#literally holding both past and present in the palm of their hands

[heydragonfly]

alright i know lots of folks don’t love the chaos redesign and some folks are saying they look like meg which like i get, esp with the singular wing but to me? they look like Nyx. they look like they molded their new appearance in the image of their daughter, who they’ve recently reconnected with after aeons of separation. like they have not just emotionally become more the parent of Nyx, but physically mirrored this parenthood, this embodied connection, by choice

(this relationship which they’ve now lost, leaving them alone, again)

(until a certain princess of the dead arrives)

[jellyfishbug]

! dealer with benefits chris headcannons by jellyfishbug

warning. contains nsfw /smutty ones MDNI, mentions of smoking, swearing, pet names

dealerwb!chris who . . . is affectionate with you in really simple ways; throwing your legs to rest on his while he's driving with you (and/or resting his hand carelessly on your upper thigh), resting his hand in your back pocket when walking next to you, resting his chin on top of your head when he's standing behind you.

dealerwb!chris who . . . never lets you pay for your weed. sometimes you bicker back and protest, considering it's literally how he makes money, but he insists that he's got enough to spoil you. "no one's short on money, ma, let me take care of you."

dealerwb!chris who . . . loves when you wear his clothes, especially his jersey's or boxers. any time you leave his place, you're wearing something of his.

dealerwb!chris who . . . doesn't ever let you go to a party alone. he's meeting you there and driving you home. "people are fuckin' weird n' i wanna keep my girl safe."

dealerwb!chris who . . . keeps pink rolling papers just for you. partly because you love pink, but also because it helps him keep your pre rolls separate from other clients.

dealerwb!chris who . . . kisses you stupid. your cheek, lips, forehead, hand, side of your head- whenever the opportunity presents itself, he's kissing you.

dealerwb!chris who . . . loves to post you on his private instagram all the time. when it comes to posting product on his public account story, he usually has you pose with it covering your face partially. When asked about, he just shrugs and says, "just like showin' you off."

dealerwb!chris who . . . buys you random things so he has something for you when he sees you, even if you're not buying from him. A drink, a pack of cigs, etc. He just likes having something on him to give to you.

nsfw

dealerwb!chris who . . . is packing.

dealerwb!chris who . . . is dominant, but loves to let you ride him in the driver's seat of his car. His hands on your hips to guide you, your fingers tugging at the curls at the back of his neck, your head knocked back and your eyes rolling in the back of his head as he mutters curses and encourages/praises you. "fuck, so good, baby, just like that. . ."

dealerwb!chris who . . . loves giving you head. his ringed fingers are gripped tightly around your upper thighs to keep your hips on the bed despite your attempts to arch your back, and your hands are tangled messily in his hair, your legs shaking at the sensation of him groaning against you once you tug a fistful of hair slightly harder. his lips and chin are slick with spit as he raises his head to grin at you, "tastes so good, ma. could eat you forever." dealerwb!chris who . . . loves high sex. something about you sinking to your knees below him, glancing up at him through your lashes with pretty red eyes as you palm him through his shorts. he loves the faint taste of tree on your tongue as he ducks down in a twist to kiss you while he's fucking you from behind, your back pressed against his chest as you both pant and moan breathlessly.

dealerwb!chris who . . . loves when you dig your nails into him. wether it's faint nail marks on his biceps or long, deep scratches on his back, he's taking slutty pictures of them in the mirror, grinning madly when he feels the sting of your nails breaking the skin, almost harshly enough to bruise. "c'mon, sweetheart, show me how good it feels with your hands."

dealerwb!chris who . . . 's favorite positions are doggy and missionary. he loves to have you bent over the bathroom counter, hand resting at your hip whilst the other holds your hair tightly in his fist, grinning at your blissed out expression in the mirror as drool seeps past your lips. alternatively, he loves when you're laid down below him, bottom lip between your teeth as your hands brush against his lower stomach to grab onto something to contain yourself as he's slamming into you.

dealerwb!chris who . . . presses his hand against your lower stomach to feel himself, smiling cheekily when your face twists in pleasure at the sight of the bulge. "you feel me, baby? huh? you like how deep in your guts i am?"

dealerwb!chris who . . . is very specific about aftercare. he rubs your back soothingly as you both lay in a heap next to each other, wiping the tears off your face and pushing your hair away from your eyes. he cleans you up carefully, whispering praises and compliments whilst he does it, swinging his arms under your legs to carry you to the shower.

hope you enjoyed! :) links below about me ! masterlists ! guidelines / info !

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic june 9th — lip gloss — 1017 words — cw: slightly nsfw brought to you by james' dirty mind, tw: amab term used for reg's genitalia aka mtf regulus, red heart shaped sunglasses and james potter's thoughts about kneehigh boots

The lights in their flat are dim, music is playing and the air smells faintly of tequila and lime already.

James has been staring at Regulus reapplying her ‘lip combo’ for the past five minutes without blinking. One could reason it’s because Regulus is literally using his sunglasses as a mirror but James argues he wouldn’t have let himself miss out on this for any money in the world either way. He would have found a way to get a front row seat.

The red, heart shaped glasses on his nose do nothing to help him see but that’s why he’s got his contacts in. There’s a cool hand at James’ stubbled jaw, angling him this way and that because Regulus needs proper lighting, Jamie. Stop moving into the shadow! 

First she’d fished around in her small ass purse—how does anyone even fit anything in these little things ever?—and procured a thin, dark red looking pencil of sorts. Regulus has gotten all up in his face, wiggling closer where she was sitting on his leg, rubbing her ass all over James’ lap and by God, James has never felt so lucky and tortured simultaneously. 

Anyway, Regulus had started following the shape of her cupid’s bow, outlining her lips. Her hand had rested right between James’ pecs at first to steady herself, right in the middle of his chest. James hoped she couldn’t feel the wild beating of his heart, the irregular heaving of his torso. She was talking to Pandora while doing so, about some mutual friend James has no clue about but he wasn’t registering any of the words either way. Much too fascinated by the small moles next to Regulus’ left eyes, by her dark lashes, her icy blue eyes. Ruthlessly captivating, breathtaking and immobilising like the bone deep chilling northern sea. 

James isn’t sure he remembers how to swim.

Next is a red lipstick. Regulus’ parts her mouth and James has to suppress a groan. He’s only mildly conscious of the way his palms make their way up over Regulus’ hips, coming to rest in the dip of her waist, thumbs windshield wiping over the silk of her green dress. It’s some sort of nightshirt, actually, with black lace detailing and clearly thrifted. Well loved but in good condition and James has been breaking his brain over what she might be wearing underneath for the better part of the last hour. Ever since Regulus had stepped over the threshold of their flat in her kneehigh boots and that flimsy excuse of a dress that James wants to see crumpled on the floor of his bedroom rather than anywhere else. Preferably while Regulus is splayed out naked on top of his sheets, tits out, cock out. The boots can stay on.

“Fuck,” present James mutters quietly, blinking himself out of his obscene fantasies. Regulus’ leg adjusts and brushes against where James is starting to fill out in his pants. 

James squirms.

“Stop that,” Regulus tsks, tightening her hold on his chin.

The yes, ma’am on the tip of James’ tongue nearly tumbles out but he manages to swallow it back in time.

James tries to glance around the general area around them out of the corners of his eyes, “Is your brother around?”

“Why?” she asks immediately. Her lips are completely filled out with a deep berry sort of red now. Then Regulus is digging around in her purse again.

“Just ’cause,” James replies offhandedly, shrugging.

Regulus hums, low and deep, sceptical and it’s so unfairly sexy. James licks his lips and sighs a long breath out. Level head, Potter, he tells himself. Level head.

The final step seems to be lip gloss. It’s not clear and translucent but rather has a bit of a milky quality to it.

James chokes on nothing. 

Regulus takes it up to her lips and spreads the fluid on her full red lips. It creates a foggy sheen and James is powerless against the mental images of cum slick lips. Both of their cum mixed, James licking it from Regulus’ stomach and then climbing back up. Hovering and tugging at her lower lip until she opens obediently like a good girl and lets James spit it right onto her mouth. 

Regulus leans closer and makes some little p-p-p noises where she smacks her lips together to even out the gloss, presumably. James doesn’t know. Don’t ask James anything right now because the gloss is kind of pulling strings and James is this close to doing something violently indecent to his best friend’s little sister.

Regulus puts the gloss away and then taps against James’ cheek, announcing happily, “Thank you.”

“Any time,” James mumbles.

He expects her to stand up now, join Pandora where she’s conversing with other people on the sofa, but instead Regulus wraps her arms around the back of James’ neck, keeping the close distance. “Y’know,” she starts, shifting in James’ lap, “I haven’t seen Sirius in a while. In fact, I think he might have gone off with Loopy.”

“Lupin,” James corrects automatically, trying to make sense of what Regulus is saying. She’s so warm and soft pressed against him, it’s distracting.

Regulus makes a whatever noise and tilts her head, “I’m guessing they went to his flat instead. Rumour has it, it’s close by.”

James nods in affirmation because that’s true. Remus does live close by.

Regulus’ fingers wind themselves into the curls at James’ nape, “Smart lads. Going somewhere a little more private.”

James nods again, numbly. He feels stupid in the head. 

“By the way,” Regulus keeps going, “Have I seen your room in this flat yet?”

And James might be stupid but he’s not an idiot.

A slow grin spreads over his face and then James has to lean forward to muffle an equally happy as aroused groan into the crook of Regulus’ pale neck. 

“Is that a yes?”

James leaves a kiss on her cheek when he pulls back, squeezes her hips and then lifts them both off the chair, ushering Regulus through the crowd and into his room.

When they come back out, Regulus’ legs are wobbly and there’s red lipstick stains all over James’ mouth and neck and the heady taste of cum in his mouth.

[sleepyjuice]

WARNINGS: 18+!!! rimming!!! female reader eating jj’s ass!!! this is definitely not for everyone but that is literally the only warning for this. if you’re not interested in this or grossed out, you don’t have to read it! i totally respect the decision either way. we don’t kink shame here. enjoy!!!!<3

alcohol was a godsend for bringing you the confidence you had tonight. you weren’t wasted, but you had enough in your system that anxiety was a thing of the past.

you and jj had a couple beers at the kegger but decided to head home early because it had been awhile since you both had any alone time together. so with the chateau all to yourselves, you headed straight for the shower and got fucked nice and good against the tiled wall.

the night was still young and you were sure you still had at least an hour or two before your friends returned, so you and jj were cuddling fully naked in his bed. you were facing each other, his arms holding you tightly while you played absently with his necklace. you came twice in the shower and jj once, but your stomach was still full of need, desire.

taking a deep breath, you slowly lowered your hand down the front of jj’s naked body, sensually rubbing at his skin as you made your way lower and lower. you stopped once you got to his soft cock to palm it, already feeling it twitch and begin to grow.

“mm, you still horny, baby? wanna go again?” he grinned, exhaling slowly and lifting his hips a bit to allow you better access to continue rubbing his now half hard cock.

you hummed in response, the words on the tip of your tongue, but you wanted to get him fully hard first. that didn’t take long though, your thumb circling his tip and rubbing along his vein had him fully hard in seconds. plus, you were still butt naked right before his eyes. that always did the trick.

“i was thinking…i wanna make you feel good.” you looked up from his dick to meet his eyes, seeing his own eyes were filled with lust once again, a grin still lingering on his lips.

“yeah? wanna suck my dick with that pretty lil mouth of yours? go right ahead.” he told you, your cheeks heating at his words. it wasn’t surprising that was what he gathered from your words. you were vague and this was also something you two had never talked about before, you had always been too anxious to bring it up.

“well, i kinda wanna put my pretty little mouth somewhere else.” you said firmly, watching him closely for his reaction.

now, jj had eaten your ass plenty of times. he was shameless about it. as a matter of fact, he called himself a proud ass eater. he was great at it too, his tongue was quite a talented organ.

“oh yeah? where’s that?”

“i wanna eat your ass, jj.”

your eyes quickly flickered away from his face down to his cock that you were still stroking, irrationally thinking that the second those words left your mouth, his cock would go soft.

“hey, look at me,” he reached down to cup your chin between his fingers, returning your gaze to his own. “i’m down. why the hell not?”

you were giddy now. his nonchalance about it was actually a huge fucking turn on and you found your thighs clenching at his words. that was jj though, he lived life to the fullest and was as open minded as they come, so you really shouldn’t have expected him to have another response. you loved that about him, truly.

“okay! fuck, yeah, let’s do it.” you giggled, sitting up, your face heating even more as he smiled back at you, not an ounce of disingenuousness evident on his face.

“aight, how you want me? and do i call you mommy?” there he goes.

“no! jj, god — shut up,” you laughed, fully sitting up now. “just lie on your stomach and put your ass up.” you instructed, watching as he playfully saluted you before getting into said position.

your pussy was leaking once again, the same arousal from earlier was still present but there was an entirely new rush of pleasure you felt just from seeing him like this. he was trimmed for the most part, only sparse hairs here and there, and you had a perfect view of his hole as well as his balls that you loved so much, plus his hard cock that was now leaking precum.

you were a bit nervous. for no reason other than that you hoped you would do it well. you had been with girls before, eating pussy was no stranger to you, but this was in a whole new ballpark.

“you look hot as fuck like this.” you told him, positioning yourself behind jj and bringing your hands to rub at his ass cheeks, your thumb slowly and gently brushing in between his cheeks.

you could see his abdomen flex in response to both your words and your touch and he glanced back at you from over his shoulder to give you a reassuring smile. it seemed like he could tell you were a little nervous. but truthfully the excitement was outweighing your nerves.

you grinned back at him before leaning your head down and planting wet kisses along his ass cheeks, bringing one hand down to pump jj’s cock, gathering the precum that had dripped down his shaft to lubricate his cock, slick sounds emitting from your hand tugging up and down on him.

you didn’t miss the little huffs that left his lips as he held himself up with his forearms, his hands clenched in fists.

without saying anything, you dipped your head, using your free hand to spread his cheeks slightly before pressing a soft kiss against his hole, followed by your tongue swirling effortlessly around the tight ring of muscles.

jj moaned shamelessly, quite literally the second your tongue touched him had instant chills shooting down his spine and you hadn’t even really gotten started yet. this was new for him, but so far the feeling of your warm mouth and wet tongue on him was feeling better than he could have envisioned it to be.

“ohhhh fuck, shit, baby— yeah.” he grunted as you flattened your tongue, intensifying the pressure against him as you lapped your tongue up and down.

your stomach was flipping in pride and pleasure, beyond pleased that he seemed to really be enjoying it so far.

“it feels good, jay?” you asked before returning your tongue back to its spot on him, swirling it wetly and gently teasing the opening with the tip of your tongue.

“fuck, oh god, it’s good, it’s good. doin’ great down there, baby, fuck.” he cursed, fighting between the physical urge to keep his head pressed down against the bed and just allow the pleasure to happen and the urge to watch you. he would turn his head back to you every few moments, but have to go back to the pillow when it was too much.

you smiled in satisfaction upon realizing how good this was really making him feel, and after a couple minutes of teasing your intrusion, you slowly pushed the tip of your tongue further into his hole and began fucking him with your tongue.

jj shuddered at the feeling, a moaning and panting mess before you. your hand was still working at his cock and the combination of that along with you tongue fucking him had him closer than he would like to admit. the two of you had done just about everything, but this was a brand new feeling for him, and a good one at that.

you continued your wet movements, sloppily and quick, spit dripping shamelessly down your chin as you fucked him. your pussy was clenching around nothing and you swore one touch against your clit would be enough to send you over the edge right now. it was all so sensual and erotic and seeing how jj’s body reacted as well as hearing the sounds that left his lips had you feeling so powerful and completely and utterly aroused to the max.

“shit, baby, ‘m close, real close. bout to cum.” he suddenly warned, but you weren’t surprised. you had felt how his dick was twitching rapidly and the way his muscles were tightening was all too familiar for you.

“cum for me, jay, you’re doing so good.” you praised before quickly returning to slip your tongue back into his hole and quickening your movements on his cock. that was all it took for him to hit his peak, groaning loudly and breathlessly as he came all over your hand, his body collapsing forward down onto the bed.

you quickly moved your hand once he finished and just in time for him to not crush it, pulling your tongue out of him and giving his hole one last lingering kiss before crawling up to lay beside him.

he turned his head to face you when he felt you lay down beside him, his cheeks flushed and a lazy smile tugging at his lips. the only way to describe how he looked was euphoric, and that’s exactly how he felt.

“you did so good, jay.” you spoke lovingly, kissing his sweaty forehead a few times, unsure if he’d want to kiss your lips after where they just were.

but jj didn’t care, of course. nothing could stop him from kissing his girl. he pulled you closer to him and connected your lips, kissing you tenderly. you hummed into the kiss and eventually pulled away because it seemed like he still needed to fully catch his breath.

“you did good, baby. i loved every second of that. that was hot as fuck.” you giggled loudly at his words, your heart full as he pulled you into his arms with a yawn. this was how you imagined you looked after he fucked you good. so it wasn’t surprising that he was seconds away from sleep now, because that was exactly how you were after he fucked you.

“yay. so we can do it again?” you asked as you relaxed into his touch, your head pressed against his chest as you listened to his previously racing heart begin to slow as he drifted off to sleep.

“mm, we’re definitely doin’ that again,” he chuckled tiredly, planting one last lazy kiss to your lips as he shut his eyes. “love you, baby. my perfect girl.”

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [2K]

inspo from an ask answered by @plainemmanem and thank you @lunatictardis for tagging me!

It was stupid really. Steve knew that. You knew that. But Eddie had challenged him when they were both drunk and at Robin’s Halloween party. Of course, your boyfriend accepted, ‘cause one was as stupid as the other - Steve just happened to be more stubborn.

“Eddie’s single,” you’d reminded him. “You can literally have sex with me any time you want.”

“Please don’t say ‘sex’ right now,” the boy had pleaded as Eddie and Nancy snorted in the background, dollar bills exchanging palms as they watched Steve try not to stare at your tits.

“Steve, it’s been fifteen hours.”

To be fair, he’d lasted longer than you expected. Not without complaint, but it had been eight days and Steve was avoiding touching you, skirting past you and keeping his hands tucked into his pockets like you were a dangerous weapon.

Steve thought you were.

He’d groaned and whined when you bent over in front of him, when you pulled your hair back out of your face, a Pavlovian response that had him squeezing his eyes shut. He couldn’t handle it when you pressed yourself against him, even for something as innocent as a hug and you’d begun to get annoyed, missing your boyfriend's touch.

“This is getting ridiculous,” you’d huffed, ignoring your friend's laughter when Steve had to ease you off his lap during a movie, brown eyes wide and his pretty features panic stricken. “Steve!”

“Baby,” he’d groaned all apologetic, taking your hand instead, pressing a kiss to your palm even whilst you frowned at him. “You can’t get mad at me, please, you know it turns me on.”

Eddie had lost it.

Which is why you’d taken matters into your own hands and begged Nancy to go shopping with you, both of you browsing through the lingerie section at the department store, cringing at the price tags and pretending that the pretty sales lady wasn’t staring at you both suspiciously.

“Remind me why you’re still getting regular sex?” You huffed, holding up something red and lacy. It was so tiny, you weren’t sure which way it went, or where it was supposed to cover.

Nancy snorted, presenting a baby blue body suit to you, too flowery for your taste and you wrinkled your nose. “Because Jonathan isn’t an idiot,” she replied, smirking even though she was blushing. She caught your eye, your raised brows and doubtful expression. “Fine, because Jonathan isn’t as big of an idiot as Eddie and Steve,” she corrected.

So you spent too much money on a set that came with more pieces of lace than you were used to, all black with sheer stockings and a suspender belt. You’d laughed when Nancy pushed some stilettos into your hand, telling you the extra cash spent would be worth it, how it would make Steve lose his shit. And really, that’s what this trip was about.

You knew he was finishing work at five, knew he promised to take Dustin and Lucas to the arcade when he was done so it gave you time to monopolise his bathroom, preening in the mirror as you brushed out your hair and slicked on some gloss.

You were posed and ready for Steve, smiling to yourself as you heard the front door open and close. He knew you were already in his room, your shoes by the front door, some music playing faintly from the stereo on his dresser.

He just didn’t expect to see you perched on the edge of his bed, stocking clad legs crossed at the thighs, hands pressed to the sheets behind you so you could push your chest out a little, all black lace wrapped around soft skin. The heels were a nice touch, you’d thought, kinda intimidating looking, sharp toed and doing everything to make your legs look a mile long.

Steve stopped at the door, eyes wide, jaw slack and a groan came from somewhere deep inside of him, a filthy, filthy noise as he immediately backed away, stumbling into the hall.

“Nononono, baby,” he whined. He sounded wrecked, eyes still on you despite being ten feet away. “Baby, fuck.”

You grinned, not even trying to hide your amusement, your smugness. You made a soft noise of sympathy, all faux sincerity as you uncrossed your legs and stood up, suspender belt cinched around your waist, stockings high on your thighs and heels clicking against the floor.

Steve looked like he was about to drop to his knees. He leant against the wall instead, one hand coming up to his mouth to cover his low moans, throaty and rough, biting down on his fist as he stared at you.

You made a show of it, turning to the side as you peered down at yourself, tits sitting high on your chest with the help of the expensive bra, all sheer material and scalloped edges. You ran your hands down the soft of your tummy, pressed them over the curve of your ass, barely covered by the scrap of lace that acted as underwear.

“D’you like it?” You asked, doe eyed and smiling. “I bought it for you.”

Steve was red in the cheeks, eyes glassy, all flushed and wild looking. You almost felt bad.

Almost.

“Illegal,” Steve ground out, voice strained. He gestured to where your thigh highs were held up by the little straps, ass bouncing a little as you twisted for him, showing off. “That should be illegal.”

“Baby,” you pouted, acting up, acting cute, the way you knew he couldn’t resist. “You don’t think it looks good?”

Steve barked out a laugh, a strangled noise as he edged forward, looking at you like you were his last meal. He looked absolutely wrecked, like the prettiest boy you’d ever seen.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, taking in every inch of you, gaze pausing on your thighs, your tits, the slope of your neck, the cherry coloured shine of your lips. “Yeah, babe, it looks good on you, fucking Christ.”

You grinned, pleased and beckoned him back into his room with a crook of your finger.

“This isn’t fair,” he murmured, low and throaty. “You look fucking insane, oh my god, are you trying to kill me?”

He was babbling, losing it as he walked towards you, hands in his hair as he tried not rip out the strands, doing everything he could to keep himself grounded. It was cute, how he thought he could still win his stupid bet.

Steve kept a little away still, a foot or two between you, close enough that he could smell your perfume, his favourite, the body wash that belonged to him that clung to your skin. He was salivating.

“You’re evil, you’re actually evil,” the boy groaned as you twisted and twirled for him, ass popped out. “I fucking love you.”

“Wanna show me how much?” You smirked, reaching a hand out to trail your fingertips along the skin that peeked out his collar. He was hot, chest heaving, panting for you. “I’ve missed you Stevie,” you cooed, moving in closer. “Missed having your hands on me.”

Steve stuttered over a breath as you took his wrists in your grip, coaxing them to the sides of your waist, you encouraged him to hold you, pressing yourself against him and feeling how painfully fucking hard he was underneath his jeans. It didn’t take much for his palms to drop down to your hips, fingering at the soft nylon of your thigh highs.

You watched him, eyes dark, tongue peeking out between your teeth as you tried to hold back your amusement, ‘cause Steve’s eyes were fluttering closed and he threw his head back, groaning in defeat.

“You look,” he panted out, his breath a hiss. “So. Fucking. Good.”

“Thank you,” you answered politely, nudging your nose against his chin, drawing a line with it up the slope of his jaw. You pressed a kiss to his cheek, sweet and innocent, sticky cherry left behind. “My pretty boy. Want you so bad, d’you know that? Got all dressed up just for you, Steve.”

He leaned into you, hands squeezing at your hips, hard enough to bruise, all semblance of control completely gone. You looked up at him through your lashes, blinking innocently as you watched his eyes droop all pretty.

He was a man gone.

“Fuck, fuck, you did? Shit, sweetheart, this is— you’re just— ohmygod.”

You managed to coax him towards his bed, the backs of his knees hitting the edge of the mattress and he sat without argument, hands grabbing at your waist the minute you settled yourself onto him.

He was rock hard, gasping, pupils blown wide. A pretty, pretty state.

“Oh, my poor boy,” you cooed out, hands smoothing over his forehead, pushing his hair from his eyes. You kissed the high of his cheekbone, peppered tiny kisses over each freckle there. “You gotta calm down, you’re gonna burst a blood vessel, Stevie.”

“Calm down?” He choked out in a laugh, snapping your suspenders against your thighs. His eyes rolled back when you gasped, a pretty, little sound that made his dick twitch under your cunt. “Sweetheart, have you fuckin’ seen yourself? I think I’ve already died.”

“Can I kiss you?” You said instead of real response, ignoring the way he whined, shaking his head as if he actually meant it, as if he had any intention of rejecting you. “Please?”

You stayed still, one hand carding through his hair, the other curled around his neck, annoying the way his pulse jumped and throbbed under your palm.

Steve moved into you, noses bumping, his breath a fast and heavy huff over your lips as you patiently waited.

“M’gonna come in my fuckin’ pants,” Steve choked out, his touch roaming freely over your body now, palming roughly at your tits, finger and thumb expertly finding your already stuff nipple under the lace. “You’re gonna make a goddamn mess of me, baby, s’that what you want?”

You whined, arching into him, ‘cause although you’d started the game, you’d truly missed your boyfriend’s affection. His large, wide palms, greedy kisses, the way he liked to manhandle you in bed.

You nodded, sighing heavy, eyes closing, “yeah, Stevie, fuck.”

He kissed you and it was all over, tongue licking into you the minute you opened your mouth for him, his hand on your jaw, thumb tugging desperately at your bottom lip, urging you to kiss him back as needily as he was kissing you. The sounds he made were sinful, moans and groans and whines that had you rocking your hips, grabbing at him.

Steve was wrong though, he didn’t come in his pants just from kissing you. No. But he did when you pushed him down onto the mattress, hands pressed to his chest as you started a dirty grind over him, the prettiest smile on your face as he chanted your name, groaning and swearing, head thrown back and his nails leaving marks on your thighs.

It didn’t matter though, ‘cause he made it up to you four times that night, right into the early hours of the morning, when he’d snagged the lace of your bra and ripped one stocking, your heels in different corners of the room. And when you both showed up to movie night at Nancy’s, Eddie took one look at his friend and cackled, holding out a hand to each of your friends, crowing happily as dollar bills stacked up.

“You’re weak,” he laughed at Steve, poking at the lavender coloured marks on his neck, the skin that dipped below his shirt.

Steve just batted the other boy away and flung himself down onto a beanbag, opening his arms so you could fall into his lap. His hand found its home, pressed between the tips of your thigh, just decent enough that Robin wouldn’t throw popcorn at him.

He shrugged, grinned up all lazy at Eddie, pressed his tongue to his cheek to try and hide his glee and replied, “Yeah, I know.”

[spider-biter]

Head cannons abt the moon boys for the soul <3 🌙🌙🌙

A/N: I’ve been stuck with this in my head for the past 4 days.…. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH!!!! Also thank you for correcting my misspelling of mierda as Mérida 😭😭😭 embarrassing 😳

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ◯ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺⋆⁺ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

- Steven loves old vintage things, he often wonders into antique stores to just “look around”

- he spends 50 dollars.

- Jake cannot stand waiting. man is literally impatient AF

- “15 minutes till the next train???! Mierda, let’s just fucking walk”

- cooking for him is his love language

- he will literally sob on the inside if you even show interest in his cultural food

- Marc is the same way

- one time you made him Rugelach and he was a MESS

- “baby it’s not even that good-“ “ITS AMAZING AND I LOVE IT AND- AND I LOVE YOU-“ “ok”

- Steven loves that you know so much about their cultures and interests

- he also appreciates how you avoid meat when he’s fronting

- when you first ordered a tofu taco on a date with him he immediately felt guilty, like he was pressuring you or something

- “love- no it’s ok! you can eat meat I don’t care!”

- “darling, if this is important to you then it is important to me. plus tofu is literally the best so it’s no problem! :)”

- oml he is going to COLLAPSE

- they always appreciate that you know how to comfort them whenever they are triggered or have a nightmare

- Steven needs to be grounded, so you take his hands and hold him close to you. Rubbing circles on his back, telling him that you’re right here, it’s ok, you’re fine. he often falls asleep with his head on your chest with your hands in his hair

- Marc fluctuates between quiet dissociation and physical panic

- when he’s quiet you make sure to interact. asking him questions like how was your day, do you want tea, how many sugars, any cream? just so he is forced to stay as much out of his head as he can

- (even though you can probably make his favorite tea ((thank you stevens Brit influence)) blindfolded)

- if it’s physical it’s a lot harder. You know that Marc would probably sink deeper if he ever accidentally hurt you so you just try to make him look at you. The 5-4-3-2-1 rule works best to get him out of it. He usually goes quiet after one, staring into nothing. Usually you just kind of sit near and around him, trying to get him back to the present (Think of that one scene in the asylum where he just looks exhausted)

- Jake just needs his space. You respect that. One of you normally leaves to give the other some space. You understand and respect that it’s not a you thing, just a ‘I think if I am touched or talked to I will literally fall over this edge that I am on’ thing.

- he normally apologizes (even though you told him it’s ok) and is super lovey dovey & touchey for the next couple of hours after

- speaking of touchey

- they all LOVE to hold you

- steven found out that holding hands with you and swinging them back and forth dramatically makes you giggle

- especially if he skips with you while doing it (he has done it twice and both times you felt your heart explode with love!)

- he loves holding your hand, rubbing circles on the back of your palm to calm each other down

- and whenever you get up in the middle of the night to pull him out of his studies/work he softly kisses your knuckles as an apology, whispering things in French

- LORD

- you guys also rest against each others foreheads in moments of silence, just enjoying the closeness of your love

- Jake is a spinner!

- he’ll grab your arm and immediately spin you around, no matter what you’re doing.

- you always scream out of surprise even though he’s done this forever

- he also loves to dip you

- “no need to be scared mi corazón, I’ll never drop you 😤💪❤️” 🤨🤨 “what about that one time at-” “shhhh mi vida no es importante”

- Jake loves having his hands on you in a “mine” way

- but you do the exact same for him

- but he likes to come up behind you and run his hands all over your body while kissing your jawline. “So lovely” “so beautiful” “y todo mío” (that last one made your knees jelly)

- Marc has such an obsession with physical touch

- for the first 6-8 months, he was really scared of touching you. he never got physical love as a child and was always scared he’d break you because of it

- but one day he fell asleep on your shoulder during a movie you guys were watching

- and damn. The peace he felt was similar to how he felt in the field of reeds tbh

- ANYWAYS

- one day you both started just hooking arms with the other and skipping around in a circle

- it’s a cowboy jig

- yeehaw

- Marc also is obsessed with giving you piggyback rides, even if you are scared AS HELL!

- yes Marc Spector has run with a fully grown adult on his back yelling “MARC WHAT THE FUCK?” In Central Park. what abt it

- he loves to let you rest your head on his shoulder.

- he’s a big face guy??? Like he brushes away hair, pecks your cheeks, wipes away tears.

- he’s very gentle all the time and loves holding your cheek as you guys just stare at each other

- the mornings with them >>>

- who’s big and little spoon is a never ending battle

- with Steven it’s very quiet & reflective

- laying on each others chests, hands in each others hair, comforter pulled up to your neck, listening to the other breathing pattern and syncing it up! It’s all about the quiet company of love. The 2 of you comfortable for all of eternity

- Marc is similar but not

- it’s inches away from each other, still entangled with the other. you face each other and whisper silly nothings: I love you, I’ll do anything for you, we should do this for a date.

- You even boop his nose.

- he’s not a fan

- Jake loves being the big spoon but after hard days you make him little spoon so you can wrap around him <3

- but when he is big spoon??????

- his warm arms wrap around your midsection, keeping you in nirvana eternally. you both float in and out of consciousness, his head rests softly on yours, you nestle deeper into him, even though that’s literally scientifically impossible at this point. He loves how addicted you are to him

- he doesn’t even realize how addicted he is to you ;)

- it’s also passionate make out sessions, still sleepy and slightly sloppy, before he goes into the shower and you make him a coffee

- (getting out of the shower to be greeted by your coffee and you sitting at the counter just reading over the news on your phone??? it makes his heart literally collapse in on itself every. single. day.)

- speaking of passion

- you helped them all find things they’re passionate about

- you helped Steven get a better job at a different museum and he LOVES IT!!!

- it was pretty easy, Steven just had to be confident in his knowledge.

- sometimes you stop by on your lunch break and see Steven somehow getting a group of terrible and loud preteens absolutely invested in the story of Ra and Sekhement

- (passionately teaching a group of kids all about the ancient relics of the past is a turn on you never knew you had)

- you helped Marc get involved with the INTERPOL force in London, so he can occasionally be on call, and help people in a legal way

- he likes it bc it gives him something to do & makes the world a better place

- he helps take down bad guys & save kids. He gets to be the person he always wished would come and save him when he was younger.

- it makes you sob

- but!

- Jake is happy as long as he’s with you but he’s actually super into watching old telenovelas

- you guys make a whole day out of it

- and the 2 of you won’t stop acting out the most dramatic scenes of it

- “TU ES MI HIJO???” “Si, madre. También soy tu ABUELO EN EL FUTURO!!!” *gasp*

- Steven and Marc are OVER IT!!

- speaking of Marc, you always celebrate Rosh Hashanah & other important Jewish holidays with him

- you cook together, him teaching you these generational meals and you making sure he doesn’t burn down the entire kitchen

- during Yom Kippur you help him fast & reflect with him

- keeping him grounded and not just letting him shit on himself endlessly for 25 hours?? telling him that “it’s about repenting and doing it better this year”???? Literally life saving for him

- and to have someone to help him with his spirituality is so important to him

- like… beyond words

- idk where to put this at but onetime you drove with Jake in the passenger

- he is TRAUMATIZED

- like just imagine a grown ass man screaming as you go 50 mph down the London bridge

- “eres un pequeño demonito de la velocidad. me asustas” (you’re a little speed demon (lovingly). You scare me)

- Steven was LIVING

- “STEVEN IF YOU DONT STOP CHEERING THEM ON-“

- “LOVE GO FASTER!!”

- yes Steven is also a little speed demon

- it’s cannon idc

- if you can’t already tell, they love you so much

- holding you after a bad day, comforting your anxieties, feeding the ducks in the pond

- “darling he’s a duck-“ “I don’t care! He’s staring at me like I did something! I’m innocent Marc I swear!” “I- I know babe- it’s- it’s a duck???”

- (This conversation and never ending confusion on Marc’s part goes on for another 15 minutes)

- they cherish you like no one else

- they would take a bullet for you without even a second thought and you would for them too

- (where is my moon system holding dying lover or lover holding dying system fic already??)

- anyways

- they love you the most in the world

- and tbh??? You do too.

- “I love you the most”

- “I love you the mostest”

[queers-gambit]

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSYcSyRsv/

frothing at the mouth, pls tell me this isn’t giving TAN

not what i thought it was going to be, but once the words, you know, like, registered - JFC - my heart actually hiccuped. that's actually kinda... hot? is it hot? it's hot.

it's the hot headcannon i didn't know i needed! how dare you be so RIGHT yet so LOUD but also, how dare you send me this while i have PMS - reminding me of how horny i am!?

yet your mind? chef's kiss.

couple thoughts -

okay, so, at first, it's slow and languid; akin to two teenagers first kissing - all timid, shy, insecure. it's because Tan knows he can't just jump your bones, so, he goes at a snail's pace to give you plenty of time to adjust; also providing ample space to change your mind, if you wanted. when he feels you start to retreat into panic, he pulls back and reaches for his gun snug in his shoulder holster, his brows crinkled before presenting the weapon on a flat palm. he'd tell you the "type" of gun, prove it was loaded, then discard the "bullet in the chamber", snap the magazine back into place, and finally, show where the safety was and how to turn it on / of.

when you question him, he's explains that he knows how you can sometimes feel panicked, overwhelmed, scared, fearful, and / or uncomfortable because of your past. he never wanted nor intended to trigger you. it was a sensitive subject, but after dating close to a year, you had decided to fully give yourself to Tangerine in a sign of faith, love, and trust. hence why you were laying on a mattress covered by a goose feather duvet, Tangerine on top, you flat on your back, ready to engage foreplay.

"here," he whispered, "take it, doll, gotta hold it. there's a good girl - yeah, just hold it - good, feel the weight... see that? it's loaded, princess, and loaded guns are about a pound heavier in hand. all right, good. now, look, see, you're gonna hold it like this, this finger - yeah, yep, good, goes here."

"why're you doing this?"

"because you say it's the lack of control that often scares you, yeah?" he waited until you nodded meekly. "so, here, even the odds - anyone tries to overpower you, now you're protected. if holding a gun to my head is what it takes for you to feel safe? for me to get a taste? fucking fine, princess, you hold that fuckin' gun," he all but growled, your body relaxing unconsciously, "right at me fuckin' head, but don't mind me," his fingers curled around the waistband of your cotton shorts and panties, you lifted your hips to aid him in freeing your bottom half. "i'm just gonna take a quick peak, maybe get a li'l sample..."

so, first time, it's missionary. gun's at his chest or ribs. which morphed into you on top, riding him, arm extended to hold the barrel right between his heavy-lidded eyes or under his jaw. you even tangled one hand in his ringlets, gun at his temple while sharing several long, wet kisses.

or maybe it's like, you and Tan are in some kind of argument. it's a fucking whirlwind, a tornado of aggression and frustration and confusion; yelling insults and verbally punching below the belt.

so, what it boils down to is what i think Reddit calls "a dead bedroom". it feels like the romance had expired, like you two were just roommates since you only fucked him like a chore on your to-do list because you're both just busy with work. this is the fight that brings out the ugly; where fears, assumptions, and anxieties are aired out and confronted.

"i can't read your fuckin' mind!" he snarls.

"give me the chance to explain. all right? okay? let me tell you somethings - things you might not know that will help make sense of this situation."

Tan was still coming off his adrenaline high, snarky and a little unreasonable - but he listened as you relaid to him past traumas and what you had been triggered by. he began to feel violently guilty for picking this fight, but in-love or not, Tan's still an asshole.

so, he literally sets his gun down and kicks it across the glistening hardwood floor; trapping the weapon with your foot. "there - is that it? huh? that what you want?" Tan snarls, sounding hateful and distraught, unsure how to prove himself and erase all those putrid memories that still hurt you.

so he did the only thing he knew and gave you his gun. it was a symbolic gesture of his safety and commitment that you accepted. "there! see? is this gonna get you there?" he asked. "if it means i get to have you the way i want - i'm all for you holding that fuckin' gun to me fuckin' head. yeah? all right? just don't fuck with the safety - "

"it's loaded!?"

so, after emptying the clip and chamber, simply resetting the spring and triggers (sure to discharge the one in the chamber), you dove head first into the abyss that is ✨Tangerine✨.

that night, Tan slows down. see, it makes sense that after a fight, you guys might hate fuck, but after this particular fight, Tan's sitting up in bed, his bulging arms around your waist, and you're riding him like you placed a bet at the Kentucky Derby before competing in the fucking race yourself!

yeehaw, ammirite? all my love 🖤

[daydreaming-en-pointe]

A very Spidey Christmas - Pavitr

CMON THAT FIRST PHOTO IS LITERALLY HIM

Pairing: Pavitr Prabhakar x fem!Spider!Reader (Margo, 1610!Miles, Gwen and 42!Miles are here too [not coloured means no lines, just mentions])

Word count: 742

Warnings: CHEESY AS HELL! Nickname used (meri jaan), Pavitr kinda falls off a building, Mariah Carey lyrics (those deserve a warning don’t they 💀), lil bit of desi coded reader if you squint??

A/N: I know I included lyrics in this but now if I have to hear Mariah Carey crooning about Christmas one more time I will scream 😞

“Pass me those scissors, please?” You managed to mumble around the roll of tape in your mouth, your hands occupied with holding down the corners of wrapping paper which were stubbornly refusing to sit flat and cover the gift properly.

Margo glanced up and shot a web, grabbing the scissors and handing them to you. “Here. Watch out, they’re really sharp.”

“Got it, thanks.” You shifted your elbow onto the layers of paper where the corners met, snipping albeit uneven pieces of tape to secure the haphazard folds. “Wait, where’s Pav? Didn’t he say he would get the ribbons-”

“Meri jaan!”

The familiar nickname drew your attention to the terrace of a building just opposite the balcony. You squinted at the shape of a person, all characteristics hidden by the sun’s glare except for the fact that they were waving their arms hysterically at you and seemed to be holding a megaphone of some sort.

“Pavi…?”

You shared a glance with Margo, who was nervously studying the way that Pavitr was rather precariously standing at the edge of the right corner of the terrace, right next to the safety railing — which didn’t even reach past his knee. Some safety railing.

“This one’s for you!” He yelled, bringing the megaphone to his mouth. “I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need…. I don’t care about the presents, underneath the Christmas tree — I don't need to hang my stocking there upon the fireplace…”

Look, you adored that boy, you really did - everyone knew it. And you knew that he could sing Bollywood songs beautifully if he wanted to. English pop songs, though… specifically Mariah Carey… not so much.

The megaphone crackled and slowly faded out for the next few lines, until Pavitr stopped and bashed it against his palm thrice and it fizzled back to life in time for the most iconic line. “All I want for Christmas… is y-”

Before he could finish his onslaught of mildly terrible singing, too many things happened at once — Pavitr, who had been unknowingly inching toward the edge during his spectacle, toppled off the side of the building, Margo dropped the scissors with a sharp clack, and both variants of Miles leaped through the kitchen window and crashed into the dining table, followed by Gwen gracefully sticking the landing in a crouch before stumbling over the rolls of decorative tape you and Margo had left on the floor and almost falling flat on her face.

Whoops. But then again, you probably had bigger problems.

Namely looking out for the absolute dumbass you had fallen in love with.

You leaped out the window that Miles and Gwen had dived through, shooting a web to the side of the building and using it to pull yourself toward it, then lever yourself down into the small alley on the ground beside it.

“Pavitr, where are you? Wh- Pavi!” You were almost frantic as you spotted the familiar blue-and-red fabric of his suit. You knelt beside him, rolling him over onto his back, your heart in your mouth. His shoulder were shaking, maybe spasming…. was he…

…laughing?

“What the hell, Pavitr,” You complained, watching him get up easily by himself, now in peals of laughter, and pull you in by the waist. “I was worried!”

“I know you were. I’m fine, meri jaan. And I had to profess my love for you in a dramatic, Christmas-like fashion, right? After all, aap sabse achchhe tareekon ke hakadaar hain. (You deserve the fanciest/best stuff) Even if it means belting out Mariah Carey on a random rooftop.”

“Uh-huh. Did Hobie say something that inspired you to do this?” You asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically and biting the inside of your cheek to prevent a smile from breaking through.

“Nope. All my own idea. It had that certain flair, didn’t it? Did you like it?” He widened his eyes in that way that made him look like a sad puppy, still holding onto you.

“…of course I did, my love. But, good grief, you’re such an idiot sometimes,” You sighed, puffing out your cheeks as you blew air through your mouth in exasperation. You gave into his hold, wrapping your arms around his neck while he dipped his head to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Well, I prefer the term hopeless romantic,” Pavitr corrected, giving you one of those sunshiny, I’m-here-with-you-don’t-worry-everything-is-fine grins that, for some reason, could reassure you every time without fail.

“Of course you do. Come inside and help with the presents. No more dangerous stuff, you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Meri jaan - my light/my life 😁

@vhstown @l0starl @tatumis-a @deritosmi @hobiebrownismygod @therealloopylupin2099

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐅𝐚𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 & 𝐌𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐬/𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

ESFP

Gryffindor

Neutral Good

Libra Sun, Leo Moon, Cancer Rising

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿    

・You were an outcast.

・Your family wanted nothing to do with you

・All because of your love of magic

・You couldn't satiate the hunger you had for wanting to know more. To understand the world around you.

・Feyre had gotten curious about your cottage in the middle of the woods. Not like the Weaver, but a welcoming home that seemed to buzz with ... magic

・When a certain High Lord problem arose, and even Amren couldn't find the answer - they sent Mor to see if you would help

・What the High Lord needed was in one of your books, but you couldn't find which one.

・So everyday, Mor was sent to help you look amongst the thousands of books that you kept in your library

・You had the ability to think things up and create them. Like illusions but ... real. Except you needed to use all your senses to have the essence of said thing and then, you were able to create it. Or ... duplicate it.

・You couldn't bring anyone back from the dead, or duplicate a human being.

・But magical objects - you just had to hold them, see, feel, smell. And at times ... yes, taste. The more you were able to use all of your senses, the more real it would be.

・That's how you were able to create your library. You literally took it from your favourite library in Prythian.

・When Rhysand gave Mor the order to get your help, she shrugged her shoulders and asked "why me? why not Amren?"

"Because Amren is looking into something else for me" (aka Amren is too mean and scary so I'm sending you, so be as charming as you can be)

・You both bonded over being kicked out of your family. With Mor not wanting to marry, and you being a witch.

・It's how you started to open up to her. Especially when you were forced to spend hours together on missions.

・Mor is a very affectionate person. For example, you'll casually sit on each other's lap when around other people, constantly hold hands, and always have a hello and goodbye kiss.

・She is a BIG grudge holder

・And if someone hurts you, insults you behind your back, or even looks at you the wrong way; she will hate them for eternity.

・In the early part of your professional relationship, Mor invited you to meet Rhysand and Feyre - your High Lord and High Lady.

・You were thrilled and when you walked inside, you saw a flushed Feyre with one earring in.

"Oh, hello!" She said, and invited you in. "I just have to find my other earring ... it was birthday present from Rhys... oh god Mor can you help me find the other?"

"Ugh, I - I can help," you said, stepping forward.

"That's so kind, but you're a guest! There's drinks in this room over here," but you interrupted her and explained your power.

・Holding the earring in your palm, you counted the stones, felt the ridges and different parts of the piece. And with a flash of light, another one had appeared.

"Oh!" Feyre said, her face pure with amazement. "We're definitely keeping you."

・And that's how you became apart of the Inner Circle. Along with the growing relationship with Mor, you were also a prized member. Able to duplicate weapons, food, clothes.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

I Don’t Know What I’m Doing But At Least I’m Alive, Right? (You) x You’re Doing Great, Sweetie! (Mor)

Madly In Love (Mor) x Ridiculously Oblivious (You)

 Opposites Attract

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆  

Accidental confession during the heat of the moment/fight

Forced Proximity

Found Family

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Karchata by Folknery

𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊 🔞 No one under the age of 18 past this point, I bloody mean it. 

・Mor is so passionate; there is so much love in her heart that she could explode from it

・So when she's able to touch you, she shows you just how much she loves you

・Leaving warm kisses all over your body, her hands never leaving your exposed flesh.

"I" *kiss* "love" *kiss* "you" *kiss*

・There's also a lot of fucking after an argument, just angry, passionate sex.

・Mor loves adventurous sex - almost getting caught is part of the fun. Even when you're at home, Mor doesn't shut the curtains.

・She's both a dom and a sub. But has a lot more experience than you do. As she's experimented more.

・Likes to leave love bites on your neck, but you feel so embarrassed when other people notice them.

[chimielie]

little by little, we'll meet in the middle

summary: Oikawa x F!Reader (slight/past Iwaizumi x Reader). You and Oikawa are two moons - now that you've been pulled into each other's orbits, you can't seem to pull away. Even when you probably should. Sequel to Honeybee.

word count: 1k

cw: one mention of unhealthy eating practices. weird past-life-soulmateism. Yearning.

a/n: this is a part two, so i recommend reading in order to sort of understand the love triangle/knight x king/past life bullshit that's happening here, but honestly i don't know how much it'll help. it's a little bit of a the raven cycle au, but not quite? happy birthday IDIOT @ oikawa tooru. i love u or whatever

Your hands are calloused: at the base of the fingers and the web of the thumb. You brush a careful touch over the inside of Oikawa’s wrist, sweeping your thumb over his pulse point. Checking that he’s still alive. Warm touch and pulsing heart persisting.

You let go when he shifts the car into parking gear, pulling with both hands on the parking brake. It’s an old car, and only as reliable as its owner. 

He tries not to think about the combined delicacy and roughness of your hands, tries not to add another scrap of evidence to the pile that says he saw you first and he saw you true. It’s a pointless collection, like so many of his little passion projects. He couldn’t help building it, his jealous hoard of the moments where you were his and his alone. Guiltily, each brick had been laid and mortared from the moment he’d watched his best friend fall (clumsy and boyish, in a way he so rarely allowed himself to be) in love with you.

Even now, when Iwaizumi’s eyes are far from the both of you, even now that you are technically unburdened by belonging, the stiff line of duty is in your back and his vision. He keeps his eyes carefully away from you; if he looks at you for too long, his tongue finds words that shouldn’t be said. 

Your posture is as straight as the pines surrounding you, picking at the sandwiches you burned for lunch. Prosciutto and melted cheese you’d found unlabeled in the fridge, the crusts literally rimmed black, still a little warm to the touch even all the way into the blue mountains.

It’s a little fuck-you to him. He had called and said come on a drive with me. And you had fought him, snapped that you were in the middle of making lunch. Make me some, too, then, he had said indifferently, I haven’t eaten anything yet today. And you had been waiting at the curb, standing up straight with one hand shading your face and the other holding a bag of sandwiches. 

“Where are we going?” You asked, sliding into the passenger seat, stowing the sandwiches between you. This carefully curated space is present, always, a barrier never let down by both of you at the same time. 

“Nowhere,” he shrugged, kicking the car into gear. “Anywhere.”

The long-unused backroads are exactly in-between. Blue-green trees block out the sky, ushering in a soft not-quite night in the middle of the day, blurring that hard line. 

“They’re burnt,” you say, shoving the food into his hands. Three extras, just for him, because you worry about the way he gets distracted, gets obsessed, forgets to eat. Three burnt sandwiches, because you want to show him that love isn’t going to soften you, that whatever past you may have had (knight; king; lifetimes ago) your future doesn’t involve cooking at home while he rules the court. You wear your principals like you once wore gleaming metal armor.

He sees it in flashes. Reaching out, palms open. Hands calloused by the grip of your sword. A chalice, lifted to your lips, helmet removed and hair loose. Voice strong and sure, swearing fealty (voice soft, warning him of impropriety. Of the dangers of consorting with peasants). 

Lips, dry and still as he swallowed your fears.

“I don’t mind,” he says, and you look away from him. Everything feels raw and too real.

“What do you want to do for your birthday?” You say, because you don’t know what to do with his vulnerability. With-your-friends Oikawa is so different from talking-to-adults Oikawa is so different from just-your-Tooru. He’s water, slipping through your fingers even as he’s still rising around you, threatening to swallow you whole. 

He knows what you’re doing, too, because he knows that the boys are planning a surprise party away from his family, that you’re not supposed to snitch on the plan but would in a second if he pushed. You can’t lie to him.

He worries that the corollary is true: That he can’t lie to you. That you see him for what he is. 

He gives you a wry smile, telling you that he’s playing your game. “I want to go to the moon.” He’s been saying it since he was five, even when it stopped being true and became a tradition he was locked into.

“Of course you only want what you can’t have,” you laugh, and the words don’t lodge as painfully as he thought they might. “I can give you a star, Tooru, is that enough?”

“I guess,” he gives a prissy shake of the shoulders. “I could accept a promise.”

You don’t laugh, like he’d planned for. Instead, when he looks over at you next, you’re looking at him with an expression like—the sunset, honey melting over the horizon. Warm.

Oikawa shivers.

“I can give you that,” you say, voice small in your throat. He feels wildly unmoored in time, slipping between this life and the last; this love and the last; doom and destiny, woven together in a single thread. His head is heavy. Outside, the trees block sheets of misty rain. “Can that be enough?”

Your face is serious when he looks at you (can’t look at you too long, can’t let it show on his face), but your eyes shine. You’re looking at him—he feels dizzy with it—like he’s the sun. Like he’s a king.

You wrap gentle fingers around his wrist and tug him closer. The world is quiet, here, with you. His and his alone.

You keep your eyes steady on his, chin lifted in determination, always ready to fight. He runs a finger over the back of your hand, the one holding him. You don’t look at his mouth and you don’t let go.

He knows what you want because he wants it, too.

He lifts both of your hands and puts your palm over the lower half of your face. The center of the universe is your mouth. You stay still while he positions you, not even surprised; you know him.

Slow: he leans in, presses his lips to the back of your hand. Your eyes shut; he watches you as he lingers. The barrier hasn't been knocked down, yet, but this is him laying siege.

“A promise,” he says against your skin. “Is all I need.”

[bylersecretsanta2023]

from @willelworld, to @marshmallo824

Will is mad.

He’s been sitting on his bed fuming for the past two hours, stirring in a thick cloud of frustration while staring down at his final project for ART235. There’s one of Jonathan’s mixtapes— he made it for Will as a graduation present, congrats on surviving high school. literally!— buzzing from his Walkman headphones, acting as white noise to wade through the jumbled thoughts straggling around his mind.

He’s burning up in a newfound rage at the fact that he just can’t figure out what’s wrong with this piece lying in his lap. The class is one of his art electives— The Beauty of Still Life — and despite being only a 200 level elective course, it’s been pulling Will through the wringer all semester long. After two graphite drawings, three chalk pastels, a 3D clay model, and his very first venture into oil painting, Will is decidedly not seeing the beauty in it. He is, however, seeing red, because the final project is due tomorrow morning, and it’s already ten at night, and the charcoal coating his fingers and therefore streaking across his bed sheets is enough to have him in tears. Will holds them back, and continues to stare blankly, like the flowers and grapes and vase will actually come to life and clue him in on what he’s been getting wrong, what feels so off about the piece as a whole.

It’s the last night of Hanukkah, and Will has spent the better half of it rolling around his bed, sighing every few minutes as he makes another mark with a stick of charcoal, smudging it with a finger, then realizing it wasn’t looking any better. The kneaded eraser feels sweaty in his palm as he continues playing with it like a stress toy.

He and Mike had lit the final set of candles of their chanukiah hours ago, the flames leaving dripping wax in their wake as Will sat and watched. It was his first time celebrating away from home, from his family, which felt different, but he’s lucky to at least have Mike around to get a sense of home. Another thing he’s mad about - finals week taking up the time where he could be home with his mom, Jonathan, El and Hop, but instead he’s been swamped with hours upon hours of tedious papers, crammed studying, and finishing this stupidly frustrating still life.

In all, his first semester of college was nice, if not a bit hectic. Living with Mike had been both a dream and a nightmare, which he fully expected when signing himself up for living with the guy you’re in gay love with. And now, he’s only twelve hours away from the end, the finish line in sight, the last sprint before he’s back in Hawkins for a month of rest and recuperation. But this drawing is all wrong, and he’s ready to resign himself to a B+ in this class by handing in the world’s shittiest charcoal still life at 10 AM sharp. After that, the two of them will shove their suitcases and duffle bags of necessities into Mike’s trunk, and drive the hours-long ride home for winter break.

Will’s stomach growls embarrassingly loud, enough so that he hears it over both the headphones and music. As if on cue, the door handle jangles around and Mike waltzes through, kicking it shut behind him. He’s carrying a white porcelain plate with a couple of latkes, reheated from a few nights ago. Earlier in the week, Mike had somehow found the time amidst his plethora of essays to conjure up freshly made latkes in their dinky little communal dorm kitchen. Will isn’t sure how he did it, considering the sheer lack of kitchen utensils, and the rusted stove that clearly hasn’t been updated since the 50’s, a fire hazard waiting to happen. But nonetheless, when Mike had walked back upstairs carrying a platter filled with that beautiful fried potato, Will just about cried at the sentiment.

Mike joins him on his bed without asking, knowing full well that he’s allowed, and Will’s stomach growls again for good measure, like an alarm blaring out his jealousy over Mike finishing the last of the batch. Will hooks his single clean finger around the headphones and tugs them off.

Wordlessly, Mike hands him the plate. “For you,” he says, voice airy and dripping with fondness. Will could kiss him on the spot. He smiles, then looks down at his fingertips covered in chalky black, and then looks back to Mike sheepishly.

“Open. I’ll feed you,” Mike commands, and Will coughs out a laugh in surprise. He gives him a funny look, expecting Will to carry out their normal routine: Will refuses the help, then Mike pushes him on it, and Will caves immediately.

Will could argue on this, and he considers it, but he’s starving, and it feels ridiculous at this point to decline Mike’s care. They’ve fought monsters together and protected each other in literal battles. Mike hand feeding him latkes isn’t gonna kill him. Maybe.

“I feel like a baby right now,” Will admits, opening his mouth regardless of the comment as Mike breaks off a small piece for him to eat, then takes a bite for himself. They were much better fresh, but Will can’t complain. Mike pushes another piece against Will’s mouth before he’s done chewing the first, laughing, warm and light, at the unimpressed glare he receives.

And this is where Will’s biggest problem lies. This is the root of his current predicament with the still life. See, while he should’ve been spending the past three weeks getting a head start on his final project, he instead chose to work on something that’s, in his opinion, much more important, if not stupidly reckless. Will had put all of his free time towards a painting for Mike. A new one, a callback to the last grand piece he dedicated to him, in the backseat of that musty, sweltering pizza van flying through the Nevada desert.

He’s being stupid, Will realizes. He understands that, fully. He’s spent months overanalyzing every interaction with Mike since graduation. He spent the entirety of late October contemplating if he should go through with it, with making him another painting. This time, with a proper, honest confession attached. Not the piss-poor excuse of whatever he gave last time, hiding behind El, making a fool of himself with his trembling, lying words.

This time, he actually does have a little confidence. Mike has always been kind with him, always caring and gentle, but never in an insulting or belittling manner. But ever since they moved in together, it’s like the final walls separating the two of them fell, and Mike’s been all over him. He’s always complimenting Will, more than normal, peppering him with little innocuous comments on how nice he looks today or how well he’s doing in his classes or how good he’s been at making new friends. On top of that, Mike’s dialed up his touchiness to an entirely unheard level. He’s gotten more hugs from Mike in the past three months than in the entirety of high school. And the worst (best) part, is the ‘flirting.’ Will is hesitant to call it that, not wanting to get his hopes up, but he just doesn’t know another word to use that sums up all the little moments in their conversations that feel too playful, too endearing, and altogether too sweet.

It’s like Mike had some grand revelation on move-in day back in August, that this was for real. That Will wasn’t going anywhere. That they survived all the bullshit of their childhood, and they still have each other, and nothing could change that other than their own choices, not some ever-looming threat of death.

Whatever it is, Will is grateful, but he also wasted so much energy on dissecting every change in Mike’s behavior, every normal action amplified by an indescribable air of openness, trust, and, dare he say it, love. Will is feeling loved, every single day, and it unsettles him greatly. Not that he doesn’t feel loved by his family and friends at home, of course not. But this is a different kind of love. He feels wanted.

Which is why, despite their 13 years of platonic history, and despite his better judgment, he’s decided to take the plunge. Risk it all, so to speak. Gamble their friendship. Put his heart on the line and pray that Mike picks it back up, gingerly in his hands. That he returns it to Will’s chest in-tact and, against all odds, returns his feelings, too. If it all blows up in his face, Will’s betting on their school’s resident housing office to help him switch to a new dorm before the start of the Spring semester.

He’s chewing on another piece of the latke, deep in thought about this sticky situation, when Mike oh so helpfully points out his other, more pressing plight.

“How’s the still life going?” he asks, staring down at the almost completed drawing in Will’s lap. “It looks really nice.”

Will groans at this. “You say that about all my work. It’s starting to mean less and less everyday, you know.”

Mike scoffs playfully, not really hurt, but wanting to keep this conversation fun and spirited. “You’re saying my expert opinion doesn’t matter?”

“Expert in what, exactly?” Will welcomes the needed distraction from his work, and he wouldn’t admit it if asked, but he really does love to hear Mike comment on his art. Mike was his first critic, his first muse, and his biggest fan when it comes to his artwork.

“I’m the world’s leading expert in Will Byers art history. After you die they’re gonna be begging me to sell your old paintings, but I won’t budge.”

“After I die?” Will asks, eyes bulging as he laughs out the words. “Are you gonna open a museum in my honor, or something?”

Mike rolls his head to the side where it’s resting against the wall, linking their eyes. “Oh, definitely. There’ll be a whole wing just for D&D. I’ll sell Will the Wise merch in the gift shop for a profit.”

Will laughs again at the imagery Mike created for him, and shakes his head, his smile wide and on display. Mike tears his gaze away from Will’s eyes and for a moment, it moves to somewhere lower, a dangerous spot just below his nose and right above his chin. And then he’s looking down at the charcoal drawing again.

“Why are you still working on it, though? This looks incredible. Really. Like, really, really professional,” and Will can tell Mike’s having trouble finding the right words to describe the drawing, because it’s unlike any of the art Will actually enjoys creating. It’s black and white for starters, and there’s no people, just inanimate objects.

Will looks back up to Mike’s face, and he’s clearly concentrating hard. He appreciates the concern Mike gives him, the effort he puts into things even when he’s not quite sure how. “Not enough magic for your taste?”

This brings a closed-mouth grin to Mike’s lips, but he still hasn’t broken his gaze from the drawing. “Could use a dragon or two, I suppose.”

He’s suddenly all too aware of the painting currently hiding underneath his bed, right below the two of them. It’s different from the one he made in ‘86. Rather than the Party fighting a three-headed dragon, it’s simply a full-body portrait of Sir Mike. Will’s improved significantly in the past three and a half years, constantly honing his skills with acrylic paint through high school and now early college. He thinks he got the metallic reflect on Mike’s paladin armor just right, and he made sure to include the big old heart on his shield, again. Just to hammer home the point even more.

“But like, for real. From an objective standpoint, can you see anything— I don’t know— weird about it?” Will probes for more feedback. He should’ve paid more attention in the critique for his last project.

Mike goes quiet this time, zoning in on it. Will watches as his eyes glide back and forth, picking up on all the details. The lines and streaks of the charcoal stick lie across the finely textured paper. The hours of smudging and blending that Will endured, chasing perfection. The negative space he left behind for the highlighted points. The shadows cast by each object— a bowl of grapes surrounded by ornate candlesticks and a vase with a single lily flower— making them look like they’re bouncing off the paper and taking up real space. All the elements are present, but yet, something isn’t quite right.

“It’s the perspective, isn’t it?” Will interrupts the peaceful silence, breaking Mike’s concentration with his anxious rambling. “That’s definitely it. But it’s too late- I don’t think I can really fix it at this point- and I don’t have time to start all over, I mean I’ve been working on this nonstop for a week and a half and I don’t know why I keep fucking it up and—“

“Will,” Mike cuts him short with a hand pressed to his forearm, almost clutching at him. “There’s nothing wrong with the perspective. This looks crazy realistic, like I could reach in and touch everything for myself, you know? But it still has that sense of, like, your style. It feels purposeful, I guess, with how you can see the lines if you look up close. It feels human, even though there’s no people included.”

Will stares at him in a profound shock, like he didn’t expect Mike to go so deep with his analysis. He blinks a few times, a blush sprouting on his cheeks. “Thank you- that’s, that’s so. I’m so— thank you.” He settles on a simple form of gratitude, not wishing to trip over his words any longer.

“It’s perfect,” Mike tacks on, finally looking back upwards to take in Will’s expression. Will forgot how forward Mike is with his compliments for his art, as it’s been a good long while since he’s properly gifted him anything. Will feels a mix of excitement and dread at how Mike will react to his present-slash-confession. He’s planning on showing him the painting on the night the Party officially holds their holiday festivities, once everyone’s returned from their respective schools. He figures it’s a nice enough opportunity to give him the painting, and also relieves Will of the panic around finding Mike a suitable Christmas gift.

And Will thinks it’s over. He thinks his heart is finally safe to crawl back down his throat and settle into his ribcage once more. But Mike has other plans.

“You’re perfect,” Mike says in a whisper, but his eyes are still locked tight in an unbreaking connection with Will’s. He means it wholeheartedly, and Will sees something glimmer in his eyes at that moment. He’s made a choice.

Before Will can even process Mike’s words or begin to formulate a coherent response, Mike’s face is suddenly in front of him and it’s all he can see. It’s all he knows. Mike Mike Mike. Screw The Beauty of Still Life, Wil decides he’s never going to make another piece of art that isn’t focused around the boy in front of him.

Will’s not really sure what he expected would happen within the next few seconds, as all his brain power is going towards deciphering the logistics of proposing his new major that entirely surrounds painting this beautiful boy he lives with, but then there’s a pressure on his mouth, and he’s thrown out of his daze.

What the fuck. Mike’s kissing me. And it’s an electric shock to his nervous system, and it’s like his body’s being woken up by a bucket of frozen water as he’s flung into the present moment. His brain catches up, and before he starts kissing back or doing really anything at all, Mike’s pulling away. His eyes are searching his face, back and forth, in this confused and hopeful and pained fashion, brows pinching in the center.

Instead of saying anything useful, Will blurts out, “Oh my god, you ruined the surprise.” He’s thinking about how many hours of tossing and turning in his bed, pondering what words to use when he inevitably reveals the true depth of his feelings. All the worries and fears he’s harbored, all the insecurities, they’re playing on a loop in his mind, like how they say your life flashes before your eyes right as you die. He’d gladly let Mike kill all his fears.

“What?” Mike utters, quiet and hurt, his very own fears springing up as his brain zeros in on the word ‘ruined’ and nothing else. Will wants to punch himself in the face.

“Shit, sorry, I meant. I meant that, I was planning on doing that, too. As a Christmas present,” Will states, dumbly. He’s still a bit disoriented.

“You were planning on kissing me as a present?” Mike giggles, his eyes turning to crescents. “I mean, I’m not complaining. But you could do that any day of the year, if you want.”

“No, that’s— I was trying to say that… that I’ve spent the past few weeks writing up this- this whole confession to you in my head. And I wanted to wait until we were back in Hawkins and not, like, sleeping in the same room. In case things got awkward,” Will explains, still sounding sort of silly. He’s never felt simultaneously so embarrassed yet so overjoyed.

Mike’s laughing a little, eyes dazzling. But now he’s sobering up, listening to Will intently.

“And, I- um. I kinda— I made you a painting.”

Mike brightens at this, his smile widening even more, somehow. “Like the one when we were fifteen?” He asks, teasing, with a tilt of his head.

Will sighs, embarrassment trickling in yet again. “Yeah. Like the one when we were fifteen. But much better quality, and more kissing involved, preferably.”

It’s like Mike was waiting to hear the word ‘kiss’ again for the green light to lean back in. He puts a hand on the back of Will’s neck and into his hair, pulling him closer. Will rests his own on the side of Mike’s face, cautiously, like he’s still not sure if he’s allowed to do this. They meet in the middle, and this time, it’s not as much of a jolt, as an overwhelming feeling of warmth. It’s like pouring warm water over your hair and down your neck— shuddering, but in a good way.

When they break apart again, Will realizes he never wiped the charcoal off his hands, and there’s a collection of smeared black fingerprints on Mike’s cheek. He can’t contain his laugh at the sight, bubbling up out of him. He feels on fire. He feels hysterical.

“Can I see the painting, now that I’ve ruined your surprise?” Mike asks, a hint of desperation in his voice.

Will considers it, and then shakes his head. “Nah, you’re gonna have to wait for the full thing. Including the confession. It’s only fair.”

Mike wilts at this, grabbing Will’s neck again from where his hand has been resting on his shoulder. “I don’t think I can spend the next ten days pretending like there’s nothing between us,” he says in a hushed tone. He’s being dramatic, Will notices, and it’s in that faint teasing tone that Mike always does when he tries to get his way.

“I mean, you don’t have to do that,” Will offers.

Mike spends a total of five seconds considering this, before he outright asks: “So, you’ll be my boyfriend now?”

Will barks out another laugh at the way he phrased it. Sometimes, it’s hard to keep up with Mike’s impulsivity. He’s spent the last couple of years wanting to make a move, and then the past months building up to actually doing it. But here Mike is, beating him to it in a seemingly split-second decision.

“Yes, of course. Of course I’ll be your boyfriend,” Will answers him, beaming at the prospect. He can’t believe his luck. He can’t believe Mike’s timing.

“Okay… so, can I see the painting now?”

Will rolls his eyes without a hint of malice, shoving Mike in the shoulder. “Did you really think that would work?”

Mike leans into Will’s space once more, bouncing back to him like a rubber band. He’s never seen the other boy happier. “Worth a shot.”

A couple weeks later, when Will receives his final grades, the “B+” next to ART235 is enough for him.

It’s perfect, even.

[scalproie]

Inspiration is a loop and @kazamajun's post gave me the motivation to write a little something of my own. So. Yeah :)

---

"What should we name him?"

"Him? " Kazuya whipped his head around so fast that Jun had to raise a hand to hide a chuckle. He never spend much thought on this whole... baby situation until now, but saying it outloud made him realize that he half-expected -and in all honesty, would've preferred- a daughter. "How can you be so sure?"

"A little bird told me." At that, Kazuya raised an eyebrow. Knowing Jun, she could mean this in a very literal way.

Gods have no need for sleep, they can partake in the activity all they want but it is more recreational than necessary, Kazuya certainely has never slept before. Well, before Jun. Taking a few hours every so often to lay down and rest together was a habit she took with her from the surface. She used to hide among mortals, watch them closely and fondly, adopted their life rhythms dictated by the sun. Kazuya never understood it and told her as much, but he certainely won't pass on the opportunity those habits of hers bring to hold onto Jun quietly for long periods of time. And it was another change Jun brought that was welcomed by all denizens of Hell, as it meant not dealing with its ruler for a few hours.

That intimacy was new to both gods, but they took to it quite rapidly. Kazuya always found it easy to talk in those moments before slumber, even easier than it already was to talk with her, and Jun never failed to notice, hence why she brought up the baby topic in the first place.

"Fine then, just name him whatever you want. I've no idea why you would even ask me."

"Is it so peculiar? That I would want you to choose the name of our child?"

He's more yours than mine, he bites down. But she must have felt it either way since she laid a heavy palm on his chest.

"He will be a deity, revered the same as us, tied to the both of us. Are you sure you want nothing to do with the way he will be worshipped?"

Ah, playing with his ego, she knows him so well.

"Is there nobody you'd want to honor?" She asks, much, much quieter. And just like that, she takes him to a place much more dangerous than the heavens where his opposing siblings reside: the past. He closes his eyes in remembrance and she observes him, ready to snap him out should he get somewhere too unpleasant.

"Jinpachi," he finally spoke, she squeezes his hand under the cover. "My grandfather."

"The God of the Sky?"

"You know him?"

It should not have such an effect on him, that she would know of his family; everyone knows of the Sky, of course she would be familiar with him, she used to see it everyday.

"Kazama, the God of the Wind -my own grandfather- always spoke of him with great respect."

"He said he would always watch over me..." At that, Jun was now making soothing circles with her thumb on the hand she was squeezing. "Not that it matters now anyway."

Because his own father, eons ago, usurped the throne of his granfather and started their family's cycle of godly violence. Because the sky was now forbidden to Kazuya.

"I like that name." Her soft voice was like a lifeline, anchoring him to the present. He turned his head so his lips would be on her forehead, but nothing more. "He could be like a piece of sky down here..."

Kazuya hummed in aknowledgement, signaling the end of the conversation. She snuggled closer on his neck, and eventually he felt Jun falling asleep before him. This didn't surprised him: she looked more tired recently, her face was paler, her smile thinner... he tried his best not to think too much about it. Or he blamed it on their unborn child.

He took her in his arms, and took her in entirely, before allowing himself to rest with her, undoubtful that at least she will still be here at their awakening.

---

She was gone.

Has it been hours? Days? Weeks? Millenia?

Even if Kazuya had the ability to tell the time down there, he would feel her absence for much longer than it actually was.

She was gone.

"Then go." Was the last thing he said before turning his back on her, before she could do the same to him. Staying here any longer would kill her? Watching her leave would kill him.

(Nothing would kill him. Nothing could kill him. Never again. He had to remind himself of that.)

He sat motionless in the lush garden. He broke his agreement with Bosconovitch to aleviate his sentence should he succeed in bringing a bit of the surface down here, he send him back to whatever torture the old soul was put through before the good inventor could even plead mercy. It was too late.

That damn garden. He wanted to tear it appart. He wanted to destroy it all.

But something kept stopping his hand, what for? he didn't know, that garden was useless now, it would be better to wipe it all out, to make room for something actually of use. Perhaps his mind was being clouded by thoughts of Jun.

Of course his mind was being clouded by thoughts of Jun.

So there he sat, eyes unfocused and aura lethal, in a garden that was gradually making him feel worse on a physical level. But it didn't bothered him anyway: the pain on his skin and bones distracting him from the pain in his chest.

His scar hurted again.

"... My lord?"

Kazuya couldn't care less whichever of his servant dared to disturb him.

"What should we do with your s-"

"Don't touch it." His voice made the ground shake and the air was electric. From the corner of his eyes, Kazuya could see them jump. Good. "I will deal with it myself."

He rose from his spot, and made his way out of the garden, without so much as sparing a glance at whoever would be unlucky enough to cross his path again, the previous servant already having bolted away at his first movement. When he arrived before the room where the dead infant was placed, various souls poured out of it and scuttled away like bugs, leaving it empty for the King of Hell.

Kazuya entered, and there it was in the middle: the small body, bundled up like a corpse more than a newborn. Kazuya stared at it, this pathetic weakling, too frail, too unworthy, and reached to grab it by the neck.

His hand slowed, a feeling reaching his own neck, warning to dig up old, old memories. Instead Kazuya settled to carry the body in a more appropriate matter.

As he stepped outside of the room, it suddenly hit him that he did not yet know what he should do with it. That no one else but him was supposed to dispose of it, of that he was certain, but how?

He looked again at the grotesque little thing. He could not recognize anything of himself in it. He could not recognize anything of Jun either.

Jun.

You were supposed to fix this, he mentally spat to the unborn baby, his face twisting into a silent scowl, you're the reason she had to leave.

The teary-faced image of Jun sprung into his mind with such intensity it brought back the full disturbance he felt upon seeing it for the first time.

You made her weak.

The realization that he wasn't speaking to the carcass did nothing to quell Kazuya's anger. Quite the opposite. He directed a vicious, vicious stare at the pounds of divine meat in his arms.

"I should throw you down to the lowest levels of Hell so that you may feed whatever monstrous things live down there, maybe that way you could make up for your uselessness."

He recoiled as soon as his venomous words left his mouth. The chill he just felt made him stop dead in his tracks. The thunder booming in his mind was a cruel punctuation. No. No, it bears my blood, he tried to rationalize, it deserves a better fate than this.

Yes, this was about pride, and not about the bone-deep horror he felt at how he just sounded like. Who he just sounded like.

He looked around at a loss, only to see that his feet took him back to the garden. Yes, of course, it was clear now: at the very least, it could be used as a grave, soon to be sealed off, and forgotten about. This felt fitting, this felt right, and right now he desesperately needed something to feel right.

So he entered back into the garden, and didn't need to search for long before finding a proper spot to bury the small body, which he set aside as he dropped to his knees.

To his dismay, that motion brought back more memories.

"Come join me!"

It was just after one of their spar, Kazuya was out of breath, as he often was when he went for extended periods of time on the surface. Jun was as lively as ever, covered in dirt that some would say is unfitting of a goddess, but Kazuya was above such thoughts: she yet again tied with him, she could look however she pleases.

"What for?" He called out to her.

"Helping me shape a new life!"

One could hear the smile in her voice as she gestured to the young tree waiting to be planted in a better sunlit spot.

"I take away life, Jun."

"And is that really all you can do, King of Hell?"

This got a smirk out of him, which only made her smile bigger, as she patted down the spot next to her. When he moved over and dropped to his knees, he could see that she has already worked up a sweat, having digged quite the hole, and they just had a fight before! He gave her a curious look: they're gods, surely there must be a less tiresome way to do this? And as usual, she understood him wordlessly.

"The effort makes it mean something," She held a handful of soil almost to his face and he leaned back ever so slightly. "It's much more satisfying than just willing it into existence."

His look turned from curious to perplexed, so she took his hands into her own (gently, so gently he learned not to jump at the touch anymore) and used them to scoop a bit of the earth.

"The soil is rich here thanks to the volcano," She said, referring to Hell's Entrance, not that far away from here. She kept her brown eyes focused on the ground. "Isn't it amazing? That what is thought to only bring death can help raise so much life?"

Kazuya just looked at her. He only ever looked at her. He could spend eons looking at her.

Her voice, somehow, turned ever softer.

"There is so much more to it than mere destruction."

In the garden, Kazuya felt as if he was digging a hole into his stomach, his throat, rather than in the soft dirt.

When the hole was deep enough, he lowered the unborn child into it, and stayed still for a moment to contemplate the fruit of his labor. Should he say a few words? Make a prayer like a mortal? All options beneath him of course, but sadly for him, that memory of... her brought a vulnerability. He especially despised it now.

Sighing, he began to push back the dirt into the hole.

He thought he dreamt the first sound, that it was just the impact of dust on clothes.

The second sound made him stop in confusion. To his credit, Kazuya heard plenty of last breaths, never a first one.

The third sound was like a great dam finally bursting wide open, a piercing scream that might as well have resonated throughout all levels of Hell. It was as if all the air that was in Kazuya's lungs left him to fuel those of the baby.

Kazuya reached into the hole with an alarming swiftness, as if that loud, irritating, wonderful sound could end at any moment. And he held the child with a gentleness he never thought himself capable of.

He didn't even know where the knowledge of making hushing, soothing noises came from.

He wouldn't dare to tear his shining bright red eyes away from the tiny godling in his arms, who in-between two hiccups started to just slightly open his own. Kazuya looked into them for the first time.

Dark, rich brown.

Outside the garden, a commotion has started to form, loud whispers started to rise, all souls present unsure of what to do, or what even was happening in there. Some were debating if they should enter to offer assistance to their Lord, some were saying it would mean risking punishment for daring to disturb their Master.

Hell embodied, an entity far older than all of Hell's denizens combined, including its Lord for whom she always had a soft spot for, broke away from the crowd to enter the garden, and find the origin of that strange, thundering noise.

It treaded inside on cautious steps, and she immediately felt the same unease Kazuya would when he stayed in there too long. She too was bound to this deep place far below from the surface that is Hell, maybe even more than him, but it was willing to endure the rising discomfort to help the one she had already saved long, long ago, and who she deemed her appointed ruler.

It found Kazuya in the middle of the garden, slowly pacing around, aware of her presence but unwilling to break his attention away from whatever he was holding.

When Hell Embodied came closer, it too felt it's breath taken away from her.

"Implausible," She whispered, awestruck, staring at the first ever hellborn child. "It came back to life."

"Jin."

Kazuya's eyes were shinier than she ever had seen them, even more shinier than when it encountered him for the first time, dying, at the bottom of Hell. They stayed fixated on the boy. He lightly bounced his son to make him more comfortable in his grip. Tiny hands were clasped on one of his much, much larger fingers.

"His name is Jin."

[somewhereinthepines]

lil thing that went nowhere lol.

a/n : this is the very first, tiny draft of my du'lie fic. basically, i was just trying to figure out how i wanted to present the story and such. it didn't fit anywhere in the fic in the end, but it's still fun to think about what might have happened, if it would have been included.

————–

No, no, no no! Please — oh God — oh fuck, please no!  

Charlie is on the verge of a full-blown panic. His mind racing, and his heart goes into overdrive as he fruitlessly darts from one end of the room to another, hands scrambling against the wall, like he can possibly find some secret exit, a handle, a passage, anything, that can be used as a way out. 

But there is nothing. Just wallpaper, just wood, just an obstacle that he cannot psychically overcome or do anything with. There is no way out this time. He cannot escape what will come next. His higher brain understands it with dreadful probability, but his animal one, retches and wrestles, and howls in pure desperation. He has to — he has to get the fuck out! 

“Pl-please…” he stutters under his breath, fingers spalling and searching, as a dying hope still curling under his chest-bone. “Not like t-this…please, not – I don’t —” 

He’s not ready. 

He’s so painfully not ready to die, that whatever else doesn't seem to matter much. He feels, that if he will survive just a bit longer, that he would be able to look past anything. His failing business, his loneliness, the growing amount of unpaid debt. He will be able to withstand anything, if he will be able to make it out alive. 

Nothing changes, though. The wall is just a wall, and he’s stuck in the end of the hallway, with the killer just a couple yards away from him. Waiting and watching him struggle, wrenching around like a cornered rat. It must be so hilariously ungraceful and dumb-looking from Du’Met’s view. 

Eventually, out of breaths and ideas, Charlie stops. Both of his palms are pressed against the wall, as he shivers, barely able to swallow a pitiful whimper of horror. He’s going to die. He’s going to be pinned to a wall, like a damn taxidermy animal, he’s — 

Behind him the wooden floorboard creak, violated by adding weight. Charlie flinches with his whole body, and goes absolutely still, any thoughts cut short. 

Du’Met. He’s here. Right behind him. Charlie can literally feel his presence now. The hair on his neck stands at its ends, and his skin feels clammy, blistering with sweat. Like he’s having an especially nasty nightmare or a high-strung fever. 

The wrongness of this whole situation nearly sways him off his unbending, shaking legs, but he forces himself to remain vertical and slowly peer over his shoulder. And yea, Du’Met is right there, at the end of the hallway, staring him down, hands seemingly empty, but it does very little to make Charlie feel better. 

He can still have a knife inside his pocket. Or he might want to finish Charlie off in some other grizzle fashion. He’s still a threat, even if unarmed. 

The older man doesn’t even dare to blink, holding that heavy, scrutinizing gaze with the best of his ability. He wasn’t sure why Du’Met wasn’t attacking him yet. Why was he just standing there without any clear intention, when he could easily murder Charlie right here. Lack of clear intentions, did nothing, but unnerved him further. 

But he has to do something. This might be his only chance to survive. 

Slowly, like he was afraid to trigger a response, Charlie turned around, giving up on an attempt to somehow pry his way through the wall. It was of no use. There wasn’t any means to escape this way. 

Du’Met wasn’t doing anything at all. He was just looking at him, eyes cold and calm behind the holes of his mask. Charlie, in comparison, was barely holding his remaining sanity together. He was completely dumbstruck with what he had to do here. Should he say something? Should he plead and hope, that it will work again? 

Somehow, he doubted that it would. It felt, like that one time was simple luck. Perhaps, Du’Met just felt like letting him go back then, but it won’t happen again. He was sure of it. 

“I’m —” his jaw locked and opened, but barely any coherence could be formed, when he was this nervous. What could he even tell him, anyway? That if he let him leave, then he’s…? He’s what? 

Either tired of waiting or Charlie’s general uncertainty, Du’Met walked closer, stance laid-back, steps well-measured and unhurried. Charlie pressed his back even further into the wall, hiking his shoulders up, as if in a defensive position. 

“D-don’t.” he grunted out, eyes wide and whole form shaking. “Please…don’t d-do this.” 

Du’Met naturally didn’t say anything back. Not that Charlie expected him to, but his eyes slightly lidded and then, he did something very bizarre. Instead of advancing forward some more, he slowly stretched his arms in front of him, before flipping them up, demonstrating empty hands.

Charlie peered at him. At his face, at his open latex palms, then back to his face. He did it at least four times, before succumbing to proper confusion. If Du’Met wanted him to get something from this, he clearly didn’t succeed. 

“Uh, I don’t…?” he made a helpless half-gesture, attempting to articulate, that the other man might need to be more direct with his intention. Charlie was completely oblivious of what this was supposed to mean. Let alone any way to read it.

What the hell was this? An indication that he came with peace? 

The thought was so absurd, that Charlie let out a hysterical snort, which made Du’Met tilt his chin a bit lower, brows most likely furrowing behind the mask. Did he — 

Oh god….

“N-no. No. I – I wasn’t laughing at you!” he quickly assured, stumbling upon his thoughts, and half-baked ideas of how to use this stalemate to his advantage. “I just don’t — I don’t understand what you are trying to say.” 

Du’Met lowered his arms, letting them rest against his sides. Charlie forgot how to breathe. Did he upset him? Was this his only leeway? Did he screw it up by speaking? 

The killer side-stepped to the left, freeing some more space in between himself and the hallway. Then, he over-politely gestured to the empty passage there, as if offering Charlie to take the opportunity and leave this way. 

He started to understand it then. His stomach sank. 

“Oh.” 

The only way to leave the deadend was to go back to where he came from, but to do so, he would need to pass past Du’Met. To walk right next to him, when there is barely an arm length, that would separate them from one another. A shiver shot up his spine just from this notion alone. Charlie shook his head, as if in denial. 

This can’t be the only way. 

He wasn’t an idiot. He wasn’t stupid enough to walk right to the person, who could and would hurt him, if he sees so fit. It was crazy to even consider this, but then again, what other options did he have? He couldn’t break through the wall, and there was no window to attempt and leave this way, so…the hallway. 

It was his only way out. 

A way out, that was currently half-occupied by Du’Met. 

Out of all the horrible things, that happened to him today, this was surely the most horrifying one. Before, there always was a small passage, a chance for him to escape and outsmart the other, but now, there was no choice at hand. There was no side-path, just a dreadful way forward. 

But why? Why design it like this, when he could just mess Charlie up, where he stood? He didn’t even have to be smart or tricky about it. Deep down, Charlie knows why, though. 

He wants me to be terrified. That’s why he does this. 

It often was about control with these kinds of people. Perhaps, he wanted to control, where Charlie went and how he did it. Compared to all other times, when Charlie's ability to survive despite the odds was something, that Du’Met failed to expect. It was clear from the light surprise inside his eyes, when he stumbled upon Charlie in the garden. 

He wasn’t foreseeing this to happen. Du’Met most likely assumed, that Charlie was dead, when in fact, he was still alive and kicking. He wasn’t able to control how exactly the older man handled these situations. He thought, that he had it in his pocket, the second Charlie walked into these traps. They all were designed to kill him, after all. 

But that’s the kicker, they didn’t. After a few hours stuck in here, Charlie was still alive and in one piece. It must have been troubling for the other male to process. Being stripped of his main advantage by some commoner or whatever he depicted him as. But this instance was different. 

This, Du’Met will be able to control. Fully. Without any real unknown challenges. 

And what he's to do now...?

[scottysketches]

WIP Wednesday

Here's a small excerpt from the beginning of Tear Me To Pieces, the story I'm writing that takes place directly after Talk Me Down ends at the outbreak of the Night of a Thousand Tears. I literally wrote this last night because I wanted to make sure I had it written down before I forgot it.

---

Amis cries out as an Imperial stormtrooper fires a shot past his face, and he can feel the burn of the blaster bolt on his cheek.

“AMIS!” he hears Korkie yell, and he looks to find his cyare staring in his direction, his eyes wide in panic.

“I’m okay!” he insists, but Korkie runs over to him anyway, discarding his borrowed rifle with little thought as he slides into cover next to him. The greying copper-haired man brings his hands up to Amis’s face, inspects the wound, and Amis hisses in pain when Korkie’s thumb brushes over the raw mark. He raises his hand to cover Korkie’s. “I’m okay, I promise.”

Korkie’s eyes are moving, inspecting him for other injuries. “Are you sure?” he asks — begs, even — his hands moving to Amis’s jaw. He might not be sensitive to the Force, but Amis can hear — and almost feel — Korkie’s heart beating hard in his chest. From adrenaline, yes, but also from the terror that Amis could have been hurt.

He bows his head forward, and their foreheads press together. It’s soothing. “I’m sure,” he murmurs; not just to reassure Korkie, but to reassure himself.

Korkie exhales shakily, relief visible in his entire demeanour. He glances up into Amis’s eyes, and—

“Marry me,” Amis blurts out.

Korkie blinks once, twice. “What?”

He flushes bright red, but when he repeats himself, his voice is stronger in his conviction. “Marry me, Korkie. Right here, right now.”

His lover — his fiancé — stares at him in disbelief, and Amis suddenly fears that Korkie’s having second doubts about proposing to him, earlier that day.

The rogue, unofficial Jedi-in-training looks around, and yells, “Bo!”

Amis turns his upper body to look, too. Korkie’s aunt is stood nearby, sheltering behind another nearby rock, and trying to apply bacta to a fellow soldier’s wounds. She looks in their direction. “What?”

Korkie waves a hand between himself and Amis. “Marry us!”

The elder Kryze freezes, and then responds: “Are you insane?! Here — now?!”

His fiancé looks back at him, and Amis returns his smile. “Yes.” In unison, they both remove their right gloves, and Korkie pulls a small durasteel kal from a sheath hidden on his tadun’bur.

Bo-Katan quickly turns to throw an incendiary grenade into an oncoming legion of stormtroopers, and dashes from the cover of one rock to another, closer to them. “Just so you know,” she yells over the sound of TIE fighters and advancing AT-STs, “I think you two are crazy for doing this right now!”

Korkie smirks at his aunt. “No better time like the present.” Bo-Katan groans.

But she places her blaster on the ground at her feet and begins to recite the words of the ancient Mandalorian blood oaths that had been performed for weddings for millennia. “Bat ibic tuur, o’r te nau be cuun ka’ra bal ti solus shol’shya, vaabir gar, Kohav Kryze, hiibir Amis Kar’jor at cuyir gar riduur? At me’dinuir tal bal galar tal par solus ashi, teh jii akay darasuum oyay o’r te manda?”

Korkie cups Amis’s face with his still-gloved left hand. “Ni vaabir.”

“Bat ibic tuur, o’r te nau be cuun ka’ra bal ti solus shol’shya, vaabir gar, Amis Kar’jor, hiibir Kohav Kryze at cuyir gar riduur? At me’dinuir tal bal galar tal par solus ashi, teh jii akay darasuum oyay o’r te manda?”

Amis leans into Korkie’s hand with a smile. “Ni vaabir.”

Korkie removes his hand from its place on Amis’s face, takes the kal in his grip, and holds the sharp edge of its blade to his right palm. As he slices the skin open and spills red blood onto the dirt beneath them, he says, “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome, mhi me’dinui an, mhi ba’juri verde.”

Amis takes the dagger from him and repeats the motion on his own hand. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome, mhi me’dinui an, mhi ba’juri verde.” They bring their hands together, the blood of their open wounds mixing together.

Even with her reluctance to perform the act of officiating their impromptu wedding, Bo-Katan gazes proudly at her nephew and Amis. “Chur te nau be cuun ka’ra, bal o’r te ol’averde be solus ashi, gar cuyir jii solus.”

Amis and Korkie press their foreheads together once more, and his fiancé — no, his husband — whispers to him, “When this is over, we’ll have a proper ceremony, with Lagos and Soniee, and their families…”

“And Mariah and Araneya,” Amis adds, and Korkie smiles at him. “Maybe we’ll invite Ahsoka and Rex if we can find them?” His husband laughs, and Amis presses his lips to Korkie’s.

Over the sounds of the battle all around them, Bo-Katan’s second-in-command yells out a warning. “Incoming!” They separate, bracing themselves for the impact of the fast-approaching blaster bolt from an AT-ST—

A flash of orange, and the bolt is deflected, split into two and flying past them on either side of the rock they’re crouched behind. Amis looks up.

Korkie is stood up, his hair whipping around his face in the wind and his jetii’kad held firm in both hands, the chrome and brass of its hilt worn from years of use, the beskar pommel in the shape of a strill’s head scratched and dull but still maintaining its shape. The orange blade emitted from the weapon shines like an early morning sunrise.

Like hope.

---

Mando'a translations:

Cyare - beloved, loved, popular Kal - dagger Tadun’bur – shin or calf armour Bat ibic tuur, o'r te Nau be cuun Ka'ra bal ti solus shol'shya, vaabir gar, [name here], hiibir [name here] at cuyir gar riduur? at me'dinuir tal bal galar tal par solus ashi, teh jii akay gar darasuum oyay o'r te manda? - On this day, in the light of our stars and with one another, do you, [name here], take [name here] to be your partner? To share blood and spill blood for each other, from now until your eternal life in the manda? Ni vaadir. – I do. Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome, mhi me’dinui an, mhi ba’juri verde. – We are one together, we are one apart, we share all, we raise warriors. (Mandalorian wedding vow.) Chur te Nau be cuun ka'ra, bal o'r te ol'averde be solus ashi, gar cuyir jii solus. - Under the light of our stars, and in the company of each other, you are now one. Jetii'kad - lightsaber (lit. Jedi Sword) Beskar - Mandalorian iron

[ravingrambling]

growing up is weird. it’s like one day you have your whole life ahead of you; literally nothing but choices and options, always something that you’re tied to, something forcing you to choose and decide. you lose that when you grow up. you get older and suddenly you’re leaving a place and people that you’ve been tethered to your entire life and the choices you have to make both expand and dwindle right before your eyes. you’re untethered now, you’re free, and yet you feel the path before you thinning rapidly. how can it be that the sea has both risen in an epic tsunami and dwindled down to a puddle all at once?

i feel lost, unmoored, overwhelmed by the expanse of my choices and crushed under the pressing weight of them. it feels contradictory, my current existence. somehow my best years are both behind me and only just starting. i’m in a weird place, a sort of purgatory between childhood and adulthood, it’s cliche, but i’m standing on the cliff face staring down at my far off new beginning and also plummeting so rapidly towards it that i can feel the tickle of the ground against the tip of my nose.

i have so many things to do, and yet i want so badly to not have to do any of them. i want to live forever in my memories, bathe in the warmth of nostalgia and live in a world with the filter of almost-forgotten over it. i reminisce constantly, and despite always telling myself to, i can never seem to live in the present.

only a few years ago i wanted so badly for freedom, for distance from my past, and for the opportunities i thought would be served to me in the future. i’m holding those opportunities now, they stay gripped in my hands, held onto so tightly by a past version of myself that they are now branded into the skin of my palms and i can’t seem to rid myself of them no matter my efforts to shake them off.

i think about my future and am so overwhelmed with a grief of all the “could be’s” and all the “has been’s” in the same moment. so so many different paths, none clearer than the other, so i walk the path of obligation. i dislike having a choice. i want to be instructed on what to do, and then to do it begrudgingly. i want the ability to complain about my existence because i didn’t choose it, i want no responsibility and no weight on my shoulders if i am unhappy or discontent. i don’t want to be the ring leader in my own circus, i want to be a dissatisfied audience member who attended only because they had bought the tickets a month earlier, watching on in horror as the lion eats the tamers face.

i could go to england. i was a child with a weird obsession with the union jack, so wouldn’t it be full circle to move to the dreary UK and live out my life there? wouldn’t that be fulfilling some prophecy? following a dream made shakily in my youth seems reasonable, if i can do something and have everyone around me look at it and agree that it makes sense or was somehow predetermined in a way, that would take away some of my guilt over my own future and however miserable it is.

i don’t want to do the things that i want to do mainly because i don’t know what those things are. i don’t feel fully formed yet, and i’m beginning to think i never will be. i feel lost in an ocean of opportunity, and would swim to shore, only i don’t know which shore to swim to, and there’s a voice in my head telling me it’s better to dive down as deep as possible and discover the secrets that lie below rather than return to safety.

i think in a way i do speak things into existence, but only in the way that once i say something to someone else, i now feel as though i have their eyes constantly on my back and i am terrified to make any unexpected movements or subvert their expectations in any way. i said i was contemplating doing something, so now to not do so would be a disappointment. i think on a logical level i can recognise the falsehood and absurdity of that notion, and yet it’s remains my unwavering truth.

i don’t think i know my own feelings. i hear and read things that resonate strongly, and the ideas that i absorb are ones i try to spew out to my friends and myself, but i don’t know if i believe them. i believe that there are endless opportunities ahead of me and that i should gobble them all up like a greedy child with a plate of lollies; i believe that there are endless opportunities ahead of me and that very idea strikes a fear so deep within me it feels almost primal. i am excited about my future and the unknown; i am horribly depressed by the idea of making new memories when i’m still holding on so desperately to the old ones. change is inevitable and wonderful; change is inevitable and unstoppable and overwhelmingly horrific. i think life is love and love is life and yet so much of me and my existence centres around feelings that feel so distant from love they shouldnt be described in the same language. i think i’m a good person; i know i’m a rotten person.

i don’t know if you can be washed up at my age, but i feel it. i think i’ve experienced everything and yet i know that in even a weeks time i will look back on my own naive self and laugh at my ridiculousness and propensity for angst and the dramatics.

[bonky-n-steeb]

If you are taking requests? Alpha Bucky having deep primal urges as it heads into winter, and takes his omega to a log cabin in the snow to fill her with pups. Plot twist she already IS full of his pup but Bucky has been too knot-headed to notice!! He’s That Alpha. (No worries if not I just know you could do alpha!buck justice 🤩)

I love this request! Thank you for sending this ;)

knot headed

summary || Bucky is excited to have you alone, but little does he know that he’s the one going to get a surprise.

warnings || unprotected sex. sweet sweet love making. hand holding. oral sex. pregnancy kink. knotting. A/B/O dynamics. MINORS DNI.

This turned out to be so sweet… I’m literally melting. Where’s my alpha Bucky???

“Bucky! This place is soooo nice.” The omega in you preened at the love your alpha was showing you. He had specifically arranged for this cabin just for you to spend this winter.

It was located right in the middle of a coniferous forest and the land was covered with a blanket of snow. The cabin was warm and cozy and you just wanted to wrap yourself in Bucky’s arms.

“I know doll. But what is even more beautiful is you.” He took your face in his palms and you revelled in the warmth. “Oh alpha.” You sighed blissfully.

He pulled you closer and placed his hands on your ass, kneading them. He buried his face in your neck and mouthed at your bonding mark. You smiled giddily thinking Bucky would finally get your surprise by your scent.

“You smell so sweet omega. God, I can’t wait to fill you with my pups.” Your eyes widened and you suppressed a laugh. Bucky was really so gone he wasn’t even able to tell why you smelled so sweet.

“About that. I have to tell you something.” But before you could say further, Bucky’s finger was on your lip. “Sshhhhh, whatever you have to say, we’ll talk about it later. Because we won’t be stopping until I make sure you’re round and swollen with my pup.”

“Bucky, what I’m trying to tell you is, I am already full of your pup.” Bucky stopped unbuttoning your clothes and looked at you wide eyes which soon filled with tears.

“You’re….” Overcome with emotions, he stopped mid sentence. “Yes Bucky. I’m pregnant. I thought you’d get it by the change in my scent but apparently my alpha is too knot headed to think straight.”

“Hey! You can’t blame me. You just smell so good.” He placed his hand on your stomach and you overlapped your hands over his. “I… I can’t believe we’re going to be parents.”

“Yeah Bucky.” Your wiped off his tears with your thumb and kissed him on the lips. “I’m so happy I just don’t know what to do and what not.” He gently kissed you and you melted in his arms.

“I’m gonna build the best nursery and make the whole house baby proof. And whatever you crave, just tell me and I’ll get it. I’m gonna try my best omega, and I’ll keep you happy and safe.”

As you hugged him, nothing else in this world mattered except your little family. “I trust you alpha.” Your eyes were dazed and a adoring smile was pasted on your face.

“I love you.” He whispered it to you as if it was something sacred. “I love you too Bucky.” You pulled him down to your face level and pressed sweet kisses to all over his face.

Your hands travelled down his front and you started lifting the sweater he had worn. You could hear his breath hitch as your fingers touched his abs. You suckled and licked his pecs and collarbones and you discarded his sweater.

Bucky gently pressed his lips to yours and the kiss was filled with emotions and adoration. The kiss was an I love you said without the words. It was honeyed and meaningful.

He started stripping you of your clothes too. He took time as he kissed every inch of your skin. He was unwrapping you like a Christmas present which he had waited for the entire year. “Bucky, please fuck me!”

“No doll. I’m gonna make love to you tonight.” You thought you were going to melt under his loving gaze. Once you were both naked he gently picked you up and placed you on the fluffy bed. He started trailing kisses from your calves and came up to your core.

He nibbled on your sensitive skin before latching on to where you needed him the most. You moaned out as he licked your wet pussy. Bucky loved eating you out and never missed out on an opportunity. You whined and writhed as he sucked your clit and licked your hole.

“Alpha…” your voice was a breathy sigh. He hummed in response and it vibrated your entire body. “I need you now.” You pulled on his hair and he placed a peck on your clit before crawling up on you.

You felt safe and calm as his scent surrounded you. You rubbed your nose against his bond mark and you calmed down as he purred deep in his chest. Your threw your arms on his neck and pulled him even closer. “Please!”

You both moaned as he slowly entered you. Unlike the usual frantic fucking, this was sweet love making. He laced his hand with yours and held it besides your head.

It felt like you weren’t just connect from head to toe, but you were also connected from heart and soul. His thrusts weren’t hard or animalistic, but rather they were steady and measured.

You were either constantly kissing or looking deep into each other’s eyes. He was truly the most wonderful alpha you’d ever known, and the fact that he was your mate, made your eyes water.

“Bucky, you make me the luckiest person in the world.” Bucky chuckled and increased his speed. “Everyone would say otherwise omega. I’m the luckiest bastard because I have you in my life.”

“Oh Bucky!” Your hands tightened around his as you came around his cock. Little tremors travelled your body and you writhed beneath Bucky. You could feel his swollen knot nudging your hole.

“You look so beautiful when you cum for me.” He kissed your nose and you chuckled at the gesture. Bucky could be the sweetest alpha as well as the filthiest. And somehow, he always knew which side of him you needed.

The way his breath was speeding up, you knew he was close to coming. He thrusted into you a few more times before biting on your bonding mark and finally pushing his knot in and tying you two.

You held on to him tightly as you came again from the feeling of his seed filling you up. Your omega was sated and happy at finally being claimed. This orgasm felt like rolling in a lawn of cotton candies.

You both shuddered in each other’s embrace and held on tightly. Bucky licked your mating bite and pressed kisses on it making you feel even more lightheaded.

“I love you.” You whispered as you felt yourself drifting off to sleep. “I love you too omega mine.” Wrapped up in the arms of your alpha, and dreaming of the new life that awaited you both, you fell asleep.