#this fic set up ain't about them though

[strangersteddierthings]

Sequel to Good People - The fic in wherein Wayne doesn't like Steve and overheard a conversation he shouldn't have. Here's the aftermath of that :3

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Final Part

-

Wayne had stayed in his bedroom long after he heard the boys leave. Eddie had knocked on his door to let him know he'd be staying at Steve's and to not expect him back until late tomorrow, a courtesy he'd never shown until after he'd been the victim of a manhunt back in spring. Wayne never asked him to do that but he thinks Eddie picked up on how worried Wayne would get if he were gone for any amount of time.

Eddie's always been good at reading people when he bothers to pay attention to them. Maybe that should have been enough reason for him to give pause to his dislike of the Harrington boy, instead of needing to overhear the boy crying about how he thinks there's something rotten deep within him that only Wayne can sense.

He'd been so sure he knew what kind of person Steve Harrington was. Eddie had been hung up on boys just like him pert-near his whole life, Wayne thinks, and it's never ended differently.

It's a Tuesday night and his friends usually gather at the bar on Friday nights, but Wayne needs to get out of the trailer to think. A beer might help. So, he grabs his keys and heads out.

He's been a regular at this bar since before he was even old enough to drink. Used to come with his pa, may he rest in peace, just to get out of the house. He's been a patron longer than any of the staff have worked there, he realizes.

"Hello Linda," Wayne greets as he takes a seat at the bar instead of at his usual table. He'd done a cursory glace when he came in and confirmed none of his drinking buddies were in before choosing the bar.

"This isn't your usual day," Linda says, leaning a hip on the counter, "but it's always a pleasure to see you."

"I got some thinkin' to do," Wayne replies and Linda nods and moves away, returning soon with a bottle of his usual beer. She picks up the bottle open and removes the cap before setting the drink down in front of him.

"Need a sounding board, hun?" She asks.

Wayne does a quick survey of the bar again but it's pretty quiet so he returns his gave to Linda and says, "if you wouldn't mind too much hearin' about how an old man might have messed up."

Linda laughs. "You aren't even half a decade older than me, so you best not be sprouting that 'old man' nonsense around me, 'cause I am not some old lady."

"Terribly sorry, Linda. I'm just really feelin' like an old fool."

A small frown comes to Linda's face then. "Now what could you have possibly done?"

"Well, I guess I'm tryin' to figure out if I did mess up. Eddie's got a friend and I don't trust 'im. Thought I had good reason not to, but, well, I overheard somethin' I wasn't supposed ta and now I'm not sure."

Linda hums, "hmm, that doesn't sound like you, judging someone unrightly. You are usually a good read about people."

"I'll admit, I haven't bothered to spend enough time with the boy to, uhh, judge him."

"Wayne Munson," Linda scolds, "you best not be telling me you judged that boy because of other people."

Judging by Linda's raising brow line, he thinks his guilt must be clear on his face. "You know Eddie, and how people have treated him. And with what he just went through- I just want 'im safe. Sure, his new friend graduated last year, but he was on the basketball team his whole career. And I'm jus' supposed ta believe this one boy didn't side with the group who started the manhunt?"

"Unless you've got evidence otherwise, yes," Linda says, brows furrowed.

Wayne sighs. "I ain't got proof. I got a lot of people sayin' he's good, actually. But it's the Harrington boy. The same boy Eddie would come home and complain 'bout. Harrington, Hagan, Hargrove, though I shouldn't speak ill of the dead. All them boys treatin' Eddie like he wasn't worth nothin' until they wanted somethin' form him."

Linda's mouth is almost a perfectly straight line with how much she's pursed her lips the more he talks, but she doesn't interrupt and no customer calls for her, so he continues.

"And you know what Richard Harrington was like. I know y'all only shared one school year together, but Janice wasn't any better, and she was your year, wasn't she?" Linda gives him one nod in response. "That boy's a product of them. I- You can't fault me for thinkin' differently."

"So, when do you expect Eddie to end up in prison?"

The question throws Wayne and fills him with anger at the same time. "Now, Linda, I ain't likin' what you are implyin'."

"I ain't implyin' nothing," she says, using the same tone with him that he did with her. "I'm applying your logic. Eddie's a product of his parents, ain't he? Al's in prison, and his mama's long gone, bless her soul. And since Eddie ain't sick, last I heard, he must be following after his daddy."

The anger leaves him then, and all he's left with is shame. "Point made. And if I'm bein' fully honest with ya, I don't even need ya to defend that boy. That thing I overheard. That what's eatin' at me. He called me good people."

Linda softens, shoulders dropping, "you are good people, hun."

"That boy told my Eddie that I'm 'good people', and that his parents are bad ones, and I. I don't know what to do about that."

"He thinks his own parents are bad?"

Wayne nods, "is what he said. Thinks I can somehow sense he's also rotten just by association."

"There's nothing to it, then," Linda says, like they've already talked out the tangled mess that is Wayne's thoughts on Steve Harrington and have reached a conclusion. Well, perhaps Linda already has. She's always been bright, and she's usually right. "You, Wayne Robert Munson, need to apologize to that boy. The guilt and shame's gonna put you into your cups otherwise."

Wayne nods slowly, though he isn't even sure if he agrees or is just acknowledging what she said before he takes a long pull from his bottle before lowering both his arms to rest on the counter as he replies, "You're right as usual, Linda my dear. I just gotta let go of the fact he's Richard Harrington's son and try and see just Steve."

"Damn right. Eddie might be Al's by birth, but you raised him and he turned out alright. Maybe Steve got the same treatment. Had his own Wayne around to raise him right."

There might be a bit of truth to that. He's heard enough talk about Steve Harrington over the years to think that. One of his drinking buddies used to be Jim Hopper. He's heard about the amount of parties he'd had to go shut down at the Harrington's house, with no parents to be seen. (Always Jim's biggest gripe back then. "Where's this kids goddamn parents!?) Wayne always assumed their kid just took advantage every time his parents were gone, but maybe it's the opposite. Maybe they were always gone, and Steve had parties to not be alone in his house.

Linda's right. There is nothing to it. He needs to talk to Steve, properly apologize, and go from there.

"It ain't an easy thing, admittin' you might be wrong," Wayne sighs.

Linda reaches across the counter and places a hand on Wayne's arm just below his wrist. Wayne looks up from where he'd ended up staring at his bottle, making eye contact with her. "If your boy is friends with this boy, it's for a reason. Just give him a chance. You are one of the good ones, but even we can have a lapse in judgment now and then. Doesn't make you bad, makes you human."

"Ain't no one perfect but the good Lord," Wayne says and Linda nods in agreement.

"Alright. I'll leave you to your beer and your thoughts for now, but you best keep me updated on your situation. I wanna know how it goes," Linda retracts her hand and heads down the counter to check on the few other people sitting about nursing drinks.

Wayne sits in his thoughts more than he drinks, so by the time he's done with the beer it's warm but that's fine. He will talk to the Harrington kid, but he wants to talk to Eddie first. He owes his nephew that much, and he does recall Eddie saying something to the effect of 'he'll come around' to Steve, and Wayne wants to tell Eddie he'll try.

Also he doesn't want to just corner the boy after he's been somewhat intimidating intentionally. He's going to get Eddie to ask if Steve'll talk to him.

True to his word, Eddie returns home late the next day. The clock says it's almost 6 when Eddie finally comes through the front door. If he's surprised to see Wayne awake, he doesn't show it. He does work the graveyard shift, and he's got a shift at 10 tonight, usually wakes up two hours before his shift. He'd wanted to make sure he caught Eddie, though, so he's been up since three.

"Eddie, you got a minute?" Wayne says.

"Sure. What's up?" Eddie says as he pulls off his jacket, depositing it on the nearest surface before plopping sideways on the couch so he's facing Wayne.

"I gotta come clean. I overheard some of what you and Steve were talkin' about," Wayne says, because he's a man of his word and he's always been good at doing the hard thing if it also turns out to be the right thing. He's got to be honest with Eddie, so he can be honest with himself. "Heard Harr- Steve talkin' 'bout how he thinks I'm a good person, and his parents aren't."

Eddie's quiet for a moment, blinking owlishly back at him while he thinks. "Oh. Umm. Sorry. I just- I think this is the first time I've heard you say Steve's name."

"Not the part I thought you'd focus on," Wayne huffs a laugh, "but I owe your boy an apology and I was hopin' you could help me make it happen."

"My boy- what is happening," Eddie drops his voice to whisper the question to himself.

"What's happening is I'm doin' the thing I always told you ta do. Taking accountability and fixin' my mistake."

"Oh. Oh!" Eddie narrows his eyes at Wayne, "you've made an ass out of me. All those times I assured Steve you were just being standoffish and you were- what were you doing?"

"Intentionally keepin' the boy at a distance 'cause I thought he was gonna hurt you. I sure as hell ain't been friendly. I been judging him because I knew his parents, thinkin' about how an apple don't fall far from the tree," Wayne stops, giving pause to see if Eddie will speak but he isn't. He's just staring at Wayne like he's a puzzle. "It was brought to my attention that it's mighty unfair to judge someone 'cause of how their parents act."

Eddie's brow furrows and his lips purse. It makes him think of Linda. She'd made the exact same face. "I- Jesus fuck this is weird, but I. I think I'm mad at you. Disappointed."

Eddie doesn't say it with an angry tone, and his face still looks more puzzled than mad, but the sentence feels like a kick to the chest anyway. Eddie and he have never been mad at each other, not in the eight years Eddie's lived here with him. They've been worried and scared for each other that, or mad at someone or something else that they take out on each other, but never mad at each other.

"You've every right to be."

Eddie stands from the couch, paces down the hallway, and Wayne thinks this might be the end of any conversation tonight, but instead Eddie comes storming back up the hall. "So, what, did you take me in expecting me to be my dad!?"

"No. He mighta contributed to your birth, but we both know that man ain't nurtured you a day in his life."

"Yeah, well, Steve's parents didn't raise him either, so all this has been bullshit! You made Steve think he's, he's broken and a bad person! And," Eddie's eyes are wet and he's angry but also about to cry. Wayne hasn't seen him like this in a long time. Not since the day they learned Al was in prison, fifteen years with a chance for parole if he's on his best behavior. Eddie had been so angry, and sad, and hurt by the news. Eddie's like that now, worked up so much he's repeating himself as he hiccups his words out around the lump in this throat, "And, and you made me help him feel that way! Because I didn't take him serious when he said, said you didn't like him! I thought you were being, being a dad, all fake gruff to intimidate the guy I like but it's- you were- FUCK!"

Wayne lets him yell. He deserves it, and Eddie needs it. Eddie's not saying anything untrue. He takes in what Eddie is yelling at him; Steve's parents didn't raise him, and how Wayne's cold shoulder must have added to whatever else Steve has going on in his life.

"I, I h-held him while he b-bawled into my shirt last night! He, he thinks- and you, you didn't even trust me! T-trust my own j-judgment of, of Steve! I, I need- I can't-" Eddie doesn't finish the sentence. He turns on his heel and storms back down the hall, the slamming of his door finalizing this conversation.

To say that Wayne feels terrible is inadequate. He's hurt his boy, and he's hurt his boy's boy, and he's got no one to blame but himself.

Now he's got two apologies to make.

I tried to tag as many people as I could remember that expressed interest in a follow up fic. I am SO sorry if I missed you. Please let me know if you want to be tagged in the final part. I will only be tagging people who ask to be tagged going forward 'cause it's a lot of people to remember and my memory is garbage.

@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @afewproblems @skepsiss @unclewaynemunson @itsthestrangestthings @emofratboy @devondespresso @finntheehumaneater @loopholesinmydreams @yourmom-isgay @wrenisflying @emsgoodthinkin @messrs-weasley @madigoround @jackiemonroe5512 @gutterflower77 @zerokrox-blog @eriquin @samyuck @lunarmaruna @mugloversonly @kaij-basil-lionelli88

[aspirationalpeony]

Lucky Me

Summary: You and Mel do a little experimenting after she shares a disappointing truth about her past relationships. Content Warnings: Lots of smut. :) This fic is loosely set in the same world as "Finding Beauty," but can be enjoyed independently. AO3 Link

"He wasn't good at it," Melissa says. "Joe. Makin' me come." She blushes.

It's so not her--tough, capable Melissa, fearless and demanding. You touch her cheek, brush a strand of red hair back behind her ear. She hasn't had a touch-up in a while, and there's a streak of gray growing in at her temple. You love that she can be vulnerable with you, admitting these little truths about herself, in words, in body.

"Really?" you say. You have a well, duh moment in your own head: the last time you saw Joe, he interrupted you constantly, derailing your thoughts to tell his own stories, never letting you get to the punchline of a joke. He just feels like a bad lover, inattentive and untrustworthy. Plus, you know the stuff he said to Melissa about her body.

"Yeah." She plays with the band of her smart watch, then leans forward off the couch toward the coffee table, picking up her wine glass. (It's a weeknight, so the liquid inside is grapefruit-flavored sparkling water.) "And 'specially later on, I couldn't get wet, he'd get so frustrated."

"Even though you were telling him what to do?"

Putting her glass back down, she cuts a look at you for the assumption, but it breaks out into a smile, a little sheepish. Your heart does a flip-flop at the sight. "Well, yeah."

Your fingertip traces the shell of her ear. She shivers. You can't believe Joe would get frustrated, impatient, bored of trying to give this woman pleasure. Every inch of her has some private sensitivity: the lobes of her ears, the small of her back, behind her knees, below her navel. Getting to learn these secrets has been the most incredible privilege. And it's been fun.

It's taken her a while to learn to let you, rather than tell you; to give you a chance to explore. She's so used to controlling every moment, organizing her own pleasure and yours. You love when Melissa is the boss, but you also love when she gives up the authority; when she melts into the feeling and lets you be in charge.

"What about Gary?" you ask.

She snorts. "Gary who?" Her mouth twists and she shakes her head, at the question, at herself. "I mean, sometimes I'd take his mustache for a ride, but that's about it. He didn't have, y'know. It." Her eyes flick up to yours again. You haven't missed the way they've been down this whole time, unable to hold your gaze; how her chin is tucked toward her chest, her shoulders up. "It doesn't... Bother you? Talkin' about them?"

You check in with yourself, but end up shrugging. "Not really." You've spent time with Melissa and Joe together, and there's no heat between them, just the friendly chemistry of two people who've known each other half their lives. Gary you did see once, and he looked kind of like an uncooked ham. What is there to be jealous of?

You study her face. She's still pink and a little twitchy. "Does it bother you? You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." You drop your hand to her nape, rubbing your thumb comfortingly along the column of her neck. She sways into you with a sigh.

"I wanna," she says. "Talk about it. I feel like I..." Her lips pinch. "Owe ya."

"No," you say, straightening up. The plastic of the couch creaks with your movement. "Melissa, you don't owe me anything. I want to talk about it if you do, but--"

"Nah, that's--" she shakes her head. "It's not what I meant. I mean, I... It's like, it's a part of... Me. Y'know." She pushes her hair back from her face. "And 'cause I love you, and--" she laughs a little--"cause you're stuck with me, I..."

Your always-active heart gives a tremor, hearing the cautious vulnerability of her voice. You slide your arm around her and pull her in.

"It ain't that big a deal," she says, muffled, lying, against your shoulder.

Even if she can't admit it--your tough-girl sweetheart, not wanting to let her soft heart show--you can. "It is to me," you say, and squeeze her.

You loosen your grip, and she tucks herself against your side. It always surprises you how small she really is. Every day she's like a cat that's making itself big, back up, fur on end, daring anyone to come at her; here she gets to shrink back down, turn back into herself, become your kitten.

"I don't get it," you say after a few minutes of comfortable silence. "It's fun making you come. I love it."

"Lucky me," Mel says, very smugly.

"I sometimes think about--" you stop. This really isn't the moment for your fantasies: yeah, you guys were talking about sex, but not in the dirty sense; it was Melissa sharing something important, something emotional, and...

"Yeah?" she says. Her voice has two registers when she's turned on: airy, almost girlish, usually when you've surprised her, and throaty, a rasp. Now it's that fainter, breathless one. The sound of it sends a tickling frisson down your spine.

"Um," you say, and it's your turn to blush. "I think about... A lot of things."

"I'm waitin'."

You huff an embarrassed laugh. It's one thing to fantasize, another thing to tell the object of your fantasy all about it. "Sometimes I think about," you say, and clear your throat, "how sensitive you are. And I want to know how many times I can make you come."

You can feel the way her breathing speeds up, her body against your side, but she doesn't speak.

"We usually stop at two," you say, "but I think you can take more. I think you can take a lot more. And--sometimes, I think about how little it takes, like, when you're right there. Like I can just breathe on your clit and you'll come. I think about getting you there and telling you 'no.'"

Her breath catches.

"I bet you'd go crazy." You're smiling a little. You touch your mouth, tapping your lower lip, thinking of it. "You'd cuss me out, you'd yank my hair. You'd probably try to finish yourself off. I might have to tie you up to stop you."

"Oh," she says.

You risk a glance at her face. She's looking up at you from where she's leaning against your side, her green eyes glassy, her cheeks pink, her lips parted.

"You like that, baby?" You slide your hand down her back and feel the muscles shift as she moves, pushing herself up, then throwing a leg over you, settling onto your lap.

Having her like this is perfect. She used to hold herself up on her knees, not letting you take her weight, until you got her to understand that you loved the pressure of her body against yours, that there was no such thing as too much of her.

She dips her head and kisses you. It's not a starter kiss, warming you up; she kisses you like you're inside her now, deep and filthy, putting her tongue in your mouth with no foreplay. You groan as her hand cups your neck, feeling the prickle of her manicured nails against your skin.

"You think about me like that a lot?" she asks you when she's letting you catch your breath. The words are low, your faces close, like it's a secret someone could overhear.

"Yeah," you admit. Your hands slide over her hips to grip her ass. She gives an encouraging little motion when you squeeze. "I love thinking about what I could do to you..." Her breath hitches again. "What you'd enjoy."

"You get off on it?"

"Yeah, I do," you say. "I get off on getting you off."

Her eyelashes flutter. She makes a noise like a whimper. You have a flash of inspiration, and before you can second-guess yourself, you take her hand from your neck, the other from your shoulder, and pull them behind her back.

She gasps. It's an arrow of electricity right to your clit. Her eyes open wide, searching for yours, as you gather her wrists into one hand. It's not a very strong grip--she could yank away from you easily--but it pulls her shoulders back and leaves her chest thrust forward.

"Is this okay?"

She nods.

"You have to tell me."

"It's okay," she says. Her voice has dropped into that second register of pure arousal, throaty and low. "It's... It's good."

"Did Joe ever do this to you?" You don't know what makes you bring him up. Not jealousy, but... Maybe curiosity. Maybe wondering if he ever took the time to catalogue Melissa's reactions, to think through what would really turn her on, if he ever gave that much of a shit.

She chuckles breathlessly. "Like to see him try," she mutters. Her blush is traveling down her throat and blotching her chest.

You follow its path to the three buttons at the front of her blouse. You watch her chest start to heave as you work them open with your free hand. They expose the center gore of her bra and a hint of the silky curve of its cups.

You palm one breast roughly, squeezing. She groans. You can just feel her hardening nipple through the layers of fabric separating you. You thumb it, pinch hard, to make sure she can feel it, turning her next moan into a whine.

Her hips rock into your lap, trying to get friction. You lean back to look at her: disheveled, red, her hair spilling everywhere, her lip gloss blurry from kissing.

"You're so fucking sexy," you tell her, voice low, making her moan again.

You'd love to finger her, but there's no lube, and she's in leggings pulled up high over her hips, with not a lot of room between the two of you to get inside them. You slide your hand between her legs and over her covered sex.

She pushes down into your palm, hard, as you nose the tender inner curve of one breast, tracing your lips against the edge of her bra. Pressing through her leggings, you can feel the plump shape of her cunt. You trace those folds down, then up, over her clit.

"Oh, fuck," she breathes as you start rubbing. "Oh, fuck..." She shifts restlessly; you think she might pull her wrists away, but instead she arches toward you, drops her head back, inviting a bite to her throat, which you give. You suck soft skin into your mouth, scrape of your teeth, nibble, move down, find another spot, repeat. You can't leave marks, but there are blotches of satisfying pink where you've touched her.

"You getting close?" You work your thumb against her clit.

"Uh huh," she says, weak and needy. She picks her head up again and there's a lost, fogged look of pleasure on her face as she meets your eyes.

You hold her gaze. "Tell me when you're there," you say. "When you're right there. Okay?"

Her brow creases as she tries to focus. You wonder if she's ever tried to do this before, parsing out stages to her pleasure, or if she's always just gone up and over, never thinking about how she got there.

"I--I--I think I'm--" her voice is wobbly.

You pull your hand away. She whines and her hips jab down toward your lap, seeking a touch that isn't there. You rub her thigh, slide your hand up, over the soft curve of her belly and down to press against her mons; her hips jolt again.

"Fuck you," she says feebly.

You rub your thumb back and forth, far above where she wants it. You know she can feel the contact here in her cunt, a phantom pressure to remind her how empty she is, how close she was.

"More?" you ask.

She squirms and nods. When you give her no response, she huffs a sigh, rolls her eyes, and says, "Yes, fine, yes, more, oh--shit--"

You've found her clit again. You know this time she'll already be sensitive, and she might not be able to tell you when you need to stop. You focus on watching her: the glazed look in her eyes before she shuts them, her parted lips, her frantic breaths, her rocking hips.

You time it; you pull your thumb away. She gives a frustrated cry and squirms in your lap. You take pity and give her a distraction, rubbing your cheek against her breast, finding the hint of her pebbled nipple, the one you neglected before, and biting hard. You feel the elasticity of her bra's cup more than you feel her flesh, muting the sting of your teeth, but it makes her keen.

"You've got no fucking clue how hot you are," you tell her. You bite again and tug, drawing out another delicious sound. "I haven't even taken your clothes off. Look at you. I want to do this to you forever."

Your thumb at her clit again, this time so lightly it barely counts. "You want to come, don't you?"

Her wrists twist in your grasp, but don't pull away. She says, all breathless, angry bravado, "What do you think?"

"I think I could stop right now." She gasps, though you don't stop gently rubbing her clit. "Even though I want to make you come. And after that, I want to take you upstairs and eat you out. I want to suck on you and get you all over my face. I want--"

"Oh, shit, I," she says weakly, her hips starting to twitch.

Realizing, you say, "Just from this?" She's really almost there again? "Fuck, you're incredible. Should I stop?"

"No," she whines.

"You want it harder?"

"Yes!"

You give her what she wants. Finally, she pulls her wrists out of your grip so she can grab your hand and shove it fully against her cunt, letting her ride your palm to her orgasm. Melissa's always noisy, but this time, she's loud, the sound of her desperate cry huge in the living room.

"Oh, fuck," she says faintly as she sags down onto your lap. "I, oh..."

"You did so good," you murmur to her and rub her back, grateful to have both hands again. She buries her face in your neck and clings to you, breathing hard. She mumbles something. "What, baby?"

She picks up her head a little. "I said, 'yeah, you too.'"

It makes you snort. It's a funny mix of tenderness, affection, and gratitude you feel, knowing that even after an orgasm that took her like a runaway train, she'll still make sure to remind you of your place. Can't ever get too smug around Melissa.

You trace a hand up and down her back, finding the hem of her blouse and rucking it up so you can touch her bare skin underneath. She's hot against your palm and it makes you sigh.

"You want to go upstairs and keep going?" you ask, mouth against her ear.

"I wanna recover first," she says blearily. "What the hell was that?" She sits up a bit in your lap and you have room to reach around her and pick up her water from the table.

"A little taste," you say.

She brings the glass to her lips and sips, eyes narrowed, watching you the way kung fu heroines watch their enemies, prepared to bust out their fists at any moment.

"Of what I've been thinking about," you add. You rub her lower back. "I think you liked it."

"I think you gotta be crazy to get off on somebody not letting you come," she says, then scowls. "Which I guess makes me crazy."

"I guess it does." You can't smother your smile. "You're okay, though?"

"What do you mean? I came, didn't I?"

"I mean, sometimes emotions can get weird," you say, "after doing that kind of stuff. You get a lot of hormones and chemicals in you and they can make you feel..." You shrug.

"You got a lot of experience with 'this kind of stuff'?" Now her gaze is accusing. "You been holdin' out on me?"

"No, not a lot of experience. A little, maybe." You hold her hips, rubbing your thumbs over their soft curves. "A little experience. And a lot of things I want to do to you."

Her whole body shudders. She reaches back to put her water down, then loops her arms around your neck and kisses you. It's her post-coital kiss, lazy and loving, the hunger more muted.

"Gee," she says breathlessly when you part, and repeats herself, a grin curving her lips: "Lucky me."

[neonovember]

Oh. My. God. Oh my god but imagine though, waking up around 8 or 9 or so on a day off where both you and Carmy have the day free. It’s a big deal maybe because oh my god Carmen’s in bed at 9 in the morning *affectionate sarcasm* holy moly Carmen settle down!

But just waking up with him, the sun coming through the window through the thin curtains with a little breeze, looking over and watching Carmy’s face form into the softest, most precious smile, his eyelashes fanning his cheeks as he slowly comes to and lets out a little sigh “Morning” his voice is all husky from sleep and lack of use. You smile back with that sweet giddiness and relaxation in filling your body as you softly whisper good morning back to him. Watching him shift as he sits up to lean over and place a long, soft and slow and tender kiss over your lips, still with that little smile on his lips (I am about to exPLODE-)*CRYING!!!!!!*

okay okay, i know i wrote a drabble similar to this idea here, and for some reason my mind fell back to the night before..y'all, imagine the night that resulted in a soft, needy carmen spending the day in bed with you, all sore and a mess of slick and cum-

Midnight Cars

summary: You’re not about to fuck in the car park. So you end up fucking in the car park. Your apartment’s one at least. 

a/n: read @nolita-fairytale fic's about fiance!carmen, and god did that get my gears going. Her series is a mf masterpiece! Fiance Carmen is dirtyyy, even for Berzatto himself. There's public sex, I'm talking Carmen is knuckles deep in you swallowing you with praises whilst a few feet away from Auntie Susie, public. 

warnings; filth, utter FILTH, this is kind of insane even for me, car sex, public sex, fingering, dry humping, cowgirl (yeehuh!) but carmen's doing all the work, fiance!carmen, wrap it before you tap it lmao, 18+ explicit, feral and a little deranged carmen, possesive! carmen

The tangy burst of vermilion and cherry grasps your tongue as you tilt the rounded bowl of your drinking glass towards your lips, gliding your tongue to catch any wayward drops of the wine being poured by waiters dressed down in black and white. 

Your eyes don’t leave the dirty blond tresses that had long broken from their gelled back form through the night's progression sitting atop Carmen’s head. You can’t help the giggle you let out from your position against the bar, watching him join in a very drunk, but surprisingly harmonised rendition of “Ain't No Mountain High Enough" By Marvin Gates.

His tie sits undone around his neck, and his face is sort of flushed from the extended night, his cheeks a tinty rose and his lips turned red from his repetitive swipes of his tongue across them nervously.

All inhibitions are gone now, and you're able to indulge in the site of a carefree Carmen, left unaware of the never ending responsibilities he carried by the honey haze of a night just for him and his award winning restaurant. 

The low lights of the speakeasy room sets the air into a mellow haze, hints of cocoa and aged bourbon waft through the corners of the room, across half finished plates of food on tailored tables, and the stage where your Carmen had won the very award that now sits dangerously close to the edge of your table.

You knew the James Beard Association was prestigious, but god had they truly left you dumbfounded when you stepped into the low lights of the speakeasy.

You didn't even know places like this still existed. 

The speakeasy was tucked in a bricked alley, unassumingly between an Italian and a car park. You wouldn’t have ever guessed it to boast this attraction, with aged vintage black and white photos of late singers who’d sung on that very stage years ago hanging across the walls, polished dark exposed wood and velvet booth seats in corners surrounding round tables, even the parlour looked like it was out of an 80’s  bar house. You think if you shut your eyes and reached out you would have touched the sequence dress of Etta Jones.

Carmen didn't get drunk, not often anyways, and even now, after winning the prestige of “Chicago's Up and Coming Restaurant of the Decade”, he waved off every raise of a glass towards him.

Carmen felt a level of unease at even touching a drop of liquor whilst driving you both home, no, every fiber of his being screamed at him to keep you safe at all times, and the taste of bourbon held nothing against the taste of you. 

That didn’t stop him from enjoying himself, in fact he felt an unnatural sense of bubbly relaxation fall over him as his gaze fell towards you, sipping on a glass, looking the very bit the picture of gorgeous he’d ever seen. 

Carmen had always been horrible at these sorts of things, getting doted on, sucked up to, boasted to. He hated every second of it, but even he can attest to the absolute wonder of a night this has been. He glided you against the dance floor, under the iridescent glass panes of the skylight window, the soft crescent moonlight shining through in a way that bounced against the glitters of low hanging ambient lighting and shimmers of dresses and disco balls. 

The dance floor had been packed with family and friends but then? Then, it had felt like the entire world had stood still, it had felt like it was the both of you, infinitely, you in his arms like it was meant to be, forever.

And now you looked across to him, with those eyes, those fucking eyes of yours, comfortable in the vision of your gorgeous man looking at you under hooded lids, his bottom lip sunken into his mouth. The hint of a smirk tucks at the corner, and it takes everything in you not to jump at him then.

You motion with a manicured finger, and his eyes catch yours in a second, despite being in a group of people currently huddled around him, eager faces hanging onto his every word. He leaves them, in the middle of a mountain of questions they prodded at him, towards you, following your every desire, always, until the very end.

“I see congratulations are in order, Chef” You softly reply, when he makes it close enough that you take in the veins trailing up his forearm, left bare from his rolled up sleeves. The vision shoots straight to the heat building in your belly, and you have to press your drink to your lips to stop the bubbly moan from escaping.

Carmen looks down at you from his height, eyes trailing down the cut of your body hugging dress, lingering on your snug hips catching against the silky black fabric. 

He wanted to feel them beneath his hands as he took you.

“Oh yeah?” Carmen replies, his voice like silk fluttering across your body. Heady in that way it always is.

“Mhm, but I didn’t get to really say anything since you were busy with the rest of them” You don’t have to gesture for Carmen to know about the huddles of people crowding his every move. Another thing he disliked about these sorts of things, they took him away from you.

“Does my girl feel neglected?” 

“No” You draw out. “ I just want to show you how proud I am” You whisper through dark lashes. Carmen trails a tattooed fingers across your jaw, letting glide against the smooth skin until it bumps against your lips. Trailing your bottom lip fervently, his own pulled into his mouth.

“And how are you going to congratulate me hm?”

“That will just ruin the surprise, won’t it?”

Carmen let’s put a chuckle, before leaning into the crook of your neck

“Careful..you know I don’t like it when you keep things from me” 

You can’t help the shudder that crawls up your spine at his words, flashes of being bent over his desk, of being pushed onto your knees corrode your mind and you feel the burning ache travel to your core.

Carmen tilts his head, a hint of a smile on his lips as he watches you, eyes glinting in want.

“No? You’re not gonna tell me?” Carmen replies in a low voice, and as he trails his thick digits across the sides of your dress, bunching up the silk material.

He trails his thick digits across the bodice of your dress, his hands dipping into the spill of cleavage before trailing it to the sides of your dress, bunching up the silk material. Surely he’s not?

“Mhm” Carmen nods, eyes flickering to you, reading your mind as he takes you in appreciably. His pupils are blown out in lust, the familiar ceruleans dipping into a depth only reserved for you.

You let out a squeal when you feel Carmen’s fingers trail up the slit on your thigh, squeezing the naked flesh before tracing his fingers along the lace trim of your panties. You’re up against the bar, shielded by the low ambient lighting and Carmen’s huge back obscuring every manoeuvre of your body to his every desire.

“Carmen-“ You admonish, eyes darting across the room now filled with happily drunk family and friends dancing or laughing amongst each other.

However your admonishment is light hearted, it trails off into the air when you feel Carmen press against you, then, you don’t really care, you miss him too goddamn much to.

“Been watching you the entire night you know? When you were dancing with your friends, god I wanted to drag you from the floor and just take you in the fucking coat closet” Carmen muses, his lips brushing against the pulse point behind your ear. Your drink long forgotten on the bar counter, your hands now gripping his shoulders as you bite back a moan.

“Yeah, just thinking about wrapping these thighs around me and letting that pussy grip me for hours”

“You’d take it all, right honey? You’ll be my good girl?” Carmen grunts out softly

All you can let out is a half hearted nod, your eyes falling dangerously closed as Carmen prods and sucks against every sliver of skin he can get ahold of.

His deft thumb drags along the fabric of your undergarments, cupping your mound as you let out a sharp exhale, making approving noises as the slick that has begun to already begun to drench your panties.

“Already wet for me Darling?” Carm replies, the hint of mirth surrounding his voice doesn’t allude you, and if you didn’t want to keep chasing that sweet friction of Carmens thumb against your heat you would have shoved him.

“Please Carm” You exhale with a sharp breath, trying to grind your hips onto the palm of his hand. He strokes you softly, featherlight touches that barely feel like anything.

And this man, this goddamn man, laughs. A roll of a chuckle rolls through his body and you want to scream at the denial of the pleasures he's keeping from you, before his deep baritone voice replies.

“All you had to say was please”

His rough fingers sink into your heat, it’s silky, and rough and hits you like liquor, straight to the building pressure. He drags your slick through your folds, arching his fingers ever so slightly when he bumps up against your clit. Never fully putting any pressure on that precipice of pleasure you want to dive head first into.

Dipping a thick tattooed digit into your tight hole, Carmen lets out a groan at the way you grip him so tightly, masking your pitched moan at the feeling of him circling his thumb against your bundle of nerves and stretching you out with his thick digits.

Carmen is practically holding you up, his large bicep wrapped tightly around your waist as you sink your teeth into his shoulder, letting the skin absorb the litter of stuttered mewls you let out at the swipes of his thumb against your clit.

The coil begins to tighten, and you can faintly hear Carmen softly whisper sweet nothings, proclamations, declarations, praises. They fall from his mouth like honey and push you further up the cliff. 

“I know sweet girl, taking it so well, just keep taking it, let me make you feel good, yeah?”

A second finger joins the first, dragging your sopping slick up your folds, before dipping into your tight hole. Rough fingers massage up against your walls that grip him so tightly, Carmen knows your body inside and out, and it doesn't take long for him to find the soft spongy patch of skin deep within you, curling a third finger up into that spot, roughly thrusting into relentlessly. 

Carmen watches the way your pussy swallows his thick tattooed fingers, thrusting them out slicker and wetter each time, the image has his jaw and slacks tightening and it takes everything in him not to sink his entire length into against the bar counter, fuck whoever else.

Your hips buckle beneath him, and he grips you harder into his chest, his mouth presses bruising kisses along your neck, jaw, clavicle. Your heated moans fail to reside in you as you begin to cant your hips into his hands, rubbing your clit rapidly on the flat side of his palm. The coil tightens within you, and you roll your eyes back, letting out a bubbling of half syllabus, your brain a mush from the saccharine pleasure curling your toes.

“M’ fucking you dumb baby? You getting off so good on my fingers you can’t speak?” Carmen groans out, he can’t stop himself from canting his hips forward, his erection bumping into your stomach.

The feeling of him pressed and thrusting against you, outlined by his suit pants is a vision that breaks you entirely, and you can’t even blink before you feel the band snap, the delicious white hot burn spreading through you like a wildfire.

“Carmen..s-..gonna” You manage to let out with a breath, and Carmen knows already, of course he does. He’s knuckles deep in you now, and his relentless rutting is inescapable, you can fucking feel him in your bones, down to your goddamn marrow. He continues his rapid thrusts into you, refusing to relent, pushing you further, and further through the waves of your unending. 

Your head lulls back, but Carmen catches it with his arm, his mouth slatted over yours as you fail to keep in the loud yell of his name from your lips. 

Carmen swallows your stuttered mewls, your swears, your please, he swallows it all and keeps it for himself. His tongue darting across the inside of your mouth, swiping along the roof of your mouth, across your front teeth.

His fingers continue to thrust into you, helping you ride through the burst of colours and stars that light your vision beneath your lids. You're pushed up against his hard chest, and it takes some time for your limp body to come back to life, your head a daze of pleasure.

“S’fucken good girl”

Carmen mutters so softly, almost to himself, his fingers are still cupping your heart, whisper grazes of his thumb against your drenched folds. 

as he fixes your dress, smoothing the wrinkles formed, flickering his eyes to yours in a sweet smile.

Through hooded lids, you see a man approach you both, interrupting the heated gaze Carmen imprints down to your very bones. Carmen slinks his hand back, discreetly popping those deft digits into his mouth with a low groan, before wiping them on his suit pants. He carefully fixes your dress, smoothing the wrinkles formed, flickering his eyes to yours in a sweet smile as if he hadn’t just fucked you up into his knuckles, and goddamn tasted you. 

The scene causes a shudder to roll down your back, reigniting the heat deep inside you once again, you never thought you could be this depraved, this-, but the way he sinks into you so perfectly has you nodding to every desire he has. He was a goddamn drug.

Your body is still recovering from the aftershocks of your orgasm, and you feel Carmen's heated gaze on you as you try and coherently respond to the stubby man who’d interrupted you both. The man rambles on, clearly oblivious to your state, too focused on the sound of his own voice. You nod along to his words, something about a farmers market or an Indian restaurant that had opened, but you're jittering in your heels and you can barely stand, opting to lean against the bar counter. 

You look towards Carmen, to find him staring at you, amusement lighting his cerulean blues as he takes in your insatiability. Hell, it took him god near everything to not fling the man to the other side of the room so that he could probably taste you. 

Remind him again why he agreed to this?

It gets to maybe the second inception of an animated story before Carmen is bidding the man goodbye with a shake of a hand, and all you can do is swallow the desire that no doubt has you salivating by the second. God if Carmen had made you wait even one more minute you would have tugged on his shirt like some petulant child.

“Took you long enough” You murmur, when Carmen eases out into the speakeasy car park with a hand against the small of your back.

A soft laugh escapes Carmen, scratching at his jaw as he shakes his head. 

“If I didn’t already know, I would think you're the one that hates these things” Carmen murmurs with a teasing smile, as you make your way to the sleek black car that camouflages against the midnight.

You make a sound that sounds close to a snort, “Not when it keeps me from jumping my fiances bones” Your engagement ring seems to glisten at those words, and you don't miss the way Carmen’s eyes flash with a look of hunger, adoration, glee, even possession all mixed in one.

You’d been his since the moment he laid eyes on you, that was a given. Putting a ring on your finger just gave him something to latch onto, a mark that told the world you were finally his.

It anchored him, it made him feel good. It eased the anxieties that would flood his mind, washing them away like a current every time he kissed that damn princess cut.  

Carmen wasn’t exactly all that sentimental, but with you? God did he mutter till death do us part like it was tattooed onto his tongue. And even then, when he’s a zombified version of his human self, traveling the underworld soullessly he’d find you.

Oh were you Carmen’s, but wasn’t he yours too?

“Language sweetheart, you make me sound like a piece of meat” Carmen murmurs teasingly shuffling so that he’s leaning over your body pressed into the passenger seat door.

“Language? Your talking about modesty after you just-” Your cut off by Carmen's rough finger pressed against your lips

“Would be careful about what you're going to say next sweetheart” Carmen raps in a low voice, tracing his finger against your bottom lip, eyebrows furrowed as if the motion of his fingers brushed up against you was of utmost importance.

You gulp back the words you wanted to say, Carmen's blown out eyes flicker from yours to your lips, and you lift your head towards him. Carmen catches you with a hand wrapped around your jaw, pushing you further against him as he crashes his lips sweet against your own. Swiping against your bottom lip, dipping into the heat of your mouth as he groans against the taste of you.

“So sweet,” Carmen murmurs into the kiss, before pulling back. Amusement clouds over lust filled eyes at your immediate anger against his denial

“What about my surprise?” 

“You can’t really get to enjoy the full experience in a public car park on Michigan Ave” You whisper, suggestivity laces your tone as you feel the heat of embarrassment flood through you. You were not good at this stuff, and yet the sharp sound of Carmen’s soft groan causes you to lift your eyes up to meet him.

“Then what are we doing standing here?” Carmen replies with a growl, it erupts from his chest, and as you stare up at him, you finally take in the wolfish expression on his face. He look’s insatiable, goddamn animalistic as he eyes you carefully, a darkness that prods at his blues.

You let Carmen place you into the passenger seat, the resounding click of the seat belt the only sound in the stretch of silence between you both. A heaviness laces the air in the car as you ride home, a headiness, a lurking desire beneath the illuminating light of the console, and the flashing lights of Chicago sitting against tinted windows. 

Carmen spreads his thighs across the drivers seat leisurely, resting a hand on the steering wheel, whilst the other grips your thigh tightly. There's going to be a bruise there tomorrow, and you can't help but preen at the thought of his mark on you hours later.

You count the seconds that tick by as Carmen rolls into the basement garage of your shared apartment, parking silently as he cuts the engine and remains unmoving, except for his hand gripping your thigh which he squeezes periodically. 

Carmen cuts his gaze towards you, the wolfish expression that overtakes his features and turns him into a predator tells you all you need to know, but his eyes soften ever so slightly, almost telling you the next move is up to you.

Carmen doesn't need to hear the seat belt unclasping before he's tugging you on his lap with rough skillful hands. His erection pushed against the softness of your belly as groan out in blissed relief, Carmen can’t help himself, grinding his hips up into you frantically.

“Need” Carmen breathes out heavily “Need to feel you, need to be inside of you. Right now, right fucking now” Carmen groans.

There is a fumble of clothes being ripped and thrown into the backseat, and Carmen shifts the driver's seat to lean back a little. The position is unforgiving, your back is pressed against the wheel, and the space is too small, but strangely, it’s a tight proximity you crave, too long have you gone without the ecstasy of Carmen’s skin against yours.

You settle your thighs on either side of him, his deft fingers drawing soft circles across your hips, his pressing fervent kisses along your jaw causing you to fall into the crook of his neck.

“Please, sweetheart, let me feel you, let me see you, shh, it’s alright, let me feel you” Carmen hums into the heat of your skin, tasting your sweat with the flat of his tongue as he grips your hips gently.

You lift them, and with Carmen's help, you finally, after what felt like centuries, sink onto Carmen's length, the sobbing slick drenching your folds causing him to slip in easily, eliciting a breathless groan from him as he feels the heat of you wrap around you.

You can hardly breath, all you can feel, all you can taste and see is him, the delicious stretch that comes with the first sink into you is glorious, its fucking ineffable. The entirety of his length sinks into you to the hilt, and you feel every vein and ridge of him graze against your tight walls as you let out a strained whimper into Carmen's shoulder.

“ ‘S Fucking velvet, pussy grip’s like a goddamn vice every time sweetheart” Carmen praises, pressing kisses to your skin, his eyes shut as if he was memorising the feel of you, savouring it in his mind like it was the last time.  

Carmen always gave you a few moments to get comfortable around his thickness, but there was a neediness in the way he held you, like you would turn to dust if he let go, and the restraint he held earlier falls apart as makes that first thrust up into you without warning.

You cry out as the blanket of pleasure courses through you, your heart is in your throat, you can barely breath, and you throw your head back cause god don’t you want more.

You press your nails into his shoulder as you try to lift your hips, eyebrows furrowed at the feeling of pleasure that fills you with every inch of him that glides against your walls, your clit, your slick. You’re a mess, and Carmen tugs at your hips, sick of waiting, and thrusting into you mercilessly, maintaining an unforgiving pace as you quake above him.

“Take me so goddamn well, huh sugar? Doesn't my wife take my cock so well?’ Carmen grunts, his eyes watching the way his length sinks into you and leaves glistening with your slick. The sight nearly tears him into his undoing, nearly causing him to spurt into you, if only he had a damn polaroid.

Your head brushes against the roof of the car as Carmen pistons into you, his hands gripping your hips as he slams you onto his length, rutting into you as the velvet of your walls cling to him. It was like goddam silk wrapped around his length, the gooey slick of your arousal coating his every ridge, dripping down onto his balls and between the space where he’d thrust into you.

A litter of profanities fall from his mouth with every stuttered thrust of his hips, its uncontrolled, and Carmen shows no restraint, no signs of stopping as he chases the wet softness only you have, the decadent caramel, your natural addicting scent, the car fucking stinks of you, and it takes everything in Carmen not to rip you off him and drink from you like a fountain elixir.

His tip brushes against your cervix, thrusting impossibly deeper with every move of his hips, he changes his position, and it causes his length to brush up against that spot that causes stars to burst in your vision. You practically arch your back against him, lifting your hips up when you feel the white hot pleasure that drips down your back, exploding your senses.

“No no no, fucking take it” Carmen snarks, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you down deeper, further onto his length, till your filled to the brim, your slick gushing out of you.

A shudder rolls through you and the sound of Carmen's low voice, dipping into something untapped, something animalistic and merciless, something that would pull every drop of pleasure from you until you were a sobbing mess.

You roll your hips against his length, a shaking, stuttering mess of gurgling words and cries as you grind your clit against Carmen's length, whilst the girth of his thrust into the spongy spot within you that leaves you heaving.

The familiar burn of a coil tightens within you, and as Carmen presses a thumb against the swollen bundle of nerves, circling it softly. The contrast of his soft feather touches against your clit paired with his unforgiving pace thrusting into causes you to keen, arching your back against him as Carmen murmur below you fervently, like he's chanting something, worshipping every curve of your body.

“Open your eyes pretty girl” Carmen murmurs, the soft voice of his voice comes back, the rough demeanour falling away like dust as he takes in the signs of your closeness.

“Please Carmen” You beg, you don't know what for,  but it seems like everything from the pleading lilt of your voice. Give me everything Carmen, your love, your pleasure, your skin and bones.

“I know Baby, I know, let me see you yeah? Let me see those pretty eyes” Carmen prods gently

You squeeze your eyes open and the vision that finds you almost snaps the coil tightening deep within your gut, bellowing with heat and pleasure that sizzles below your skin like electricity.

Carmen lies beneath you, his cheeks red with heat and blushing desire, his eyebrows are furrowed, and below them, below them lie cerulean blues that glaze over in a daze, hooded lids with curls lashes that brush against cheekbones. It’s like he's in a trance, his pupils blown out in lust and something else as they watch the bounce of your chest against him each time you shealth yourself onto his thick, hard length.

White teeth pressed into reddened lips watch you eagerly, imprinting you into his mind forever, he wanted you like this always, taking every inch, screaming nothing but his name.

“Fucking gorgeous”

The lilt of his voice, grown husky and low from pleasure breaks something in you, and you aren’t able to warn him, before you arch your back impossibly, driving yourself roughly onto his hips as you get the wave of pleasure wash over you. Colours of vermilion, blue, of the wine you had drunk and Carmen's cologne burst under your lids, on your tongue, everywhere. Carmen groans loudly below you, thrusts growing sloppy as he ruts into you desperately, chasing his own release brought on by your own unending. 

Carmen barely controls the thrust of his hips into you, releasing spurts of thick cum, coating your walls endlessly. His arm wraps tightly around your waist, making you take everything he gives you, forcing you into the whirlwind of ecstasy and base desire you can’t escape from.

You both temporarily forgot about where you both are in that instance, the pleasure from the both of you transports you somewhere boneless, and for a second you feel your heart stop, the  wave of pleasure that crashes over you as Carmen continues rutting into you, lengthening the wave as long as possible until you feel it swallow you both whole.

It’s somewhere between a few minutes to a few hours when you resurface, you don't know, your mind is a mess of sound and colour and the ecstatic aftershock of pleasure that still runs through you. You're nestled into Carmen’s chest, the scent of your coupling thick in the air, your thighs and the leather seat are covered with your combined slick.

The only sound between you both is your heavy breathing, you still nestled up to the hilt of Carmen, and when you slightly shift your hips Carmen shoots out a hand to stop you.

“Easy there sweetheart” Carmen replies in tight constraint, over stimulation washing over you both as the buzz of pleasure still hasn't quite dissipated.

“S-sorry” You reply, breathlessly, lifting your head tiredly to catch the soft gaze of Carmen watching you. His hands glide across your naked frame, pressing soft circles, shushing and smoothing out every shudder and shake of your legs. Carmen doesn't tell you the thought of you visibly shaking from him and he only causes his length to stiffen and his mind to reel.

“So..where’s my present?” Carmen’s teasing voice re-emerges, his eyes crinkling as you swipe at him playfully.

“You’re still in me, dick” You reply with a roll of your eyes, falling back against the hardness of his chest

“Mhm, and I didn’t even get to taste you” Carmen murmurs, tracing his fingers along the curve of your waist, cupping your ass as you shudder from his words. There was a finality in it, and you don’t know if you’ll make it to the elevator before he fulfills that very desire.

The obscenity of it, you love it, only Carmen could make you this depraved. And god do you thank him for it.

Taglist 🏷 (send an ask to be apart of my taglist for carmen)

@kpopgirlbtssvt @rooster-bradshaws

[shadowtriovibes]

the train ain't even left the station

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Rating: G

Word Count: 2K

Summary: request: "If you're up for it I'd love to see a small lil fic of Sebastian sending his child off to Hogwarts for the very first time! Like maybe Sebastian is telling them about his adventures with Ominis and MC to make the child less nervous or just letting them know how exciting things will be for them :)"

in the same 'verse as "it's a sign of the times" [AO3]

Sebastian sets her down and rests a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Not too good, alright? It’s worth breaking a few rules every now and then to make a friend, or do what’s right.” “Like how you met Uncle Ominis and he showed you the Undercroft?” she says eagerly. A few feet away, you look up sharply from where you’re hugging Simon goodbye. “Did she just say ‘Undercroft?’” “No,” Sebastian and Anne-Marie say in unison.

September 1, 1910

Suspended overhead in the bustling terminal of King’s Cross Station is a massive clock. Every morning, hundreds of thousands of Londoners – both Muggles and wizards alike, though more often the former – pass underneath the clock as they hurry to catch their trains. Many will casually glance up to ensure they’re still on time as they make their way to work, school, or even the lucky few off on holiday.

As it happens, the first day of September brings countless students to the station on their way to boarding schools all over the U.K., meaning the station stays especially crowded well into the late morning. Worried mums and impatient dads all turn their eyes toward that clock, hoping their sprogs won’t be left on the platform on their very first day of school.

Just as the minute hand slides into place at the very bottom of the clock, a handsome young family emerges from a tiny waiting room positioned at the far end of the terminal.

Hundreds of Muggle men in their funny, black suits and odd little bowler hats have already walked right past the waiting room without sparing it a second glance. In fact, had any of them paused to do so, they would have read a small sign affixed to the door that simply read, “Out of Order.”

But inside that waiting room is a grand fireplace. Not just any fireplace, mind you – one that roared brilliantly twenty-four hours a day, never needs stoking, and, perhaps most importantly, spews out bright green flames.

Sebastian Sallow first exits the waiting room with a precarious cart loaded up with trunks, birdcages, and even some broomsticks of all things. If the Muggles passing by thought anything of the man’s rather odd collection of travel items, no one said a word.

He glances up at the clock and grins.

“Ten thirty,” he says confidently over his shoulder. “See? I told you we wouldn’t be late.”

Beside him is his young wife. Their smallest child, a boy just a few months shy of his fifth birthday, is dozing in her arms. Behind them are their oldest children, a pair of twins, chatting excitedly as they follow their parents toward the barricade between platforms nine and ten.

“Doesn’t it seem a bit redundant to Floo all the way down to London just to put the children on a train back to Scotland?” Sebastian mumbles as your family weaves its way through the flowing crowds.

“Perhaps, but all the children love riding the train,” you remind him fondly. “It’s a Hogwarts tradition, especially for the little ones.”

Having never had the chance to take the Hogwarts Express yourself, you find yourself mildly envious of your eldest children, both of whom will soon be taking their very first journey on the school’s scarlet red steamer train.

“Besides,” you add teasingly. “If I recall, you and Anne met Ominis on your first train ride to Hogwarts, correct?”

“Fine, I suppose you’ve got me there,” Sebastian relents with a soft smile. “I rather think this whole journey will have been worth it if the twins happen to make lifelong friends who save their lives several times over.”

“Do we have to?” your son Simon pipes up, sounding wary. “Because I packed a book I wanted to read.”

Sebastian raises an eyebrow at you and gives you a look that reads, He is your son through and through.

“Trying to prove you’re a Ravenclaw already, are you?” Sebastian teases him. “Just like your mum, you are.”

“I’m going to be a Slytherin like you, Daddy!” your daughter Anne-Marie chimes in proudly. “Even Auntie Anne said so!”

You and Sebastian exchange a fond, albeit exasperated look. Ever since Anne (and eventually Sebastian) had accepted the life-limiting curse placed upon her by Rookwood, she’d instead focused on honing types of magic that don’t drain her of her energy or cause her any more pain. She’d found comfort in Divination and has grown into a very powerful Seer, though she often uses her gift to rile up your children with premonitions of being spoiled rotten on their birthday or soundly beating the other village children in their broomstick races.

However, predicting that your mischievous little girl will end up in Slytherin is a fairly safe bet, you imagine.

“I won’t be the least bit surprised if that’s true,” Sebastian says warmly. “But just know your mother and I will love you all the same no matter which house you end up in.”

“Even Hufflepuff?” Simon asks nervously. “Ernest from the village says Hufflepuffs are boring.”

“Don’t forget your Auntie Poppy is a Hufflepuff,” you tease him. “She’s anything but boring!”

That seems to cheer Simon up a bit, but your sweet, slightly shy boy falls back beside you as you get closer to the platform barricade.

“Alright, my love?” you ask him softly.

He reaches for your free hand and squirms up tightly against your side. “It’s really big…”

You size up the high brick archway before you. To the naked eye, it appears as solid as rock, and despite Sebastian’s reassurances that it’s perfectly safe to run straight at it, you imagine you’d be intimidated as well if you were only eleven years old.

“Don’t worry, darling,” you reassure him. “Your father and I will come with you to the platform, you won’t have to go through alone.”

He nods wordlessly and you squeeze his hand. Ever her father’s girl, Anne-Marie takes Sebastian’s arm and the two of them push the wobbly luggage cart straight at the archway, and in the blink of an eye, they’ve vanished.

“See?” you murmur to Simon. “Not so scary, is it?”

With your youngest still propped against your hip, you and Simon walk toward the barricade at a slower pace. You glance around to make sure no Muggles are watching as you slip through the magical brick facade, and then in the blink of an eye you’re on a pack platform surrounded by wizarding families and children in bright, colorful robes.

“Over here!” Sebastian calls out, and you see that he’s pulled the cart right up to the train.

“Help each other with your trunks, just like that,” Sebastian says as Simon and Anne-Marie first carry the trunk marked with an “S.S.” aboard the carriage and then return for the other marked with an “A.M.S.”

Then they carry in their owls – both young tawny birds raised from hatchlings, a gift from their Aunt Poppy. Finally, they return for their brooms, which Sebastian knows for a fact they ought not to have as first years, but he hopes he can talk Headmaster Weasley into looking the other way once they arrive with the intent of trying out for their house Quidditch teams.

(Raising your children in a wizarding village had been quite an eye-opening experience for you. Your twins have been on broomsticks since they could walk, and over the years their godfather Ominis has insisted on making sure they always have the latest model – one for each, so they won’t squabble over sharing.)

You pull Anne-Marie in for a tight hug once the children finish unloading their cart.

“You’ve got everything you need?” you ask her, pretending your voice hasn’t gone thick with tears. “I’ve packed you both some sweets for the ride, remember to share with your new friends, and write to us as soon as you get back to your dormitories please–”

“Yes, Mum,” she says, somewhat impatiently. “We promise we will.”

Anne-Marie kisses her littlest brother goodbye on his chubby cheek, fondly brushing back some of those messy brown curls your husband had given him.

“Why don’t you let your father give you a hug goodbye, sweetheart?” you gently prompt her.

You expect you’re the only one who’s noticed that Sebastian’s eyes have gotten a bit wet as he’d watched his children load up their belongings on the train. Even though he’d likely try to deny it if you prodded him, he sincerely looks like he could use a hug.

As soon as Anne-Marie approaches him with her arms out, Sebastian scoops her up against his chest like he’d often done when she was much smaller – only now her legs nearly touch the floor, and soon he’ll only be able to sway her like this with her feet firmly planted on the ground.

“Have a great term, sweetheart,” he tells her softly. “I can’t wait to hear all about it – even the parts that’ll exasperate your mother.”

“I promise I’ll be good,” she says ruefully.

Sebastian sets her down and rests a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Not too good, alright? It’s worth breaking a few rules every now and then to make a friend, or do what’s right.”

“Like how you met Uncle Ominis and he showed you the Undercroft?” she says eagerly.

A few feet away, you look up sharply from where you’re hugging Simon goodbye. “Did she just say ‘Undercroft?’”

“No,” Sebastian and Anne-Marie say in unison.

You narrow your eyes suspiciously and decide to leave it be for now, but as soon as you turn away, Sebastian leans down and whispers, “Write to Uncle Ominis and ask him where to find it. It’s a Sallow’s rite of passage.”

“I will,” she says excitedly. “And I’ll bring Simon.”

“Good girl,” he says proudly.

Anne-Marie manages to free Simon from your weepy grasp so that Sebastian can also pull him in for one last hug, reassuring his son he’ll be proud of him no matter which house he eventually calls home. Then the two link arms as they make their way toward the train, climbing up the stairs behind a gaggle of redheaded children (whose surname you could likely guess on the first try).

They settle into a compartment halfway down the carriage. Anne-Marie eagerly presses her face against the glass and makes a silly face at Sebastian, which he delightedly returns. Simon waves goodbye as well and holds up the book he’d packed, showing it off as if to say, “See Mum? We’ll be just fine.”

With your groggy son in your arms and Sebastian’s arm around your shoulders, you watch as the train slowly starts to rumble down the tracks and into the brilliant September sunshine. It’s carrying your children ever closer to your home, and yet further away from you than they’ve ever been.

You hide a few tears against the lapel of Sebastian’s robes; he kindly wipes away the rest with a handkerchief and kisses the redness on your cheeks and nose until you’re smiling once more.

“They’re going to have an incredible year,” he whispers to you. “It’s Hogwarts.”

You simply nod, not trusting yourself to answer without a stray sob slipping out.

Dozens of parents begin to Apparate away from the tracks as soon as the train rounds the corner, but with your youngest, you’ll need to make your way back to the station’s Floo flames to get home safely. This time pushing an empty cart, the three of you slip back through the brick barricade.

“It sure will feel quiet when we get home,” Sebastian says a little sadly.

“We’ve still got the littlest one,” you say softly, cradling your sleeping boy’s cheek as he clings to you through his nap. “He’ll keep us on our toes enough as he gets older.”

“I suppose,” Sebastian sighs, still sounding morose even as he reaches over and gently strokes the back of his fingers down your singleton’s back.

Then he perks up and raises an eyebrow at you. “Or perhaps we could try for a fourth?”

You shoot him a withering glare. “Not on your life, Sebastian Sallow. We’ve just sent the twins off to school, I think that means we should actually get to enjoy some peace and quiet for once.”

(Though when your twins come home for the winter holidays with countless tales of their adventures with new friends and their pockets stuffed full of Zonko’s products, Sebastian gets to be the one to tell them they’ll have a new baby sister the following summer.)

[ghostboneswrites2]

Hi!! I want to start of by saying that I love your writing!

So while watching twd I noticed that Daryl has more tattoos in the later seasons and can only guess that they’re stick-and-poke and that he did them himself. Do you think you could write a fic where the reader(f) is in a relationship with Daryl and asks him to give her a tattoo (which she has none of btw)? I was thinking like a little arrow or something because she “wants to have something of him even when they’re apart”? And make it super fluffy and stuff?

Marked

18+ MDNI || Warnings: Needles, profanity, mostly just fluffy nice cool Daryl

Note: I am not encouraging you to give anyone or receive an at home tattoo via sewing needle or tattoo gun, but I have received my fair share of both and the descriptions in this story are just based off my vague memory of how it was done for me! It is definitely not a tattoo guide.

edited to add: tysm for the compliment ilysm <3

        "Did you always have that tattoo?" You wondered, tracing over the dark marking on his arm. The two of you were on one of your regular afternoon strolls through the woods when you decided to lay against a log and chat. The sunbeams filtered through the canopy above and littered little golden rays over his arms, highlighting the light hairs and texture of his skin. These moments were your favorite. Peaceful bliss in the natural world.

        Daryl shook his head.

        "Nah. Did it awhile back." He said.

        "How?"

        "Never had a stick-n-poke?" He asked.

        "Never had a tattoo, period. Let alone a prickle-poke." You shrugged.

        "It's stick-n-poke." He snickered silently. You glared.

        "Whatever. Can you give me one?" You asked.

        "A tattoo?" 

        "Yeah. The stick-n-prickle kind." You joked.

        "Alright." He nodded. "Gotta get some supplies together for it."

----

        You watched as he carefully burned the little sewing needle and wrapped it in thread. 

        "Why thread?" You asked.

        "Kinda helps hold the ink but mostly jus' for grip." He explained.

        He set up a tiny container on the side table of your bed with black liquid.

        "Is that ink?" You asked.

        "Mm-hmm." He nodded.

        "You made it?"

        "Uh-huh."

        "How?"

        "Soot. Alcohol. Water." He shrugged. "Ain't hard."

        "Cool." You whispered, fascinated by his expertise. 

        "Wha'd'ya want?"

        "I was thinking about an arrow." You said. "A small one. Real simple." He raised an eyebrow. "For you, dummy."

        "I got that but.. Why?" He tilted his head a little.

        "'Cause. I wanna have something for you... Always. Even when we're apart." You said with a soft smile. He hid his face bashfully, not wanting to expose the little blush that was creeping over his features. Instead, he pretended to adjust the thread around the needle.

        "Where ya want it?" He asked when his flushed cheeks returned to their normal sunkissed glow.

        "Right here." You pointed to your ring finger, right where a ring would go.

        "Ya sure?"

        "Mm-hmm." You nodded surely. He wiped some alcohol over that spot to disinfect it.

        "Alright." He said. He delicately grabbed your finger and held it in place. "Y'ready?"

        "I've had worse than a little pin prick." You giggled. "I'm ready."

        Without another word, he got to work carefully poking the needle through your skin, freehanding a perfect line. You watched in awe, studying his look of concentration, the way he tilted his head to see though his hair, holding your finger up close to his face to make sure every detail was perfect. It only took about twenty minutes. You looked it over when he finished, holding your hand up the way someone does when they're admiring their engagement ring.

        "Wow." You grinned. "How did you make such a perfect line?"

        "Ain't perfect." He shrugged.

        "It is! I love it." You insisted. A half smile curled at the corner of his lips.

        "'M glad, 'cause it don't wash off." He joked. You rolled your eyes.

        "This is no laughing matter, Daryl. You just proposed to me, ya know." You said in mock seriousness.

        "What?" His eyes widened. Even under the tan skin, his face still drained of color. 

        "Yeah," you pressed on. "This is my ring finger. Like, the ring finger. And you permanently marked it with something symbolic to yourself." You gloated.

        He blinked. He couldn't tell if you were joking or not.

        "Anyways, I'm gonna go talk to Carol about planning the wedding. I bet Rosita and Tara would be beautiful bridesmaids." You rambled. "Oh, and instead of cake, everyone gets a glass of moonshine!"

        "I don' think.."

        "I'm kidding, genius." You rolled your eyes. He relaxed a little. "Thanks though. I love it."

        He cleared his throat and stood up, cleaning his workspace so not to clutter your bedroom.

        "Oh, by the way.. This is the ring finger." You smirked. He stared at you for a moment before shaking his head.

        "Don't go showin' the whole damn world and tellin' 'em we're married." He grumbled.        

        "Would that be so bad?" You pouted. He smirked and planted a kiss on your forehead.

        "Nah. But I ain't proposin' with no damn stick-n-poke. Gon' find ya somethin' better than that."

        Your face lit up, practically brightening the entire room.

        "You're gonna propose?!" You bounced with joy.

        "Wha-- I didn't--"

        "Oh, my god! I have to tell Carol!!" You squealed as you darted out of the room. He stood there expressionless, processing what he had just done.

        "Shit." He mumbled. It wasn't that he wouldn't propose one of these days. He'd love to call you his forever. Otherwise, he never would have marked you with something that represented him in the first place. It was just.. That it would draw so much attention to him. He sighed. He guessed he walked right into that one.

---

        "When did you do this?" You asked him, holding up his ring finger that was now decorated with a little cloud shape.

        "Yesterday." He shrugged.

        "Is that a cloud?" You eyed it closer.

        "Mm-hmm." 

        "For what?"

        "Dunno. Ya always stare up at the clouds when we take long drives." He explained. "Now we're both marked."

Join the taglist! || Masterlist

Tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader @ryoujoking @blackvelveteen1339 @yondus-girl @ladylincoln @sunshinebug9 @saylum559 @yoowhatthefuck @duffmckagansbandana

[countycashew54]

GUYS IM WRITING FANFIC

Caught-AlastorxLucifer fic

Also please remember this is my FIRSTT attempt at writing so... if you yell at me I will cry.

Waking up after a one-night stand is rough.

Waking up after a one-night stand with the Radio Demon proved to be just as horrific, if not more. Only the difficult nature of this wake up had little focus on Alastor at all. In fact, the opposite.

See, when you wake up to your daughter and her entire hotel, residents and staff, (although that's not saying much) barging into your room while you're in bed with the man who is also trying to parent your daughter; you're bound to have an extremely, painstakingly rough morning.

"Dad we can't fin- oh. OH-wo- that is jus-... Dad is that- Alastor?" Charlie was very clearly fighting to keep her shock and disgust off of her face, with a forced smile. Whether it was from seeing her father and her hotelier in bed together or the state of unclothed said men were in remained to be seen.

"Morning Deer!" Alastor smiled, as though nothing was out of the ordinary.

"Shit- Charlie, sweetie, this isn't what it looks like, I mean we- he-"

"NO- I mean, no need to explain dad! I am super happy to see you guys are finally…getting along! In fact, I am SO happy about it that I am going to create an activity for our patrons focused on making friendships and boundaries! You know maybe you two could be the ones to lead the activity and-" Charlie's shock-toned voice began to trail off as she was slowly walked away from the room by Vaggie, who managed to glare threateningly at them both with her one eye.

Seconds, minutes?, passed by with Alastor adjusting his hair as if nothing just occurred, while Lucifer was engaged in a reluctant stare down with Husk, Angel, Niffty, and Sir Pentious.

Angel was the one to break the standoff, a wide grin on his face.

"So I guess now I know why Smiles wasn' intrested in gettin' a sample of all o' this," a lewd gesture to his legs by one set of hands, and a scrunch of his chest fluff with the other, "when I offered huh?"

Alastor narrowed his eyes at the spider while Lucifer began to feel a golden glow coming to his cheeks, "A-and why would that be? exactly?"

"ain't it obvious? Al clearly got a kink for short kings wit' more power than he's used to, I don' fit the bill on either o' those."

"I think you will suffice to close your mouth before you end up caught in your own web, Pest." The Radio Demon's eyes had begun to darken to black as his antlers grew steadily.

"HA! He's only mad cus' I totally got it right! Huskie-baby you owe me twenty bucks!"

"Yeah, yeah let's get out of here before he decides you're his next meal," Husk had begun pushing Angel away in almost the same manner Vaggie had with Charlie.

Another moment of silence ticked by..

"Ssso-" Pentious was cut off by Lucifer's growl.

"LEAVE. please," horns and scarlet eyes flared.

As Pentious fled, Niffty awaited instruction from Alastor, who then nodded to release her from her stand still. Once she was out of the doorway Lucifer slammed the door closed with a flick of the wrist, falling back into the pillows with a groan.

Alastor had returned to his usual form, still sitting upright he glanced towards Lucifer, "well that was an entertaining start to the morning."

Lucifer ripped himself upright to glare at the man, "what part of making our little night of fun known to the entire hotel, to my daughter, was entertaining to you?"

"Why the overwhelming discomfort from all parties involved of course," He then leaned forward to whisper, "you included, my darling, you now know how much I love to watch you squirm."

Lucifer froze as the words processed through his brain and sent chills down his body. His eyes slightly crossing as he gazed at the sinner with shocked lust.

As Lucifer was processing, the demon had already stood from the bed and snapped his clothing back into pristine condition with the use of his shadows, "I do hope to see you at this morning's breakfast, the tense atmosphere that our daughter facilitates won't be the same without you, mon ange."

With a swift kiss to Lucifer's cheek the sinner was out the door, humming a radiostaticed tune that sounded vaguely from the 30's.

Lucifer stayed still for a moment, calming his body down while also wondering what had just happened. A jolt came to him when he realized, “WAIT, OUR DAUGHTER?”

Once again, please be nice to me this is my first time writing anything so I literally winged it. Hope you guys enjoyed it :,)

[vagabond-umlaut]

paper planes

brother to fushiguro tsumiki. (unofficially adopted) son to gojo satoru and you. nephew to a host of sorcerer uncles and aunts. (unwilling) assistant to the white-haired idiot. and, finally, ringbearer at your and gojo's still-undetermined wedding.

one teeny-tiny boy with one too many identity is what fushiguro megumi is - until he isn't. with lots and lots of sniffles and sniggers...

▸ gojo satoru x fem! reader; established relationship; post hidden inventory arc; manga spoilers; proposals; adoptions; alternate universe happy for everyone except toji lovers (sorry ＞︿＜)

▸ two fics in a week, wow. guess this is what is called a brainrot, huh? read this post by @/mintmatcha on tumblr and started writing this lol. but the plot of this story is miles, tons, eons away from that post, i swear. also, this fic is set in the same universe as blue hawaii but you need not read that first to read this. treat this as a stand-alone if you wanna! 😊 anyways, gif, divider and characters ain't mine. please don't plagiarize, translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

"yeah, yeah, i've got it all planned."

a discreet eye roll is all megumi gives as he goes through the menu card in his hands. a little distance away, he can spy tsumiki and you seated at a table, you tying his sister's long hair into braids while the latter laughs, probably at a joke you cracked.

a tiny smile rests on the little boy's face at the sight - which vanishes when he feels a large hand tousle his hair. you had spent hours and hours righting his hair into a proper shape; why must this idiot always mess everything up?

megumi looks up to find his guardian looking down at him with a shit-eating grin; though he can clearly see the nerves it's covering.

idiot.

phone wedged in between his ear and shoulder, gojo mutters a "one sec, suguru," and crouches down to the boy's eye level. the latter gives back an unimpressed stare.

"decided what you wanna have, 'gumi? remember mom and sis there asked you to choose for them today."

megumi feels an urge to say you two aren't his real parents - but stamps it down instantly. the both of you have been as good as real parents can be to their kids - or maybe even better. the boy has read books, watched movies and listened to his classmates talk about their families; the tiny urchin-head knows.

with a huff, he points at the double chicken fillet burger box - it's tsumiki's favourite and you too don't seem to dislike it. with a nod, gojo rises and placing his orders, returns to the call, beaming expression again directed at megumi.

"yeah, yeah, don't worry, man," he speaks into the phone, then drops his volume to a mere whisper, "'my little kiddo here is a born actor. he remembers the entire plan, step by step - don't you, buddy?"

megumi gives an imperceptible nod, itching back to get back to the table. he already would have - needless to say, the little munchkin prefers your company to gojo's, way way more - but their orders have not been delivered yet and the boy promised to be-

a little tap on the shoulder draws him from his musings and he cranes his neck up to find gojo frowning. "no, megumi didn't want to discuss the plan with me before leaving. no, he doesn't like you better- hey," the man looks at him, sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose revealing his indignant gaze, "you wanna discuss with uncle suguru one last time?"

an indifferent shrug is all the reply he gives.

while uncle suguru isn't the best uncle he has, he isn't the worst either. the others are- oh, wait. the others include uncle kento and uncle yu. they are literal angels compared to him. so... maybe... he is the worst... never mind. it's too late to back out anyways.

grumbling, gojo hands him the phone. "hello uncle," megumi greets just like you and tsumiki have taught him to. the man behind mutters something along the lines of ''traitor" or something; the boy pays him no mind.

"hey champ," the voice floats over the line, pleasant, kind and the way people talk to babbling babies. megumi's bored face turns irritated. "let's discuss the semantics one last time before boarding your flight, okay?"

"yeah, okay," megumi says, and casting a sideways glance at his bundle-of-nerves guardian, continues, "we're going to reykjavik," he looks at gojo, silently asking if he pronounced it correctly. the man sends him a thumbs-up with an encouraging grin.

the kid continues, "the plane will land at noon day after tomorrow, which is mom's birthday. first, we will go to the hotel. then, after resting, in the evening, we will head out in a car to watch the northern lights. and then-"

"-when it's the right moment, your dad will pop the question to your mom and you'll click the camera. got it, mr. future ringbearer?" finishing the rest of the sentence for him, the man at the other end asks, sounds of pans clacking and food sizzling in the background. nana-chan and mimi-chan must have woken up.

megumi nods. "yeah, got it, mr. future best man."

a chuckle comes in response to his comment. "you're a lot like your mom, y'know?"

"yeah," he mumbles, waving back to you and tsumiki, a little smile on his otherwise-impassive-but-always-adorable face, "i know."

"good," the man says, then pauses when a loud crash booms through the air and through the phone, a set of two wailing voices following it not soon after. megumi can quite literally picture the wincing frown his uncle is wearing as he says the next words in a hurry, "okay, 'gumi. talk to you later. bye, and best of luck! satoru's counting on his little assistant."

"yeah, thanks," he responds but is too late - the call is already cut by then.

giving the phone back to gojo, who's tapping his sneakers-clad feet on the floor, he looks back ahead, wondering when the hell heck their token number will be displayed and when they will get their food.

to the kid's great relief, it doesn't take a lot of time.

before long, the four of you are seated around the table, gojo stealing a sip from your drink and you stealing fries from him, all the while tsumiki giggles loudly at your antics. megumi smiles, before he hides it behind the burger which he takes a bite from.

the four of you really look like a family, don't you?

"hey, guys, can i have your attention for a sec, please?" your sudden question startles him from his mind. the boy turns to find you with your usual grin, albeit a smidgen of anxiety can be found in the way your fingers drum on the table.

megumi shares a look with tsumiki and gojo. they look as confused as he feels. "do i have your attention, people?" you ask again, manner growing a tad solemn unlike your usual, though the affection is still evident in your tone.

gojo and tsumiki nod immediately. you turn to him, gently smiling, "can i have your attention too, 'gumi? please?"

the boy nods his head instantly. "yeah, yeah. sure," he replies, scooting his chair closer to yours. you send him a relieved smile. "good, 'cause what i'm going to say next is very important. so, listen to me carefully, 'kay?"

all three of them are eager to nod in affirmation and anticipation.

scouring through your backpack, you retrieve a couple of pretty important-looking papers, and placing them back on the table, clasp your hands atop them. the kid spots gojo shoot you a worried look to which you respond with a reassuring smile.

the man's frown fades a little.

gaze now darting from one kid to another, you begin, "you two know, right, we love you very much?"

"yeah!" tsumiki exclaims, but is quick to fall silent when megumi shoots her a glare. you proceed, lips pressing into a thin line, "but we cannot adopt you two, in spite of how much all us want it to happen. we tried to, many, many times. but those higher-ups just won't let us do that."

a second passes - one wherein his young brain registers your words - before, lower lip wobbling, the boy casts his gaze down upon his light-up sneakers.

is this where you'll say he'll be sent to those zen'ins? away from his sister? away from you and gojo? away from all his uncles, aunts, nana-chan and mimi-chan?

megumi feels a hand card through his locks gently. looking up, he finds you with a soft smile. "but the thing is 'toru and i didn't let them defeat our purpose. we thought, you two can choose to be my clan's wards. not 'toru's, because of fucking - sorry, please forget i said that word - i meant, idiotic clan politics. so, what do you think?"

megumi turns to his sister, a pensive look plastered on her face the way it is on his. gojo adds, a tender smile in place of his usual stupid grin, "no pressure, kids. the both of us won't love you two any less and will be equally fine in case you choose not to."

"you guys can take how much ever time you need to think. there's no hurry," megumi hears you say, your warm hand rubbing circles on his back, as he turns back to his half-eaten burger.

a long moment passes.

passengers enter the cafeteria, they leave the cafeteria. the four of you remain seated, quietly munching on your food.

the boy finally removes his gaze from his now-empty tray and sends an inquiring, confused, hopeful look to his sister. tsumiki smiles back with a tiny nod. the little kid feels his heart burst with joy.

"we want to," the two of them answer in unison, and within a fraction of a second, megumi finds himself swept up in a warm hug alongside his sister, by you. "thank you for giving me, for giving us a chance," he hears you mutter quietly in a tear-choked voice. the boy simply pats your back the way you do to him. he soon feels another set of arms wrap around the three of you.

megumi thinks he has never felt happier or safer than in this moment.

a while passes with the four of you in this manner, enwrapped in an embrace, before you all finally pull away from each other.

the boy returns to his seat, rubbing his eyes. a minute passes in composing all of yourselves before you state, munching on another fry, "so, step one, including tsumiki and megumi into my legal family is done and successful. thank you, my loves."

tsumiki beams back at you; megumi returns a tiny smile. you grin at them - which, the kid watches, turns slyer as you switch your focus to your boyfriend.

the little boy stares at you, then stifles a snicker - he thinks he has a pretty good idea of what's gonna happen next. his gut instincts are rarely wrong, after all.

"but, 'toru..." you drawl, grin giving way to a smirk as gojo smiles back - perplexed but loving all the same. "for the step two, making you my legal family too, guess i need to wait to say 'yes' until the northern lights viewing two days later... don't i?"

a beat passes, then another, and another.

a loud gasp sounds from tsumiki. megumi turns to his dad - who's gaping wide-eyed at his mom now, the man's face whiter than his ugly hair - and smirks. just like the imp the goggles-wearing idiot always calls him at home, despite you repeatedly telling him not to.

gojo looks back at him, shock written on, engraved into his features.

"though i didn't really help you propose, i'm still the ringbearer, right?"

▸ masterlist

[aangelichaos]

SLOW

Summary: After months of pining, Joel Miller finally makes a move on you at the winter dance.

Age Rating: T

Word Count: 1.9K

Warnings: Allusions to smut, kissing, sexual tension, there's a creepy dude but Joel helps

A/N: Sorry this is ass, the writer's block is so bad rn. Anyways I fucking love Jackson Joel so much, there needs to be more fics of him. I love the idea of him finally experiencing a crush again and being able to really acknowledge those feelings, and he's so overwhelmed and thrown off by how much he craves you. Divider by @inklore

He's had his eyes on you all night.

He can't stop watching, mesmerized by the way you move. If he were younger and more confident he would be out on the dance floor with you. But he's intimidated by your beauty, so sweet and graceful as you dance. He can't measure up to you, his bones are creaky and he can't dance to save his own life. And even though you're not much younger than him yourself, he fears that his age is starting to catch up to him, that he wouldn't be able to keep up your seemingly boundless energy. So he sticks to the sidelines, content to watch you dance the night away.

He doesn't know when it started, exactly. All he knows is that at some point, he became utterly infatuated with you, and now he can't get enough. Your smile, your laughter, your touch- he's hooked on you. He feels like a teenager again, with the way butterflies form in his stomach when he sees you and his heart races when you flash that pretty smile his way. So when a strange man approaches you, extending his hand in invitation, it sets off a silent rage inside him.

‘It should be me’ Joel thinks as he watches him pull you into his arms, far too intimate for two strangers. And then he starts to wonder, doubt filling his mind. There's not a ring on your finger, and you never mentioned another man in your life, but he still can't help but think that maybe he's been deluding himself this entire time. You've probably been with that man all this time, and he's just been too caught up in his feelings for you to notice. The guy pulls you closer, and a burning hot wave of jealousy crashes over him, intense and nearly painful. That is, until your eyes meet his, and he sees the look in them.

Fear.

Fear is a familiar thing to him. He can recognize it from a mile away. The subtle furrow of your brows, the slight widening of your eyes as they plead with him, a silent cry for help. He's walking towards the two of you before he even knows what he's doing, instinct telling him he needs to get you away from that guy. He's subtle about it, tapping the guy's shoulder and mumbling out a "Mind if I steal her away for a minute?" He whisks you away before the man can object.

You end up back in the corner of the room with him, the two of you sipping on your drinks as you watch everybody else dance.

“Thank you,” you finally mutter after a few moments of silence.

“No problem,” he says in return, giving you a small nod. "If you don't mind me askin', what was that about?"

“He just wanted to get into my pants,” you spit, “I think he was drunk or something. He wouldn't let go of me, you know how those guys are.”

“Fuckin' idiot,” he grumbles. “Boys like him ain't got a damn clue how to treat a woman.” He can't imagine how someone could look at you, so pretty and lovely, and just seeing a hole to use for the night. You deserve better. You deserve a man who knows how to take care of a woman, make you feel loved and safe. He wishes it were him. He'd be good to you.

You nod in return. “Yeah,” is all you respond with before the two of you fall back into silence, and he wishes he could think of something to say. You're right here, as gorgeous as ever, and he's completely fucking this up. But what do you say to someone when all you can think about is how good they felt in your arms and how badly you want to kiss them?

“So,” you speak up again. “Do you want to dance?”

It's a simple question. Innocent, lighthearted. But it sends his heart racing. You want to dance with him. You. Beautiful, perfect you. But he can't, he knows he can't, because he'll only crave you more if he does. “Darlin', I- I don't dance. Got two left feet,” he jokes, trying to ignore the way he fucking aches to have you in his arms again.

“Come on, it'll be fun,” you urge him, a smile playing on your lips. “Please?”

It's almost scary how quickly his resolve crumbles. He wishes he were a stronger man, but he can't resist you, could never resist you. “Okay.”

He curses himself for agreeing when you grin and take his hand, pulling him to the dance floor. You're so pretty. So goddamn pretty, and he doesn't know how to deal with it. You grasp his hands and nearly drag him around the floor, but he doesn't mind at all. And to his surprise, he is able to keep up with you, after all (though he might have stepped on your foot once or twice at first).

“‘Two left feet' my ass,” you say after a few minutes. “You're doing just fine.”

“Tell that to your toes,” he quips, reveling in the way you giggle in response. He thinks it might just be the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

“Yeah, but that was only a couple times. You haven’t done that in at least five minutes,” you’re quick to point out. “You’re doing great, really,” you assure him with a soft smile.

Joel’s heart skips a beat at that. He wonders if you can tell he's smitten, if you can feel the way his heart is racing. "Thanks," he murmurs in reply.

The song ends, suddenly replaced with something much softer, slower. Oh, shit. He drops your hands, clearing his throat nervously. But you take his hand back in yours, stepping closer.

God.

"Is this alright?" you ask softly, not daring to make another move until he agrees.

"Yes," he responds instantly, tentatively reaching his free hand out to grasp your waist. It's indescribable, the feeling of finally getting to hold you like this. He never wants to let you go.

You drop his hand, instead opting to wrap your arms around his neck while his hand falls to your hip along with the other. You stay like this for a while, just swaying back and forth. Joel's heart is pounding, and he thinks that surely you can feel it, but if you can you don't say anything.

At some point the line between platonic and romantic blurs, and the respectable distance between you closes. He has you cradled against his chest, his arms wrapped fully around you as you lean into him.

“Hey, Joel?” you mumble, looking up to meet his eyes. Your eyes are beautiful in this light, shining and sparkling as they look up at him. It takes everything in his power not to pull your face to his and kiss you breathless then and there.

“Yeah?” he whispers out, his voice tight and strained.

“What’re we doing?” you ask, your bottom lip sticking out just slightly in a small pout.

His brows furrow in confusion. “We’re… dancing?” he whispers back tentatively.

“No, I mean… fuck,” you curse under your breath. You pause for a moment, leaving Joel to wait with bated breath for your next words. “What are we?”

The words shoot through him like a bolt of lightning, setting every nerve in his body aflame. “I… don’t know, sugar. What do you want us to be?” he asks. He knows exactly what you want, and he wants it too, but he needs to hear it from your pretty lips.

You sigh softly. “Not this. I don’t… shit, there’s something here, right? I’m not making it up, am I?” you ask in a desperate plea for him to tell you he feels it too.

Joel thinks that he must be dreaming, because there's no way in hell you're in his arms, damn near begging him to tell you how much he adores you. “Honey girl, you ain’t makin’ anything up. Been head over heels for a damn long time.”

You let out a shuddering sigh of relief. “You have?”

Joel nods, gently taking your chin between his index finger and his thumb to keep you looking at him. “Mm. Can’t stop thinkin’ about ya, feel like I'm losing my damn mind.”

Your hands fist in his coat as he gently rubs his thumb along your plush lower lip. You like that, he realizes. Good to know.

“Lemme kiss ya, darlin’. Been dyin’ for a taste of these pretty lips.” Joel thinks he sounds like a complete madman, everything he’s ever been taught about respect and manners flying out the window and quickly being replaced by a flirtatiousness he didn’t even know he possessed. But your entire body shudders in response, and he suddenly can’t find it in himself to care.

"Please," you whisper, and his lips are on yours as soon as the word leaves your mouth.

His hands come up to your face, gently grasping your cheeks and holding your lips to his. He tries to take it slow, he really does, but you feel so fucking good, and he’s been waiting so long. He all but devours your lips as you hold onto his shoulders to keep yourself steady. You don’t stop him even though he thinks you really should, letting him take what he wants, needs. It’s like you understand how he’s feeling, how bad he’s been needing this, and maybe you do. Maybe you’ve been craving it just as much.

He doesn’t pull away until his lungs are burning with the need to breathe, panting shakily as he rests his forehead against your own. “Fuck, sugar, ‘m sorry. Got carried away there.”

“Don’t apologize.” You tilt your head up to kiss his cheek and Joel sighs softly at the contact, his hold on you tightening slightly. “I haven’t had a kiss that good in years.”

Joel chuckles and presses another, less needy, kiss to your lips. “Same here, sweet girl. Didn’t realize how much I missed it.”

You smile and lean up to kiss his cheek. "How long have you been wanting to kiss me, Joel?" you ask, the sugary-sweet lilt of your voice nearly driving him mad with desire.

"Way too damn long," Joel sighs. "Gotta be a few months at least."

"Mm. Looks like we got a lot of lost time to make up for, huh?" you breathe, leaning in close until your lips are a mere inch from his.

"Fuck," Joel hisses. "We sure do, darlin'. Tell you what, my house ain't far... what do you say we head on over there, have a drink, see where the night takes us?" he suggests, a small, seductive smile gracing his lips.

You nod eagerly. "Yeah. I'd like that."

The night takes you exactly where he wants it to. You, in his bed, arms wrapped around him tight while he pleases you in every way he knows how.

Goddamn, he's missed this too.

[writersdrug]

Ghost x Konig x Reader: I Don't Need You (Ch. 6)

<- Previous - Next ->

Summary: You (surprisingly) get more comfortable with Kortac, and slowly let yourself connect with the team. You subconsciously tether yourself to Konig, who is more than willing to help you fit in. The pain of the past begins to fade into the back of your mind like the end of a long chapter of your life.

Additionally, Konig starts asking the hard questions - it unearths a piece of you that you'd hoped would remain buried, but you still share the memories with Konig.

Chapter warnings: Mentions of violence, mentions of rape, cursing, google translate German, shirtless Soap, very EXTREMELY watered-down mentions of sexual themes (we ain't there yet, boiis)

Notes: Sorry it took so long, I've got a lot cooking in the kitchen now and I'm hoping to pump out a lot this week!

Additionally, I've had some comments on this work not being an x Reader. First off, I never want to mislead anyone. I label this as an x Reader because Bonnie is not an OC of mine. I've seen other x Reader fics include callsigns that refer to the reader, so I assumed using Bonnie similarly would be alright. I also mentioned a name ONCE in chapter 3, "Jane Morris," which I thought to be a very generic name, and I haven't used it since and don't plan to. I have a personal preference of writing longer, chapter-by-chapter fics in first POV because it feels more natural to me than second POV. The same goes for using y/n - I like to avoid it if I can because it feels unnatural.

Again, those last two thing are a personal preference. I'm not bashing any fics that use these things at all, I enjoy both ones that do and ones that don't, and I don't enjoy one over the other. When I say one feels more natural than the other, I mean it feels more natural to write, not to read. I'm debating changing the name I used in chapter 3 to just y/n l/n to make this a true x Reader. If you still feel like I should change this to an x OC please let me know and I'll be happy to adjust the tags, titles, and descriptions. Again, I never meant to be misleading, and I hope I didn't make anyone angry. If a mistake has been made I am happy to learn from it. Thanks!

Konig had cracked the code on me. He figured out that after a case of American beers and a long drive, away from the crowd of new faces, my outer shell began to soften.

There was still a wall that I was holding up between me and everyone else, even though it was significantly smaller than usual. When Roze and Castillo approached me at breakfast, I didn’t get up and leave. And when Juno used the empty spot in the gym room right next to me, dropping his bag on the floor and giving me a cautious glance as he set up for his routine - I didn’t grab my things and move to the other end of the room. That was my first instinct, but I fought it. Instead I huffed, facing the mirror in front of me and focusing on my sets.

I’d started going to the common area more often – maybe not every night, but often enough. We’d make it a habit to play poker on the nights I did show up. I was better than most of the group, since none of them were quite used to my mannerisms yet. However, Konig and Horangi still took the lead as the winners, despite most of us arguing that they shouldn’t be allowed to play if they were going to wear their masks. The argument would eventually turn into a casual conversation – I didn’t engage in it too often. I preferred to sit and listen, using the time to slowly learn more about the team. I typically planted myself between Roze and Konig, keeping my legs crossed on the seat and nervously fiddling with my Yuengling bottle.

Although I was ashamed to admit it, Konig had become a conduit for my interactions with the rest of the team. The way he engaged with their activities, yet still managed to stay reserved, struck a chord with me. I respected the fact that it could sometimes be difficult to find him on base, and that at the same time, he was always there when I started to feel overwhelmed. I didn’t need him, no… that was a stretch. But sometimes I felt grateful that he was so eager to accompany me places – especially when he invited me to go on “perimeter checks” with him, which mostly consisted of long drives off base.

I don’t know how I had grown to appreciate him so much – maybe it was because he felt similar to me, in the way that we both needed our alone time, and with how we often found ourselves slipping out of the common area around the same time, with the original excuse being that we were tired. Half of the time, we would sit in the mess hall and talk until the early hours of the morning.

“A sniper?” I asked on one particular night, fiddling with the mouth of my beer bottle. “You’re way to big for that – no offense.”

Konig chuckled. “And that’s what they initially told me.” He took a swig of his (nasty) German beer. “But, despite being handed other opportunities, I proved them wrong. I’m sill a damn good sniper.”

I huffed. “Nah, you should be happy you got promoted to Colonel; you’re lucky, you get to avoid being in the trenches – at least, as much as the rest of us.”

“Lucky? No…” Konig said, shaking his head. “I do not like being a Colonel. I’d much rather be doing the dirty work of soldiers than writing these stupid reports.” He slapped a large hand over the manilla folder that sat on the table next to his beer. “It keeps my head busy, and I don’t have to listen to myself think.”

I nodded while sipping my beer. “I completely get that – If I’m not actively doing something with my hands, my brain gets too loud. Like – like there’s a mini me in my head, and the only way to drown her out is by physically doing something. Anything, really.”

Konig laughed – almost a snort – “‘A mini you’. I like that, that’s good.”

I huffed a laugh through my nose, turning my head to hide the smirk on my face. Despite being a large, brutish man, he had a youthful essence about him. It was hidden deep beneath the thick exterior of a war-hardened soldier. But, every now and again, it rose to the surface, touching a part of my soul I hadn’t allowed to be seen in a long time.

I pushed my stack of bills into the middle of the table. “All in.” I said nonchalantly.

Gaz narrowed his eyes, leaning back in his chair and looking down his nose at me. “You’re bloody stupid…”

“Or really smart.” I retorted. I folded my arms over my chest, not wavering under his intimidating gaze.

It was unbearably hot in the room – whether that was from the tension of the game or the broken air conditioner (Price eternally insisted it would be fixed, “… by next week…”), I didn’t know. I was donned in my sweatpants and sports bra, Gaz was in a wife beater and sweats, Ghost was covered head to toe in a sweatshirt and jeans (one could ever rarely catch him wearing anything less), and Soap… well, Soap was Soap. Completely shirtless, with only a pair of gym shorts on. Typical for him to be so shameless.

Ghost looked at his cards, his jaw clearly tense underneath his mask. He wasn’t very good at hiding his unlucky hand – it was almost like he wasn’t even trying. Which was a possibility.

“Fucking hell… I fold.” He tossed his hand onto the table, revealing his sour bunch of cards. He walked to the fridge and cursed under his breath, rummaging through the contents.

“Jesus, you’re a load of dry shite.” Soap commented, leaning against the wall adjacent to Ghost. “You could’ve at least tried to intimidate ‘em.”

“You could try shutting your fucking mouth, alright?” Ghost snapped back. Soap raised his hands defensively, leaving Ghost by the fridge.

He flopped onto the couch near me and Gaz. “Miserable sap…”

I did my best to tune out their bickering. I stared down Gaz, tapping my fingers on the edges of my cards. I was relying on the river card – I had a chance at a four-of-a-kind, praying the last card on the table would be another seven.. It was risky, and Gaz was probably right in calling me stupid. But I was never one to back down from a challenge. I craved the thrill of it. Most of the time, I ended up getting lucky.

Gaz chewed his lip. He cocked an eyebrow, slowly pushing all of his cash to the middle of the table. “Call.” He said.

And I heard it – the telltale sign of his bluff. A fraction of a second where his voice had waivered, followed by him grinding his jaw. I knew I had it in the bag.

I was savoring the moment of triumph, watching Gaz stare at his cards, when I felt a hand on my back. I nearly spun around and yelled at whoever touched me, until I saw a gloved hand place a Yuengling bottle to my right, the lid already popped off. I faltered, staring at the bottle, feeling the hand on my back rubbing a thumb back and forth over my spine.

I glanced behind me, looking up to meet Ghost’s eyes. He was looking down at me with an empty gaze. His eyebrows twitched for a brief moment as he continued rubbing his thumb over the skin of my back.

I knew what he was suggesting. What he was asking. Put a woman on a compound with broken, touch-starved men, and eventually one of them will succumb to the temptation. Even so, I was shocked that it was Ghost. I would say he was showing a weakness here, no matter what he decided to call this – it was an admission that he needed something – something from me, specifically – which I never thought would happen.

He continued staring at me for another few moments, waiting for an answer. Keeping my eyes locked on him, I took the bottle and drank; my reply. He gave the tiniest nod, walking away and sitting down next to Soap – who was shuffling the remaining deck of cards, eyes narrowed at Gaz. He knew he was bluffing too.

I turned back to Gaz, smirking as he revealed the river card.

“You ever think about what you would say to those kids now?” I asked, tapping my beer bottle. “The ones who bullied you.”

Konig hummed. “Mm… not really. I don’t hold too much resentment.”

I chuckled. “If only we could all be a saint.”

“Well, it all happened so long ago.” Konig tried to justify himself. “We were only kids, bored and trying to stay on the surface. They just wanted to look tough so that no one would pick on them. Of course, I wouldn’t understand that as a kid. Maybe then, I would have admired what I’ve become, and I would have wanted to boast about it. But now that I am a Colonel – Ich habe besseres zu tun.”

I sarcastically rolled my eyes. “And that means?”

“Ehh…” he groaned, squinting his eyes. “How is it said… ‘I have bigger fishes to cook.’”

I sputtered, turning my head and laughing. Konig glared at me. “Gibt es ein Problem?” he asked, which I sort of understood. He sounded irritated, that much I could tell.

“No, Konig…” I said, standing up and giving him a pat on the shoulder as I walked by. “Just keep up the English lessons, ok?”

He scowled. “Verpiss dich… Start learning German and maybe I will.” He retorted, and I waved at him dismissively from behind my back.

I stuck my head into the fridge, grabbing a Yuengling and one of Konig’s beers. I walked back and placed them both next to him. Like instinct, he took each one and hooked their lid onto the edge of the table, then smacked the side of his hand down on the tops, sending the lid clattering to the ground. He opened my beer and handed it to me, then repeated the process with his, before reaching down and collecting the lids. He added them to the pile, totaling six beer lids so far.

If someone had shown me this image a year ago – Konig and I, sitting up late into the night, chatting like we’d known each other for decades… not to mention the fact that I was so unusually open with him… I would have been insulted. I would have laughed. No one would have been able to convince me that I would become so attached to anyone else after what had happened with the 141. Yet, all of this felt so natural. It was beyond how I felt that Konig and I were kindred spirits… it really did feel like I’d known him before. Maybe, he reminded me of a part of myself that I tried to bury away.

Or, maybe, I was just submitting to loneliness and trying to justify how quickly I clung to the first available soul. That was also an embarrassing possibility, one that I would rather not admit to.

“I have a question for you.” Konig’s voice and the clink of his beer bottle on the table brought me back to reality.

“I might have an answer.” I replied.

He looked off to the side, perhaps wondering whether or not he really wanted to ask the question. “Who did you kill? And why?”

Just like that, I felt the walls being built right back to where I had them. Bonding time’s over. Back to square one.

His inquiry caught me off guard. I froze, my bottle hovering in the air before I could take a sip, my eyes glued to the table. Just the mention of the incident brought the painful memories up to the surface, like claws scraping at the dirt, digging up the deepest roots.

“Lots of people.” I said, deflecting. I took a swig of my beer.

“You know what I mean.” He scoffed. “Why did you end up in military prison?” He leaned over the table – clearly not planning on letting the topic go.

I sucked my teeth, staring at him defiantly – moments ago, it was pleasant talking to him. Now, I was fighting back the urge to leave him at the table and go to my dorm. I felt ambushed at how he had changed the subject so abruptly. Like he had been waiting for me to carelessly stumble into the trap, and now he was watching me snarl from within it.

He leaned back with a sigh. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I just thought we were getting somewhere here.”

“Oh?” I said dryly, cocking an eyebrow. “’Getting somewhere?’ What’s that sup-“

“Hey, it’s ok.” He raised his hands defensively. “I get it. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” His words were forgiving, but his eyes said something else – I knew what he was thinking.

Weak.

I gave him a hateful stare. Fucker know how to play his cards.

“I killed a sergeant.” I admitted. “My lieutenant’s right-hand man.”

That got Konig’s attention. He leaned forward again, putting his bottle off to the side. “Why?” he asked again.

I inhaled deeply, then exhaled, as I leaned back in my chair. My eyes fell to the floor as I forced myself to recall the memories. “In Egypt, a while back. Don’t ask when because I won’t tell you.” I warned Konig, and he huffed – but obliged.

I continued. “We were going in to retrieve a hostile target. Everyone was jumpy – me included. It was dark, and we didn’t know what to expect. After the hostiles started to engage, we were scattered. I got stuck in one tower, so I went upstairs to try and make a foxhole.”

I paused. It was now my own hands, covered in dirt, clawing at the roots of the memory. Each word I said was painful, yet somehow felt overshared. Like I was trying to get Konig to pity me. Except I wasn’t – I just wanted him to listen.

And that’s exactly what he did. No comforting shoulder pat, no soothing words… he just listened. He knew that if he stepped on the wrong spot, it would break my openness, like a branch breaking under his foot would disturb the silence of the woods.

“The sergeant – ‘Flare’ – he was up there, too. I thought we’d had the same idea, but… holy fuck…” I ran a hand down my face, feeling my heartbeat grow faster. “At first, I didn’t know what he was doing, I just heard him making those sounds and I thought he’d been hit, but… he was taking advantage of this – this woman – and with her kids right fucking there… she was probably just trying to hide, to hide them, she had to be so fucking scared… he didn’t even stop when I found him, I don’t know if he even heard me screaming at him.”

I paused, almost waiting for Konig to say or do something, but he remained silent. Despite my eyes never leaving the floor, I could see his blue ones watching me carefully. Concerned, patient, and calm.

“I didn’t know what else to do.” I said, my voice faltering the slightest bit. “So I shot him. In the head.” I unintentionally shivered. “Probably traumatized that poor woman and her kids, but… quick decisions aren’t the best ones.”

I ended my rant with a heavy sip of my beer. Konig continued watching me with wary eyes, which I ignored. I didn’t need consolation, or sympathy, or whatever he might try to offer. Somehow, he seemed to understand that.

“I would have done the same thing.” He commented.

Would you?

After a moment, he exhaled. “I don’t understand… I’d say you were in the right. Why did they put you in prison for that?”

I chewed my lip. “There was… some speculation, that I was jealous of his position. We’d been close throughout my time with the team, and when he got the promotion to second-in-command, I was a bit envious at first. People thought I was taking my anger out on him in what seemed like the perfect opportunity to lie.” I took another sip. “But I was happy for him. He worked hard, and he deserved it. But then the pressure got to him – Lieutenant was always depending on him for too much, and Flare couldn’t handle the responsibility. If he slipped up, it was a lot worse than if one of the rest of us did. I guess… the pressure is what got him in the end. Made him crazy in the end. He didn’t have any morals anymore.”

More silence. It felt uncomfortably loud – Konig’s stare seemed to make my head ring, making me fidget and bounce my knee. I wanted to snap at him. What are you looking at? Why are you asking so many fucking questions? But I was able to keep my anger at bay, justifying the situation by assuming his questions were fueled by nothing more than curiosity.

I figured I had said enough for the night, and finished off the rest of my beer. I slapped my leg, the telltale sign that I was getting ready to turn in.

Konig ignored it, or seemed to not notice. “Why did you kill him?” he asked.

I narrowed my eyes in confusion. “Why did I? What do you mean?”

“Why kill him? Why not just… disable him for the moment, and let your commander deal with him later?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but my voice was a second too late. “Again… in the heat of the moment, you don’t make distinctions like that. You think: ‘shoot,’ or ‘don’t shoot.’ And shooting him was the choice I made.”

Konig’s gaze became scrutinous. He knew I was lying about something… he was hellbent on figuring out what.

He’s going to have to wait a long damn time.

“Goodnight, Konig.” I said flatly. I collected my bottles, getting up from the table. With a clang, I tossed them into the bin by the exit, walking down the hall and leaving Konig sitting alone in the mess hall. I feel tears stinging my eyes, but that’s all they did. It’s all just water under the bridge, y/n. Get it together. You’re alright.

-----

Taglist: @igotmajordaddyissues @princekonig @vixionix

[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

Blah blah blah, massive jerking off motion, sugar daddy Colonel König with a f!reader!30 year old, established sugar baby doing it for a laff fic bullet point idea I've been bullshitting around with under the cut:

Again, bc y'all know me, this is just my fuckin oc dressed up as a reader but yknow what whatever. It’s my maladaptive daydream and I’m generalizing enough to share it.

You’re a doctor of organic chemistry, working in pharmaceutical forensics at a lab that largely deals with multinational jurisdiction drug offenses for various state agencies. The work pays pretty well, as it’s government scale, but it is dull and repetitive.

To get your kicks, you sugar baby casually on a semi-regular to regular basis. It suits you. You’ve never established a meaningful long term relationship, flings come easily to you, and older would-be romancers have always taken interest in you in ways that people from your own age bracket haven’t.

Sex or no, it all depends on who is approaching you, the decision ultimately yours.

And they don’t have to provide monetarily, no. You’re well established, more than that even. Once they understand that aspect of you, they shift their approach, and that’s when the fun starts.

Gifts, trips, concerts, dinners—whatever you want, all of it a discreet text away.

None of your entanglements last terribly long. You’re off-putting, in your way, your mannerisms, your directness. Most of your paramours find that it doesn’t click for them. If you’re having sex, it doesn’t matter how mind blowing it is—usually for your partner, though you’ve had the occasional winner—one way or another it ends. And you have been the one to end it, especially when you feel it growing strained and pointed toward what services you provide your temp partners. You’re no stranger to the sudden and surgical cut.

One such situation leads a Colonel to a spot at your feet.

One of the dudes who wandered into your carousel was Declan O’Conor, of KorTac. He’d been intrigued by your intensity at first, and the sex was some of the best he’d ever had, though you thought he lacked skills in foreplay. He was generally brusque however, and tended to ignore the trade of attention and gifts in favor of his desires, which left you cold and unimpressed.

gonna be real, i left off here like two days ago, and i'm 2 hours into my last work day before my weekend, so i'm not bothering with extra detail, we're wheelin' and dealin' now, lads.

a certain colonel gets a hold of your email through declan, a nanosecond before you dump declan's ass. the timing? immaculate. the colonel could not have done better. isn't he fucking lucky.

he's heard declan bragging about his new bird. she's smart, she's discreet, she fucks like a succubus. she doesn't even want money, or a relationship. shit, she doesn't even care if you're married or have kids, she wants no part of your real life. she just wants fun and stimulation.

well. ain't that just what the colonel is looking for, he lies to himself. könig is almost half convinced you're an escort dressed up as a woman looking for a good time, but what the fuck does he know. and from what he's gathered, the way people approach you is myriad, but you're picky as for how long things go on.

he's drowned at work, has no desire to go bar crawling or trying to pick up a dumbass hobby to try and meet someone, and he, if he's honest with himself, does not have the time to dedicate to an actual relationship, is mildly horrified at the idea of using an app to date, and is approaching his mid 40s. his work is too demanding, he travels too much, he's too burnt out. fun sounds fun.

he shoots off the email.

what he gets in return: "interesting that o'conor seems to be recommending me around, as that's not part of the agreement. but i'll meet you. tell me when you're next in berlin, and we'll set a date. should it cross your mind, bring me something interesting."

smth smth, time moves on, you end up meeting up with him for dinner. he insisted. he knew a place. you hoped like hell it wasn't some overblown officer's club. that shit was always dead boring and full of the most disgusting braggadocio you've heard in your life. testosterone beating off against testosterone, trying to find out which one nuts first.

but, nah. he hauls you to a korean bbq joint that's a real down and dirty hole in the wall, and immediately you're impressed. the food is amazing. it's quiet. he is ENORMOUS, but has an air of cinders about him.

you can tell he used to run off rage, almost solely. it must've burned down over the years, or his fuel had taken a hit that it could never recover from. he's tired. he's looking for ease.

he wears a gaiter covering the bottom half of his face and neck, and you find it curious as the dinner starts, your booth in the far back, away from prying eyes.

thought it was for your comfort. he'd already spoken of your discretion, that he was well aware, and interested in the same. his position in his org is high up, he works with sensitive info, his clearance is big time spooky. things you're familiar with from your own work.

he calls his work security, and you call your own science. it is enough.

he warns you about his facial scarring before the meal begins, giving you the choice to avoid seeing him eat, and you turn down that offer. "i can assure you that i've seen worse," you say, confident, unshaken at what he might be hiding. your history is a darkness, it runs deep, and ruin is not unfamiliar to you.

he seems pleased, or at least mollified, and pulls down the gaiter. the lower half of his face is a wreckage, almost at odds with the wheat colored curls - all shot through with silvery-gray - tied into a tail at the base of his skull, and the blue of his bag-bruised eyes. a botched cleft lip surgery, exposing big, fuck-around-find-out teeth in a scar that leaves him always snarling. rippling burn scars crawling up from his ravaged neck, pulling at the corner of his eye.

at least he will eat, if nothing else.

it is one of the rare times he will allow you to see this.

at the end of the meal, after some good conversation, dancing light around heavy realities, secrets that can't be told, you sit back and watch him with curiosity-heavy eyes, a contentedly full stomach, the foot of your crossed leg hovering in the air between you under the table.

he's pulled his gaiter back up, peeling euro bills off a fat clip he pulls from his pocket, dropping them on the table, overpaying the meal. perhaps the privacy. perhaps the server. perhaps the flash of it.

"i didn't forget," he laughs, voice still higher than you'd expected, but rasping and rough as gravel churning mud and blood.

"apologies. i'm impatient. it is my nature."

"hah. have that in common, then, hm?" he laughs, going for another pocket.

usually, you expect jewelry on the first date. it hasn't been uncommon with the people you run with. perhaps even technology. you were afforded an iphone 14 pro max a month before they'd even come out, but you'd held onto it and resold it later.

and this fascinating könig pulls out a box, as well. you almost feel your stomach sink. you'd been hoping...well. it doesn't matter what you'd hope. and maybe it was foolish to harbor a small, chittering desire that he'd be different, after the turns your conversations took.

he plunks it down on the table in front of you, rapping two long, powerful fingers on the plain lid. it's not even that impressive of packaging. oh, your stomach churns with impending disappointment. sometimes these men end up cheap. you steel yourself, falling into your resolve.

a fossilized horse tooth is what is presented to you when you open the package, as well as a business card for a fossil and crystal dealer. you catch sight of a beaded bracelet on his wrist, carnelians.

"didn't know what sort of science you're in, but figured i couldn't go wrong with a fossil. or a horse. you have horse girl energy."

he's smirking. you tip your head back and cackle, mind flooded with your years on your school's equitation team and the summers you spent trekking across continents with your grandmother by horseback.

the energy shifts perfectly, and you pull your head down, beaming at him. running the toe of your heels up his calf under the table, you roll the fossil-black tooth between your fingers, following the grooves, feeling the age. this horse would've been about nine when it died. not bad for a wild thing. most of them didn't find the miracles of old age.

"what gave it away? the posture?"

"oh ja. jawohl. it's the posture. even leaned back, sit like you're setting your ass in a saddle."

"mhm. sounds like you've done some riding yourself."

"when i was younger, yes. half-sway-backed plow nag, though. nothing so fancy as what people might picture, with the accent."

"not everyone can afford warmbloods, it is true."

you fold the tooth into your closed hand, silence falling comfortable between you. and here it is.

"i think we should find a place for the night, don't you?" you ask, and you can see his mouth pull into a smirk under the mask.

"hah. good thing i thought ahead then. i booked a room--some place nice. you'll like it." his confidence would be off-putting. it should be off-putting. but it isn't. it's almost a relief. it's definitely a turn on. he's not feeling out your approval, at least not visibly.

you were both looking for fun. and perhaps you've found it. at the very least, he is not treating this as a fight to be won. maybe he would not've been crushed or vitriolic if the night ended with nothing further, ever again. you don't know. you let him help you into your coat, and into a cab, and you find your flesh-ripping want yelling louder and louder with his arm draped casually across the back of the seat behind you.

and good christ, does can he fuck.

okidoke, i'm cutting this one here, sry. i will probably continue it more formally (? idk) later once i've worked on some other stuff, but i wanted to get this one out, yeehaw. hope u enjoyed!

[cozy-cinnamon-roll]

We Interrupt This Broadcast...

(Another two-part-er! Stay tuned for part 2 very shortly!)

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Ler!Rosie, Ler!OC, Lee!Alastor (strictly platonic)

Content/Trigger Warnings: tickling, very brief blood mention, medical themes (non-graphic & painless). One comically graphic description of cannibalism (first paragraph). Also, this is set right after Alastor gets his ass handed to him by Adam, so you can expect a lil angst sprinkled in there (don't worry, he gets better).

If there are any trigger warnings you'd like me to add in the future (and/or to this fic), PLEASE let me know! I am always happy to oblige. 💕

This is a ticklefic! If that's not your cup of tea, kindly move along.

Ok... I'm gonna be honest folks, I have no idea if this fic is even coherent. This ain't my Best Work™ - this is literally the coping mechanism I've been relying on to put myself to sleep every night this week because HOLY SHIT my life is stressful at the moment. 😅

But anyway, I've decided I'm just gonna go ahead and post it, because 1) the world needs more lee!alastor, and 2) I'm not here to do my Best Work™, I'm here to write cute self-indulgent little stories about Alastor getting tickled to bits by his platonic wife. I'm here to decompress my hypervigilant ass at the end of long days by imagining my favorite endearingly creepy characters get wrecked by my other favorite endearingly creepy characters.

In summary, I'm here to have a good time, and I certainly did with this fic. So I hope you do too!

Featuring my new oc! (Rosie and Al still take center stage though, don't worry lol)

--------------------------------------------------------------

It's a little-known fact that cannibals make terrific doctors. When you spend every meal tearing the human body apart with your face, you end up with a pretty comprehensive intuition for demonic anatomy.

So Alastor supposed he should consider himself lucky to have Rosie and her loyal posse so close at hand after his battle with Adam.

He was certainly relieved when Rosie had stumbled upon him, barely conscious from blood loss on the floor of his wrecked radio tower - and especially a few hours later when, having been rushed back to Cannibal Town, he was whisked into a warm, familiar parlor and deposited on a comfy couch.

Within minutes Rosie had summoned a woman in a white coat who swooped in, produced a bottle of a strange, foul-smelling gel from her medicine bag, soaked a rag with it, and pressed it firmly against Alastor's wound. The searing pain evaporated almost on contact.

"What is that?" Alastor breathes, visibly relaxing against the arm of the couch he's propped against.

"Anesthetic." She begins preparing a needle and thread.

"Didn't know such a thing existed down here."

"Of course! We're demons, not barbarians," Rosie scoffs, watching from the sidelines.

Cannibals, as a rule, rarely last long enough to need a doctor, but Rosie is no ordinary cannibal. And Dr. Trudy Sawblade - a young surgical resident in life, and Rosie's personal physician in death - is the best of the best. While she hadn't quite completed her medical training before her untimely death, in Rosie's service she's gained more than enough experience to make up for her education cut short.

"That salve is derived from a distant cousin of the poison dart frog. Evidently most of the frogs are assholes, because hell has an downright enormous population of them." Trudy's voice is measured and matter-of-fact, with a soft lilt that is both soothing and vaguely unsettling. "Haven't been discovered on earth yet. Which is good, because one whiff of this would end a mortal life in a matter of seconds."

"Lucky you, you're already dead," Rosie chimes in cheerfully.

"Lucky me," Alastor murmurs, without conviction.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Truthfully, with the pain from his chest wound numbed, the weight of his recent defeat presses even more heavily on Alastor's heart. Someone - probably one of the cannibals who helped transport him from the rubble pile to Rosie's parlor - must have grabbed the broken microphone as they carried him out, because the fractured pieces are sitting on the side table at the other end of the couch. Under normal circumstances the awareness that someone had touched his staff without permission would spark a flash of rage from the Radio Demon, but now he can only stare dismally at what remains of his cane - aware that it's no longer capable of accomplishing much anyway.

It takes only a few minutes for Trudy to stitch Alastor back up and wrap his chest in a stretchy gauze. Meanwhile, Rosie quickly mends the worst of the tears in his clothes - if only to avoid having to watch her friend stare down the couch at his broken staff, with an uncharacteristic half-smile that damn near breaks her heart.

"Alright, sir, that should do it for now. It's a nasty gash, for sure, but the salve should keep it from getting infected."

"Thank you, my dear." He gives an appreciative nod to the surgeon, and Rosie too, as his fellow overlord hands him back his clothes.

"Can't have you going around with a big hole in your chest, can we?" Rosie steps back and scrutinizes her own patch job as he slowly dresses himself again. "It ain't perfect... especially for a classy fellow like you. But I'm sorry to report that I saw my tailor at a Sunday brunch just last week. Inconvenient, but I gotta admit, he made a wonderful casserole."

For the briefest of moments, this aside manages to tweak Alastor's smile into something vaguely genuine. "I'm sure he did."

"One more thing, Mr. Alastor, sir," Trudy jumps in as the radio demon pulls on his coat. "So sorry, I almost forgot. The angel also threw you against a wall, correct?"

At the recollection, Alastor's smile stiffens into something more closely resembling a grimace. His antlers rise between his ears. "Does it matter?"

"You may be at risk for internal injuries." If Trudy is at all fazed by inviting the most powerful overlord in hell's annoyance, it doesn't show. "I really ought to check, just to be safe."

Alastor looks away. As loathe as he is to even acknowledge his own fragility, he truly isn't sure of the extent of his own injuries - given that he's not used to receiving them in the first place. And he'd be damned (well, damned twice) if Adam had ruptured something vital, spelling the radio demon's second death a few hours after the fact.

He grits his teeth. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt."

"Lovely. If you could just lie back, sir..." As he obliges, she kneels beside the couch. "I'm just going to feel for any swelling..." Her hands hover over him-

"Er, wait." Alastor abruptly sits up.

"It's alright, I won't touch your wound!" Trudy soothes. "I'll just be feeling down here..." She gestures to his midsection (which elicits a sharp flinch).

"No, I-" He hesitates. "I'm... not sure this is necessary."

"Oh, Alastor, stop worryin'!" Rosie reassures him with a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Trudy is quite picky about her meals. She'd never go for venison."

"That's... not what..."

Alastor pauses, and evidently decides against trying to explain what he meant. He reluctantly lies back against the cushions again.

"I'm going to place my hands under your shirt, sir. If you feel any pain, please alert me."

"Very well."

As Trudy lifts his shirt, he looks like he is going to say something more - but whatever it is dies on his tongue the moment her hands make contact with his stomach. He brings one knee up sharply.

"Tender there, sir?"

"No! No, your hands are cold." His words have gone uncharacteristically stiff.

Trudy methodically probes one side of his belly, then the other (which in turn causes his other knee to pop up). This time when Trudy asks if he's in pain, he merely shakes his head.

The surgeon furrows her brow, concentrating. Human-animal hybrids like Alastor already take a bit of poking around just to get a sense for each unique configuration of organs. It doesn't help that the man is bracing for every touch...

"Are you sure this doesn't hurt, sir?" she murmurs tentatively. "You're very tense."

"Yes." The word comes out like a hiss. She glances at the radio demon's face. He's wearing his typical showman's smile, but his eyes are fixed on the ceiling with a weird, wide, unwavering stare.

Finally the surgeon sits back. "Well, I don't feel anything concerning. But to be honest, sir, I can't feel much of anything." She turns apologetically to her employer. "His stomach is all clenched up..."

But Rosie is simply standing there pressing a huge grin into her glove. She's known Alastor for decades. She can read his expressions like a magazine.

"Alastor, darling," Rosie drawls casually. "Are you ticklish?"

From the radio demon's reaction, you'd think she'd asked if he was an Exorcist. He scrambles to sit up. "No! Why would-"

"You're ticklish. That's..." She catches herself just before the word precious.

"...What?!" There's an edge of defensiveness to his voice that Rosie very rarely hears from him.

"Why are you embarrassed?"

"I'm not emb- That's not- what-" Oh, she's giving him that look. "I'm just- I wasn't-"

As he speaks, Alastor's voice suddenly goes thin. His gaze turns inward. "I'm stuttering. I don't stutter! I've never stuttered!" He clutches his coat closer around himself. "I am the RADIO DEMON, for heaven's sake, I don't sta-AHH! Haha-!"

Evidently a scribble to the ribs is a very effective way to interrupt a panicking demon. Rosie runs her fingers from his hip up his side to his arm and back a couple times for good measure.

The amount of startled laughter she is able to draw from just this surprise touch delights her - the poor man is so ridiculously sensitive that a five-second one-handed tickle leaves him fully breathless.

"Okay! Okay, okahay! Keheh- Rosie!"

"Sorry dear, couldn't resist." She holds her hands up, still beaming like a stadium light. "I'll stop torturing you."

Alastor clears his throat. "You're not torturing me, dearest." He straightens his bowtie, clearly attempting to salvage his dignity. "You know what I always say, laughter is a powerful sign of-"

He cuts off with a sharp inhale and defensive flinch as Rosie perches on the edge of the sofa beside Trudy. She grins.

"You're right. That's certainly your specialty, isn't it?"

Alastor forces a nervous chuckle. "Never fully dressed without a smile, you know."

"Well don't worry, darling. I understand." She pats his knee. "Just because you've got the scariest evil cackle in hell doesn't mean you appreciate having it tickled out of you."

Rosie had expected this assurance to put him at ease, but if anything, he seems more troubled.

"Why would I mind a little, ah..." Tickling. Tick-ling. He can't bring himself to articulate two syllables. Is this all he's left with without his staff? "...Er, a little bit of levity? Can't let things get too serious, can we?" With another quick cough, the radio demon finally manages to get his voice to fall back into his familiar breezy cadence. He turns to Trudy. "Now, are we... quite finished with that examination?"

"Nothing seems amiss, from what I can feel." Trudy takes a step back. "Which is not much, but I think I've already made you uncomfortable enough..."

"Nonsense! I'm perfectly at ease!" He lies back again and smooths his coat. "Please, finish your little checkup. I insist."

Trudy regards him curiously for a moment. "Right." Her hands hover over his belly again. "But if you want me to stop, sir, just say the word-"

"I assure you that w-won't be necessahary..."

Trudy watches him seize up before her fingers even make contact. This time she presses a little deeper into his belly, trying to feel around his defensiveness.

"You are punching holes in my couch," Rosie remarks dryly, watching the poor demon's claws bury themselves in the cushions.

"I kn... ohow, I'm just-" He squeezes his eyes shut as Trudy hits a particularly bad spot. And then another. And another... hell, his torso one big bad spot.

"What do you think, Trudy?"

The young doctor just shakes her head.

"Alastor. Darling. You have GOT to relax."

"I am!" Alastor's composure is dangling by the thinnest of threads.

"Maybe it would help," Trudy says, with infinite caution, "to just go ahead and laugh, sir."

A beat. And then Rosie bursts into laughter.

"Giving new meaning to the 'deer in the headlights' expression, my friend." She scoots closer. "I thought you just said you don't mind a little 'levity'..."

"I don't!"

"In that case. Carry on, Trudy - Auntie Rosie is gonna help our patient out a bit while you work."

Too late, Alastor realizes what his fellow overlord has in mind. "Wait, wait! Ros-"

A delicate set of nails find the region just under his ribs - and it's all downhill from there.

"Ah! Fuhuck!" Alastor chokes on a curse before he can catch himself. He twists sideways, collapses into muffled giggles, and briefly manages to pull himself together - just barely - with a few hyperventilated breaths. "Rosie, really! This isn't- please- ack! I can't-" There's that damn stutter again. He hadn't even stuttered when Adam slashed him.

And now, Great Alastor the Radio Demon, undone by some scribbles? And a medical exam?!

Meanwhile, Trudy can feel even less now than she could before, her patient's belly now quaking with silent, suppressed mirth. But she takes one look at Rosie's delighted expression... and continues probing anyway, curling a subtle little smirk of her own.

It seems Rosie has picked up on a slightly less tangible injury than anything Trudy can address. But fortunately, they've just stumbled upon a promising potential treatment.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Part 2 is already pretty much finished - my brain is just too mushy at this point to contend with Tumblr's shitty text interface any longer, and this feels like a good stopping point.

Lemme get a good night sleep and another dose of Prozac and I'll have the rest out shortly 😅

💜 - Cozy

[hetalia-club]

Hetalia Characters & How I Think They Would Fare In a Teen Slasher Movie (Ain't gonna lie most of these bitches die & you know it)

(Based on a lil fic I started last Halloween and gave up on. I cleaned it up and made it sound more like a movie plot rather than just a messy fic outline.)

Movie Plot: (Just so you're like not confused on what is supposed to be happening here) After the untimely death of their beloved high school friend, a group of young adults meet up for their annual camping trip to honor the death of their old friend (Italy). They all have grown apart over the years getting their own lives and separate friends. They have proclaimed this to be the last camping trip they will do before going their separate ways for good. Most of the group is happy for the tradition to end, some saddened feeling like they are just forgetting their friend by ending his tradition. Their finale camping trip is cut short when the group is plagued by an hooded figure seemingly hunting the group for sport, or is revenge? wooooo~~ scaaary.

Nyo!America- Is the final girl aka the 'main girl' (This is how I will refer to her to save time) the movie is centered around. we are rooting for her the entire time. Think Sally in Texas Chainsaw, or Sidney Prescott in Scream. (Lives) America- America would be the mean jock/popular/rich guy, probably had a girlfriend he wasn't very nice too. Does not really want to be there. His sister is the main girl. (Gets killed but does get a few good swings in on the killer/monster though. You don't really care that he dies he was a dick anyway.) England- The nerdy book worm kid that you're like "surely the killer will take pity on him" but they don't. Probably one if the first few to die before everyone is really aware there is a killer about. They find his body later while running away (Gets killed and you are meant to feel bad a bout it. His death is uncalled for and not deserved. Used to set a tone for how cold hearted the killer/monster really is.) Canada- Ends up getting away. He's sent to get help with the only working care after the killer sabotages the rest of them. He drives to the nearest gas station 10 miles away and no one believes him. Instead of going back he leaves everyone there stranded. It's a real dick move. But he does end up coming back at the end to pick up the survivors. Like thanks I guess? (Lives, but a what cost honestly. Can you blame him though?) Russia- Is helping the killer/monster in some way. His betrayal is a big reveal at the end. It shows little flash backs showing him thwarting the heroes at every turn. He has a change of heart last second. (Gets killed by the killer close to the end after siding with the heroes.) China- He is pushed off a cliff by Russia (secretly) when they all split up to find help and everyone thinks he's dead but he comes back later limping out of the woods all cut up to rejoin with his friends after the killer is dead. Everyone who lived is really happy to see him. (Lives) Italy- Gets killed pretty brutally by the killer several years before the story stars. He was known to be someone that everyone generally liked. His gruesome death took their small town by storm. What's worse is his killer was never caught and remains at large getting away with it so it seems. The whole movie is centered around his friends getting together for an annual camping trip several years after his death. (Killed) Romano- Surprisingly, he survives! He is the one who is with the main girl the entire time. He probably get's hurt really bad at some point. Loses a finger, breaks his arm or leg, and or gets stabbed. You are lead to believe that he will die at one point and he confesses his feelings for the main girl. The main girl leaves him some place for awhile saying she will "go get help". She comes back with Japan. (Lives) ~Everyone else is down below~

Germany- The voice of reason. The one who ends up making a great sacrifice to take out the killer/ monster. Stand back to hold the door for everyone so they can run. It was his car Canada stole. He feels responsible for the group since it was his idea to go camping one more time in the first place. (Killed/sacrifices himself) Japan- Because he was driving in from out of state he was supposed to meet the group at the campsite. On his way he’s run off the road by the killer/monster. He never shows up and no one can get ahold of him (no cell service of course). We are lead to think he is dead him being the killers first victim but he’s found later knocked out in his car by the main girl. He’s hurt but only has a few cuts and bruises (lives) Prussia- At night he goes off by himself to wait for Japan's car to pull in to the camp site. So he could lead him to where they made camp. They are still hoping he'll show but he is instead found by the killer (Killed)

Austria- Thinks everyone is playing a joke on him. He does not think it's funny that everyone 'keeps disappearing' and thinks it's bad taste considering the reason they are all on this trip. Everyone begs him not to break off from the group but he goes off by himself anyway. (Killed) Spain- Is actually the killer hiding behind a charming personality & his devilishly good looks. Why was he so mad at his former friend group that he felt the need to pick them off one by one? Don't know never got that far tbh. Was going to work that out as I go. Probably a pretty shit reason though imo. Most likely jealousy over something.(Dies...OR DOES HE? Yeah he does.)

[not-a-big-slay]

Natural

tangerine x fem!reader

summary: lemon catches his brother lying about his relationship, when he witnesses a glimpse of their every-day conversation....

type: fluff

warnings: swearing, very bad attempt to write an english slang

a/n: ATJ can do things to me... I've got this idea in my english class when we were talking about chores lmaoo, now yall know where my mind is at in school. anyway, i need to catch up on andor and avatar, cuz im kinda falling behind. enjoy this fic and if you like it pls comment something, it always makes my day :))

Lemon sighed at the look of another set of stairs in front of him. His brother told him it'll be the last one a few stories ago and if he wasn't already separated from him by the stairs, he would dismember him.

"That gal of yours better be Rapunzel." Lemon said once he caught up with Tangerine. He smiled and led him through a hallway. "She ain't my girl, Lemon." he confessed and kept walking while Lemon frowned. That didn't sound right. "Oh, of course not, she's just a friend you've been living with for this past month, isn't she?". Tangerine rolled his eyes. She was, of course, more than that, but calling her his sounded wrong. They never talked about this stuff, they just let them happen. "It ain't like that, it's just.." he couldn't find the right words for it and that frustrated him. Their moments was the only positive thing in his life right now and he didn't want to dig too much into it, worrying it'll be destroyed by his overthinking.

"Just fuck off, okay? I ain't intrested in your nit-picking, alright? You're lucky I'm even bringing you" he sighed and stopped in front of a door, leaning in the door frame. Tangerine had sudden second thoughts. Would she like to be introduced to his brother? Is it okay for their situation or is it too far? He would hate to scare her away, but she already heard about Lemon, so maybe it would be okay. He brought his hand to his mustache and caressed it around, deep in thought.

"Can she sense your presence or are you gonna knock?"

He almost jumped at his brother's voice that was too close to his ear. He turned to him, sending him to hell with his expression, but knocked as he requested. His heart was beating, a unfamiliar nervousness settling onto him. He was never nervous around her. In fact, this was the only place that he could truly relax in. He hated that Lemon ruined it by his stupid nosy questions. He took a deep breath and exhaled at the sound of the door opening.

The stress left him when he saw her eyes shining back at him. Her slightly raised eyebrows studied him, but her sweet smile was present as always, he had to show off his own too. "Did you forget your keys? Come in." she turned and walked inside, closing the door behind Lemon. "Hi there." he said with a nervous smile. Y/N was pretty, he didn't expect that, even though Tangerine said it quite a million times. He thought that Tangerine's pretty standard meant hot for others, but Y/N wasn't hot, not exactly. It seemed to him she was a softy, although he knew better than to believe that. She had a bit of acne on her skin, but that just added to her prettiness. She was cute, not hot, but really beautiful.

"You must be Lemon, right?" she assumed and he just nodded. She shook his hand and said: "Good, now I have most of vitamins in my house. Make yourself at home.". Lemon looked around the apartment. It was small, but cozy. The kitchen was tiny and it connected to the living room, made of one couch, a coffee table, a TV and two armchairs. All of it complimented each other colorfully. Tangerine came back from the bedroom, as Lemon assumed, holding the briefing papers they came for. Their next job started soon and Lemon has yet to read them.

"Alright, here it is." he said and handed his brother the lists, then turned to Y/N. "The window's broken by the way." he pointed to the room with his thumb and watched the girl setting down her cup of coffee. "Oh, I wanted to tell you, it happened this morning. Would you check it later?" he nodded when he heard her pleading voice. She always thought she bothered him when asking these questions when the opposite was the truth. "Yeah, sure. And we should buy more food, there's nothing here." he added, earning an agreeable nod from Y/N. "Yeah, I can do that, but first I'll mop the bathroom, it's about time I think." she spoke. Lemon returned his gaze back at the two.

"Right. Oh and give Emma the red wine I told you about." Lemon's eyes snapped on Tangerine when the words left his mouth. "Who the hell is Emma?" he asked him, but Y/N answered first. "She's just a neighbor, she helped us with the couch, so we wanted to thank her.". Lemon couldn't believe what he was hearing. His brother, an assasin, a total dickhead, thanked someone with a bottle of wine for moving a couch. "Tang, will you help me with the dishes one you're back?" Y/N said when she put the cup into a sink. "Of course, love. We gotta go now, though." he aknowledge the time and walked back to the door, stopping next to frozen Lemon that couldn't still comprehend what has happened just now. "You coming?" Tangerine spat and made his way outside, Lemon following slowly behind, waving to Y/N nervously. She waved back before her eyes widened with realization. "Oh! Tangerine!"

The man turned around, watching her swiftly walking up to them, holding a full trash bag. "Will you please take it out?". Once he nodded, she handed it to him and gave a small kiss on his cheek. She smiled a bit and said goodbye. "It was great meeting you, Lemon." she exclaimed and Lemon returned her words before the door closed again. Lemon then stared at Tangerine until he sighed and finally asked, stopping in his tracks: "What?". Lemon only widened his eyes more. "What do you think? What was that supposed to be?" he laughed at the absurdity of his brother's obliviousness. "Bruv, this ain't no talking stage, you're bloody married."

Tangerine scoffed at that. It wasn't like that. He lived with her for a while now, because of death threats he and Lemon recieved. They thought it would be better to separate for a bit, until it dozes off. Y/N was one of their old intel and helped them with a job once. Even though she wasn't an assasin, she gathered information for a lot of them and sold them for quite good money. He reached out to her then and they've been living together since. Lemon said that they can come out of the hiding now, but he didn't move back in with him, and doesn't plan on to.

He couldn't deny there wasn't something between them, but he wouldn't call it dating, Yes, they sleep in the same bed. They cook together and drink wine together and they are concerned when something in the house broke. Y/N treats his wounds from jobs and he returns her kidness in bed. Yet they have never talked about it. It just happens one time. Their first kiss was on the balcony, late at night when none of them wanted to sleep. It was a clear decision, he wanted to do that and she as well. He was so certain of it and it just came naturally. The next morning no one uttered a word of it, but she kissed him during breakfast, smoothly, as if it was a normal thing to do, just natural. And thus everything else began, every next step came in its own time, both of them weren't trying to take it, they knew when it was time to do so. Everything between them was clear.

Y/N told him she loved him, as if it was an obvious thing to say. He said it back two days later, feeling certain of it. Lemon didn't understand their connection and he wasn't right to assume so.

"You¨ve got it wrong, Thomas." he walked pass him and out of the building. The goal was to anger Lemon with a bad reference to his favorite show, but he laughed out loud and confidently followed Tangerine out. "Does she know that, though?"

She was his girl.

Tangerine rolled his eyes and went to throw out the trash. Lemon won't get it, but as long as they were sure, he couldn't give a shit about his opinion.

However he had to admit one thing he said.

‎

[pluto-supremacy]

Hobie Brown headcanons: dating a gn!autistic!reader

➼These headcanons are based off some struggles I deal with myself as an autistic person, what my friends with autism face, and what i have seen and researched online. Autism is a spectrum and remember that everyone has different needs and levels of support, I just tried to include what i know in this post!

➼ Inspired by @hobie-enthusiast's fic QUIET AND EASE ! If you haven't read it you totally should! His writing is amazing and he has some of the best Hobie fics on here!

➼ No beta we die like uncle Aaron

➼No warnings here! Contains fluff

GIF doesn't belong to me! All credits to the original owner

Hobie is in tune with your needs, spidey-sense and all. He's pretty good at being able to predict when you're going to have a meltdown and will throw anyone out of the room to give you some space to calm down and work through it

Has ear defenders or headphones on him at all times and spare sets around his flat just for you

If you let him/want him to he will totally paint them for you, whatever you want

New safe food? He's stocked up like he's preparing for a blizzard

Never pressures you to try new foods or to 'get out of your comfort zone', but will encourage you if that is what you want

Safe food turned against you? He's boycotting it with you

"Luv I ain't ev'n like [food]"

Has invested in several weighted blankets of various weights

If you have sensory issues with clothing (tags, hate the feel of certain material, etc) but still want to steal his clothes, he will happily modify your favorite pieces of his so you can wear it. Hell, his whole closet even

Despite hating consistancy, he knows how important routine is to you and will throw that belief away in a heartbeat (just for you though)

Helps you with transitions, like giving ten minute warnings before you two go out, getting you a nice fluffy robe to make getting out of the shower easier, or writing out what you're doing for the day and when so you can mentally prepare yourelf

Will listen for hours about your special interest, even if you think he wouldn't care or like it. Hello Kitty? He's listening. Enbalming methods from the 1800's? Doesn't matter, you have his full attention and loves learning about whatever you love

If you're non-verbal, selectivly mute, or low-verbal, he finds other ways to help you communicate. Whatever makes you feel more comfortable and heard. 'Yes/No' buttons? You've got them. Flash cards with your needs? Got it on a clip and all so you can carry it around easier, and he helps you decorate them. Signing? Hobie's learning BSL now so he can understand you (and honestly loves signing with you)

Hobie has a huge fidget toy collection that you're welcome to take from at any time, no questions asked

New hyperfixation? He'll get you what you need to do it. Embroidary? He's already got needles and thread, you can practice on his clothes. Same with sewing, he'll teach you if you want. A new video game? He borrows the console needed just for you

He knows that he can get a little loud, especially when going out as spiderpunk. Hobie's mindful to keep his voice down around you and will remind anyone else if they're getting too loud

A/N: Might end up adding more to this in the future! Just wanted to finally post something and it's 4 am-

[shiny-jr]

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH I literally cannot put into words how much I loved the latest Damnation au chapter- I was literally seconds away from putting my phone down to get back to work but as soon as I saw a glimpse of the fic, I just couldn't help but put everything on hold

I was really impressed with how you included Epel into the story in a way that just about correlated to Epel in canon (like how he was actively opposed to hit position in the castle). Like taking into consideration of the time period and the possible reasons why Epel would be relevant there in the first place despite not being in the original tale- SO WELL DONE!! Not to mention Vil going out of his way to find potential successors really emphasizes his hatred for Neige (poor guy😭) Also the way you write about Rook??? I knew he'd be creepy but gyat damn your writing only increased the feeling of it ten-fold. Especially in that scene after he climbed through the window and interrupted MC and Vil- Literally foaming at the mouth i was like 'holy crap this is it, we're gonna get exposed' cause aint no way Rook WOULDN'T know. Everything about him was unnerving yet so charming?? I really don't know how you do it but the way you just write them is just so accurate👏

As a Vil simp, every scene with him in it had be giggling and kicking my feet✨ I was pleasantly surprised with his advances towards the MC though- like hubba hubba... I ain't complaining though! The tension in those scenes were just *chefs kiss* Every moment with him just oozed authority and power, like I'd be on the edge of my metaphorical seat just waiting for the moment he calls out the MC

Like holy crap you really know how to set your scenes- like legit every time I Rook or Vil were in a scene, it genuinely felt tense. Also props to MC for looking out for #1 (themselves) even at the expense of ruining someone else

Anyway excuse my rambling lmao i'm definitely gonna be re-reading it again ^^

Sounds like another happy reader. And yes, Epel's part was difficult. Mainly because, well, Epel is based off the poisoned apple, so how is he supposed to play that role? In my mind, the poisoned apple is a tool used by the Evil Queen. So, what is similar to a tool? A person to manipulate, which is how I came up with the idea of heir. Combined with the fact that Vil obviously takes a shine to Epel, as he spends time meticulously perfecting his habits and mannerisms in-game. Which fit the scenario I was to use, of a King claiming an heir and drilling instructions and behaviors in their mind to manipulate.

Rook and Vil were easy to place into roles, due to who they're based off of. But it was difficult coming up with scenes for them, since the Huntsman and Evil Queen don't have a lot in the movies. Especially the Huntsman.

For Rook, I actually considered writing a scene were MC followed him as he scoped out the meadow or the moment when Rook was to escort Neige to the meadow, but ultimately I decided against that as it would overcomplicate the plot and give more time to Neige instead of Rook. I needed a way to properly portray Rook's watchfulness and the unease it spawns, which I figured should fit the setting. A carefully worded conversation knit of lies and unsaid threats and fears is much more effective when the reader is picturing hollowed stone halls of a palace instead of a colorful meadow. At least, that was my thought process there, which is why most interactions with Rook are in settings such as those.

And finally, Vil, who I decided to write a few more interesting scenes for purely because I know a good amount of my followers love that pretty man. There were multiple concepts and scrapped ideas I've already forgotten by now, different things that never made it to my keyboard, like a tense dinner scene and back-and-forth bickering. But some of those just didn't fit the feeling I wanted, or was out of character for either the MC or others.

Anyways, now I'm rambling. Sorry. I hope the second read was just as enjoyable as the first!

[little-diable]

Betrayal - Sihtric x Reader x Finan (smut)

I ain't sorry for the TLK fics I'll keep on posting, y'all just have to endure my obsession. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Set in S3E6/7, Sihtric betrays Uhtred and leaves his lovers behind, at least that's what Finan and the reader are forced to believe, till they reunite

Warnings: 18+, smut, a lot of smut lol, piv, unprotected sex, fingering, double penetration (2p in 1v), handjob, some angst, threesome

Pairing: Sihtric x fem!reader x Finan (about 2.2k words)

TLK Masterlist

Their hearts were heavy, and yet the weight resting on their souls had nothing on the pain clinging to their aching limbs. Æthelflæd's estate was filled with tired warriors, men that were stuffing their bellies full with bread and stew, choking on the ale they drowned to warm themselves. 

“Are you alright?” Finan’s accent grew thicker with every word he spoke, hand placed on her trembling thigh. (Y/n) was sitting between her lovers, tired eyes focused on the stew she couldn’t stomach. Her glassy eyes found Finan’s worried ones, taking a few moments to marvel at her lover’s dirty features, wondering how he still looked so awfully handsome, even after a fight this cruel. 

“I’m worried about Osferth, that’s all.” Her eyes wandered to Sihtric’s features, the warrior that had barely shared a word with them in the past hours. Something was weighing him down, forcing him to keep his mouth shut, pondering over whatever was echoing through his mind. “Sihtric?”

“Yes?” He didn’t look at her, eyes not wandering from his ale, watching his fingers move along the wooden cup. (Y/n)’s trembling hand tried to reach for his face, though forced to pull back as Uhtred sat down near Sihtric. She could barely spare the words their lord spoke her attention, though picking up that he’d leave for his brother's grave. Finan had pulled her closer, back pressed against his warm front. 

Only as Finan murmured a sharp “He does not” did (y/n) snap out of her trance, realising that something was off, a fight that would soon put the love the warrior shared with her and Finan to the test. Sihtric’s spiteful words about death and those that have died along the way left her tensing, hand trying to grasp Sihtric’s, only for her lover to shake her off. 

Hurt flashed through her eyes as she watched Uhtred rise to his feet, turning his back on the three of them. Finan’s hand grasped her waist, keeping her close, very well knowing that she was confused, hurt, and angered by the way her other lover was acting. 

“No man who serves Uhtred can rest, not until Skade is reclaimed.” Her eyes snapped towards Uhtred’s now angry features, watching how Finan tried to stop Sihtric from talking. Everything moved all too quickly, suddenly they were all standing, growling angry words and provocative phrases, while (y/n) tried to keep them calm. Finan’s uneasy eyes couldn’t help but watch his lover fall apart, struggling to keep her tears bottled in as Sihtric once again pushed her away, all too carelessly. 

“Then I will kill you.” Her air was stuck in her throat, body forcing itself past Uhtred to storm outside, heavily heaving as her body released the few bites she had forced into her system. With Finan hot on her heels, hand stroking her back, she allowed the man to guide her, teary eyes searching his, begging him to speak words that could calm her racing heart. 

“We can’t let him leave, Finan, we can’t.” Finan pulled her against his chest, cradling her as if he was scared that she’d break any moment now. He didn’t speak, eyes fluttering close as every cry of hers ripped his heart to shreds. 

……

Hours later (y/n) found herself pressed against Finan's naked chest, searching the distraction only he could offer. Her body was tired from the tears she had cried, the hurt swimming through her system.

"Look at me." Finan cupped her cheek, thumb stroking her trembling lower lip before he kissed her, gasping in surprise as (y/n) pulled him closer, forcing him to tower over her. "Are you sure?"

She could only nod her head, eyes squeezed shut as she felt his hand cup her heat, pushing two fingers into her tightness to prepare her for his cock. Finan's lips kissed their way down her throat, sparing her pulse point enough attention as he fucked her with his fingers, thumb rubbing her clit with just enough amount of pressure to push her out of her sadness, distracted for the upcoming hour at least.

(Y/n)'s needy gasps forced Finan to pull his hand from her cunt, bringing his arousal covered fingers to his mouth, cleaning his skin before he forced her thighs apart, positioning himself at her entrance.

"No matter what will happen, I will always be here for you, to love you. Love you just like Sihtric loves you." A cry ripped through her, hand searching his to interlace their fingers, needing to hold onto him as he pushed into her. For a few moments Finan kept still, allowing his lover to adjust, giving him enough time to wipe her tears away and to kiss her warm cheeks.

Even though (y/n) knew deep down that she'd cross paths with Sihtric again, she couldn't help but find strength in the way Finan loved her, how he cherished her, holding her close to remind her of the endless adoration he felt for her.

Finan fucked her slow at first, deep strokes that left her toes curling and her heart skipping beats, but with the first cry of his name, he began to pick up his pace, thrusts growing more ferocious. And as he loved her, in the dark room, she couldn't help but feel safe, and protected from her daunting thoughts.

……

The forest was cold, the snow-covered ground guided them further towards the Danes camp, eyes trying to focus on any movement, indicating that somebody was close. The wind stroked along their limbs, leaving them trembling and shaking, hoping that they’d eventually get the chance to warm their frozen fingers. 

Ever since Sihtric had left them,(y/n) had barely spoken a word to the others, caught in her anger, in the betrayal she felt, and the fear of never crossing paths with Sihtric again. Maybe it was foolish of her, she should be used to ever changing conditions, and yet she couldn’t. Finan had tried to distract her, holding her a tad bit closer at night, murmuring sweet nothings to remind her of the love he felt for her, and yet he didn’t manage to mend her broken heart. 

“Somebody’s coming.” They froze, watching a frame appear, moving closer and closer till they could make out Sihtric’s features, forcing a gasp out of (y/n). Finan had his hand clasped down on her wrist, keeping her from moving towards the man. Only as Uhtred and Sihtric shared a hug, followed by the sound of their laughter, did (y/n) snap out of her thoughts. Finan pushed past her, murmuring something about knowing of Sihtric and Uhtred’s game, but (y/n) didn’t move. 

“Love,” Sihtric murmured the word, taking careful steps to move closer, only for (y/n) to shake her head, chasing the now growing distance between them before Sihtric could touch her. Her anger kept thumping through her veins, though not because she was still hurt by his betrayal, but by the way he had pushed her, by the way he had shaken her off all too easily. 

“Give her some time.” Finan’s murmurs were drowned out by the heavy breaths leaving Sihtric, pained eyes watching her frame.

…… 

“Can we come in?” Finan’s voice broke the silence, eyes finding (y/n)’s. Her gaze flickered between Finan and Sihtric, slowly nodding her head to allow both of her lovers to enter. The silence returned within a few moments, engulfing them as Sihtric and Finan sat down on either side of her. With every passing second the silence grew more uncomfortable, a thick fog neither of them could break through. 

“I am sorry, we needed your sincere reaction to make them believe our fight.” Sihtric’s whispers forced her to scoff, eyes fluttering shut to sort through her racing thoughts. Her body was longing for him, wanting to feel his hands on her body, and yet her mind forced (y/n) to hold her grudges. 

“It’s not about that, I understand why you did it. But fuck, don’t you ever push me around like that again, don’t ever make me feel like you don’t want to be touched by me again.” Sihtric’s hand found her chin, tilting her head towards him, eyes burning through hers. He dipped his head down, lips finding hers, kissing her breathless while Finan could no longer bite down his smirk. 

“I think it’s time for Sihtric to make up for our lost time together, don't you think?” Finan’s murmurs were met with a hum rumbling through (y/n), sighing as Sihtric let go of her, rising back to his feet. All (y/n) could do was watch both men undo their coats, followed by their leather armour, exposing their prominent, flexing muscles. 

“Look at our pretty girl, we haven’t even touched you yet, petal.” The heavy Irish accent left (y/n)’s heart racing, thighs pressed together to soothe the ever growing ache. She was dripping for their touch, ready to be toyed with, allowing her lovers to use her body as if the gods themselves were walking amongst them. Sihtric touched her first, helping her out of her clothes, slowly exposing the body he hadn’t been able to touch for a while, and yet he had dreamt of her every single night. 

“Lay down.” The command was followed without any questions, naked body pressed against the bed, eyes finding the glistening ones of Finan. The warrior settled next to her, groaning as her hand found his hardening cock, pumping him for a few moments before she felt Sihtric’s warm tongue brush through her folds, making her halt her movements. A string of curses left the three of them, mixed together to form one sinful sound. 

“Jesus, I’ll never get used to this.” (Y/n) had started moving her hand once again, pushing Finan closer to the edge as Sihtric got lost in her taste, cherishing her as if he hadn’t seen his lover in years. Both were a tangled mess of limbs, hearts, and souls, forever one to walk the same path, to share their ever growing love. 

“Want to feel both of you, please.” Sihtric’s eyes met Finan’s, forcing a smirk to tug on both their lips, letting go of (y/n) to wordlessly reposition themselves. It wasn’t the first time she asked to be fucked by both men at the same time, and yet (y/n)’s heart picked up its pace, as if she was fighting a battle, very well knowing that she stood no chance against her opponents. 

With Finan sitting down on the bed to pull (y/n) into his lap, Sihtric positioned himself behind her, sharing a few mischievous glances with Finan. Her trembling hands were placed on Finan’s shoulders as she sank down on his cock, forehead pressed against his chest, needing a few moments to adjust. Sihtric made use of her moments of distraction, slowly pushing into her like they had done numerous times before. 

(Y/n)’s moan was drowned out by Finan’s lips meeting hers, swallowing her sounds as her cunt tried to adjust to both of their cocks, their alternating thrusts that left her shaking. Heat flushed through their veins, a heat so biting it felt as if the Devil himself was guiding their every movement, forcing them to confess to their every sin. 

Finan’s cold fingers found her bundle of nerves, circling her clit to push her further towards the edge, feeling her clench around both their cocks. She’d cum any moment now, gone for her two lovers like a ship sinking to the bottom of the rough ocean, one with the waves that have drowned her body and soul. 

“Fuck, so tight, even after all those months, made just for us.” Sihtric’s praises gave her the final push, trembling between both her lovers as her orgasm clashed through her. (Y/n)’s fingernails drew blood from Finan’s skin, leaving marks he’d wear proud like a soldier showing off his battle marks. It didn’t take long for the two men to follow, pulling out of her moments before they came. 

All three were heavily panting, bodies falling next to one another, getting lost in the silence that had now returned. Sihtric rose to his feet to reach for a piece of cloth, cleaning himself before he helped out his other two lovers, searching their closeness. 

“I promise, I’ll never hurt you like that again.” Sihtric pressed a kiss to her cheek, admiring her tired features, still strung out, and overstimulated. Her chuckles vibrated through her body, fingers interlaced with both of theirs. 

“If you do, I promise to hunt you down myself.”