#might polish it up one day and get a real story out of it

[rebelfell]

bells will be ringing

crush!steve harrington x fem!reader x fwb!eddie munson

The annual Harrington Christmas Party is an elegant affair, complete with decorations, fancy food and flowing libations. But when your friend-slash-fuck buddy Eddie tires of you and Steve dancing around your burgeoning feelings for one another…he offers a creative solution.

Part One┃Part Two

18+, MDNI 8k

cw: MMF, allusions to poverty and implied family strife, light alcohol and weed use, kinda mean/crass Eddie, semi-public fingering/oral (f receiving), r’s hair gets pulled once.

The Harrington’s were white light people.

There wasn’t a single inch of their stately home not adorned in festive finery for their annual Christmas party. It was all silver candlesticks with cream-colored tapers, deep red ribbons tied into bows and hung at perfectly spaced intervals, long garlands of rich greenery draped along the banisters—real as shit and smelling like a goddamn pine forest.

It was a far cry from what you and Eddie knew growing up next door to one another way on the other side of town. For you two, it was scrawny and half-dead trees purchased at a discount as close to Christmas as possible when their vendors were just trying to unload them, covered in a hodgepodge of homemade ornaments and faded multicolored lights, only about half of which worked half the time. When your families could afford a tree, that was.

The Harringtons’ own stood at the far end of the house, glowing bright as a nuclear reactor with seemingly endless strands of bright white lights wound around its branches. It was methodically decorated with matching red, silver and gold baubles, each one hung precisely in place and polished to gleaming perfection. 

Elegant. Proper. Pristine.

The party was already well underway by the time you arrived, Steve nowhere to be found in the sea of people. They all stood together in clumps, exchanging jovial smiles that pushed up rosy cheeks, the women cooing over each other's outfits and jewelry while the men swapped stories about their quarterly earnings. Weaving through the throngs, cater waiters floated past carrying trays loaded with hors d’oeuvres and tall glasses of shimmery, bubbly liquid.

It made you and Eddie glance around, furtive and unsure as you skulked into the foyer. The two of you might as well have been invisible for all the attention anyone paid you.

“See Steve anywhere?” you asked, peering deeper inside the house.

The former stud of Hawkins High had always been easy to spot in the hallways of his former domain, seemingly towering over everyone even after he stopped sporting that gravity-defying bouffant hairstyle. Those days were long gone now, but an occasional glimmer of his old self would still shine through, reminding you of when King Steve reigned supreme.

“Nope, nowhere,” Eddie grumbled. “I told you this was a mistake.”

His warm breath on your ear as he leaned in to whisper in it had your head snapping to the  side. Some of the snow that had just started to fall outside dusted his dark, unruly curls and he still had his hands stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket, as though he wanted to be ready to turn heel and run at the first opportunity. You’d seen him look more relaxed about to shoplift.

“What do you mean?” 

“Look around, sweetheart. See if you can spot what doesn’t belong.”

It was kind of irritating how right he was. Everyone else in attendance tonight looked perfectly at home in this pretty picture. It was all business partners and their wives, clients who probably made more in a year than you or Eddie would hope to see in your entire lifetime, other miscellaneous friends and fellow members of the Hawkins upper echelon.

To call you fish out of water would be putting it lightly. You were like fish on a space station.

“What were we supposed to do?” you whispered back. “We had to come.”

That was debatable. Steve had invited you, yes, but he also practically tripped over himself to assure you it was totally fine if you couldn’t make it. He’d sat on the edge of Eddie’s sofa running through all his most blatant tells—hands pushing through his hair, thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose, foot jiggling non-stop—as he told you about the party.

“It’s all my parents' friends, so it might be kind of lame. But I’m allowed to invite people if you guys want to come. It’d be really great to see you.”

He’d worked himself up into such a state, it almost felt cruel to say no. You weren’t sure what it was—something about the earnestness with which he asked, and the way his eyes shone so hopefully when you smiled and told him you thought it sounded like fun.

Eddie’s gruff voice sounded in your ear again.

“Think we’re just here to piss off daddy?”

You followed his eyeline to the living room, gaze promptly drawn to the imposing frame of John Harrington as he reached out to grip the hand of someone important. Or at least someone who seemed to think they were. Even never having seen or met him before, he was easy to pick out as Steve’s father. They had the same square jaw, the same perfectly angled nose and rich, light brown hair. Although, John’s was cut shorter and tamed into a much more manageable style than his son’s long locks that lived in a near-constant state of tousled messiness.

“Steve wouldn’t do that,” you said firmly. “He asked us to come because we’re his friends.”

The words still felt strange to say. It made you wonder, yet again, if it would ever stop feeling so surreal that you now hung out with Steve “The Hair” Harrington on an almost daily basis.

When you were in school together, you never even landed on his radar. Eddie had some notoriety as the town’s supposed demon summoner, but you were just…around. A plain face that blended into the crowd; a background extra with no lines in the scene; wallpaper and set dressing for the popular kids who were living out their exemplary lives.

If this was only a few years prior, he probably would be spending this evening sneaking drinks with Tommy H. and Carol, or parading around with Nancy Wheeler on his arm to show her off to all his dad’s colleagues and brag about her getting into Emerson. Instead, his falling out with all of them and his subsequent fall from his high-school throne had led him here—to an unlikely friendship with The Freak and The Invisible Girl.

Whenever he came over to Eddie’s to smoke, or you three piled into his car to go to the movies or drive the winding back roads that snaked along the edge of town, it almost felt natural. And the more time you spent with him, the harder and harder it became to remember why he’d always seemed so…untouchable.

“So, what should we do?” You wondered aloud as you glanced around again, still hoping Steve might materialize somehow. Behind you, Eddie’s head shook and his shoulders shrugged.

“How should I know? You were the one begging to come tonight.”

“I wasn’t begging.”

“Oh, really?” He scoffed as he leaned in close again, raising the pitch of his voice in an overly breathy imitation of you. “Please, Eddie? Please, can we go to the party? I’ll let you eat me out from the back if you—”

“Stifle,” you hissed, jamming your elbow into his stomach.

He grunted at the sharp jab, but his lips remained curled in a sly smirk. “What’s wrong? Worried your little crush will find out what I’ve been doing to you after he goes home?”

“I don’t care if he knows,” you sniped. It’s almost convincing, but the flash of alarm in your eyes told a different story. Not that it mattered, Eddie didn’t buy it for a second anyway.

“Well, that’s good,” he tutted. “Because he already knows we’ve fucked.”

“Wait, what?” You whirled around fully now. “How?”

“He, ahh…” Eddie fought to contain his grin as he scratched at the short stubble on his cheek. “He saw that picture you let me take.”

Your eyes went wide, both horrified and enraged as you shoved his shoulder—hard. 

“You showed it to him?”

“No, he found it,” Eddie hissed. “We were looking around for some weed I had stashed and he happened to open the drawer it was in.”

Your whole body—your very being—surged with white hot shame. If it wouldn’t have given Eddie so much satisfaction, you might have run straight out of the party right then and there. The thought of Steve seeing you like that…

It was almost unbearable.

The details of you and Eddie’s attachment had always been strictly under wraps. You weren’t exactly keeping it a secret, per se, but most people weren’t super accepting of the idea and you’d learned to play it close to the vest. And with how much time the two of you had started spending with Steve, you didn’t want to risk making him uncomfortable.

It had been going on for ages. Pausing, albeit briefly, if one of you found yourself in a relationship, and picking right back up when said relationship inevitably fizzled or if it tipped into the dangerous territory of getting too serious. He was one of the few people in your life you trusted intrinsically, and it wasn’t like guys were banging down your door as it was.

The picture was a one-time thing—a polaroid you’d let Eddie snap as a belated birthday present because you’d been too busy to find him something real.  You had made him swear upon pain of death it was for his eyes only. And now he’d shown it to the last person on earth you wanted to see it? Oh, you were going to garrotte him with tinsel in his sleep.

Also, Steve wasn’t your crush. He was…a preoccupation. A distraction. A vague interest.

You couldn’t even say for sure when it had begun. All you knew was just last spring, there was a month of Friday evenings where you found yourself back in the Hawkins High parking lot pulled in alongside Steve’s distinctive maroon beemer. He was leaning on the hood, waiting for Hellfire to let out so he could drive home his little horde of nuggets, and you had shown up acting as Eddie’s ride while his van was out of commission.

And that night, for the first time ever, you had a real conversation with Steve Harrington.

A fairly illuminating one, at that.

There was a sweetness to him you never would have guessed was there. And a dorkiness that brought light to his eyes when he did his elaborate handshake with Dustin Henderson, or the way he exalted along with the kids when the group burst through the double doors leading out of the school, whooping and cheering from a successful campaign. It warmed your whole body from the inside out, the feeling only growing stronger the more time you shared.

And now he’d seen your bare tits covered in Eddies cum. Perfect, just perfect.

“You’re such an asshole,” you muttered through gritted teeth. “That’s so humiliating.”

“I don’t know,” Eddie said, his eyes glinting with mischief. “I think he kinda liked it.”

“He…he did?”

“I mean, he was staring at it pretty hard. I think he needed some alone time with it.”

You rolled your eyes and gave his shoulder another shove for good measure, muttering a you're disgusting at him under your breath, hoping it would hide the nerves creeping across your face. Unfortunately, it only seemed to add fuel to Eddie’s fire. He leaned in one last time, his voice a gritty rasp in your ear that made shivers run down your spine.

“So you don’t wanna know what he said, then?”

Tension seized your shoulders as you glared at him, jaw clenched, ready to spit back a vicious comment—or maybe just spit—only to stop short at the sound of a familiar voice.

“Hey, guys! I’m so glad you made it!”

Steve was beaming as he came over, his bright hazel eyes shining, the golden flecks in them brought out by the color of his sweater. He drew you into his embrace, his strong arms curling securely around your body and his gourmand scent filling your nose as you breathed him in.

Your hands smoothed over the planes of his back, relishing in the softness of the knit he wore and the solidity of his broad chest pressed against yours. Your pulse quickened, blood pounding in your ears as you did your level best to force what Eddie had just told you out of your head.

“I’m the coat check tonight,” Steve explained, tipping an imaginary cap. “There’s a guest room upstairs we can put them in.”

“I gotta take a leak,” Eddie said, already shrugging off his leather jacket and pushing it into your arms. “Take care of that for me, will you sweetheart?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but Eddie just grinned back at you with a suggestive bounce of his brows behind his curled bangs. Steve pointed him in the direction of the bathroom and then turned straight back to you as he tilted his head upstairs.

“Shall we?” he asked.

The sounds of the party became distant and muffled as Steve led you upstairs to the designated dumping ground for all the furs and wraps of the numerous guests. It was dark inside, lit only by the moonlight that streamed through the window and the warm glow of the lights strung on the outside of the house that cast across the heap of coats on the bed.

You laid Eddie’s jacket down on a chair in the corner before you began to undo the belt of your own tied around your waist. As the thick, gray poly-blend slid off your shoulders, you shivered at the cool air hitting your heated skin for the first time that night.

When you turned back around, Steve was much closer than you remembered. 

His eyes studied you with a kind of reverence that made your body tingle with excitement in a way you didn’t dare to name. The way he looked at you sometimes…whether it through a haze of pot smoke in Eddie’s trailer, or in the flickering light of a screen at the multiplex, or beneath the harsh amber wash of a single streetlight in an empty parking lot…

It made you wonder.

“You look really nice,” he finally said, his voice as soft as his eyes.

The dress you’d worn was fairly simple, made of maroon velour with a burnout pattern of leaves you thought looked a bit like holly. It was loose and flowy, but had laces in the back you had pulled tight so it cinched in your waist and pushed up your chest, not unlike a corset. The neckline was just low enough to flirt with impropriety and it nicely complimented the length of the pendant that sat in the center of your clavicle.

A dainty (fake) gold snowflake you thought was festive.

“Thanks,” you replied, your voice even softer than his as you folded your arms in front of your stomach. “I hope it’s okay. I don’t have a lot of nice outfits.”

Steve shook his head, captivated eyes still scanning over you. They landed briefly on your legs, the black stockings you’d worn in an attempt to stave off the cold now prickling warm on your skin as if it was his hands running over them instead of just his gaze.

“You always look perfect,” he said.

It’s not just the words that made you falter, but the plainness with which he states them. As if it’s something obvious. As though he thinks it all the time and he just happened to say it this time. It makes your stomach twirl and all at once, you feel like an empty-headed teenager standing at her locker, dizzy from being complimented by the cutest boy in school.

“So, this is quite a spectacle,” you chuckled, glad for the dimness of the room that somewhat hid your reaction to him. “Are there any poinsettias left in Hawkins?”

Steve smirked and took a careful step forward. There was only about a foot of space between you now, if that. “I think if there were, my mom would already have a guy on it,” he said.

Your eyes met his and you shared a soft laugh. “Well, it’s really beautiful,” you sighed. “It must have taken her ages to do all this.”

“Not really,” Steve chuckled. “She has, like, a whole team that comes in and puts it all together.”

“Oh, right. Of course.” Your gaze dropped and you gave a regretful shake of your head. Rich people stuff, you thought a bit bitterly. No wonder that hadn’t occurred to you. “But…you must decorate the tree together, at least. Right?”

“No, they do that too. I’ve, uh…I’ve never actually never decorated a tree for Christmas. I kind of thought that was just something they did in movies.”

He huffed out a laugh, trying to hide the sadness that had started to pollute his smile, and rubbed the back of his head, tugging at the hair there that curled along the nape of his neck.

All you could do was stare.

You thought about that gleaming, twelve-foot behemoth downstairs with its dazzling lights and ornaments all spaced and hung so perfectly. It was stunning—looked like something straight out of a magazine. But now it was tinged with something hollow and unsatisfactory. 

Cold. Fake. Empty.

It was you who stepped closer this time, the muscles in your arm tensing as if fighting against your brain’s instructions to reach out and touch him. He was close enough now you could feel the warmth coming off his body and smell the spice of his cologne and the clove cigarette he must have smoked. Your lips trembled, parted slightly, still searching for what to say.

But words refused to come.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Steve soothed, flashing you that easy and charming smile you’d grown to love and loathe in equal measure. “I just meant, like, Christmas really isn’t a big deal to me. And neither is this party, honestly, but…”

He fell silent as his hand reached out to squeeze your elbow, the soft pad of his thumb rubbing gently across your forearm. You stared mutely at his hand where it rested, already dreading how cold it would feel there when he let go of you. Except he didn’t.

“I’m really happy you’re here, though,” he said.

Steve’s chest rose with a sharp inhale and the tip of his tongue swiped along his bottom lip to wet it. His head tilted towards you, a few stray pieces of hair falling into his eyes that were bright and shiny with the string lights around the window reflecting in them. 

It made your own breath catch, praying you weren’t imagining it as he started to lean in.

“Sorry to interrupt.”

You and Steve flew apart like shrapnel, both of you too wrapped up in the steady draw of your bodies together to notice the heavy thump of Eddie’s footsteps in the hall. Steve’s hand came up automatically to run through his hair, dragging up the bottom of his sweater and flashing the briefest glimpse of torso as his arm lifted. It made your mouth dry as a bone.

“I just realized I forgot about my hostess gift,” Eddie said.

His brow cocked at you and yet another little smirk curved along his lips as he brushed past, nudging you ever so subtly back in Steve’s direction. He then started to rifle through the inside pockets of his leather jacket until he exhumed a plastic bag with a few joints inside.

“Got it!” he chimed, holding it up triumphantly. “Merry Christmas, Stevie.”

The little baggie sailed through the air, crinkling when it hit Steve in the center of his chest. 

“Oh! Thanks, man,” he chuckled, fumbling to catch it. “That’s great.”

Turning it over in his hands, he paused, mulling in silence as he stared down at the joints and glanced over his shoulder at the open doorway. From downstairs, you could now hear the faint tinkling of a piano being played and Eddie noticeably winced at the first few warbled notes of an unrecognizable carol being sung by a particularly drunk chorus.

“You know,” Steve said slowly. “We could bail on the party. Take this out to the pool house?”

As soon as he asked, his eyes darted up to meet yours—interrupting your intense study of the side of his face. Round and hopeful, they shone with his earnestness and you felt dizzy all over again. It made your brain scramble, trying to act like you weren’t just consumed by thoughts of what might or might not have been about to happen. You smiled.

“What are we waiting for?”

Steve left the lights off in the pool house, not wanting to draw too much attention if someone wandered onto the patio for some fresh air. The three of you made your way out in shifts—you with a plate of decadent treats you’d filled from the long table of desserts, Eddie with one loaded with food he’d swiped from the circulating trays, and Steve with a bottle of champagne he’d snuck out of the kitchen while the caterers were distracted.

The satisfying pop of its opening bounced off the walls that were mostly windows, sounding all the more illicit and clandestine in the darkness. The contents of the bottle fizzed as he held it out, offering you the first swig, and you took it with a nimble grasp.

Bubbly liquid splashed on your tongue and the dry, almost acidic, taste of it surely would have impressed someone with a more refined palette. But it made you wrinkle your nose as you squinted to read the French name scrawled in a loopy script on the shield shaped label.

“Gross, right?” Steve chuckled as you handed the bottle back. “But it gets the job done.”

He took a deep swig, head tipping back and giving you a long, long moment to study his neck as the muscles flexed with his swallow. You stared shamelessly, transfixed by the pairs of moles that sat along the line of his strong jaw, head empty of thoughts except how much better thechampagne would taste if you were licking it from his lips.

Eddie coughed, all loud and fake, drawing both of your eyes to him where he sat on a rattan sofa in the center of the room. He stared at you expectantly as he slouched down further in his seat, his knees spread wide and his arms draped across the back. He’d wasted no time making himself more comfortable, loosening the evergreen tie you’d made him wear and rolling up the sleeves of the dress shirt he normally only broke out for funerals or the odd court appearance.

“Don’t I get some of that?” he asked with a wry smirk.

Steve hurried to offer him the champagne, wiping away a little dribble of it that had started to trickle down his chin. You followed behind and slotted into a chair adjacent to Eddie’s as Steve handed off the bottle, making your brain short circuit when you saw the way his wide grasp nearly engulfed the entire bottom. It didn’t restart until he settled in the seat next to you.

After taking his sip, Eddie sparked up one of the joints and started it in a rotation along with the champagne. After only a few pulls from each you started to feel the effects, your head getting all light and floaty, your body warming from the blood pumping through you, your skin buzzing from the way your fingers kept brushing Steve’s whenever you passed him the joint or the bottle. 

Or maybe it was from the way his eyes lingered on yours when you did.

Eventually, you dropped out of the rotation and sank back in your chair to gaze up at the house. The whole thing seemed to glow with the warmth of the party within, its windows bright yellow, the lights twinkling on the eaves. And the snowfall had remained soft and steady, dusting everything with a fine layer of white like powdered sugar.

The picture was immaculate, like a life-size snow globe. If Steve’s mother had somehow managed to pay Mother Nature as a decorator, it wouldn’t surprise you in the slightest.

“Seriously, Harrington,” Eddie snorted, evidently sharing in your bewilderment. “If all this is just the weekend before, I’m scared to ask what your family does for the main event.”

A deep chuckle bubbled out of his chest as he took a long swig of the rapidly draining bottle. He’d said it mostly as a joke, but Steve’s reaction revealed a nerve had been struck. He began to cough, sputtering out his words as he pulled the smoldering joint from between his lips.

“Oh no, it’s not—they aren’t, uh…they won’t be here.”

His eyes darted to the floor as he shook his head and stammered out his non-answer, wearing that same look on his face you’d seen in the guest room. Half-sad and trying to hide it.

“What do you mean?” Eddie asked. Steve just shrugged.

“They always go away for Christmas. I think it’s St. Barts this year. Maybe Turks and Caicos? Their flight is sometime tomorrow night.”

“Wait, so…they just leave you here?” you asked. “By yourself?”

Steve shrugged and shook his head again, the move almost reflexive, like flinching away from the sting of alcohol cleaning a fresh wound. “A nanny would stay with me when I was little. But from the time I was old enough…yeah, pretty much.”

You and Eddie’s eyes met, the same unthinkable thought seemingly crossing your minds. You actually felt bad—not just bad, but sad—for Steve Harrington. 

“It’s not so bad, seriously,” he said, all flustered trying to salvage the mood. “I just hang out and watch movies and eat pizza. It’s fun. Honest.”

Despite his attempts, you can’t help but frown as you think what Steve’s Christmas will look like. His big house that was bursting at the seams with people right now being cold and desolate; him sitting all alone at a long dining room table eating leftover appetizers for every meal.

The thought tugged at something buried deep inside you. Something you’d packed away long ago and shoved into the furthest recesses of your mind. A box wrapped and taped and stapled and tied shut and then shoved behind a closet door. It made you turn to look at Eddie and he nodded knowingly, needing no words to know what you wanted him to say.

“You should come over,” he said, speaking so suddenly it came out loud in the tense quiet.

Steve’s head lifted. “What?”

“To me and Wayne’s,” Eddie supplied. “For Christmas Eve. We have dinner together and watch old movies and play games and shit. With this one.”

He jerked his thumb at you and you smiled as Steve’s eyes flitted over to meet your gaze.

“Only because they can’t cook to save their lives,” you said, shooting him a wink that made the corners of his mouth curl upwards.

“It’s not gonna be like this,” Eddie assured. “But it’s something, you know?”

“That, um…” Steve looked down at his lap, his long lashes fluttering as he tried to blink back the beginnings of tears. “That sounds really nice.”

Your hand moved without permission, reaching out to close around his wrist and squeeze. Steve’s head turned, staring at it like he thought he was dreaming. And as your brain suddenly caught up with the action and your body flooded with embarrassment, you started to pull it back only to feel the warmth of his palm covering your hand to hold it in place.

The only sound in the room was yours and Steve’s soft breathing and you swore you could feel the way both of your pulses were racing in time. His eyes lifted to meet yours and you became entranced all over again by his handsome face, the freckles that dotted his tanned skin, hazel eyes that shimmered as he scanned your expression, the deepness of his cupid's bow.

“I, um…I should check in with my mom real quick. You guys, uh…sit tight.”

Steve sputtered out his words as he rose to his feet, leaving your skin cold as he pulled his hands from yours. He looked around, his eyes searching to land on anything besides you or Eddie as he turned and stumbled towards the door. Eddie watched you watch Steve leave, an expression on his face as bemused as it was mocking.

“Jesus Christ, you two are exhausting.”

He shook his head, laughing to himself as he stuffed the last of the appetizers in his mouth. You glared back at him as he chewed and tried not to think about how your hand still burned where the ghost of Steve’s warmth remained.

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on. If I knew I was gonna have to watch you make googly-eyes at each other all night, I could have stayed home. I get enough of that as it is.”

“We’re not—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Eddie scoffed. “You are. He is. Just make a move, already.”

It was actually painful rolling your eyes as hard as you did. “Right. Sure. And what kind of move am I supposed to make? Considering how he ran out of here just because I touched his arm?”

“You’re not serious, are you? You’re pulling my dick, right?”

Eddie hunched forward as you deadpanned him, answering with a slow blink of your eyes and humorless expression until he threw his head back in a loud laugh.

“He had a fucking boner, smartass!” he cackled.

It’s not only your cheeks that warm now, but your whole body igniting like a bonfire. The feeling grips your shoulders, it’s talons digging into your flesh, threatening to pierce it to the bone.

“Bullshit,” you whispered, your mind reeling.

“You think I don’t know Steve well enough to know when he goes from six to midnight? It happens literally any time you touch him.”

Eddie was still snickering to himself as he took a final puff of the joint that had been smoked down to a nub. You stared at your hands in your lap, thoughts going into overdrive. Because this wasn’t just some random guy at the Hideout or an ex-classmate hitting on you at a house party. This wouldn’t be just a fumbled touch, grabby hands groping blindly in a dark closet that you would recount to Eddie before he gave you the orgasm you’d sorely been denied.

This was Steve. This would be something. Wouldn’t it?

“Only one way to find out,” Eddie said, as though he could hear the question you were asking yourself. “Anything’s gotta be better than this.”

“But what if he—”

The rattle of the doorknob cut you off, your eyes darted to the door just as Steve pushed it open to slip back inside. Eddie’s dark curls fell forward, sliding off his shoulders as he leaned in.

“Just follow my lead,” he whispered.

Your eyes bulged in your skull, but before you could retort or argue, Steve had plopped back down in the chair next to you and your lips were effectively sealed.

“So the singing is still going on,” he chuckled. “But I think everyone will head home soon. We aren’t missing much.”

“That’s okay.” Eddie groaned softly into a stretch as he settled back into his reclined position. “I’m sure we can think of something to do.”

Heat flooded your core at his insinuating tone and you sat up a little straighter. He let his head loll to the side, his eyes finding yours automatically, dark irises glinting in the scant light.

“Hey…c’mere, doll.”

Eddie shifted down in his seat, rubbing his ringed hand across his thigh as an invitation. Maybe it was the weed. Maybe it was the fancy, and surely expensive, champagne you’d been sipping all night. Maybe it was the way Steve’s gaze followed you so intently as you stood and walked over to where Eddie sat on the wicker sofa. Whatever it was, it was working.

You laid your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself as you kneeled on the cushion next to him and went to straddle his lap. But his hands came up to grip your waist and stopped you.

“Uh-uh,” he said, motioning his index finger in a circle. “Other way.”

You hesitated, glancing from your crouched position over at Steve. His eyes smoldered in the darkness as he watched you—leaning forward in his seat, elbows resting on his knees, his long fingers laced in front of him. With a hard swallow, you stood and turned.

Eddie jerked you back against him, roughly pulling you flush with his chest. His knees pushed between your own and he spread them wide so your legs were held open, draped over the tops of his thighs. It made the skirt of your dress glide upwards, hem skimming the tops of your stockings, threatening to reveal the strips of bare skin between them and your panties.

His words from earlier still rang in your head. Follow my lead.

Well-worn hands splayed wide across your stomach, squeezing at the softness of your waist. Beneath you, his hips began to shift and the beginnings of his hard-on pressed insistently into the fat of your ass. It made you shiver all over, a gasp falling from your lips.

“So well behaved,” Eddie hummed, tracing the line of your jaw with his fingertips, suddenly gripping your chin in his hand to turn your face towards him. “She’s such a good girl, Stevie…. and we have so much fun together…”

The words and the deep timbre of his voice sent more shivers down your spine as he bumped the tip of your nose with his own. He pecked lightly at your lips until they opened up for him, his tongue probing the warm cavern of your mouth until you were moaning into his kiss.

It was lazy, but punishing. He nipped gently at your top lip, his own feathering with a tiny snarl as he revered back to his conversation with Steve.

“Why don’t you tell her about that photo you found?” he asked, hot breath fanning across your cheek. “Tell her what you thought about it.”

Your gaze flashed to Steve’s and you wondered if there was more light in here whether you’d be able to see a rush of scarlet covering his cheeks. His eyes had gone round with nervous energy, but they remained locked onto yours as he spoke.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about it,” he rasped, his voice almost cracking his throat was so tight. “I wish I could see it again, I…I wish it was me she’d done that for.”

The pit of your belly burned at his words, a breathy sigh fluttering in your chest and an exquisite ache now radiating between your legs. Eddie’s fingers trailed along the center of your body, over your sternum, tracing the dip of your navel through your dress until it quivered under his touch.

Slowly, he drew up the bottom of your dress like a curtain to reveal your core and the black lace your arousal had begun to seep through. The tips of his fingers stroked your entrance, mercilessly teasing your second set of lips.

“You wouldn’t believe how good she feels, Steve,” Eddie husked, his fingers holding their pace, making you grind into his lap. “Way better than that prissy cheerleader pussy you’re used to.”

The room filled with the sound of your breath and the wet schlick of Eddie’s fingers in your folds.

“Oh, sorry,” Eddie snickered. “I should say honor society pussy.”

Steve’s nostrils suddenly flared, his gaze tearing away from you and your body as if coming out of a trance. You looked back over your shoulder with a horrified look.

“Eddie—”

“Shush,” he snapped, cutting you off by plunging his fingers inside of you. They hooked upwards and your back bowed at the sudden stretch, a broken moan slipping past your lips. Steve’s eyes were drawn to your face at the sound, Eddie’s mention of his ex flying right out of his head.

“You want a taste, Harrington?” he asked, all dark and leading.

A little whimper escaped you at the thought and Eddie grinned wickedly. He smiled as he kissed the back of your neck, his teeth flashing as he nipped at your racing pulse.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart? You’d like his tongue?”

“Y-yes,” you gasped, your eyes darting to find Steve’s. “Please.”

At your plaintive mewl, the very moment you asked, Steve instantly rose to his feet and hurried to kneel between yours and Eddie’s spread legs. His long fingers wrapped around the gusset of your underwear and he wrenched them to the side to reveal your dripping core.

He licked his lips as he stared at it, practically salivating. Your own lips trembled, fighting back the urge to cry out for him as you let your head fall back to rest on Eddie’s shoulder.

The wet heat of his tongue met your pussy in long, languid swipes. He nodded his head with each motion, dragging it through your folds as he inhaled deep and needy breaths of your scent like you were his air. His eyes burned with lust as he looked up from between your thighs, gauging your every reaction in the way you fluttered around his tongue.

With a trembling hand, you reached out and brushed your fingertips along his brow, skimming the stray pieces of hair that had fallen forward into his eyes. The intensity of his stare, the depth of his gaze, made you glow brighter even than that behemoth of a tree inside.

He sped up his movements, working you up, the tip of his tongue pointed to swirl in a pattern as magical as it was maddening, flicking it teasingly over your clit and making you clench with each too-quick pass. At the same time, you felt Eddie’s hand creep up between your shoulder blades, fingers weaving into your hair to grasp it at the root. He gave it a firm tug and pulled your head back, bringing his lips to your ear so he could whisper to you—deep and rough and just loud enough for Steve to hear.

“Why don’t you tell him how long you’ve wanted this, huh?”

Another pitiful whimper left your lips as Eddie’s other hand squeezed a little more intensely at your chest, tweaking your nipple through your dress, loving how it made you tremble.

“Si-since Junior year,” you panted. “When he w-won the state swim meet…”

Just the thought of that day nearly has you flooding Eddie’s lap and Steve’s mouth. Your mind filled with the memories of it—visions of him in a Speedo that confirmed just about every rumor you’d ever overheard in the girl’s locker room; his arm and back muscles rippling as he pushed himself out of the pool; water spilling over freckled skin, droplets collecting on his shoulders and running down, down, down to where the small of his back met the fullness of his ass.

You had sat in the stands, thighs pressing together, feeling almost perverted staring while he celebrated with his teammates and whipped off his swim cap, his wild hair exploding out of it and making you wonder how he’d even managed to fit it all underneath in the first place.

The mere mention of his glory days seemed to have a similar effect on Steve. The movements of his tongue and lips turned more fervent, more determined to unspool you as he moaned like he’d never tasted anything as good as you.

Tremors began to roll through your body, making your thighs twitch and spasm.

“Tell him how good it feels,” Eddie husked, hips now punching up to create some friction against his own cock as it strained inside his dress pants. “Tell him how much you like it.”

“Yes, Steve, fuck—I love it so much,” you whined. “Keep going, I need it.”

The pretty lilt and waver of your voice had Steve unraveling before your very eyes. Another low groan rumbled from deep in his chest and he buried his face further, more eagerly, in your heat.

“God, you taste so fucking good, honey,” he moaned. “I could do this all night.”

The thought of having his mouth on you all night is enthralling, but there was no way you would last. You were barely going to make it another minute as it was. Steve was too good. 

Every flick, every swipe, every swirl of his tongue you could feel in your entire body. Pleasure rushed across you in waves, a torturous winding upwards, that burning feeling deep in your gut coiling tighter, tighter. Your breaths grew shallow and your pulse raced until you were shaking in Eddie’s lap, fighting so hard to keep your legs spread apart that they shook from the effort.

Steve’s hands came up to grasp at your thighs, his fingers squeezing at the meat of them as he kept you pried open for him to ravish. Like a man possessed, he lapped and sucked and kissed at your entrance, his whole body seeming to move along with the motions of his tongue and lips. Beneath you, the wicker couch suddenly slid backwards and you realized it was because he had tried to grind against it—desperate to feel something, anything, against his cock.

Wishing it was you.

“C-close, close, I’m so close. Steve, I’m co—oohhh—”

Your orgasm rushed in, plowing through your body, making you lose all sense. You squirmed wildly in Eddie’s lap, almost having forgotten he was there until he reached around to give both of your nipples one last pinch—knowing how it always pushed you further over the edge.

Steve’s lips never left your clit and his eyes never left your face as he ushered you into your climax. He stared up at you, his eyes all glassy and round, searching for your reassurance as he rose from between your legs. His face hovered in front of yours and he lifted a hand to cup your jaw, his massive palm warm on your flushed skin as you panted to regain your breath.

“Good?” he asked. Hushed, like a prayer.

“So good,” you exhaled, chest still heaving. Your voice wobbled as you spoke, so overwhelmed with all your buried feelings being dredged to the surface. “Steve, that was—”

“Steven? Are you out here?”

Every hair on Steve’s head went flying as he whipped his head around hearing his mother’s voice. Through the sheer curtains, he could see her as she stepped outside onto the porch, peering into the darkness, wrapping a fur stole tighter around her elegant cocktail attire.

Panic struck his face like lightning, his mouth hanging open, his lips and chin still shiny with your spend. He looked back at you, his cheeks nearly as deep red as the velvet ribbons hung all over his house. You scrambled off Eddie’s lap to stand, frantically straightening your dress and hair, nervously wiping at your lips that were swollen from biting down when you came.

“I, um…the party’s probably over,” Steve said. “I just have to say goodbye to some people.”

He ran his hands through his hair a few more times as he strode towards the door, even though any damage you’d done grabbing it must have been righted by now. You looked over at Eddie, your own eyes swirling with questions you were terrified to hear the answers to.

His shoulders bounced, standing to tuck his shirttail back into his dress pants.

“Well, that’s one way to do it.”.

Steve was waiting in the foyer with you and Eddie’s coats when you snuck in from outside. His parents, thankfully, were too occupied giving the caterers instructions for clean-up to exchange any pleasantries at the door. You could only imagine how that would go…

Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Harrington. I’m the girl your son made come all over his face in your pool house. What a lovely party, thank you so much for inviting us.

There was still a smile on Steve’s face, though it felt almost pasted on now compared to his expression when you first arrived, sort of forced in an attempt to look more normal than he felt. He handed off Eddie’s leather jacket and then held yours open, his eyes remaining glued to you as you turned and pushed your arms through the sleeves. His fingertips trailed along the nape of your neck as he helped straighten the coat on your shoulders, his index tracing its curve all the way to your hairline in a way that felt so intentional it made your skin buzz.

With your ears pounding from your heartbeat thundering in them, you spun around to face him, your lips parted to speak only for no words to come. Because what was there for you to say? Or for him to do? Kiss you? He hadn’t even done that during, would he do it now to say goodbye?

Steve’s handsome face was as conflicted and contorted as your own. A faint blush still dusted along his cheeks and his eyes shone bright from the candlelight coming off the tapers that had burned almost all the way out. At last he drew a breath, and you felt your heart stutter.

“Thank you for coming,” he said softly.

Eddie could barely contain the snort that burst out of him, even as he slapped a hand over his crooked smile and your eyes shot daggers straight into his chest.

You couldn’t get out the door fast enough.

There was only silence as the pair of you trudged along the driveway to the street where Eddie had parked his van, the snow on the ground having melted into slush mottled with gray where it mixed with excess oil on the road. Without the glow of the Christmas lights coming off the rest of the houses in the neighborhood, the darkness of Steve’s street now felt oppressive. 

It made you walk a little quicker to the van, your hand curled tight around the passenger side door handle waiting for Eddie to unlock it. As the two of you climbed inside the cab, he cranked the engine and flipped open the air vents for the heat to blast, finally breaking his silence as you yanked your door shut behind you with a sharp tug.

“Look, I’m sorry. Okay? I thought I was helping,” Eddie muttered, his hands gripping tight around the steering wheel. “You were being so fucking obvious, I thought you needed a push.”

His chunky rings glinted in the street light as he busied himself messing with the radio, static scratching in your ears as he searched for something besides Christmas music.

“Are you really mad?” he asked, still fiddling with the dial, barely able to look at you. 

You shook your head.

“I just…I don’t know, I feel like it’s weird now.” You let your face fall into your hands and shook your head furiously. “I mean, was that totally fucked up? To do that?”

“Nah, that wasn’t fucked up,” Eddie said assuredly. 

He sounded confident enough that you let your shoulders actually relax and finally expelled the breath you were holding. The relief was short-lived though, when Eddie piped up again.

“I’ll tell you what might be, though.”

With a heavy sigh, you looked over at him warily. “What?” you asked.

Eddie sighed as he slumped back against the seat. His foot rested on the gas pedal and he pressed it down lightly, barely revving the engine to get some hot air flowing from the vents.

“When he comes over for Christmas Eve.”

Thank you so much for reading, I appreciate any time taken to read/comment endlessly ♥️

Started on this last year in December so that should tell you everything you need to know about my writing process. Enjoy some Christmas in whatever-month-you’re-reading-this. 😉

[ktficworld]

Behind The Red Curtains

Pairing: soft dark! Steve Rogers x actress! reader

Summary: You come to know that your success might not be solely because of your talent.

Warnings: 18+, dub-con, forced relationship, bondage, size kink, degradation + praise kink, choking, oral(f receiving ), unprotected sex( it's fiction, your life's not), dirty talk, explicit language, explicit sexual content.

(Let me know if I forgot something)

Prompt: Oral sex, overstimulation, praise, Mob au, Blackmail + Cum play + “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it? I think you even enjoyed it.”

A/N: So, this is my entry for the cum together extravaganza hosted by @labella420 and @stargazingfangirl18

I wanted to write this for a long time after the provocation by @biteofcherry 👀. I hope you all enjoy and this is my first time writing smut so, be gentle.

Divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Main masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

“Johnny Storm was seen with the new sensation in the modelling industry yesterday night. Rumor has it-”

You pressed the switch-off button with more force than needed as the squeaky voice of the anchor finally died down. Throwing the remote across the bed, you groaned in agitation.

You were dating Johnny Storm. Everything was going well, the meeting was story worthy, he was handsome, charming and had some good qualities you were looking for. This was the first relationship you got into since entering the film industry. Because you may be a hopeless romantic, but you were also choosy.

You didn’t know what happened in the process that just torpedoed your budding relationship. One day you were walking out of a cafe hand-in-hand and the next day, he was fucking some modelling sensation. Maybe you got lost in translation.

Or maybe he was just a fucking asshole. No matter what happened it showed you his true colors. That or instead of coming to you to talk out his issues, he went around, fucking and ghosted you.

Oh, but that was not the problem. The real problem was that you were shooting a movie with him. A romantic movie, with sex scenes. And you have no idea how you would be able to show any affection or chemistry on the screen without being awkward as fuck. This would be the best test of your acting skills for sure.

“Why do you look like you regret being born?” your friend and manager, Wanda asked as she entered your room.

You glanced at her and rolled your eyes. She was trying to lighten your melancholic mood but, it was of no use. “You know damn well why.”

She sighed. “I know, but you’re a great actress. You could easily pull off a serial killer then a rom-com is nothing for you. Don’t get worked up about it. Just imagine your celebrity crush instead.”

You laughed at that. You worked with people whom the masses considered celebrity and if you had a crush, you’d simply ask them out. So, you’re stuck in that department.

“I appreciate your support and I’ll get over this. Just give me some time. Is that why you came here?”

Wanda shook her head with a smile. “No, actually the PR guy told me to tell you to go to partage restaurant. Someone wants to meet you.”

You frowned. “You know if I started giving time to ‘someones’ then I won’t even be able to breathe. I need the specifics.”

“He didn’t tell me. Said the person didn’t want to be known till you meet them. But he said you need to go or they’ll be pissed and it could pose a problem to your career.”

Some rich asshole again. You pinched your nose in frustration. People really glamorised a celeb’s life but if they knew that you all have to play rich people’s puppets, they wouldn’t be so enthusiastic about it. 

“Fine, I’ll go. What time and day?”

“8 p.m Sunday.”

“Great. Now get lost, I need my beauty sleep.”

Your heels clicked on the floor as you stepped inside the restaurant to utter silence. 

The usually bustling restaurant was deserted. There was no violin swimming in the air, mingling with the chatter of the expensive people, the polished tables had no spilled drinks and the fine plates had no leftovers. The lobby had no sight of a reception and all the staff had evaporated out of existence. You were half doubting yourself that maybe you arrived at the wrong time or date. Maybe the restaurant was closed.

But all of them vanished when a prim and proper lady approached you. You had never seen her before but you didn’t care to ask if she was new.

“Good evening, ma’am, you may go to the VIP area upstairs. Sir is waiting for you there.” She said in a professional voice.

“Yeah, sure. But can I ask why the restaurant is empty?”

“He booked the entire restaurant.” She said like it was the most normal thing in the world. It was not like this place costed more than the top-paying actors in the Hollywood.

You thanked the woman with a polite smile you went upstairs to get to the VIP section.

The he made you shudder from inside. Another sleazy old man who thought that you would open your legs for him just because he was rich was awaiting you and judging by the stunt he pulled. You’d have to be more tactful.

Reaching the shiny golden doors with a lion emblem, separating the demi-gods from the gods, you knocked on the door of the VIP room.

“Come in.” A thick and deep voice called out, making you frown. How come an old man has such a great voice?

Oh, but how wrong you were. Because, as soon as you opened the door, in front of you, sat a man who was far from aged. He was pure muscles. His rings sparkled in the chandelier lights. Draped in the finest black suit with his blonde hair combed back, sat none other than Steve Rogers, the mafia lord of New York. The one who you have been trying to avoid your entire career. Who posed as a successful businessman but everyone was aware of how he earned his dollars. Just, they were too afraid to acknowledge it.

You couldn’t move an inch, frozen from fear and surprise. You had only met him once, during the premiere of your debut film and people had acted like he wasn’t someone who could wipe them off from the face of the earth without even blinking an eye. That night, his eyes were glued to you like Hades's gaze on Persephone. So intense and consuming that you never wanted to see him again.

And now, here you were.

“Sit down, darling.” He husked out, the sound of alcohol filling his glass reverberating through the walls.

Breaking out of your trance with a gulp. You pulled out the chair and sat down across from him while your heart was in your throat. “Good evening, Mr. Rogers. What brings me the pleasure of your company.’ You managed to get out without your voice cracking.

He smirked and leaned back on his chair. “It’s your beauty, your talent and your creativity that brings you here, sweetheart. I’m a big fan of art and beautiful things, you are both of them.”

“Thank you…” You drawl out, expecting him to continue.

“I liked you the moment I saw you. In your pink dress, you looked so innocent, so shy. Overwhelmed by the media attention. I knew you would do something big so I gave you the freedom to shine and shine you did. However, it looks like your freedom has got to your head.” The last sentence was said with a lower voice and an ominous smile.

Your hands became sweaty as they clamped down on the armrest. “I’m not getting what you are trying to say.” You whispered out. 

His chuckle only made your heartbeat faster as he leaned forward and his gaze bore into your soul. “Let me rephrase, I claimed you the moment I saw you. But I knew you had potential so I let you go but your little dance with Johnny Storm made me realise it was time you became mine.”

“What-what did you do?” You choked out but you weren’t sure if you wanted to know the answer.

You yelped as he yanked your chair closer towards him till your knees were touching. Your chest moved rapidly as he leaned closer, his hands covering yours on the armrest.

“Awww, don’t play stupid, honey. Johnny, he’s a himbo and you are mine,” He said as his left hand moved to caress your cheek as you flinched away from his touch. “So, I pulled some strings, fed some mouths with dollars and your cute little on-set romance came to an end.” Your eyes widened in horror as he was the one that ended your relationship with Johnny. 

He gripped your face in his big hand and turned your head so that his eyes burned through yours. “Trust me, honey, I was generous with him. I could have him disappear and no one would have given a shit.”

“No.” You whispered, wrenching his hands away. You suddenly stood up from your chair, effectively surprising him.

“No?”

“That is not happening. I don’t want to be with you, I’m sorry.”  You stumbled back to the door but before you could touch the doorknob, you were whirled around and pushed against it.

“When did I tell you, you could say no?” Steve growled his hand wrapping around your throat. “If you think you can reject me then you are sorely mistaken, darling. Don’t forget that the production house you work with the most is mine.” 

You gasped. How could it be his? It was of Tony Stark, you scorched the earth and back and found no such connection. 

Steve noticed your reaction and tsked.“You didn’t know? Don’t worry, you are not stupid sweetheart. The public doesn’t know that Stark is nothing but my pawn.” His other hand snaked around to squeeze your ass through your jeans and you screwed your eyes shut as his touch sent tingles through your body and your breaths became shorter.

He tugged you closer to him with your neck, his breath fanning over your skin. “Now, do you still want to be stubborn?”

Now, you were no dumbo. If Steve can jeopardize your relations with his production then he can also ruin your entire career. Mob involvement in the film industry is an unsaid rule. However, you didn’t know their claws were so deep and sharp.

“And what if I leave? Leave this industry?” What could be more precious than your pride?

He gave you a lopsided grin. “Then you’ll just be the wife of Steve Rogers who was an actress. Remember princess, I’ll never leave you alone. If I held onto you for three years what makes you think I’ll not find you and drag you to my hell?” 

Tears threatened your waterline as you murmured. “You are really forcing me?” What a stupid question to be asking a mobster.

He let out a throaty chuckle and moved his hand from your neck to his pant pocket however he was still invading your private space as his lips were inches away from your lips. “I’m giving you options: either come willingly or I’ll force you. Your choice, darling.” 

He fished out a silver card from his pocket, tracing the sharp and cold edges of it on your face, meandering down your neck and stopping only when it reached the valley of your breast. You gasped harshly when he slid the card inside your bra, the chilled hard paper resting against your warm skin.

“My number, call me when you make a decision. You have one week.”  He whispered against your lips before sealing the unspoken vow with a kiss.

With that he slipped away from your body and took his seat again like dark clouds gilding away from the moon before shortly, engulfing it once again. He resumed sipping from his glass like nothing serious happened and said nonchalantly. “You can go now.” 

You ran to your car like you were burned. Which you were, your soul was burning. Burning from the choices you were given. Which was essentially choosing which cage you preferred better, golden or grey.

“Did you like the dinner?” Steve asked in his deep voice as he sat across from you at the dining table.

Blinking your eyes away from the full moon that shone outside the dining room window, you glanced at Steve and nodded. “Yes, I liked it.” 

You did come to him willingly in the end, after all, what choice did you have? The moment you admitted your defeat and called Steve flashed in front of your eyes. His smug and triumphant words ringing in your ears.

“Nice choice, princess.”

“You seem to like the moon a lot,” Steve observed as his piercing gaze never left you, noting your every move and reaction.

You looked down at your hands, clasped in front of you. His presence still sent chills of fear down your spine. His imposing figure and intense gaze made your heart race. Not to mention the way his eyes sparkled with desire and lust whenever they laid upon you.

“Yes, the night is beautiful.” You replied softly.

“Do you want to go upstairs? In the balcony for a better view? I also have a very pretty garden.” Steve offered and you refrained from frowning. 

From the moment you accepted his advances, Steve has been acting like the perfect lover. Sending flowers, expensive gifts, wanting to have nice and deep conversations and supporting you in your work. But still, you couldn’t decipher if he was actually being nice or plain manipulative.

However, you had grown tired, sitting and chatting in the room, the walls suffocating you. “I would like that.”

Steve grinned and stood up from his chair, taking a few long strides he reached you and offered you his hand. “Let’s go.”

You gave him a tight-lipped smile, slipping your hand in his, you got up. You sucked a sharp breath when his hand tightened around your smaller one and his eyes grew darker. You ignored the building tension as he led you upstairs, to the balcony.

His mansion was spectacular, painted beige with marble murals. It resembled old French castles with intricate paintings from Greek mythology on walls to railing carved with various plant and flower motifs.

When he said he enjoyed beauty, he wasn’t bluffing.

Stepping on the top floor, there was a lounge area with a fireplace on the right and a couch on the left. In front was the glass door leading to the balcony. Steve opened the door and you had to hold back your gasp as the view was absolutely breathtaking. 

It had the same marble railing as before and also had a sitting space for two people with two chairs and one glass table, perfect for a cosy morning or evening. The balcony ran along the entire top floor, connected with all the rooms.

However, the main highlight was the enormous garden that stood before your eyes. Tall trees were perched vertically of all types, some bearing fruits, some flowers and some none. Speaking of flowers, bright, colourful flowers adorned the garden like jewels. Rose, jasmine, sunflower, etc scattered all over with moonlight pouring on them.

It was straight out of a princess movie and you could spend your entire life wandering inside it, reading books under the tree shade.

“It’s gorgeous.” You whispered to Steve as you stepped forward, leaning on the railing.

“I know, my mother made it. She wanted me to keep the garden big and flourishing. So, I put everything I could to keep it perfect.” Steve revealed and moved behind you, his body pressing against yours.

You were so engrossed in gazing at the garden that you missed his hand coming to cover yours and he laid a soft kiss on your cheek.

“What are you doing?” You questioned as you tried to step away from his grip but he had you trapped.

“Enjoying my view,” He said as he gripped your hips and pressed them against him, his semi-hard cock pressing against your ass. “See what you do to me?”

His lips trailed down, kissing and sucking on your neck. His left hand travelled from your hips to your breast, he squeezed the underside of your tities while grinding his erection against your bottom. Your breathing was getting heavy as he continued to massage your boobs and sucked on your neck, collarbone and shoulder.

You had to refrain from biting your lips. His strong body and demanding moves were making you unwillingly wet. But he forced you into a relationship you didn’t want, you didn’t want this, right?

“I don’t want to do it.” You whispered despite wanting nothing but his hands under your scarlet dress.

“No?” He chuckled. “Let’s check, shall we?” He whispered seductively in your ear.

Your eyes widened as you thrashed in his grip but he stopped all your attempts to deny the truth with a hand around your neck and a squeeze that made you go still. His other hand glided under your dress and found your panties damp.

“Your pussy proved you wrong, princess.” He said with a smug laugh. He sucked at your pulse point as his fingers moved your lace panties aside and caressed your folds. The suddenness made you let out a choked moan as your hold tightened on the railing.

His words embarrassed you but you couldn’t deny that his touch was making your body betray you. He played your body like an instrument.

His fingers ran along your petals, spreading your arousal and brushing your clit, his index finger teasing your entrance when he abruptly stopped.

You blinked, gasping and panting. You were about to glance at him in confusion when he bent you over, your head resting against the marble railing as he went down on his knees, bunching up your dress around your waist. He ripped off your panties, the sound heating your cheeks with humiliation.

“You deserve to be punished.” He said through gritted teeth as he slapped your clit, making you jerk at the delicious sting as he spread your legs wider for him so your pussy was on full display. Wet and ready.

“Spank your ass till it’s burning for going out with that pathetic excuse of a man Johnny or have Bucky watch you as I fuck you senseless. He’s also a fan after all." He spread your labia and sucked on your clit, making you moan out loud as your stomach flipped.

“But I can’t, because this pussy is too tempting of a distraction.” He lamented as his lips went down to your pussy and his tongue teased your cunt with slow yet precise strokes.

Your left hand moved to his hair and tugged on the blonde locks as his administration made your clit pulsate with need. You couldn’t decipher whether you wanted him to stop or continue.

He tutted on you pulling his hair. You whimpered at the loss of his mouth on your pussy when the clicking of his belt echoed in the empty space. He yanked both your hands behind your back and secured them in place with his belt, the grip firm but not harsh. 

“No.Touching.” He growled in your ear as his words were accentuated by a slap on each of your buttcheeks, making you whimper in pain and pleasure as you let your forehead rest against the cool marble and he knelt again.

He took your clit in his mouth again but with more ferocity as your pussy clenched around nothing, “Oh my god, Steve yes!” You mewled.

“Captain or I won’t let you cum.” He commanded as his fingers joined in and drew slow and teasing circles around your cunt.

“Captain, please.” You pleaded as your orgasm started to build up in your stomach.

“Good girl, that’s my good girl.” He finally eased his index finger inside of you, his thick and long finger filling your pussy and you were afraid as to how you were going to take his cock as his finger alone stretched your vagina.

He pumped his finger in and out of you all the while kissing and sucking your clit. When you bucked into his finger he added another one, exploring your velvety walls to find your spot that would make you sing. He curled his fingers when you dripped around his fingers and mouth.

“Mhmm, captain. Feels so good.” You cried out as your climax was approaching you faster, your skin glistening with sweat under the pale moonlight. It was so embarrassing, being this crying and moaning mess he had turned you into. His hands kneading your thighs and ass.

“Are you going to cum, princess?” Steve asked in a husky voice as he kept up his pace, replacing his mouth with his thumb to grow circles around the bundle of nerves,

Your skin was on ablaze, the coil tightening in your belly as you were tethering on the of falling apart. “Yes, Captain. Please let me cum.” You requested, spellbound. He didn’t need to ask you to beg, you were already sliding into your subspace. His finger found your g spot as he twisted his fingers, making you whimper as your breath shuddered.

He snickered, sending vibrations through your body. “I didn’t know you were so obedient, good to know.”His hand came down on your clit and it was the final straw that threw you over the edge. 

You came with a loud moan as the blinding pleasure brought tears to your eyes and you gushed around his lips and fingers, coating his chin. He lapped all your juice, his pace not halting as he drank your nectar greedily.

Your body was quivering from the force of your orgasm, your heart racing as you tried to collect yourself.

Steve got up on his feet and you almost collapsed when he wrapped a sturdy hand around your shaking body, pressing you against his chest. He jutted your chin up and grinned down at you. “Aw, you already look so fucked out darling but it’s just the beginning, we have the whole night.” He smashed his lips with yours, swallowing your tired whimpers and moans.

After devouring your mouth and leaving you breathless. He picked you up and started walking to his left. You were too dizzy to notice your surroundings till you were hitting silk bed sheet and plush mattress. You glanced at Steve through your hazy vision as he stood at the end of the bed.

He smirked down at you. “How about you return the favour, sweetheart? Strip.” He ordered and it was enough to clear your mind of any hangover.

Your hand snaked to your back and you slid down the zipper and pulled off your dress, your breast clad in red lace coming into view as you completely removed the dress and discarded it on the floor.

You then unclasped your bra, trepidation and anticipation mingling together as your boobs spilled out. Now, you were completely naked, your panties already torn and tossed away.

“On your hands and knees.” He commanded as he quickly unbuttoned his shirt, his abs and chest made your mouth water and you wanted to grab and touch him but shook away the thoughts.

You got on your hands and knees, clothes rustling till the bed dipped behind you. Steve ran his hand up your spine, sneaking underneath to grop your breast. You mewled as his thumb tweaked your pebbled nipples, twisting and flickering the buds till you were writhing under him.

His other hand smacked your ass, causing you to whimper. “Spread your legs more, I want to see that pussy.”

You spread your legs some more, displaying your glistening cunt to Steve’s hungry gaze. “You have such a pretty pussy.” He said as he played with you enough that you were whining before he rubbed the tip of his cock over your cunt, spreading your arousal and his pre cum.

You shuddered, you had an inclining that he was big but how much? That you didn’t know since you couldn’t see his dick from your position.

He slapped the head of his cock on your pussy and you visibly shuddered. He did it a few more times before you were dripping for him and was on the verge of sobbing in frustration. 

“Such a shame that it is about to get ruined by my big cock.” He declared and pushed the tip inside you. You moaned as you awaited your eventual mounting.

You clutched the silky sheets as he slowly bottomed out, your walls spasmed as they tried to accommodate his length. You were so full already and he was gracious enough to give you time to adjust. All the while he explored your body, kissing your spine, kneading and spanking your thighs, ass and breasts. His touch was electrifying and in no time, you were whimpering for him to move.

“Ah, someone is getting impatient.” Steve mocked but began moving out of your hot channel. He was slow and deliberate, his girth dragged through your walls and your pussy fluttered.

He hissed. “Don’t do that darling if you want to walk the next day.” He pulled out all the way, only the tip remained inside. Pushing your head further into the pillow as he slammed inside your cunt in one stroke, taking your breath away.

“Look at your pussy, pulling me in and clenching around me,” He grunted as his hold on your hips tightened. He looked where you two were connected and sighed in awe. “I didn’t know you were such a slut, you look so innocent. But look at you now, dripping around a man’s dick you barely know,” He pulled out again and thrusted back in with the same power. The slow yet rough pace he set made you cry out in pleasure as your climax started to stir in your lower belly again. “But I like how cockdrunk you are that you just don’t give a shit anymore.” He groaned and pulled out.

He changed his angle slightly and when he thrusted back again, he hit your g-spot and you screamed, flames of pleasure intensifying. He tugged you by the hair, pressing you against his toned chest. “Tell me that you are my slut.” He growled in my ear.

“I’m your slut, Captain!” you said breathlessly as his deep thrusts made you gasp.

His hand came to your clit and his thumb started drawing circles, making you tremble in his grip. “Yes, you are my slut. My fuck toy, who would let me do whatever I want and whenever I want with her because I own you now. Repeat what I have said.” He thrusted harder and if it wasn't for his strong grip, you would have fallen down. 

“I'm your fuck toy. You can do whatever you want and whenever you want with me because you own me now.” You cried. 

“Such a good obedient girl- Ahh, taking my cock so well. Now, you are going to ask me to make you cum.” He groaned his thumb sped up. Leaning down, he sucked on your pulse point, surely leaving a hickey, marking you as his.

“Please Captain, let me cum! Let me cum around your big cock.” You squealed out. Tilting your face upwards he kissed, hard and rough, you moaned against his lips as you tasted yourself on him.

“Good girl, now cum for me.” He demanded as fingers and thumb pinched your clit, his cock hitting your sweet spot in quick succession.

You shrieked ‘captain’ as you came around his girth, squirting on his dick. “Good, what a good little slut for your captain.” He moaned in satisfaction as he nibbled at your earlobe, fucking you through your release. 

He let go of you when your shaking died down. Your face fell on the pillow as you tried to catch your breath. Your fucked out mind didn’t register that he didn’t come till you were being flipped on your back. Coming face-to-face with his annoyingly handsome face.

“You didn’t think it was over, did you?” He rasped with a smirk as he plunged into your cunt once again, but this time with more fervour.

You instantly mewled but the overstimulation and coming two times had worn you out, you weren’t used to this. You attempted to scoot away from Steve. “I-I can’t, too much.” 

He pulled you back down on his cock, wrapping your legs around his waist. He restrained your hands over his head with one hand, leaving you unable to escape the pleasure he was giving you. “You can and you will. Get used to it, sweetheart. I’m being gentle right now,” He growled as he moved on top of you.

The pace was rough and fast, the bed rattling with each thrust, your boobs jiggled from the speed. He placed his hand on your lower stomach. “Do you feel me here?” He asked, the belly bulge sending shivers down your spine.

“Yes, I do, Captain.” You managed to choke out as he pounded in your pussy mercilessly.

“Then enjoy it, honey. Enjoy, writhing and moaning underneath me. My cock stretching your tight cunt, because that’s where you belong. Taking my cock like a good little fuck doll.” He husked as the force of his thrust increased with each passing second. The pain and pleasure mixing made tears fall from your eyes, the knot tightening yet again.

Steve leaned over you, kissing your tears, trailing down to your neck and then your boobs, groping and licking the plump area before taking your pebbled nipples into his hot mouth.

“Oh my god!” Your back arched, pleasure zapping through your body like thunder as his hot tongue sucked on your nipples and his hand massaged your other breast. All the while his thick cock rammed into you, his pubic areas brushing your clit.

Your hands jolted to touch him but he had your hands pinned above. You shut your eyes and enjoyed the unyielding pleasure he was bestowing upon you as pressure built up for the third time in your stomach. Your moans and his grunts bounced off the wall, so did the clapping sound of skin slapping against the skin.

Suddenly, his grasp loosened before coolness touched your ring finger. You looked up as he slid a beautiful sapphire ring into your finger, sealing your fate with his forever. You managed out a surprised gasp. He brought your hand down and pinned it to your side, giving you a proper view of the ring as it sparkled under the stark glowing moon.

“Imagine me, sweetheart,” Your breath caught in your throat as his speed grew frantic, his cock hitting the deepest part of your cunt as he chased his own release. “Imagine me when you have to romance on screen with some pitiful A-list actor.” He whispered in your ear, intertwining your hands with his as he kissed your lips. It was softer than the previous ones but no less demanding.

“Imagine me when you have to pretend to fuck someone on set. Because I know,” He whispered against your lips before lowering his hand to your clit and he drew fast circles on the bundle of nerves to help you fall apart. 

Steve cursed under his breath and thrusted faster when your walls clenched his dick. “Because I know that I have ruined you for any other man. Ruined this pussy for anyone except me. So, imagine me when you kiss a man and realize that he’ll never make you feel this good.” You nodded along his words as tears streamed down your cheeks, smearing your eyeliner and mascara but he paid no heed to it. Rather, enjoying your fucked out state.

The fullness of his dick inside your pussy and the overwhelming stimulation finally tipped you over the edge as you came the hardest and it hit you like a tsunami.

After some more brutal thrust, he came inside of you with a loud groan. His hot cum spilling inside your abused cunt as it milked him dry. He pumped into you a few more times, giving you every last drop of his seed and staying inside your warm channels till his cock softened.

He put his forehead against yours as he finally pulled out and you almost whined at the loss of dick but restrained yourself as his cum leaked out of your hole.

Only heavy breaths echoed in the spacious room as both of you caught your breath. You were beyond regaining your previous strength as you couldn’t even move a muscle. However, Steve recovered shortly afterwards as he kissed your forehead and whispered smugly. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it? I think you even enjoyed it.” 

You didn’t answer because he was right, you enjoyed every bit of it even if you didn’t want to. Before you could drown yourself in self-pity. Steve picked you up and took you to his bathroom to soak you in a nice, warm bath…

[radioactive-reactions]

How would the companions react to discovering not only Vault 111 but also the frozen Sole Survivor

Whether they saw it as a potential treasure trove, a nostalgic relic, or just a safe, quiet refuge, Vault 111 always seemed to attract the odd scavenger or adventurer. After slipping past the door, however, this particular intruder would end up stumbling upon something far stranger than they could expect...

Cait hadn't really taken the time to scope out the Vault before diving into it headfirst- having a pack of feral dogs nipping at your heels will do that to you. Coming face to face with the frozen Sole Survivor down there is freaky enough to give her a heart attack, but as the perfect audience for her rambling stories and a nonjudgmental drinking buddy they soon become the centerpiece of her impromptu hideout. As for actually getting them out? Fuck if she knows how.

Codsworth knows full well what the Vault up the hill contains, of course. How could he not? Much of the aging robot's time is spent tending to his owners' pods: tightening every bolt, polishing the glass, keeping the steel casing free of even a single speck of rust. The only thing that keeps him going is the thought that on some level, under that thin layer of frost, they might know he's there for them.

Curie's unbridled excitement at making contact with another Vault is quickly tempered once she actually sets eyes on the denizens of said Vault. With nothing but time and centuries' worth of medical expertise to work with, she immediately sets to the task of bringing Vault 111 back to life- not just the Sole Survivor, but everyone consigned to a cold and inglorious fate in those cryopods. This is a mission worth spending another two hundred years on.

Danse has been assigned to scour the Vault as part of a routine sweep for useful technology- a task entirely beneath a Paladin, but what he finds there more than makes up for it. Immediately, a whole field research team is dispatched to the vault and the cryopods are airlifted out one by one. The Sole Survivor's first memory of the new world is waking up to the harsh white light of a Brotherhood lab, bombarded with questions and shoved blearily through a battery of tests. Not a great first impression.

Deacon still thinks the Vault would make an ideal fallback hideout, even with the rows of corpsicles. The eerie blue glow and residents in cryosleep are pitched to Desdemona as enhancing the ambience, but the suggestion is soundly denied for the Vault's visibility. Even so, Deacon maintains a post outside, just in case one of those poor bastards stumbles out one day.

When Hancock inexplicably wakes up in the Vault after partying a little too hard, he immediately assumes he's still hallucinating- that, or he's been picked up by Zetans. It takes him hours of trying to pry the Sole Survivor's pod open in a hungover haze to finally give up, writing the place off as another of the Old World's many sins and decent subject matter for his next speech.

MacCready almost feels at home in the vast underground chambers of the Vault. Almost. No matter how convenient the Vault is as a last-ditch hideout, its residents creep him out too much to stay there for any real length of time. He tries his hardest to avoid their frozen stares, endlessly grateful that it's them in there and not him.

Valentine relates to the frozen Sole Survivor a little more than he'd like to admit. Two abandoned relics, used to serve a greater purpose and then thrown out like so much junk when they were done. He knows more than anyone what a harsh awakening they're going to have- if they do wake up. Every so often, he'll wander back to check on them, sharing a yarn about his latest case and watching for any progress. On the day that pod does unseal, he'll be there to lend a helping hand... but until then, all he can do is maintain a file. It's one hell of a cold case.

Piper feels a little guilty that her first thought is how good of a story this will make. 'Pod people slumber among us', maybe? She doesn't want to risk the Sole Survivor's life by touching anything, but maybe if she spreads the word someone out there will be able to help them. That's how she justifies it to herself, anyway- now if only there was some concrete link to the Institute she could work in...

Preston has been surveying the area around Sanctuary for potential threats to the burgeoning settlement... and he still isn't entirely sure that this doesn't count as one. It takes a moment to line up the resident registry with the names on Sanctuary's rusted-out mailboxes, but once he does, he has the Vault sealed up again out of respect for those who came before. If he and his scant resources can't help them, he can at least let them rest in peace.

Strong hammers away at the pod to no avail before stomping off in a huff to seek his next victim somewhere else. Canned food clearly isn't his thing.

X6-88 is here for a routine checkup - nothing more, nothing less. Although the Director had been cagey about what exactly he wanted to be kept safe down here, there was nothing X6 wouldn't be prepared for... so he thought, at least. The sight of a person, frozen and contained, gives him a rare moment of pause and elicits an uncomfortable, involuntary comparison to the dormant synths rolling off the assembly line. Nevertheless, he makes sure the cryopod is still functional and returns home, all the while trying to forget their strange resemblance to the Director.

[shineonyoucrazyyandere]

One thing I love to day dream about is the yandere and their darling doing beauty treatment 💕 In my case it's Kakyoin. He is definitely the type of boy really care about beauty stuff like having a skincare routine or doing his hair in perfect curve shape. He is expert in this field although he is a boy (completely opposite me, I don't know how to do it although I'm a girl 😭)

I'm sure he will this advantages to be touchy with darling. Here, let he help you putting on the face mask. This nail color is suit you, let he pain it for you. You need help with your hairstyle, don't worry, he is a pro.

I believe he use lip balm cherry flavor too. And when darling joking ask him does it taste good, he will immediately kiss them and pretend nothing wrong with that action "What, you ask about how it taste so I just let you taste it."

Kakyoin is certainly the most thorough when it comes to beauty/haircare/skincare. Of course if he’s going to find a way to slip you into doing something with him no matter how small. Just the slightest extra amount of time alone with the redhead has him thrilled. Why don’t you try a little face mask? They’re not difficult to deal with in the slightest.

He’ll fixate on anything you seem to fancy yourself towards, that’s his primary objective firstly. Just your hair? Perfect, let him brush/comb, or even trim/cut it (it doesn’t make a difference how short or how long it is) He’ll even manage to get you a nice scent of shampoo/conditioner to use. It just happens to be something that he loves on you fragrance wise, but he keeps this to himself.

No make up or a make up every day kind of person doesn’t matter to Kakyoin, he always seems to come up with something to keep you around him longer. Little things that any person should keep up with. Helping with lotion to keep skin from drying out (or sunscreen). The way he does anything with you feels rather nice, gentle even. His heart is practically drumming out of his chest every time he touches you. Yet there’s a firm, focused face, seemingly concentrated on your form no matter the area.

Every little thing Kakyoin does well from painting nails to even simply massaging your scalp, he has the slightest hope to keep coming you coming back. If not he’ll keep coaxing you back, and making the experience pleasant as possible. Let’s not mention if things go south and you run off, that he wouldn’t eventually tie you down acting like nothing happened before proceeding with your usual routine. Even fawning over you right there as if he isn’t terrifying you right there and then.

Somehow he might figure out your favorite color of nail polish, he gets real particular with anything you do to take care of yourself honestly. (He won’t forget a single step no matter how complex either)

As for his own routine of going a little more into things most men don’t usually incline themselves to. He sees it as a good thing to go the extra effort of grooming to keep a presentable appearance. Honestly he didn’t care about any outside opinions on how he takes care of himself anyway, the insults slide right off of him. He won’t judge you either for not really wearing make up (why would he? That would be ridiculous)

If anyone trashes your appearance however, he’s going to make sure they’re taken care of personally with hierophant green.

Now if you compliment him that’s a completely different story, he’s ecstatic. Practically sealing your fate, as he’ll coast off your cute compliments for years to come.

+ Bonus

When out shopping, he doesn’t really mind. He’d likely be the first to volunteer (practically no one else is able with how quick Kakyoin is). Offers to buy something nice to try if you hadn’t done it before, (or just need more).

[stvolanis]

Broken Heartstrings

(one shot)

warnings : dom & sub dynamics, Elvis is kinda abusive, age gap, INACCURATE TIME LINE, angst, Elvis is suspected of cheating,pet-names (baby, doll, darlin’, satin), a hint jealousy (Elvis and OC), manipulation, toxic relationship, OC is naive and kinda (not really) innocent, smut includes degradation (slut, brat), praising, dubcon-ish I guess, spitting, p in v sex, oral (f receiving),size kink, slapping (not hard enough to hurt), man handling, overstimulation, spitting, house wife kink (if you squint), stomach bulge, make-up sex, and overall rough sex. Sorry if I missed anything <3

this is my first story I’ve written for Tumblr, so it won’t be the greatest and might be poorly written to some, but I had fun writing it so enjoy to those who are interested :)

˚ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ˚

the days grew longer as the nights seemed to be getting unbearably shorter. Lucy was sitting on a tall bar stool swinging her little frilly sock covered feet back n’ forth as she waited for her husband to get to their shared home. It was late, ‘round 12:30 and he hadn’t shown up to the dinner she had graciously prepared for the both of them. The food was getting cold and her appetite was fading, being replaced by a feeling in the pit of her stomach she couldn’t seem to pin.

The couple had their ups and downs, as any other, but lately it seemed to be more downs. he’d come home late, his hair and clothes disheveled. sometimes he’d smell like cheap women’s perfume and other times he’d smell like gin and whiskey. he’d come home with an attitude, and take it out on Lucy since she was the closest one around. She knew he was struggling, but Elvis Presley was not one for opening up and receiving help.

the drinking and coming home late started happening after his mother passed away. he didn’t know how else to cope, so he did what he’d see his father do. he’d been chasing a high he’d never be able to reach, but his determined mind wouldn’t falter. one more drink. one more show. one more hit of whatever he was on in the moment or could get his hands on. anything to help relive the aching in his chest. It was like a poison that spread through his body, draining his energy and overtaking him. but he kept on falling deeper and deeper

but there was her. Lucy. the sweet little 20 year old who kissed his worries and pains away. Lucy, who made him feel like a young school boy all over again. Lucy , who batted her pretty eyelashes up at him when she needed some loving. Lucy, who’d perch herself on his lap and whisper sweet nothings into his ear when he was exhausted from shows, telling him everything he already knew, but it was coming from her, so he’d hear it a million more times if he could. Lucy, who was so sickeningly sweet and naive, she didn’t realize that not everyone wanted wanted to be just her friend.

Elvis didn’t like that.

Elvis knew he scored with Lucy. He knew that she was the purest thing he’d ever be able to obtain in his lousy life. the freshest, kindest and most beautiful little daisy in a field of weeds. Sure, people were throwing themselves at him left and right, but they weren’t real. Girls always on his arm, yet they only cared for his charm, fame and money. Only cared about fucking their way to the top just to be a nice trophy wife on the arm of some rich piece of shit. Running them dry. But Lucy was never like that.

Lucy was from a small town. A southern bell, and a hard worker who took care of her sick mother for as long as she could remember. She always seen the good in people, even when it seemed invisible to others. Her hearts too big for her delicate body, or at least that’s what her momma used to tell her. Lucy worked at a busy diner on the outskirts of her town, and traveling people were always in and out. So it was no surprise to her when Elvis Presley had shown up in a white button down, dark jeans and polished dress shoes with his friends following behind him.

Ever since that day, Elvis made it his mission to be with her. attached at the hip since they laid eyes on each other, and neither of them would have it any other way. But once her husband started touring again, their honeymoon phase was soon ending and arose more arguments, aggression and finger-pointing.

Elvis had promised to have a nice, civilized dinner with his wife as long as she cooked the food and not one of the maids. For hours, Lucy had been feeling waves of excitement as she cooked all day, creating a nice big meal for them to enjoy together for once. It had been so long since they sat down for dinner together. But alas, he was no where to be found.

She looked down at her hands that were between her thighs as she felt her eyes begin to water and her breathing uneven. of course he wouldn’t have come. what was she thinking? as tears began to fall, it seemed as though they wouldn’t stop. The girl wept as she began to throw away the food she had worked so hard to make.

Soon, that sadness and disappointment turned into a bubbling anger in her core. How could he do this to her? Why did she always have to be the one waiting around? She hated feeling reliant on him for the smallest things. Time, attention, love. Things no one else had ever cared to give her, but Elvis had so happily. She hated that they always fell into this routine of cat and mouse. And always, just when she’s about to call it quits, he smooth talks his way back into her arms.

Mumbling words of affirmation to her. How much he loves and cares for her, and how no one else will ever love her as much as he does. How she’s such a good housewife for him, always keeping the house together and waiting for his return like a good girl. How beautiful she is, and the things he loves most about her.

as the anger bubbled in her stomach, she could hear the booming laugh of Elvis through the halls as he cracked jokes with his choice of friends for the nights and all Lucy could feel was disgust. how could she have been so dumb?

In that moment, Lucy decided she’d had enough. She slammed the door open to the kitchen and marched her way through the long halls till she got to the entrance of the house where Elvis stood in all his glory. Oh, how pretty he looked. His smile becoming bigger as he laid eyes on his wife who wore a white, off the shoulder sundress and frilly white socks. she seemed so small and frail compared to him.

But his smile soon faded as he took notice of her puffy red eyes, red nose and trembling lips and worry consumed him. “Woah, darlin’, what’s goin on?” He asked as he took off his coat and laid it on a small round table. Lucy scoffed. “Are you fuckin’ serious, Elvis?” She said dryly as she squinted her eyes.

Elvis clenched his jaw, clearly displeased. “Watch ya mouth when ya talk to me, ya hear?” He said sternly as he pointed a finger at her. Lucy rolled her pretty green eyes. “Where were you? Huh? You were out with women, weren’t you? I can smell them on you Elvis!” She shouted as fresh tears fell from her eyes.

He groaned as he lazily dragged a hand down his perfectly sculpted face. “What the hell are ya talkin’ ‘bout, Lucy? I ain’t been with no women other than you!” He shouted back as he flared his arms out with a dry laugh. “I’m done with your lies, Elvis.” She said as she harshly wiped her tears and turned to leave.

Elvis made quick work of grabbing her arm and spinning her back around, harshly pushing her against the wall as his hand snaked up and snugly wrapped around her neck. Lucy was taken aback, Elvis had never put his hands on her in a way she didn’t like before.

“Dammit, woman, what’s it gonna take for you to calm down and stop accusin’ me of bullshit every damn day?!” He yelled out in her face. Lucy’s body wracked with sobs, and only then did Elvis realize what he’d done. He shakily removed his hands, but didn’t move away from her and instead caged her body in with his slender arms.

Lucy pushed harshly against his chest, trying to create some distance between them but Elvis wasn’t having it as he grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head. “Let me go, Elvis!” She said, her voice hoarse and broken. “Need ya to calm down first, baby.” He replied as he watched her body tremble

“Oh I need to calm down? How fucking funny coming from the man who just choked me out!” She laughed out dryly as she shot him a look of disgust and anger. “I’ve fuckin’ had it with this attitude you got. After everything I do for you, this is how you wanna act?! Huh?!” He yelled as he began dragging her up the stairs to their shared bedroom.

“Stop it Elvis, you’re hurting me!” Lucy weakly yelled as his grip tightened around her wrists, surely to leave marks the next morning. Elvis played deaf as he harshly threw her onto their bed, slamming the door shut and swiftly locking it. Lucy’s body bounced as she made contact with the bed before sitting up, ready to speak again till Elvis cut her off.

“Strip.” Was all Elvis said. His voice thick, deep and velvety. Such a sweet sound. If only the words coming out weren’t laced with disappointment and dissatisfaction towards the helpless girl on the bed. Her eyes widened and her words got caught in her throat. Again. Why does this always happen? right when she’s about to stand up for herself, she always backs down the very last second and the cycle continues and worsens each time. But it’s addicting.

Sickeningly enough, she thrives in it. She’s become so accustomed to it, she wouldn’t remember how to live like a normal couple again. The toxicity of their relationship kept her on her toes, and deep down inside, she knew she wouldn’t want it any other way. How boring it would be. She knew Elvis wasn’t with other Women, because if he was it would be the cover of every times magazine and she wouldn’t hear the end of it from her friends and family. She knew the perfume she smelled on him was his mommas favorite.

As her shakey hands met the fabric of her white dress and began pulling it off of her body, Elvis rolled up his sleeves and drunk in the sight in front of him. almond green eyes, plump lips and a cute button nose that’s still slightly reddened from her crying. long chocolate brown hair. Full breasts with perky, sensitive nipples that sat ever so perfectly. slim hips and meaty thighs with a round ass to top it all off. But god, how he adored how small she is compared to him.

How tiny she is, is one of his favorite parts about her, and oh, how he used it to his advantage in the most vile ways. it was so easy for someone as big as him to completely destroy her. and that’s exactly what he does.

“Please,Elvis, m’ sor-” she tried, but Elvis wasn’t having it. “I don’t wanna hear a fuckin’ thing from ya, baby.” He said roughly as he gripped her hair at the base and craned her neck up to look at him. her hands gripped his shirt and she felt her slick between her thighs at his tone.

Elvis brought his hand up to her mouth and Lucy stuck her tongue out, welcoming her husbands fingers that harshly hit the back of her throat, making her gag and eyes water. Elvis clicked his tongue. “How can ya take my cock when ya can’t even take my fingers, darlin’?” He chuckled out.

Her mouth closed around his fingers and she began to suck them seductively and Elvis felt his pants tighten at the sight. Pretty eyes staring back up with him, trying to prove she can.

Always a hard worker, huh?

Elvis smirked at the thought as he removed his fingers and instead harshly pushed her upper body down onto the bed, spreading her legs as he dropped to his knees. his mouth watered at the sight. Her cunt was puffy and pink, bud swollen with need and begging for attention. Her slick was seeping out, and there was a wet patch on the sheets of the bed where she had been sitting that was dark and visible. It was such a pretty sight for a starving man.

He spread her lower lips and dragged his tongue between the welt folds, gathering all of her essence. He hummed at the taste of her on his tongue before savoring it for a moment. Then, he sucked her clit into his mouth with such force, her back painfully arched. His tongue skillfully played with her overly-sensitive bud, teasing and sucking as her thighs closed in around his head.

Elvis was pussy drunk. He couldn’t seem to get enough of the taste of his sweet girl. He didn’t care if he couldn’t breathe, he didn’t care about anything besides making Lucy come as many times as she could on his tongue. He prodded a finger at her sopping entrance before slowly sinking them in, letting them sit before pulling out and harshly slamming back in. Lucy let out a gasp at the intrusion as he began to finger fuck her tight cunt with no remorse.

The small girl felt the coil in her stomach tighten as her fingers gripped his mop of disheveled hair as she pushed her cunt further into the dazed mans face. Elvis curled his fingers in her before sucking her clit harshly one last time, and that’s when it snapped. “Oh my god—Elvis!” She moaned out as she tried to shove his head away from her overstimulated clit, but Elvis wasn’t listening.

“Sucha good girl, satin.” He mumbled against her clit as he felt her juices drip down his chin. God, how sweet she tasted. His entire chin and chest were covered in her, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He’d fuck up a million more times if it meant he could come back home to this.

Lucy panted, out of breath underneath him as he crawled above her sweaty body. He laid the gentlest kisses upon her skin, so tender and sweet. The flutter of his lips against her stomach had her insecurities seeping away into the cracks of the floor boards. The suckle of her nipples, and the releasing ‘pop’, followed by the countless hickies laid where they both knew only he would be able to see had her blushing madly. The caressing of her neck and the soft kiss against her lips made her forget the reason this all started to begin with.

“Ya with me, baby?” He asked. “Yes, Elvis. ‘M here.” She softly replied. Elvis took that as his sign to tighten his hold around Lucy’s neck, lifting her slightly to better look her in the eye. “Good, ‘cause I’m gon’ show ya what happens to ungrateful brats when I’m done with ya.” He said harshly as he slapped the side of her cheek with his free hand, but not hard enough to actually hurt. Just hard enough to know he was gonna fuck her into oblivion.

He spread Lucy’s legs, slapping her puffy, over-sensitive cunt. She softly moaned at the impact, making Elvis chuckle. “Fuckin’ slut.” He muttered as he lined his throbbing cock to her entrance. Elvis inhaled deeply as he slowly pushed his tip in, teasingly pulling it in and out a few times. Lucy whined. “Elvis-” she began. “Shut up, ya take what I give ya, brat.” He said sternly as he gripped her hair. Lucy nodded I obediently as she whimpered out a small ‘sorry’.

Suddenly, the larger man bullied his way inside her wet cunt and she could feel his hair against her throbbing clit. She moaned out as her hand grabbed the arm Elvis was holding her leg up with to ready herself. Elvis spared no mercy as he ruthlessly began bucking his hips into hers, not waiting for her to adjust to his size. She felt like heaven to him, after all, he’d trained her pussy to perfectly fit his cock since the night of their wedding, but after so long of going without being inside of her, she’d tightened up again. Elvis hissed as her walls squeezed him before throwing his head back and letting out a deep groan.

Lucy gripped the sheets below her, desperately trying to hold onto something as the beast on top of her used her cunt like she was a rag-doll solely for his pleasure. “Tight fuckin’ cunt, all for me, mama. Takin’ my dick so well, just like I taught ya, baby.” He said between breaths. Her chest fluttered at his praise, and her cunt squeezed tighter around him. “Ya like that, hm? Like when I tell ya how good you are to me. How nice you fit around my cock. My good girl.” He muttered against your lips as his hands squeezed her hips with such force, they’d be sure to leave a mark.

“Yes, Yes, fuck—yes Elvis. ‘M your good girl. All yours.” Lucy replied through loud moans, her breasts bouncing with ever rough thrust he planted. Something snapped in Elvis at that, and he threw her legs over his shoulder, hitting a new angle. Just the right spot to make her vision blurry and seeing stars. Her back arched as his fingers found her clit, rolling it between his fingers before rubbing it just the right way that made that familiar coil tighten again.

“Fuck, ‘m gonna cum, Elvis! p-please mm- lemme cu-cum!” She stuttered out through moans. Elvis reveled in her satisfying sounds, every thrust sent him into orbit as he became pussy drunk, completely consumed in her. He could feel her everywhere. Her soft hands all over him. Her cunt squeezing the life out of him as she was on the brink of an orgasm. the pleas of her crying aloud. Her eyes watering as she stared up at him, overstimulated.

“Hold it, ‘m almost there, baby. Doin’ so good f’me.” Elvis replied as his hips shot further into hers. The sound of their sweaty skin echoed through the room, and surely could be heard through the halls. Elvis took notice of the prominent bulge on her stomach, groaning at the sight of him filling her to the brim. He pressed his hand against it. “Feel that? ‘M right here, doll.” He said, his voice laced with desire. Lucy merely whimpered, still trying to hold back on her orgasm.

The sudden pressure on her lower stomach made her eyes roll to the back of her head as she felt the coil once again snap, releasing all her juices on Elvis’ lower stomach for a second time. But Elvis wasn’t done yet as he kept his pace of pounding into her. “Please, I can’t-” she moaned out, Elvis slapped her cheek. “I told ya to fuckin’ wait, but you just hadda be a slut, huh? you’re done when I say ya are.” He hissed. Lucy moaned at the contact of his hand against her cheek before nodding her head vigorously.

Elvis felt his stomach grow tighter as he was closer and closer to finishing. “‘M almost there, j-just ho-hold on f’me, mama.” He stuttered out through the waves of euphoric feelings. All of his senses were overwhelmed and his body felt hot to the touch like it was on fire as sweat dripped down him. He slammed his cock into Lucys overstimulated cunt a few more times sloppily before his hips stilled inside of her.

Elvis soon pulled out and watched as cum dripped out of her sopping, pulsing hole before taking two of his slender fingers and stuffing it back in. “Don’t want it to go to waste, now do we?” He said with a smirk as Lucy’s body wracked with spasms as his fingers penetrated her. Lucy’s hand reached out and stilled his movements with a small whimper. “No more Elvis, ‘s too much.” She whined.

Elvis sighed. “Alright, satin, let’s get you cleaned up.” He said as he got up and went into their shared bedroom to retrieve a wet cloth before coming back and gently wiping off both of their juices from her sore cunt. Lucy sighed contently as Elvis pressed a few lingering kisses on her thighs and stomach. “You did so good.” Elvis said against her lips before softly kissing her.

“Want you to hold me, please, Elvis.” She muttered back with a cheeky smile. Elvis let out a small laugh, eyes gleaming with something she couldn’t quite decipher. “Whatever you want, Lucy.” He replied as he laid in bed next to her, bringing her closer and wrapping his arms around the smaller girl. She drew small patterns on his naked chest and smiled contently when she felt his hands begin to massage her scalp.

“Yknow I love ya, right?” Elvis said as he glanced down at her in his arms.

“I know, Elvis. I love you too.”

˚ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ˚

[flowerwrites06]

affairs of state — knj (teaser)

This fic has been released, click the title below to check it out!

AFFAIRS OF STATE | Kim Namjoon | Oneshot | Request

Original Request: Can I request for a President Namjoon x Reader (she can be an assistant or a just a simple fun loving girl who meets Namjoon out of nowhere). Namjoon falls for her, BAD and try his hardest to make her the light of his life. Make it angstyyyyy yum I love angst 😭 – @sarzkh31 Plot: The allures of power and politics is a tumultuous one and it creates a strain on Namjoon's budding love. Pairing: President!Namjoon x Secretary!OC (Name: Minnie) Genre: Politics AU | Angst Type: Oneshot Rating: MA15+ Word Count: 300+ (for teaser) Warnings: angst, sexual content. Author’s Note: oh boy this month was hard to choose. I've been having a slight writers block so this might not be the longest story but I've been trying to slowly getting my flow back haha hope you enjoy this teaser! p.s. this scene is cutesy but there is angst, trust me lol

The air in the main office held a subtle buzz each morning as Minnie entered, a stack of papers in hand. Late afternoon sun filtered through the transparent curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. Namjoon sat at his deep mahogany table, polished beautifully and adorned by files and vintage pen sets from leaders before him. His dark hair sleek back with just a strand over his forehead, lips pursed in concentrations as he looked through the morning news. His black coffee sat next to him, exuding gentle plumes of steam.

Minnie took a few slow steps absentmindedly so she could admire his focus in solitude. But her heels tapped just enough against the wood to move his attention. “I’ve the latest reports for you,” she said, making her voice a blend of professionalism and warmth.

Namjoon fully looked up from his desk, brown eyes softening at the sight of her mimicking the slight melt of his heart. “Always diligent and on time with piling on work,” he said playfully.

Minnie chuckled, setting the papers on his desk. “It’s my job, sir.”

Namjoon placed the newspaper down as he leaned back in his chair, eyes never leaving hers. “And looking stunning is part of your job too?”

Heat crept onto Minnie’s cheeks, but she quickly composed herself. “Thank you, sir, but flattery won’t get you out of these reports.” She tapped the pile.

Namjoon grinned, only musing and relishing in her reaction. “I’m just appreciating my morning view.”

“Real smooth,” she raised a brow.

“It’s a skill,” Namjoon smirked. “Gotta hone it with you around.”

Minnie shook her head with a chuckle, turning to leave the office. “I’ve got some meetings for you in the late afternoon so make sure those reports are signed.”

“How about a meeting with you?” Namjoon leaned forward. “We must have some business matters to discuss.”

Minnie opened the door behind her with a playful gleam in her eyes. “Strictly business, I assume?”

Namjoon grinned. “Of course.”

Minnie closed the door immediately, biting down her bottom lip and taking a deep breath to calm the pounding of her heart. Every work day was going to be a near heart attack if this kept going. 

masterlist

[thiswasinevitableid]

What It's Worth (Indruck)

A big yeehawgust prompt winner was: Undead Cowboy. This fill is NSFW and does mention blood

The stars stud the sky, the sliver of moon rising from the mesa meaning Duck can see them clearly as he lays on his back in the dirt. 

His bedroll is okay, but the memory of frost in the air makes him wish he’d had time to snag a few more spare blankets. But all he could manage this morning was the essentials.

He wasn’t going to spend a single minute longer in that damn place than he had to. 

They lost the farm in West Virginia two years ago, when Duck was seventeen. His uncle, Papa Newton’s brother, had offered to let the family move to his property outside Santa Fe. 

It seemed like a fuckin miracle. Until they settled in and Duck realized his uncle intended to treat them as free labor rather than family. If he has to polish one more round of dishes he’s gonna throw the whole dinner table out the fucking window. 

A week ago, when his uncle started making noises about finding his “niece” a husband, Duck decided there was no point in sticking around. Not if that’s how his uncle intended to use him. 

So here he is, as far from town as a days ride could get him, hidden from view of anyone on the trails. He’s keeping a small fire up; seems worth the risk to keep the coyotes and cougars from getting too close. 

There are footsteps, barely audible, on the other side of the fire. A shadow, with two red pinpoints about six feet off the ground. 

He doesn’t have a gun; unlike Winnie, his horse, they all belonged to his uncle, and the fucker might call him a thief and send the sheriff after him if he snuck one away. 

“Do not be alarmed.” The voice in the darkness is lilting and weak, “You are in no danger…no danger from…from…”

A thud as the body hits the earth, landing in the ring of firelight. Duck cautiously sits up, buck knife in hand, as the stranger groans and raises up onto his knees with a woozy shake of his head. 

The red Duck saw comes from the glasses the man wears on his narrow nose. His whole face is angles. His hair is silvery in the light, which is odd given the fact he appears only a few years older than Duck. 

“You okay?”

The visitor grips the knees of his pants, “No. I am so very, very thirsty.”

“I got a little water to spare.”

A weak laugh, “Nono, that will not save me. I need…I need…” He tips his head up with a sigh, as if steeling himself in order to make the request, and fangs catch the scant moonlight. 

Duck’s heard the stories about vampires and even weirder things out in the desert. He never put much stock in them; he spent his childhood in the woods, then the desert. He understands how easily folks can spook themselves out in the wild. 

“Please say you ain’t after my blood.”

“I am. I have not fed in so long, I was too ambitious in my travels to Greensboro. Too weak to catch an animal. If I go much longer I will become feral, mindless, draining any passerby until they are a husk” he looks up, frightened, “Please, please help me.”

“Uh.” Duck looks around like someone wrote the right thing to do in the sand. He wouldn’t let a human die of thirst. And he doesn’t want anyone getting their throat ripped out. But this feels like a real good way to trick a kind-hearted traveler into being dinner. 

“I will do anything you ask” a shudder and a groan, making the stranger hunch forward, “take me to bed, ask me for my weight in gold, the keys to the city, anything, please.” He sobs, trying to crawl forward but only making it to the bottom of the bed roll and clutching it.

“Okay.” Duck begins unbuttoning his shirt, “Okay. You can have a drink, but I, I keepin my knife on me, y’hear?”

“Perfectly. I would not begrudge you such measures, not when you are helping me.” He struggles forward until he’s straddling Duck’s knees. He’s dressed like the cowboys Duck watches with envy as they ride past the house, except every piece of clothing is black. 

“Rather impractical in a desert, I know. But I find it suits me.”

“It does.” Duck doesn’t catch the answer in time. The last thing he needs is some fella thinking he’s flirting with him. 

“You are very kind. Oh” he notices Duck pulling his shirt collar to the side, “I need not drink that way, I assume you do not wish me to be any closer than necessary. Your arm will suffice.”

“I, uh, I work with my hands and arms so this’ll be less of a pain in the neck. Or not but, uh, you know what I mean.”

The vampire nods, delicately scooting into Duck’s lap. He shivers as the visitor noses his throat, humming happily. 

“You smell divine.”

“I been on the trail all day, doubt I smell like a basket of roses.”

“Better.” The voice purrs, “now, this will only hurt a moment.”

Fangs sink into his skin and his entire body lights up in pain, telling him to fight, to run like a jackrabbit. Then all at once it subsides, pleasure rolling like a wildfire on the prairie, lighting up nerve after nerve until he wonders if they’ll burn out. 

The vampire has one hand in his hair, supporting his head, the other pressing down on his shoulder, and through the fire crackling in his brain he can tell he’s talking.

“...So good, thank you, thankyouthankyouthankyou.” The deep bite is over, but he continues nipping at the skin, licking and sucking at the blood. He’s wiggling closer, hips bucking a little, making the neediest sounds Duck’s ever heard between his thanks and praise of everything from Duck’s eyes to the way he tastes. 

If he could guarantee the man on top of him would be like this, Duck wouldn’t be half as put off the idea of getting married. 

Gradually, the touch on his neck changes to deliberate licks, the last one ending with a kiss as the vampire sits back on his heels. He looks drunk.

“I..I am very grateful for your help.”

“You don’t say?” Duck teases. 

“Have I not made that clear–oh! Oh it is a joke.” He grins, mouth still a bit red, “You are a very charming human. And my offer stands; you may ask anything you wish of me as payment.”

He could get a train ticket, or the money to buy one. A place to stay. Clothes he didn’t have to fix up to be right himself. 

“That’s real decent of you to offer but I wouldn’t make someone pay me for a drink if they were dyin of thirst. Don’t seem right to ask you to.”

“You are very kind. I will not intrude on you any longer.” The vampire tries to shift out of his lap and hisses. Duck looks down and sees why.

“Y’know, most fellas have a harder time doin’ that once they’re drunk.”

“It, it is nothing” he looks away, embarrassed, “it is merely the natural response to feeling full and safe while in the arms of a handsome man.”

“That so?” Duck licks his lips, “tell you what. Since you biting me got me all riled up, I changed my mind. I want this” he palms the vampire through his pants, “as my fee.”

“Gladly.” Wiry arms drape over his shoulders as Duck undoes the buttons and pulls his dick from his trousers. It’s a nicely sized thing, big enough to be tempting without feeling intimidating, and when he wraps his hand around it the responding squeak is almost a chirp. 

“There we go, sweet thing, lemme get my hands on you.”

“Only if I am permitted the same honor.”

“Hmmm” Duck pretends to think as he steadily strokes the shaft, “dunno, why should I let you feel me up?”

A pout, “Because I will be so very good for you. I was good for you when I fed, wasn’t I?”

“You were, sweet as a peach. Okay, you can touchAHhey” he laughs as hands greedily paw his sides and thighs. 

“Thank you, oh you are lovely to touch, lovely to hold.” Kisses spread across the closing wound on his neck, “what a lucky creature I am to have found so wonderful a human oh, ohohoh” his hips jerk wildly and he cums on Duck’s fingers. 

“Pent up?” He kisses a cheek that he suspects would blush if it could. 

“So it seems. Goodness, such things seldom take me by surprise.” A playful kiss to his ear, followed by a nip, “shall I return the favor?

Duck feels one half of him lean into the idea, the other wrench so far back he thinks it might dislocate his joints. 

“Nah. I’m, uh, I’m too, uh, tired, fuck, not not turned on, uh. Fuck.”

The vampire cocks his head, then nods, “Then I will not press the matter. Would you like me to stay awhile?”

“Yeah.” He murmurs, “Yeah I would.”

Duck nestles down into his bedroll as his visitor gets his clothing back into order, and falls asleep to long fingers in his hair and a gentle voice telling him of the moths and bats fluttering across the desert sky. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------

He goes home when his uncle finally finds him and tells him that if he won’t do his family duty, he’ll find someone to marry Jane, Duck’s sister, to. 

Jane’s only 14. 

Duck spends the whole ride home hoping the lousy fucker gets thrown by his horse. 

A month later, he’s traveling with the old asshole and the equally cold-hearted, sneering woman he married to a party in Santa Fe. Mr. Indrid Cold, one of the area's richest and most mysterious residents, is said to be in search of a wife, and so Duck is in the most masculine dress he could find, hair still short and chaperones scowling as they enter the fine house off the city square. 

Duck tries to occupy himself in small talk, and while some of the women there won’t give him the time of day, others invite him into their cluster to hold crystal punch cups and whisper some of the most ridiculous shit he’s ever heard. 

“They say he’s a vampire!”

“Don’t be silly, my aunt said she saw him out in broad daylight.”

“Some of them can do that. It depends on their age.”

“Not this theory again, Josephine.”

“I told you, my name is Joe.”

“Anyway, even if your aunt did see him, that won’t help us. They say he throws one of these every few years and no one actually sees him in attendance. He just watches from somewhere so he can learn about us.”

Duck shudders at the idea; this whole thing is already a pain in the ass. It doesn’t need to be a creepy pain in the ass on top of that. 

“Pardon me.” A man with the blandest features imaginable addresses the group, “may I accompany you for a turn around the gardens?”

He’s offering his hand to Duck. 

“Is this a fuckin joke?”

A mild smile, “Not at all. I have been dying to speak to you since you arrived.”

Duck takes the offered hand, lets the man link their arms as they head into the courtyard. The gardens are stunning, if a bit overgrown, and Duck points out where a screech owl has hollowed out one of the trees. 

“Glad they kept the ones that actually grow here. Some folks try to bring the trees from back east out to make their gardens and they just up and die. On account of it bein, y’know, a fuckin desert.”

“That does seem rather ill-advised.”

They talk more about Duck’s move to the desert, and the longer they speak the more Duck feels like he knows the man’s voice. He just can’t place it. 

“I take it you are not a fan of the proceedings?”

“I, uh, I ain’t not, uh-”

“You do not need to lie, Duck.” A small smile. 

“It just ain’t my world.” He looks down at the dress, “rather be in sackcloth than this fuckin thing.”

“Mmm, I imagine you’d make a rather striking cowboy.”

“Like to think so. Aw fuck.” He turns to where the clock is striking eleven, signaling the end of the party, “I didn’t hobnob nearly enough.”

His companion squeezes his arm, “I would not worry too much about that.”

They say their goodnights and he rejoins his aunt and uncle, only to discover that they’ve booked him a room at a nearby hotel while they stay in a finer one across the road. Almost like they’re hoping his being alone might tempt their host into appearing at the foot of his bed like a fucking ghost.

He chucks his party outfit into the corner, the night hot enough that he decides to risk sleeping in the buff. The church on the other side of the square has just finished ringing midnight, and his eyes are going leaden, when there’s a shuff of his window opening. 

He’s five fucking stories up. 

Frozen, he watches a huge, winged figure squeeze through into the room. It’s some sort of fucking moth-man thing, and it’s glowing, red eyes are looking right at him. 

“Don’t come another fuckin step closer.” Duck grabs his boot from the ground, ready to throw it. 

Four arms raise in placation, “You are not in any danger from me, Duck. You were before, you are not now, and you never will be.”

“Your voice…are you the fuckin-”

“-Vampire from your camp? Yes.” Reality snaps for a moment and then the silver-haired man is standing there, clad in a simple black shirt and pants. 

“Holy fuck, I thought vampires could only turn into wolves and bats and shit.”

“My moth form is actually my true one. It is a long story. But the point of it all is: I am also Indrid Cold. And was your companion for much of this evening.” He clips a pin to his shirt and the same bland face comes into view. 

“Jesus.” Duck breathes as Indrid returns to his usual human appearance and sits on the bed. 

“Parties overwhelm me. A small enchantment is the best way to see if there are any guests I wish to know better. Up until now there have not been.” He sets his hand on Ducks covered knee, “why your aunt and uncle sent you here as anything other than a handsome bachelor, I shall never know. You looked so unhappy tonight all I wanted was to take you in my arms and whisk you off somewhere you could be yourself.”

“I, I didn’t mean to hide it from you.”

“I knew at the campsite. I can see the future, and when you rejected further advances it told me what was behind them.” A gentle, fanged smile, “you are a good looking man, Duck. I have not ever seen you as anything else.”

He relaxes, tucks his legs in so Indrid can come closer and stroke his cheeks.

“I throw this party every few years to keep my sire off my back about the matter of marriage. I suspect that may not be the case after tonight.”

“Y’know, getting down on one knee is more traditional than climbing through a window.” Duck teases.

Indrid laughs, “Nothing so rushed. I came because I could not stand another moment away from you. And because do have an offer for you. If you allow me to court you, know that I will never claim ownership over you, nor force you to live as you are not. If you wanted to ride from here to Alaska I would not stop you. Whatever freedom you desired would be yours. I’ve no need to control you, my sweet” he grins, “but I do ask for the chance to make you mine.”

The heat in his voice is clear as a spring sky. 

“That so?” Duck kisses him once, “how are you gonna prove bein’ yours is worth it?”

A longer, deeper kiss, Indrid nipping his lip as he pulls back, “However you wish. Though the idea you are about to suggest is one I am very much in favor of.”

“Yeah?”

“If I might be so bold, ah, I…the futures show you enjoying it immensely if I take my true form.”

Duck hesitates, “Let me see it again?”

The bed groans as the mothman reappears. He’s toffee-brown, chest so downy that Duck’s hand sinks into it. 

“Fuck, you’re real fuckin soft.”

“Thank you” A chirp of pleasure, “oh that spot has been itching for hours.”

“Which part of you did you, uh, see me enjoyin?” 

Indrid opens his mouth, in which Duck can see rows of small, sharp teeth along with the pointed canines. His tongue extends, long and flexible, “ith!”

It should scare the fuck out of him,  but all Duck does is kick the covers aside and lay back, spreading his legs. 

“Get to it.”

“Gladly.” A fuzzy cheek tickles his left thigh as Indrid nuzzles him. Then he gasps as teeth drag down the skin. 

“Do not think I did not notice your reaction to my bite last time. Most humans find it neutral or painful. Few moan as I drink them down.”

“Didn’t even know I was moanin’. Was too busy listening to you be a cute needy thing.”

“I was, wasn’t I.” The tongue teases his folds, “I will be as obedient and sweet as you desire, my darling one, for I do need you.”

Duck wants to say something flirty in reply, but then the tongue pushes into him and he moans. It’s incredible, pressing and teasing, happy little chirrs floating up from Indrid as he takes Duck to pieces. 

When his tongue presses on a certain spot, Duck yelps, and his hands flail for something to grab. They land on Indrid’s antenna, and a pleading, chirping groan breaks from the vampire. 

“Ohhhyes, it’s been ages since someone toyed with those.” He messily laps at Duck’s dick, “mmmf, you could make me do just about anything by pulling on them.”

“Want you to fuck me.” His horny brain blurts it out without warning and he clamps a hand over his mouth. 

“Do you wish me to?” Indrid sits up, wings fluttering shyly and hands soothingly petting Duck’s legs. 

“I do, I really fuckin do, but I can’t risk-”

“You would not be. I cannot have children with humans. At least not that way.”

“You sure?”

“Completely.”

Duck takes a deep breath, “Then come down here and fuckME, oh, ohfuck.” His heels dig into the bed as Indrid sinks into him. His cock must be as strange as the rest of him, if the way writhes inside him is anything to go by. 

It’s also fucking huge. 

“A-apologies.” Indrid is jerking and twitching, clearly trying to keep from moving to fast or pushing too deep, “I, I have never done this with a human before. I did not account for the size, god how tight you are, how small, oh you’re delightfully warm too.”

“Fuck.” Duck groans, tilting his hips to try and fit more inside him. 

“Do not strain yourself. My, my anatomy will do the work in a moment.” He purrs, running two hands through Duck’s hair, “I am here to serve you, not make you exert yourself.”

He says it with such sincere affection that Duck leans over to kiss one, quivering wing. 

“Oh that’s fuckin wild” He gasps as another part of Indrid’s cock presses into him, still flexible but firm, pushing him open. Several spread wider outside of him, catching at his dick and Indrid pushes deeper with hungry, demanding growl. 

Duck doesn’t black out, but if you asked him to describe the what happens next in detail in court, hand on the bible he wouldn’t be of much use. His legs hook onto Indrid’s own, claws dig into his hips, and Indrid’s cock drives into him, his bulk meaning Duck’s face ends up pressed to his chest.

 From there he has no choice but to cling to him, feeling the purr in his chest as he promises Duck he will do this and more whenever he asks, be at his service, be good for him because his body is worth that, because Duck is worth that, and just as tears prick his eyes from the intensity of sensation, from the fact the can feel himself cumming, tightening around Indrid as best as his body can manage, there’s a cascade of thank yous, and then his lover cums in him, so much that it runs back down the shaft and is Indrid trills and thrusts a final time. 

“Goodness” Indrid pants, rolling them over so Duck is atop him, cock slipping free as he does, “that was incredible, but I do feel I must ask if you are alright.”

“Better than, sugar.” Duck smooths his hands over Indrid’s chest, “ain’t sure I can walk for a few minutes though.”

“Well then, if you need anything, I shall simply fetch it for you.”

“Indrid? Did you mean it? About wanting me to stick around.”

“Nothing would make me happier. But if you need time to decide, or if you do not want to stay, I will not be angry.” He grins, tracing a heart on Duck’s cheek, “though I will add, imagine the look on your wretched uncle’s face when he learns Mr.Cold would like you to stay and be courted, and that Mr. Cold has already bought a fine suit the handsome Mr. Newton.”

Duck chuckles, “Yeah, that does sweeten the deal. Ain’t the only thing makin’ it worthwhile though.” 

Indrid chirps happily, and wraps his wings and arms protectively around him. 

(To be fair, his uncle nearly fainting from shock the next afternoon is extremely fucking worth it).

[dragon-kazansky]

Spirit of the sea

Izzy Hands x Reader (GN)

You were a member of Blackbeard's crew long ago. Then you became a ghost story. Izzy Hands only sees you in his dreams these days, until he sees you for real when investigating Stede Bonnet. This sets him on a rollercoaster of emotions between you and what his captain is doing.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Warnings: Implied NSFW. Goodbye toe. Hello Kraken.

Edward's heart is broken. Stede, you bitch (affectionately), come get your boyfriend!

Season 2 chapters coming next week!!!

Chapter Nine - Changing of the tides

♡♡♡

Both of you free from mutiny, Izzy goes on to see to his captain. He was elevated to see Edward back onboard. He should have known he would escape even the King.

You made the crew get to work. They did so no questions asked.

You wait for Izzy by the captain's door. When it opens he steps out, he closes the door behind him and turns to you.

"Well?" You ask softly.

"He's, uh... yeah, he's okay."

You look at him a bit more expectantly.

"He's depressed, but he should be okay in a few days..."

"Izzy."

"Apparently he was going to escape with Bonnet and go to China, but Bonnet never showed up. Ed waited all night."

"Shit..."

"You know, I didn't expect that from Bonnet." Izzy sighs.

"How are you?" You ask.

"Fine."

"Izzy..."

"I'm fine. Really. I'm just glad to still be onboard and... and that you're okay too."

You smile at him.

"I'm still trying to accept what you were going to do."

"Izzy, I'm not letting you leave me again."

Izzy watches your face closely as he takes a step forward. He goes to take one of your hands, leaning in a little, but he pulls back when loud crying from the captain's room can be heard.

You both sigh.

♡♡♡

You sit on deck whittling away on a barrel. The crew are mostly pottering about. The ship was as ship shape as could be. Nothing put if place, a clean deck, tidy rigging, polished canons.

Izzy exits the captain's cabin and stands in front of the crew, a cup in his hand.

"Gentlemen! Blackbeard is in fine spirits this morning, and he sends... his regards."

Izzy and yourself had agreed to cover up Edward's depression as much as possible from the crew. There was only so much you could deal with while Edward was in this state.

"He's still a... tad under the weather, but he will be back amongst us soon."

"So, he's sick, but doing well... is the news?" Franchise asks.

"Exactly, yes! And, um, in the meantime, maybe, you could, you know, polish things, or swab the deck." Izzy tried suggesting.

"We already polished twice today." The Swede says.

"Aye, the deck's as swabbed as she gets," Buttons adds in.

Izzy takes a swing of his drink and then spits it out on the deck. "Well, you missed a spot. Have at it, chaps! Dismissed!"

Izzy turns to face you. You offer him a little smile. He sighs.

"Not you, Mr Spriggs." Izzy catches Lucius' arm as he goes to walk past him. "Blackbeard has requested your services. So, no matter what you see or hear, you do not breathe a word under pain of death. Understood?"

"Yeah," Lucius agrees, feeling less than comforted.

"Good. Fuck off."

Lucius walks over and Izzy takes a sip from his cup, looking back at you again. This time you sigh.

♡♡♡

You stand by Buttons who sails the ship. You're watching the horizon when Izzy comes up the steps.

"You got a minute?" He asks.

"Yeah."

You follow Izzy right to the back where you two cam chat quietly alone for a bit. You can see Izzy's tension building in his shoulders.

"How is he?"

"He's stopped crying."

Izzy keeps his eyes out at sea. His hands rest on the railing of the ship, but you can see his knuckles turning white.

"I need to tall some sense into him."

"Be careful, Izzy. I can't pinpoint Edward's emotions. He might lash out if we're not careful."

"Careful?" He chuckles dryly. "Blackbeard is still in there somewhere. I just need to get him out."

"Izzy..."

He turns to look at you. "I have dedicated my life to Blackbeard. My life," he hisses, "and I not about to make it all for nothing."

Izzy pushes off the railing of the ship and walks off. You watch him go.

♡♡♡

Standing on deck watching Ed sing was not what you expected to happen, but you are. Then again, Lucius did say he had been asked to write down some lyrics.

It wasn't the most cheerful of songs.

At least he was out of the cabin now, wearing one of Stede's old robes, but you'll overlook that.

Izzy is sitting next to you. His face full of confusion. You're not sure anyone here understood what was happening.

The crew awkwardly applaud his song.

"That's, uh, really great stuff, Ed." Wee John tells him.

"His name is Blackbeard, or Captain!" Izzy yells.

"Izzy, no, Izzy." Edward stands. "Actually, I do want to be called Edward from now on. And thank you, you guys. It's pretty difficult to lay yourself bare in front of others."

The conversation goes on about others expressing themselves. Buttons sings a note to express himself and Edward gets excited.

"The sheer amount of talent on this ship! Why are we even pirates?" Ed smiles. "You know what? We should have a talent show."

The crew get excited.

Izzy tenses again.

♡♡♡

You head down to Izzy's cabin and see him sitting there with his head in his hands. He had gone to have a word with Edward alone in his room.

After that strange occurrence in deck, Edward had seemed more lighthearted. More open. He had gone back into his room to clean up.

Izzy had taken his chance to have a word with him, showing him who Blackbeard was supposed to be.

Edward got angry, but Izzy was pleased. Blackbeard was still in there somewhere.

"You okay?"

Izzy looks up and sighs. "Fine."

"You gotta stop telling me that. I don't believe you, you know?"

He looks up at you. His eyes look a little tired. It's been a long day.

"Is it too much to want to go back to the way things were?"

You walk over to him and sit down on the bed beside him. Since Edward came back, Izzy had taken back his old cabin. You had returned to sleeping with the crew, but Izzy couldn't deny wanting you to stay.

"Not exactly. I know where you're coming from, I do. But I also know that Stede made him very happy. Doesn't everyone have the right to be happy?"

"Yeah, but what I mean is, we're pirates. We don't get that kind of happiness. We do what pirates should do."

"But can't have love?"

"You can't have both," he says.

You frown as you gaze at the end of your boots. "What of you can?"

Izzy looks at you. You left your head and hold out your hand. Izzy drops his gaze to your palm and finds himself frozen for a moment.

A wooden sparrow.

"You remade it."

"Yeah..."

Izzy reaches out slowly and takes it from you, his fingers gently tickling your palm. He handles the sparrow with care. This one is a little smaller than the last, but it's still as good as the other one.

"Thank you," he whispers.

You look at him. His eyes are still on the sparrow in his hand, but his head is facing to enough to really look him over.

"Izzy, I care about you."

He lifts his eyes to meet yours.

"I always cared about you. Before I became a ghost story, during the entire 6 years I was apart from you, and even now after everything."

A pause. Only the sound of his breathing.

"Izzy, what if we can still be pirates and love someone? Wouldn't you want to know what that feels like? To have what they did?"

He swallows, the muscles in his neck moving under collar.

"I don't want to be weak," he says quietly.

"Who said it would make you weak?"

"Look at fucking Edward."

"You're not Edward. You're Izzy Hands. And I'm not Stede Bonnet."

You can see the way Izzy slightly shudders.

"Izzy, I've been in love with you for years. Figured it didn't mean much in this lifestyle, but I'm taking my chance. I never left you on purpose before, and never plan to. I'm sticking around for as long as you will have me, and nothing about our lifestyle on this ship would change a God damn thing."

A shaky breath escapes past his lips.

"Izzy, if you feel even a slight bit love for me, please share it, because I don't want to go another day without knowing. And if you don't, tell me now. We can go back to how we were."

He shakes his head, eyes glossy, lips parting to day something. No words come out.

You want to reach out and hold him, but he moves first. His lips are on yours before you can even fully comprehend what's happening.

You kiss back eagerly, hands grabbing at anything they can. You pull him closer, needing Izzy Hands as physically close as possible.

Izzy can't let go.

All these years he's been waiting for a moment like this, and now it's here. Finally he has you in his arms. Your lips against his. Your fingers in his hair. Your flesh against his palm.

Never had he thought the day would come when he could have you like this. Those impossible dreams made reality.

Izzy Hands loves you.

You love Izzy Hands.

♡♡♡

Late that night. Izzy and yourself are curled up together in his bed, both naked and tangled in each others limbs. Love in it's moat intimate form between two lovers.

This was supposed to be the best night of his life so far. The day he got to kiss you, hold you, love you.

It all came crashing down.

He had pushed Edward just enough. Just enough to awaken the Kraken.

It was Izzy's gasping scream that woke you. Blackbeard hovered over him. You panicked and screamed as Izzy's little toe was shoved into his mouth. Blackbeard covered his jaw, forcing Izzy to eat it.

"Eat up. That's it. Don't forget to chew."

You cover your mouth, watching. Izzy does as he's told.

"Threaten me again, ever... I'll feed you the rest," Blackbeard states. "Understand?"

"Yes! Yes, Blackbeard. Yes." Izzy nods.

"OK. Clean yourself up and come find me. Much work to do."

Izzy nods.

"And you," Blackbeard looks at you. "Get out. Don't let me catch you with Izzy again."

Blackbeard leaves.

You stare at the door and then turn to Izzy. He loses his smile and rests his head back against the pillow.

Blood stains the bed.

♡♡♡

Everything that belonged to Stede Bonnet is thrown off the ship. The crew made to gather and dispose of everything.

Izzy hobbled around with the help of a cane, his foot bandaged up, and gave out orders. Blackbeard kept you close to his side.

"Blackbeard is himself, again." Izzy spoke proudly to the crew.

Yes, Blackbeard was back. But at the cost of everything else.

You watch Izzy make his way across the deck, yelling at the crew to hurry up. Blackbeard stands menacingly over them.

Your heart aches to hold Izzy again, but you cannot. No. Love is forbidden.

Pirates must be pirates.

♡♡♡

A majority of the crew from the Revenge were taken to a small island in the middle of nowhere, basically.

Frenchie and Jim were the only ones being kept behind. Blackbeard was recruiting for his new crew.

Izzy took them all out there under the impression that was where the talent shown was going to be held.

They fell for it.

Izzy returned to the ship.

You stood beside Blackbeard as he had Jim knocked out, and Frenchie came in.

"I heard you can sew."

Frenchie got the grasp of what was happening and nodded.

Things were falling into place.

♡♡♡

Blackbeard stood at the top of the ship, you on one side, Izzy on the other. It took everything in you not to look at him.

Izzy was in much the same predicament.

Blackbeard drew one of his guns from it's holster and pointed it at Frenchie. The new flag was raised.

Blackbeard was back.

If only Izzy had known. If only there had been a warning for what would happen once Blackbeard returned.

Maybe, just maybe, you'd be able to love each other properly like you wanted.

♡♡♡

@grippleback-galaxy - @askmarinaandothers - @godlikegallagher - @for-fuck-sake-im-alive - @whiskeyswriting - @lxsm2 - @bloody-bunni666 - @the-chocoholic-writer - @bugbugboy - @callmemana - @the-shenny-of-azkaban - @cool-ontherun-world -

[goldenraeofsun]

“Jesus Christ, would you mind not dying while I’m eating my lunch?”

Dick wakes up with a pounding head and aching ribs. “What?”

“Oh, you’re actually awake.”

Dick forces his eyes open. Jason’s less than charming face swims into view, one cheek bulging with food. Above Jason is an unfamiliar popcorn ceiling lightly streaked with yellow – no doubt a product of Jason’s stress habit of chain smoking.

Huh, Jason is actually eating lunch right now, Dick did hear that right. 

“And don’t move.” Jason swallows. “I just stitched you up, and if you bleed on my couch, I’m gonna kill you for real.”

Dick moves to sit up, ignoring Jason’s squawk of offense. “I’d be surprised if any piece of furniture in your place doesn’t already have some blood on it,” he points out, breathing heavily as his ribs ache in protest.

“Yeah, but it’s my blood.” Jason sits back, eyeing him critically. 

Dick levels him a flat glare. “I don’t have cooties, Jay.”

Jason reaches behind him and snags a plate with what looks like a half-eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “Says you.” He takes another bite. “I was going to have fresh tuna with dill and red onion slathered with black garlic aioli on house-baked sourdough at that new cafe that charges you for bailing on your reservation, but somebody had to get shot up around the corner with no fucking backup at noon on a Saturday.”

Dick winces. “I thought backup was coming.”

He had pinged Tim on the comms that he should suit up in case things got rough. And Tim had responded… by pinging Jason.

Not Dick’s finest hour. 

Especially because he’d done a double take at the sight of Jason’s shiny red helmet instead of Tim’s tired grin and gotten himself stabbed in that half second of distraction.

“In case the World’s Second Best Detective didn’t put it together,” Jason continues waspishly, “Tim was not joking when he told you he sprained his wrist doing a hula hoop trick.”

Yes, Dick eventually caught on. Jason didn’t make it easy, though. Instead of spewing his usual growled quips during the fight, he went on a Mad Libs style rant about tuna, hula hoops, and the merits of fratricide. Dick finally got what he was saying just as he was passing out. 

On a related note, Dick also might be dealing with a mild concussion.

Dick flails. “I mean, would you have believed that hula hoop story?”

“Totally,” Jason says at once. “That bullshit sounds exactly like TimTam.”

Dick sighs heavily and resists the urge to brood on his failure to foster a better relationship between Jason and Tim. “You don’t even know him. Not really.”

Because Jason, like Tim, like every Robin who put on the cape and colors, was notoriously stubborn. And once Jason decided he didn’t want to get to know Tim even after the pit rage had settled, Dick has been having a hell of a time changing his mind.

“Sure I know him,” Jason argues. “Yay high,” he gestures somewhere around his knees, “stole my name and outfit twice, has a shrine dedicated to you in the back of his closet.”

Dick blinks in surprise. “A what?” 

“You didn’t know about that?” Jason says innocently. “He has like a dozen pictures of you and the old man in your glory days.”

Dick grimaces. “I stopped being Robin at eighteen.”

“Yeah,” Jason polishes off the first half of his sandwich, “sucks to peak early, doesn’t it?”

Dick almost laughs but remembers his ribs just in time. Instead, he schools his face into something resembling a frown. “You’re such an ass.”

“An ass who saved your life,” Jason says. “Careful. I can yank those stitches right back out, you know.”

Dick settles back on the couch, craning his neck to inspect Jason’s patch job. A neat pad of gauze hides the deep knife wound on Dick’s bicep, and a soothing cream covers the large bruise taking up valuable real estate on the right side of his torso. He scans the window behind him, trying to gauge how long he was out of it, but the downtown Gotham smog covers most of the view in a grayish sepia tone. “What time is it?”

“A little after three,” Jason says as he takes another bite.

Dick’s stomach rumbles. 

Jason stiffens. “Oh no,” he says, his eyes narrowing, “I’m not playing nursemaid and chef. Find your own lunch.”

“But I’m injured,” Dick says piteously as he makes his eyes as round as possible.

Jason remains unfazed and finally proves he left half his heart in the Lazarus pit along with his scrawny teenage muscles. “You should’ve thought of that before you interrupted my real lunch.”

Dick’s gaze slides from Jason’s face to the last half of his peanut butter and jelly, considering. He has definitely had worse in the med bay post-patrol. Bruce’s preferred brand of protein bars still makes him gag a little bit. 

As Jason tracks his gaze, his frown deepens. “No, Dick,” he says sternly, like he’s speaking to a misbehaving golden retriever.

“But Jay –”

Jason crams the whole thing into his mouth. “’u wan’ it? Come ’n get it,” he says, spewing half chewed crumbs all over Dick’s starving, coalescing body. 

Dick recoils. His little brother is such a jackass. Tim would never treat him this way. 

“I hate you,” Dick calls as Jason gets up.

“That’s an odd way of saying you owe me, Dickface,” Jason says over his shoulder as he heads into the kitchen. “Specifically, twenty four dollars for that sandwich.”

“Seriously?” Dick’s mouth falls open. “That’s outrageous!”

“Funny, that’s what I was thinking the entire time I was saving your ass.”

“For one sandwich?”

“I have a little thing called taste,” Jason calls over the sound of running water. “You could get some, someday.”

“I have a little thing called common sense,” Dick grumbles, “and I’m pretty sure I just saved you from being conned by a sandwich.”

If it’s three in the afternoon, then by the time he gets back to the Manor, it will be nearly four. Alfred will make him stay for dinner, which is fine; there’s nothing better than a homemade dinner after the day he’s had. But Alfred also has a strict no-snacks-before-dinner rule, so Dick won’t get to eat for another four hours at the earliest. He really shouldn’t have skipped breakfast this morning –

A brand new, unchewed PB&J gets shoved in front of his face. Dick beams up at his favorite little brother. 

“I’m adding it to your tab,” Jason says sourly.

[danothan]

bigender yoshikage kira hcs 🫶

- kira's view of gender is very binary. interesting that he has a standard for women is to be hairless, meanwhile he can't stand having body hair on himself. very interesting

- i don't think kira would have the vocabulary to know about his identity rn, and if he eventually did, he would treat it as in-depth research, almost like a hobby. morbid curiosity, he'd claim

- as an extension of that "hobby" mindset, i think using killer queen as an outlet for his femininity would act as a barrier in his mind to express himself without having to actually apply it to Himself (the gender euphoria of using she/her for killer queen bc kira wouldn’t admit to it otherwise)

- KILLER QUEEN IS HER TRANSONA.

- the most heterosexual lesbian you will ever meet…

- the idea of transphobic transgender kira is so funny to me knowing her other values. she won't remember your pronouns bc she will not care to refer to you in general, but even if she did, any pronouns besides he or she are “gramatically incorrect and/or superfluous.” okay multi-pronoun user

- would claim that he doesn't need external validation for his gender and that it's nobody's business, but it's rly due to internalized transphobia and his fear of sticking out that he doesn't leave the closet :(

- she has her moments though. maybe one day, she's painting her “girlfriend's" nails a lovely shade of purple when she realizes it goes with her suit. she applies the polish to her own nails to test the theory, and sure enough, it's a perfect match. she tries not to think about why it disappoints her to wipe it off before work

- in his mind, it was never a feeling of choosing one or the other but rather the feeling of being incomplete. kira is someone who rly values routine and balance, so i imagine that this applies to gender too, in that masculinity and feminity are two sides of the same coin to him. i don't think he would want to medically transition even if that were an option, but his gender expression is very much real and tangible to him, even in the most seemingly inperceptible ways

- i think that she started questioning after getting KQ but never felt the urge to seek out answers or dig deep into it once she started being able to give herself freedom of expression at home. it only became a problem when she had to hide as kosaku and was once again having to keep those parts of herself hidden (i'm sorry that this follows so many story beats of kira's murder activities, it's not meant to be a one-to-one parallel 😭 just a result of the freedom vs repression of canon circumstances)

- HOWEVER smth that diverges from canon is that i think there's a way around kira's gender expression now that he doesn't have to perform in secret but rather express himself through a different outlet once shinobu becomes part of the equation. kosaku tends to wear dark/dull-colored clothing whereas kira is more inclined towards coloful pastels. i think shinobu would pick up on this difference and start having them wear matching outfits, slowly making his closet more feminine. kira would freak out at first thinking it was some kind of test that he had slipped up on, but shinobu would only lean harder into it bc honestly she just wants to bond with her husbandwife over smth as simple as clothes. it's the first time kira's even been called pretty. he doesn't protest

- when kira gets used to having someone recognize and even encourage her gender expression, i think this would be when she starts being comfortable enough to talk abt it and recognize it as more than just a feeling. she and shinobu might even have a conversation (probably initiated by shinobu through unsubtle questions that kira was too embarrassed to dance around and would rather address head on)

- as big of a revelation as this is for kira, i don't think much would change. he still prefers to do things as they always were and doesn't rly feel like he misses out on much when he goes out in his suit and gets called masc terms; in fact, it's a comfortable familiarity. but every time he puts on the subtle perfume that shinobu got for him, well, that becomes a familiar type of comfort for him too

- shinobu: “no wonder kosaku was so repressed before, he's been so much more expressive now that she's come out of the closet ^__^”

- this is how we can make the babygirl kira agenda real.

bonus: @f0rvalaka’s genius addition

[wildelydawn]

that trio fic of ferran, pedri and gavi sounds super good like, i'm listening 👀📢

Alright my friend, buckle the fuck up because I have 1500 words for you (none of it is smut, this is just the lead up). I might end up finishing this some day because I've outlined the rest at the end, but for now, enjoy.

-

“Fuck, I just want someone to get me off,” Ferran complains as soon as they’re back at the hotel. 

Pedri had every intention of just going to sleep. He’s not one to drink, but after being told, “We’re on vacation,” for the hundredth time that night, he decided to have “something fruity, since he’s from the tropics,” as Gavi so eloquently told the bartender. She had rolled her eyes: either too drunk herself to realize who she was serving or simply totally oblivious to football. 

“It’s not the tropics,” Pedri had argued exactly once before getting lost in a mango strawberry something. God, was it sweet. And no one stopped him from ordering three more, especially since Gavi would complain about his beer and then “hold” Pedri’s drink for him.

Yeah, real clever.

So when he fumbled around with his wallet to get the hotel passkey out, his first stop was going to be the horrendously expensive mini fridge to drink all the water he possibly could. But leave it to Ferran to invite himself in and for Gavi to follow them around, his tail between his legs like a wounded dog at the shelter.

Yeah, all three of them are coming home alone. Except Ferran’s the only one who’s actually mad about that.

“I can understand both of you being alone, but I seriously thought that one girl was down.”

Pedri tries to catch Gavi’s eye, to silently ask Which girl? Ferran had talked to at least a dozen.

Gavi, though, is far more insulted. “What do you mean you understand us being alone?”

Ferran groans. “Well, you look like you’re twelve, and Pedri’s wearing those awful jeans, so. Let’s face it. Not the best wingmen.”

Pedri looks down at his outfit. “What’s wrong with how I dress?”

“If you have to ask.” Ferran sighs and plops down on the couch. 

Gavi snorts. “If you were any better with women, you wouldn’t need a wingman. Or to chat up a whole fucking bar.”

Pedri agrees, but he’s finally managed to get the cap off his water. He drinks heavily, polishing off the first bottle before cracking into another. His head isn’t so fuzzy. It was worse half an hour ago, when they were in the cab, but standing is a bit of a struggle, and, God, is he thirsty. 

“Says the guy who talked to exactly two people before getting piss drunk.”

“I’m not piss drunk,” Gavi argues back. “Why does everything have to be about getting laid? Why can’t we just be on vacation and have fun?”

Pedri shoots him a dirty look. “Bro, going out was your idea!” 

“If we had it your way, we’d never go out again.”

“Yeah because we wasted four hours, a couple hundred Euros, for nothing. I could’ve stayed home and watched-”

“Oh here he goes, fucking Game of Thrones-”

“I still haven’t watched the ending!” Pedri shouts. “I thought we were supposed to be relaxing!”

Ferran leans back into the sofa cushions, watching the both of them. “As much as this is entertaining, I’m still mad at you idiots.”

Gavi turns back to Ferran. “Why are you mad at me?!”

“Because neither of you helped and you probably made it worse-”

“Okay, for the last time. We didn’t prevent you from getting laid. Take it up with your tiny dick and terrible pick up lines.”

Ferran scowls. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious! We’ve been here two days, and it’s like you’re hellbent on getting your dick wet!”

Pedri nods along because Gavi is right. Ferran has been on the prowl since they landed. He even hit on the lady at the lobby, who flushed very prettily before making a show of her wedding ring while checking them in. 

“You’ve got a couple million. Hire someone,” Pedri says without thinking. Both Gavi and Ferran stop their squabbling to turn to Pedri, shock on their faces. “What?”

“Uh, wow. He must be sloshed.”

“I’m not that drunk,” Pedri groans, a hand over his eyes. He needs to pee. Drinking water that fast, not smart. “It’s a solution.”

“Yeah, no thanks man. I know you’re into the whole MILF thing, but I would prefer someone from this generation.”

Pedri registers the insult. Ferran poking fun at his tenacity to run after older women, but the slight comes from a man who’s sitting alone on his couch, positively bitchless, so he’s not that offended. 

“Damn, what was her name again? Maria? Do you think I could find her on Insta?” Ferran has his phone out. “She has to be on Tinder.”

Gavi turns to Pedri. “He’s hopeless.”

“It’s only 2:00AM,” Ferran scowls again. “Just because you guys are prudes doesn’t mean I have to suffer.”

“Can you go suffer in your room, then?” Pedri asks, but Ferran pays him no mind.

“None of these girls look like they give good head.”

Pedri groans. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Spoken like a true prude-”

“Theoretically, men do suck dick the best,” Gavi says solemnly. Pedri doesn’t know how or from where, but Gavi’s managed to find a beer to crack open and drink. 

“What?”

“I mean, girls can suck dick pretty well, but obviously a guy would know better.” Gavi takes another sip of his beer as if debating dick sucking skills is just another conversation topic between the bros. “Because he’s a guy.”

“What?”

“Are you stupid?” Pedri asks abruptly. “Or just drunk?”

Ferran holds up his phone. “I’m trying to figure out what he’s saying while swiping!”

“He’s saying that because guys get their dicks sucked, they probably know how to suck dick better than a girl,” Pedri explains. He feels his ears getting redder at each time the word “dick” leaves his mouth. 

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” Ferran says with a laugh.

“Well, have you ever had your dick sucked by a guy?” Gavi challenges. 

“Uh, no,” Ferran chuckles. “But I’ve had some pretty great blowjobs before, all from women. So, if you don’t mind…” Ferran points to his phone.

Gavi snorts. “Good luck with that.”

Pedri anticipates the conversation to be dead but Ferran, who’s never really been one to shut the fuck up, immediately complains, “God, this app sucks. What is wrong with this city? Is no one trying to get laid?”

“Maybe they just don’t wanna suck tiny dick,” Pedri giggles, then bursts out into laughter. He laughs and laughs, turning away from them as Gavi and Ferran continue their argument. God, I need to pee.

“Everyone’s probably too drunk to get laid-”

“Then why are they on the fucking app as available-”

“Just give up already!”

“No, I’m horny, and I’m going back out there.”

“Really? Really? You think that’s safe?”

“I don’t give a fuck if it’s safe, I came here to party, you’re both fucking downers, and I’m gonna get my dick wet, like you said I should-”

“Get on the couch-”

“No, I’m leaving- what are you doing-”

“I’ll fucking do it-”

“What the fuck-”

“You said you wanted to get your dick wet-”

“Wait, Gavi-”

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” Pedri announces to literally no one before throwing the bottle over his shoulder and walking to the bathroom that’s across from the kitchenette. He shuts the door behind him, sighing at the peace and quiet. Thankfully, it seems Gavi and Ferran have stopped fighting.

Maybe they’ll leave now.

Pedri unzips his allegedly ugly pants and pisses into the toilet, yawning as he does. Of course, it would be nice to be with someone right now. But he’s woefully single, and, to some degree, Ferran is right. His love for older women doesn’t translate well into finding a steady relationship. Not that he’s on the hunt for one. As much as they failed tonight, he can’t deny wanting intimacy. Nor can he blame Ferran for being so goddamn feral. They’re on this vacation to blow off steam. 

Maybe tomorrow night, we can actually go have fun.

Pedri resolves to be a better wingman as he washes his hands and towels them off. He opens the bathroom door and comes out to the living room, ready to tell his friends that tomorrow’s a new day, with new women, and a new chance at love.

The words die in his mouth when he sees what Gavi is doing with his.

“G-Gavi?”

And Ferran is just sitting there, on the couch, his pants shoved down to his ankles, a wicked smile on his face, half shrugging like “What? It just happened!” Like Gavi tripped and fell mouth first into his lap.

“Care to join us, Pedri?”

(Okay, so after that, Gavi proceeds to blow them both before they basically reduce Gavi to a total mess. I'm talking about bullying Gavi a little bit since this was his idea, and then praising him for sucking dick so well. Ferran insists on fucking Gavi first because he's the one who's actually desperate for it while Pedri is just awestruck, like "God, that's my best friend and he takes cock like a champ" before deciding that he needs more of Gavi's mouth. They end up spitroasting Gavi to high heaven and basically swapping between who gets his mouth and who gets his ass. And of course, it ends in some snuggling after. Maybe Ferran leaves halfway through the night because he's like "Okay, that was nice, but I do actually want pussy at some point" but Gavi and Pedri wake up late and fuck in the shower because that's what best friends do.)

EDIT: This is now a full story on Ao3.

[666writingcafe]

Satan's Wish

What were you thinking about around the time the charm took effect?

I try my best to ignore MC's disheveled appearance. After all, they were just with Mammon, and knowing him, he probably wished for them.

There is a part of me that feels like perhaps they got a little too carried away, but that's besides the point.

"I was reading a book of fairy tales," I tell MC. "There was a scene in one of the stories where the villain kneels down at the hero's feet and surrenders."

"Did you picture yourself as the hero?"

"I tend to, yes." For whatever reason, my confession causes a smirk to develop on MC's face.

"You have an evil look on your face," I observe.

"That's because I'm thinking evil thoughts." MC runs out of my room before I can question them further, leaving me incredibly confused. They're clearly planning something. I just don't know what.

Unless...

No. They wouldn't do that.

Would they?

It's hard telling these days.

"I'm back!" they announce in a sing-song voice, drawing me back to reality.

"What did you do?"

"I found your villain." Right. The fairy tale.

"Was it difficult?"

"Not at all, actually. I knew exactly who to ask." I've never seen MC look this mischievous before. It's making me rather nervous.

And then it hits me.

"There's no way," I whisper. "He doesn't kneel. Ever."

"Excuse me? Who doesn't kneel?" Shit shit shit. This can't be happening.

My heart beat nearly drowns out all other sounds as Lucifer enters my room. Shutting the door behind him, he walks over to me with a shit-eating grin and kneels down at my feet.

"Is this good enough for you?" he asks, looking up at me with feigned innocence.

I'm shocked.

How in the world did MC get Lucifer of all people to agree to this?

"To think that this is all it takes to make you happy..." Lucifer pauses. "It's sweet, really. I didn't know you had this side to you."

"He gets it from you," MC chimes in, sneaking behind me and resting their chin on my shoulder.

I'm glad Lucifer closed my door, because if anyone saw what was happening right now, I think I might just shrivel up and die.

"So, what would you like me to do next?" Lucifer asks. "Shall I kiss your hand? Polish your shoes, perhaps?"

"What did you do to him?" My question comes out a bit harsher than I intended, but MC doesn't seem to care, for they merely shrug.

"I don't know what you're talking about," they respond.

"Surely you used your pact on him."

"No."

"Curse him in any way?"

"No."

"Agreed to do something humiliating in exchange?"

"MC did not coerce me to do this," Lucifer answers. "They simply told me your wish."

"That's it?" MC hums affirmatively.

"He's quite lenient, you know. As long as you tell him what you're planning on doing, he'll pretty much let you do whatever you want as long as it's not illegal or disruptive."

This has to be a dream. I glance at the clock on my nightstand.

12:05.

Looking back at Lucifer, I take a couple deep breaths. If the time on my clock drastically changes, then I know that I need to wake myself up from this weird ass dream.

Three.

Two.

One.

12:06.

Fuck.

This is completely real, and now I'm scared.

How much control does MC have over Lucifer to be able to simply ask him to kneel before me willingly with no repercussions?

Furthermore, do they have that level of control over other people?

If they do, then they are truly the most powerful being in the three realms.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Resistance III

A Dystopian AU. Please don’t ask how much there’s gonna be. I’m not sure. But I might add more characters/readers if there’s interest.

Warnings: Violence, torture, blood, gore, dark elements, tags to be added as we progress, tags will not be exhaustive so be wary.

Summary: A part of the underground, you fall into the hands of the authority you seek to derail.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Note: I always love feedback in any form so don’t be shy. Thank you for reading and for all your support. 💗

Inspire by the LEWK.

The halls of the compound are sleek and polished. A contrast to the grimy world beyond. Or at least, your world. The nomadic life that sees you sleeping with a rifle in your arms and eating expired cans of whatever you can scrounge up. The extravagant wealth reserved only for those with bartered souls.

Bucky’s hand grips your arm, metal fingers squeezing until the flesh speckles and blood courses. The taste of blood lingers on your tongue as the scent flows through your nose. The echo of his smack aches in your jaw, a tenderness in your sternum from where the beanbag struck. It’s the least of what will come, you know that.

He stops you before a white door trimmed with silver. You stare ahead, it’s all you can do. Let your feet move one after the other, let your chest rise and fall, let instinct guide you through. It’s a strange sense of acceptance. No turning back, you must march on. It’s no different than any other day. It is only the last.

He holds his hand up and the door shifts, sliding into the wall. He shoves you ahead of him. The room is large and airy, the size of a gymnasium. The sparkling floors are barren and a platform sits along the opposite end, three chairs across is, each on similar in height but wrought in a different metal. Bronze, silver, and steel. 

You recognize the room, though it lacks its usual pomp. No velvet, no golden ornaments, but it is the very same throne room captured in the propaganda for the triarch. The three figureheads of the regime would be upon the stage; Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, and the man at your side.

“Ah, they’re late,” he tuts, “don’t worry, minx, we can get ready while we wait.”

He turns and signals to the open door behind him. There’s some activity but you don’t turn to see. The clang of metal jars you from your trance and Bucky forces you into the rigid chair. He bends your arm against the narrow rest and closes the welded cuff around your wrist. You jerk your hand back, a thoughtless reaction amid the futility.

He clasp your other then kneels to secure your ankles in a similar fashion. The seat is designed for this and you have no doubt you’re not the first to sit upon it. You swallow and force your head up, suppressing a shudder. 

He stands and rounds you, standing behind you. He rests his hands on your shoulders, kneading them as he hums.

“This doesn’t have to be difficult, but I did promise a show,” he taunts, “so give me a few screams and it will be over soon enough.”

You scoff through your nose and grit your teeth. You don’t believe him. You know better than to trust these scum. He sees you as just the same and will treat you even worse.

“Stoic, I like it,” he praises, “Lynx,” he bends and hovers his head beside yours, “I heard a lot of stories about you. I even saw you before, do you remember? When you blew up my fucking jeep?”

You let your lips curl and give a tiny chuckle, what little humour you can muster. He grips the back of the chair and pushes himself up, the chair scraping with his violent motion.

“Yeah, real fucking funny,” he steps out from behind you and rubs his hands together as he paces.

There’s some movement, the automatic whir of another unseen door. Footsteps before two figures stride across the platform. The missing thirds of the triarch. Stark, Rogers. They stop before their chairs, silver and bronze respectively. They look at you, then their cohort.

“You don’t recognise our guest?” Bucky stops on his heel.

“Should we?” Stark sneers, “why the fuck did I come all the way here?”

“Tony,” Rogers intones, “come on.”

“Alright, let’s go through the whole routine, Tony, Steve,” Bucky turns and gestures to you, “this is the venerable, infamous, and elusive Lynx.”

Stark and Rogers look at each other then back at you. Almost in unison, they sit. The former with an elbow on the armrest, the latter with shoulders straight and hands flat on his thighs.

“Ah, now I got your attention,” Bucky snickers, “I think you’ll like what I got in store.”

He walks towards you, around you, and a metal rattling follows his steps as he rolls a tray around your left side. There’s a variety of tools and bottles arranged across it. One peek is enough to spark your adrenaline.

“Now, if you take a close look at our little mink,” Bucky stands behind you and holds your chin in his vibranium hand, “you’ll see she’s already taken a bit of… manhandling. But I saved the good stuff for you two. I’m gonna make her sing you a pretty song.”

He snickers and grabs a long tweezer like utensil from the tray. He traipses around your left side and pokes one of the long ends against your fingertip. His other hand keeps your digit straight.

“Where’s the rendezvous?” He asks.

You seal your lips tightly and focus straight ahead. You hold your breath and barely keep from yelping as he stabs the tweezer into your nail bed. You quiver but do not make a sound.

“Tell me where the rendezvous is,” he repeats.

You suck in air through flared nostrils and clench your jaw. He closes the tweezer until it clamps down completely. He rips it back, taking the nails with it. You jolt in the chair and hiss through your teeth. You shake as the pain radiates through your arm, panting out the agony.

“Tell me,” he tosses your nail onto the floor and presses the sharp tweezer into your stripped nail bed, “or I do another.”

“Fuck you!” You spit and he stabs the sharp end down, a scream ripping from your lungs. You quiet yourself and grunt, jerking wildly. You inhale once more and puff, jutting your chin out, “Fuck all of you!”

[cyberphuck]

The Human Voices Project

So I have a very very dear friend who has been blind since birth. They're actually pretty good at being blind-- they have a Masters in Eyeball Science, live independently, and make amazing art (by pressing their face so hard against the drawing surface to see it that they used to get sores on their cheeks!). They have also gone through a lot of shit-- some of it, but not all, due to being a disabled trans person-- and though they have been trying their hardest to keep a smile on their face, they live in a place where they have few in-person friends, accessible social spaces are hard to get to (or don't exist, or cost too much), and sometimes they don't have the energy to go out at all. They use a screen reader to hang out on tumblr and on discord etc, but one time, after a DnD session over voice chat, they told me that it was always so quiet in their apartment after the session was over, and that it was nice to hear real people talking. That stuck with me. Last week I started asking friends and family to record themselves talking-- about anything. My older brother and his wife told funny stories about crazy things they'd done. My friend who loves the circus arts described a particular act that they loved. Dad told a story of his own, and Seb and I recorded ourselves trading banter while he played Mario Kart. People read stories, read poems, described what they saw while on a jog through their neighborhood. A whole bunch of people, just talking, so that my blind friend could listen to a real human voice whenever they wanted-- not a polished podcast, not a sponsored youtube video, but a regular person.

I uploaded this first batch of audio files to a google drive folder and sent it over to my buddy. They loved it! They downloaded all the files to their phone so they could listen whenever they wanted. And I thought, there must be more people who want to tell stories about their lives, or talk about their favorite subject, or read poems that mean something to them.

If you have a way to record a digital audio file (most smartphones and tablets have a native recording app) and would like to participate in the Human Voices Project, you can send an audio file to thehumanvoicesproject (at) gmail [dot] com.

Guidelines: mp3 is the *preferred* format because it'll play on most devices without having to have a special app. If you send me something other than an mp3 I can convert it, but I would appreciate it if you converted it on your own.

most subjects are okay; the only thing that's absolutely a no is talking about or describing guts, innards, or viscera. Try to *avoid* explicitly describing abuse (of anyone, including animals), and if you're reading a story or poem, let me know if it's in the public domain or not so I can make sure to put those in a different folder.

you can introduce yourself if you want but you don't have to.

the recordings I've gotten are usually between 3 and 5 minutes long, but I also recorded myself reading a short story at 20 mins, and a friend talked about not knowing how to swim for 90 seconds, so any length is fine.

Right now the google drive folder containing the audio files is private. I might make it a public thing someday, but as for right now it's still a thing for my friend, to fill up the silence and brighten their day. Thank you so much to the people who've already contributed, and thanks also to all those who'll contribute in the future!

[river-muse]

I am very glad to see you finisher yet another arc of your NASNAH au! Congratulations!!!!

Though, I must say, I will miss smoll Nero so freakin much. You write him too well - he is the perfect blend of naive yet curious and perceptive all at the same time.

Dante was right - Nero won't stay that small forever, and even having heard that, it still feels like I didn't get enough of a warning for some reason, and I still want to see him being a little rascal.

That was all meant as a compliment of your writing, and your writing of child Nero is particular.

Happy DMC1 anniversary!

Thank you!! Happy DMC1 anniversary! I'm going to be honest I completely forgot that was today xD I've been wrapped up in a few things the past week(not all of it bad, and a good chunk of it is TTRPG brainrot) so it slipped my mind.

I'm also going to miss smoll Nero! He was a lot of fun to write because of his own personality and the behaviors he ends up picking up from mimicking Vergil and Dante. I might go back in the future and add some extra parts that aren't important to the plot as a whole if the inspiration strikes. We'll just have to see. I want to make sure I get the already planned fics finished and posted first.

Dante didn't have a clue how true his words were when he first said them fr fr. It was intended to be playful and tell Vergil that it's okay to be sentimental over raising Nero- but ends up being a looming reminder of everything that is lost over time.

There's something hidden in the story pacing that I've accidentally conveyed and just now figured it out with this ask. You saying that you felt like you didn't get enough of a warning echoes how in real life one day we wake up and realize that someone we know is growing older. To the characters years have been passing but to us -and maybe even them- it feels like they've blinked and things have changed.

The epilogue's almost finished, actually. Maybe I'll see about getting it polished up and posted before I go to bed tonight to celebrate the DMC1 anniversary ovo

[gerbiloftriumph]

Lost and Found (ao3):

Grandpa's story of the goblin caves started out familiarly enough, but as he spoke, the story started to twist and change. New friends, new conversations, and new ways to use old items transformed the tale, and the young king discovered new ways to be brave in the dark tunnels beneath Daventry.

~*~

An attempt to reinsert the cut lines from the subtitle file. Ch2 has a ton of cut content, and a lot of the lost dialogue is grand, but currently the only way to read it is in a contextless, barely legible slurry in the game files. I'm reconstituting it and fluffing it up and out to make it more accessible.

(1/?)

Daventry guidebooks usually didn’t mention the rain. Which was fine, really, according to the Committee for Tourism Improvement, which mostly consisted of Royal Guard Number Two and a pile of badly illustrated pamphlets he trotted out whenever someone remembered they had a Committee for Tourism Improvement and wanted a meeting about it.

“It’s not like it rains all the time,” he said. “Not worth mentioning to anyone.”

“It rains for a solid week.”

“Yeah, but that’s just one week during the summer.”

“Peak tourism season!”

“So, we sell them more umbrellas. Win for everyone. They stay dry, we can afford armor polish.”

For a solid week, give or take a handful of days on either side of it, midsummer rains crash over the mountains. The heavy clouds are buffeted by winds from the neighboring country of Serenia, and they get caught in the low valleys and tangled forests, lingering like a bad cough (which the rains often give the citizens with weaker lungs, a cough which might outlive the rains, outlive the people). Lightning illuminates the lanes, thunder rattles ill-fitting window frames, and the rain sweeps everything away. Sweeps it into the tunnels and caves below the kingdom, cleaning away the detritus of the previous season and leaving the streets sparkling with water and reflected lightning.

Once a year, the rain takes everything away.

Everything.

Even, sometimes, people. Even, once, the king himself.

~*~

The King of Daventry was very much being swept away with the rain. Not by any fault of his own, except perhaps his own inattentiveness and the ability to be in exactly the wrong place at exactly the wrong time.

His curly hair was soaked through, rainwater dripping in his eyes beneath his crown. Ropes binding his shoulders and wrists and ankles were swollen with water. He strained uselessly against them, bumping into the goblins that stood at attention beside him. Goblins as unbothered by the rain as they’d been unbothered by his helpless protests. Water rolled from their sharp spear points, like the raindrops had been cut in half.

They were racing down the river on a raft—a mattress, really. Bouncing from boulder to boulder, ricocheting high into the air before coming back down with a wet thump. Water splashed up over the lip of the mattress, but the occupants were already soaked. Wet on wet felt like a slap, though, and it just made the king more irritated.

Not that there was anything he could do. As nice as it would be to lash out, to knock these goblins from their posts, he wouldn’t get far past those spears, and then he’d still be on this raft, bouncing past blurry, waterlogged riverbanks with no real way to stop it. He also thought about diving off the raft and swimming to safety, but the water was fast, their hands were tight on his shoulders, and his own hands were knotted up behind him.

No, he was well and truly being washed away with the rest of the rubbish of the country, falling deep into the caves.

He couldn’t help but wonder what else was getting washed away tonight. Seeds, flowers, maybe even trees.

More than that. People, too. Villagers, maybe. Guards, possibly. Knights, perhaps.

Kings, absolutely.

Pushed into the darkness beneath the country. Gone.

For now, at least.

~*~

“Grandpa, you told me this story already.”

“Did I? Are you sure?” He was leaning forward, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye that Gwendolyn didn’t notice—she was staring intently at the mirror and the images it was showing off, of a bedraggled king being wrestled down a long, dark cave passage by a cluster of bouncing goblins. A grim image, but it was lightened by the candles and the tapestries and the warmth of the bedtime story setting surrounding it.

“Very.” She watched one of the mirror goblins trip the mirror king, and then thump him over the head with a glowing mushroom before laughing. The little mirror king scowled, while the real-life Graham smiled. The images weren’t exactly what the mirror had shown a couple days ago, but the basic idea looked the same.

“Okay, you’re right, I did.” The real Graham waved a hand. “I told you all about the goblins, and the caves, and Whisper and Acorn—”

“Wait, you didn’t mention them before.” Gwendolyn turned, and then she noticed the grin on her grandpa’s face.

“No—to tell the truth, Gwendolyn, I left out a lot of details the other night.”

“Why?”

“Oh, you know. I wanted to tell a story, and it was a good story. The right story for that night. But that doesn’t mean it was the whole story.”

“Some people would say that makes you an unreliable narrator.” She was already getting comfortable in the chair, settling down for a long story.

“Unreliable? Me? Never! I’m very reliable! Okay, I wasn’t that reliable a couple nights ago, and I wasn’t that reliable back on that rainy night.”

“Tell me?”

“Of course.”

~*~

Graham blinked at the salamander. It blinked back. It lazily flicked its tail.

“Yeah, granted, but I dunno, I still think she should have ended up with the duke,” Graham said. “It just would have been better for her character arc, y’know?”

The salamander yawned, long pink tongue flicking out.

“He wasn’t boring, didn’t you read the bit where he helped save her from the sea serpent?” Graham argued.

The salamander curled up, delicately put its tail over its nose, and closed its eyes.

“You’re not a very good book club partner,” Graham said, and leaned back against the little stone block he’d been using as a table.

The salamander said nothing, as the salamander had done all day, every day, for the last three days. It glowed faintly in the dark, casting a strange blue wash over Graham’s surroundings. Rocks, mostly, and a couple pipes. A handful of most definitely poisonous mushrooms.

“To be fair,” Graham said, “it’s been a couple years since I read it, too. Maybe we should recite addendums again? Start up where we left off? Number, ah, three thousand seven hundred and two? And a half?”

The salamander started to snore.

“Or maybe I could break down the door, steal a spear, thump the guards over the head, get out of here, and be home before tea time. That could be fun.”

The door in question was very soundly locked with a very secure padlock. He would know. He’d spent hours staring at it, wishing it would break by sheer force of will, with no luck. Which left him locked in a small and unpleasant cell. It was damp, and cold, and full of glowy salamanders, and had no way out. Not for lack of trying, kicking, knocking, pleading with empty shadows.

What had happened was this: he’d had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. An audience had gone loudly and poorly, with royal guards declaring the day opposite day (approved by Graham accidentally), the throne room filling with squirrels and snutes and rather too much chaos for one person to sensibly manage. So, flustered and feeling like this was just the frosting-on-the-custard-pie of his miserable and uncertain week (…make it months, really, ever since that equally frantic and sudden coronation), he’d snuck out for a walk to try and calm down. He’d been pinned in the castle for ages, trying to learn what it meant to be a king, and he wanted to get outside, unbothered and unfollowed. For once.

The fact that it was monsoon season and thus pouring rain didn’t really help, but he was determined. He’d gone for town, trying to see if Wente or Amaya or Muriel (not Chester) could offer advice, warmth, comfort, anything.

Anything, before he gave up everything.

But he hadn’t found villagers. He’d barely knocked on Wente’s door with broken hope fluttering in his chest before something shrill shattered the night. A flute. He’d spun, soppy cloak swirling out behind him, looked up, saw goblins, saw goblins pounce, and then...well, not much more to tell after that.

To be fair, a lot had happened, but it had mostly just been a frightening blur of ropes and rain and hard hands yanking him along. And being kidnapped by goblins could have been a fun adventure, back when he was a knight. But now, he was a king, shiny hat and all. And it was a bit more terrifying.

Taking a knight has certain expectations. Taking a king has. Well, larger expectations. Generally not good ones. A knight could get several hundred gold coins as ransom. A king had…more.

He’d been dragged into underground caves, presented to some large goblin in a silly hat in a silly chair, compared to a tiny illustrated king in an illustrated book the large goblin had been holding, and flung face first into this dark room. No explanations, no understanding, and no one to try and talk to.

He felt like he was going to lose his mind.

Thus, the book club. Which would probably be going better with a more conversational partner. But Newton was illuminating only in terms of bioluminescence, not scintillating dialogue.

A clatter and rattle and stomping outside caught his attention. He stumbled up and to the door, squinting into the shadows beyond. He hadn’t seen anyone besides salamanders for a while, so seeing a couple goblins bickering about cobwebs made for an entertaining view. Better than an unresponsive book club partner, anyway. 

From there, the story proceeded in the same way. Goblins, bored of their own chores, yanked a hapless young man from a locked room and ordered him to clean. To brush cobwebs away with a rag. And from there, the young man was a little freer to wander, to discover old friends locked in slimy darkness while a pack of goblins watched silently.

Finding and sharing food, slowly clearing goblin guards out of the way so he could free the villagers, one by one by one. Solving fairy tales for goblins, for frogs and peas and roses and coins to fill his pockets.

But also, the story started to twist.

Grandpa’s eyes glittered in the candlelight as he spoke about changes. New friends in new places. Different tools, different conversations. A new way to learn an old lesson.

Things changed in the goblin tunnels under King Graham’s narration. “Maybe not all for the better,” he warned. “I chose to tell a different story originally. This one might not be up to the same standards. It’s not been practiced or vetted. It’s about cut things. Lost things. Things I chose to remove.” But he told it anyway, and Gwendolyn curled under a blanket nearby, clutching a steaming mug filled with hot milk and honey and cinnamon, listening to the story unwind.