#she thinks the feeling of sunlight on her skin is burning.

[worldsewage]

"much to Valentine’s dismay." oohhg can I know more...I got a bowl of rice to offer

Valentine is an Octarian elite who has no interest in abandoning her role as such, she is undyingly loyal to the Octarian Army and excelled in military school and was placed in a school designed for elites, she was constructing weapons for as long as she can remember and has ZERO thoughts of ever abandoning the domes. She has made something of herself here and she has issues with communication and comes off blunt and aggressive at times so she struggles keeping/making friends, so the approval of her superiors and the trust the army puts in her is a love good enough for her.

Until Satua, at least.

Valentine, also, has no idea how they found themself in the metro, she woke up with a sense of urgency and a few strange blank memories that made her piece together— with Craig telling her he needs help— that she (probably) needs to act, and help the people around her in order to save something. She has no idea what, and has a building frustration inside her that she can’t name. She thinks she’s doing something bigger than herself. She acts, for a moment, as a hero— an agent 8 in the metro, she plays into this role and feels angry and needed and vital, then more of her memories come back and she gets hit with the Guilt… feeling like a bystander who is trapped inside their own body, watching themselves do and say things they can’t control as her memories idly return, clueing her into the person she is, or was.

[benbraeden]

tag drop ft. people.

[the-thing-inside-your-closet]

Danny and Ellie are forced to flee Amity Park. And find themselves in Coast City.

I started writing this with the intention of only writing a short prompt, but then I just kept going until I felt like I’d written enough.

Danny gets caught up in yet another fight with Skulker, only this time it wasn’t because Skulker had come for Danny. No. He’d come for Ellie. And she was already weak from fleeing the GIW who had shot at her the moment she arrived in Amity Park.

Whether Skulker is after Ellie for Vlad, or because he wants her pelt can be up to you.

Either way, he manages to beat Skulker and captures him in the thermos. Just as he lets out a long sigh of relief he hears the sound of an ecto-gun being fired and then his side is burning and he’s falling. He’s falling too fast and it hurts and he can’t stop-

Danny guys the ground hard. His head is spinning, his skin feels like it’s burning, and he can hear the stomping of feet as someone runs towards him.

He needs to get up. He needs to get away. Find Ellie and make sure she’s safe. He’s needs to MOVE- but he can’t. Black spots for his vision as he manages to stand up and his eyes meet the end of his mother’s gun.

Before anyone can speak, he’s falling again, handing face first in the dirt. And the familiar feeling of de-transforming washes over him.

The last thing he hears before loosing consciousness is the grief stricken sound of his parent’s voice as three voices shout in unison.

“OH MY GOD DANNY!”

“DANNY ARE YOU OKAY?!”

“NO, GET AWAY FROM HIM!”

When Danny wakes up again, he’s in his room, the curtains are drawn but he can see the sliver of sunlight pouring in through the gap underneath. He notes that his body aches, but not as much as usual after a fight like that. And there’s a warmth enveloping his hand. It’s soothing, and he almost considers going back to sleep when he notices that there’s a ghost in the room. And all too fast he’s sitting up and staring into the exhausted, red, puffy eyes of his mother looking back at him from where she’s sitting holding his hand in hers.

Just behind her he sees Ellie floating just above the ground talking quietly with his dad.

“Danny,” his mother’s voice draws his attention along with Jack and Ellie’s. “How are you feeling, sweetheart? Are you in any pain?”

He didn’t notice when she’d helped him to lay back down again. “Do you need anything? Ellie here was just telling us about how regular pain medication doesn’t work as well for the two of you. But I’m sure we could find something for you that might-”

“Mom,” Danny rasps. Man his throat was dry.

As if reading him mind Ellie appears by his mother’s side holding out a glass of water with a straw in it. Maddie helps Danny to sit up a little more so he can drink.

“Mom,” he tries again, sounding better this time, “I’m okay. I promise. It’s not that bad!” He starts to lie as the panic sets in. He de-transformed in front of them. He knows he did. And the fear shows on his face, it must, because before he can even begin trying to think up an excuse his mother is crying.

“Oh Danny, it’s okay. We know. And we’re not angry at you. We love you. So much.”

And Danny’s heart swells at hearing it. “You don’t hate me for being Phantom?” He asks quietly.

“No! We could never hate you Dann-o!” His dad’s cheery tone doesn’t disguise the sadness and guilt etched into his face. “We’re just…so sorry that we never noticed before. And that we…” he can’t finish his sentence but he doesn’t need to. Danny already knows what he’s apologise for.

“I’m okay. I promise. I heal fast!” Danny tied to reassure them.

It seems to help a little, though his parents still have a grim look in their eyes. As they make connections in just how Danny would know that about himself.

And Ellie, with perfect timing to cut the tension, announces happily, “Danny! Good news! Your parents said I could stay with you!”

Ellie had told his parents while Danny was unconscious about being his clone. She saw how they fretted over Danny, cleaning and dressing his injuries with the love and care she only imagined from a parent that truly loves you. And they had accepted her almost right away. Jack even crying as he proudly declared himself a father of three.

Jack soon excused himself, saying he’ll go see if Jazz needs any help with cooking lunch. Danny and his mother share a look, and with a final kiss to his head says she’ll go make sure nothing gets brought back to life. And she asks Ellie to please make sure Danny stays in bed and rests.

Danny and Ellie are left alone in his room, and it gives Danny the chance to really revel in everything. His parents accept him. They love him, both sides of him. And they accepted Ellie too! And said she can stay! She doesn’t have to be alone anymore.

Now, a lot can happen in the span of a few seconds, let alone minutes. In the time it took for Maddie to reach the kitchen, their front door was kicked down and a group of GIW agents had stormed in demanding they hand over the ectoplasmic scum they were harbouring.

Jack and Maddie drew their weapons and planted themselves directly in front of the GIW agents. The agents state that a ghost shield was put up around the house to prevent any ghosts from escaping, and by law any ghosts within the premises were ti be handed over for destruction immediately. Jazz runs upstairs to Danny’s room to warn them that the GIW were inside the house and that they needed to run. They need to get to the portal NOW.

With all the authority of an older sister Jazz tells Ellie to grab the go bag Danny had insisted on having prepared, and picks Danny up despite his protests that he could walk. Or well, fly. Ellie turns them all invisible and intangible and takes them down to the lab.

They can hear the sound of shouting, and something breaking and a gun being fired all coming from upstairs as Jazz opens the portal for Danny and Ellie.

Another shot rings out. And then another, and more shouting.

“Quickly you two need to go!”

Another shot.

“Aren’t you coming with us?” Danny, now Phantom, asks suddenly as he and Ellie are preparing to enter the Ghost Zone.

Two more shots.

“Someone needs to be here to deactivate the portal in case the guys in white make it down here. I’ll be fine. Mom and dad will be okay, they’re not here for us so you two need to go. Now!” There’s banging on the lab’s door and Jazz shoves both Danny and Ellie into the portal. The last thing Danny hears before the portal closes behind them is another shot being fired.

Danny is scared and angry as he and Ellie are forced to fly through the zone with no currently known way to get back to his family. He needs to make sure they’re okay. He needs to protect them.

But right now Danny is still hurt, and he needs to get himself and Ellie somewhere safe. They begin to slowly make their way through the zone, looking for somewhere to rest and avoiding any ghosts that might want to pick a fight.

Ellie isn’t sure how long she and Danny have been moving for. It feels like it could have been days, or hours, or even minutes. But Danny can’t fly as quickly right now. He’s trying to keep a brave face for Ellie’s sake but she can see the exhaustion beginning to take hold of him.

So Ellie makes the executive decision to touch down somewhere to rest. She tells Danny she’s tired. Danny knows she isn’t and it’s only because she’s worried and wants him to rest. So he goes along with it and they make their way to the next floating island they come across and thank the ancients it’s empty. The two halfas touch down and Danny slumps over as he sits against a nearby rock. Ellie pulls out some energy bars that were tucked away in the go bag and hands one over to Danny.

They do this a few times, stopping to rest, as they gradually make their way to the Far Frozen. Ellie had insisted on going there, Frostbite would know what to do, and he would be able to help Danny with his injuries that had started bleeding again in all the commotion of escaping, and then flying and hiding from ghosts known to attack Danny regularly.

But unfortunately luck is not on their side yet again as a natural portal rips open directly in front of them, and closes behind them after spitting them out in a city they didn’t recognise.

That’s how Danny and Ellie find themselves in Coast City, hiding out in an old warehouse by the docs while Danny heals and they figure out how they’re going to get back home.

That is, until now.

Danny stares up at his little sister and sighs with the resigned tone of an exasperated older sibling.

“Ellie,” he takes a breath, “what did you do?”

“I’m my defence,” Ellie glares up at Green Lantern, who has Ellie scruffed by the back of her hoodie, before looking back at Danny, “I simply do not vibe with the law.”

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Guiding Light✨

Marcus Acacius x fem! reader

A/N: I was immediately inspired to write this after I saw the pictures drop Monday, and I conjured this up in one night. Thank you to @mountainsandmayhem and @joelmillerisapunk for beta reading 🩷

Summary: You watch Marcus avenge himself week after week in the pit of the arena, but how much longer will it take to make you snap? How much longer can you go on watching when he’s the only man you want?

Word Count: 6.2k

Rating: Explicit 18+ only MDNI

Tags: Yearning, a little angst, soft dom! Marcus, feelings, confessions, jealousy, unprotected piv, oral (male/female receiving), fluff, reader’s nickname is Starlight

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

  The arena is drenched in dark crimson colors as the clash of silver armor and jagged swords collide in unison. The audience is obnoxiously loud as their rowdy shouts and chants fill your ringing ears.  

   Thump. Thump. Thump. 

   You can basically feel your heart trying to break free of your insides that pound uncontrollably as you watch Marcus take out another large fighter from his right with only one jab of his shiny sword that catches sunlight and reflects in your wide eyes.

   Come on, Marcus. Win, stay alive!

   You swallow back a trembling whine as you sit on the edge of your seat, fingernails digging into the tough stone as you watch the man you yearn for take another blow to the back. You gasp as you watch Marcus flip the fighter over and finish him off with one slice of his silver sword, barely any sign of pain or fear in his vision that’s focused on taking out every single enemy that stands in his way of freedom.

   You sigh out in relief, fear flooding your veins as your eyes stay glued to every careful move he makes in the arena of death. 

   He stands in the middle of the expansive, gruesome arena, dodging left and right, taking out man after man, completely pulverizing anything and anyone that gets in his way. He’s the best in the game, the most experienced fighter, the champion that never falters, never loses. So why are you a complete mess when he’s in that pit of death?

   You’re not lovers, not exactly. You’re his plaything, the woman he calls to his bedchamber after every battle, every night that suits his needs. He doesn’t care if you’re asleep, doesn’t care if you’re in the middle of other pressing matters, doesn’t give a fuck because you’re his property that he can do whatever he wants with. And you have to admit you find that sort of… hot. You’ll do anything for that man. He can use you all he wants, as long as that means you have him.

   Your pulse thrums in your neck as you watch him completely dominate the arena. The blazing sun rains down on his broad body, leaving him in damp, silver armor, sweat glistening down his tanned skin, greying curls sticking to his forehead, dirt covering every inch of his muscular arms, his sculpted legs, his large hands. 

   You so badly wish you could be every speck of that dirt right now so you could lick up and down every inch of him until you were completely consumed in him, until you could see nothing but him for all eternity, until he melded his own skin with yours as you fused into one. 

   When the crowd chants and the last man falls to his death, the only man left standing is him, General Acacius, the man you’re completely wrapped up in. You have to pull yourself back together as your core burns hot, slick collecting just thinking of what he’ll do to you later tonight. You know he’ll take you, hard. 

   His golden flecked chocolate eyes find yours in the crowd in a heartbeat, a celebratory smirk curling against his plush mouth as darkness and trouble swirl through those beautiful eyes. You know what that means. He’s won you, and he wants you, now.

   When your eyes leave his, you see the emperor’s daughter, Mina, looking over his broad body with those bright blue eyes, her ashy blonde hair flowing down her back, and she’s nearly drooling over his victory, thinking that she can get him with her daddy’s command.

   You flare hot with jealousy at the thought of Marcus and Mina tangling together, their skin caressing over each other’s in his large bed draped with gold sheets that swallow their bodies whole till they’re nothing but shadows dancing in the midst of the night.  

   You see it now. The long walks they take in the gardens, the secret slurs in each other’s ears over dinners with the entire court, an arranged marriage as he fights for her love each time he’s in the arena. 

   It’s only in your head, only a sick mirage your jealous mind has conjured up. He barely glances her way half the time, his heated gaze only locked on you each time you’re in the same vicinity. It’s stupid really, the hate you feel for her because you could never measure up to a rich, beautiful goddess like herself. You don’t come from royalty, barely have a cent to your name, and that is why he could never love you, you think. 

   Mina has it all, and you’re just… you. 

   You swallow the lump in your throat as the audience still shouts and whistles from every direction as Marcus is called out and awarded as the winner of today’s events. You want to stay, but you get up quietly and leave, knowing he’ll want you waiting in his chambers when he’s finished. 

   He’s safe. That’s all that matters. 

   You quickly leave behind the bellowing noise of the arena, trading it for a quiet walk through the rose garden, past the trickles of clear blue fountains, entering into a quiet overlay of towering architecture that’s trimmed in carved stone and marble pathways. A place you could never even dream of setting foot in on a regular basis. You’re just a commoner, not royalty, not wealthy, not anything but his to take. And that will have to be enough. For now. 

   You slip past some guards, heading straight for his bedroom, his sanctuary so to speak. He calls it that because you are what he worships night after night in those sheets, inside those marble walls, against his broad body that makes every vibration buzz through your nerve endings. He is what makes this city even tolerable. 

   You throw the double doors open wide and slam them shut, letting the glow of the sunlight fade through the cascading window overlooking the city. The room smells of spice and aroma, the golden curtains sparkle as the sun kisses the see-through fabric and dips against the silky sheets that are bathed in a majestic golden hue. The king sized bed sits front and center as his grand bathing chambers lay to the right, just inside the hand crafted door that’s threaded with gold.

   This room, this place is exquisite, and you can’t believe the emperor is letting Marcus stay here after their falling out that happened just weeks ago. But the best fighter gets to stay in these living quarters. They get money, a title, a chance at freedom from the arena if they’re lucky. That’s what Marcus is fighting for. To be free from this hellish prison, and you just pray to the gods that no one will take him from you. You’ll surely wither and fade away the moment something goes wrong in those walls of torture and murder because he’s all you know anymore here in Ancient Rome. 

   Before you can delve into anymore feelings, you hear the crash of doors being opened behind you, and then you hear the disposal of swords and shields being tossed in a heap on the floor, then you hear the deep, ragged breaths of the one you’ve been waiting for. Marcus.

   You try to twist around, but strong arms envelop you from behind, and a warm breath blows huskily down the shell of your ear. “Enjoy the show?” he smirks as his meaty hands find the back of your long gown and rip, tugging it free as it falls to the floor around your ankles. 

   Your mouth drops open as warmth blooms in your core, hot and heavy like the room begins to feel. “Marcus! I liked that dress,” you pout.

   He grabs the back of your hair and tugs playfully while one hand snakes around your waist and pulls you flush to his silver armor, making you gasp as he cups your bare breasts and starts kneading them together, like he needs you right this very second and can’t wait any longer to get his experienced fingers on your burning skin. 

   “I’ll buy you another one. Not like I don’t already have one hanging in my closet,” he teases, pinching your pebbling nipples together as a slight moan leaves your lips. 

   “Needy thing, aren’t you?” he chuckles, pulling you closer as one hand slips down and ghosts over the sheer panties, the only thing left on your bare body. 

   “For you, yes,” you whine, stifling a moan as his calloused thumb glides over your clit, sending a shiver down your spine as you fight to keep standing upright. 

   “Greedy thing I see, wanting to come already?” he teases as he tugs his hand away from your slick center and rips your ruined panties in half, leaving you completely bare and absolutely wet with desire and famished for his touch. 

   “Turn around,” he instructs with a bite as he assesses you from head to toe, licking his bottom lip in anticipation the moment he sees how drenched you are for him.

   Your gaze drops over him, still clad in silver armor, his leather wristbands splattered in dried blood, his Caliga boots biting into his toned shins, the leather kissing his muscular thighs. He quickly loses the wristbands and stalks toward you, backing you up till your back is pressed into the corner of the bed, chest heaving as the possibilities swarm your hazy mind.

   “My armor, unthread it,” he demands as his dark brown eyes pierce into yours as sweat glistens across his tanned forehead, dirt still caking his dark skin as he stands fresh from a win of a long day in the arena. “Now,” he growls as he loses his patience while you stand there staring like a lovesick puppy.

   “Yes, sir,” you nod as your fingers get to work unlacing the gold threads of his armor, making sure your movements are swift and cordial, knowing he doesn't like waiting too long to have you. 

   His eyes follow you with every turn, every move, like he’s some kind of wild animal that’s stalking his prey, ready to pounce and devour at any minute. You have to keep your eyes off his as you unfasten his belt, the silver armor falling to the floor as you tug it off his broad body until he’s standing only in the leather material that covers his upper thighs and the boots that shine against his banged up ankles. 

   You stand there a minute and admire the gorgeous fighter that stands in front of you. Tall, extremely handsome, greying curls slicked back with the sweat from the sweltering sun in the arena, dirt etched across sculpted, tanned skin, eyes the color of bright sunlight and charcoal mixed together to make the prettiest honey-glazed eyes you’ve ever seen in your life. This man is like a god, and you’d happily get down on your knees and worship him at his beck and call. 

   His blazing eyes slide down your bare body and end at what’s left on his, nodding for you to finish the job. “Well, don’t just stand there. Finish undressing me,” he bites out with scalding irritation, clearly ready to forget his long day in an arena where hyenas bark at him day after day. He wants a release, and that release is you.

   You quickly tug the leather material down his legs, taking his underwear to the floor as his hard cock stands at attention against his sculpted abs, his coarse, wiry, dark hair trailing down the base of him as you gulp with wide-eyes.

   He’s so big, so thick, so very… god-like. 

   He sits down on the wooden chest that’s sprawled at the end of his bed, spreading his muscular legs wide as he points to his dusty battle boots. “Knees on the ground, Starlight,” he instructs firmly with a gravelly tone that makes you clench your thighs together.

   “Yes. Of course, Marcus.”

   “Sir,” he corrects as you bend down and start to unlatch the straps of his fighting boots, slowly stripping them off as you toss them to the side. 

   You idly sit there on your knees, one arm twisting around the back of his thigh as you spread him wider, almost drooling at the sight of his thick cock dripping precum around the angry red tip. Your mouth parts open, and you lose all train of thought. The only thing you want is to choke on that beautiful cock till he tells you to stop.

   He strips you from your fantasies as he grabs a fistful of your hair, leaning down as he bites out slow, deliberate words. “Are you just going to sit there, or are you going to be a good girl and wrap that pretty little mouth around my cock?” His eyes twinkle with a seductive glare, and his dirty words melt all the way down to your heated core until you can actually feel them around your aching clit.

   “Yes, sir. Wanna be your good girl,” you pant as you lick your bottom lip in anticipation.

   He smirks and sits back as his rough hand guides you forward. “Then get to work,” he growls, tugging you forward with his hand wrapped around your hair until your lips meet his dripping tip.

   You take your tongue and run it flat up the base of him, following along the bulging vein as you lick up the salty precum that gushes around his swollen tip. 

   Gods, he tastes so good, even after a long day in battle without a bath. You actually prefer to go down on him like this when his musk is drenched around the coarse hairs at his base, sweat pooling down his glorious body as you bathe in the aroma of him. Battle and all, this is when you like him most, when he completely takes charge and dominates you around his chambers, instructing you with filthy words and crude actions. This is how you like it. All hot and sweaty and desperate and messy.

   He groans as you take him deeper, hollowing out your cheeks as you fill your throat with his thick cock, gagging around his massive size as he starts to bob his hips, fucking your throat in steady strides as his large fingers wrap around your soft waves. 

   “That’s it, right there, atta fucking girl,” he moans, tipping his head down to yours as he watches you through the black pits that consume his wide eyes.

    “Look at me,” he demands as he pulls you back up to breathe, letting a bead of saliva connect to your plump lips from the tip of him as you suck in a deep breath, feeding your lungs as you look up into eyes that could eat you alive. 

   “There she is, my good little Starlight. Sucking my cock just the way I like it, yeah?” he coos, threading his fingers through your hair and stroking the back of your neck like you’re a well trained dog on a leash just waiting for their master to give you orders.

   “Mhm. You just taste so good, all hot and sweaty,” you purr as your hand slides down the base of his shaft, squeezing his balls as he grunts in pleasure, tightening his grip on your neck as he pushes you back down. 

   “Yeah? Put those pretty lips to action then, gorgeous,” he growls. 

   He takes you to your limits, cock throbbing as you choke and gag around his thick length, drool dousing him as he fucks you hard and deep, taking exactly what he needs after going through hell and back himself in one day.

   You groan, tears licking your eyes as you swallow the salty taste of him, letting him move you at his leisure, making your body do exactly as he pleases. Before you can get another good taste of his deliciousness, he pulls you off and throws you on your back in the silky sheets, watching him grab some of the gold cords from his armor. 

   Your breath escapes you as he crawls over your body, the dirt caking his broad arms as his hungry eyes nearly devour you whole as he carefully binds your wrists to the headboard, stilling your writhing legs as he starts to slowly spread them. 

   Your heart is beating wildly like ocean tides collide with your body, and your core is humming for Marcus to touch you in every single place he can get his filthy hands on you.

   He takes the tips of his fingers and melodically strokes them down your neckline, skating between your peaked breasts, teasing along your inner thighs until you’re a writhing mess beneath him. “Marcus, please,” you beg, nearly panting his name raggedly as you beg for his touch. 

   “Sir,” he corrects sternly as he stares at you with dark eyes in warning.

   “Sir,” you apologize with a meek voice.

   He chuckles and drags his finger higher, teasing around your drenched folds as he hikes one leg over his shoulder, your other folding around his back. 

   “Now, I want you to look up and watch, can you do that?” he asks as you tilt your head and swallow a gasp as you stare into the reflection of you and Marcus in between the sheets that will soon be soaked.

   “Want you to see what belongs to me, what I own,” he growls dominantly as he sinks down to his elbows and breathes in your musk deeply as your pussy shutters at just the feel of his hot breath.

   You groan in waiting, and then his mouth is on you in a flash. He licks a thick stripe up your center as your wrists tug at the golden clasps, your fingernails digging into your skin as you moan in pure ecstasy when his tongue circles meticulously around your puffy clit. 

   “Oh, yeah,” you whine as the feel of his thick fingers curl up inside you, reaching that sweet spongy spot that makes you dizzy every single time.

   He chuckles as he pulls you down further, your bound wrists biting into the cords as he swirls his tongue exceptionally fast, groaning at the taste of you as his messy curls fall against your thighs. You want to reach down and lace your fingers into those beautiful locks, want to hear him groan as your nails dig deep into his scalp as you moan his name around the spacious chambers of his living quarters, but you’ll work with this for now, until he says otherwise. 

   He pulls your bundle of nerves into his warm mouth, sucking and teasing as he looks up from under hooded eyes and stares at you playfully with his pupils expanding into dark pits the more he feasts on you. 

   You buck into his mouth as his fingers plunge in and out of you, creating the most obscene wet noises that reverberate off the marble walls. He releases your buzzing clit with a pop, licking the slick from his lips as he groans at the sweet taste of you.

   “This is exactly what I needed, Starlight. Needed to drink you down, taste the savory flavor of this sweet pussy, needed to drown in you,” he pants as he dives back in, licking and sucking and fucking two thick fingers inside your dripping hole until you start to see black dots flick across your vision.

   “Yes, come for me, Starlight,” he purrs, his gravelly voice melting your insides into warm lava as you snap and let the white hot heat take control.

   You throw your head back into the plush pillow and let your moans fill the room as you clench around his thick fingers and release everything you have to give him.

   “Just like that, Starlight. Fuck, yes,” he growls as he licks you clean, lapping up all the slick until you’re completely spent off the way he just demolished you.

   You feel his broad body climb over yours, carefully untying you from the headboard as your arms fall slack to your sides. You feel as if every wave of ecstasy just crashed into you, the high tides pulling you out to sea as you agreeably follow the darkness. Marcus pulls you out of the lapping waves and carries you back to shore where it’s safe and warm by his side.

   “Come here, Starlight. Just lay back and take the pleasure,” he purrs as he glides his massive cock into your slippery folds, spreading you wide as he starts to rock his hips back and forth, feeding himself inside you as your walls clench up around him. 

   You lay back into the dampening sheets as his body presses you deeper into the mattress, his hands tangled in your hair, your own legs wrapped tight around his broad back as you moan with every stroke of his cock. You feel the pressure inside you coiling tight, feeling as if you’ll come undone again at any second. This is what you love, what you revel in, what you need most in this world. It’s him. 

   You lay sprawled in the damp sheets, bodies tangled together like magnets colliding as you stare up into the wide mirror, the motions of his broad body reflecting in your wide eyes as you take the pleasure again and again.

   “Marcus,” you cry out, pleading for him, begging him not to stop as you watch him take you harder, your nails dragging down his back with every deep thrust he gives you as he kisses the back of your cervix repeatedly. 

   “Yeah, feels good, doesn’t it, Starlight?” he coos against the shell of your ear as he traces his lips up up up until he’s hovering straight over your lips, his mouth teasing as he nips at your bottom lip.

   “Marcus,” you repeat, your heart straining for him to kiss you.

   Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me. It’s all you want, all you need. Like air to fill your lungs, he’s all it takes.

   It takes him less than two seconds to collapse his lips onto yours like he’s as desperate for air as you, like he might die if he doesn’t fill the space between the two of you. You moan into his mouth, tasting salt and sunlight crash against your taste buds as his tongue licks inside your panting mouth. He groans into the kiss, tangling his large tongue with yours as you chase him and let him swallow you down like it’s his last night to live.

    He deepens the kiss, pulling you flush to his chest as he turns you around while still inside you, landing on his back as he laces his fingers through your locks, moaning your name with every lick and every taste he takes from you. It’s like the gods have blessed you, bringing you this man, this mountain of a man that feeds your every need. And gods, you don’t think you will ever get enough of him.

   He disconnects from your swollen lips, resting his sweat covered forehead on yours as he concentrates on his swift strokes inside you, planting his hands firmly on your hips as he takes you for the ride of your life. “Yeah, that’s it, Starlight, You’re almost there, I can feel how much you’re squeezing. Let it out, let me feel it,” he growls through clenched teeth, trying not to fall apart before you do.

   He speeds up his thrusts, filling you fuller than anyone else has before, rutting into you at just the right angle where you can feel him start to uncoil all your tethered connections as your body slackens against his hold on you. 

   One more hard, long thrust and you’re done. “Marcusssss,” you moan, feeling the heat slide down and spill over his entirety as you fall flush into his strong chest. He takes initiative and thrusts deeper, much harder than before, desperate to chase his own release.

   He threads his brows together and groans your name quietly, his lips lingering over the shell of your ear as he takes three more breaths and then spills ropes of hot white cum inside your sticky core. 

   You moan together in ecstasy, bodies entwined as he empties his seed inside you, chests heaving with exhaustion as he carefully pulls out from inside you and collapses on the bed with a thud, your body slack against his as the damp, dirty sheets shift around your naked bodies. 

   After a few seconds of ragged breaths, he pulls your back flush against his sweaty chest and drapes an arm around you, holding you close as you let the sun slowly slip behind dark clouds that paint the sky violet colors.

   “You need a bath,” you giggle as you lace your fingers through his.

   “So do you,” he chuckles, nuzzling into the crook of your neck with a huff. “Just let me lay here a few more minutes. I’m exhausted,” he murmurs as he pulls you as close as humanly possible to his warm chest. You cozy up to him and sigh, relaxing into his warm touch, reveling in this soft moment that seems more rare than nights you get him all to yourself. 

   The room is sweltering, his scent clinging to every part of your body as you bathe in the smell of sweat, dirt, spice, and something that smells a lot just like him. He’s like your very own glass of fine wine, the perfect combination of class and just downright filth. He’s just… perfect. Perfect for you, the only man you truly want. And maybe that’s because you’re in love with him. Maybe that’s why you cling to him as much as you can, afraid he’ll be taken from you at a moment’s notice.

   You can’t lie to yourself, you’re absolutely terrified each time he steps into that arena, knowing the emperor wouldn’t even bat an eyelash if a man slaughtered him to shreds. You fidget against the damp sheets, cringing at the thought of blood filling his lungs, his body parts pulled apart by barbarians as he takes his last breath and slips into the dark abyss. 

   You clamp your eyes shut, thinking of Mina dragging him off to get married, thinking of him choosing another woman over you once he’s offered to cut ties in the arena if he marries someone with a higher title. You tremble at the thought of him leaving you all alone, like you never meant anything to him, like you were just a ragdoll for him to control whenever he wanted, like you don’t mean a damn thing other than knowing you’ll always be there at his command when he wants to blow some steam off from the arena. 

   You fight the uncontrollable tears that lick the backs of your eyes, plead to not break down in front of him, beg the gods to have some mercy on your soul if you were about to lose this man. You can’t lose him; you won’t lose him, unless he walks away and tells you to stay like a helpless dog losing their only person they know will take care of them.

   You can’t stand it, can’t hold in the emotions any longer, so you let them flow, feeling the tears like icy shards spilling down your burning cheeks.

   “Hey, hey, hey. Are you crying?” he asks with alarm in his deep, gravelly voice.

   “No,” you croak out as another tear falls like raindrops on the bed. 

   “Hey now, talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong,” he pushes softly, turning you around till you’re facing his direction, concern laced in his soft brown eyes.

   You stare at him with sad eyes, nervously twisting your fingers in the silky sheets that are now covered in grime and sweat. You can’t tell him you’re scared to lose him, you just… can’t.

   “Starlight, talk to me. Tell me what it is.” His fingertips brush off a falling tear, and you shake your head slowly. 

   “It’s nothing…”

   He cups your chin and tilts your head up to where your eyes are aligned with his, and in those eyes swims the most sincere gaze he’s ever given you in his entire life. “It’s not nothing if it’s making you cry. Now talk to me. I’m right here.”

   His fingertips feel like velvet dragging across your cheek, soft brown eyes weighing into yours as he gives you his full attention. And it’s no use now hiding your feelings; you need to just clear the air and get it off your chest.

   You take a deep breath and focus before you choke your words out. “I’m scared, Marcus.”

   “Scared of what?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows as he hears you out.

   “Of losing you…”

   He sighs and runs his thumb gently down your jawline, stroking it up and down as the soothing feeling seems to settle your nerves. “Oh, Starlight. You’re never going to lose me.”

   You swallow the thick lump in your throat, holding back tears as you shake your head. “I could lose you any day in that arena. The things they put you through, the people you have to kill, the absolute horror you have to go through just to stay alive!” 

   His eyes go wide, but he lets you continue. “I don’t want to watch you die, Marcus! I don’t want them to keep feeding you to the wolves like you’re some kind of mindless entertainment for the city of Rome!”

   He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, slowly opening them back up as he cups the back of your neck. “I know, baby. I know…”

   Baby? That’s new….

   “Just trust me that I know what I’m doing, and that I’ll fight like hell to win my freedom back,” he sighs, his eyes glistening with a look like pain etched in the crevices of those golden brown irises.  

   “What if your freedom meant taking a wife, marrying someone with a title…” you whisper, barely able to lock eyes as he scrunches his forehead together.

   “What?” he asks with lines mapped against his tanned skin, considering your ridiculous question. “What do you mean take a wife with a title?”

   “Someone like Mina,” you murmur quietly.

   “Mina?” he asks with wide eyes.

   “She’s been obsessed with you ever since you first stepped into that arena. The way she looks at you… she could have you with a snap of her fingers if only she asked her father. And Marcus, I don’t want…”

   “Whoa there, slow down. Mina? Where is all this coming from? I have no interest in Mina.”

   You gulp, eyes dropping to the twisted sheets as you feel your heart stutter in your chest. “I overhear her all the time. The way she swoons over you, the way she dreams that one day you’ll notice her in the arena. And then… and what if you want to get married? Not even to her, but to someone with money, a title, someone royal, maybe someone that’ll get you out of here quicker? What if you…”

   You close your eyes tight, afraid you’ve spoken too much, afraid you’ve ruined everything as you lay in a heap with your heart pounding in your chest like a ticking time bomb. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did that, if you saved yourself from the brink of death. But I… I don’t know what I would do if I lost you, too. If you were to choose someone else…”

   You let the tears collect in your eyes, feel them slipping down your face as you try your best not to throw anything else frantic and chaotic into the stormy clouds above Rome. You’ve already said too much, too fast. You weren’t supposed to say anything.

   He lifts his head and stares at you, wordlessly assessing your fragile features as his eyes turn a soft brown, eyebrows knitting together as his eyes become glossy like yours. “Starlight, no. I don’t want Mina, I never did. And I would never ever leave you for someone else, even if it got me out of that pit faster. The only woman I want to see is you. If I haven’t made that clear before, I’m sorry. But… baby, you belong to me. You’re mine.”

   “I’m… yours?” you ask carefully, your tears spilling over the edges uncontrollably as you cling to his chest.

   “Of course you’re mine, Starlight. You’ve been mine since the first day I locked eyes on your beautiful face,” he whispers, curling a lock of hair behind your ear as you breathe in deep, surrounding yourself in the very essence of him as he tells you exactly how he’s felt the whole time this has been going on. “I’ve been yours longer than you know.”

   You whimper out a sigh, threading your fingers through his tousled hair as you stare into starry brown eyes that you’d really like to slip in and stay for all eternity. “Really?” you ask with wonder in your eyes.

   “Really,” he nods. “Do you know why I call you Starlight?”

   “No,” you whisper quietly, shaking your head as a fresh tear streams down your skin. He catches it with his thumb and caresses your cheek gently as his calloused fingers soothe your cloudy thoughts. 

   “Because you’re the brightest thing I see every single time I step into that arena. The only thing that keeps me fighting week after week in that bloodbath is you, so I can get back to you.”

   His answer leaves you completely breathless as you suck in warm air, your body still as you look longingly at the man that starts devastating wildfires in your heart.

   “Me?” you ask in a shaky breath.

   “You,” he nods with a smile. “The very first time I stepped into the arena, the first thing that crossed my vision was your eyes. Those beautiful, sparkling eyes were the only thing I focused on, the only thing that kept me from losing myself on that battlefield was you.”

   You gasp, his deep words taking the breath from your lungs as he confesses about the first time he noticed you, saw you, really, truly saw you. You weren’t invisible to him. You were never invisible. “Marcus…” you say shakily as he strokes your jawline lovingly. “But… I… I’m just a simple woman. I have no titles, no money to my name, no prospects. I’m just… me,” you state slowly.

   He sighs, cupping his hand around the back of your head as his fingers lazily stroke through your strands gently. “I don’t care, Starlight. I don’t care about money or titles or really anything about an important name. What's life of riches and freedom if I can’t have you?” 

   You swear your heart blooms like lush roses in your chest as you hear those words repeat again and again in your mind. He wants you, he wants you.

   “I want you,” he repeats, as if he can hear the sounds of doubt play in your mind like a music box that won’t stop spinning. 

   He cups both sides of your face and looks at you with pure intent in his glossy brown eyes. “I want you every day, every minute, every second, and I burn for you in that arena,” he promises as his lips graze over yours delicately. “I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you sitting in the audience all wide-eyed and beautiful. And I want you even more now that I have you, want you by my side every minute of every day because I can’t stand the thought of losing you. And I’ll fight like hell to earn my freedom back because I love you.”

   He loves you.

   “Marcus, I…” 

   He crashes his lips against yours, a hot, needy, yearning kiss that nearly sends you soaring into the night sky as his lips surge like fire through your very veins. It’s soft like snow, kissing at your eyelashes as you let him pull you flush to his chest, needing to be as close as possible as love burns through your bodies, connecting them together as if this is the very first time you both ache to collide together. 

   “I love you, Marcus,” you whisper against his lips.

   He pulls you on top of his chest and sinks his mouth down on yours, slowly slotting his tongue in your mouth, drawing lazily circles as he drinks you down as you allow him to take all of you. Whatever he wants, whatever he needs from you he has. He tastes like the stars that shimmer in the sky, and you’ll be his entire galaxy, his Starlight that’ll guide him off the battlefield of the arena and back into your arms where he’s safe from harm.

   When he disconnects from your mouth, he stares at you, his soft brown eyes shimmering up at you as he runs his calloused fingers tenderly through your hair. “You’re mine, Starlight.”

   “I’m yours,” you repeat, smiling down at him as he brushes his lips against your forehead, kissing you with love written all over his touch as he pulls you up from the bed. 

   “Come on, my love. Let’s go take a bath,” he says softly as he picks you up and carries you to the bathing chamber, his strong arms cradling you against his warm chest as he places a lasting kiss to your forehead. 

   All your worries are shed, all false pretenses are gone, everything you were mourning over is suddenly lifted off your shoulders as they fly away into the night sky. This man is yours, and he’s never ever planning on letting you go. 

   Starlight shines brighter than any Roman Empire games, and you’re his guiding light back home.

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Sixteen

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader AO3 - 3.5K words Tags: 18+ mdni. nurse!reader. Domesticity, feelings of anxiety, self doubt, anxiety about sex. PTSD, references to domestic violence and sexual assault, panic attack(s). Explicit sex, daddy kink, praise kink, blow job. Therapy. Flashbacks (shocker)

Days turn to weeks.

They pass with frightening speed, sun rising and setting, turning over and over, spinning around and around like you’re on a carousel.

The carousel never stops turning, isn’t that what they say? 

You, Simon and Johnny begin to sculpt a path for the now, and even one for the future. It’s a wild concept, the idea that you even have a future, that you’d even want one.

Lingering doubt, terror, lurks in the back of your mind, reminding you of the consequences. Your happiness with the guys and Penny is not enough to quell the anxiety, though it does a good job of soothing it. Settling it. Nearly silencing the raw edges of your brain, the ones sharper than a razor, their ability to slice and kill slivers of sunlight lurking on the cusp. 

Simon holds you gently. Johnny cradles you passionately. Together, they're a solar flare. One that burns across your body, your skin, your mind, wiping the slate of the earth clean, planting flowers anew. 

The scars scratched into the soft matter of your brain will never, ever let you forget. The broken bits of your bones, torn muscles, damaged cartilage, will never, ever not be there. Carried inside you, a painful imprint on your soul.

Has he been back? Is he looking for you? Will he get close? 

They try to wheedle information out of you. Questions here and there, bits and pieces offered to assuage them.

It’s become less about protecting them, and more about protecting yourself.

If you don’t tell them, it will never touch them. Or what you have. The darkness will never shadow their doorstep.

You’re slipping into the same kind of delusions you had before he found you last, the ones where you convinced yourself you were safe. Hidden.

It’s easier now, because there are others doing it as well. Simon and Johnny consistently comforting you, reassuring you, taking care of you. Encouraging you to take your own steps forward while they’re a step behind, waiting in case you stumble or fall.

Sometimes at night the girl in the mirror scoffs at you. She chides you. She accuses you of playing house, playing dress up, acting like a child who never grew up.

Who believes in fairytales such as these? 

Simon always notices. Anticipates, even. You tense in the bed, leg slung over Johnny’s thigh, Simon’s palm flush on your hip. He’ll squeeze you, pet you, trace the shell of your ear.

“Close your eyes, bunny. Count Johnny’s breaths.” 

Johnny’s are easier. They’re loud with a hint of a snore, and you can focus on them more than your own. After a few dozen, it’s not hard to slip away to sleep.

“How was your week?” The soft green couch has just the right amount of give to it as you sit down, therapist settling into her usual chair across from you.

“It was fine.”

“Any panic attacks?”

“Umm… two, I think.” She waits, settling into the silence, encouraging you to elaborate. “I uh, I spilled something on the rug.”

“Alright, alright. What’s the matter?” Fat tears fall down Penny’s cheeks as she cries, wriggling around on the changing table like a worm. “Almost done, okay? Just hold still, two more seconds.” The padded table of the playpen is smaller than the one upstairs, and she’s so big, her arms and legs kind of flail to the sides, giving her free range to swing them as wildly as she can. “All this fussing for nothing.” You murmur, pulling her up and bouncing her in her arms. She calms down quickly, and you place her back onto the floor in front of her toys. You left your full glass of juice on the coffee table, and as you pull it into your fingers, it slides too close to the edge-

And falls on the floor. 

The blood rushes in your ears. You sprint to the kitchen, pulse rapid under your jaw. 

Towels. Carpet cleaner. Anything. 

You race back to the living room and drop to your hands and knees. “It’ll come up. It will.” You work the stain frantically, Penny watching, fascinated. “It will… it will, I promise.”

“Bunny?” You freeze. 

“I spilled. I… I’m going to get it out.”

“Ach, it’s an old rug. Dinnae worry about it.” 

“No, no. It will come up. I p-promise.” Your bones ache, both hot and cold, elbows tucked into your ribs. 

Just fix it. Fix it fast. Fix it, fix it, fix it.

Johnny is still talking, but the words are more melodic than you can make sense of, bits and pieces strung together on a tightrope, one you cannot walk across. You’re watching yourself lose control, spiral and drown. 

Fingers curl beneath your arm, and you jerk. 

“Hey, ‘s just me, pretty girl. Just me.” You find his eyes. Still the same crystal blue. The ones you’ve been staring into for months now. In the morning, at night. The soft, kind ones. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay. It’s just a carpet.” He covers one of your hands with his. “But ye’re gonna rub your hands raw. Need ye stop now.” You want to stop. You know you can, but you keep moving on instinct, oblivious until he says your real name.

He smiles, and the world falls away.

“And how did you handle it? The spill.”

“I uh… got scared and started to panic clean it. Kind of got lost, didn’t know where I was right away. Like, I knew… but I didn’t. I felt like I was outside my body.” She nods, but doesn’t say anything, waiting for you to spoil the silence. “I guess I just reacted on instinct.”

“Any others?” Your fingers wrap together, a link to yourself, sanity, and you shrug.

“The light, Johnny,” they shift in the dark, Simon’s arm slipping under your back, the other one smoothing over your forehead. “Sh-shhh, sweetheart.” You cling to the rope, the one trying to pull you from the depths, shivering between them. The light flicks on, and your eyes flutter closed. “Just a nightmare, bunny. You’re safe.” 

Your chest aches, burns, stomach turning over as you press closer, nose to a neck, heat closing in around you, settling you, bringing you back to consciousness, awareness, piece by piece. 

“Sorry.” It’s the third one in two weeks, third time you’ve woken them up, and the guilt piles on in heaps. 

“’s alright. Ye’re alright.” Johnny hums at your back, lips to your shoulder. “Close yer eyes, pretty girl. Ye’re with us.” 

The therapist touches on her usual things, coping strategy, your feelings, your approach to future panic attacks or overwhelming anxiety, before moving onto the next usual topic.

“How are you feeling during intimacy?”

“Um… better.”

Simon’s hand smooths down your back. “Feeling okay?” 

“Yeah, I think… I want… I want to move.” 

“Okay. Let’s take it slow, there’s no rush.” You experiment with rolling your hips, Johnny vibrating beneath you, hands clenched in the sheets. 

“Shite.” He grits, Simon leaning in to kiss him. 

“You’re doing so good, sweet boy, being so patient, so proud of you.” Johnny whimpers into Simon’s mouth, and then pulls away with a pant, finding the fullness of your ass, squeezing and needing as his legs shake. 

“This fuckin’ arse- be the death of me.” You’re so full, slowly working yourself up and down, fractionally, carefully, slick sliding across his cock. His thumb skates across your bottom lip, and when you rock your hips, his jerk, jolting upwards at the same time. You gasp. 

They freeze, Simon white knuckles Johnny’s good wrist and growls. “Easy.” 

“Sorry,” he whines, fingers twisted together in the light grey fabric, brows knitted together so tight he looks like he’s in pain. “Ah… I’m sorry, bun.” 

“It’s okay.” It really is. It felt good, there was no sour tinge in it, no foul rot spilling across your heart. It just… felt good. Really good. “It was good, Johnny. Reeaaally good.” Your knees flex, pulling you upwards and back down, experimenting, searching for the sharp burst of pleasure. “Johnny.” You whine, and he glances at Simon hopefully. 

Simon nods. They both hold you, Simon slipping down over your folds to your clit, building slow, heavy circles around your swollen bud, Johnny experimentally thrusting in even, steady strokes.

“Fuck.”

“You look so good, bunny. Riding Johnny’s cock like that, so pretty.” Simon coos, pressing harder, electric shock shooting up your spine. “Our pretty girl.” 

“It feels…” the words slip away under the momentum of your bodies moving together, the three of you, scales perfectly balanced, world just right for a moment, moments that seem to be stretching longer and longer across your life, spoiling you in the sunlight. “I-I… please.” There’s nothing to be said to convey the ocean’s worth of emotion you’re holding in, and Simon kisses you, stealing the words, taking them in. 

“You never need to ask us for your pleasure, bunny. We’ll never keep it from you.” It’s a straight shot through your heart to the marrow of your bones, light exploding into a million stars, and you rocket into the atmosphere, sweat and slick and moans melding together in the room, Johnny still working a leisurely pace amongst his groans as you cum around his cock, jerking and writhing in their arms. 

“I’ve definitely been more comfortable, been able to go farther.”

“Any panic, or spiraling thoughts? Racing thoughts?” You shake your head.

“No, I’m… I’m able to keep myself pretty clear, we’ve been working on… other things. Like, position wise, but it’s harder.” You’re getting better at talking about this with her, but it’s still a little awkward.

“What do you feel like you need to get yourself there, if that’s what you want?” You mull it over.

“More time.”

“Stick your tongue out.” Simon lightly taps the head of his cock against the flat of your tongue, smearing it across the warm flesh there, before slowly pressing it in as Johnny rubs your back. “You’re sure you’re alright? Don’t lie to me, it’s okay if we stop.” You nod, but you’re rattling inside, one foot in reality, the other one in a nightmare. 

You’re pushing yourself too hard, but there’s a nagging need to try. To be good at this, be good for him. 

Simon strokes your cheek. “Good girl. Breathe through your nose f’me.” You’re trying, but when he slides behind your molars, you lock up. Memories flash, fuel to the fire. Your mouth is empty, Simon on his knees in front of you, but he’s hard to see. Only the warmth of his palms on your shoulders resonates. 

You see Phillip’s face instead. Phillip’s anger when you wouldn’t hold still, the way he’d shove himself down your throat until you vomited, fingers dug into your neck with a vengeance, windpipe struggling to its job. 

There’s are voices through it all, different accents, ones that ground you, hold you, keep you safe. Manchester, and a Scottish melody. 

You break through the darkness, and push back towards the light, finally seeing them both clearly, sparkling eyes drenched in concern. 

“’m alright.” You swallow, and Simon shakes his head. 

“Tha’ was my fault, pushed it too hard.” 

“I wanted to- to try.” The disappointment breaks upon you like a wave, and Simon tilts your chin. 

“I know, and you did. You did great, bunny, but it’s my job to take care of you.” He kisses you where your eyelashes feather onto your cheeks. “I’ll do better.” 

“How are things with Penny?” You smile.

“Good, I think. Great, almost? I feel like we’re bonding. It’s a little scary but…”

“Why does it scare you?"

“Because it could all go away. I could lose her, and them.”

“Bunny,” Penny then signs for more, and you spread the rest of the sliced banana across her tray. 

You watch her as she eats, little face lighting with glee, fingers tactfully scooping the mushed fruit to her lips. Her fine motor skills are advanced, from the signing, you think, and her words are coming along almost too well. 

“Bunny wea?” Read. You smile. 

“You want a story after lunch?” She signs yes, messy and sticky with banana, and you nod. “Alright. We can read before nap time.” It’s her favorite thing to do with you, sit on your lap or next to you as you read her a book, her head curled up on your chest or belly. “Where’s your Da, huh? Is he sleeping?” 

“Da seep?” She makes the sign along with the words. 

“Yeah, sleep.” You mimic her hands, less graceful than her practiced expertise at this point, and she giggles. 

“Your progress is inspiring.” She smiles, and it occurs to you that she’s kind. She’s patient. You think you might actually like her. “What about building relationships outside your romantic partners?”

“Oh, uh. Lou and I had lunch the other day, at her house. It was nice.”

“Does it scare you? When he goes off to work.” She rolls her lips and nods, faraway look etched in her eyes before she sighs. 

“Every time, but there’s nothing I can do. I knew what I was getting myself into.” 

“How do you deal with it?” 

“I keep busy. Try not to watch my phone or the calendar too much. John makes me promise not to count the days until it gets past thirty.” The difference is stark. You remember how it was when Phillip went away, putting you on edge for a completely different reason. Each day that passed, you hoped for an end. You hoped to receive the call, the one that would finally set you free.

It never came. 

“Are you worried about it?” 

“Just… with the circumstances I met Johnny it’s like, I know the worst that can happen. Or almost the worst, I guess.” She reaches for your hand, and you don’t pull away. 

“Well, luckily, it’s a ways off. And you’ll have me.” You nod, a smile coming naturally. 

“Yeah.”

Your therapist lightly probes at the past. She’s still learning to navigate you, to understand.  

You know you’re supposed to talk about it, about him, but you can’t.

She tells you it’s okay, that she’ll wait until you’re ready, but for some reason-

You always end up feeling like a failure when you block her out, sitting in the chair across from her, antsy and impatient for the session to be over when it gets to the point where she starts tugging at the darkest parts of your memory.

“That’s okay,” she promises, “we’ll try again. No rush.”  

Simon waits for you on the sidewalk. His eyes always crinkle at the corner when you come out, and today, the sun is shining. It’s so bright you squint, fumbling with your sunglasses, natural smile curving your lips in return. He reaches for your hand.

“Alright?” You lean your head on his shoulder, and his lips dot your crown. “Let’s go home.”

You tuck your toes into the seam of the couch cushions, curled up next to the arm. Dinner’s over, Penny’s getting a last few minutes of playtime with Johnny, and Simon is in the armchair, reading glasses perched on his nose, a book’s spine cracked in his hand.

It’s perfect.

You memorize the moment, tracing it over and over, praying it burns like a brand, something that’s always with you, even in the dark.

I love you. 

It rings loudly in your heart, a tolling of bells, a signal of shifting winds.

I love you, I love you, I love you. 

It doesn’t hurt. It’s not a thing of despair, of fear. The girl in the mirror doesn’t cower, only takes small steps forward, a hand extended in trust.

Have you made it out? Are you finally safe? 

It’s a difficult thing, to know. To let go of. She’s not convinced, not wholly, but the beginnings of something greater are there, lying in wait, an olive branch extended towards your family.

Your family. 

That’s who they are now, you realize, straightening in your spot. This is your family. Your sunlight, the cogs and gears and mechanisms all pulling together as one to move the hands of the clock forward, unable to stop and linger on the past.

“I want… can we try it?” You’re panting, hips shifting in small circles astride Johnny, his hands greedy, palms full of your ass. You’re not afraid to ask now, built up and up, lifted on top of their shoulders and higher, encouraged. Loved. Given everything you need.

“Ye sure, pretty girl?” You peek over at where Simon lays on his side, thick fingers and palm stroking the heavy shaft of his cock.

“You’ve been spoiled, Johnny,” The words heated in the twilight of the evening. Orange and purple play out across the floor under the curtains, the last of the sun sinking under the horizon.

Simon’s hand covers Johnny’s, and then slides to the plush of your ass. He squeezes, hard enough to make you moan, but still gentle, gentle enough you know where you are, who you’re with. He’s good with the lines, the push and pull, the balance between too much and not enough.

He tugs. Johnny whines, but Simon swallows it with his mouth and a chastise. “Be good.”

They shift you, arranging arms and legs until you’re on your side, Simon’s front to your back, the bulk of his mass curled around you, possessively.

“We’re gonna take it easy,” He murmurs into your neck, moving your leg over where his knee juts forward. “You tell me if it’s too much.” The head of his cock slides through your folds, notching against your clit with sparse friction, before settling at your entrance.

For a second, you tense, trying to examine the reality of the situation, the unsettling question at the tip of his tongue. How is going to fit? 

“Shhh,” he soothes, “’m not gonna hurt you.”

“I know.” His first thrust is painfully slow, stretching your walls, pulling away, and you whimper. He holds you by the collarbone, elbow nestled against your belly, thumb rubbing delicate circles in your skin.

The next one is further, and further. You’re burning up, coiled, eyes closed, and he kisses your temple. “Too much?”

“N-no.” Johnny strokes himself, squeezing at the base, eyes so soaked in lust he looks like he’s drowning, tip of his cock flushed red and drooling precum down to his fingers. “Please.” You squeak, trying to jerk backwards, but Simon holds you tight with a chuckle.

And then thrusts until he drives deep.

You choke, gasp turning to a howl, electricity pulsing and snapping through your blood. “Oh god.”

“No,” he licks your cheek, “just me sweetheart. Just us.” He looks up at Johnny who smiles, and your heart fills, overflowing towards an explosion. “Can you take more?” You nod.

He starts a rhythm, a slow, measure rhythm, long thrusts that make you shake, pant, pussy tightening with each one. Johnny rubs his thumb over your clit, back and forth, and it’s not long before you’re whining.

“More.” Your nails find Simon’s forearm, and he pushes harder, deeper, a quick snap of his hips that has you seeing stars.

“Good?”

“Yeah,” you pant, bodies moving together, controlled by him, held by him. “Y-yeah, daddy.” It slips from your lips so easily, so naturally, and you barely notice. He groans.

“Fuck.” He’s moving faster now, words coming in a waterfall. “That’s it- so good, you’re so good for us, such a good girl.” He ruts into you, hips moving in a circle, deep enough tears start to spill down your cheeks. “Daddy’s sweet girl.”

It sends you overboard. Pushes you into the water, tugs you beneath the waves, your orgasm crashing over you in a tide, a tide pulled by them, only them, in your body, your heart.

Johnny kisses you. It’s deep and full of tenderness, he holds your face to his, foreheads together as Simon fucks you through the waves, falling apart as you cling to them, balanced between their bodies.

It’s only after, you realize you’re crying. When you see Simon’s panicked expression as he rolls you to your back, cradling your cheeks, saying your name again and again. Your fingers curl limply around his wrist.

“I’m okay,” you croak, looking between them two of them, “I’m okay. I’m just…” your breath stutters, and you find again, find the floodgates and release them.

“I’m happy.”

[andvys]

Dancing with ours hands tied | S.H.

Chapter twenty three ⭐︎ And the first night that you saw me, nothing was gonna stop me

Warnings: 18+ minors don't interact! smut, unprotected sex, breeding kink, daddy kink? fluff, lots and lots of fluff!

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Your first date night leads to another confession.

Word count: 12k+

Author's note: the whole date was all sweet Roe's idea, give her big creative mind a kiss, and give her some love too cause she's always helping me with this amazing story ♡ thank you @hellfire--cult

Series Masterlist ⭐︎ Previous Chapter ⭐︎ Next Chapter

♡

You’re met with complete silence when you wake from your sleep – no rain, no thunder, no howling wind and no flashing lights greet you this morning. Sunlight peeks through Steve’s drawn curtains, the golden color kissing his skin, letting it appear even softer. 

You blink the tiredness away and shift in his arms, prompting him to pull you even closer, for a moment you think he is already awake but his calm breathing and his closed eyes indicate that he is still sound asleep. His arms are wrapped around you, all night they have stayed there, his hands on your back, legs tangled with yours beneath the thin sheets and your head in the crook of his neck. You needed to feel one another, you needed to be close and you are certain that even if you moved in your sleep, you didn’t let go of each other. 

You rest your palm on his chest, over his beating heart and lay your chin on the top of your hand. You raise your other hand up towards his face, caressing his cheek, grazing his skin with the tips of your fingers, you admire the pretty man before you as you push his hair out of his face. 

Memories of the previous night start rushing in, making your heart beat faster.

No one could have prepared you for his confession, for the feelings he harbored for you, for the love he felt for a while now. You hoped there was something and yet it shook you to your core when he blessed you with those three words and told you of the future he pictured you in by his side, the little infatuation he had with you even when he never wanted to admit it to himself. 

Your eyes burn with tears of happiness, you think of the girl you once were, before the upside down, before Billy’s death, when all you did was admire the man who holds you in his arms now, refusing to let go. 

You wonder how things would have gone had you known of his little crush on you, you wonder if maybe then you would have found the courage to ask him out. 

Steve’s hands move to your waist, giving it a squeeze before he wraps his arms around you again, hugging you against his chest, he peeks his eyes open, his lips curl into a smile the moment he sees your pretty face staring at him and feels the touch of your hand on his cheek. 

Today he wakes up knowing that you are his, that he no longer has to pretend the way he started to. 

“Caught you,” he whispers. 

His words make you blush, though they hold more meaning than you think. 

He caught you, not in this moment, not after waking from his sleep to catch you staring and touching his face, no, he caught you – after years and years of falling, he finally opened his eyes, he finally stepped forward after recognizing true love, he finally reached his hands – his arms out to you, he finally pulled you into his embrace. 

Steve cups your cheek, his brows pull together when he notices the tears in your eyes. 

“Hey,” he whispers, looking at you with nothing but worry in his eyes, “what’s wrong?”

You smile at his question and you shake your head, leaning towards his palm, you press your lips against it, giving him a kiss, “nothing,” you whisper, an unwanted tear falls from your eye, he catches it with his thumb, not letting it roll down your cheek. “I’m just so happy,” you whisper. 

Steve’s eyes soften, something deep within his chest stirs the longer he looks at you. The same vulnerability that flickered in your eyes the night before, is still there, still the same, if not more intense. 

You are not afraid, not anymore. 

He holds your face gently and leans in, kissing you softly, something he can now do freely, whenever he wants to, whenever he feels like it. 

He is happy, just as happy as you are. 

“So am I,” he whispers against your lips and reaches for your hand, holding it in his own as he entwines his fingers with yours, “you make me happy.”

Your hand gets lost in his much larger one, the size difference making your stomach flutter. You give it a squeeze and peck his lips once more, you lean closer to him, nuzzling your nose against his cutely. 

Steve’s eyes light up and a chuckle falls from his lips, one of surprise and adoration. Just like on the night of the fourth of July, you kiss him gently and continue to rub your nose against his, giggling as you do so. 

Who would've thought that the girl with the rough exterior is secretly so adorable, that the alcohol in her that one night brought out the real side of her and not some drunk version of her that normally doesn’t exist. 

Steve wraps his arm around you, and runs his middle finger up and down your spine. 

“So, you’re really like this huh?” He grins, feeling giddy about getting to see this you.

At that, a blush creeps to your face, one that you hide by pressing your face into the crook of his neck. 

“Oh no, baby,” he whispers, reaching for your chin, he pinches it between his thumb and his index finger, tilting your head back up again so he can see your face and look into your eyes again, “don’t hide from me. I love it. I knew I was fucked when you acted like this on the fourth of july.”  

Your cheeks heat up even more but the adoring smile on his face makes it hard for you to look away again. 

“Shit, I’ve been making love to you since that night, baby.”

Steve watches the way your eyebrows draw together, the way surprise flickers in your eyes along with the love and the happiness that drives his heart crazy. 

“You have?” You mumble, just above a whisper, like you can’t believe his words despite what happened last night. 

He can’t hold back from kissing you again, that’s all he wants to do now, kiss you, hold you, touch you, love on you. 

“Yeah, you stole my heart, darling,” he whispers in happiness. “It’s all yours, I’m yours.”

He said these words last night, he said these words now, he will say them forever. 

Your lips curl into the biggest smile he had ever seen on your face, a delightful giggle escapes you. You cup his cheeks and lean in, peppering his whole face with soft kisses, making him now giggle too. 

“I love you,” you whisper softly, “I love you so much, Steve Harrington.”

His heart could burst at any second, the feeling of your touch, your kisses, your words, you, you drive him crazy and he still isn’t sure if you realize just how deep his feelings are, if the words he gave to you the night before were even enough for you to understand the weight of the love he feels for you. 

To hear you say these words, to hear them from you, from the someone he admired from afar, in secret and in bitterness, the girl he thought could feel nothing but distaste for him, the girl that pushes away most people has and always had a soft spot for him – a soft spot for the guy that most people can’t even bring themselves to like yet love. 

But here you are, happy to be in his arms, crying tears of joy, unable to stop smiling and saying those three words he was hoping to hear from you, hoping all day and night that this dream might come true. 

And now it’s here, you are here and you are all his. 

The future he wished for is finally no longer out of reach, no longer something to unrealistically long for, it’s right in front of him. 

He remembers the future you told him of, the wishes and dreams you have, the ones so alike to his. 

“I love you,” he whispers along with your name that rolls off his tongue so beautifully, “and I hope you know that I’m never letting you go.” 

“Good, you better not–”

He presses his finger against your lips, shushing you, he looks into your eyes intensely, squeezing your side as a sudden rush of overwhelming emotions crashes over him. 

“You’re mine now, forever.” He flips you over and pushes you underneath him, getting on top of you, he leans down to kiss your neck, pressing his lips to the spot that makes you whimper. “My Blondie,” he whispers possessively and kisses under your ear. 

His deep, husky morning voice and the possessiveness behind his words make all your insides flutter. 

You cup the back of his neck and tug at his messy hair, arching your back and tilting your head to the side, allowing him more access to your neck. 

“I’m all yours,” you whimper when you feel his hand on your thigh, he is gripping it tightly and you instantly start spreading your legs for him, feeling the heat in your stomach rising quickly and intensely. “I always just wanted to be yours.” 

Steve’s heart swells in his chest, his lips twitch against you as he continues to kiss your neck, sucking on your skin and marking you up without a care in the world. You no longer have to hide. Nothing is official yet but it’s very clear what you both want. 

A shaky sigh falls from your lips when you feel his hand dangerously close to your heat, when you feel him throbbing against your thigh. 

This is the first time you woke up naked in each other’s arms since your first time, it never happened again.

Steve moves up from your neck, pressing his lips back to yours, he kisses you slowly and deeply, savoring each second of this morning. His fingers move closer and closer to your core. 

He loves the heat of your body against his, your soft bare skin so close against his. 

“New rule,” he mumbles against your mouth, opening his eyes to look into your pleading, hungry ones, “we always sleep naked from now on.”

“Really?” You giggle. 

He smirks, shrugging, “hey, easy access,” he whispers before he finally touches you, slipping his fingers through your already soaked folds, teasing your entrance and collecting your wetness before he brings it up to your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles around it, making you gasp and whimper in pleasure. 

“O-Oh fuck,” you breathe, tugging even harsher at his hair and pulling out a groan from his lips. 

“You’re so wet, darling,” he whispers, brushing your hair out of your face, he cradles your cheek and kisses your lips, admiring you and the way you get lost in the pleasure so quickly because of him. You are putty in his hands. And you are so beautiful, even more so when your lips part and your brows scrunch together, nothing but an awestruck, pleasured expression on your face as moans fall from you. “My beautiful girl,” he whispers as he slowly drags his fingers down, keeping his thumb pressed against your clit, even as he slides two of his fingers into you, making you gasp out even louder. 

Steve doesn’t know where to look, your gorgeous face as you fall apart for him or the way your body reacts to his touch, the way your chest moves and your stomach contracts, the way you clench around his fingers, the way you got them soaked and dripping already. 

“Feels so good but–” you pause with a whimper, pushing yourself up on your elbows, you look down and watch for a moment, the way he fucks you with his long fingers, splitting you open for his cock. You pull your brows together strongly, biting your lower lip as waves of pleasure crash over your body. You see him, you feel him poking into your thigh, his length hard and throbbing against you, his tip red and leaking. You need him, you need to feel him inside of you. 

“But what, hm?” Steve murmurs, loving the way you squirm beneath his body, the way you look at him with big eyes, begging for more, begging for him. He grabs your cheeks, holding them with one hand, “tell me what you want, honey.”

His chest hair tickles your skin, brushing against your hardened nipples, making you whine even more. 

“You–”

A gasp tears from your throat when he curls his fingers inside of you, just the right amount. His thumb pressing against your clit as his fingers start moving vigorously. 

“Fuck,” you whimper and shut your eyes, taken by the pleasure, completely enveloped by it. You thread your fingers through his hair, holding onto it as though your life depended on it. You throw your other hand around his wrist and open your eyes again to look at him. 

He won’t take his eyes off you, he watches you with pleasure. 

“I-I need–” your voice cuts off again, a vibrating feeling crashing through you when he moves faster, flicking his wrist back and forth, fucking you deeply and roughly, nudging your legs open further with his knee as he leans down to wrap his lips around your nipple, teasing you with his tongue before he sucks on it, not taking his eyes off you, not even for a single second. 

“Oh! Steve!” 

Steve’s stomach flutters at the needy tone in your voice, the slick sounds that make his dick strain even harder against your skin – he needs to be inside of you or else he will cum just from pleasuring you. 

“P-Please, I need your cock, I need you to be inside of me,” you beg, nearly crying out from desperation, you are so close already, tears burn in your eyes, your walls are tensing around his long fingers and your stomach is burning in need. “Please, Steve! Fuck me!” You grab his waist, squeezing him as you try to pull him back up against you. 

And who is he to deny his darling? 

You cry out again, but this time due to the loss of his fingers inside of you, the emptiness that takes over for just a moment before he grabs your hips and adjusts on top of you, breathing heavily as he uses your wetness to stroke his length. He licks his lips and looks at you through hooded eyes, giving you a slight smirk when he slips it through your folds, prompting you to pull him even closer, pouting at him so adorably that he can’t tease you any longer. His hand holds your hip firmly, he sucks in a sharp breath and watches the way your glistening pussy takes him, the way you suck him.

You watch his face, watch the way desperation clings at him, the way his lips part and moans escape him. 

It’s hard for you to keep your eyes open when he splits you open and pushes in so deeply to the point that your mouth waters. 

He says your name, he says it so beautifully and he repeats it like a prayer, his eyelashes flutter and his eyebrows furrow in concentration. 

His right hand snakes up to your chest, squeezing your boob and pinching your nipple between his thumb and index finger. 

“Stevie… fuck…” 

“Your pussy is sucking me in,” he groans and looks down, watching just how much his cock is glistening when he bottoms out before pushing back in, faster and rougher this time, making you jerk against him. 

You don’t know how you find the strength to but you wrap your legs around his waist and bring him closer. 

Steve smiles lazily when he moves fully on top of you, caging you in with his arms, pressing them on either side of your head as he leans his forehead against yours, “hi baby.”

You snake your arms around his neck, needing to feel him closer, needing to feel his lips on your, his chest against your own. 

“Hi baby,” you whisper, giving him a smile before you press your lips against his, closing your eyes and kissing him with all your love. Your lips mold together perfectly, your tongues meet. There is no roughness behind this kiss, just a deep passion that makes your heart beat stronger. 

And it’s all so perfect. 

When he starts moving, he rolls his hips slowly at first, blessing you with deep thrusts, making you both moan into the kiss but it doesn’t stay slow for long, you are both desperate and needy. Your breaths quicken, your bodies heat up, your moans turn into whines and his slow strokes move into deep and fast thrusts, he knocks the breath out of you so hard that you are unable to continue kissing him. 

Your mouth falls open, your eyes stay closed, you fear your vision would be blurry anyways if you tried to open them. He is so deep, so deep inside of you that you can feel him in your stomach. 

And he keeps kissing your lips, even if you are unable to kiss back now, he keeps on moving his lips against yours, breathing into your mouth, moaning. 

His chest hair brushes against your skin, his hair falls in front of his face and tickles your forehead, he keeps a protective hand over your head, cupping it so you don’t accidentally bump it against the headboard behind you when he fucks you a little harder after each thrust. 

He is guided by a possessiveness he hasn’t felt before, he now knows that you are his, wholeheartedly. And now it drives him crazy, in the best way possible. 

‘Mine. Mine. Mine.’ That’s all that echoes in his head as he gets lost in you, in the pleasure you feel because of him, in the way you cling to his body and whine against him, in the way he feels by making love to you. 

“Can’t believe you’re all mine,” he whispers against your lips and opens his eyes again to find tears of pleasure running down your cheeks, tears that he doesn’t hesitate to kiss away. 

You open your eyes as well and look at him through your tears, tearing a gasp out of him when you clench around his cock. 

You swallow harshly when you feel waves cursing over your body, burning in your stomach and making your legs shake. You still grab at his hair, tugging and holding onto it as you gaze up into his hazel eyes. 

“Show me… how much you love me.”

He wastes no time to reach for your hand, gently taking it off his neck, he presses your palm against your own chest and keeps his own over it, slipping his fingers through the gaps, he holds it tightly and slides it down your stomach, stopping just above your belly button. 

“Can you feel that, darling?” He breathes, getting cut off by his own moan when he presses both yours and his hand stronger against your stomach, feeling just how deep he is inside of you. 

You nod your head quickly, biting your bottom lip as the burning sensation in you grows even hotter.

“Y-Yes! I-I can feel you! You’re so… You’re so deep!” You babble, losing your composure completely, “f-feels so good, Steve, so good…” 

“Yeah? You like that huh?” He whimpers as he changes his pace, opting for rougher, slower and deeper thrusts now, “I’m gonna do this every morning, honey, gonna wake you up and remind you how good we fit together, how we were made for each other.” 

“P-Please do,” you whimper as you cling to the hand that keeps your body pressed against the mattress. 

Steve leans his forehead against yours, he nuzzles his nose with yours and looks into your eyes as he brings both you and himself to edge. 

“Gonna fill you up and claim you, over and over again,” he whispers against your lips, letting go of your hand so he can press his fingers against your aching clit. “Gonna show you just how much I love you.” 

Your body shakes beneath his but he keeps it in place, holding you down with the weight of his body and his strong arms, he leans down to kiss your face, every inch of it, he rubs your clit and fucks you roughly, hitting the angle that makes you see starts. 

A string of I love you’s fall from your lips as you buck your hips up to meet his thrusts, begging for him to release with you. 

“I’m gonna show you too, Steve,” you whisper breathlessly, pushing yourself up enough to kiss his pretty lips, “but first, I need you to cum inside of me, baby, I need you to fill me up with your cum… please.” 

Your begs and your pleas only make his dick throb harder, his balls tighten and his hips move deeper, harder, faster. 

He admires the way your face contorted in pleasure, the way your eyebrows scrunch together even stronger than before, your jaw falling slack, your boobs bounce with each thrust of his hips and you squirm beneath him, whining in need. 

You feel every inch of him, the veins around his length, his tip brushing that one spot that turns your vision blurry from the pleasuring shock waves in you, his fingers that work on your clit. He kisses you, pecks your lips over and over again. 

“I can feel the way you’re clenching around me,” he whispers against you, unable to hold back the sounds that fall from his mouth as he comes closer and closer, “your tight little pussy is begging to be filled up with my cum, huh? You want me to breed you, don’t you, princess?” 

You don’t know whether it’s his words or the strong thrust he delivers that makes you come undone – your back arches, your eyes shut tightly as your fingers cling to his hair, pulling harshly, your walls flutter and clench around him stronger than ever before as you scream his name in pleasure. 

“O-Oh fuck,” Steve groans as his eyes roll back and his stomach contrasts when he feels you cumming around him. He can’t even hold back anymore, he grabs your hips and pushes up higher on his knees, tilting your pelvis up the slightest bit before he starts pounding into you, chasing his high but aiming for your second, as well. 

“Oh my god, Stevie!” You cry out, your arms falling by your sides as weakness takes over your body. You feel sensitive and overstimulated already, and yet, you can’t get enough of him, of the feeling of him inside of you, his cock sliding in and out of your pussy with rough and deep strokes, your name falling from his lips so beautifully as he moans because of you.

You watch him, the way his chest heaves up and down, the way his forehead is coated with sweat already, hair hanging in front of his eyes as he pounds into you like he had gone feral, strong, veiny hands gripping your hips so harshly, sure to leave marks on your skin, his dark eyes flicker back and forth between your own and the part that connects you and him. 

“J-Just like that, you’re doing so good for me,” you manage to croak out with a shaky voice, ignoring the tears that spill down onto his pillows and just like before, you manage to push yourself up on your elbows, biting your lower lip as you feel the need to watch, watch the way he fucks into your sopping pussy, the sight of it only adding to the overwhelming pleasure in you. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, looking at you with the eyes of a man in love and in desperation. He traces his fingers down to your knee, unwrapping it from his waist, he nearly makes you squeal when he hooks it over his shoulder instead, pounding into you from a different angle now as his lips latch onto your ankle, kissing you there but never taking his eyes off yours. “I fucking adore you.” How his voice still sounds so steady and confident surprises him, he could bust right this second but the need to drag this out is so strong, even when his body is screaming for release. “I’m so fucking in love with you, you have no idea what I’d do for you, honey.” 

Your bottom lip trembles and your whimpers grow stronger when he presses his thumb back to your clit. He keeps this pace for a while, holding your leg firmly. 

Just the sight of you alone could make him come undone. 

He needs more, he needs to feel you again, so he gently places your leg back down, “keep your eyes open for me, come on, I know you can do it,” he whispers, unable to stay away from your lips any longer, he presses his chest back to yours and kisses you, “look at me when I fill you up with my cum.”

You throw your arms around him again, looking up desperately as you grow weaker and weaker. 

“That’s what you wanted, didn’t you, darling?” He murmurs, against your lips, whimpering himself when you squeeze around his cock, gripping him tightly. 

“Y-Yes! Please do it, cum for me, Steve, fill me up, give me your cum, daddy!” You whimper, needily, your body letting go once more. 

Steve’s eyes grow wide, pleasure shocking his body, begging to let go but he manages to keep his composure, wanting, needing more. Your words wake something in him, a side that has yet to be explored – he holds your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your skin, he bottoms out almost all the way before he snaps back inside of you, roughly and harshly, making you squeak and hold onto him like you never have before. 

"Daddy, huh?" Steve breathes as his thrusts become merciless, “that’s right, baby, I’m your daddy.”

You are nothing but a babbling mess at this point, whimpering his name, whimpering those three words, calling him by the name that just turned him into a man who has gone absolutely feral. 

And you love it, you love every second of it. 

You are barely able to keep your eyes open but you force yourself to, wanting to see this, to see him and how he takes control in a whole new way, fucking you disrespectfully yet looking at you with nothing but love in his eyes. His arms look so strong, veins appearing thick on his skin, the muscles in his stomach are tense, he is towering over you, he is so big, so much bigger than you.

You feel him so deeply that it makes you drool, your stomach burns in a satisfying way. 

And Steve, he can’t hold back the whimpers, the needy noises that he would have felt embarrassed about if he wasn’t so lost in love and pleasure. 

You can tell that he can’t hold back anymore, that he needs to cum, so you grab his face and kiss him roughly just as he loses control and spills inside of you. His merciless thrusts slowing down when his hips stutter, your walls continue to flutter around him, intensifying the pleasure in him even more. 

He kisses you deeply, swallowing each moan of yours as your tongues clash together, needily, desperately and you kiss each other until you no longer can, until your breaths are knocked out of you and your hearts are pounding harshly, lungs begging for air. 

You pull away just enough to breathe again but you keep kissing one another, pressing soft pecks to each other's lips as lazy smiles appear on your faces. You’re running your fingers through his hair, grazing his scalp with your nails, giggling when he nuzzles his nose against yours this time. 

“Good morning, Steve.”

He huffs in amusement, smiling brightly at you, his eyes crinkle, his dimples show, “good morning indeed, darling.” 

You giggle again, wrapping your arms around him tightly as you pull him down against you to hug him, not caring about the mess you both made, you need a shower anyways. 

He puts his head on your shoulder, happily falling into your embrace, enjoying the feeling of your fingers running up and down his back now. He is still inside of you, twitching and throbbing but he doesn’t want to pull out, loving your warmth. 

Steve tilts his head and looks up at you, his heart skipping a beat when he finds you staring with a loving smile on your lips. 

You reach your hand up to his face, brushing away his hair so you can see his hazel eyes better. 

“You called me daddy,” he says, causing your hand to freeze and your cheeks to heat up. 

You hide your face behind your hands but he quickly wraps his hands around your wrists and keeps you from hiding, “uh uh,” he shakes his head at you, smirking at your blushing face, “don’t hide from me, baby.”

Shame flickers in your eyes, your cheeks are glowing and you can feel the embarrassment flushing through you. 

“I don’t know what’s gotten–”

“I fucking love it, honey,” he cuts you off with a kiss to your lips, “almost made me bust right away when you said it.”

His eyes light up when you giggle loudly. 

“Always kinda had the fantasy of you calling me that, for a moment I thought this was all just a dream.”

You shake your head at him, licking your lips as you stare at your man. You place your hands on his neck and tug him even closer, giving him a short but deep kiss, “no, it’s all real… daddy.” 

Steve groans when he feels his cock throbbing in you, overstimulating him now, especially when you squeeze around him again. 

“Fuck… I gotta pull out or else I’ll cum again.” 

You giggle once more, driving his heart crazy with your pretty noises. 

“We made a mess already, I won’t mind another.”

He raises his eyebrows at you, grinning at you. 

“Oh yeah? You want me to keep you in bed all day, huh?” He murmurs and slowly brings his hand up to your cheek, cradling with his large hand. 

“Mhmm what if I do?” 

“Then I gotta give my girl what she wants huh?” 

Your whole heart flutters, your stomach does too, a warmth you only feel with him curses through your veins as giddiness and excitement settle into you. 

My girl. 

You have always been his girl. 

You nod your head, your eyes flickering between his own and his lips. 

“Yes,” you whisper before you smash your lips back against his. 

And you do stay in bed, the whole morning you stay there, touching and kissing one another, repeating your actions from the night before, growing hungry and desperate for each other, not caring about anything else in the world but this moment. 

Minutes and hours go by without you noticing just how much time has passed already, the room smells like sex and the crumpled, messy sheets are evidence of everything that you have done. 

Your body is littered with marks, just like his as your lips chase to leave hickeys on every spot you haven’t marked up just yet, putting great effort into it as though it will linger like a tattoo. No fear of anyone seeing them now, no nervousness of leaving them in appropriate places no more.

He has to carry you into the bathroom by the end of it, too shaky are your legs to walk yourself, he finds pleasure in lifting you up into his arms though just as he does in being the one to wash you, all while stealing kisses from you the whole time. He washes your hair and massages your scalp, wearing a smile on his face the whole time, he is careful not to get anything into your eyes. He washes your body, using your favorite scent, he takes his sweet time, loving to take care of you, loving the thought of this being only the beginning of it all, that this is not a one time special thing, it’s something that will follow you both into tomorrow, into forever. 

You take your turn too, washing his hair with excitement bubbling in you, you’re both a giggling mess the whole time, when he has to bend down to make it easier for you, low enough for his face to be right in your boobs, he wiggles his eyebrows at you as he grabs them, squeezing tightly. 

“You’re such a dork!” You giggle and slap his shoulder playfully, the foam of his shampoo on your hands landing on the glass doors behind him. 

“Yeah but I’m your dork,” he grins and leans in to kiss your chest.

“Yes, you are,” you smile, proudly, unable to contain the happiness in you and it turns his smile bigger as well. 

You are both in bliss. 

When you are done, you don’t get out right away, he pulls you into his chest and wraps his arms around you, hugging you tightly against him, he holds a protective hand over your head, pressing it against his pecs while you wrap your arms around his waist. 

You both stand there under the stream of the water, enjoying the warmth of it and each other. His fingers run up and down your spine and he keeps murmuring sweet nothings into your ear, reminding you of his love for you. 

He doesn’t stop there, he makes you sit on the edge of the bathtub while he puts lotion on your skin, not holding back from kissing every inch of your body, making you giggle yet again. He helps you into one of his shirts before he carefully combs through your hair, refusing to let you dry your own hair after you get up and reach for the hair-dryer. 

“My own personal hair stylist,” you grin at him through the mirror, admiring the way the towel hangs low on his hips, the way water still drops from his hair and down his chest. 

“Mhmm, I’ll take good care of your hair,” he murmurs, winking at you. He places his hand on your waist and leans closer, reaching for the small glass bottle that is inside the box with all his hair products. 

“What’s that?” You ask, watching as he squirts some of it on his fingers before he places it back into the box, he rubs his fingers together before he runs it through your hair. 

“It’s hair oil, honey,” he says nonchalantly, “it’s gonna make your hair all soft and shiny.” 

“Huh.” You nod as you look at everything that he owns for his hair, it’s surely way more than you own, no wonder his mane is always so perfect. 

“You don’t use any?” He furrows his brows. 

You shake your head, sighing at the feeling of his fingers in your hair. 

“See, your hair needs me too.” 

You giggle and lean your head back against his shoulder, tilting your head to the side to look at him. 

Steve grins, letting go of your hair, he slides his hand under your jaw and cups your cheek, he leans down and kisses you softly, you are still smiling and so is he. 

All of this still feels so surreal, just a day ago, he believed this would be impossible, that this is something he could never have, not after Robin told him that it was just sex for you, that you had no feelings, no wishes to deepen the bond between you — he has to talk to her but not today, today belongs to you and him. 

He glances at you through the mirror, catching you staring at him with a big smile on your lips. Before he can say or do anything, you turn around and cup his cheeks, rising to your tippy toes, you steal a kiss from him. 

“I adore you, Steve.”

He grins at you, pressing his forehead to yours, his hands find home on your waist. 

“Yeah? I adore you, Blondie.”

He watches the way you gaze into his eyes, the happiness and the love so evident in yours, the excitement you can’t seem to contain coming through – feelings you have kept locked up for so long finally being let out, a side of you that you have buried underneath all the layers you have shown for so long, finally shining through. You feel safe with him, safe enough to show him that side that you were afraid of letting others see. 

But here you are now, kissing him, cuddling him, being clingy with him – something he thought he could only dream of, not long ago. 

You hug him from behind and kiss his shoulder while he prepares your coffee, you make ‘breakfast’ for you both late in the afternoon and you spend a long time sitting at the round table in his kitchen, talking and eating your first meal of the day, holding hands and laughing with each other. 

Robin calls and Steve watches the way you tense up when he speaks her name into the receiver. He doesn’t know what happened between you both, what Robin had said to you, you didn’t talk about it yet, you didn’t want to and he respected that, this day is about you two and that’s what he tells his best friend, as well. 

“You’ll apologize to her later. For now, she is with me… just the two of us.” 

He is not angry at her, he knows she only wants the best for him but he doesn’t want to see her right now, he only wants to be with you. 

And he doesn’t want to talk about the bad things, about the things he believed before you showed up and stood beneath the pouring rain, ready to fight for him. 

You were the first. 

The first person to fight for him. 

To love him without expecting something in return. 

And now you are here and you are his – officially soon. 

The date he planned so spontaneously was one that he had dreamed of since the night at the fair, where he wished to kiss you in front of everyone, where he thought of taking you on the ferris wheel and admire the fireworks with you on the very top, where he wanted to win you a bear and see those beautiful eyes of yours light up because of him. 

It didn’t take him long to decide where he would take you tonight. 

Anything would be perfect, a date at the movies, at the restaurant, a picnic on the lookout or even just movie night in his bedroom, the latter seems the most relaxing – but he really wants to take you out, hold your hand in public and kiss you breathless, not a single care in the world about who could see. 

The excitement in him keeps growing, even when he begrudgingly lets you go so you can get ready at your house – he doesn’t let you go easily, showering you in kisses and cuddling you at his front door before you even manage to take a step outside and even when he does let you go, he doesn’t waste a single second before he runs upstairs and starts getting ready as well, doing his hair as quickly as he can, picking out an outfit that is sure to impress you. It takes him approximately thirty minutes before he is standing on your porch with flowers in his hand and a wide smile on his face. 

While he is fully ready, you are still clad in his shirt, makeup only halfway done and hair up in rollers. You giggle when you see him, “I said an hour!” You throw your hands up, though there is nothing but excitement in your voice as well and you reach for his wrist, pulling him into your home. 

Your eyes light up when you look at the flowers he got for you, the thought of him hurrying around his house, getting ready and making a quick stop to get you flowers makes your heart flutter wildly in your chest. 

“I’m sorry, honey, I couldn’t wait,” he grins and leans down to press his lips to yours, tasting the strawberry chapstick on your mouth. “Besides, I can watch my girl getting ready.” 

“You’re so cute,” you smile and reach for the flowers he picked, pink tulips. You raise them up to your nose, looking into his warm eyes as you breathe in the scent. “I love them, thank you, Stevie.”

He wraps his arm around your waist and brings you closer, kissing your forehead softly, “you’re welcome, Blondie.” 

You place your hand on his shoulder and tilt your head up, pecking his cheek before you move away from him and make your way into the kitchen to put the flowers into a vase. 

Steve follows, his smile never falling, he hears the music coming from your room, he can see the happiness on your face and all because of him. 

You fill the vase with water and carefully place the flowers inside, removing the string that ties them together and for a moment, you stare at them. He got you flowers, Steve got you flowers after he asked you out on a date, after he confessed his feelings, his love for you. 

Who would’ve thought that jumping into the water that night, would bring you here. 

You take the flowers up into your room and place them on your bedside table, a smile appears on your face again when you feel him coming up from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into his chest. His breath hits your neck, his lips follow and he nuzzles his nose against your neck, “you look so fucking hot.”

You tilt your head to the side, careful not to hit him with the rollers in your hair, “with my makeup half done and those granny rollers?”

“You always look hot, baby,” he murmurs, kissing your neck again, he trails his lips down lower and lower over the marks he left this morning, “especially when you’re wearing my clothes.” 

“Steve,” you sigh, your eyelashes flutter, moans threatening to spill from your lips, “I-I gotta get ready or else we’ll never make it to the date.”

His chuckle vibrates against you, he squeezes your waist before he lets go of you and puts some distance between you when he sits down on your bed, smiling up at you. 

“Alright, baby.” 

He leans back, looking you up and down with awe in his eyes, watches the way you blush for him, the way you step forward and tap his nose before you walk away and sit down in front of your vanity, picking up one of the brushes and your eyeshadow palette, continuing your makeup. 

His heart skipped at your cute action. He is still filled with surprise to see you act so carefree around him, to get to know more and more of this side of you. 

For a while, he sits on your bed and watches you in contentment, following every step of your routine as you apply glitter to the inner corner of your eyes, the way you draw the eyeliner so effortlessly, the way you put lipstick on your lips as though it won’t smudge in a few minutes again. 

You look so beautiful, it drives his heart crazy. 

He can’t wait to take you into one of the photo booths and take his first pictures with you – making up for the day when he could not find the courage to ask for pictures with you when you were taking them so happily with Nancy. 

Those pictures are on the clipboard over your desk now, Jonathan had printed them for you and you wasted no time putting them up, he was here when you did it. He should have known then that there was a side to you that no one had seen yet. 

He walks over to your desk and takes a look at all your favorite memories, at the polaroids of your best friends, ones of Billy, some of Eddie, the teens during movie night in your living room, Jonathan and Argyle smoking pot on the swing in your backyard, there is even a picture of him with Robin, she was wearing your heart shaped sunglasses and he gave her bunny ears. He wishes that there would be some of you with him. 

“Whatcha looking at?” 

He turns to you, you have taken out the rollers in your hair while he was distracted by all the memories you have kept on your wall. For a moment he stares at you, his chest filling with warmth, his heart skipping several beats. Your makeup is all done, your hair is framing your face gorgeously, you reach for one of your many perfume bottles and spray some on your neck and on your wrists before you dab some of it behind your ears. 

His stomach bubbles with excitement knowing that watching you getting ready will become a part of his everyday life now.

Steve smiles, pointing to the picture of you and Nancy, “I wanted a picture with you that day.” 

You turn in your chair and raise your eyebrows at him, tilting your head in question, “hmm?”

“You took pictures with everyone… except for me... I was building up the courage to ask for a group picture to at least be in the same one as you.” 

Despite everything that has been said since the previous night, you still feel the shock in you, the surprise that takes hold of you as you digest his words. 

He wanted to take pictures with you, on a day when things between you were still so fresh. 

He was building up the courage to ask for a picture. 

Your chair scratches against the hardwood floor when you push it back and stand up, making your way over to him with a soft look in your eyes and a slight pout on your lips. 

He looks so cute standing there, admiring the photos on your wall and wishing there’d be ones of him. You can’t help but snake your arms around his waist and hug him tightly. 

“I always wanted some with you too,” you murmur and look up at him. 

He wraps his arms around you, cupping the side of your head, he is careful not to ruin your curls. 

“yeah? We’ll take some today.” 

You raise your brow at him, “oh?”

You don’t know where he is taking you, he wants it to be a surprise. 

“Yeah so get your sweet ass in some clothes so I can take you on the date,” he grins and moves his palm down to squeeze your butt. 

The sound of your giggle makes his heart swell in his chest, the touch of your hand on his, making it beat faster. You pull him towards your closet, opening the door, and you give him a smile, “pick a dress for me.” 

You don’t have to ask him twice. 

He squeezes your hand and steps forward, taking in the colors and the amount of clothes that are way too much for this closet. 

“Jesus, Blondie,” he whistles and reaches his hand out, searching for the perfect dress, “your closet is gonna bust soon, where do you even get that many clothes?” 

You cross your arms over your chest as you shrug, “Indianapolis has some nice stores, besides I have a lot of free time.” 

“I can tell.”

“Hey! We all got something, you got your hair products, I like buying clothes, don’t judge me!” 

Steve chuckles at you, “I’m not judging, don’t worry, honey. You can buy as many clothes as you want, I’m just saying you need a bigger closet.” 

“Are you gonna build me one?” You joke. 

“Yeah, someday,” he grins. 

He stops at a pink dress, one he hasn’t seen you wearing before, it’s a sundress, one he’d normally want to see you in if the dress on the very last hanger didn’t catch his eye. The blue color suddenly stands out to any other, capturing his attention completely. 

Something settles in the pit of his stomach, feelings of guilt and regret from the day when he watched you walk away from him after you had come in so nervously, after you had stuttered whilst trying to talk to him. He was so awful to you, he said such rude things to you while you stood before him in this beautiful dress – how did he not fall to his knees back then? How was his stubbornness stronger than any other emotion in him? How could he be so awful to you when all you wanted was to talk to him? 

Talk… Is that all you wanted though? If your feelings had been there for so long, was talking to him really the only goal for you that day? Or was there more? Was there a reason why you walked away with sadness in your eyes? 

His heart starts dropping the longer he thinks about it, the longer he thinks about the day he missed the greatest opportunity that he had. 

“W-Why don’t you wear this one?” He asks and takes it out slowly. 

The smile that stayed on your face this whole time falls a little and that is all the confirmation that he needs. 

There is a sadness in your eyes that flashes for a split second, your throat bobs when you swallow. You uncross your arms and reach forward, pinching the dress between your fingers. You haven’t taken it out once since then. 

Billy picked it out for you. 

You wore it with such excitement, one that was ruined. 

Steve watches the emotions that flicker in your eyes, the memories that go through your mind the longer you look at it. 

He feels the need to make it right, make it better. 

If he wasn’t such a fool, if he didn’t mess up that day, you’d be his for a while now. 

“Let me finally see what I have missed this past year for being a fucking idiot,” he says with a smile, yet remorse in his features. 

You huff and chuckle at him. You take it from his hands and look up at him, at the fond smile on his lips, the apologetic, soft eyes he looks at you with. 

How can you not grant him this wish? 

“Alright.” You smile and step away from him, “I’ll be right back.”

You get changed in the bathroom, taking a moment to yourself, you put the dress on, not looking at yourself just yet, you zip it and fix the bow on the cleavage, taking slow but steady breaths. 

A year back, you stood here like you do now but instead of happiness and excitement, you felt nervousness and anxiety burning in you, everything that could go wrong plagued your mind, your hands were shaking and your chest hurt but now… things are different, you feel nothing but giddy, your stomach doing somersaults, your heart keeps fluttering, you are happy. 

You take a deep breath and look at yourself in the mirror, at the smile you can’t even contain knowing that this is it. 

You no longer have to fear anything, you no longer have to hide, you no longer have to wish for something thinking that it will never be. 

You got what you wanted, nothing stopped you and now he is yours. 

The look in his eyes is one of love and awe when you step outside, his cheeks heat up, a pinkish glow now adorning his pretty face. He steps forward in excitement and he reaches for your hand, “my beautiful girl,” he murmurs and presses his hand to your hip, “you are so gorgeous.” 

“Steve…” You giggle, rolling your eyes playfully when he makes you twirl for him before he pulls you against him. 

“I thought the same thing about you back then, Blondie, I was just an idiot.” 

You place your hands on his chest and glare at him, “stop calling yourself an idiot, I was kind of a bitch to you too.” 

He snorts and shakes his head, “don’t, I deserved that.”

“No, you didn’t and you’re not an idiot anymore so… let’s go!” 

Amused by your impatience, he leans down with a chuckle and pecks your lips before he grabs your hand, “yeah, let’s go, darling.” 

On the way to his car, Steve notices something, feelings he had never felt before a date, comfort, warmth, peace. And he had gone on so many dates before but something always felt off, he could never pinpoint what it was but it just never felt the way it was supposed to feel, not even with Nancy who until you, he thought was the one for him – nothing ever felt this real, this delightful, this happy with her. 

A simple car ride with you can bring out feelings in him that he had never experienced in his life before, not with anyone. 

Colors he never thought he would see are right before him now that you are his, the touch of your hand makes him feel protected and safe. You can drive his heart insane but you can also calm it down like nobody else, you can light a fire inside of him yet mend it at the same time with a simple kiss. 

He couldn’t even begin to describe the kind of love he feels for you, not even if he tried. 

But he can safely say that you are the one for him and this time he knows that it’s real – he would put a ring on your finger right this moment. 

Everything you do, every smile, every reaction of yours makes him smile in a way his cheeks hurt, he blushes, something he had never done until you, he feels a giddiness in him he hasn’t felt since he was a kid. 

When you arrive at your destination, he watches you closely, the way your eyes widen when you see the flashing lights, when you see the rides, the ferris wheel and smell the cotton candy. 

“An amusement park!?” You yell, eyes lighting up like the ones of a child on christmas day. 

You grab his hand and squeeze it tightly, smiling excitedly at him. 

“Do you like it?” Steve asks despite already knowing the answer to his own question. 

You respond with a kiss and he does not hesitate to wrap his arm around your waist and kiss you back, smiling against your lips, feeling his heart racing from his own excitement. He keeps you close, he does so all night, keeping your hands and fingers entwined, stealing kisses every few seconds or so, unable to stop himself. 

You spend the night getting sick on the rides, eating ice cream and corn dogs, giggling at each other like two lovesick teens. 

When he finally spots the photo booth, he excitedly pulls you towards it, brushing past the crowds of people and the laughing children with you, he slides open the small curtain and gets in first before he grabs your waist and pulls you in with him, dragging you down on his lap. 

“Someone’s eager to get those pictures,” you say with a giggle as you shut the curtain again before you push back against his chest and wrap your arm around him. His breath hits your skin, his large hand grabs at your hip. 

“I am eager, honey,” Steve murmurs against your shoulder, pressing his lips against it, “I wanna take pictures with my girl.” 

My girl seems to be his favorite name for you now, every stop you make at any ride or food truck, he calls you that when he orders for you both. 

‘A ticket for me and my girl.’

‘Two ice cream cones for me and my girl.’

‘One diet Pepsi for my girl, please.’ 

It made you giggle every time while he smiled proudly every time he gestured to you during each order. 

You flinch in surprise when the first flash goes off and you feel his lips on your cheek and his arms tighten around your waist. You didn’t even notice when he slid the dollar in and pressed start. 

“I wasn’t ready!” You giggle, staring at the countdown on the screen, you quickly pull back a little and turn to face Steve, he is already staring at you, smiling. You cup the side of his face and look into his eyes. 

“Where’s your pretty head at, hm?” He whispers and gazes into your eyes. 

The flash goes off again, capturing a perfect moment of the two of you. 

“Always with you.” 

“Me?” He murmurs and cups your face, pulling you down, he buries his face in your neck and kisses over your marks, “I’m right here, darling.” 

You tilt your head to the side and wrap your hand around his wrist, closing your eyes when the feeling of his lips puts you into a state of bliss. 

The flashing light following each perfect moment of yours. 

Steve tucks your hair behind your ear when you pull him back from your neck, pressing your palm back to his cheek, you lean your forehead against his and nuzzle your nose against his, making him grin. 

“I feel like my heart bursts every time you do this,” he mumbles against your lips. 

“What?” You whisper and nuzzle your face against his again with a smile, “this?” 

He squeezes your hip and chuckles, nodding against you, “yeah, it’s so fucking cute.” He presses his lips against yours and you both close your eyes as you start kissing, getting lost in it so quickly, forgetting the flashing lights and the small space you’re in, forgetting the people outside and drowning out the noises. 

Your lips taste like ice cream, his taste like the pepsi he stole from you, his cologne makes your insides tingle, the touch of his hands making you whine into the kiss. You press yourself tighter against him, letting your hands get lost in his hair as his arms envelop you fully, large hands settle on your back before one trails up to the nape of your neck. He buries his fingers in your hair, messing up the curls a little but you don’t mind. 

The butterflies go wild in your stomach, his warmth pulling you closer and closer, his tongue now meeting yours as the kiss deepens further. 

The flashing lights keep going off but neither of you care or even notice at this point. 

You are so lost in each other, everything fades to nothing around you both. 

Even as you grow breathless, neither of you make the move to pull away. 

The emotions in you nearly overwhelm you, everything you have ever wanted now belongs to you. 

Everything you have wished for when you went to Scoops Ahoy that day has finally happened. 

When the two of you walk out of the photobooth, breathless from the intense makeout session that ensued, and you both look at the pictures, you can’t help but feel like crying. His lips on your cheek, looking at each other, him kissing your neck, and several pictures of you two just kissing, oblivious to the pictures being taken. You tuck those pictures safely in your purse, knowing their next home is your wall.

You feel the need to confess, to tell him about what you wanted, what you came for that day at scoops and how strong your feelings really are because you don’t think that he truly understands just how loved he had always been. 

So when he takes you to the ferris wheel you decide the perfect time is now. 

Your cheeks feel hot and without even looking, you know that your hair is a mess on your head from his hands, just like his is too, it’s disheveled and his cheeks are red, you don’t want to fix his hair though, you love the way he looks right now. 

“Hey,” you whisper as you hold onto his hand tightly, your stomach would have felt queasy being on this ride if you weren’t here with him. He makes you feel safe, no matter what, no matter where you are. 

His eyes never strayed away from you, not even to look down at all the attractions beneath you. His right arm is wrapped around your waist, you’re tucked into his embrace, not even the wobbly carriage that keeps taking you up higher and higher into the air could make you feel unsafe. 

“Hi,” he whispers softly. 

“Can I tell you something?”

“Anything.” 

“You know… that day at Scoops,” you pause, feeling guilty for even bringing it up when you see the look in his eyes, the one full of guilt. Of course he remembers, you knew from the moment he found the dress in your closet and you know that it’s haunting him, you can see it. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, his smile slowly fading but not completely. 

You hold his hand tighter, “I don’t want you to feel bad, I just want you to know something.” You don’t even know if it is necessary to still tell him about your plan from that day, he knows of your feelings now, of how long you have kept them in but a part of you needs you to let this secret go, as well. 

“What is it?” He whispers and reaches his hand out to your face when the wind blows through your hair, getting stuck on your eyelash. He fixes it and tucks it behind your ear, he keeps his palm resting on your cheek. 

“I wanted to ask you out,” you confess with burning cheeks. 

His hazel eyes flash with surprise, his stomach flutters as warmth tingles up to his neck. 

You wanted to ask him out on a date? 

You wanted to ask him out even though he was a dick to you? 

“R-Really?” 

You nod. 

What would’ve happened if you did ask him out? He wonders. 

How would he have reacted? 

One thing he knows for sure is that he would be standing with red cheeks before you, he would have stuttered and stared at you stunned. 

“Billy was the one who encouraged me.”

If Steve’s eyes could widen any further, they surely would. 

“Billy?” He nearly yells. “Billy Hargrove!?”

You giggle at the confused and shocked look on his face. 

“Yeah, Billy Hargrove encouraged me to make a move on you from the day I first told him about my feelings for you. He helped me pick out that dress, he even drove me to the mall and gave me a pep talk,” you confess, smiling at the memory of your best friend. 

He huffs, shoulders slumping as he blinks a few times. And then his shocked frown transforms into a confused one, “w-wait, how did he not kill me after the way I treated you?” He asks in shame, not liking the memory of that day. 

“I never told him,” you shrug and sigh, “I didn’t want him to fight you, I knew he’d kick your ass.” 

Yeah, he would and he would have deserved it, he thinks. 

But you thought so otherwise, you protected him, even on his worst days, when he did nothing but hurt you, you protected him. 

In middle school, in high school and later. 

No matter how young you were or how mature you had gotten, you were never angry with him, never bitter, no matter how he treated you, all you held for him was love, even when he did not deserve it. 

“I told him I chickened out, that I never asked you out or even stepped foot inside Scoops.” 

Steve whispers your name, a pained expression taking over his pretty features. 

You shake your head at him, grasping his hand even tighter than before, “don’t feel bad, I don’t want you to feel guilty, those days are over, I just wanted to tell you that I have always been there and about Billy.”

Billy who hated him, Billy who used every opportunity to start a fight with him – he could have talked you out of it, he could have tried to turn you against him but he didn’t, he pushed you towards him, towards a guy he could never stand. 

Steve looks at you, at the girl who went through hell and back for him, quite literally, you loved him from afar, you have jumped into a different world just to save him, to protect him, you followed him into darkness, you fought by his side, you would have died for him, he knows it, he knows you would and after everything, after every cruel world, after every push-back, you still love him unconditionally. 

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself, cupping both your cheeks and looking into your eyes intensely, “I wish I could go back and change things but I can’t but… baby, I was a fool, I didn’t understand my feelings, there was always something, I already told you that last night but I need you to know that my heart always went crazy over you, I didn’t understand these feelings back then, they confused me just like they did when you got dragged into this mess with us… I didn’t want you to be a part of it not because I didn’t want you around but because I was fucking worried about you, when we parted ways and you went to the Creel house with the kids, I felt like I lost a piece of myself… and when I saw you at the hospital–” he pauses, his voice getting shaky as tears well up in his eyes. “I think that was the first time I ever prayed, Blondie. I-I needed you to be okay and I didn’t know what I’d do if I– if I lost you.” 

Your bottom lip wobbles, your own eyes well up with tears as you look into his sad ones. You grab his wrists, holding on tightly. 

Steve sat by your side every day, for hours, sometimes until the nurses kicked him out. He sat there and held your hand, he waited and waited, and prayed for you to wake up. He felt anger for Jason Carver, he felt grief over you. 

To see him so distraught over what happened to you, to think that he felt this way even back then makes your heart hurt. 

“You didn’t lose me, Steve, you never will,” you whisper and press your forehead against his, “you’re stuck with me now.” 

His lips curl into a small smile, he caresses your cheek, not letting the tear that slipped from your eye, roll down your cheek. 

“Sounds like heaven to me,” he whispers against your lips, leaning into your touch, “my heart was always yours, I was too stupid to realize.” 

“Yeah,” you whisper, giggling through your tears, like your heart isn’t bursting at his words, “you were a real Lego Head.” 

Steve’s eyes crinkle, his eyes glow with amusement and love, you both giggle and lean in closer and closer. 

“I’ll never be one again,” he whispers against your lips. 

“Good,” you murmur before you close your eyes and kiss him, smiling against his mouth when a sweet sigh escapes him. You feel the wind on your skin, you know how high up you are now but you don’t care and neither does he. 

He cradles your face in his large hands and kisses you in a way you could only dream of months back. 

And he feels the same, he has dreamed of a love like this, of one that would strip him off the dark colors that have enveloped him, that have taken hold of him when people have stomped on his heart. You broke through the wall around him, you took his hand and pulled him out of a pit that he never wanted to admit he was in, you saved him and you gave him something that he will hold so dearly, that he will protect with his life, you gave him your heart, your love. 

He feels such joy and love in his heart, he can’t even contain it. 

You trail your left hand down to his chest, pressing it against his beating heart – the heart that belongs to you. He grabs it and toys with your empty ring finger. 

“Asking you to marry me is too soon… so I gotta settle into asking you to be my girlfriend,” he whispers after pulling away from the kiss, his heart thumping in his chest, his hope filled eyes staring into your awestruck ones. 

“Not too soon for me but I’ll take the girlfriend title for a while,” you say so calmly, like your heart isn’t about to burst, like the excitement in you isn’t vibrating strongly. 

If Steve wasn’t sitting down, he is sure that his knees would buckle at your words. 

He is so weak for you and he is not sure if you truly realize it. 

But he will show you, again and again until you finally see it. 

He makes you squeal when he moves suddenly and wraps you in his arms, hugging you tightly before he starts peppering kisses to your face, “I love you.” Kiss. “I love you so much, you have no idea how much I do.” Kiss. “You make me the happiest man in the world.” Kiss. “You’re my everything, you’re my stars and my sunshine.” Kiss. “You’re my heart.” Kiss. “My girlfriend.” 

Your cheeks hurt from all the giggling, your brows are scrunched as he keeps kissing all over your face, nuzzling his nose against yours and keeping you close. 

You feel like you’re floating, like the sunshine grazes your skin despite it being night, your chest feels light and you just feel… happy. 

“My boyfriend,” you whisper against his lips, words you never thought would come from your mouth. 

Yeah, his knees would definitely buckle again. 

“Say that again, darling, please…” He begs, pleading with his eyes, he needs it. 

“My love,” you kiss him and smile, “my boyfriend.” 

He kisses you again and again, even when you make it back down on the Ferris Wheel and the guy who advised you to your carriage tells you to get out with his monotone voice and his bored expression, Steve pecks your lips happily, not a single care in the world about the people around him, about the guy who is staring waiting for you both to move. Steve wants everyone to know that you are his girlfriend. 

You are both a giggling mess when you finally walk away and throw yourselves back into the crowd, hands clinging to each other, happy smiles on your faces. 

Before you leave, he wins you a teddy bear and you surprise him by winning one back for him. 

And when you make it to his car by the end of the night, he presses you against it and steals your breath away yet again, he kisses you deeply and holds you tightly, no hunger behind it but love, passion and sweetness. 

Though on your drive back to Hawkins, you both get a little eager when hand holding and kissing at red lights is suddenly not enough anymore. He pulls the car over into a secluded area, where nothing but trees and bushes surround you. You hastily undo the seatbelt and giggle loudly when he pulls you into the backseat, giving you no time to react before he grabs your waist and pulls you on top of him, murmuring just how bad he wants and needs you when his hands slip under your dress. 

You spend the night making love in the backseat of his car, kissing and touching one another in ways no one else ever could. 

Tonight nothing matters. 

Nothing but the two of you. 

You are his and he is yours. 

After all those years, after the negative thoughts, after realizing that maybe you would have to live with this unrequited love for the rest of your life, after thinking that there is no chance at all… After you two started being intimate out of anger, or out of lust, not knowing all the feelings that were behind all of it. All the feelings you held that he didn’t know about, and all the feelings he had and you could only hope were there.

‘Told you you could do it, Sweets.’ It’s what he would have said to you, whispered in your ear as he shook Steve’s hand with disgust, welcoming him as your partner. Your boyfriend. Your future.

Steve is yours. Steve Harrington is finally yours. 

♡

tagging friends and mutuals

@prettyboyeddiemunson @taintedcigs @mysticmunson @corrodedcorpses @maroon-cardigan @thecreelhouse @ibellcipem @joekeerysmoles @munsonlore @sherrylyn0628 @munson-mjstan @agirlwholovesrockstars @moon-flowerrs

[illyrianbitch]

When the Heart is Still Longing

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: Azriel thought you were the one. Now, he can’t move on.

Warnings: heavy angst yall thats literally all it is

Word Count: 2.9k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

He still smells you.

It’s all over his room; on his sheets, in his bathroom, on his clothes— even his daggers smell like you. They smell like cool breezes and your hand around his waist, the sound of your laughter and the wind underneath his wings. They smell of your tea, the one you always brew for his return, serve to him in a warm cup with soft eyes and a tender smile. They smell like you. Amber. Earth. Flower. Home.

It’s not over. Azriel refuses to let it be. Not when his clothes still smell like you.

You’re coming back. He waits for you at night, listening for your footsteps— because it's not over. He refuses to let it be. He doesn’t want to admit it, can’t bring himself to fully stomach the thought. He tries to think of a life for himself, a future without you. But no image comes to mind. He can’t fathom the idea– a life without you isn’t his. There is no living without you. Azriel only exists. 

So he thinks of you, still. He thinks of your fingertips dancing on his skin and the way it sets his insides ablaze. He thinks of the burning need to feel your lips against his, to feel your skin against him. He thinks of your breathing, of your bare back against his chest, the warmth of your bodies, the way you’d shiver under his touch. 

He thinks of you. And he’s not ready to give up. Not ready to let you go. It's still summertime. Nyx is still 2. And you haven’t left him. 

There's a soft knock at the door. Azriel stills. A moment of silence. He hopes they go away.

“Azriel?”

It’s Feyre they’ve sent this time. Her voice is soft, controlled, the same voice she uses to soothe Nyx when he's fussy or Rhysand when he’s beyond reason. 

“We’re going to visit Y/n,” She says, “Would you like to come?”

No, he thinks. Because it’s Tuesday. You always come over on Tuesdays. He doesn’t need to go to you. 

So Azriel closes his eyes. He sits in the embrace of denial for a bit longer. It is warm and comfortable and he’s not quite ready to leave. 

Because It’s not over. 

Azriel refuses to let it be.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It used to be that there was only one emotion Azriel knew like the back of his hand.

It ate at him like a beast starved for centuries, sat heavy on his stomach, blinded him in his rage. 

He wasn’t born angry, no, he was born in the afternoon. The air was brisk and the sun was setting by the time his mother held him. He cried for minutes, cried until he smelt her, until he opened his eyes.

The anger he held wasn’t always his. 

He’d picked up pieces as he grew up, borrowed the parts of his mother she tried to shield him from, absorbed the fights of the families nearby. He collected it all like a pastime, like stones he’d hold in his pocket, save for a collection to admire later. Except every stone burned with the scorn of who he had stolen it from. And Azriel quickly learned what that molten really was. 

And then he was fed it, introduced to its existence by the two males who towered over him, who listened to his crying as if it were a lullaby to their ears. 

And when he grew up, Azriel’s anger began to define him— defined him for centuries. 

Until he met you. 

And suddenly being angry didn’t seem to have a point. His anger no longer fed him, it no longer kept him warm. 

You were all the things he had dreamed of, the picture of a life he’d seen in that basement. You were the days he once had to convince himself were coming. You were kind; a sunlight he’d never experienced, a sort of life that even his shadows began to crave.

And you loved him back.

So Azriel began to know a different emotion like the back of his hand. 

This one was warm and gentle. It relaxed his muscles and made his heart sing. His shadows danced to the music it’d make and his wings would twitch in tune. And somehow it always managed to repeat one thing: Y/n, Y/n, Y/n.

For the years that you’d loved him, Azriel began to understand why poetry existed, began to understand what it meant. Poetry was the way he loved you. Poetry was all of the things he never thought he could be. 

But now you’re gone. You don’t love him anymore.

And Azriel is angry again.

He's angry all the time. It radiates off him in waves, burns even his shadows as they try to reach him.  

He doesn't recognize the emotion anymore, doesn’t know how to mold it like he once did. He’s forgotten his talent, forgotten the craft. He no longer knows how to morph it into a warming fire, no longer knows how to sharpen it like a knife. 

Instead, it suffocates him, makes him claw at his skin like it is something he could shed.

He is angry at himself all of the time, every waking hour that he exists. Angry that he had let his duties get in the way, that he had forsaken you in a way he could never return from. 

At times, his anger burns white-hot, fueled by a sense of injustice and a longing for things to have turned out differently. He curses fate for pulling you away, for tearing apart the bond you had built together— a bond that he was sure would be granted. It never was.

It's his fault. He knows this, deep down to his core. It is carved into his bones, written across his ribs. He is guilty. And his guilt— his guilt wears his anger like second skin, too.

He doesn’t want to admit that he is angry at you, too. Angry that you turned your back on him, angry that you’d pushed him away. He was far from you because of the distance that you’d chosen.

He knows he can’t blame you. He knows the anger isn't justified, not truly. 

But there is so much of it now. There is anger where life is supposed to be. 

And Azriel doesn’t quite know what to do with it, not when he can’t share it with you. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

This one is longer than his others.

His hand had begun to cramp while he was writing it. The handwriting is mainly scribbles, ink that bleeds through the page. There are small circles where his tears fell. He didn’t have enough time to grab another paper— he had begun to run out of his supply. He wrote you too many letters now, too many that he ended up throwing away. 

He shoves the paper with an extended hand. The hand is trembling, a habit that started the minute he watched you walk out the door. His hands are as restless as he is. Almost every part of his body, really. He bounces his knee while he sits, his wings twitch when he breathes. There is not a moment of peace. 

“Az,” Feyre says. Her eyes are sad and tired. Nyx has been having troubles recently. Feyre wants another child but they haven’t had any luck. Rhysand has been busy with court affairs. He fears he is just as weak of a leader as his father. Azriel hears it all. His shadows tell him everything— they hope that one day some news will get him out of bed. It doesn’t work. He never cares enough. “You can’t keep doing this.” 

Feyre means what she says, Azriel doesn’t need his shadows to confirm this. But she takes the paper anyways, holds it in her hand like it might break if she’s not too careful. 

“Please,” Azriel says, “Just tell her. Tell her that I’m sorry.”

Feyre stares at him, examines his face with her motherly gaze. She wonders if she should hug him, bring him into a warm embrace that he’s been devoid of for months. Or maybe, she should push him to do what he needs to do the most— go to you. Get his closure. Speak his peace. The paper in her hands aren’t his words. It will mean nothing to you. She's not sure it truly means anything to Azriel, either.

“You need to go to her.”

Azriel swallows. He looks down at his feet where his shadows sit, unmoving and on edge. For a second, he swears he sees a motion of nodding, a sense of agreement that they share. Go see her, they seem to whisper, go see her and tell her your truth.

He ignores them. He’s been doing a lot of that recently. He doesn’t seem to recognize how it's almost poetic, the way that he seems to repeat his mistakes. But his shadows aren’t you. Azriel did not create you— his mind could never have fathomed something so beautiful. Azriel’s shadows, however, those were all him. So they won’t leave him like you did— at least not yet. They belong to him in a way you never did. 

“I can’t,” Azriel confesses, “You know that I can’t.”

Feyre does. 

“Will you ever be able to?”

I hope, Azriel wants to reply, but he doesn’t. He prays to The Mother that he will never have to go see you because you will come home to him. He prays that the letters he writes to you are enough, that his words will somehow reach you, that you may still be in tune with the language that his heart speaks. It only speaks one language after all, and that language is your name.

The Mother isn’t cruel enough for that, Azriel tells himself. Surely, she will fix this all. He just needs to convince her, needs to find a way to right his wrongs, be a better male. Then you will come back to him, he says to himself, you will come back because he will be worth it. Until then, however, Azriel will apologize. He will apologize and ask to start over. And he will do it through Feyre, the only one who is willing to take his letters to you. 

“Just tell her that I’m sorry.”

And he leaves back to his room. 

That night, Azriel can’t sleep. 

Before you, he was used to sleepless nights. 

He’d toss and turn, stare at the ceiling and picture a life where he was better. His shadows would call and sing, attempt to lure sleep into their grasp, attempt to feed it to Azriel like his mother used to feed him soup. It never worked. Sleep feared him as much as his enemies did. 

But then you came.

You’d run your hands through his hair, relieve years worth of tension from your touch alone. He’d fall asleep to the sound of your heartbeat, fall asleep to the idea that he was no longer sleeping alone. Sleep no longer feared him when you were around. It loved you both, really.

You’re not warming his bed anymore. And he’s selfish for wishing that you were.

He found a new way to call sleep back to him. It is apprehensive since you’ve left. But Azriel has a certain medication that Madja created. He uses it often— can never sleep without it. Rhysand frowns when he buys it, asks him if he really needs it. Azriel always says nothing and goes to his room.

But the magic isn’t enough, not tonight.

And he finds himself doing what he tells himself he shouldn’t.

He calls for you, begs you to join him. He closes his eyes, stills his breath. Waits for you. And like clockwork, you’re there. 

You crawl in next to him. Pull him to your chest. He lays on you, but it doesn’t feel right. You’re not as warm as he remembers. Your breaths aren’t syncing like they once did. You aren’t telling him about your day. 

He begs you to let it be like it once was. For tonight. He feels your touch in his hair, fingers threading through it, massaging his scalp. 

“You have to let me go, Az.” 

Your voice is tender, a low whisper that alerts the hairs on his neck. 

“I can’t,” he responds.

“You have to,” you say, “This isn’t healthy.” 

Az shakes his head. He can’t. Not now, not ever. He squeezes his eyes shut, hoping that somehow the harder he presses, the slower time will go. He wishes for a way to take this moment and freeze it forever, find a way to become trapped in this memory and never have to leave.

“Just for tonight.” He asks– no, pleads. His voice is raspy, brought from the bottom of his throat. He doesn’t say much these days. “Please.”

“It’s up to you my love,” you say, “You know it is.” 

He nods against you. He knows he shouldn’t do this. That he should live without you, learn how to sleep without you, without your hands in his hair, without your breathing syncing with his. But he can’t. He needs another night. 

When he wakes up, you’re gone. The bed is cold. There is no sign of you, no lingering scent. His heart aches and burrows into itself. He will call for you again tonight, he knows it. 

Just one more night, he thinks. I just need one more night. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The spaces that once held your laughter are now haunted by echoes of silence. 

He doesn’t know how, but the lack of sound haunts him, laughs at him. 

Azriel feels his heart ache, feels it burrow into itself. There is a hole where his heart is supposed to be, he's sure of it. Empty, open, and bleeding. He feels it like an open wound, searing him from the inside out. But the only remedy he knows is you. 

And so he thinks of you, of your smile, of the sound of your laugh. He thinks of the last time he wrapped a strand of your hair around his finger, and the way that you’d kiss his hand while he did. Laying in his bed, his shadows circle him, nudge him, paw at him like a dog to an owner— they want to help. They wish to help. But the only way they can is by escaping and getting you. Except that they can’t. Not anymore.

He finds belongings of yours in his closet when he digs deep enough, clothing that had fallen to the floor, blended into the shadows. He wonders if they hid it from him, hid it to protect him. He finds them anyway. You were always messy about how you’d undress, throwing your garments wherever they could land. You’d laugh and say you’d pick it up later. 

You never did.

And Azriel never minded. 

Azriel sits and holds your shirt to his face, taking a deep inhale. And there it is, your scent, your presence, you. He holds it tight to his chest, gripping it like he fears it’ll be taken away— like you will materialize out of thin air to come and take the last remainders he has of you. So he holds it, guards it, protects it with his life.

He doesn’t realize he's crying until he senses the wetness in the cloth. 

Stupid, stupid boy, he tells himself.

You never should have fallen in love.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It’s been months now. 

Azriels soul is still heavy and he still believes there is a hole where his heart is supposed to be. It is shaped like you and no one can fit it. 

But he can stomach it now— when Feyre talks about you. He can listen as she plans to see you. Feyre is pregnant now. She is full of life and laughs like it, too. Rhysand is overjoyed, but he is hesitant to show it around Azriel. But Azriel is better now, it seems, and so Rhys lets himself bathe in his joy more often than he used to.

Azriel is happy for them, truly, he’s at a point where he allows himself to be. He sits at family dinners, he flies at night, again. 

Yet, the feeling in his chest is still the same. Azriel longs for you. He yearns to see you. To be near you. Sometimes he finds himself wondering where you are now, if you can still look at the moon the same time he does. He wonders if you can still hear his heartbeat, wonders if your favorite color is still blue. 

One day, he tells himself, he will bring you flowers. He will apologize and update you on his life. He will tell you that he saw a rainbow the other day that glowed like you, that a child on the street told him his wings were cool.

But not today. 

Because today he just can’t bring himself to visit your grave.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

this has been sittin in my drafts for a bit hehe

gotta love the 5 stages of grief (if u didn’t realize that’s what this was)

anyways time to go write some smut!!! mwuah!!

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria

azriel tag list 🫶🏻: @thisiskaylin

[missqhughes]

MORE THAN FRIENDS | L. HUGHES43

-> luke hughes x fem! reader

-> contains: angst (resolved), kissing, mentions of underage drinking, mentions of sex and sexual acts, fluff, use of y/n, lowercase intended

-> IN WHICH: all the alcohol has wore off, and y/n finds herself naked in her best friends bed. things take a turn for the worst when luke starts to hint regret towards what they did the night before; but what does that mean for their friendship?

-> part 2 to get comfortable! i’m sorry i can’t just write pure angst i’ll make myself too sad. but dw it’s gonna be so juicy. also if ur missing someone goooooood fucking luck reading this w dry eyes 🫥alsoloveitasmuchasidothankyouhappyreadingggg!

*fic is not proofread

18+ CONTENT BELOW THE CUT

the all too well known pounding headache was the first thing y/n woke up to; oh, and also being completely naked in luke’s bed.

her eyes made their best attempt to adjust to the sunlight that poured into his bedroom. she turned over to her side, and there was luke sleeping peacefully, the blanket dangerously low on his waist, revealing hickies littered all over his v-line and stomach.

with a heavy breath, she checks down her own body; chest abused with hickies, trailing all the way down to her inner thighs. a quick look over to her backside reveals a red, unmistakable hand mark on her ass.

there was no denying that she had sex with luke last night.

y/n feels the bed shifting, a groan coming from the boy next to her.

“oh, you’re already up,”

his voice is horse, a combination of his drowsy state and losing it the night before. y/n turns around to face him, lifting up the comforter to cover her chest, any attempt to conceal her bare body to his now sober eyes.

“yeah, i just woke up literally a minute ago,” she says, a small smile to accompany. his eyes scan over her body, taking in all of it, eyes fluttering in an almost of a surprise of what he had done with it.

“do you… do you remember anything of what we did last night?”

y/n started to recount everything of the night before, how she felt with he was thrusting deep into her, his teeth sinking into her skin. how he looked with his head thrown back when she was on her knees in front of him. how he kissed up and down her back, not daring to let go.

“yeah… yeah i do.” she said, mouth twitching into a smile, anything to cure the tension. luke said nothing.

and there it was.

silence.

silence.

silen-

“i think you should go.” his words were a lot colder and harsher than he intended, but he sat up, refusing eye contact with her.

“you know to like… shower and eat and whatnot.”

nice save, she thought.

“no yeah, you’re right, i’m gonna change then be out of here,” she said, collecting her scattered clothing all over the floor. y/n changed into her short pink dress from the night before, ready for the walk-to-the-uber of shame that was ready to greet her.

while she changed, luke also got himself into a pair of boxers. y/n glanced over to him for a second, the image of him in his boxers, tired eyes and his body left with evidence of sex on it being burned into her brain.

“i’ll see you later yeah?” y/n said, opening the door and expecting luke’s usual response of “always,”

he purse his lips before responding, “bye.”

his words weren’t cold, or harsh, but disconnected.

disconnected from her.

y/n looked back at him, and he was already facing away. she wanted to say something, but didn’t let herself. instead she turned around and left.

——————————————————————————

it had been days since luke had spoken to y/n.

a million and one thoughts were racing in her head, each causing more anxiety than the last. they would come up at random times, like a jumpscare any time she let her thoughts travel to luke.

cooking dinner,

did he think it was bad?

studying,

did he regret what they did?

laying in bed, at approximately 3:46am,

did she ruin their friendship?

enough was enough. she needed answers, and she needed them now.

she knew he had practice this day, so in about 20 minutes, y/n found herself stomping into the yost ice arena, on the prowl to find luke. practice had just ended, and she shoved past the other guys and ignored the looks of confusion they gave her each other.

she ripped open the locker room door to a surpised luke, jersey off, but still in gear. his mouth opened, but y/n wasn’t going to let him get the opportunity to speak before her.

“where the hell do you get off on not speaking to me? huh? is it because we fucked? is that it?”

y/n pointed her finger at him accusingly, her face contorted into a look of disgust, but also sadness, and confusion. she was on the guard, but deep down scared shitless of what he was going to say.

luke sighed heavily, facing away from her and shuffling with the things in his section, “i have no idea what you’re talking about.”

y/n scoffed, “bullshit and you know it. what is it? tell me the truth luke warren. so what, we fucked okay? is that really the only reason you don’t speak to me of all people for days?”

he still had his back away from her, but his with his head dipped down, arms on his side. “it was a mistake. we shouldn’t have done it.”

she felt tears welling up in her eyes, cheeks flushed hot with anger and embarrassment.

“i’m so glad you think that luke,” she paused, making the best effort she could to control the shakyness in her voice, or how her throat burned in an attempt to get the words out. “if this is how you’re going to act after what happened, don’t speak to me now, or ever.”

it stung like hell to say, but she meant it. having enough with the situation, not being able to bear how much it hurt for him to be in her presence, she turned around and walked to the exit.

she didn’t look back. not like last time. but luke did. his body faced her as she slammed the door shut, only catching the last bit of her clothing and hair, her scent lingering where she was standing. his eyes were tinted red from tears, breath caught in his throat from regret with what he said, and even worse, what he didn’t say.

——————————————————————————

weeks had passed since they last spoke.

y/n was a mess. she refused to go out, turning her nose up at even the thought of drinking. her body ached when her mind wandered to luke; what he was doing, how he was doing, if he was thinking of her.

it hurt like hell.

and there she sat, curled up in the shower, recounting the memories her and luke shared. how they were always the first to wish happy birthday to each other. sharing their first middle school class together. sitting by the firepit, talking for hours at the lake house. crying in each others arms when they both got accepted to their shared dream school. graduation. a picture her parents took of them hugging outside their freshman year dorm building. how they held each other when no one else would understand, how they would still laugh their asses off even when no one would understand the joke but them.

oh, how he understood her. how fiercely they cared for one another, how he was always there, how she loved him, how it was always him. if it was one person she could choose, over and over again, it was luke.

but he was gone. just like that.

y/n had been in there for so long her fingers were wrinkled, and the water had turned a numbing coolness. she forced herself to get out, thanking to god that none of her roommates were home, knowing how pissed they’d be about her water usage.

she changed into sweatpants first, then begrudgingly putting on one of luke’s sweatshirts, a dark blue crewneck that read “michigan hockey” across it. y/n knew it would hurt to wear it, but she wanted any bit of luke left she could have.

about 10 minutes had passed, y/n was combing through her slightly damp hair, when she heard a knock at the door.

she went up to answer it, thinking one of her roommates was back and had just forgotten their key.

instead, y/n was met with a clearly unwell luke. his eyes were dark from lack of sleep, lips resting in a frown, all resting on a somber face to top it all off.

she felt like she was hallucinating. that she was in a dream, that her body was going to twitch and bring her back down to earth, back to reality. back to sitting down combing her hair, luke nowhere in sight.

they said nothing but everything at the same time. their expressions exactly matched, but still not quite knowing what the other was thinking.

“luke,” she breathed out, his name in the air barely above a whisper. y/n’s eyes fluttered, the emotions coming in like they never did before.

“can i come in, please?” his voice cracked, his expression pleading her to come in more than his words did.

she nodded, moving out of the way so he could step in. she sat over to walk on the couch, adding a pillow to her lap, hoping luke wasn’t able to see her body shaking and riddled with anxiety at his presence. but also comfort, and hope.

“why are you here luke?” y/n asked, demanding to know why he randomly showed up, after weeks of silence between them.

he ran his hands through his curls, biting his lip harshly before delivering his answer, “i need to be honest, i needed to tell the truth to you.”

“i thought you did that when we talked in the locker room,” she hissed, “all of that sounded pretty truthful to me.”

she didn’t want to rude, but how could he say that after practically punching her in the gut that day?

“no, you don’t understand,” he kneeled down to her level, unable to control the shaky hands that he brought up to hold his head in.

“then help me understand luke,” y/n voice was much softer this time, chest throbbing with pain seeing luke in more distress than she has ever seen him in.

“i was scared,” he said in a short breath, teardrops painting his cheeks, “i was scared after what we did because i thought it meant nothing to you, that we were just drunk. that you would tell me that you regret what we did, but i didn’t. not once.”

her gaze bounced between his hazel eyes, shocked at the news he was telling her. his face didn’t relax once, as he continued his truth, “i’m so in love with you y/n. i’m so scared you don’t feel the same way. i care about you, i need you, i feel so fucking…so fucking lost when you’re not there. nothing has felt the same.”

“i should’ve told you the truth, and i’m sorry.” his voice cracked again, and now luke was in full on sobs.

y/n could say nothing yet, still in shock, now again feeling like she was hallucinating. she opened her arms, and luke sat down on the couch with her and came crashing in.

he buried his face in the crook of her neck, arms tightly wrapped around her, terrified that if he let go she would be gone again. he cried into her, taking in her scent, her warm skin, her gentle touch, all of which he missed dearly.

“i love you, luke. i love you, i should’ve said it sooner,” y/n felt the pain that had accumulated for weeks begin to disappear in minutes with luke, the only ailment to her sickness. he sighed, pressing his forehead to hers with closed eyes.

“we both should’ve said it sooner, i’m so sorry y/n. i cant let you go. not now, now ever,” he held her tighter than ever, shifting his head to plant a soft kiss on her forhead.

she cupped his face in her hands, seeing him look at her with so much love made her stomach flutter.

“you have me luke, always.”

that’s when he kissed her. it was night and day between the first time their lips met. the first was new, lustful, wavering in its stability. this time, it was familiar, warm and feeling like they both could go on like this forever. their lips moved in perfect harmony, y/n crawling atop luke’s lap to bring herself as close to him as she possibly could.

they just barely pulled away, desperately needing to catch their breaths.

“now you’re never getting rid of me lu,” she giggled,

“wouldn’t even dream of it,” luke said, laying her down on the couch in her fit of giggles, peppering sweet kisses all over her face.

——————————————————————————

© missqhughes

xoxo, kaia

[suguwu]

this is messy but—

flower shop au with dabi where he still has his scars but they're from when he tried to burn his father's office down and got caught in the flames. now he's released from prison but is having a hard time finding a job but takes refuge sometimes in this little flower shop around the corner from his rehabilitation center. the mist in the air feels good on his scars and cools him off and the scent of earth is grounding. brings him back into his own skin. he lingers but never buys anything but you—the owner—never seems to chase him out.

you smile at him and bob your head in greeting before returning back to the bouquet you're making. it's like you trust him. maybe you do.

one day, he's running a finger over a leaf of a flower, one that blushes like the dawn, sweet, soft pink. he's afraid to touch a silken petal; thinks it will rot beneath his clumsy fingers, considering the way it ripples like a wave in the barest breeze.

"ranunculus."

he glances over his shoulder at you. "bless you."

you laugh.

"the flower," you explain. "it's called a ranunculus."

"oh."

"here," you say, picking one out of the bucket it's tucked into. the water sloshes; it gleams on the long, thick stem of the flower. "hold that for a second."

he blinks as you shove the flower into his hands. then you're plucking more flowers from nearby buckets, your hands moving like fluttering little birds. you gather more and more, until he can barely see you behind the greenery and the blooms. he recognizes some: proud, leggy irises; fluffy ball peonies, as white as driven snow; crimson tulips so dark they're almost black.

"c'mon," you say, heading towards your worktable. he follows, feeling a little ridiculous carrying a single bloom versus your meadow-like armful. you lay your wares out on the table and beckon him closer. he holds out the ranunculus. you flick off the end of the stem with your knife. he hovers, unsure.

"well?" you say. "are you gonna sit?"

he eyes you. you meet his gaze steadily, a hint of a smile pulling at your lips.

"feel bad for me?" he sneers. "that why you're being so nice?"

you hum.

"is putting you to work nice?" you ask, already on to the next flower. he watches the way you hold the knife, how it shines silver in the sunlight, how easily it slides through the thick stem. those hands of yours move with careful surety. he wonders if you do origami; he could see you creasing a thick piece of ornamental paper perfectly.

"i wouldn't call this work."

"no? then you shouldn't mind doing it."

he shoves his hands into his pockets. the misters turn on over the flower buckets; some of the spray settles against his skin, as if he's by the sea.

"fine," he says. "show me."

at the end of the day, you insist on paying him, despite the fact that he's cut a few of the stems too short—one of your bouquets is a little lopsided, but you have it displayed with all the others—and ruined a few blooms. there are petals stuck to his fingertips.

he goes home smelling of wet loam and your faint perfume. rei blinks her big doe eyes at his sudden appearance at the family dinner table, but she makes space for him all the same.

he goes back to your shop the next day. you smile at him, soft and pretty and a little bit sharp with knowing, and he ducks further into his hoodie so you can't see his scars.

"show me more," he tells you.

you tilt your head.

"alright," you say. "let's go."

and just like that, he has a job.

he makes it three weeks before he thinks about kissing you.

it's your hands, he thinks. they're careful and quick and fearless, despite getting pierced by thorns and clippers alike. you touch everything with a certain type of care.

including him.

he never had a chance against you. he thinks about your hands, about your lips, about the way you're so careful with him. not like he's breakable. he'd have left if you touched him like that.

no, you touch him the same way you touch your flowers: like he means something.

it's too much.

he stops going to your shop.

but he watches you, sometimes. you move like a dream, floating between the aisles, petals caught on your fingertips. you laugh with your customers; you chat with them as you roll their bouquets up tight in paper, tied off with a perfect bow. you smile at a man, as bright as the sun, and his hands tighten into fists. it pulls the scars tight enough to hurt, but he doesn't care.

he barges into the shop, shouldering the man aside as he tries to exit. ignores the disgruntled call from behind him. by the time he makes it to the register, you're watching him coolly.

he realizes he doesn't know what to say.

you reach out. he lets you slide that careful hand into the hood of his hoodie; lets you cup his cheek. your eyes don't widen at the rough texture of his scars against your skin. you simply smile at him.

"welcome back," you say, and he realizes he doesn't need to say anything at all.

[frost-queen]

Dragon tamer (Reader x Aemond Targaryen)

Requested by anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @alex–awesome–22, @ellie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve , @queen-of-books , @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown , @wildieflower , @meyocoko , @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23 , @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr , @swampything07, @melsunshine , @panhoeofmanyfandoms , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @imagines-by-her, @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 , @markive-m,

The halls echoed with loud footsteps. Thumping loudly bouncing off the walls. A shadow brazing past the alight torches. Aemond Targaryen on a path of frustration. Once again had his brother annoyed him. Got under his skin. Questioning his suggestions, making him feel like a darn fool. A clown in front of the entire King’s council. Aemond had enough of it.

Needing to blow off some steam before he would turn his blade towards his brother’s throat. With a shrug of his shoulder, he couldn’t shake the feeling off him. Hatred for his brother, but mostly hate for not being taken serious. If he would be king, he’d approach things so differently. No fussing, just simple action. Aemond rushed down the steps towards the dungeons. He needed out and the only one to grant him that was his dragon.

The heat guided him blindly to the dungeons. If he’d ever lose his second eye, he knew he could trust on the warmth of the dragons to guide him. The torches were dimmed. Few lit. Going down the last few steps, spiralling down into the depts of the castle.

Aemond was met up with darkness. A chain rattling over the ground. The head of a dragon appearing. Eyes shining. Aemond ignored the dragon. His brother’s dragon that was held by a chain. A mighty roar made Aemond stop for a moment. A breeze pushing his hair back. Playing with it as it made Aemond close his eye for a moment, till the breeze settled.

From the darkness came a claw in the few light there was. A scaly head coming in close as it bumped against Aemond’s chest. – “Vhagar.” – Aemond said, patting his dragon. His dragon must have felt his anger as it stood mighty and high. Aemond curled up a smile. Vhagar lowered himself for Aemond to ascend. Aemond hopped onto the saddle.

Vhagar started to run towards the gate slowly opening. An escape route for the dragons. Darkness met with light as Vhagar ran out, spreading his wings. For a moment falling before his wings got carried on the wind. Aemond being blinded for a few seconds before fully adjusting to the sunlight.

Vhagar roared loud to announce their presence. Making all of King’s landing shiver and tremble on their knees. Vhagar flew up. Higher and higher. Closing his wings when she was high enough to spin around. Letting the current of the winds carry her up. At the highest point, opened Vhagar her wings again. Two mighty wings, casting a shadow on the lands below.

Aemond let his head fall back, enjoying the freedom. Vhagar’s weight fell down, letting herself fall for a moment. Then the wings flapped, carrying Aemond on the wind. Vhagar needed to blow off some steam just as much as her master. They soared above King’s landing. Their shadow glittering over the buildings. Aemond commanded Vhagar to leave King’s landing. To make way for the forests and open fields. He had enough of the city.

Needing a change. Vhagar changed directions, soaring towards the forests. Vhagar came flying lower, cutting some trees with his claws by force. Aemond wanted to taste revenge. Gritting his teeth, he couldn’t stop thinking back at the kings council. Where he was ridiculed by his own brother. Only for having a mind of his own.

Aemond tensed his muscles, sitting up straighter. – “Dracarys!” – he shouted loud, needing to watch the world burn. Vhagar’s head lifted up. From below came a warmth. Building up as it rose to the throat. Aemond could feel it. The energy moving through Vhagar. The fire build up in Vhagar’s throat. Slowly opening her mouth. What Aemond hadn’t seen was a girl in the forest.

Suddenly startled by a dragon, landing. Your eyes widened, seeing the dragon prepare for fire as it would burn you to crisps. – “Stop!” – you said, covering your head up. Your voice reached Vhagar. Vhagar closed her mouth, dimming the fires in her throat. Aemond blinked surprised when his dragon wasn’t spitting fire. – “Dracarys!” – he ordered once more, needing his anger to be let out through his dragon.

You were staring at the dragon, panting. Vhagar’s head lowered, closer to you. So close you could see your own reflection in her eyes. Aemond was stunned when his dragon refused his order. Something she had never done before. Vhagar’s breath through her nostrils, blew your hair back. Making you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment.

Opening them once more, the dragon was still staring at you. It felt like she was looking right through your soul. You had no idea what possessed you, but you reached your hand out to the dragon. Surely it would bite your hand off or burn it, yet something told you she wouldn’t do that. Aemond looked confused around when his dragon took a step closer, bowing his head even lower.

Aemond frowned, leaning to the side to see what was bewitching his dragon. Aemond’s gaze widened seeing a girl’s hand touch Vhagar’s scaly chin. It stunned him even more when he got moved around in the saddle. Vhagar coming to lay down on the ground. Taking on a less dominant approach. More submissive. – “Who are you?” – Aemond shouted at you.

You got startled, forgotten anyone might be riding this dragon. You immediately pulled your hand away from Vhagar. Looking for the rider, you found him. Your face of shock, setting for disapproval. – “My prince, it is you.” – you spoke taking a dramatic bow. Aemond smirked, leaning forwards on the saddle. – “And who might you be.” – he asked intrigued.

“No one.” – you told him. Aemond’s interest spiking up more. – “Yet no one seemed to submit my dragon to obedience.” – he replied with a smile. – “One that would only listen to me.” – he finished watching your every more. – “Well perhaps she likes me more than you.” – you fired back. Aemond grinned at your remark. Getting all riled up with pleasure at your answers. – “Would the lady require a ride back?” – he suggested. – “No.” – you responded.

You knew just what kind of guy he was. A douchebag and you hated him. Someone thinking so highly of himself. If it wasn’t for his dragon, he would just be another normal boy.  – “I will walk alone.” – you said as Vhagar moved her head closer to you. You turned round, walking off as Aemond felt Vhagar get back up. Wanting to walk after you. Wanting to follow you like a pup.

Aemond commanded him to stop. With a lot of effort, Vhagar stopped. – “May I at least known your name?” – Aemond shouted loud, pushing himself a bit up to shout louder. – “Y/n!” – you shouted back before disappearing into the woods. Aemond let himself fall back in the saddle, amazed. Trying to process what had just occurred.

He commanded Vhagar to fly back home. When Aemond came home, he immediately told his mother and sister about his encounter. About a girl seemingly taming Vhagar as she went weak like a puppy. Wanting to lay and roll over for your every attention. His family was surprised by this encounter. Thinking it was impossible for anyone beside a Targaryen to tame dragons.

Alicent gave her fair warnings to her son. Afraid you might be able to over rule Aemond’s command over Vhagar one day. She feared Aemond might lose his dragon and the Godly power with it. Aemond thought it was absurd. That night Aemond couldn’t get you out of his head. Constantly thinking back of the girl that dismissed a direct order from him.

A few weeks later was Aemond flying over King’s landing with Vhagar. Just a bit of relaxed flying. Aemond was watching the skies as he suddenly felt Vhagar dive. It made him grip tight to the saddle to not fall off. Vhagar stuck her claws out, grabbing onto a building to stay in place. Bricks were falling off at where Vhagar grabbed to keep her in place.

People screamed when the dragon’s head neared down into the streets. All ran, but one. You looked surprised up. The sun being blocked out by a shadow. Intrigued, you looked up at Vhagar, moving her head closer to you. Reaching your hand out, you went to touch her. – “If it isn’t Y/n.” – Aemond spoke from up Vhagar, having spotted you as well. He could curse at his dragon for that drastic turn.

It was like the second Vhagar spotted you on the streets, she did everything to meet you. – “My prince.” – you responded with a roll of your eyes. Aemond smirked. – “Care for a ride?” – he asked, holding his hand out to you. He knew he couldn’t pull Vhagar away from you now. And besides he was curious to what would happen.

You shook your head. – “Come on, you can’t deny Vhagar a ride.” – Aemond answered. Still you shook your head. – “Do you wish to break her heart?” – he added. It was the tipping point for you. You couldn’t break Vhagar’s heart. Not when she spared you not so long ago. – “Fine.” – you snapped at him, not wanting to have him the satisfaction of winning you over. Aemond gleamed with pleasure as Vhagar dropped onto the street.

Lowering herself as possible in the streets without breaking much. With the help of Aemond, you got up, sitting behind him. – “Hold on tight.” – Aemond spoke, looking over his shoulder to you. You poked him in the cheek, pushing his face forwards again. – “Just fly.” – you replied annoyed. – “As the lady commands.” – Aemond spoke. It made you roll your eyes. Aemond whistled loud as Vhagar set off.

The sudden lift made you squeeze your arms around Aemond’s waist. You heard him chuckle deep as you had your face pressed against his back. Too frightened to look around. – “Eyes open Y/n.” – Aemond teased, knowing it would cause a reaction out of you. – “Or do you simply enjoy grabbing me so tight. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were eager for my touch Y/n.”

Your eyes widened at his comment. Heart beating loudly against him. His comment made you bury your face shyly away against his back. You hated admitting that the dragon rider was starting to grow on you. Vhagar was constantly looking for you. Leading to Aemond always being around as well. – “Did your tongue burn away, Y/n?” – Aemond chuckled out at your silence.

You gave him a punch on his back to shut up. Vhagar flew high, doing a sudden roll as you didn’t expect it. When Vhagar was upside down, you grip faltered on Aemond. Slipping off. Falling down. Hands clawing around for any grip, you fell, screams filling the skies. Aemond looked down once Vhagar was upright once more. He didn’t even need to say the command as Vhagar dove after you.

Vhagar flew right underneath you as your fell got broken. Caught by Aemond in his arms. – “Hello dragon tamer.” – he said smirking. Shaking and trembling, you could only stare at him. Hands around his neck as you sat on his lap. Aemond moved his head a bit closer to you, seeing you turn bashful. Your cheeks burning up.

Your reaction made him smile. He helped you sit in front of him as he kept a firm hand around you. You gasped loud when Aemond left a kiss on your shoulder, surprising you. – “Dragon tamer.” – he whispered in your ear.

Vhagar descended to the ground. Vhagar lowered herself as Aemond helped you slide off. You took a step back. Vhagar pressed her head towards you, making you press your hand against him. From up the saddle, saluted Aemond you goodbye whilst Vhagar took flight once more.

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[monstas1ut]

Morning Vixen

ERWIN SMITH x black!reader

Summary

__ 18+ black!reader hasn’t taken relationships seriously until an older man came her way. now she’s here basking in golden sunlight and being drowned in orgasms in the morning just for being pretty… with an engagement ring on her finger

Contains

__ black!reader, female!reader, age gap, he talks you through it, creampie, oral sex(pussy eating), engagement, “I love you”, big daddy cock Erwin, names like ‘daddy’ and ‘love’ and ‘princess’, bulging, crying from pleasure, somnophilia if you squint in the beginning, impreg if you squint

__ brown skin can be dark, light, medium color.. whatever. brown is brown.. and it's gorgeous

The slight contortion of your face gave insight that you were indeed waking up. The sun looked right into the glass door that was on the side of your room. It was eager to shine and dance onto your brown skin, and it wasn’t the only one eager to touch you. With a lot of respect and love for you, there was a blonde male that looked above from the soft surface of your skin and stared hazily at your face. His eyes were as blue as the ocean, and they revealed a lot about what he thought of you.

Funny enough, he thought of you as piping hot oil on one’s skin. The surprise would be your mouthful of shocking, yet lustful words. The burn itself would be just how alluring you were. He was so needy when it came to you, and as an older man, he’s confused as to why he acts like a teen boy when thinking about you. There are times where he’s cooped up in his office and his blood is rushing towards his cock. It’s all you. This man has an entire gallery dedicated to you, and he named it ‘My Love’ with a heart just to tease you more about it.

“Erwin…”

Watching those videos over and over again, the blonde knew each detail. For example, his favorite video is the one where you are shoving a pale colored cock inside of your pussy. Your nails had black tips, medium length, and you didn’t even have your wig on, only a bonnet. That was his favorite video, and he couldn’t stop thinking about that exact video this morning.

“Erwin…” shaky whispers slipped out of your throat as your toes curled tightly. The sun attacked your eyes, however with strain, you could see your soon to be husband right between your brown thighs. His hair is only slightly a mess as his soft lips caressed your sensitive bud. Those strong hands kept hold of your legs to make sure you didn’t do anything stupid.. like close them.. Erwin thought of your pussy juices as nectar, and he wanted every drop of honey there was.

“I’m sorry… There was just something about today that made you more of a princess than you already are… maybe it was the light.” Erwin’s voice was husky and it almost cracked. He hadn’t even taken the time to wake up fully. It was almost as if he’d rolled over with the thought in his mind. And he did. That video crossed his mind more than once when he’d woken up.

“Or maybe it was all my fault for gaining a painful erection… I do have dreams if you would like to know, dreams about you.” He whispered as his gentle kisses began running up your stomach to your neck. Sensitive as it could be, he practically caressed part of your neck with his genuine kisses. The feeling of it made you gasp immediately, either it was that or the way Erwin’s slightly rough fingers slipped into your core.

“S-So you just eat my pussy whenever you please?…” you choked out, obviously not having a problem with it, especially since you were leaking all over his digits. “I’m sorry, my love… I am-..what do they call it? Pussy drunk..?” Erwin asked you with a genuine look of approval as he left your neck. He was so funny sometimes, even proud of his younger slang and it made you giggle mixed with a surprise moan that slipped. “You pussy drunk ova’ me..?” You asked seductively, your knees pulled to your chest as you relaxed completely. Your e/c eyes finally looking up into his lustful blue ones, you then decided to tease him even more by pulling your thin tank top down. Those pretty dark areolas were revealed to him for the hundredth time and he still got oh so weak.

“Truly.” Erwin breathed out deeply before his face went right back down to your pussy. That pretty, wet clit was completely covered by his eager mouth. His fingers still digging softly in your gushy hole.

“Fuck. Fuck Erwin ~ that feels t-too fuckin’ good..” you whispered as your hands gripped at the sheets. This man and his tongue couldn’t be defeated. Erwin was an older man, not afraid of pussy juices or anything dealing with female anatomy. This man was experienced, ready, and always turned on by you. You didn’t need anything to turn him on. All you needed was your dirty talking mouth and your sexy body.

“Hold those beautiful breasts for me… let me drown in that vixen aura..” Erwin whispered in a purr almost. It caused vibrations in your core, almost like this earthly shock. There was nothing better than a lustful Erwin. His limit was nonexistent, and he would continue to pleasure you as long as your want was present. And you holding your pretty tits was enough to arouse him even more. His eyes glossed over your pretty nails and the way your nipples peaked from your fingers, and his cock became harder.

Erwin’s need only showed more and more before you began to feel that wrath of his.

“Erwin~… fffuck.. I love when you eat my pussy, baby. M’gonna cum on your fuckin’ tongue…” you squealed before feeling that sudden sensation in your lower stomach. Your hands squeezed tightly on your own breasts and Erwin groaned at seeing that, making this bumpy vibration on your clit. It sent you soaring for miles, and all you could do was whimper as your legs shaked.

“M’cumming…” You choked out as you reached your everlasting high. The feeling of Erwin’s fingers being squeezed alerted him that you were indeed at your high. He didn’t move, not wanting you to dive straight into overstimulation just yet. You needed to save all of your energy for the rest of the session, and that became obvious when he slowly slipped the fingers out of you and straightened his back. While between your legs anyway, Erwin finally could pull you closer.

This man had bushy eyebrows that fit his face, a sharp jawline, beautiful eyes, and a muscular body that also glowed from the sunlight. His arm was visibly strong, and his hand gripped your ankle before gently lifting you up and immediately sliding a pillow underneath you.

“You’re stunning in this light. It shows just how gorgeous your e/c eyes are.. and how beautiful your skin is..” Erwin commented this on pure instinct, his eyes scanning you dearly before you giggled. Something was just so adorable about you laughing while you were spread out for him. It made blood run to his cheeks. “It’s true..”

“Well… you’re stunnin’ while being above me.. your blonde hair.. your eyes.. your muscles.. the way you talk to me…” you trailed on in a seductive tone as you even moaned a little before reaching and pulling his underwear down enough for his cock to spring out like a surprise. It all made Erwin’s heart beat fast, his urges getting harder to keep back.

“Rub that big dick on my pussy daddy.. m’so fuckin wet… and it’s all your fault..” you grinned slightly before biting your bottom lip. All the blonde could do was leak pre cum on your clit. The underside of his cock started to rub up between your juicy folds and your soft hand touched his cock with encouragement. It made the older man jolt, only because that ring on your finger made it all better. You were going to be fully his soon, and every inch of your body was going to be marked with love.

He was going to absolutely paint your insides white and put a baby inside of you. He won’t be sorry about that though.

“That feels so fuckin’ good daddy…” you whispered to your lover, his eyes entranced with your brown pussy and his own fair skinned cock. He had a straight cock, he didn’t really have a lot of veins showing but it was quite the pretty cock. His blonde pubes weren’t much, it was intact just like his life.

“You’d love my cock inside you, wouldn’t you? Slip it in… put it in your tight pussy, love…”

“Mnh… Fuck me…” you moaned as he demanded this, your hand gently pushed on his cock to slip smoothly inside of you, and only the tip slipped for now. Erwin filled you up soon enough, right to the brim. His Dick was more girthy, and it made you feel as if you were full. The loud gushy noises made his cock going in sound hot, and to be honest? Erwin would love to listen to the melody of his cock entering you and making a lower belly bulge.

“Good girl..”

Erwin seemed oh so scary now, his face completely concentrated and his muscles already glistened with a little bit of sweat. And all while you were admiring his own beauty, his fat cock slid out of you for just one second before sliding right back in. The sounds your pussy made was embarrassing to you before, but now.. being with an older man, you knew he enjoyed every sound. “A-Ah~.. Fuck. Fuck…” suddenly you were breathing hard from just that one thrust. It was quite overwhelming, but Erwin leaned down and kissed your ear with reassurance.

“The neighbors will place another complaint on our door if you’re not quiet… then I’d have to shut them up now wouldn’t I?…” Erwin thought out loud before his eyebrows furrowed, his kisses trailed right to your lips before he kissed them dearly. His big hands pressing in the bed on the sides of your head. “They’d be better off minding their own matters rather than worrying about how much you love daddy’s cock…” Erwin muttered against your lips , a hint of anger behind his voice as he moved his hips slowly, but with desperate blows. Each thrust made you gasp for air, and you couldn’t help but drag out a whine right after each.

Erwin’s cock felt so good inside of you that you’re sure your bonnet fell clean off in this exact moment. Your breasts bounced with each thrust, and the sight of you looking like this made you look like a cute doll he couldn’t wait to drench in his cum. The bulge showing from your lower core made him watch it intently. He liked seeing how much you could take, and obviously that was much.

Seeing you put your arms underneath your knees made him all the more eager to pump you with dick. You were almost folded completely, and your painted toes with that anklet was dangling right in his face. Everything about you turned him on, and even though it was so simple, it made his thrusts faster. “Mnh~… Oh shit-.. Daddy.. Daddy, I love your big dick so fuckin’ much… cant hold it in..” you moaned, almost furrowing your brows with concern of how tense this orgasm was going to be.

The golden light was still shining on you, and now it was shining on your pussy because of this pretty angle. It looked like it was dripping gold, completely expensive folds with wine that made Erwin drunk for days on end.

“That’s okay… That’s alright. Cum. Cum on my cock, love… Your pretty pussy can take it, can’t it?”

“Y-Yesss..”

“Then cum on my cock, princess… feel every inch of me while I guide you to that high you need so much..” Erwin groaned as you got tighter, his hands jolting to underneath your legs before he pushed them forward. His cock now pounding you at an even more sensual position. You felt like this man was poking your womb from how big he was.. and how fast he was going. Your mind was blank, nothing was in it as the high was finally reached.

“Good girl… let it go, let me take care of it..” Erwin was sweet enough to slow down just a little so you wouldn’t be overstimulated. He was so rhythmic, and his cock suddenly had a white Ring around it, following with a white mess all over. This caused Erwin to pull out of your hole before watching it drip and wink at him. Your hard breathing was still obvious, and his erection hurt so bad that he wanted to slip right back in.

Erwin licked his lips before leaning down and attacking your pussy with his lips, tasting you once again. It only made you whimper and cry out from the sudden stimulation, but although you were on the brink of crying, Erwin couldn’t stand here and wait. “You have to take it again princess… once more?” He huskily whispered above you before you started to shake a little. “P-Please… c-can’t..”

“You can…” Erwin whispered back as he grabbed his pulsing cock and put it back into your hole, it fitting like a glove before he watched your tears fall down your beautiful face. The drool. The way your eyes would roll, he was in pure heaven. You looked so pretty in the morning, he didn’t understand how men couldn’t look at their woman in the morning and not melt all over again. Erwin decided to melt inside of your pussy, but it still counted.

“Look at that… you take me so well every time” Erwin groaned out as he was staring down at you and your slightly trembling legs. He did have remorse, but at the same time, your pussy was absolutely amazing. He could feel it only get wetter and he assumed it was because he was staring at your face. The eye contact made you gush and it made your heart beat faster.

The slapping skin sounded quite loud, but they weren’t fast yet. He indeed felt his orgasm brewing though, and with the weak sounds you were producing, he could only moan right along with you.

“That’s right… Grip it, love…” Erwin breathed out before his head leaned back, his grip now on your waist tightening. He was using you like a little doll now, and that pillow was helping a lot. Your skin and your breasts jiggled with each passing thrust, and he let it be the perfect show as he looked back down again. “You feel so good…” he grumbled before reaching between you both and grabbing his cock before taking it out completely but ramming it inside of you.. creating a loud mess of a moan from you..

And he continued that same rhythm. Taking his wet cock in his hands and rushing it back inside you. The gooey and gushy sounds echoed against the walls and it made you even hornier, so much so that you couldn’t figure out what you were saying yourself.

“I can’t-… Daddy-… Right there.. my pussy…”

With those tears, he listened to everything you said, but he didn’t stop. Erwin was so immersed in your pussy that he blocked out anything you said. Anything you said was incoherent now anyway, and to think it was still morning… yet you could barely comprehend what was going on. Your soon to be husband had such a great, older cock that it would send your brain spinning for miles and miles. Even as the sun was finally up, Erwin still didn’t stop pushing his fat cock in you.. He only let up when he felt you tense up again, signaling your second orgasm brimming.

With rolled eyes and your legs twitching, you were holding onto your orgasm for dear life. Erwin adored the way you looked, and he finally started thrusting with his hips again. His large thumb then began rubbing at your sweet clit while he kept thrusting. “I cannot hold my orgasm much longer..” admitting this, the older man shakily breathed in before his cock twitched. The rush from his lower body ran throughout and he couldn’t stop it. His balls contracted and he let out a string of moans that made your body shake.

“So damn beautiful…” he swore before his cum spurted inside of you. Erwin was the type to have cum that wasn’t too sticky nor too much of a liquid. It was right in the middle.. but he would cum so much in that one orgasm… He wouldn’t stop cumming inside of you. Your kitty was filled to the brim with his absurd amount of cum, and it flowed out of you like a waterfall when he pulled out. However he didn’t forget about your precious high, no. He didn’t even stop rubbing your clit. You hit that high the same time he pulled out, and you felt ecstasy once the pleasure was released.

And with battered breaths and a cheeky smirk, Erwin gently moved away from you before looking at the masterpiece. Damn did you look good with cum rushing out of you… his cum.

“Now… What should we eat for breakfast? You’re not exactly fit to stand today so I’ll cook, how’s that sound?”

ⓒ Monstas1ut , do not copy

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ You better lock your door and look at me a little more (we both know I'm worth waitin' for) ❞

Vander x ftm!reader | fluffy, NSFW, slight angst | there's some plot at the end | reader has had top-surgery & bottom growth | versatile. bottom. reader | NOT PROOFREAD | wc: 5k

warnings: r! is a prostitute, brothel mentioned, mentions of addiction, spanking, fingering, anal sex, unprotected sex, AFAB terminology (clit referred to as dick/cock, terms like boypussy, pussy, boycunt, cunt are used)

masterlist;

authors note: you guys have @strayjester to thank for this because of the thirst we had for this fine-ass single dad...

*song on repeat: Billie Boss Nova by Billie Eilish *YN is described as being shorter than Vander in this fic.

He’s getting that itch under his skin again. Muscles aching and throat begging for the soothing burn of addictive smoke. Vander tosses a rag on his shoulder, scratching at his beard as he fixes his posture. His skin feels stretched thin, aching for a salve to fill the crevices and drought; his ears muffle the bar, and the song playing floats into his ears.

The playful percussions, the whispering tone of the singer, and the sighs of the adlibs remind him of the fairytales of fairies, sirens, and boys in masks in nothing but a see-through robe.

Vander straightens up, briefly glancing over at the doors of the bar. The underground doesn’t get sunlight, but like a dog, he knows when people are starting to head back home. The crowd in here was mostly gone, some were passed out in the booths and some intently eating sunflower seeds in their corner. He’d have to clean it up and make sure the tables weren’t sticky, and the floor needed a good sweep too.

Impatientness grows in him. Vander sighs, pouring himself a shot of something to reinvigorate him, and slams the glass down. It startles the man at the bar enough to have him reach for his coins, the rest get the same hint.

“You look like you need a nightcap," Spider mutters. Vander thinks it’s ridiculous for people to call the seamstress such an intimidating name when she vehemently despises the arachnids, but it stuck and she has no choice but to embrace it. She has the courtesy of bringing her bowl of opened sunflower seeds and an empty glass to him instead of just stumbling off.

But Vander knows it isn’t exactly out of the kindness of her heart.

It flatters him that she finds him attractive. Really, it does. She was a beautiful woman and a capable one too. But Vander is tired and truly, he doesn’t want his rendezvous to be chattered on about everywhere. His kids didn’t need to hear about any of it.

“Aye’, that I do. Thankfully, I own a bar,” she chuckles and reaches forward to swat at his shoulder. Vander just smiles, taking her dishes and placing them elsewhere so his back is turned to her. “It’s not good practice to drink your own stock,” Spider places her elbows on the table and Vander doesn’t need to spare a glance to know her breasts are on display too. This isn’t the first time she’s done this, and most likely won’t be the last.

The song ends with a soothing croon from the singer and Vander’s cock twitches in his pants as he spots the business card stuck between the frame of the mirror.

“Ya’ sober enough to make your way back safe?” Spider’s brows pinch and she mutters, gluing her gaze on Vander’s face as he pulls the rag down to wipe the table. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

Vander nodded, bidding her a good night she simply replied with a wave. She was the last to leave through the front door and Vander manages to not groan in relief at the click he hears.

‘ Hurry! ‘ A voice tells him. It’s early in the morning now, the window is closing but he can’t possibly leave the bar in this state. He’ll be the one regretting it when he opens tonight. Vander imagines he must’ve looked a bit dumb as he stares at the state of the bar when Vi appears at the top of the stairs.

“What?” Vi tilts her head at him but gestures loosely to the tables and chairs. “I said I can clean it, you look...tired.”

He sighs, squeezing the back of his neck. “What’re you doing up so early, Vi?” she shrugs which is a non-answer but pushes through the doorway and meanders behind the bar. Her head pops out and she places the iron bucket of cleaning supplies. Vander walks to her, handing her the rag as he reaches for a broom.

“Vander, I can clean the place just fine,” she huffs. “All by yer’self? S’gonna take ya’ forever,” he’s jesting but she finds no humor in it. The girl crosses her arms as she glares up at him. A part of him wants nothing more than to dash out of here, to find that salve he desperately is aching for, but there was no way he could leave his daughter to clean up by herself just because he wanted to get his dick wet.

“Dude, just go,” Vi grabs the bucket and rag and marches to the tables. He frowns a bit, crossing his arms as he contemplates it.

“Ya’ couldn’t sleep?” Vi shakes her head. “Nope! Milo was snoring and Claggor kept moving in his sleep. Powder must be tired because she’s sleeping through it with no problem.” Vi’s always been a light sleeper. Most of the people in the underground were. But Vander just needs to ask; “Ya’ sure it wasn’t the nightmares?” Vi pauses in her wiping and Vander watches her face as she sends him a pouty expression.

“Yes, I’m sure. I haven’t had one of those in forever anyway — just go rest, old man. I can wipe down tables and sweep floors by myself.”

“Are you sure — “

“Dude!”

The path he takes is always quiet. Hidden between tight alleyways and old wires hung too low — he rarely saw characters here other than the occasional cat or shady hooded figure but that was a normal sight anywhere.

The back of the building is less glamorous than the front but not out of neglect. It was purposefully made that way — fewer lights, fewer signs, and fewer girls spilling from the door. But he peeks up from the hood of his jacket and he sees the voyeuristicly lit windows. The shadows of bodies behind the thin curtains, the seductive glow and thrum of the others. The back door is not locked, it's just made to look that way so people feel dirtier pushing the heavy door open.

He hears a whistle and his cock honestly to god jumps at the sight of your naked shoulders. Your mask was askew, your hair messed up, and smears of lipstick on your lips, and your skin; Vander is envious of the cigarette holder you have in your grip.

When your lips wrap around it he feels the exhaustion melt away. Plumes of purple smoke pour out from your mouth; “Had a feeling you’d be comin’ over."

Vander laughs, moving to the door with his eyes still on you. “Yeah? Just knew, did ya’?”

You nod, placing your chin in your palm as he opens the door.

“Yeah. My ass has been wanting a good stretch the whole day, only gets that way when you’re comin’ over.”

' Coming over ', you make it sound like he’s a teenage boy sneaking through your window. Vander says nothing as he walks in and you grin at it. His silence was good — it meant he was going to give it to you just how you wanted. You finish the cigarette and slip the curtains close.

Vander liked his privacy after all.

The hallways are familiar, but he still thinks the wallpaper is a bit too busy and the creak in the floorboards should have been fixed. Saying it out loud feels a bit shameful. After all, how often would he have to come over to recognize these things?

He passes by a doorway guarded with beaded curtains and he ignores the moans of the woman who is being devoured by another. The doorway next to it has the sounds of leather rubbing against leather so he peeks as he passes by to see it shines under the low lights.

Reaching the stairs, Vander is greeted by Sevika lip-locked with another woman. He lowered his head, hoping she was too busy fingering her to notice. At the landing, there’s a wall of hooks, and on each of them held a mask of an animal. They differed in all sorts of sizes, and materials, each handcrafted by different artists. Customers wear them if they’d like but it was a must for employees.

The allure, the secrecy, the seductive notion of masked strangers sucking your cock, blah blah blah.

He grabs the wolf mask, slipping it on with ease, as he climbs the rest of the stairs. He misses Sevika staring at his back with squinted eyes.

“D’you know him?” she asks. The girl in the doe mask pants but eyes Vander’s frame through the wooden bars of the stairs. “Him? Oh, he’s a regular. Secretive, and never lets anyone else see his face other than the Fantastic Mr. Fox.”

That makes Sevika snort. “(Y/N)? He only comes here for him?” She can’t exactly blame the man. You were a talented little beast. Hands, mouth, feet, cunt, ass — every part of you was made with pleasure in mind. She enjoys having you in a headlock as she pounds into your asshole, enjoys your tongue inside of her and your filthy little words.

But just for you? This pleasure house had a gaggle of beasts for him to lay with. Hairy beasts with cocks just as big as their arms who enjoy plowing and being plowed. Demure little nymphs with a talent to make people beg for their cocks to be stepped on or to cry in pleasure. Tall beasts, short beasts, catering to every need and fetish a man could have.

“There’s a betting pool,” the Doe says. Sevika turns to face her as the masked man enters the hallway leading to your room. “About?” Sevika pulls her fingers out to pull away the negligee and kneads at her small breast. She shudders, arching her back into her but continues; “The Wolf and The Fox. That he’s smitten, maybe even a bit obsessed.” Sevika scoffs, rolling her eyes as she pinches Doe's perk nipple between her fingers,

"Poor bastard."

"I think it's — ah — cute," Doe retorts as she squeezes Sevika's biceps. "To you maybe, a smitten customer gets you more coin," Sevika grunts out, her tone light despite it.

"Falling in love with a whore is just stupid."

"You saying you don't love me, Daddy?" Doe pouts her lips. Sevika chuckles as she lowers her head to nibble on it. "I'll love you tonight, baby. Think that'll be enough?"

The door has the symbol of your mask, painted in gold. It's ajar, a sliver of light lighting the carpeted floors and Vander rolls his shoulders as he pushes the door open.

Your room is heavy with the smell of incense. There's thudding against the walls, moans of pleasure echoing despite it being muffled. Vander's shoes make no noise. The carpets on the floor provide more than just comfort. Discretion. This room and the others on this floor are all for high-paying customers.

He closes and locks the door behind him. He reaches for his mask but your voice stops him.

"Keep it on," you push yourself off the door frame, the beads clattering softly, and Vander tits his head at your sashay. Your mask was left on the bed, leaving your face bare, and Vander cocks a brow as he looks down at you.

"One of those nights?" His hands settle on your waist. The size of them, the roughness that's felt through the silk of your robe, it makes your grin stretch wider. "You got other ideas, Vander?" you muse. "Was hopin' to kiss ya'," he huffs.

The grip on your ass lurches you forward further into his broad chest. Vander's eyes are heavy, the shadows attempt to hide the desire but it's futile. He's kneading, hitching you up higher until you're barely on your toes.

Head tilting, he leans in. Your head floats away, hands still gripped onto his shirt as he chases and you don't give in.

"(Y/N)," his tone suggests a warning. But it's amusing. Here you are, in his arms. His strength keeps you in place and in the air; the mask is akin to a muzzle. Except he's fully capable of taking it off if he wishes.

The fact that you asked for him to keep it on is not lost to you. Your words alone held so much power over him. You place his neck between the gap of your thumb and pointer finger, barely there pressure keeping him still despite the yearning in his eyes.

"You're exhausted, big guy. Long day, yeah?" Vander nods at your words.

"Lay down on the bed. I'll make you feel good."

He hesitates for a moment. But your feet find the floor again and he begrudgingly parts. When he walks past you, you follow behind him. He pauses when you reach for the front of his pants, looking at you from over his shoulder.

"Take off your clothes for me, baby."

Your bed is shaped in a semi-circle. The curtain around it was drawn all the way back. There's a mountain of pillows and bolsters that welcome Vander's naked frame as he settles on it.

The trail of his clothes on the floor has your silk robes accompanying you as you stand at the end of the bed.

Vander tilts his head, widening his legs and stroking his hairy thighs. Leading your eyes to the thick dick that's already at full mast.

"Damn," you whistle. The bed dipped under the weight of your knee. "I know I'm good looking but you can't be that hard from just 5 seconds of laying your eyes on me."

He can't tear his gaze from you. From the marks on your face to the state of your hair; the bare skin that he loves to bruise and mark up — despite being told by you it's not exactly encouraged — Vander is convinced you're not real sometimes.

The arcane has been long gone now. Yet, here you are. Living, breathing, proof that its remnants linger in pumping hearts and honey-sweet skin. With just your voice, you make his knees buckle and his cock strain through the material of his pants.

Just the whisper of your name has his entire day derailed as he thinks and thinks and thinks of you.

Oh, (Y/N).

You're his undoing.

Gooseflesh spread at your touch and Vander groans as you settle yourself between his legs. That haunting touch makes its way to his crotch, ghosting along his aching rod, up his soft stomach, and towards his chest. It rests there and his heart threatens to escape his ribcage. The heat from your cunt has him sighing and settling his hands on the arch of your back. It makes you chuckle.

"Please, darlin'," he begs, "I been needing you so badly. All day."

There's no way you can deny him. Not when your cock jumps at the airy tone he has, that gravelly husk that comes with it. It peeks up, just as hard as his. He can feel it drag along his own and he tightens his grip on you.

"Yeah?" You nose at his neck, trailing your painted lips down. The hairs on his chest tickle your cheek when you place your face there, breathing against his perk nipples.

"Shit, yeah. Can't you feel me?" He grows a bit bolder in his next move. Urging your hips forward so he can feel your wet folds, forcing your stiff cock to rub up. The motion makes your eyes flutter close, sighing against his pebbling nub.

"For such a big man, you're such a teddy bear," you lift your hips, lining his thick head with your needy cunt. He laughs, his masked face tilting downwards as his blue-grey eyes all but glow in excitement.

"I've been told I am a bear," his words end a moan when you slip him inside. The bowl of condoms littered just about everywhere outside this room wasn’t there for decoration. They were there for the John’s and Jane’s who needed them.

But you know Vander. You’ve been the only thing he’s been hitting and you make sure the rest of your clients are always wrapped up.

Everything about him is thick so it’s no surprise you feel the twinge of discomfort as you accommodate to his size. It lingers briefly but once the mushroom tip of his dick is inside pleasure runs up your spine.

“Oh fuck yes,” you wrap your arms around his neck and press your chest together. He instantly embraces you, adjusting his grip to your ass again so he can help you straddle his legs.

“Fuck, baby. Your dick is so big,” and for once you’re not lying about it.

Vander’s a big boy. His thick arms, square jaw, the delicious shape of his nose; his wide chest and sturdy shoulders, and his soft but firm stomach. Fuck, everything about Vander makes your head fill warm.

His dick twitches inside you as you slide down. The snout of the wooden mask bumps into your forehead and you laugh as he leans in.

“S’fuckin’ needy,” he has no protests. You reach for the bottom of the mask and push it up, blinding him but rewarding him with your lips. His beard is soft. As you feel through it, you cup his jaw and he groans into the kiss.

More of him inches inside of you and halfway down, you’re pulling away to breathe. His fingers are going to leave handprints with how roughly he holds you; flesh spilling from the gaps of his greedy digits.

“Fuck, (Y/N).”

“Yeah, say my name, baby.”

Vander grunts when you fix the mask into place. When you lean back, he takes in the sight of the bump on your stomach.

“Perv.” His dick twitches again. So you laugh.

“Absolutely rotten.”

Your eyes slip close as you let gravity take over. Fuck, the way your hips buck up and twitch as he fills you up has his toes curling. You’re dripping wet, the thick and clear liquid travelling down his balls.

“You’re so fuckin’ hard,” he thumbs at your cock. When he uses his knuckles to stroke it, his mouth goes dry at the way it twitches and righteously stands tall.

“All ‘cus of you,” you purr. Vander groans, now idly touching the bump of his dick and you sigh as he presses down on it.

“Ooooh fuck, Vander.”

He rolls your hips, moving to ground his heels into the bed but you beat him to it. Your hands brace his knees and you lift up and up and up — his tip bumping into yours in the brief time it’s out of you — then slipping him all the way inside again.

Vander curses, his accent thickening as you throw his head back.

You chew on your bottom lips, savouring the explosion of pleasure behind your eyelids. As you look at his heaving chest, you cannot stop the sharp grin that crawls onto your face.

Placing one hand on his shoulder, you put your thighs to work. Vander is at your mercy. Panting and moaning behind the mask as he watches your work on his cock. Riding him, grinding down on him, using his thick dick for your pleasure.

Your other hand leads his own to a surprise.

Between your ass that he adores so much, he bucks up when he feels the base of a plug inside of your ass.

“Oh, you liked that,” you moan. All high and airy as you slow down into grinding, thighs burning. Vander is tugging onto the plug and your rim stretches as he teases it in and out.

“You’re gonna kill me one day,” he growls out.

“You’ll die happy, don’t — mngh — duh-don’t...Shit, Vander. Baby. Oh fuuuck.”

The exhaustion of the day has seeped out from him it seems. He’s leaning forward, caging you between his raised knees and firm front.

In one smooth movement, your back bounces on the bed and he’s on top of you. The acoustic of the wooden mask makes him sound like an animal as he growls above you, he huffs and pants like a proper wolf.

You share a long look, even as he rocks in and out of you and you feel your heavy eyelids threaten to squeeze shut. He braces onto his elbows, his weight on you making you whine and keen.

He takes the reigns and smiles when you reach to take his mask off. It thuds onto the carpet, mere inches away from your own mask.

“Hey, handsome.” You stroke over his cheekbones, gasping into his mouth as he kisses you. A particularly deep thrust makes you arch off the bed and it distracts you from his deft hands pulling out your plug.

“Your cunts got me all nice and wet,” he growls into your ear. “Perfect for fucking your ass then,” you whisper back.

“You always know what to say, don’t you?” He slips out and you whimper at the loss. You’re not empty for long. He taps his tip onto your winking hole and you chew on the insides of your cheeks in anticipation.

“C’mon, baby. Fuck me.”

“Yes, sir,” he purrs with a devillishly handsome smile.

He rights his posture, holding your ankles in one grip and folding your legs so your knees are nearly at your chest.

The stretch makes you toss your head to the side, cunt gaping as he fixates on the sight of your greedy holes.

Vander spits onto your hole and pushes in deeper. It makes you sing like a proper whore. Clutching onto the sheets while your chest heaves.

God, when he takes over like this — it makes you fantasize about how good it’d feel to wake up in his bed for once — but fantasies like that are dangerous. Vander is smarter than that, he’d know better than to bring a whore back home. Especially a whore like you.

His heavy balls slap against your ass. It knocks the breath out of you. You cry out, tears pricking your eyes when he strokes your dick. Vander splits your thighs and he holds your face with so much care you feel your heart pound our of your chest.

“(Y/N),” when he moans your name you want nothing more than to keep him here with you forever.

When he fucks up into your ass, you inch forward with every strong thrust. So he holds you down, keeping you in place as he stretches out your ass. The friction on your dick makes you even wetter. But you still hiss in discomfort as your rim clenches around him. Vander pants above you, slowing to a stop.

“Lube, darlin’?”

You nod, gesturing to the nightstand. Vander kisses you, pulling out as he turns and grabs the strawberry-scented bottle. You lay out on the bed, breathing heavily as you recompose yourself.

Vander lubes his dick up, eyeing your cunt a little too hungrily for your liking. So you knock your knees together, staring at him pointedly when he blinks innocently at you. “No double dipping,” you warn. Vander scoffs, grinning loosely.

“I know that, boy.” “D’you?”

Your expression makes him snort. He parts your legs again, smearing some lube on your hole before he presses his heavy cock inside of you again.

“‘Course I do. Your cunt’s just so sexy, can’t help but stare.”

“Yeah? Should I call another client and make him fuck my pussy while you fuck my ass?” You’re goading him. He realizes that. But the flash of jealousy that comes across his face is not something he can control.

Vander doesn’t respond. Merely grunting as he fucks into you. You yelp at the strength he’s using, cursing as you’re dragged onto his dick. Helpless as he uses you.

“Yuh - You pissed?” he glares at you but shakes his head.

“No.”

“Yer' a shitty liar.” You moan out his name as he turns you over onto your stomach, barely having time to process his movements as he pulls you onto your knees. He’s bruising you with his grip and when he spanks your ass, you know it’ll be sore till the next day. Every spank makes you tighten up around him. He presses between your shoulder blades and you are keen as he reaches deeper than before.

“M’just joking, Vander,” you pant out. “It’s all yours, all of it — all of me.“

Vander vengeance is in his hips. An unrelenting force that turns your body into nothing but a conduit of pleasure. Your gummy walls are torn between pushing him out and keeping him in — it doesn't matter, in the end, the one with power over you was him. There's bliss in relinquishing control. It's a whisper of voices, serenading you to a high that even the strongest drugs could barely scratch.

Or maybe you were just an addict for sex — or just Vander.

No seasoned whore lets their guard down with a client. There's a degree of trust needed. It's surface level. The bond between you and Vander — there's something oddly binding about it. You've heard of the religions scattered around the world. Of monks who abstain from worldly pleasures, those who worship an entire militia of gods, and those who only believed in one Maker; they spoke with such certainty of their beliefs. The punishment and euphoria waiting for them at the end of the line.

Fucking Vander feels like religion. When he makes your body burn from the inside out with a lust only he can quench — you're doomed and there's no one to blame but yourself.

That's a lie, you bite down on the bedsheets as you feel his balls slap against your cunt and dick. There's someone to blame for putting Vander in your way, (Y/N).

"Shit, sweetheart. I'm close," Vander groans. You moan, forcing yourself to reach back so you can kiss him. Vander feels his heart hammering, reaching to pinch your cock between his fingers to distract himself from these bubbling emotions.

Loving you was a freedom he had long forgotten about. Hearing you moan out his name, digging your nails into his skin and kissing him so deeply. He aches for you — his veins burn when he even thinks he sees you in the crowd.

He loves you.

Vander murmurs something on your lips that you don't catch. But you're too far gone to acknowledge your senses. You're so close to unraveling. Teetering on that edge of bliss as Vander holds you like he wants your bodies to become moulded together like clay.

"Vander, Vander — "

He slips his fingers inside your cunt. You gasp, feeling yourself clench around him like a vice as you squirt onto his fingers and cum around his dick. Vander is close behind, growling out your name as he thrusts in balls deep and floods your ass with his thick ropes of cum.

The both of you ride off the orgasm. His hips still fucking in and out of you in shallow motions that have your breath hitching with every drag and poke. Vander slips his fingers out and brings it to your lips — you chuckle softly, letting them inside as you clean his talented digits.

"How much did you pay the madame?" You nuzzle into his neck, relying on him to hold you up. He kisses your shoulders, his beard tickling your skin as his hands roam your front.

"Long enough. You sick of me already, darling?"

Don't think that's possible, you thought with a loose grin. Vander groans into your mouth as you grab his chin and kiss him.

"Don't flatter yourself, baby."

Vander looks younger when he rests. Not like a boy again, just younger. The lines on his face were less prominent and the softness of his body was more inviting. You're tracing mindless shapes into his chest, chastising the city of Zaun for beginning its morning cycle. The noises from beyond the window are beginning to shift from the noisy nightlife of hookers calling for Johns and booming music from clubs to the food stalls opening and wagons being pulled along the worn-down roads.

You can hear the thudding of Vander's heart under your ear. It squeezes your own so you lift your head and gaze down at him, just taking him in from a new angle. The door clicks and Vander's brows pinch but he does not stir. He trusts you enough to rest. For you to keep vigil over him.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" his voice drawls like a thick caramel. A seductive purr with a certain husk that tingles your senses. The tall, lanky, man enters the room and he is shameless as he takes the both of you in.

"He paid for the whole night, not the day." Silco comments. "He gets a pass on good behavior. What do you need?" Vander's hand is carefully guided to hold one of the pillows and you carefully move to stand.

Silco takes in the sight of you. Moving forward, he grasps your chin in his hand and tilts your head back; "He's always been such a possessive man."

"Yeah? He marked you up like this too?" He regards you with a tepid glance. "Sir," you add smoothly. Giving him a half-hearted grin.

It works. Silco's eyes soften, just slightly but it's a crutch you're leaning on. He likes you more than he'd like to admit and you're beginning to feel guilty for all these emotions brewing inside of you for these two brothers-in-arms.

"Did you learn anything from tonight, (Y/N)?" Silco looks past you to Vander. Turning his voice into a whispering tone that feels more romantic than he probably intended it to.

You contemplate telling him. Pursing your lips for a second before you lean in and embrace Silco, pressing your lips up his jaw and whispering in his ear.

"He's friends with the Sheriff. Grayson. But he worries." "About?" Silco's hands wrap around your waist, shadowing Vander's marks with his own. "He worries about the fresh meat she has on her team. Piltover's steady now but one incident and he doubts he'll be able to keep the peace, no matter how hard Grayson tries. The children," you pause and he turns his head to look at you. You gulp thickly, then continue: "The eldest daughter, Vi, she's getting restless. Dangle bait and she'll bite."

Silco stares for a moment. You take him in, unable to stop the grin that crawls on your face as he presses a long kiss to your lips.

"Well done, (Y/N)." His praise had once been something akin to a drug to you, a high you desperately needed to keep your doubts at bay. A soothing coolness that'll keep this rage inside of you to a lukewarm temperature; the promise that Piltover will soon fall to its knees to Zaun had been your motivation to live for years now.

Yet, your chest tightens and your stomach twists as his words wash over you.

"Of course, sir."

[loserlvrss]

꒰ 𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 ꒱ 박성호

summary : you and your husband were throwing a bbq party, and sungho has somehow convinced you he was going to grill

genre : fluff, husband!sungho x afab!reader, girldad!sungho, non-idol!au, bbqdad!au tws : kisses, language, bad bbq puns, father sungho author notes : this is zanna's fault for indulging my delusions word count : 1.3k

“hey babygrill.” 

you turned, “sungho—”

“is it hot grill summer?” he asked, a wood-handled, metal spatula clutched between his fingers. “because you’re smoking hot.” you cringed, holding back a laugh as he leaned sideways, fingers turning the dial on the front of the grill. the vein in his neck strained with the angle, making it prominent against the midday sunlight. the defined muscles of his arms flexed, and you stared like you’d never seen him before—even though you’d been married to him for two years now, dating him for three before that. you reached out, tracing the lines, feeling the heat from the grill and sun combine against his untainted-tan skin. 

“i’m going to get our daughter ready,” he ignored your touch, knowing it wasn’t anything new. he liked it though, knowing you weren’t like that before him. “myself, too.”

“sure, babe.” he replied, hovering his palm a few inches over the metal rack he had cleaned just a couple minutes ago. “go ahead. i’ve got this all under control.”

who was he really trying to convince? you thought. your husband wasn’t a master chef by any means, but when you craved late-night snacks, he was definitely the man for the job.

“are you sure,” you quizzed. “maybe don’t start until i get back?”

“my love,” he met your eyes, head still slightly hung as he adjusted the heat. his longer hair fell to the side effortlessly, cascading like a waterfall. “i’ll be fine.”

“oh no,” you laughed. “i’m worried about my house, sungho.” 

he faked being offended. “what the hell? i’m a great chef!”

“you’re great at a lot of things, baby, there’s no doubt about it, but cooking just isn’t one of them.” his fake started to become genuine, arms crossing over his broad chest. you tried hard not to stare again. “right now!” you added, “practice makes perfect! but, just wait for me to supervise. i would like for there to be a backyard to have this party in…” you kissed his shoulder. “please?” 

ultimately, you always won him over. “fine, i’ll cut up stuff for the sides instead.” you weren't sure about that either, however it’s something you’ve made him do often for you. so, it should go fine, shouldn’t it? “but, hurry, i’d like to get these burgers sizzling. you could say, the steaks are high, right now, y/n. want them to be grate for our family and friends.” 

you mentally facepalmed. when did you marry such a cheesy guy? you guess it's for the best that he became a dad after all, with these (terrible) jokes of his. 

you left him to attend to the vegetables for the burgers, finding your daughter in front of a fan on the couch, basking in the air that blew directly in her face. bluey was playing on the TV, the accents rubbing off on her slightly. 

she lit up, “mommy!”

“hi, baby.” you plopped down next to her, and she instantly nozzled against your side. “do you wanna bet on daddy burning something?” 

she eyed you, then nodded, “seven fruit snacks.” you hummed, seemingly thinking it over. but before you had the chance to agree, she added, “and 45 minutes past bedtime.”

you cocked your head, slightly in disbelief, but mostly in amusement. 

“deal.” you held your hand for her to take, which she did (hand significantly smaller than yours) closing the bargain. “i have faith in my husband.” 

you lied, but regardless, you honestly wanted your miniature version to win.

you silently watched a couple more minutes with her, glancing at the clock on the wall. you threaded your hand through her hair, thinking about the styles you could put it into today; ultimately knowing what your kid would prefer. 

“first one ready gets dessert before dinner!”

she jumped off the couch, small legs carrying down the hall and presumably to the bathroom. you followed after a moment, hearing the water start to run.

once finished, you joined sungho outside again, prepared for guests to start showing up. he had to do a double take when you walked out, and if this was a cartoon, you feared his eyes would’ve been popping out of his head. 

“woah,” he snaked his hands around your waist, after abandoning the grill carelessly, planting a couple kisses against your lips and surrounding skin. “damn, are you a5 wagyu?” he murmured, eyes roaming over your figure, “‘cause you look expensive.”  

you caught the look your (almost) three year old daughter gave him; the same one she gave tomatoes. you stifled a laugh against his lips.  

“ew, daddy!” she shrieked at your kiss, wiggling in your arms to push him back. “that’s my mommy!” she argued, throwing her small limbs around your neck and puckering her lips against your cheek. 

“i’m sorry, baby.” he put his palm to your daughter's head gently, kissing her temple. “I’m just letting your mom follow my apron’s instructions.” he revealed said tightly-tied clothing: kiss the chef adorned with fake abs (not that he needed them) printed on it. once again, you wondered when you married such an unserious guy. 

she began to hysterically laugh, and you guffawed, sungho taking her from you gladly. she hugged around his neck, “damn girly, you got a grip.” she squeezed tighter, kissing his cheek too. “i almost passed out!” that prompted a competition between the two, giggles sounding throughout the backyard as your daughter hugged tighter and tighter. 

you were only interrupted when his parents voices cut through the noise, “where’s my pretty princess of a granddaughter?” suddenly said girl was pushing from your husband, trying her hardest to be put down; her grandparents were arguably her second-favorite people. they took care of her during your date-nights and any other time sungho would ask. you’d never had a good relationship with your parents, but you were glad that they took you in for your daughter and husband's sake. 

they met your side, gaining a hug from you. 

“daddy! put me down!” she whined, causing you to giggle at the sight, “please!” 

he shook his head, attacking her with more hugs and kisses. 

it was refreshing to see such a man who wasn’t afraid to show his love and adoration for someone–especially his daughter. 

finally she broke free, running the short distance to sungho’s dad and jumping into his arms. she resumed the game with him, arms wrapping around his neck. 

“i made you something last night!” her attempt to get put down was easier than before, and once she hit the ground she was off, ushering her grandma and grandpa to follow into the house. “c’mon, it’s for your fridge!” 

sungho met your side once again, arm around your midsection, your head laid on his shoulder. you were glad you started a family with him of all people, even though when you were younger you weren't sure you would ever have wanted kids; but everything just felt so safe and secure with him. every doubt and uncertainty was put to rest when he was around. 

“she converted me into a girl-dad.” 

you laughed, “babe, you’ve always been a girl dad. do you remember when we found out, no one cried harder than you did.” 

he waved you off with a pfft sound, “she’s just so adorable, you can’t blame me.” he broke away, arms up innocently, standing back. “she’s a miniature version of you.” 

you spun to face him, “no, she’s exactly like you, baby. terrible humor, no respect for bedtime, fluffy-ass hair.” 

a hum resonated. he was staring again, eyes flicking over you casually. “should we have another, you think? another girl, but i’d love a miniature version of me, too.” your eyebrows rose in amusement, until your attention found itself locked behind him on the copious amount of smoke. 

“it’s burning.” 

“yeah, i know.” he said in a duh-tone, words adorned with his eyes rolling, “you’re hotter than the grill.”

“no, babe.” you grabbed his bare shoulders, spinning him around. “there’s actually a fire right now.” 

“oh my god!” you didn’t need to be facing him to see his eyes go wide, shoulders tensing under your grip. you giggled, sungho moving quickly to grab the tongs from the side table and move the food from the flame that had developed. “why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he asked, slightly frantic. 

“i guess you could say… missteaks were made.”

he turned slowly, a shit-eating grin across his face, “i knew you liked them.”

of course you did. it was sungho. 

suddenly a voice called out, “mommy, you owe me my fruit snacks!”

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[undiscovered-horizon]

Hello! Just finished Die Happy, and oh my gosh what a wholesome and sad time!! I love the way you portray Sanji and his inner monologue with himself.

Would it be possible to get a continuation where reader ends up making it a habit of sleeping with Sanji now that’s she’s had a taste. They kind of make a nightly routine and no one really questions it because they just like seeing everyone happy. How would Sanji feel realizing that it’s been weeks since you first started sleeping with him? What if reader is trying to tell Sanji they actually really like him but he just thinks reader is to perfect for him so he’s kind of blind to her advances.

Thank you so much and I hope you have fun writing!!!

All ye who yearned (@federalclassroom @sparkyrosewood14 @zzbloody-animezz @clonaa @number-0-iz) come get y'all juice:

Maelstrom - Sanji x Reader

Part 2 to "Die Happy"

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.2k

One night turned into two, two turned into a week and a week turned into... well, however long you and Sanji have been sleeping in one bed. He's not keen on keeping track but taking in the moment instead. He doesn't ask why you continue to crawl right back into his bedroom every night. In fact, he doesn't dare make any comment about your new habit out of fear that you might think he's grown tired of it.

Every night he thinks it might be the last, so he forces himself to stay up as long as he can. Although having you sleep soundly against his chest makes his heart rejoice, the new and asinine sleeping schedule he has implemented puts his body into a poor state. Sanji expected someone to say something but he hasn't considered the whole picture and how it looks to the other Straw Hats - he sleeps in one bed with you every night and looks exhausted during the day. It gives... quite a boost to one's imagination. This is why no one so far has made any inquiry about the new sleeping arrangement.

Even if only opportunity made him the person you like to waste your spare time with, Sanji feels as though the universe itself has smiled at him. Some god above him saw his suffering and decided to ease his burden a little. In his mind, this is the most logical explanation.

But that's about to change.

He feels you stir against him. Unknowingly, Sanji freezes, afraid that it's his feathery touches that wake you up from slumber. He holds his fingertips right above your skin, uncertainty hanging in the air.

"You're not sleeping?" you murmur against his chest.

Gently, he sets his hand back on your arm. Your skin is burning his fingers but he welcomes the scorch like frosty cheeks welcome the scarce sunlight in winter months.

"Just thinking about something," he answers with faux disinterest, hoping that you won't inquire further.

To Sanji's horror, you lean away from him and prop your chin up on your head, staring at his face from above. A bright, curious glint shines in your eyes.

"Come on, shoot. What keeps you awake at night?"

Like a deer caught in headlights, he's silently panicking for a moment.

You. All of you. From the way you say "good morning" in a raspy voice to the "goodnight" you separate with a yawn. How I can tell exactly what's on your mind by the expression on your face. The little dances you do when you're having a good day. How adorable your scowl is. The way my chest hurts when I see you frowning.

Sanji gives you a reassuring smile and shakes his head slightly. "Nothing you should worry about, love," he dismissed you. A beautiful liar he is - nothing in his voice indicates the dread that resides inside him.

His heartbeat quickens suddenly when you give him a flash of a smile. In the twilight of a dark night, you look like a faerie, luring a poor, lovesick man to bestow his deepest, darkest secrets upon you.

And Sanji just might.

"Maybe I want to." You shrug your shoulders. With your other hand, you poke his chest playfully. "I'm fine with worrying if it's about you."

Sanji swallows thickly. You're in his bed, snuggled against him and openly admitting you care about him. If he doesn't change the course of the conversation soon, he might act upon his desire, confess feelings he's been unwilling to admit even to himself.

"As much as I appreciate that," he begins nervously, "there's enough in that pretty little head of yours. You just lean on me and I'll do the rest." Sanji forces himself to smile softly at you as he makes a point of leaning through putting his hand on his chest.

You chuckle and bite your lower lip. Sanji's mind tries to slip into his well-known fantasies of kissing you but he manages to keep his thoughts at the present moment.

"Spoken like a true gentleman." Hinging on your forearm, you lean closer to his face. "Maybe it's you I should marry."

He clenches his hand covered by the duvet. Having you so close to him was a daydream until you made it turn into somewhat of a nightmare. Sanji keeps telling himself that whatever happens, he can't let you in on his feelings, fearing that if you learn of his hopeless affliction, you will abandon his intimacy once and for all. And that Sanji doesn't even want to consider as a possibility.

"I thought you wanted to marry a prince," he says in an attempt to divert the conversation.

A scoff leaves your lips and you shake your head in disapproval.

"Fuck princes," you drone out. "I'm not a participation award you can put in your trophy case and show off. I'm more like wild, untamed waters. Like a maelstrom." Your voice hangs for a moment and Sanji holds on to it with more hope than he thought he's capable of. Maybe the universe really did take pity on him. Then, you lean even closer to him, leaving a rather obscene lack of space between your faces. "And you, my lovely Sanji, are a skilled sailor."

His heart stops for a moment.

"Don't do this," he whispers in a weak voice. "Don't give me hope for something I can never have. It's cruel."

"'Can never have?'" you repeat in confusion. "It's your bed I keep crawling back into despite telling myself to stop doing that. You already have me. All of me. I don't care how desperate that makes me look. I want you to have me."

Sanji tries to control his ragged breathing. His iron will is crumbling as he allows himself to look at your lips. Is he dreaming?

"You shouldn't say things you don't mean," he warns you in a distant voice. His mind is too occupied, too busy going haywire, to be rooted in reality. Will you taste as sweet as he imagined? Will you linger on his lips like the reviving kiss of a goddess given to a dying man?

"You shouldn't assume I'm someone who just runs their mouth," you answer.

His lips barely touch yours. There's too much fear in him - fear, that this isn't actually happening. That you're just a dream within a dream, that he imagined this moment to curb his desperation. But then he feels you kissing him back, your lips engulfing his as though you're silently begging him not to go anywhere and stay with you. Sanji can't help himself putting his hand on the nape of your neck and fixing the angle off the kiss to deepen it; to kiss you like princesses deserve to be kissed.

Maybe you are a maelstrom - raging waters twisting into deadly whirlpools. But he's definitely not a sailor. A shipmate would navigate dangerous tides, while Sanji seems to be drowning. The waters of you are filling his lungs and yet he feels like he's breathing for the very first time. He's slowly falling farther away from the light of reason. Soon, darkness engulfs him. But it's not cold. It's not lonely. It's the darkness of a warm, summer night.

And in this darkness, drowned in the untamed waters of a maelstrom, he hears a siren singing in your voice:

The madness of returned devotion.

[darlingbabyboo]

"You're Something Else... "

♡ Synopsis: Megumi had been (sorta) prepared to live with this white weirdo who claimed to be the strongest... what he hadn't been prepared for was his daughter.

♡ Content: Reader is described as a girl and shorter than Megumi and Tsumiki and tiny because I'm tiny, black reader, good dad Gojo, Megumi is deeply repressed

♡ Notes: This is from the vote! Where people said they wanted Megumi x Gojo's Daughter instead of Giyuu x Urokodaki Daughter! Hope you enjoy 😘 Just say smth if I should make a part 2

♡ Inspiration: @ketsuyuki-hibana-typed! Their series Rengoku x Little Sister Figure is so good!

So Megumi was less than excited to live with Gojo (could not be me but this ain't about me so...)

He was only doing this so Tsumiki wouldn't have to suffer under the Zenin's

He was expected more or less of the same thing

Just him and Tsumiki living in a house, being forced to take care of themselves

Yippee

That's why he was so surprised to find you

"And you two, say hi to your other housemate!" The white haired weirdo cheerfully exclaimed

Megumi looked at you with wide eyes, you were hiding behind the tall man's legs and shaking like you were forced to be here

He wouldn't be surprised if you were

"C'mon honey bun, you gotta introduce yourself, you'll be sharing a home with these guys."

He removed you from his leg and squatted so that he was at his level

"Introduce yourself!"

You give a shy wave, curled in on yourself. You say your name through stutters and when you're done, you bury yourself into the weirdo's chest

Gojo smiles at them, stroking your back

"She's a little shy-"

A little, Megumi thinks

"-you two introduce yourself too! Don't be shy!"

"I'm Tsumiki!" His sister happily says besides him, like you're not shivering even if it's spring. "It's really nice to meet you!"

You remove yourself from Gojo a little to give her a small nod before burying yourself in Gojo's chest again

Megumi doesn't say his name, he observes (what he can when you're buried in Gojo's chest). You look nothing like him. He wonders if you've also been kidnapped taken in by Gojo

Does the freak have a habit of taking young children?

You look younger than him, though maybe it's because you're so small. You remind him of a mouse, especially with how much you were stuttering

He certainly hasn't seen someone like you before, maybe it's because of how sheltered he is, but you're different

Your skin is darker then what he's seen before, but the difference makes you even prettier. Your skin makes you glow in the sunlight, like some sort of angel

His stomach twists, even with how little he saw of your appearance, you're beautiful

"Aw are you already smitten with my little girl."

His face burns, "no!" He regrets staring so long when you bury yourself even deeper into the older man's arms, your embarrassment making his worse

Gojo waves off his words, "honey bun, this is Megu-chan, your first suitor!"

"Don't call me Megu-chan." He mutters, not bothering to clear up the other statement when the man is rambling something about your 'love story'. He looks up, sparing another glance at you.

You've removed yourself from Gojo a little, your brown eyes making contact with his blue ones.

Simultaneously, you both hide your faces

It's four people in the house but to be honest, it feels more like two

Usually, Gojo is out settling clan business or off on a mission, it's different than before though, Gojo's not neglectful, always making sure they have double of what they need and bathing them in nice comments

And he usually makes it home by dinner

It's honestly really nice (but never tell Gojo he said that)

The reason you don't count though is that you're really...

Quiet

He doesn't even know if that's the right description of you, you're almost like a ghost

The few times that he has laid his eyes on you, you disappear faster than he can blink

Usually, he would assume it's a him problem, but Tsumiki faces the same issues

"Do you think she hates us?" Tsumiki says one day, fiddling with her fingers.

Somehow, it makes him feel better that Tsumiki has the same struggles.

He shrugs, "I don't know, I thought she was mute, but she introduced herself fine the first time so..."

Tsumiki nods in agreement, she moves from playing with her fingers to playing with her hair, "I hope she doesn't hate us, she seems so nice."

"How would you know?" He mutters, "she doesn't even say anything to us."

Tsumiki frowns, opening her mouth to argues but then closes it in thought, "you have a point..." She reluctantly concedes.

Somehow, the win doesn't make him feel better, stomach twisting at the thought of you not liking them.

Of you not liking him

But one fateful day changes everything

"H-hello." You stutter out, looking at the two of them with wide eyes. Their eyes move from the TV screen to your surprising declaration.

Tsumiki eyes bulge out but she snaps her mouth shut out of fear of scaring you away. Megumi hopes that he doesn't share his sister's surprised look (which makes her look like a fish gasping for breath), forcing himself to remain calm.

He doesn't think he's heard your voice since Gojo introduced you all.

"D-dad won't be coming home today...a-and he said we could order food," You bite your lip, "d-do you guys want pizza?"

Tsumiki nods so quickly that he's scared her nose might start bleeding, "that sounds wonderful!"

When your eyes fall to him, he gives a simple nod. "That sounds really good."

You relax, and Megumi didn't notice how tense you were at the thought of a disagreement.

You poke your fingers through a hole in your shirt. "...C-can one of you order for us?"

Tsumiki shoots up, "I can!" She volunteers, already rushing to grab the landline.

You watch her with relief, and Megumi can already see the cogs in your head turning, you thinking about going back to your room.

He doesn't want you to go

"Do you wanna watch a movie with us?" He blurts out.

You jump at the words, surprise evident on your face. You point to yourself as if to ask Me?

He nods, looking away with embarrassment from how red his face is turning, "yeah, it would be nice to talk to you..."

When you don't respond, he looks to you and god he wishes he hadn't.

You're smiling, a smile that lights you up. Gone is the usual worry on your, eyes soft with joy and crinkled because of how wide your grin is

You're beautiful

"Okay..." You respond, softly, "I-i would like that."

He nods absentmindedly, aware that he's staring but he's under a spell, he doesn't know how to look away.

"Do you guys want garlic knots?" Tsumiki yells from the other room.

"Y-yes please!" You respond back, voice soft even when raised.

You turn back to Megumi and award him with another smile, "I-i need t-to call my dad really quick-- b-but I'll come back to watch the movie with you guys!"

He watches you go, butterflies in his stomach.

He buries his face in his hands.

Oh god

He has a crush

[feyascorner]

4 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. Astarion, if anything, you are sure is a liar. It’s impossible to tell what he’s truly thinking and whether his words hold an ounce of truth. You just wish you’d been an exception.

With lidded eyes locked with your own in a trance you can’t break ahold of, he sinks his teeth into her neck.

You’re at a complete loss of words, and you feel nothing but shame knowing that rather than the distaste you should feel, you feel something else.

Bitter. Not jealous, no, not quite, but really damn bitter.

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. 7.6k words,,, but have a bit of Astarion POV somewhere in here featuring Gale!!

You’re dying again.

But rather than the usual nightmare consisting of him pinning you to the ground with his hands on your throat, he’s standing above you. In that dark alleyway a week ago, where the spawn had nearly taken your life. The ground feels muddy again, and despite there being nothing at your neck, you still can’t breathe.

And then, you’re alive again, lurching up from your mattress with sweaty skin sticking your nightwear to your body. After your eyes adjust to the bright sunlight flooding into your room through the window, you sigh.

You want to ask if he’d been real. If he’d truly been there that night, saving your life against the spawn despite his words just the other night. Despite the stomach-churning way, he looks at you.

Hope is a dangerous thing.

It doesn’t take you long to get ready. When you clamber out your door, your eyes glaze over his own, standing still as a rock just beside yours. Even though you know he’s right there, just a wooden door away, it doesn’t feel like it at all. He feels like an illusion—perhaps a ghost to haunt you for what you’d done to him. He’s been here for days now, and somehow, you feel further from him than you did when he was just a shadow of your past. Lingering. Driving you mad.

In some ways, this is worse.

Especially with the way your last interaction concluded, you’d expect yourself to feel nothing but negative turmoil for him. Yet, with the dreams haunting you every night and the endless afternoons you spend wallowing in your experiences with him in the past, it’s hard to do so.

Even more so when the terrifying force of hope grabs hold of you like a shackle to the heart.

You’re not sure if what you saw that night as an angel was really him or if you were simply hallucinating as a last-ditch attempt to console your imminent death. You hope—no, you question if he’d been the one to save you and fetch the Fist. Unfortunately, you have nobody to ask, as none of your other companions seem aware that you’d “seen” Astarion at death’s doorstep and the embarrassment that floods you intends to keep it that way.

It had to be him, surely. Why else would he have been at Elfsong Tavern that same exact day? Why else had Petras seen him the night before that, murdering that blond elf seconds after you’d been there?

Astarion, if anything, you are sure is a liar. He’s like this by nature, like an instinct resulting from the centuries spent under Cazador’s dreadful rule. It’s impossible to tell what he’s truly thinking and whether his words hold an ounce of truth. You just wish you’d been an exception.

‘Did you save me? Why?’ you want to ask desperately. You curse your past self for ending your last conversation that way. You’d hoped it would’ve at least gone a bit better.

“Perhaps we should throw him back in the Duke’s dungeon,” Lae’zel grumbles, tearing at her piece of bread as she sits on the armchair in the living space downstairs. Why she prefers such stale food is beyond you. “That istik is clearly not helping.”

“Give him time,” you mumble, thankful that at this time of morning, most of the house is still asleep. Only you or Lae’zel seem to be awake at the break of dawn. “We don’t have much of a choice anyway, given nobody else we know is a vampire spawn.”

“I’ve already given him tenfold the time I wish to give him. If it were up to me, he’d already be dead.”

“He is dead.”

She doesn’t laugh. You snort and reach to the cabinet, where instead of your usual supplies, you find a bottle. The crimson liquid at the bottom is scarce, but there’s just enough for a few more sips if you ration it right, which is what you assume he’s been doing, considering he hasn’t asked once to go hunting.

You wonder if he’s feasted on the necks of poor beautiful maidens in the city, captured by his charm and lured to an untimely end. You imagine their long, silky hair falling across their face as they bare their necks for his teeth, wincing the first few moments they sink down. But afterward, it would feel intimate—close, even—as he lets their blood sully his own. And once he finally pulls away with a piece of their lifeline, he’d grin down at them with stained lips painting them like lipstick…

Your brows furrow, but not for them. You seriously hope he just fed on goblins, or something along those lines. You’d even look past gnomes.

“T’chaki. Whatever disgusting thoughts you’re having, I suggest you stop,” Lae’zel snaps, and you blink. “And put that bottle away. You look like you want to devour it yourself.”

You do so sheepishly. “Please tell Gale to take Astarion to the forest to gather more blood. He’ll starve to death at this rate.”

“That would be ideal. Though I wouldn’t have the pleasure of putting my own sword through his chest.”

Your frown is visibly apparent, and it deepens her own. “Such a declaration shouldn’t displease you. My people believe an attempt at murder is enough to declare war. You should be trying to kill him, should you not? He is hshar’lak.”

“For the last time, I’m not going to-”

“She’s right, you know. As rare as that is,” you nearly jump at the cleric’s voice, though Lae’zel only glares. She’s leaning on the doorway, chewing on a half-eaten apple. “I won’t force him to leave, but I do hope you seriously reconsider your decision to harbor a vampire spawn. We trusted him once, and it didn’t end so well. I’d prefer avoiding making the same mistake again.”

He saved me, you want to say. The words are on the tip of your tongue before you reel them back, sealing them into your own heart. “Why are you awake so early?”

“We’re out of supplies,” she says. “I’m going to the market. Care to tag along? I wouldn’t hate the company.”

Your eyes flicker to the stairs as if expecting something, but you force yourself back to your companions and nod. “Alright.”

He was a magistrate.

At least, that’s what he remembers. His memories of the days before his heart stopped beating are fuzzy, like they’re muffled by water as he drowns in the unending 200 years of torture. Even without Cazador, even after stabbing through his corpse a dozen times, it doesn’t feel enough. It will never be enough.

He hears the front door open downstairs and finds himself lowering his book a tad to peer down outside the window his bed is pressed up against. You clamber out, stumbling over yourself as you tie your boots halfway through the door. He can hear you calling into the house through the thin glass panes. “Apples, pork loin, what else?”

“Bread and cheese!” another shout downstairs. It’s the cleric, he deems from the tone of her voice.

“Right, right,” you snort, waiting for her to catch up with you.

His eyes don’t leave you as you make your way down the street, eventually vanishing as you round a corner leading to the main marketplace of the city. And when you’re finally gone, his attention flits back to his book, rereading the page for what feels like the millionth time.

He likes reading—as much as he can, anyway—when he’s not hunting or running from the sun as if it’ll chase him down even in the shadows. He has three books. And if someone were to ask, he’d be able to recite them all by memory.

He had a fourth one, once. One you’d gifted him, but no longer does he want it. It sits under the bed, gathering dust for what he hopes to be forever.

He hasn’t spoken to you in days, and he expects nothing less. He hasn’t spoken to anyone, really, only receiving glares from Shadowheart, ignored by Lae’zel, and—well, Gale, he supposes, offers conversation, but Astarion’s the one to avoid those particular interactions. The wizard’s absence is not the only one he’s grateful for. 

Yours, for one, after how your last conversation ended, is not one he wants to risk another of. Yet, the past few days, despite never daring to approach him, he’s seen you looking from afar with the eyes of a kicked pup. But the second he comes too close, your guard is up again, your words curt, and sentences abruptly ending in his presence. Only when you think he doesn’t notice do your true feelings surface in this pathetic display. He almost pities you.

Unfortunately, in all the realms of words he’s described himself as he has never considered himself a sympathetic person.

He revels in your obsession with him. One that he will no longer reciprocate.

He glances at the empty jar of blood on the bedside table and clenches his jaw.

A hefty bit of time later, when he’s sure most have left the home, he climbs down the stairs where the first floor is still overtaken with darkness. The curtains have been put up in a clumsy manner, but they do their job efficiently enough, as he’s allowed to pace across the wooden floors and reaches for a drawer beside the sink. There’s a glass bottle of animal blood inside–it’s running dangerously low.

“You look awfully drained.”

Astarion fights the urge to groan at Gale’s voice.

“If that’s your attempt at vampiric humor, I hope you’re aware it would only have hungry spawns lunging for your neck,” he shoots back, snatching the bottle and popping it open with a swift move of his thumb and lifting it to his lips. He drinks, gulping down whatever’s left. While on any other occasion, he’d feel appalled at not even using a goblet, his hunger has been itching at him for days, now. If he didn’t know how foul Gale’s blood tasted, he might’ve even considered the damned wizard.

“I’m warning you, I taste positively terrible.” Ah, he must have been staring.

“I assure you, I’d more likely scout the city for rats before drinking another drop of your blood,” Astarion retorts back, setting down the glass bottle. “Now, please hurry and tell me what in the hells you want before I escape for those aforementioned rats.”

“Adjusting well to your life here, I presume?”

Astarion stares at him like he grew a second head.

“I was jesting.”

“You do a poor job at it.”

Gale sighs irritably. “You haven’t come downstairs in days; we’d thought you were dead already…again.”

“I’d rather not be in the presence of multiple people who appear ready to lop off my head at any moment,” Astarion snaps. “As much as I’d love decapitation for my cause of death, now is not the right time for such events.”

Neither of them laugh.

“The others…” Gale takes his time talking as if he’s searching for words that aren’t there, and it makes Astarion’s eye twitch. “You understand why they’re apprehensive about you being here. In all honesty, I am too.”

The spawn’s brows knit together, and he rolls his eyes. “Whether or not they want me here, it was their choice to keep me trapped in this bloody house. Even when I insisted I didn’t know a damned thing about what my dear siblings were up to, your leader chose to “take responsibility” for me...whatever that means. So by all means, Gale, just open the door for me, let them know I won’t be returning, and you’ll never see me again.”

Astarion expects him to yell at him, snap at him, maybe even cast a spell, but he expects him to do something with the words that spill out of his mouth like vomit. But instead, the wizard opens his mouth, shuts it again, and seems to be in thought. “I haven’t heard you talk for so long in ages. Nice to know your endlessly running mouth is still there.”

“You’re one to talk.”

He snorts, his eyes flitting to the curtains messily nailed onto the wood surrounding the windows, and Astarion can see his face fall. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to let you go, for I’ve made a promise with Tav to check in on you in place of themselves…and the others, of course. And I may be a man of many words, but I am not a man of lies.”

Astarion almost laughs at the irony. “Is that what hiding the bomb in your chest was? Honesty?”

“Oh, please,” he waves him off. “That was eons ago! And besides, I’ve got that all sorted now, so no more eating magical pairs of shoes…thank the Gods. Though the magical enhanced gems weren’t so bad-”

“Please tell me someone other than yourself will be hovering over me like a parasite.”

“I’m afraid not,” Gale smiles. “Lae’zel wouldn’t hesitate for a vampire head hanging over the fireplace, Shadowheart would most likely place a curse on you, and Tav rarely comes home at all. So, unfortunately, and also most fortunately, you are stuck with yours truly.”

Astarion groans. And though he’s about to shoot him with another quip, the front door swings open, and Shadowheart steps into the house. When she notices him standing beside the kitchen, her body visibly tenses.

“You’re supposed to stay in your room.”

“I’m also not supposed to starve to death in that room, as much as I’m sure you’d approve of that.”

Her gaze flickers to the empty bottle of blood, and immediately, her face hardens. She narrows her eyes, and Gale, as usual, steps forward. “Now, Shadowheart, let’s not get too hasty-”

“If you are ever starving to death,” she glares. “You best hope not Tav is the only person around. If you ever even ask them for their blood again, I’ll show you just how much blood you have stored up.”

Astarion scoffs, grinning. “Such a terrifying foe you are. But there truly is no need to worry so much. I don’t need their blood, and I never intend to ask them for a single drop again. Not anymore.”

Shadowheart looks only half convinced, but after a moment of contemplation, the atmosphere turns less rigid, and she sighs, stepping backward. “I really did not miss having a vampire in our home.”

He’s about to let out another condescending laugh when he hears a shift in the dirt outside the open door. Neither of the others seems to notice. “And for the record, if you ask me for blood, you’ll end up even worse.”

Right then, he watches you step into the house, arms stuffed with paper bags filled to the brim with fruits, meat, and bread, and you nearly stumble on your own legs as you try to guide yourself to the kitchen counter. “Did we really need this much for just a week?”

“Of course we did. My famed stew is not made so haphazardly, you know. It requires skills, talents, and lots and lots of patience-”

You finally set down the groceries and notice Astarion’s presence in the room. He knows you do because of the way your posture straightens, becoming more guarded. It makes the corner of his lips lift in a way that’s sure to make you uneasy. 

But when your gazes finally meet briefly, you turn away as if it doesn’t bother you in the slightest. 

His eyes widen. Did you just ignore him?

He shifts, just enough to catch your attention, but all you do is listen to Gale’s ramble about his bloody stew. He’s sure nobody on Faerun gives a damn about his soup at this very moment, and you're no exception. Yet you’re clearly preferring his words over Astarion’s glares in such a blatant display.

You are ignoring him.

“Moving on,” Shadowheart groans. “We’re going to investigate the families of the spawn victims. We’ll let you know if we find anything. Oh, and tell Lae’zel she needs to move her weapons out of the living room before I throw them into the sewers myself.”

Gale shudders. “I’ll tell her, but certainly not those exact words.”

Astarion’s eyes follow you the whole time as you wait for Shadowheart at the door, hand holding a sheet of paper which he assumes to be the list of victim families. And the entire time, you refuse to even look in his direction.

It evokes something in him. He’s not sure what, but it does. Annoyance, he supposes.

Gale finally turns to him when you and Shadowheart shut the door closed behind you. “Now you and I can get groceries for you…as long as it’s only animals, of course.”

Another hour with the wizard might drain him of what remains of his life force (which is very little considering that he’s dead), and he thinks a few hours might just be the cause of his perishing.

There are too many bodies. Too much blood that reminds you of the evil that you believed was dealt with. Their families weep, and you can do nothing but stand to the side, watching as they claw at the Fist’s uniforms, begging to know what could be done. Begging to see their loved ones again.

You feel selfish, almost. Having finally seen your own former beloved, you only allow yourself to watch from afar, afraid of getting any closer.

So you’d escaped the town square, fleeing to the roofs where you could properly assess any potential victims’ families and determine if they were even worth approaching in the emotional wreck they were in. The list of bodies nearly crumples under the crushing weight of your own hands. The silence looming across the rooftop patio is far more relaxing than the chaos below.

Well, save for the company perched beside you.

“So what’s with your lyre?” Alfira blinks. “Where is it?”

“Sold it.”

“Why? That’s such a waste!” she frowns, rubbing at a smudge on her own instrument. “It was made of such fine wood too…I do hope you didn’t undersell that beauty.”

You roll your eyes. “Maybe I should’ve sold it to you at a higher price.”

“If not your lyre…” she tilts her head, scooching her stool closer to yours. “Then what are you playing nowadays?”

“I don’t play anything.”

Her eyes widen. “You don’t play anything? What does that mean?”

“I quit, Alfira,” you sigh, finally turning to look at her. “I’m not technically a bard anymore.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! Once you’re a bard, there’s no backing out of it. It’s in your very blood,” she explains, lifting her own lyre to you. “Go on, play something. I know you have it somewhere in you.”

Your face falls at her offer, but she remains firm, urging you to go on. It’s only when you realize she has no intentions of ignoring your words that you finally take the lyre into your own hands. It feels too foreign. It’s not your own instrument, but it’s a different kind of familiarity than that. While your fingers used to itch to sing their tales, you now feel nothing, just an empty husk of what once burst with inspiration.

Still, you try, even if just for show. Your finger tugs at one of the strings, letting it snap and vibrate its hum. You try another and another, but they’re all disjointed, barely managing to hold on to one another before your brows furrow, and you drop your hand. It just doesn’t feel right.

You hold it back to her. “I told you.”

“Well,” she looks down at her lyre. “I’m sure even the greatest bards have struggled with their music from time to time. It’s just a bump in the road.”

No, you want to tell her. It’s the end of the road, and there’s nothing you could possibly do to solve it, because you’ve already tried it all.

“Here, I started a new song,” she smiles hopefully. “Maybe it might spark your own musical talents. Care to listen?”

While a part of you is hesitant, the way she excitedly clutches onto the lyre makes you relent. “Sure.”

She begins to sing, and even if it’s better than it had been when you last saw her in the grove, it’s shaky. You suppose she must always be like this when producing a new song, at least until she grows accustomed to it. Still, it fills the air with a calm melody and drowns out the sounds coming from below on the streets, which you’re grateful for.

The breeze feels nice on your skin. You let your shoulders drop, closing your eyes as you drink in the notes produced by her lyre.

“I don’t need their blood, and I never intend to ask them for a single drop. Not anymore.”

The words echo in your head. It shouldn’t hurt you, really, you didn’t intend on giving it to him anyway, but a sick part of you wishes he could’ve at least asked, and you could’ve been the one to reject him. Not the other way around.

It feels like getting rejected for a confession you never made.

You blame yourself for eavesdropping.

“So? What do you think so far?”

You barely register that her song has ended, forcing you to focus back on the bustling city below. With a clear of your throat, you nod. “It’s good, it’s just…”

Her eyes seem to glow as she leans towards you, curious to hear your next words. Why she has so much faith in your advice is beyond you. You’d helped her with her last song, but it’d just been a stroke of luck that you managed to capture the emotions she wanted to convey through its notes. It certainly did not help that you hadn’t touched an instrument in months. “...Nevermind. I’m not sure what I was trying to say there.”

Her smile drops, and she holds her lute closer to her chest, nodding. “I see. It’s a shame.”

What she’s referring to, you’re not sure.

She digs through her pocket, managing to scrape out a crumpled sheet of paper which she puts on your lap. You do your best to make out the words messily scribbled on the sheet, which you determine to be the unfinished song. While you shoot her a wary look, she pushes the paper back to you when you attempt to offer it back.

“I have faith in you. More than anyone else, for a song like this,” she smiles. “You don’t have to help me finish the song like last time. Just absorb it. At least read the lyrics for me, will you?”

You want to say no, but you end up pocketing the sheet instead.

After you say your farewells, leaving her to continue humming to herself, you regroup with Shadowheart. Your own spirit falls when judging from her expression, she’s had even less success than you.

“We’re going around in circles,” Shadowheart sighs beside you. “None of the families know anything, and as much I’d love to stay an hour at each house to console them, at this rate, we’ll die of old age before finding these spawn…are you listening?”

You blink, snapping back into attention as you turn to her. “Did you say something?”

She raises a brow at you. “And what are you so distracted for?”

Mourning something that hasn’t happened, but you don’t tell her that. “It’s nothing.”

She doesn’t appear convinced, but neither does she pry. You’ve always had a mutual understanding with her when it came to one another’s secrets—don’t push. And even when either of you want to, you stay true to your silent agreement. You’re grateful for it at times like these.

Suddenly, there’s a bump to the left of you, not enough to make you stumble, but enough to make you glance back. They’re small, and you assume they’re a halfling or dwarf, despite their shoulders seeming too narrow. However, you forget about the details when your eyes hone in on their bare feet, absent of any shoes, much less socks. Something is wrong. Very wrong. When you look back up, you barely catch the way their hand slips back into their cloak, and immediately, your own flies into your pocket, where you’re now missing your dagger.

Shit.

You break into a sprint, forced to ignore Shadowheart, who calls out for you from behind, as you try to chase the hooded figure who swerves through the crowd of people on the street. Despite the people who curse and hiss as you shove through them, you’re only barely managing to tail the small cloaked figure, and in no such world are you willing to lose that dagger under circumstances that are not your own.

It’s pathetic, you know, to hold on to such a small part of him for so long. You’re sure he’s thrown away all of your own belongings, so why hold onto the dagger he kept strapped to his chest for months, holding it near his heart? You reckon this may be a blessing brought upon the gods who pity you, and you ponder if they’re watching you now, laughing at your pathetic display of desperation.

Still, you refuse to let it go like this.

The figure turns an alley, and your feet pick up. It’s a dead end.

You screech to a halt, slipping out a smaller blade that glints in the light allowed to seep into the isolated corner, eyes narrowed. The figure stands with its back to the wall, and you gawk at the way their shoulders shake as if they’re laughing to themselves. “Give it back, thief.”

They don’t budge, only continuing to tremble, and eventually, you’ve had enough. You march toward them, yanking back their hood with your knife, readied to retaliate if they dare, but immediately, your face pales. At the same time, Shadowheart finally manages to catch up to you.

“Hells, this crowd is a disaster,” she hisses, dusting off her shoulders. Then she shoots you a frown, eyes flitting back and forth between you and the supposed thief. “Whose child is that?”

You realize she hadn’t been laughing but shaking from fear.

She’s tiny. Unnaturally frail for her age which you guess to be around 9 or 10, which you note before letting her go from the grasp you have on her cloak. And from up close, you see that her bottom lip has been gnawed raw, still red from the last time it bled. She’s grasping onto your dagger for dear life, looking up at you with wary wide eyes, and you find your face relaxing. You bend down on one knee so you’re not just staring down at her, sighing. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, really.”

Her trembling eases a bit, but her grip around your dagger tightens. In her hands, it almost looks like a sword. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you angry. I swear, I didn’t mean to.”

Shadowheart steps to stand beside you. “Please tell me this child isn’t yours?”

“No, of course not!” you snap, and she snickers. You roll your eyes and turn back to the girl. “I won’t hurt you; I swear my life on it. But I need that dagger you’re holding.”

She hesitates, her eyes desperately searching for honesty in yours.

“It’s—important to me,” you mumble sheepishly. “Please.”

You watch her glance between you and the blade in her hands multiple times, then slowly reach it out to you. You offer her a smile, sheathing it beside your hip once more. You feel whole again. “Thank you. Now, I won’t tell your parents this time, but you really can’t go around stealing people’s things–”

“Berry!” she blurts.

You blink, and she picks at her own hands. “I live with Miss Cora.”

The puzzle pieces click in place.

“You’re the one Cora has to lull to sleep.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them, and you regret them with how her cheeks puff and paint her face a light shade of pink.

“You’re one of the orphans, then, I presume,” Shadowheart crosses her arms. “Any reason why you’re lurking in the city—without shoes, might I add—and robbing people of their belongings?”

“I wasn’t trying to steal,” she insists, then meets your eyes. “I didn’t know how else to talk to you alone.”

“Alone? With me? Why?”

“I know where Roger—I mean, Miss Cora’s husband went that night,” she looks down. “I didn’t know who else to tell. I wasn’t supposed to be out…but I needed fresh air. And…And I saw…”

You hold your breath. “Where did he go?”

“It was the Blushing Mermaid,” she splutters. “He went and never came back. I-I can’t tell Miss Cora…If I do, she’ll hate me and kick me out. I can’t leave, so please, don’t tell her.”

Shadowheart leans to your ear. “That’s not possible. He couldn’t have been there.”

No, you think. You’d been there. You’d been at the Blushing Mermaid that night, and while you weren’t exactly in the best state of mind, you surely couldn’t have missed a literal murder taking place. Regardless, you shake away your lingering doubts and take her shoulders.

“We won’t,” you assure her. “For now, I need you to go back to Miss Cora. It’s not safe in the city by yourself right now.”

She wipes at the tears threatening to spill from her eyes with her arm and nods firmly, readjusting her hood and cloak so that her entire body is covered once more. You place a hand on her head.

“Thanks for telling me, Berry. I’ll find out who did this to Roger, and you’ll be the first person to know,” You manage the best smile you can at the moment. “And please, next time, just tap my shoulder.”

Her lips purse, and she flees to the Highberry residence.

“Well,” Shadowheart finally uncrosses her arms. “At least we have a lead now. It was starting to feel hopeless—though I’m not sure if this is a lead at all.”

Regardless of your own doubts, time is running out. Every night you spend with no progress is another waste of nearly a dozen lives in the city. So you shove aside your skepticism and sigh. “It can’t hurt to try.”

“What do you mean he just left?” Lae’zel seems just about ready to stab her sword through Gale’s chest, and you can’t bring yourself to blame her.

“I’m telling you, he just vanished! Into the thin air, nearly,” Gale groans in exasperation, throwing up his arms. “We were returning from the forest after his hunt, and I didn’t even look away. One second he was there, and the next-”

“He’s a rogue, you foolish wizard,” the githyanki hisses, and you cross your arms beside her, offering Gale no sympathy. “We must go search for him, drag him back, and keep him pinned to a wall with a spear.”

At this, you balk. “Well, no, we’re not going to-”

“And you,” she spins around to you. “You must stop defending the spawn over your unreciprocated feelings. Your urges to make love may remain, but his does not.”

Your face flares, and you hear Gale nearly drop the book he’d been holding. 

“I am not—”

“It’s painfully obvious to the rest of us. It’s been days since he joined us, and all of us must deal with your imploring eyes while he seems promptly set on ruining every conversation any of us have with one another,” she continues, and as such, in Lae’zel fashion, she does not hold back the sting of her words. “I am indebted to what you’ve done for me, and for that, I cannot stand aside and watch you reduce yourself to this lovesick mutt over a bloodsucking leech.”

Gale clears his throat. “Lae’zel, now I believe that’s more than enough to-”

“Seal that mouth of yours, wizard, before I rid of it for good.”

He does so immediately.

You stare at her, appalled at her words. Imploring eyes? Lovesick mutt? You don’t even want to mention the bloodsucking leech comment. All you can do is keep yourself from opening your mouth, in fear that something that sounds dangerously close to defending Astarion might escape against your will. 

A smart choice, as Lae’zel sighs, her patience wearing thin.

“You are a warrior. One of the most formidable I’ve come across,” she scowls. “Do not disappoint me this way. You do not owe him anything. That kainyank is the one who nearly took your life.”

A part of your heart cracks. You ignore the stinging in your palms as your nails dig into them, unsure what you’re even supposed to say at this point, and you fumble over your own words dying to escape your throat. Because you do owe him something. Because if your suspicions are true, you do owe him for the night you encountered the spawn, and the night before that, when you came across Petras. Being indebted to him feels like another battle in itself, and you’re not sure if you want it to be true or not. You don’t have the heart to tell her that.

So instead, you snatch your dagger from where you’d last placed it down and march for the door.

“Tav, please, don’t leave like this,” Gale reaches for your arm, but you yank it away.

“I’m going to bring him back,” you say, but it’s more of a demand. A tone you rarely use toward your own companions, but you can’t bring yourself to care at the moment.

Lae’zel hisses as you’re halfway out the door. “You are a fool to be unable to see that he does not care for you.”

He had saved you. A person who does not care about you does not bother to save you.

You clutch the dagger close to your heart, and you ignore how cold it feels in your hand.

By the time you’ve run through most places he could possibly be, you finally arrive at the Sharess’ Caress, panting as you stare up at the taunting aura of the building. You don’t know how many hours have passed since you left the house–-perhaps days, or even minutes, but every second feels like a million more than it should. You push through the door, barely managing to catch your breath, as you’re immediately greeted with the aroma of a thousand different perfumes.

The fumes make you scrunch your nose, and you’re quickly slammed into the last memory of entering this place. The woman at the front desk, the windows draped with curtains to prevent most if not all the light spilling into its halls, the music echoing from the more private rooms for personal viewing…

You hate it all.

“Ah, savior, you’re back!” a voice says, and you flinch at it. One of the drow twins, Nym, waves you toward her, but you don’t budge. “It’s been months since you last rejected my advances, hasn’t it? I suppose you couldn’t resist yourself and came back-”

“Where is he,” you spit, your voice wavering. You don’t mean to be rude to her, truly, but your patience is close to nothing, and you don’t know how much longer you can go before you have to take a rest and return to the house in shame. At the very least, you have to drag Astarion back with you.

She pauses, then motions upstairs. It seems she understands the urgency in your tone because she steps out of the way, urging you forward. So with a nod of acknowledgment, you march up the stairs towards one of the more luxurious private rooms. 

Door after door, you’re greeted with an empty room. Only when you come to the final room do you hold your breath, fist nearly shaking from merely knowing he’s on the other side. Lae’zel’s words echo in your head like an insistent tadpole, unable to force it to leave or quiet down. You opt to overrule it with the sound of the door swinging open.

There’s a woman.

Though you manage to release your breath when you see that she’s fully clothed, the collar of her shirt is pulled back, revealing her neck for the spawn who has his fangs bared inches from her skin. She doesn’t seem to notice you despite the ruckus you made entering the room, too lost in the man in front of her, but he does. His attention flickers to you and stays there, not showing an ounce of surprise as if he expected you here.

With lidded eyes locked with your own in a trance you can’t break ahold of, he sinks his teeth into her neck.

He doesn’t break eye contact as he drinks and all you can do is stare in disgust, eyes wide but your legs unwilling to unplant themselves from the wooden floors. Your sandwich from earlier threatens to hurl the other way, and your nails dig into the skin of your palms, nearly breaking the skin. You’re at a complete loss of words, and you feel nothing but shame knowing that rather than the distaste you should feel, you feel something else.

Bitter. Not jealous, no, not quite, but really damn bitter.

He tears away from her neck, blood staining his lips as you remain planted in the ground. The woman gasps, and her hands fly up to her neck. Even now, he’s only staring at you.

“Thank you, dear customer,” she rasps gratefully, despite how pale she looks. He doesn’t even acknowledge her until he wants her out.

“You can leave now.”

She looks back and forth between you and him, surely noticing how he doesn’t seem remotely fazed at how you’re glaring daggers at him and nods, scrambling to leave.

The door shuts with a loud thud.

You watch him reach to wipe at his mouth, your voice hollow and cold. “Are you done?”

“Clearly, seeing as I made her leave.”

“We agreed that you wouldn’t drink from people.”

“We agreed I wouldn’t drink from people in the house,” he corrects, pacing toward the window where the moonlight had illuminated him as he drank from the woman’s neck. “I kept my word.”

He leans against the windowsill, and you take a step toward him, still keeping a hefty distance. “She’ll report you to the Duke. My word won’t be much help if he insists to throw you in a cell.”

“This is a house of pleasure, my dear. Nothing gets out of here if you have enough gold,” he laughs, throwing his head back. “How else do you think I’ve been getting my share of blood if I hadn’t gone around murdering the innocent?”

Your teeth grit together, eyes narrowed as you scan the state he’s in. Despite appearing nearly dead just hours earlier, his skin now seems to glow against the moon, the bags under his eyes having gone missing and leaving a wide grin on his face instead. If this was a few months ago, you’d admire him, but not now. You want to punch it off.

“You don’t look happy, darling,” he fakes a frown and makes his way closer to you. You swear your heart stops for a moment when he brushes his knuckles against your cheek. “Is it that woman? Are you jealous?”

You slap his hand away.

“Gods, is this all a game to you?” you blurt in exasperation. “I’m trying to understand you, Astarion, I really am. And all you keep doing is–”

“There is nothing to understand. This is just who I am.”

“I’m not a fool. Will you, for once in your life, please drop this mask and just talk to me?”

“What in the hells makes you so sure I’m lying? I must have made quite the impression on you when we still considered ourselves allies.”

You try not to flinch at that.

“You were there that night,” you say, but it comes out like a question. “When I was attacked by the other spawn. And the night before that with that guy from the tavern. You killed him without even drinking his blood.”

At this, the tone of your conversation shifts, at least from his end. His eyes darken as you take a step back. “Who told you that?”

“Petras.”

He seems taken aback for a moment but quickly recovers. You wish you could do the same. And the laugh that escapes his throat sounds like he pities you. “My dear, I didn’t realize you were so naive.”

You blink.

“He’s deceived you, I’m afraid. Probably covering for his own arse to stay on your good side. What spawn would want to risk pissing off an adventurer capable of killing a vampire lord? In the time we were apart, I’ve done everything in my power to avoid you at all costs. You can see why, can’t you?” he gestures to the air between you. “I mean, look at us, darling. We’re no good around each other.”

It hurts more than you’d like to admit, but your stubborn streak forces you to keep going. “That night with the spawn-”

“I must say that I’m rather flattered that I was the last thing you saw at the hands of death,” he laughs, and it sends shivers down your spine. “But I’m afraid that too was a gift from death. I, myself, had no part in it.”

“But why were you there then?” you’re starting to sound desperate. You want to slap your hand over your mouth but something tells you that would be even more humiliating. “Why were you with the Duke in the morning?”

“I was captured by the Duke days before he brought me to you. He spent the time interrogating me, and in the end, I gave him nothing, as I will do with you. I only found out about your—predicament when he did, and he decided you’d fare better in gathering information I do not have.”

You would’ve preferred to die in battle than to feel the crushing feeling of your own chest. You want to curl up in a hole and never crawl out. 

“Now, is that all?” he asks, drinking in your defeat like a trophy he wished he could place on the top shelf of a glass cabinet. “Any other accusations you have to throw at me?”

Lae’zel had been right. Shadowheart had been right. All of them had been right, except for you. This was far more than you could handle, and you had been foolish to think otherwise. The hope you held onto now dwindles into a small flame that can easily be blown out by a few selective words--those of which he has full authority over.

“Have you always been this cruel?” Tears threaten to well in your eyes, but you force them back, veiling them with all the strength left in your voice. Now, you just sound angrier. “You’ve never been a good man, but you weren’t a heartless one either.” You wonder if maybe that was a lie as well. The loving words, the soft touches, the gentle eyes. That perhaps the guise you’d thought you’d seen through was not a guise at all.

“Is that what it was then?” his face falls. “Did you stop the ritual to keep a feeble man by your side?”

Feeling is not weakness, you want to scream at him, but you know it'll do no good.

“Ascension would have changed you, and it’s not for the better. You know what Raphael said. I just did what I had to for the sake of your safety.”

“Power would have made me safe. From the world, from the sun, from people like you. Now I rot away in this destroyed city with nothing to feed on but stolen cattle and rats.”

“You’re not listening to me. You would’ve lost your soul, and become like Cazador–”

His composure cracks at that. “Don’t you dare speak of that devil.”

“Don’t give me reasons to.”

The air is thick enough to slice with your dagger. With squinted eyes, he scans your face before continuing slowly.

“Darling,” despite the term of endearment, it doesn’t sound endearing at all. “You are searching for sympathy from a man who does not have any left to give.”

“You did have sympathy,” you hiss. “With Yenna, with Shadowheart, with the owlbear, with Lae’zel, Karlach, and the rest of the damn city, you did. It wasn’t obvious, but you felt for them.”

“Perhaps once. For a fleeting moment. That moment is not now.”

There’s nothing that you can say to that, really. All you can do is stare at him, eyes wide and unable to choke out words, crying, screaming, anything. But now, the dagger you carry everywhere feels twice as heavy and twice as cold. You want to search his face for any signs of deception, but you’re too afraid of what you might find, so you force your eyes to the ground.

Silence hangs in the air like a chain tightening its hold around your lifeline.

“I was fine,” you whisper, face burning. “I was getting better. I was getting over you, and you came back.”

His hands limply fall to his sides. “You are the one who refuses to let me go.”

When you don’t respond, afraid your voice will crack and give out the last of the thin thread that holds you together, he steps toward you again, now a mere feet away. All you can see, and what you’re willing to see, is his chest as he breathes out his words. “Do you hate me?”

You have no idea, truly.

“You should.”

Lifting your head, you focus on his eyelashes rather than his eyes. Doing otherwise might provoke you to do something you’ll regret. “Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Hate me.”

The pause feels like another lifetime as your heart pounds rapidly, your palms feeling too clammy, and your throat too dry. He blinks, slowly.

“Yes. More than anyone."

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