what could happen.

Slowly, the gangway closed in front of them, and Bym’s small form drifted further away until the hull obscured the view. Thalia stood still for a few moments before excusing herself quietly, heading to the cockpit to continue their journey.

The party was left quiet after that, stunned by the sudden death of their new companion. Big Cat stretched himself out on an empty couch, his head rested between his paws with a somber expression. It was a couple moments before Nova finally broke the silence.

“I’ll just… double-check that everything’s alright with the engines,” she said. “Doesn’t hurt to be too safe.” With a subdued face, Nova headed down, Sentry casting a look of concern her way.

“You think she’ll be alright?”

Aila sat down with a thump. “She’ll be alright. Just needs a bit of time to herself.” Grabbing a rag, she began to clean the bloodstains off of the Howling Tempest. “For now, we should probably decompress. Reassess things a bit.”

“Of course.” Sentry nodded. “Just… I’ll make sure she isn’t missing anything down there. Might bring her a snack.” She headed to the quarters before any of them could respond.

Aila continued to polish before glancing up at the two men stood in the Lounge still, giving a questioning look at them. Evidently, that seemed to make Quill realize something.

“Ah, I should probably help Thalia with navigation, shouldn’t I? Now that Bym’s...” He swallowed, reluctant to say the next word with a look of guilt on his face. Instead, he looked towards the cockpit nervously. “Guess I’ll… go do that, then.”

With an awkward wave to Lucius and Aila, the elves watched as he retreated to the cockpit. The silence that fell afterward made the air heavy with discomfort. Only the purring of the engines and Big Cat ran underneath the quietude.

“So…” Aila said, “did you need to tell him something?”

The question startled Lucius, confusing him as she continued polishing her weapon.

“What gave you that impression?” he said.

She looked up at him, then glanced to the space in front of him where an outstretched hand was. His outstretched hand.

“A-ah. I see.” Self-conscious, he let it fall to his side, glancing back towards Aila, who simply raised an eyebrow. “It wasn’t anything important. Really.” He let out a forced chuckle. “Just a…  force of habit, I suppose.”

The moment those words left his mouth, he silently cursed himself for giving such an ambiguous answer. Any person would get curious after hearing that.

But thankfully, Aila simply shrugged and turned her focus back on her weapon. She had more things to worry about than unspoken words.

With a small sigh, Lucius sat down across the room, trying to do as Aila suggested and reassess a few things. First things first: figuring out why he had reached towards Quill.

Well, that’s not exactly a big mystery, is it? It was obvious to him (and probably the rest of the party) that he and Quill cared deeply for each other, and he didn’t want to see the Aarakocra go off looking so worried, so nervous like he usually did. A smile fit him more than a furrowed brow. Or, furrowed feathers, he supposed.

Too many times he had seen Quill hopeless, shaken, vulnerable. Those moments always made Lucius anxious, his mind telling him to do anything to save Quill. He simply couldn’t lose him, not again. Not after he lost him once.

And the thought of losing him forever made him…

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a tap on his shoulder, and when he opened his eyes, he saw Sentry looking down at him with concern.

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Yes, I’m alright, Sentry. What made you think otherwise?”

She stayed silent as she reached her hand out, wiping away a tear that underneath his left eye.

“Ah… I suppose that would explain it.”

Her eyes filled with worry. “Lucius, if you need someone to talk to, we’re here for you. You know that, right?”

He nodded slowly. “I know, Sentry. I just need a bit of time by myself.” He looked down at the plate of food she held. “Besides, don’t you need to give that to Nova? I’ll be fine. Really.”

She gave a small smile, then turned around to head to engineering. But before she did, Lucius placed a hand on her forearm.

“I’ll...I’ll be ready to talk in the crew quarters once you’ve finished checking up on Nova.”

And with a silent nod of understanding, she stepped away.

-

Lucius sat up on the bed as he heard the sound of clanking metal outside, swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress as Sentry opened the door and stepped inside.

Closing the door, she looked at Lucius expectantly, waiting for him to speak.

He opened his mouth, but closed it again as no words came out. Of course he lost his words after spending half an hour trying to compose his thoughts. Taking a deep breath, he tried to relax himself. Then, he spoke.

“How are you supposed to deal with death?”

Lucius could see Sentry get surprised at the question, but he didn’t wait for her to answer before elaborating more.

“How do you… how can you make yourself feel better after someone you care for dies? How can you push yourself forward even after losing someone he means so much to you, knowing you can never see them again?”

He watched as the Guardian took in his words, her face shifting as she tried to put together an answer for him.

“Back when I was in Solwynn, the princess I guarded and cared for… she was everything to me.” Her eyes glowed a bit brighter as she began to reminisce. “I spent every waking moment with her, keeping her safe and playing with her, becoming a part of her life just as she was a part of mine. I couldn’t imagine a life without her.”

She paused for a moment.

“Then I lost her. Lost my whole world when I was pulled away from her. Going unconscious and waking up to find out that hundreds of years have passed… It wasn’t exactly an easy thing for me to accept.”

She let out a small laugh. “I know it might be difficult to believe, but during those first few days when I was getting used to this new world, Quill was the one who helped carry me through it all.”

He looked up at her in surprise at that.

“Even though I’m this large and strong Guardian, I wasn’t exactly the most composed when Quill first found me. I was rather… blank then.” Her gaze shifted to the side as she spoke. “Everything felt muted to me, my senses dulled. I was barely able to get myself to stand each time I woke up. But he was able to pull me through all that. Every morning, he would convince me to stand up, to walk with him, to keep moving forward.”

Her voice seemed to grow warmer as she continued. “And soon, I was able to find the world a bit brighter, see a bit more color day by day, and eventually stand on my own. Even though what I loved might be gone now, I know that there are more things out there for me to protect, to cherish. Like all of you!”

Lucius looked up at Sentry in awe. He had never known that side of her. She’d always seemed tough, resilient in her emotions. To know that the cheerful woman in front of him had once gone through such emotional hardship comforted him in a strange way.

“So the answer to getting through it is just… to have the help of other people?”

She tilted her head sideways in thought for a moment. “Yes, I suppose that’s my answer.”

“But what if you don’t have anybody left to help you?”

The words left his mouth before he could think about them. When he looked at Sentry once more, he could see her looking extremely concerned at him.

“Lucius, we’ll always be there to help you.” Her voice was adamant as she said so, and she walked over to him, kneeling down to hug him tightly. “All of us care about you. More than you might ever know. Don’t you ever forget  that.”

He sat there, closing his eyes and soaking in these words.

When she finally released, he smiled back at her, his eyes watering at the sudden display of affection. “Thank you, Sentry.” His voice broke a bit as he spoke. “Thank you for… for all of that.”

“Of course.” She stood back up, towering over Lucius as he sat on the bed. “Is there anything else you need from me?”

“No, I’m alright now. I just need a bit of time to rest. Really rest. That fight took a lot out of me.”

With an understanding nod, she went to the door, softly closing it as she stepped out into the hallway.

As for Lucius, he let himself fall back onto the bed, thinking about the words Sentry told him and holding it close to his heart. They care for him, and he cares for them back. They’ll always be there to help him, just as he’ll always be there to help them.

Then he thought about Quill’s face again, of the worry he saw earlier that day, and of the story Sentry had told him.

And he made a plan. A simple one, but a plan.

-

As the door to the room opened and Quill walked in, Lucius could see the exhaustion on his face. The high elf pushed himself off the wall and tapped him on the shoulder from behind, causing him to jump a bit before relaxing.

“Hey,” he said as he walked to the bottom bunk bed.

“How did navigating with Thalia go?”

“It went alright. At least, I think it did.” He sat down on the mattress with a thump, his frame hunching over

“You think?” He leaned on the bed frame with what he hoped was a casual pose.

“I read the maps and all that right, got us through the leg of the trip she planned for today without much incident. But she was pretty quiet during all of it. Barely said anything besides asking for a few directions here and there.” He let out a deep sigh.

“I see…” Lucius kept quiet as he listened to him speak.

“When we finally got to where we planned, she dismissed me without even looking back. I tried to say good night to her, but she just stayed silent.” The same look of worry from before came over him once more. “I think… no, nevermind.”

“Do you want to talk about it with me, Birdie?”

Quill looked up at him with tired eyes at that.

“I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but… I’m here and available. And seeing as there’s nothing else to do today…”

He looked down at him, watching the Aarakocra consider the offer. Then, he watched as Quill scooted to the side, patting for Lucius to take a seat next to him.

The blonde did so, and watched as Quill considered his words.

“Thalia… I don’t think she likes me anymore.”

The sentence seemed to shock Lucius’s mind for a moment, stunning him before the Aarakocra continued.

“She seemed really distant. Like she didn’t even want to speak to me. The few times she did look at me, it felt like there was venom in her eyes, as if she wanted me to just go away and not come back.” He laughed bitterly. “I suppose it makes sense, though. I messed up really bad, didn’t I?”

“What, no you-”

“I let Bym die, and I did nothing to stop it. I’m the reason that he got killed. If only I paid attention to him instead of just focusing on Sentry.” His voice frazzled as he continued to speak. “No wonder Thalia hates me. She saw me help Sentry and do nothing for her crewmate. I wouldn’t be surprised if she decided to Brookstone us all because of my awful decisi-”

He couldn’t finish the word as Lucius held him tightly, hugging the man’s body close and firmly.

“You’re not the reason he got killed, Quill.” Lucius tried to hold his voice firm as he spoke. “It was entirely the fault of those Astral pirates. They’re the ones to blame. And you know Thalia doesn’t hate you, or any of us. She’s just… hurt, and grieving. All of us can push people away when we lose somebody we care for.

Lucius’s hug grew tighter around him as he said those words, remembering the days without Quill.

“Thalia just needs time. Time to deal with this, and to accept it. She’s dealt with things like this before in her line of work, and she knows how to move past it. All we need to focus on right now is getting to the place where she wants us to go and helping her with what she needs.”

He hugged even tighter. “So don’t you go putting yourself in danger to try and make it up to her. Don’t pull any huge stunts or sacrifice yourself just so the rest of us can leave. We all need you.”

I need you.

Lucius could feel a tear running down his face before he felt Quill’s claw on his arm. Looking down, he could see the Aarakocra looking up at him with an expression of shock at the sudden outpouring of affection.

Quickly, he brought his arms back to his side, rubbing the tears away from his face as he tried to recollect himself. “Ah, sorry about all that. I seemed to have gone a bit overboard, didn’t I?” He chuckled with a hitched voice. “But… really, Birdie, you don’t need to keep all that inside to yourself. If you feel like you can’t handle things on your own, I’ll be there to help you. I care about you a lot, you know?”

He smiled at Quill as the Aarakocra gave a soft smile back.

“I’m… I’m glad to know that, Lucius. Glad to know that you care about me as much as you do. And thank you for saying all of that to me. I really needed something like that today.” The high elf felt warmth in his heart hearing him, but he couldn’t help but notice that his gaze seemed to drift far off as well.

Concerned, he asked, “Is there something else you need to talk about?”

Quill spoke with a start. “Oh, well it’s nothing too important really, just… it’s… quite a lot to take in, you know. That you feel that way.”

It was at that moment that Lucius realized he had said I instead of We in the last part of his reassurances.

“Y-yes! I really care about you a lot! All of us do, you know?” His voice pitched high as he began to explain away what had happened. “You know that when I say ‘I,’ the rest of the party’s included in that as well. In fact, it was Sentry who asked me to do all this, you know!” Lucius could feel his face start to redden as he spoke.

“Actually, I’m feeling a bit tired right now, so I suppose we should both go to sleep. It’s been a long day, hasn’t it, Birdie?” He let out very forced laughter as he climbed onto the top bunk, smothering his face into the pillow as he hauled his body upwards.

“Now, let’s sleep, why don’t we?” he said with a muffled voice. “G-good night! Don’t let the Astral bedbuggies bite!”

The sound of a (supposedly) sleeping Lucius filled the room soon after that, the elf’s face flushed and his heart racing as he lay on the mattress. But the Aarakocra underneath him smiled at the words he had heard moments before, a thought passing through his mind as he drifted off into restful sleep.

I care about you, too, Lucius. As much as you care about me. I know you'll never forget that.

[somekidinacoma]

The Prince and the Raven 4

Chapter 1 here

Chapter 2 here

Chapter 3 here

Big thanks to @imyasart for the beautiful piece of art that inspired this story!*

-Present-day, in the Eastern Kindom of Sanders-

“The sun hasn’t even risen, V, why are we out here?” Roman asked tiredly, having been woken up from his pleasant dreams. He rubbed his eyes, trying to keep up with Virgil’s quick pace, which proved difficult when he could barely see the other.

“Well I can’t very well stretch my wings is broad daylight, can I?” Roman was still getting used to Virgil actually responding to him, something he never thought would actually happen. Getting used to the sarcasm constantly dripping from his voice seemed the biggest challenge of all. “And I figured if I did get caught, you could call the night guards off.”

“Yeah, that does make sense,” Roman spoke as he yawned, trying his best to pay attention to where Virgil was.

Soon enough, the two were outside, standing in the middle of the castle’s grassy courtyard. Virgil’s wings opened and closed in his anticipation for flying normally for the first time in four years. Virgil, too, was tired, but he needed to fly. The air on the ground was almost suffocating.

Just as Roman was going to ask hat as taking so long, he felt a strong gust of wind pushing him backward. He let out a grunt before looking to where Virgil stood, noticing that his friend was missing. The prince then looked towards the sky.

Virgil almost looked like an angel in Roman’s eyes. His wings pulled him higher and higher into the beautiful, starry sky. His skin glowed in the moonlight, giving him a beauty incomparable to anything Roman had ever seen.

Virgil tucked his wings in, leaning forward as to nosedive towards the ground. The air around him bent to his will, letting him fall faster and faster until he sprung his wings outwards, pulling him into a forward-flying position mere inches away from the ground. His hands dragged along the ground, the feeling of cool, dewy grass giving him a feeling of nostalgia, as it reminded him of flying with Patton.

Virgil turns himself around, pulling himself up once more before landing beside Roman, who stood with his mouth agape and eyes wide.

“You’re going to swallow insects,” Virgil commented with a laugh, finally letting himself relax. He watched Roman gulp, not quite letting himself stare at the beautiful man’s face. There were consequences to being in love with him now that he was returned to normal.

“Ah, right,” Roman, too, wouldn't let himself look at the man in front of him. “You seem so... natural when you’re up there. Happy, even. I think that’s the first time I've seen you smile.”

Virgil laughed awkwardly, bring his hand to the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess you could say I belong up there.”

****

“The two of you look exhausted” Logan commented upon his arrival to the castle gates.

“We are,” Virgil replied, regret and guilt laced in his voice as he looks towards Roman.

“But it’s completely alright,” Roman said way-to-cheerfully. “We should be able to make it to the border before sunset.”

“Then let us begin our journey!”

****

The journey to the border city, called Goldberg (after the famous knight that called the city home) seemed shorter than it had been. There was little talking, though they sang in short bursts of inspiration. Songs of famous bards such as Lady Grande and Lady Gaga, ballads by Sir Drake and King Sanders himself, all stuck themselves inside the travelers’ heads, bringing a light-hearted lull to their journey.

As they walked into the city, they searched for an inn to rest in for the night, and possibly a place to sit down and have a much-needed meal.

“I need a break,” Virgil sighed. “I’m not used to walking again yet. Could we sit for a while?”

“Of course!” Roman smiled at his pale companion before both of them turned away, blushes covering each of their faces.

As the trio sat at a bench, taking in the city’s people and culture, Virgil pulled at his clothes. His wings were smothered and pressed as close to his body as possible, making the too-small clothes far too uncomfortable for his liking. Virgil couldn’t help but think that the red and brown attire didn’t seem to be quite his colors, and the tight shirt and baggy pants didn’t match his skin tone very well.

Roman couldn’t help but notice Virgil’s discomfort and was quick to offer a way to fix it. “We should go shopping!”

Logan responded before Virgil got the chance to. “I agree. I believe we should stock up on food and drink before leaving in the morning.”

“That’s not exactly what I meant, pocket square,” Roman winked towards Virgil as they shared a giggle. “Virgil here doesn’t have any properly fitting clothes. What do you two say we fix that?”

****

-Present-day, in an unknown location-

“Get back here, you thief!” The town’s breadmaker chased the younger man, angry at his loss of profit.

“I’m so sorry!” The man with the light blue hair called back. He held onto the bread tightly, fear of going hungry for yet another day filling him up entirely.

Soon enough, the young man lost the breadmaker and found his way back to the old, abandoned house towards the outskirts of town. Unfortunately, the man called this broken-down shack of a house home. He took his cloak off, letting his hood fall so that his elvish ears poked out from his rats’ nest of blue hair.

“I’m back!” Patton Laith called into the house. Fairly quickly the other occupant of the house, a quick-moving, dark green snake with bright, yellow eyes, slithered up to the elf to grab his piece of the bread. 

Taglist:

@tinkslittlebelle

@icequeenoriginal

[concussed-to-pieces]

Mirror

Fandom: WWE/CZW

Pairing: Jon Moxley/Unnamed OFC, Dean Ambrose/Unnamed OFC

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Thirsty Crew, happy third of Halloween! A short, saucy tale in the spirit of the season, partially inspired by that “what if Dean and Jon met” ask. Tagging the usual suspects, @oraclegazes, @toxiicpop annnnnnd @hardcorewwetrash!

Enjoy!

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains consensual choking and mentions of previous abuse. Stay safe everyone!]

Mox was relatively certain that something had been put in his drink. Rather, an unwanted something, as opposed to the searing warmth of more rum. Stupid Sami, dragging him out to this stupid funhouse and then ditching him. Callihan was going to catch a boot to his stupid ass next time Jon was within kicking distance.

Right now though, he was thoroughly disoriented, the warped mirrors everywhere not mixing well with his already churning insides. He went to lean against one and found out the hard way that it wasn’t a mirror, but an empty frame hanging a foot off the floor. Moxley tripped through and hit the ground on the other side with a hard thud. His ribs protested loudly, reminding him of the reason why he was drunk in the first place. Duly noted, Jon raised his cup to his mouth and drained the contents.

“Oh gosh, are you okay?” That was a woman’s voice. Jon swung his head around blearily, trying to figure out where the noise had come from. A hand touched his own and he realized that she had knelt beside him. She was…damn. Mox felt his insides twist violently and it had nothing to do with his burgeoning nausea. “I knew I lost you back in that last room.” She continued, her words fading to background noise as he just kind of…stared up at her. What the hell was the term? Ennui? Déjà vu? Some French bullshit that Callihan would absolutely whip out if he felt like being an extra large dickhead. An impossible familiarity for someone that he'd never met.

She helped him stand, her strength surprising him a little. She actually draped his arm around her neck as she carried on talking and Mox carried on gawking at her. The red light of an Exit sign flickered in the half-dark, that was where she was leading him. He had been led to worse by uglier. Jon hadn’t heard a word she had said, but he did wish he hadn’t left his cup on the floor back there. He was almost certain there had been more to drink.

“There!” She announced happily as they emerged from the house of hell mirrors. Jon breathed a sigh of relief and then grimaced in pain, gripping his ribs tightly. “Dean, was that too much? You don’t look so good.” She said worriedly, accidentally brushing the cut on his forehead and then jumping when he flinched. “You’re hurt! Why didn’t you tell me? We need to get you home, c’mon, let’s--” She wrapped her arm around his side and Mox swore hoarsely, pushing her away as best as he could with one hand.

“Kitten?” That voice was familiar, but definitely for the wrong reason. Jon's mind felt like it was scraping on sandpaper as he tried to figure out why he knew that man's voice. “Kitten! You out here?”

The woman turned, looking behind them in confusion. “Dean? But I…”

She didn’t have long to worry because the other man was reacting the way any guy would react if he saw a strange, grubby weirdo pawing all over his girl. A fist cracked into Moxley’s jaw and he went ass over teakettle down the stairs, the back of his head slamming on the cement sidewalk. More than stars danced in front of his eyes, unconsciousness as irresistible as siren song.

Dealt with bigger and uglier.

Mox forced himself back up, one fist half-cocked while the other hand wrapped around his midsection to clutch his ribs. “Bring it, you fuck.” He spat. “Your girl was all over me!” Then, Jon was thoroughly bewildered and struck uncharacteristically silent when he moved into the weary fall twilight. Well, himself. He. Another…him. Double vision?  

The woman clung to the other him, the one she had called Dean, wide eyes fixed on Mox’s face. “Sonuvabitch.” Dean breathed. “What kinda’ sick joke is this shit?”

“What th’ actual fuck?” Mox asked conversationally, faced with a mirror image that mimicked his own incredulous expression. “You got my face. I forgot how fuckin’ ugly I was.” He grunted.

“So did I.” Dean snapped, obviously not in a great mood. “Kitten, what the hell happened in there?”

“I don’t know, we split up in that weird hallway and when I came out on the other side, I-I saw him on the ground and I thought…” Kitten’s voice faded uncertainly. “He looks just like you.”

“Before I got a few hot meals into me maybe.” Dean allowed grudgingly, a possessive hand stroking over Kitten’s hip.

And a regularly scheduled dicking. Mox smirked despite his discomfort.

“I mean, he looks just like you did. Do you have a younger brother?” Kitten asked.

“Nah. Only child.” Dean cut his eyes at Mox, who nodded in reply. “Both of us, I guess. So that still leaves the question: just who the hell are you?”

“Name’s Jon Moxley.” Jon announced grandly, like he wasn’t well on his way to drunk and half-dead. “Hardest scrappin’ mutt that th’ CZ can offer.”

Dean went pale.

Kitten left his side, hesitantly moving towards Moxley with one hand out like he was a skittish animal. Jon debated snapping his teeth, but he was fairly certain that Dean would crush his skull under his boot for acting out. So he stayed still, even when she touched his cheek. Even when she ran her hand over his hair. Even when she cupped his neck. “Y’ lucky. I don’t let jus’ anyone touch me.” He huffed.

She had tears in her eyes as she traced the wound on his forehead and it made Mox’s stomach drop out wrong.

“Th’ fuck’s a’matter with you?” He asked, “Shit, I ain’t that ugly.”

“What happened to you?” She answered his question with another, her voice barely a whisper.

“I had a fight. It’s kinda’ how I make a livin’.” Moxley answered brusquely, catching her hand and rubbing his stubbled cheek over the back of it. Her wedding band pressed into his skin, a hot line of simple metal. Not his girl. His wife. “Y’ got real soft hands.” Jon mumbled. “You oughta’ be swingin’ at me.”

“She can’t.” Dean said roughly. “She loves me. She loved me even when I looked like you, a thin fuckin’ mess fightin’ for my dinner every night.” He took Jon’s arm. “C’mon, we’re gettin’ you some food.”

“Ah, easy.” Mox shook Dean off of him, the bruises on his ribs chiming in angrily. “Kinda’ busted up here, man.”

“Sorry. I forgot.” The two of them were exactly the same height and it was incredibly strange for Jon to be scrutinized by eyes the same shade as his own. Dean appeared to dislike the sensation as well, looking away after a moment. “Kitten, you all set?”

…

They fed him. Actual food. A steak, even. Mox couldn’t have told anyone how they got to this restaurant or even when they had ordered. All he knew was there had been a caveman cut of meat that he had absolutely demolished while Dean and Kitten (is that her real name?) fed each other fries and watched him eat like a proud couple that had adopted their first pet.

Kitten actually patted him on the head at one point, cooing “good boy.” Jon felt his face flush, ripping another piece off the steak with a little more enthusiasm than necessary. “Isn’t he just the cutest?” Kitten asked Dean, who nodded surprisingly quick. “Look at him eat. What a sweet mutt.”

“You like him, don’t you?” Dean murmured, popping another French fry into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “You always did like the busted-up shit.” He leaned over the table and looped his index finger through the D-ring on Mox’s collar. “Well mutt, my gal seems t’ have taken a fuckin’ shine t’ ya’.” It was strange seeing his smirk on someone else’s mouth. “Y’ wanna’ come home with us? Sleep at the foot of the bed?”

Jon looked away, knowing his face must be bright red at this point.

Dean chuckled. “Only teasin’, man. You buy into it too easy.”

“I-I knew that!” Mox snapped, trying to hide his stammer. “I was jus’ playin’ along t�� make your girl happy n’ shit. Shut up.” Kitten patted his hair again, lacing her fingers through his mess of curls to scratch his scalp. Mox shuddered all over, sucking in a breath.

“Thank you for playing along.” She said softly.

“I…uh, I--a-anytime. Ain’t like it’s a big deal.” Oh God, God what the hell was wrong with him? This was teenage behavior. He’d grown out of this defensive attitude ages ago (or so he thought) in favor of adopting more of a nonchalant façade, unfazed by whatever favors did or did not come his way. She tugged lightly on his collar and Jon groaned without meaning to.

“Don’t mess with him, Kitten.” Dean said, his tone almost paternal. “You remember how rough it was for me. That’s naughty shit.” Through his daze, Mox suddenly noticed the faint rub marks from a collar on Dean’s neck. They were half-hidden by the lapels of his leather jacket, but still visible to Jon. “Hey, she’s good to me and I indulge her.” Dean continued gruffly, obviously aware of Jon’s goggle-eyed stare. “You wanna’ indulge? I’ll make sure it’s uh, worth your while.”

Jon swallowed hard, shooting a look at Kitten.

…

Worth your while.

The sheets felt strange, slippery-smooth on Jon’s exhausted body. How the hell did I get here? Kitten was tucked into his side, pressing kisses to his cheek and neck eagerly while Dean looked on. “No biting.” Dean warned, and Jon rolled his eyes.

“Because I make a habit outta’ that shit, right? Fuck you man.” Moxley said, no real heat behind his words. Dean chuckled, reaching out to stroke Kitten’s hair.

“He’s gonna’ be good for you, Kitten. Are you gonna’ be good for me?”

“Yes, yes.” Kitten whispered, her eyes fixed on Dean. Jealousy curled a nasty fist in Jon’s stomach and he grinned in an effort to dispel it, catching Kitten’s chin in his fingers and giving her a long, sloppy kiss.

“Hey if you’re gonna’ be touchin’ on me, you’d better look at me with those fuckin’ pretty eyes of yours.” He muttered when they parted, his breathing a little harder than he would have liked.

She looked at him then, really looked at him, and Jon knew he was hooked. Those lips curved into a little pout, eyes half-lidded while she studied him from under her lashes. Moxley had never felt more scrutinized in his life.

“Kitten…” Dean reached out to pet her again. Jon growled in warning without actually meaning to, immediately feeling embarrassed. “It’s alright. I know how it is.” Dean said simply, familiar blue eyes a little too bright. “Does the same thing to me. Wanna’ keep her close and safe, y’know?”

“I don’t even know her.” Jon shot back, flustered.

Dean shrugged, his tongue poking out from between his teeth when he grinned. “Whiny bastard. Almost as bad as Crowe.” Mox somehow knew that Crowe was this version’s Callihan, somehow.

Kitten mouthed at his ear and Jon flinched in surprise, wrapping his fingers around her throat. Her pulse beat rapidly beneath his touch, like a trapped bird. Jon felt dirty all of a sudden.

Her hand covered his own on her neck, holding it there when his grip loosened. “Easy, Kitten.” Dean’s voice rasped a little. “You’ll scare him.”

“I ain’t scared of anythin’.” Mox growled. “Your bitch wants me to choke her, I’ll fuckin’-” Dean was on him in a second, cutting off the rest of his sentence by crushing Mox’s head against the comforter.

“You, do not call her a bitch. She’s no one’s bitch. Especially not mine.” Dean’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You can call her Kitten. Anythin’ else is gonna’ earn you an asswhuppin’.”

“Look, I didn’t…it’s just what I say, man. You gotta’ know this isn’t the first time I’ve uh, been. In. This kinda’ situation.” Jon tiptoed around actually apologizing once Dean let him go, his hackles up after that rough treatment. “Chill th’ fuck out with that look, Kitten.” He grumbled. Kitten was begging for a kiss, her pretty face all pensive like she thought he would deny her.

She apparently couldn’t take a hint, climbing into his lap and taking a kiss from him instead.

“Oh, that’s how it’s gonna’ be, huh?” Mox gasped. “Grind against me then, like a good girl. C’mon, do it. Do it while your man’s watchin’. He’ll love ya’ for it, promise.” Moxley leaned in to whisper, “Bet you’d love it if I pumped his kitten fulla’ my come, wouldn’t you? While he’s right over there.”

Her wide-eyed look in reply made him worry momentarily that he might have misjudged the situation, but then she smiled at him. “I missed you.” She said sweetly. Jon’s brow furrowed in confusion.

It felt like an eternity of exploration, his shaking hands mapping out miles of soft skin while Dean (the absolute pervert, Mox was quickly discovering) egged him on. What kind of guy aside from a pervert would tell another man to touch his girl? And Christ, Kitten was all kinds of into it, rolling against Jon’s body and squirming in his lap enough to actually get him hard.

Jon had found on more than one occasion that these weird…couple threesomes threw him off his game to the point that his erection would fade. All the men wanted was for him to fuck their girls, and it always had to be in a specific way, specific position. They would orchestrate the act until that was what it was. An act, with Jon playing the part of a mindless, filthy fighter, hungry and angry and willing to take out the pain on whoever he could.

It wasn’t a hard role to play. Jon was honestly bored to tears of it. Snap his teeth, show the whites of his eyes, tilt his head too far to the side. Girls liked pulling on his collar like they had the control and he let them think they did for a little while. As long as their boyfriends would permit.

“Now fuck her.”

Everything was so damn ugly all the time. It was exhausting playing to whatever dark, nasty desires people wanted to act out. Mox couldn’t exactly afford to be picky and it showed in his illustrious line of seedy hookups.

He would come back to CZ afterwards, immediately shower and try to scrub the wrong out of his skin. The feeling stayed no matter how hard he scraped and he begged, he begged for more time in the ring; a way to escape the cycle of filth through honest violence, no need for the pantomime of emotion, sick of the knee-jerk reaction of bile that surged in his throat whenever a couple approached him.

“Now fuck her.”

He was no different than the women they shoved into the ring to distract him. He had known that for a while.

But this…this was weird. He had been picked up off the ground, fed. This room was clean, no piles of trash or laundry in the corners. For a rare minute, Jon felt as though he wouldn’t wake up with his kidneys missing. Might have something to do with his bad habit of talking to himself while he jerked off. Dean’s voice did sound exactly like his, after all. If he closed his eyes he could even pretend that he was alone with this girl. This woman.

Kitten.

“Jon, are you alright?” Kitten asked gently, making him start. His eyes flew open.

“I uh, yeah, m’ fine.” Jon mumbled, burying his face in her neck. Where the hell did her clothes go? “Gotta’ job to do, right? I mean, how much did it cost to feed me?” He tried to joke, the distraught look on her face catching him off guard. “Shit, don't be all weird about this, Kitten.”

“Oh, you done it now.” Dean grunted. Jon was about to ask him what he meant and then Kitten’s hands were undoing his jeans.

“Wait, uh...” Jon loathed how pitiful he sounded, his voice all ragged. Kitten stopped the second he spoke (and what a relief that was, usually they didn’t), looking up at him. “Y’ can’t. Not yet, okay? I-I ain’t gonna be able to, uh...perform, un’nerstan’? Once you start manhandlin’ me it’s kinda’ done. I get…my brain fucks me over and then I’m no good for anyone. Don’t wanna’ ruin your fun, Kitten.”

She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

Mox gritted his teeth, exhaling through them. “Fuckin’ ‘course you don’t. Like no one’s ever touched you when you don’t wanna’ be touched.” He shot back, angrier than he meant.

“Oh. You…you don’t want me to touch you?”

“No, it’s just that I’ve had this shit happen a lot of times an’ I don’t wanna’ go full useless on you.”

“Necessity.” Dean murmured, making Mox flinch. He’d almost forgotten about his doppelganger. “Kitten, I’ve talked with you about that shit. The ugly shit.”

“Oh no, you too?” Kitten asked, framing Jon’s face with her hands. The distress in her eyes made Jon wish he was a better liar. “Jon, I’m so sorry.”

“Shut up.” Mox said half-heartedly. “Jus’ don’t touch me below the belt til’ you’re really ready t’ fuck and it’ll…” It’ll what? Sort itself out? It’ll be okay? Christ Moxley, you fucked this up. “You didn’t know. Don’t apologize.”

She brought his face close, resting his cheek on her chest while she stroked his hair. Jon, unused to this gentle treatment, went still. “I’m sorry you’ve been hurt by people like Dean and I.” Kitten said softly.

“None of th’ couples I’ve been with are anythin’ like either of ya’.” Mox took a chance and grabbed one of her wrists, bringing her hand down to stroke over the thick bulge of his cock. “Promise, this one’s all for you Kitten. But gettin’ me hard is easy. Keepin’ me hard is the part that’ll do ya’ in.” He warned, groaning when she gripped him firmly through his jeans.

“I’ll make you a fuckin’ bet.” Dean announced. “I bet that Kitten can get you off before she comes. I fuckin’ bet you, Jonny-boy.”

“I mean, that sounds great.” Jon replied reluctantly. “I just ain’t gettin’ my hopes up is all.”

“Will you let me try?” Kitten asked, clearly excited about the idea.

Jon grumbled for a minute, running a hand through his own hair in an effort to hide how flustered he was. “Fine, I guess. But if-”

“No buts. I never lose.” Dean shot him a predatory grin. “Never.”

“Lie back, please?” Kitten requested and Mox didn't want to be rude. She unzipped his jeans, pushing his shirt up out of the way so she could kiss the bruising on his ribs. Mox grunted, shutting his eyes tightly and willing his erection to stay, for fuck’s sake please. Her mouth, her mouth-

He hadn’t been expecting her mouth. Normally he got a quick jerking session and then it was on to more important things. It had been ages since a mouth graced his cock; hot, wet mouth warming already heated skin, lips pressing to the sensitive head in a soft little kiss. Oh fuck. Jon writhed underneath her, his breath coming in short, rasping pants. Oh fucking God. He needed to be quiet. No one liked when he was loud.

“Gotcha’.” Dean smirked, his fingers tangling in Kitten’s hair and pushing her to take more of Mox’s cock into her mouth. Jon propped himself up on his elbows, his arms trembling while he watched this beautiful woman suck his cock. “That’s right, you get an eyeful ‘cuz she’s got a mouthful. Look at her fuckin’ go, Jonny-boy. Bet that feels great, doesn’t it? Bet you’d love to come down my little Kitten’s throat. But you know what’d be even better?” Dean asked, urging Kitten down until her nose brushed Mox’s pelvis.

Jon’s customary swear cracked and broke when her tongue swirled around the base of his cock.

“It’s even better when you come in her cunt. She milks a dick for everything that it’s got, don’t ya’ Kitten? And she’s always so fuckin’ wet. She drips down her thighs an’ she tastes so fuckin’ good, Jon, she’s delicious.” Dean half-groaned. “Want to fuck her?”

Kitten pulled her mouth off of Mox’s cock, stroking him and looking up at him with those pretty, pretty eyes. Jon swallowed audibly. “Yeah.” He whispered.

“What?” Dean asked teasingly. “Couldn’t hear ya’. Gonna’ have t’ speak up.”

“I said yeah, dammit. Don’t make this shit weird.” Jon snarled, fully aware of how ludicrous that statement was as he glared at the man who looked exactly like him. “Yeah, I want to fuck your girl. Okay? Better?”

“I mean, that’s great an’ all, but I ain’t in charge here.” Dean’s grin had somehow widened. “Better ask the gal between your legs.”

Jon swallowed again, his mouth unusually dry. His tongue didn’t seem to want to cooperate while Kitten was still working his cock, her eye contact making Mox’s stomach tighten. “W-Would ya’…uh, consider maybe…” He trailed off, clearing his throat. “Listen, ya’ know what I want so don’t fuck with me, Kitten.” He huffed. “It’s your choice.”

“Do you want me?”

“…I guess I do. A little. M’ curious, okay?” Mox allowed. “Y’ got a nice mouth an’ your man did make a fuckin’ bet. You don’t want him to lose, do you?” He continued, his smirk coming back as he decided on his course of action.

Kitten’s reply came in the form of a thoroughly unimpressed look, but she gamely nodded all the same. “How do you usually…?”

“Normally the boyfriend tells me what to do. I uh, I got no complaints about you ridin’ me, if you’re into that. But it don’t matter t’ me either way.” Mox had the hardest time trying to phrase it nonchalantly, trying to make it sound like he really didn’t give a damn.

“Remember Kitten, he comes before you.” Dean instructed her.

Kitten must have felt Jon’s cock twitch hungrily because she glanced up at him, smiling. “You got it.” She moved up over him, her hands on his shoulders.

“W-Wait, condom-”

“Fuck that.” Dean growled, latching onto Kitten’s hips and settling her down on Jon’s cock. “You fuck her raw or not at all, mutt.” His teeth snapped in an eerily familiar manner on the last t.

Kitten crooned in delight when she finally rested flush on his pelvis. Jon made a choking noise, feeling her twitch and shudder on his dick. “Hah.” His breath left his lungs all at once like he’d been punched in the stomach. No wonder this guy married her, he thought dazedly. “Kit--”

“Ain’t she the greatest?” Dean said conversationally. “’Course, it’s not hard t’ be a tight fit when you’re sportin’ hardware like me an’ Jon, right Kitten?”

“He feels so good, Dean!” Kitten cried, her nails clawing at Jon’s shoulders. “He’s stretching me like you do, it's so good-!” She threw her head back and Jon grabbed her hips.

“Just scream my name an’ I’ll do whatever th’ fuck ya’ want.” Jon snarled. “C’mon Kitten.”

“God Jon, oh God-” She whimpered, making Dean groan.

“That ain’t fuckin’ screamin’, pussycat.” Mox fucked up into her fast and rough, his injured ribs forgotten. “I want--you--t’ scream, Kitten.” He demanded, one hand hovering at her neck. “Scream for me, scream for ya’ mutt, do it-”

Kitten keened his name and Jon’s hand slammed shut on her throat, robbing her of her breath. Her cunt slicked anew and Mox could feel her gush hot and wet all over his cock. “Better get me off before y’ pass out, Kitten.” He growled with a sinister smile. Girls liked it when he played the villain and Kitten was clearly no exception, her hips rocking wildly in an effort to render Jon powerless. And God, it was absolutely working. Her little whimpers and whines fighting their way past his hand, the way her pussy gripped his cock even tighter, the way her eyes rolled back…

Dean slipped behind her, resting his chin on her shoulder and reaching around to play with her breasts. “You gonna’ come, Kitten? I know you want to, but we promised Jon.” He sang. Kitten gave a soft hiccup of despair that traveled down the length of Jon’s arm to pound mercilessly in his groin. “How’s she feel, Jonny-boy?”

“You lucky son of a bitch.” Jon hissed through his teeth. “Incredible. She’s incredible, Kitten, Jesus fuckin’ Christ--”

“Little different from what you’re used to, huh? I toldja’, she’s the best.” Dean grinned. “Kitten, m’ gettin’ antsy. Wanna’ speed this up?”

Kitten actually started working in circles on Jon’s dick, her pelvis angling in a manner that seemed designed to wring Jon's sounds free. Mox’s hand gripped even tighter on her throat, his own breath stuttering at the fucked-out look in her eyes. “Oh Kitten, Kitten, fuck.” He muttered, “I’m gonna’ come-”

“Come in her, do it, do it.” Dean goaded, one hand moving up to cover Jon’s on her neck. “You love it, I know you love it but you can’t come yet. Not until I’m fillin’ you up, Kitten.” He breathed, his smirk firmly in place while he held eye contact with Jon.

The last thread of his control snapped and Jon snarled at Dean, releasing Kitten’s throat and gripping her firmly by the back of the neck instead. He tugged her down until her chest pressed to his own, their foreheads barely touching. “You’re amazing.” He breathed. Kitten licked her lips, her eyes half-lidded and moans issuing from her mouth as he continued to fuck her. “You deserve th’ fuckin’ world.” Mox paused, then said haltingly, “If...If I ever get someone like you, I promise I’ll take care of ‘em. Keep ‘em safe.”

“Thank you.” Kitten sighed, resting her head on his chest. “Come for me, please Jon, please…” The desperate little mewl she let out was what killed Jon, and he crushed her hips against his own so he could bury his cock in her as deeply as possible. Jon's teeth gritted hard enough to make his jaw ache, desperate for something to bite to stifle the noise when he came.

Kitten gasped for breath, her hips shuddering while he emptied himself into her. Jon kissed her hungrily, his teeth shut tight against her mouth so he didn't do something he might regret. Moxley was only aware of Dean lifting her off of him when she suddenly wasn't kissing him anymore, the other man murmuring something to Kitten in a husky tone.

“Thank you.” Kitten said softly, her voice frayed. “Thank you, Jon. Sleep good.”

Jon grabbed for her hand frantically, his fingers lacing through her own. “Wait.” He begged. “Please wait. I…Kitten, please…”

Despite his hold on her, she seemed to be getting further and further away. Her voice was barely audible when she spoke again, the world fading out around him.

“I’ll see you again, Jon…”

…

“…ley? Mox! Yo, Moxley!” A smack to his head startled Jon awake and he snapped his teeth wildly. “Hey easy! It’s just me, man. Been lookin’ everywhere for you.” Callihan put his hands up defensively. “Couldn’t find you. Didja’ fall or somethin’?”

“Ki…” Whatever the name was, it slipped from Jon’s brain before he could fully latch onto it. “Sami.” He grabbed the other man’s shirt. “Did you see anyone else around?” He knew he sounded too desperate, but he didn’t really care. His dream (his dream?) was vanishing rapidly from his memory. Already, Mox felt dumb for quizzing Sami.

“No? I’m pretty sure you an’ I were the only ones here. Why, somethin’ happen?” Sami asked curiously.

Jon couldn’t remember why it mattered. His ribs ached, his head hurt, his mouth was dry and he just wanted to go to sleep. “Never mind. Fuck. Fuck. Get me outta’ here, man.” He pleaded, covering his face with his hands. “Wanna’ leave.”

“Alright man. Let’s go home.” Sami agreed, concern evident in his voice. Once he’d gotten Moxley upright, he pulled the other man to lean on his shoulder. “Mox, are-”

“I’m pretty sure my head’s fucked, Sami. Should prob’ly see a doc. To…tomorrow.” Jon mumbled thickly. “I ain’t never lettin’ you drag me to another one of these fuckin’ mirror houses again.” He glanced at a mirror on their way by and caught his reflection winking at him. He wearily flipped it off. “Fuck you, buddy.”

“Talkin’ to yourself again, Mox?” Callihan chuckled.

“…yeah, I guess I am.”

[jessiewritesthings]

I Only Have Eyes For You

Steve Harrington x Reader

I based this off the song I Only Have Eyes For You by The Flamingos. Enjoy, and please send feedback! x 

Y/N sighed, the balmy summer air sticky against your bare back. You had been lying in the sun with Steve for what felt like hours, but what couldn’t have been more than 30 minutes. The grass prickled your skin slightly, but you welcomed it in a discomforting comfort sort of way. Steve laid on his back, his wayfarers shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun. The pair of you spent many of your days like this – lazing around the Harrington’s backyard, dipping in the pool when necessary just to lie in the summer heat all day. Every morning you’d wake up, make yourself a strong cup of coffee before skating over to Steve’s. Sometimes you would make your way into Hawkins, goofing around as Steve pushed you along on your skateboard. Sometimes, you would take out your sketchpad - or if you were feeling particularly artistic – an easel and oil paints, and let the smell of the trees and sounds of the birds inspire you. Sometimes, you would both sit around an old boom box, listening to a variety of music – both new and old – and have discussions about what each other thought was best. On the odd occasion, you would discuss the future, although the future was a touchy subject for the both of you. The thought of your summer haze ending scared the both of you, and neither wanted to admit it.

“Y/N, just admit it. Sister Sledge absolutely knocked it out of the park with He’s the Greatest Dancer. We Are Family just isn’t as good, face it,” Steve said with a relaxed grin. You had been disagreeing over songs for three days now – you had agreed that it was only right to throw a party to celebrate the end of summer. With Steve’s parents out of town, you had suggested he have it at his own house. Steve had agreed, but on one condition – the music had to be perfect. You had enlisted the help of Jonathan, who was ready to make the required mixtapes as soon as you had your chosen list. Unsurprisingly, it was turning out to be the hardest job of all.

“Fine. If I can’t have We Are Family then I want Back to Nature,” you replied, a slight huff in your tone.

Raising an eyebrow, Steve shrugged. “I can handle that,” he said as he scribbled down the name of the song and the artist for Jonathan.

You watched as he quickly wrote something else down, before covering it with his arm. “Don’t forget to add Girls Just Want to Have Fun. There’s nothing better to let your hair down to,” you said, getting up off the grass and untying your hair from its ponytail to mimic Cyndi Lauper. Steve watched you over the top of his wayfarers, that all too familiar feeling budding in his chest. Your long y/h/c hair unravelled in waves down your back, glinting in the sun.

“Oh, I’d never deny myself the opportunity to see you show off your sweet moves, y/l/n,” Steve replied with a laugh.

Smiling, you walked over to the pools edge and discarded your oversized white t-shirt. Dipping your toes into the pool, you sighed – the cool water was a welcome change from the heat.

“What about Let’s Dance?” Steve asked as you dove into the pool. For a few private moments, Steve allowed himself to admire you – how could you be so beautiful and be so oblivious to it? It wasn’t the first time Steve had seen you in a swimsuit, or in such a state of relaxed freedom. Your lengthy friendship with the Harrington boy meant that you never actually put thought into your appearance around him. You just… were. With Steve, it was easy – you never worried whether he would think you looked pretty, or if your hair was flat enough. Granted, you didn’t really give any boys the satisfaction of caring. If they didn’t like you as you came then there wasn’t much hope for them. Steve knew all of this about you, yet he still seemed dumbfounded by your natural beauty whenever it was this close to him.

Steve’s question registered as you hit the surface of the water, and you poked your head over the edge of the pool as you answered. “Always, Harrington. Always.” Pushing yourself off the pool wall, you leaned back into the water, floating at the surface as you gazed at the clouds. Your mind wandered, thinking about shapes in the sky, thinking about music that you liked to dance to. Thinking about one song in particular that you would dance to with a lover. Closing your eyes, you hummed along to the music in your head.

My love must be a kind of blind love; I can’t see anyone but you.

Your state of temporary bliss came crashing down as Steve jumped into the pool, bringing you under with him.

“Harrington!” you shouted, laughing as you wiped the water from your eyes. Steve’s hair slicked to his forehead, water lapping his chest. You were aware of a slight stutter in your chest – your breathing stalled for a fraction of a second.

“Sorry, y/n, I just couldn’t help myself,” a mischievous grin crossing his face. You knew that face – it was a challenge.

“Oh no, no you don’t,” you shrieked as Steve lifted you up and dunked you back in the water. His hands moved along your bare back, your black one piece creating a statement. Long, deft fingers trailed along your spine, and goose bumps rose across your skin. Water dripped from your nose as you turned to look at Steve, your hands absentmindedly finding their way to his chest. Beneath your fingertips you could feel the steady drumming of his heart, beating away unawares to the increase of your own.

Swallowing, you met his eyes. He looked ready to say something – a big confession – but you cut him off before he could open his mouth.

“You’ve got plenty boogers, Harrington,” you giggled, giving him a light splash as you made your way out of the pool. Sitting down on the closest sun lounger, you watched as Steve did a few laps in the pool. His tanned body moved swiftly though the water, strong arms tensing as he pulled himself through the water. You treasured little moments like these. With summer coming to a close, your hazy days would soon be ending, and then real adulthood would inevitably have to begin. A small part of you played with the fantasy that Steve would be the one – that Steve was your knight in shining armour. You told yourself that life would be easier if that was the case, but deep down you knew it was based on more than that. You were best friends. You were yin and yang. Your personalities could not be further apart, your interests, you didn’t even like many of the same foods. And yet, there was this feeling that together, you were a whole. You worked better together, things just made sense.

Walking over to your previous spot on the grass, you fetched your sketchpad out from your backpack and returned to the sun lounger. Steve was laying on the ground now, water slowly seeping into the concrete around him. A lazy grin was spread across his face, eyes closed as he listened to the music from the boom box. This is Radio Clash played in the background as you started to sketch Steve. His arms were spread out and the water made him look like a concrete angel. The two of you remained in silence for some time, the only sound coming from the boom box and the scratching of your pencils. Steve had moved back to the grass, adding songs to the list every now and then. Your brows furrowed with intent – once you started sketching you had to finish it or chance the fact that you might not ever find it again.

Finally, you put the pencils down, holding the sketchpad away as you evaluated the drawing. Steve was your favourite person to draw – no, he was your favourite anything to draw.

“Well, let me see, y/l/n,” Steve asked. Handing him the pad, a slight blush rose to your cheeks. When had that ever happened?

“Wow… y/n. This is… I mean, you’ve drawn me before, but this one is different. It’s like I’m really in it,” he said, voice close to a whisper.

“Sometimes feels like it,” you replied. “I’d say it’s my best one yet,” you said cheerfully.

“You can say that again, y/l/n. Please tell me you’re going to keep drawing and painting once summer is over,” Steve pleaded. “Your talent is too good to waste.”

“I’m not sure it’s what my father has in mind for his only daughter, but we’ll see,” you replied with a tired smile. “Speaking of, I should probably head home. Mom isn’t home this weekend and I’ll have to make dinner.”

Pulling on your t-shirt and denim shorts, you threw all your stuff into your backpack, before retrieving your skateboard from the backdoor.

“I’ll drop the list off to Jonathan tonight,” Steve said. “I’ve got to pick Dustin up, anyway. Says he has an emergency in the girl department.”

You laughed, board in one hand. “Dustin is one of a kind.”

“Sure is. So, I’ll see you tomorrow night?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, what time should I come? I can help you set up.”

“I got it under control, thanks y/n. Make sure you’re here around nine, though. Can’t have you missing our impressive music line up!” Steve grinned.

“You got it, Harrington,” you said, turning around to leave. “Best party of the year!” you yelled with a wave, as you rounded the corner of the house. Steve watched you leave, a foreign feeling coursing through him.

-

The party was in full swing when you arrived a little after nine. Drunk teenagers spilled out on to the back lawn, and there were several people milling around the pool. It was only a matter of time before someone ended up in it. Walking in through the backdoor, you were met with Danny and Chrissy coupled up already, hands everywhere. Smiling a hello, you made your way through to the kitchen, hoping to get your hands on any sort of beer.  

“y/n! You don’t know how happy I am to see you,” Steve exclaimed, wrapping his arms around you in a warm hug. You smiled, lingering for a few seconds before Steve pulled back, handing you a beer.

“Oh Steve, you know me so well,” you smiled.

As if on cue, Girls Just Want to Have Fun started playing. With a pointed look at Steve you took off to the dancefloor, your hair already loose in preparation for the dance. Nancy took your hand as you entered the room, and you both danced, singing the lyrics as you went. Steve watched on, his heart swelling as his eyes followed you across the room. You moved your body so gracefully, and he found himself asking how someone like you made it into his life. You looked up to see Steve watching you, smiling at him. You tried to coax him onto the dancefloor, but to no avail – he was having a far better time watching you. When Steve’s song came on next you looked at him, furrowing your brows. He laughed, making his way over to you to dance to He’s the Greatest Dancer. The two of you moved together, blissfully unaware of any others around you. The night continued like this – the dancefloor always consisting of you and Steve. Nancy and Jonathan came and went, as did many others, but it might have just been you and Steve all night, for all you noticed. In a drunken moment you hugged Jonathan, praising his work on the mixtapes.

“Wait until you hear the last song,” he had replied, a knowing smirk crossing his face. You hadn’t thought anything of it, and instead excused yourself – all that dancing made for hot and thirsty work.

Glass of water in hand, you made your way out to the treehouse in Steve’s backyard. It was hidden from view, and for this you were extremely grateful. For a few peaceful moments you enjoyed the stillness of the night, the stars that peaked through the tree tops. The stillness was interrupted by someone clambering up the ladder to the treehouse, puffing slightly.

“Why are you hiding, y/n?” Steve asked.

“I’m not hiding. I just needed a breather. It’s hard work being the life of the party,” you teased.

“Hey!” Steve retorted, as he nudged your elbow while lying down next to you.

“Don’t deny it! My dancing skills are out of this world.”

“You’re alright, y/l/n. I think I take the cake for this one, though,” Steve replied. You laughed, slapping his arm lightly. He grabbed your hand, holding it as he ran his fingers along yours.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

“Stars,” you replied, absentmindedly.

“What about them?”

“It just seems like… like they’re closer tonight.” You had been transfixed on them ever since you had made it to the treehouse.

“Maybe they are,” Steve whispered.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked, returning the question. Steve shifted his head to look at you. You gulped, heart rate increasing.

“I’ve been thinking about the same thing for quite some time now,” Steve answered, not taking his eyes off you.

“What would that be?” your voice growing smaller. He linked his fingers with yours, still gazing your way.

“I’ve been thinking what it might be like to kiss you.”

Your chest exploded, thudding so loud you thought it would be audible over the sound of the music. Turning your head to look at Steve, you smiled.

“What do you think it might be like?”

Steve looked at you thoughtfully. “I think it would be like… lazy summer days in the sun. Soft, relaxing, natural. But it would be like dancing with you to our favourite songs… exciting and passionate and thrilling. Or like watching the stars.”

Smiling, you leant over to Steve and pressed your lips to his. His lips burnt like a fire that you could never get enough warmth from. They unleashed a pit of flames in your stomach, your whole body engulfed in Steve and his lips, his lips. His hands pulled you closer, clasped around your hips and in your hair. His mind was racing finally finally finally and he relished at the feel of your lips on his and your hands on him, and the beating of his heart that told him that this was real and it was here, happening, right now.

“Steve,” you whispered, pulling away, breath heavy.

“That was everything I thought it would be, and so much more,” he whispered.

In the background, you heard the strings of new song take place. It was slower in pace, signifying the end of the night.

Are the stars out tonight (sha bop sha bop) I don’t know if it’s cloudy or bright

“Hey… it’s my song,” you whispered, still pressed close to Steve.

I only have eyes for you dear

“I happen to quite like this song too,” Steve replied, pressing another kiss to your lips. Your breath quickened in your throat, unsure about what he was trying to say.

The moon may be high But I can’t see a thing in the sky I only have eyes for you

“Steve, I… how did you know?” you asked, a small tear threatening the corner of your eye. His hand ran along your arm, giving you goose bumps yet again.

“I have my ways,” he grinned. “y/n… I know you’re worried about what will happen when summer ends. But I’m here. Just a simple boy, telling a beautiful girl that he is in love with her. We can worry about the rest another day,” he whispered, pressing kisses to your lips, your neck – anywhere he could.

Your stomach somersaulted. Steve loved you, and you loved him. Why had it taken you this long to figure out? Yin and yang, you thought. There was never a chance of you being apart.

“I love you, too, Harrington,” you murmured, pressing your lips to his again. I love you I love you I love you.