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ladykailitha · 2 days

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Paper Hearts Part 1

Remember how my posting schedule was going to be based on strictly vibes from now on? Yeah this is why. I have three chapters of this completed and only two of most everything else because I hurt my right wrist on Wednesday evening (I think I overextended my elbow and it fucked up the tendons in my wrist, because I've done that before on my arm and it feels like that).

So instead of getting more work done on stuff that is literally paragraphs away from the end of the chapter I'm having to tap into my backlog. Which is what it's for. But it is annoying.

I am also aware it's nearly May, but my muse was never one for sense.

Summary: Hawkins High is selling paper hearts to help raise for senior prom. $3 for red romantic hearts and $1 for pink friendship hearts. Steve hasn't dated anyone since the horrific breakup with Nancy on Halloween and so he decides that he's going to send pink hearts to senior girls who wouldn't normally get any hearts at all. When Eddie hears about this he can't help be intrigued. It goes against his very well curated Munson Doctrine. But as events keep throwing them together, Eddie learns there is more to King Steve then meets the eye.

Also a note: the use of the other's last name when it's their point of view is deliberate. As they get to know each other more, the more first names get used.

****

Steve was staring at the huge sign with a sense of dread. In big pink and white letters on a red background screamed the words:

PAPER HEARTS FOR YOUR VALENTINE $1 FOR PINK FRIENDSHIP HEARTS $3 FOR RED ROMANTIC HEARTS ALL PROCEEDS GO TO CLASS OF 1985 SENIOR BALL

Valentine’s Day. That time of year for lovers and romantics. That used to be him. But not since Nancy broke his heart by breaking up with him for Jonathan Byers.

There would be no paper hearts in locker this year. Not even pink ones. Nancy had well and truly blown up his life and she got to walk away scott free.

He didn’t know what to do anymore. He pinched his nosed and rubbed the end. He wasn’t going to cry in the middle of the fucking main hall of Hawkins High.

Just before he was about to start moving again someone shoulder checked him, sending back to the floor and all his stuff sprawling around it like some fucked flower.

“Watch it, Harrington!” the voice growled as whoever it was sped off down the hall.

Steve didn’t even bother looking to see who it was. It could have been anyone these days. His former friends. Billy and his ilk. Hell, even the nerds and geeks got in on the action lately.

He knelt down to start cleaning it up when someone else kicked his books toward the lockers. He managed to get most of it picked up when he reached for the last notebook. Someone stepped on his hand and ground down, hurting Steve and ripping the cover off the notebook, crinkling the first couple of pages.

He shoved it into his bag and cradled his hand to his chest. He looked at his watch and sighed. Lunch was nearly over and he hadn’t even made it to the cafeteria yet.

There was nothing for it, he had to get to his next class. He walked into the class room just as the bell rang, but instead of heading for his usual spot near the front he made for the back of the class. There were always a few empty seats around Munson. The guy was terrifying on a good day.

And Steve hoped it was a good day.

****

Eddie made to class on time by the skin of his teeth. He slid through door just as the bell rang above his head. He was about to lope over to his usual spot in the back when he stopped dead in his tracks.

He looked up at the front at the deliberately left open seat and back at the seat next to his with a raised eyebrow. He wisely said nothing as he flopped into the torture device known as the chesk. Dair? Whatever the hell it was called where some unspeakable horror thought to combine a desk and a chair.

Eddie glanced sidelong at his new companion. The recently deposed king of Hawkins High sat slumped in his chesk, head down, just staring at its surface as if held the meaning to life the universe and everything.

Which if Harrington asked him, he would have been told forty-two.

He pulled out his notebook and noticed that Harrington did not do the same. Curiouser and curiouser. He pulled out a pencil and settled in to avoid falling to sleep today.

He was taking notes and doing the assignment like he was supposed to when about half way through class the teacher called out to him.

“Mr. Harrington!” she shrieked. “If you are going to be sitting in the back, please have the decency to pay attention in class!”

A couple of kids snickered.

“You were talking about how the Fool is used to lighten the absolutely horrific scene above him of Lady Macbeth as she tries to get blood out of her gown,” he muttered, scratching his cheek with his left hand.

That was when the teacher and Eddie noticed the same thing at the same time.

Harrington was cradling his right hand to his chest.

“Mr. Harrington is there something wrong with your right hand?”

“I accidentally hurt it during lunch,” he said with wince.

The teacher tapped her foot and crossed her arms. “And why didn’t you see the nurse?”

“It happened right before class,” Harrington muttered, “and I didn’t want to be late.”

The teacher huffed and shook her head. “I will give you note for your next teacher, but you will see the nurse after class, am I understood?”

He nodded.

“Mr. Munson,” she cried out, shrill. “If you’ll share your notes with Mr. Harrington after class so he does not fall behind.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He continued to keep an eye on Harrington throughout the whole class but whenever their English teacher tried to catch him out, she would fail every time.

When the bell rang Eddie started shoving his stuff into his backpack. “You sure you even need my notes, Harrington? That was pretty impressive shit you pulled out of your ass today.”

Harrington just shrugged. “Just because I was paying attention doesn’t mean it won’t bleed out of my ears with all the algebra and chemistry stuff I have later.”

Eddie winced in sympathy. “Yeah, I hear that. What’s your locker number and I’ll just slip a copy of my notes in the slots.”

“323B.”

“They got you on a lower locker?” he asked with a grimace. “That’s jacked up. Even Mr. Super Senior here got a top locker. Does the secretary hate you or some shit?”

Again Harrington shrugged. “I’ve got to go. I’ll catch you later.”

Eddie folded his arms at looked at him. “You’re not going to the nurse’s station, are you?”

This time it was Harrington who winced.

“That’s what I thought,” he huffed. “I’m walking you to said nurse’s station because it could be broken and if you don’t get that looked at, you’ll be in more than just a world of hurt, man. You could fuck up your hand for life and you wouldn’t be able to anything in that hand ever again.”

Steve’s eyes went wide as all color drained from his face.

“Shit.”

Eddie grabbed both of their backpacks and headed for the door. “Yeah, shit.”

Harrington hurried to catch up, hand still cradled to his chest.

“How did you know that could happen to my hand?” he asked softly.

Eddie eyed him sidelong, but the kid wasn’t being an ass. In fact he would say Harrington was being earnest.

“My uncle works at the machinist plant up the road,” Eddie explained. “One of his buddies broke his hand on the machine and refused to get it looked at. Guess how well that worked?”

“Was it the plant’s fault?” Harrington asked. Eddie cocked his head to the side. “That you uncle’s friend got hurt?”

Eddie reared his head back in shock that Harrington would even ask.

“No, man,” he said shaking his head. “He was goofing off, being a dick. Uncle Wayne always said that if you knock on every door asking for the devil, one day he’s gonna answer.”

“What happens when the devil comes looking for you?” Harrington muttered to himself and Eddie couldn’t help but wonder what this kid had seen.

Because he knows haunted. And Harrington looks like he has an attic full of ghosts.

Once they got to the nurse’s station Eddie waited for him. When the other boy came out he asked how it went.

“She says it doesn’t feel broken,” he huffed. “But that if it doesn’t improve over the weekend after icing at least three times a day, to come back on Monday and she’ll order an x-ray.”

Eddie nodded. “Right. See you around, Harrington.”

He had barely turned around when Harrington called out to him. “Wait!”

Eddie turned back around to have a piece of paper shoved into his hand. “I got the nurse to excuse us both.”

And before he could even reply the other boy was tearing off down the hall as if the devil himself was chasing him.

And after that comment he’d heard, Eddie couldn’t be sure he wasn’t.

****

Steve was curled up on his bed, icing his hand, staring up at the ceiling, and wondering where the fuck his life had gone so wrong.

Okay so he could answer that one, actually. Demogorgon ate his girlfriend’s best friend while in his backyard. While him and said girlfriend were having sex for the first time.

Yeah... that was all kinds of fucked up.

He still couldn’t believe that Nancy sided with Jonathan about him taking pictures of their first time.

So now Valentine’s Day was two week away and he was dateless, friendless, and unpopular. He wished he could just be called a loner. But a loner was cool and Steve wasn’t even that anymore.

He just had to make until the end of may and then he could graduate, leaving this town in his rearview mirror for good.

Steve knew that he would have to struggle through this fucking holiday and Senior prom then it would be smooth sailing from there.

He had all this money that he would normally spend on his girlfriends, but now he didn’t even have that. He supposed he could blow it all on beer and weed and then he could enjoy the weekend for a change.

Steve sat up suddenly, the ice pack falling from his hand to hit the floor with sploosh!

Now that was an idea.

He still had one thing in the school that was nonpareil and that was gossip. In fact, it was easier to hear all the dirty little secrets because no one cared if he was standing there.

A smile spread over his face.

That could actually work. It would be a great way to spend his allowance and it would be fun.

He got up and put the ice pack back in the freezer. He couldn’t do anything about it right then but once his hand was better he would formulate his little plan.

Steve was suddenly excited for the first time since he dropped Dustin off at the middle school’s Snow Ball.

He was going to make this holiday fun even if he had to manufacture the fun himself.

****

Eddie was pissed. A little at himself, but mostly at how Harrington was being treated.

He had to sit through lunch and listen a bunch of stupid jocks brag about stomping on Harrington’s hand when he was trying to pick up his stuff off the floor in the hallway yesterday.

They had been hoping for an actual break, but the asshole thought he’d only bruised it.

The reason Eddie was a little mad at himself for this was because he was the one that had shoulder checked Harrington. He had only been trying to get the guy out of his daze. Not send his shit flying.

And then to have someone deliberately stepping on his hand. Fuck. Not even Hagan ever went that far.

Stev–Harrington didn’t deserve that kind of bullying. No one did.

But he could see the twisted sort of appeal, though. And fuck if that didn’t make his stomach turn.

To see the deposed king and want to mock that? Want to dig the hurt in as deep as he could? To drive home the lesson that popularity was fleeting and that existence was a curse?

Yeah, Eddie could see the appeal.

But he wouldn’t. He might make fun of literally everyone and everything but his own interests, but to make turn that into actual cruelty? That was were he drew the line in the sand.

He went home feeling sick to his stomach. And of course Wayne picked up on it immediately.

He jutted his chin at the chicken and rice on Eddie plate that he had only merely pushed around with his fork.

“What’s got you so twisted around the bend?”

Eddie put his fork down and hid his mouth with his clasped hands, elbows on the table.

“I fucked up today,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean for it to go as it did.”

“What did you do?”

So Eddie told him. “I wasn’t trying to hurt him, but he got hurt anyway.”

“That does sound pretty bad,” Wayne agreed. “And as you say, you were trying to help only for it to go very awry. And since you didn’t about it until after the fact you couldn’t apologize and that’s what’s eating you up inside.”

Eddie nodded around his fists, his lower lip quivering.

“You’ll just have to find a way to apologize on Monday,” Wayne said wisely.

Eddie sighed. It was the best he could do. It wasn’t as though he could call the guy up or show up at his house. The first because he didn’t have the guy’s number and the second because he’d get the cops called on him so fast by the neighbors.

It would just have to wait until Monday.

****

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whiskeyghoul · 3 days

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She blinded me with science || [Spencer Reid x Goth!reader] Pt.4

first chapter, previous chapter, next chapter

A/N: We are back again with another part! This one is a first, real, date with Spencer. I know the timeline of the museum doesn’t check out but let’s pretend it does. I think museum dates are the cutest and would love a Spencer who can info dump while walking around a museum. Also please enjoy this setup to some more conflict hehe. Please reblog when you do enjoy to help spread the fic, it is greatly appreciated.

WC: 2,8K

Tags: Fluff, goth reader, alt reader, pure fluff, first date, museum date, spencer reid, two idiots in love.

Warnings: None.

Your pov

“Do you want to go to a museum with me this weekend?” Spencer asked while he sat in the desk chair in your lab. You looked up from the stereo microscope, a little surprised by the question. Spencer had been taking his breaks there the entirety of the week, keeping you company as you worked or having lunch together. He’d brought you coffee about 3 out of the 4 times he had joined you. A very welcome gift during the long shifts you worked. You would have lunch together sometimes too. Eating, talking, getting to know each other a little better.

“What museum?” You asked with a smile, it would be a real date, outside of the confines of Quantico. “The national museum of natural history has opened a new hall about ocean life and conservation… I was hoping to go see it this weekend. If you want to come along.” He was looking hopeful, although a little nervous. Like he had been wanting to ask this for a while and had a certain fear of your answer. As if you could say no to him.

“Yeah, I’d love that.” You answered, watching as Spencer’s lips curved up into a smile. The focus on his lips jolted you back to the memory of a few days ago. When he had crowded you, looking like he was going to kiss you. Something in his expression changed to a certain level of possession. So close you couldn’t look away from him. The way his fingertips had brushed your skin so gently, it had been on your mind for the entire rest of the day. A little disappointed he hadn’t tried again. Then again there hadn’t been a similar moment. “Great, should I pick you up?” Spencer’s voice shook you out of your thoughts. He seemed excited now, you could see him biting the inside of his lip, keeping from fully grinning. “If you wouldn’t mind that. I could send you my address.” You spoke and he nodded his head in return, “I don’t mind at all.” He spoke a little softer than before. You smiled in turn and went back to your work.

It was Saturday morning when Spencer picked you up from your apartment. You had thought about changing your outfit about 6 times but finally decided it wasn’t worth it to change that many times. You had put on one of your better dresses, just a casual black with a nice flowy thigh length skirt with layers of black, ripped tights. Creating some flair with a multitude of accessories. Because it could be a long day you decided comfort was necessary. When you opened the door you saw his bright smile, watching as his eyes scanned down to take in the outfit. “Hey.” His voice was a little breathy. “Hey.” You returned with a smile. “My uh-” He swallowed looking a little nervous which was adorable to you. “My car is out front. Want to go?” He asked and you nodded your head.

His car, a cream volvo, was a little worn down but somehow you had expected that. Spencer seemed like the kind of person who would hold on to something until it falls apart. He walked around, opening the door for you and helping you in. There were two cups in the center console. The car smelled of coffee and a little like vanilla. “Thank you.” You said as you buckled yourself into your seat. Spencer smiled and closed the door, you watched him awkwardly walk around the car quickly to get into the driver's seat. “You ready?” He asked while turning the key, the engine coming to live with a little bit of a sputter. “Yep, ready. You brought coffee?” You spoke as Spencer looked around for him to pull out of the apartment complex parking lot. “Yeah, thought you might want some. It might be a long day.” He said before fixing his eyes on the road. “Thank you.” Your voice sounded soft as you looked at him, taking the coffee cup closest to you and taking a sip.

There was soft music playing over the car radio. Turned low enough for you to have a conversation but loud enough to fill any silences with comfortable sweet tones. It was mostly instrumental, which given Spencer’s history teacher-esque appearance was to be expected. His focus on the road gave you ample opportunity to let your eyes roam over his face. His profile was somewhat striking, he really was handsome. His hair curling at the back of his neck, not being able to stay slicked down by whatever products he used. You wondered what it would look like if he just let it curl naturally.

“What do you want to see most?” You asked and it caused Spencer to perk up slightly, he quickly looked over to you before returning his gaze to the road. “Well, there is a lot. I heard they have quite a large coral reef tank that is supposed to be modeled after an indo pacific reef ecosystem. I think that or the ocean systems exhibit. They have a massive 360 display with narration and it shows the complex aspects of the ocean and how it interacts with the atmosphere.” You thought you could possibly listen to him explaining everything in the museum if he wanted to. Hours on end to listen to his voice. “But there is also the first ever display of an adult coelacanth and a pup. They are considered living fossils by some, it will be so exciting to see the differences between adults and young ones.” He sounded so enthralled with the idea of everything he was going to see. His excitement only works to fan your own excitement. “I can’t wait to see them with you.” You said and Spencer once again turned to flash you his wonderful smile.

When you entered the museum you walked past the elephant in the entrance hall ready to head to the ocean hall. It was crowded, yet so incredibly beautiful. With the whale model hanging from the ceiling. Along with jellyfish that seemed a little whimsical. Through the middle ran a display with different sea creatures and their descriptions. Along the sides were similar displays. You felt a hand slide into yours, gently holding it and you looked up at Spencer. “Is this okay? I don’t want to lose you in the crowds.” He said as you watched the flush blossom on his cheeks. You interlaced your fingers with his, the size of his hand perfectly encapsulating yours, it was warm and so soft. “Perfectly fine.” You said and stood just a little closer to him. Together you traversed the displays, walking past different deep sea creatures, Spencer sometimes stopping to tell you something exciting he knew about the animal. You in turn try to surprise him with facts you knew, which he would smile at.

Once you saw the coelacanth and the giant squid you moved to the reef aquarium. Watching as fish would lazily swim by, or some of the corals moved with the current inside of the tank. You stood there, watching it together, so incredibly close that you rested your head on his shoulder. Feeling the warmth that radiated from him. Listening to him read out the information next to the tank was a wonderful experience. “Do you want to move on to the ocean system exhibit? It is supposed to restart every few minutes.” Spencer eventually asked. You tilted up your head to look at him. Catching him looking at you and your eye contact felt just a little electric. Those deep, soft, brown eyes. “Lead the way, pretty boy.” You smiled and saw something in his eyes change for just a second. His cheeks flushing once again.

Squeezing your hand a little tighter he pulled you along to the room containing the ocean system exhibit. The room was dimmed, there were seats lined up in a circle around the big globe that hung from the ceiling. It seemed to have already started as you came in, lights projected on it to show the earth and its oceans. Spencer pulled you along to one of the curved couches. There wasn’t a lot of space but he managed to find somewhere to sit. You squeezed in next to him, your thigh touching his, your hips close to him. His cologne was overwhelming like this, being so close in the dimly lit space felt intimate. Even with all the other people around. You felt his thumb rub over the back of your hand gently. A voice rang out over the speakers, starting to explain the ways of the ocean accompanied by music. You listened intently while watching the globe and the moving images projected onto it.

Spencer shifted besides you and you suddenly felt his breath fanning next to your face, his lips close to your ear. It made your cheeks flush, your heart rate picked up along with it. Waiting in anticipation for what he was going to say. “Did you know there is enough salt in the ocean to cover the entirety of the earth. It would be 500 feet thick if it would cover it in one layer.” He whispered the fact and it made you hold back a soft giggle. The moment had felt so intimate all for him to whisper one of his crazy knowledge facts. You turned your head to look him in the eyes, those brown puppy eyes looking at you with a hint of confusion. “Here I thought you were going to say something romantic.” You whispered, tone light and teasing. You watched Spencer flush, a hint of embarrassment as his eyes looked away from yours for a moment. “Sorry.” He apologized, you could see from his movement, the way his thumb stopped massaging the back of your hand, that he felt a sudden regret. “Don’t be. I still liked it anyway.” You whispered, the tip of your nose bumping against his. You felt him exhale in a short burst, like it had been a short gasp he tried to hide, or a certain surprise at the contact. A little rush of electricity ran through your body. A little voice in the back of your head urging you to kiss him.

“You did?” Spencer asked. You softly hummed your answer, tilting your head a little to angle your nose away from his. “Is this okay?” you asked and now it was his turn to hum a soft “mh-hm” which sounded so delicate, almost inaudible over the sound of the projection. Still, all your senses were attuned to him in that moment. You wanted to say something before closing the short distance between you but Spencer was one step ahead. He gently pressed his lips against yours, moving his free hand quickly to hold you in place. The size of his hand easily cupping your neck, keeping you close to him. The feeling made you melt into him, eyes fluttering closed as a soft sigh escaping through your nose. You finally got the kiss you have been craving for days. His lips still had the lingering taste of coffee, but with that sugary sweetness to it. It was a wonderful feeling that ended all too soon in your mind. When his lips left yours you tried to chase them. Not wanting to lose the feeling.

His chuckle made you open your eyes, realizing the lights had turned on and the once dimmed room had become substantially brighter. “That was nice.” Spencer voiced it softly but no longer in a hushed whisper. He had your lipstick on his lips which made your heart flutter ever so slightly. You raised your free hand, slowly wiping at the dark red stain to get it off. “Yeah, it was.” You said while touching his lips. His hand left your nape, taking your wrist gently and holding your hand still. He pressed a soft kiss to your thumb as he held eye contact. Breath hitching you didn’t know what to do. “Ehm… do you want to grab something to eat? At the cafe?” You stumbled over your words. “I would love a cinnamonroll.” Spencer said, a cheeky smirk playing on his lips. Yet you could tell there was a hint of giddiness there for him.

When he let go of your wrist it was like your body remembered how to move again. You stood up, glad the platforms under your shoes were solid, giving some stability to your slightly weakened knees. If you told your 17 year old self a guy who wore cardigans would have you weak in the knees you would have laughed. Spencer held out his hand which you gladly took. He led you to the café where you settled with a drink and something to eat before heading back into the museum. Wandering around past the different exhibits. Hand in hand.

When Spencer dropped you off back home later in the evening than expected you were absolutely giddy. He'd stopped on the way home to grab a bite to eat and you had been engrossed in conversation with each other. After that he asked you to put on the music you enjoyed, stating that ‘you've put up with his music, and I've quite liked what you played at the lab.’ which was a sweet sentiment. You were lucky to have memorized the only station that played the bands you loved. So the last half of the ride was spent with the cure, bauhaus, Depeche mode and many others as the background noise to your conversations. When Spencer parked in front of the apartment building you felt a little reluctant to leave. This had been the best date in years, well… the best and realest date you've had. “Thank you, for today, I loved it.” You spoke up as Spencer looked at you. He smiled that same smile again, the shy one, where he looked like he wanted to bite his lip to stop from saying something he normally wouldn't. “I enjoyed it too. I'm glad I asked you to come along.” His brown eyes lingered on yours. Keeping eye contact made the car feel incredibly small for a moment.

You unbuckled your seatbelt before turning, leaning over the center console and pressing your lips to his in a soft kiss. This time it was your turn to initiate it. His hands quickly managed to find their way to your nape again. Sliding up and into your hair. You moved so your left knee was perched on your seat. Your right hand softly cupping his cheek, the light scratch of a day old shave beneath your fingers. Parting your lips slightly, an invitation for him to take it further. When his lips moved with yours, a delicate dance that made goosebumps erupt on your skin. You wanted to be closer, to push your body against his but the damn center console was in the way.

When you pulled away from Spencer you watched his tongue dart out to taste his lips with a small breath. Smiling slightly, you bit the inside of your cheek, “I’ll see you on Monday at work.” you said and gave him a peck on the lips. He nodded his head yes, letting go of you, “I will text you tomorrow.” He said. You smiled at that. Remembering how Penelope mentioned his distaste for texting. You reached for the car door. “Wait.” Spencer spoke up which surprised you. You looked back to be faced with his pleading eyes. “One more?” he asked, “Please?” he added with a small smile. You rolled your eyes gently, before leaning back and giving just another small kiss.

This time when you opened the passenger door he didn’t stop you. Once you stepped out you gave another little wave before closing the door. You rushed up the steps to the complex door and turned back to wave at Spencer as you walked in, watching as he pulled out of the parking lot. When you reached your apartment floor you were still on cloud nine. Dreamily walking down the hallway to your front door. When you did turn the corner and your eyes landed on your front door. A little bag sat on the floor beneath your door clink. A wave of unease washed over you. A nauseous feeling settling in your stomach. You knew exactly who it was from. How they got into the building, no clue, but this definitely was the work of the one person you confidently could say you hate. Your ex.

Tag list: @luvkatryna @emma-e-a @littlemadamred @cultish-corner @styleiconsize0 @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @depressedbutartsy @mikariell95

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #alt reader #goth reader #she blinded me with science #tumblr writer #museum date fic #part 4

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justporo · 17 hours

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Hi JustPoro! I wanted to share an observation with you. Maybe you can turn this into some headcanon, fanfic or just share your thoughts on it? I just started my second BG run, romancing Astarion again. I didn't really see/notice it months ago on my first run, but now it's so obvious that when Astarion is sincere he always touches his own hands and fingers, like a tell. One moment he leans forward, looks you in the eye, spreads his arms, demanding all your attention. But the next moment he looks to the side, his words become smaller, he puts his hands in front his body and starts playing with his fingers, basically shrinking back into himself, even if he still smiles. It happens a few times and it's such a heartbreaking detail. How do you think the Tav would react when they first catch on to this?

Hi Anon, thank you so much for hopping in my inbox. And oh, this is a very good observation. So I wanted to write a little drabble about it.

If you see any typos: no you don't (it's not proofread, psst)

As a former thief you knew a tell when you saw one.

Because back in your thieving days it was part of your set of skills needed to survive. You had to know when someone was trying to rip you off.

Astarion had a tell. Quite an obvious one too.

You hadn’t fully figured out yet what it was he was lying to you about or trying to hide from you. But it was clear that something was up, something going on behind these unusual crimson eyes, whenever he started to fidget with his hands.

Admittedly, you probably had figured it out as quickly as you did because you had stared at his hands quite often. They were beautiful hands: quite big, long, elegant and immaculately cared for fingers. You had to admit you had a thing for hands; but Astarion’s especially.

You knew exactly what those hands could do: from lockpicking even the meanest locks and making it look like magic in its own respect to dramatically being flailed around to underline the point the vampire was making; to oh so easily finding this delicate spot between your legs, caressing it, toying with it, making you lose your mind - with nothing but a touch of those fingers.

But the physical intimacy you had shared didn’t mean you were on the same terms in other aspects of your relationship.

And so the first time you noticed Astarion’s small nervous habit you didn’t let it show that you had noticed. It had been a delicate subject obviously. One of those rare moments where the vampire let precious details of his past slip.

From just the few things he had shared with you, you could imagine the horrors he must have lived through.

And from the way his body gave him away, you were sure of the pain it still caused him.

It was when his shoulders fell, his whole body basically folding in on himself from his usual cocksure flamboyant posture and attitude. His ruby eyes seemed leagues and eons away, still lingering agony swimming in them.

Those were the moments where unconsciously he started to nervously play around with his hands, obviously not even noticing. Tugging on the fingers of the other hand, pressing the thumb into the palm of the other - as if trying to give himself at least a bit of reassurance or to pull himself back by the pressure applied. And then the moment quickly passed again. Hands falling to his side again.

And so you took note but remained silent.

Until this fateful night back at Moonrise towers when Astarion had made a confession to you, you hadn’t ever expected.

Immediately it had been obvious how upsetting and strenuous it must have been for him to bring himself to even bring it up with you. So much so that you were sure he must be close to ripping his own fingers off judging by the way he worked while he opened up about his feelings for you.

So if this wasn’t the moment which would it ever be? As Astarion kept speaking you stepped closer, his eyes immediately growing big and round. So obviously afraid. Not of but of what he feared was about to happen. His words died on his lips as the vampire could only stand and watch, positively becoming a statue. His hands froze in position in front of his chest.

That’s where you gently grabbed them from with your own. He let you. Too shocked to react in any other kind of way.

“Did you notice,” you began as you started to gently massage them “that you tug on your hands when you’re upset or nervous or…” You blushed a little as you didn’t manage to finish your question, letting your gaze drop from his to where his hands were mingled with yours.

“I do?” Astarion replied bewildered, fully thrown off his groove and what he had planned to say.

You nodded, still not able to look up at him again, but kept softly soothing his fingers.

Silence fell between you as you kept going, feeling how your warmth spread to him.

After a long while you found the courage to look Astarion in the eyes again. He seemed transformed. A gentle smile was tugging on his lips, eyes full of warmth and kindness. None of that fearful behaviour that made him sink into himself but also none of the cocky performance he so often put on.

Instead, Astarion seemed genuine. Probably more so than you had seen him be this far.

And when he finally continued his speech, you felt more of that. All while you kept holding onto his hands. And - as you felt by the end of it - as he was holding onto yours.

Later, you of course still noticed those moments when Astarion nervously toyed around with his hands. But now you had no good reason to not go and do something about it.

So, whenever you noticed it happening you softly grabbed his hands, untangled his fingers and wrapped them with yours. Or pressed your palm against his. Or kissed his fingers one by one. Until the moment had passed.

And later still, when Astarion had started to learn to rely on you, you found he sometimes came to you, grabbing your hands for a bit of support. You squeezed his in reassurement and let your thumb wander over the back of his hand in these moments - until he squeezed back. A silent thank you, you’ve come to know.

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 spoilers #bg3 #astarion x tav #baldur's gate iii #astarion x you #astarion x reader #poro drabbles

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axelsagewrites · 2 days

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Aegon x sister!reader (maybe the child of Aemma) where she puts him on his place once and for all

Aegon Targaryen*Truce

Pairing: aegon x sister!reader

Word count: 2359

Warnings: arranged marriage, feud, teasing, mocking, aegon having a drinking problem, viserys being a shitty dad, swearing, talks of whores, aegon hitting on reader, angst with slight fluff at points

Masterlist Here

You hated your husband. He was rude and arrogant and a drunk and lazy and loud and egotistical and if the rumours were to be believed a whore. Aegon Targaryen was one of the most infuriating people you had ever met so when Rhanerya told you, you were to be married you screamed.

“You can’t possibly think I will go along with this! I hate him!”

“I know,”

“You know last time I saw him he told me I was prettier than all the whores in Kings Landing combined,”

“I remember,”

“And another thing-“

“Sweet sister,” Rhanerya stood from her chair to take your arms and stopping the pacing that had began to wear holes in the carpet, “You knew you had to marry eventually,” she said with a sympathetic smile.

You ripped yourself from her grip, “but to him?” you almost spat back, “What is father even thinking?”

“He’s thinking about the succession,” she said, her face morphing from concern to sternness as she began her lecture. It was one you heard a thousand times about duty and work and the crown. Rhanerya had gave you the lecture, your father had gave you the lecture, your aunts and uncles and lady’s and lords had all gave you the lecture. Maybe your mother too would have if she hadn’t died when you were so young. Even the queen Alicent had tried to give you the lecture.

There was no winning this argument. The debate was settled and no one heard your case. As your dear sister pointed out you didn’t even have one. You had been staying with Rhanerya in Dragonstone for some time but now it was time to return to Kings Landing.

“Daughters!” Viserys greeted with a warm hug and smile as you descended off your dragons back. “My sweet daughter,” he said, holding your hands gently, “I hope you are as excited as I am,” you did your best to smile back at him, nodding courteously to avoid another scolding.

“Boo,” Aegon whispered in your ear as he suddenly appeared at your back. you hated the way you jumped and hated more the way he sniggered, “How was the journey my dear, sweet, darling?” he said, moving to stand in front of you and meet your eyes with a sickeningly sweet smile.

You fixed an equally exaggerated one on yours as you spoke, “Wonderful my love. There was just one slight issue,”

“Oh, and do tell,” he said, swaying in closer, bending his head down in mock concern, “Your comfort is my top priority,”

You glanced over the full throne room which was currently filled with your betrothal celebrations. You turned back to Aegon once you were assured there was no eavesdroppers, “I never fell into the sea and drowned like I prayed for,”

You weren’t sure what the look that took over Aegon’s face was. Lust, anger, bitter hatred or sadness. It was all a mix behind his lilac eyes, “You’ve always had quite the humour my sweet,” he smiled bitterly before turning to face the room, “Quite the turnout, don’t you think?”

“Funerals tend to be popular affairs,” you mused before waltzing off into the crowd, leaving a now stunned Aegon behind to pick up his own jaw.

Aemond had only been a couple paces away when you departed and he was quick to join his brother’s side, “Must you always be a bother?”

Aegon snorted at his younger brother, “Please you didn’t even hear what I said,”

“So? I know you,”

“And?”

“I know you’re an ass,” Aemond said as casually as saying the sky was blue, “Try not drive your wife away before you’ve even wedded her. especially if you want any chance of bedding her,”

Aegon snorted, his eyes catching the floor, “Who said I wanted that?” he tried to say cooly.

Aemond leaned in to whisper in his ear, “The way your eyes are locked on her ass when she walks away,”

Luckily, you’d managed to avoid Aegon for the majority of the wedding lead up. Between catching up with past friends and mingling with prestigious lords you had little time for the creature. That was until tonight.

Viserys had decided there should be a dinner with his brother, wife, and all his children. You dreaded the whole affair, thinking how torturous it would be. However, you didn’t realise you would be getting off lightly.

While distant Viserys had always been kind to you at the least. he sent gifts on birthdays and said sweet even if hollow words. To Rhanerya, your older sister, he dotted on and to daemon he made jokes and laughed like old friends. However even you grimaced at the way he spoke to his sons.

To Helena he was kind though looked confused by everything she said or did or was. He barely looked towards Aemond and when he did you saw the shame behind his eyes. Anytime his attention turned to Aegon the boy seemed to shrink.

You had been sat next to your betrothed and in this time noticed how quiet he was. You were only two years older than him and always remembered when you were in Kings Landing together how he ran through corridors shouting and screaming as a child. You remembered the loud boasts he’d shout over the hall when you returned when he was a teen. However right now he was as quiet as a mouse.

Anytime his father looked at him he shrunk further into his seat and reach for his wine. The few comments Viserys made towards his eldest son had been lack lustre and cold. When Rhanerya asked about his achievements he would make jokes about the time he dropped a sword during a pretend dule.

“I was eight fathers,” Aegon tried to defend himself but when Viserys made another jib he just finished the wine in his cup instead of argue.

As Viserys and daemon laughed loudly, telling a drunken story from their youth to each other despite both being there at the time, you turned to Aegon, “Are you okay?” you whispered, so quietly only he would hear.

His eyebrow raised slightly, mostly in shock you spoke to him willingly let alone to ask him a question. A forced smile pulled on his lips as he slightly raised his cup, “I am drunk,”

“That’s not what I asked,” you whispered back, glancing back at the laughing older men at the other end of the table, “I’m sorry,”

“Don’t be,” Aegon whispered, draining his cup for what felt like the fifth time, “It’s not your fault I’m a screw up,”

You wanted to defend him but as you opened your mouth you heard an ‘oohing’ from the bottom of the table, “The love birds are at it,” Daemon announced, nudging his brother’s side with his elbow. Cackles came from them both and sympathetic smiles from the rest of the table.

By the end of dinner, the king was slurring his words and everyone else was exhausted. Aegon stood from his chair, stumbling slightly and earning a heavy sigh from his mother. “Perhaps the prince could escort me to my chambers? After all this castle can be a maze at the best of times,” you suggested to the room.

Your eldest sister was shocked, but Alicent was quick to usher you both away. As soon as you exited the room Aegon went to stumble and fall and without thinking you reached out to steady him, “Careful!” you chastised.

Aegon ignored your pleas and instead slung his arm over your shoulder. You grabbed his hand that was dangling far to close to your breasts for comfort and pulled it away. Instead, you linked your arm with his, “Well that was torturous,” he slurred as you walked the halls.

“Is he always such an ass?” you asked as you reached some dreaded stairs.

“Nah,” Aegon said, shaking his head as he walked up stairs like a baby dear, “He stays away from me most of the time. First dinner I’ve had with him in what, four months? Maybe five actually. When was his name day again?” he asked.

“Nine months ago,” you said, and he clicked his fingers, nodding his head in affirmation before going quiet. “I’m sorry,” you said, breaking the silence.

“Why?” he asked as you approached the corridor to his room, “You’ve never done anything wrong. Even as kids you were always perfect,”

“I was hardly perfect,” you laughed, remembering all the antics you were involved in, “You were just overly naughty,”

“Its more fun that way,” he winked, a smirk growing on his face as he lent in. you pushed him away, but this time laughed slightly as you did. “Hey this is my room!” he said as you approached the door, “I was to escort you to yours,” he tried to walk past you, but you easily pushed him back with one hand.

“I think I’ll manage,”

“You sure?”

“Positive,”

“Okay,” he yawned, pawing at the doorknob before finally opening it, “Unless of course you want to sleep here,” he added as he stood in the doorway.

“I think ill pass,” you said, screwing your nose up at him though finding the drunken smile on his face oddly endearing.

That was until he kept talking, “C’mon sweetheart. You’ll be joining me here soon enough,” he said as his eyes tried to trail your frame.

Instead, you stepped forward, shoving his chest making him sway back far enough for you to grab the door handle, “Goodnight Aegon,” you sighed before shutting the door behind him and walking back to your own chambers.

You somehow saw even less of Aegon after that night. It was odd though. You actually found yourself looking for him in crowded rooms. “Is your brother alright?” you asked Aemond one evening as you stumbled across him in the library.

He looked up with a light smirk on his face, “why? Don’t tell me you’re becoming fond of him,” he teased making you let out a heavy sigh.

“No, I just wanted to make sure my betrothed wasn’t dead in a ditch or collecting diseases at a brothel,”

Aemond laughed lightly at that, “No not this time. He’s been in his room mostly. Don’t know why though. He wont talk much. He gets like this sometimes. Don’t worry though it will pass,”

“I wasn’t worried,” you said before turning to leave.

“You haven’t even touched a book yet,” Aemond called after you, but you ignored his teasing to find Aegon.

When you arrived at his room you knocked quickly but when no one answered you did it again but louder. A few moments passed before you groaned and checked the door to find it unlocked. You opened it without hesitation, “Who’s there!” a startled voice came from the sheets.

Aegon struggled to sit up for a moment as you closed the door behind you and placed your hands on your hips, “It’s been a week,”

“Hello to you too,” he sighed, flinging himself back into bed when he realised it was you.

You groaned as you walked over to him, ripping the sheets off his body as he yelped. You were thankful he was at the least wearing a shirt and his small clothes. “Are you avoiding me?”

“Is everything about you?”

“Do you always have to be an ass?” you retorted.

Aegon sighed as he finally sat up in bed, “Why do you care? You don’t even like me,”

Against your better judgement you sat down on the edge of the bed, “Well it looks like there’s no escape for me, so I better try,”

“Oh great, a pity conversation,” Aegon rolled his eyes, “How romantic,”

You couldn’t help it anymore. It had all been building up. The tears were pricking your eyes. You felt your hand slap his cheek and watched his face fill with shock. “I am trying,” you said, standing up and pointing at him as a few spare tears trickled down your cheeks, “I never asked for this and neither did you, but I am trying. You can’t flirt with me and check me out and expect me to fawn over you. I’m not some common whore and even then, they’re paid to like that kind of crap,”

Aegon’s face had softened slightly during your rant, but he soon fixed a distant look on his face. “don’t act so innocent. the first thing you did when you arrived is tell me you’d rather kill yourself than marry me,” You felt your shoulders slump at his words. “You always hated me,”

“Then stop giving me reasons too,” you said and as he went to sigh you cut his defences off, “Stop checking me out when I talk to you and undress me with your eyes. Stop going to the silk streets and visiting brothels. Stop making bitchy comments about me and stop pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. And for the love of the gods do it sober,” you ranted however when you stopped the room fell silent.

Aegon eventually broke it as his voice cracked, “Then what? You’ll love me?”

“No,” you said plainly but you returned to sit beside him on the bed, “But then we could be friends. Or at the least try. I don’t want to hate you Aegon, but you drive me crazy,” a small smile went on his face at the last line, “You enjoy making me mad,”

“Sometimes,” he confessed, his smile growing, “It’s funny when you’re mad,”

“Then I must be hilarious,” you joked, “So do we have a truce?”

Aegon paused for a moment before putting his hand out for you to shake, “Truce,” he said as you accepted his handshake, “So what is it friends do?”

You tilted your head at him, almost out of pity, “I don’t know. We could talk?”

“You always get annoyed when we do that,” he said making you huff. A grin spread on his face, “See?”

You rolled your eyes at the blonde, “I hate you,”

His grin widened, “For once I don’t believe that”

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General taglist: @strvngestark @headinfantasy @meg-ro @427120lxld @obx-josie18 @ravenmoore14 @tessakate @justtilly @jjkjbhj @clairacassidy @valeskafics @perla434 @selenestar78 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @urfavnoirette @randomstory56 @qardasngan @https-luvvia @im-the-fucking-lunar-prince @bryandechartisasmolbean @glorywielder101 @tiinkerbell @the-holy-pigeon @andreaxxx44 @winterklls

HotD taglist: @qardasngan @randomstory56 @sashadevil766 @idkwhatsgoingonwithme @janii-722 @hypocritic-trash-baby @cookielovesbook-akie @theninibear @thirteenth-fangirl @amourfolklore @shinywhispersblizzard

#house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon #house of the dragon preference #aegon targaryen #prince aegon #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon imagine #aemond x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones #hotd #hotd imagine #aegon targaryen angst #aegon angst

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homesickturner · 2 days

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Homesick - Ch. 1

plot : childhood best friends Gracie and John are separated when join joins the war. Both are dealing with their own problems…will they cope with such distance between them. Most importantly, will the friendship (or more than..) stand the test of the war?

Dara speaks : hi hi! I’m overjoyed to finally be releasing this first chapter 🥹 I just could not keep these two to myself anymore 🫶 pls comment if you enjoy…any constructive criticism is welcome also. My asks box is wide open for any and all thoughts you have after reading this chapter so please send them my way !! The idea for this series came to me while listening to my favorite song ever homesick by dua lipa…give it a listen if you have not it’s too good!

warning : will be historically inaccurate at times for the sake of storytelling. Mentions of anxiety.

Gracie and John grew up together. Their parents often say that it was not often throughout their lives that one was seen without the other. Once they reached hugh school, things certainly changed although they still remained very close.

Gracie has been an exceptional student for all her young life and had future hopes of become a nurse. John and Gracie spoke often of their future plans and although there was a chance they may end up hours and hours from each other they knew they would be alright.

“So John,” Gracie spoke up, John sitting opposite her at the dinner table at her home. “I was thinking of doing some traveling before I head to Washington in the fall…where is it that you confirmed again?.”

“Gracie-.”

“Don’t worry though it’ll be way before college so we’ll have time to work and-.”

“I’m joining the air corps,” he blurted out, setting his knife and fork down.”

“You’re…what. John you’re going off to the war and you didn’t mention it.”

“No Gracie because I knew how worried you’d be-.”

“Damn right John.” She shot back, a hurt expression clouding her face. The girl was lost for words. “I’m coming with you-.”

“Like hell you are,” he scoffed. “Quit talking crap Gracie.”

“John! I was going to be a nurse anyway at least this way I’d be helping.” She pleaded.

“Gracie..you don’t want to see what some of the nurses do in the war,” John said softly. “You have so much going for you, go to college and have fun-.”

“While you’re getting shot down out of your fucking plane John!.” She shouted back at him, tears brimming in her eyes.

“Grace I’ll be ‘aright. I’m not letting you throw your future away for me…for this stupid war.” He insisted.

“John you’re my best friend. I can’t let you go out there.” She stood from the table and began pacing the small dining room. “If I do, I’d bet money that there’ll be a letter landing on my lap in Washington in a few months because you’ll-.”

“Gracie,” he yelled, strolling to where she was in front of him and laying both hands firmly on her shoulders. “Please…you’re breaking my heart. You gotta let me go.” He choked out, getting the slightest bit emotional seeing her eyes filled with tears.

Gracie felt like the life she’d planned had been ripped from beneath her. Some may say, she indeed had the world at her feet, everything was in her favor. Her family were wealthy, she had friends and she was headed to one of the top nursing programs in the country. Gracie never in a million years expected to hear that news from John. She was so crushed, so angry that this war was going to take away her favorite person from her and maybe never give him back. Gracie knew that boy better than she knew herself, so she knew that there was no changing his mind.

Although she was deeply upset, she knew John and had every belief he was doing this for the right reasons. Gracie knew that John had a big heart and truly just wanted to do what he could in such a horrific situation.

She wished she could be mature and think clearly about the situation. At the end of the day, Gracie was 18 years old and about to potentially loose her best friend to this war. So, she certainly was not thinking clearly.

As much as Gracie tried to persuade him, John’s decision was made. One week later he and Gracie stood at the Wisconsin harbor to say their goodbyes.

“Please don’t do this,” she whispered quietly into this ear, both her arms wrapped around his neck. “I can’t loose you Johnny…you’re my other half.”

Gracie couldn’t believe John was finally leaving her. She wasn’t sure she could live without him. Unfortunately for her, she was about to find out.

“It’ll be alright Gracie, I promise you. Just trust me alright?,” he muttered to her softly, he hands rubbed her back slowly.

John knew no matter what he told her, she’d worry. He knew that they were two halves of the same coin, and they balanced each other out perfectly. John brought out her wild side and Gracie kept John’s feet on the ground when he got overexcited. They certainly brought out the best in each other.

He might have been going off to war, but the only thing he was worried about was how Gracie would cope when he was gone. She’d always been an anxious girl, and it has only worsened in her late teens. In recent years, her friends and family realized that it was only John who seemed to truly help her. They would watch the nerves and worry melt off her face and her body relax when John and Gracie were in company togther. When she was with him, it was as if all the voices in her head were quieted and she felt herself again. John could only hope a constant stream of encouraging letters would keep his Grace happy.

As they broke apart John kept his hands on her shoulders. The two kept their eyes locked for a few moments, the words that were not said danced in the air between them. The moment neither of them ever thought would come had finally arrived.

Gracie watched as John turned and slowly began to walk away from her, and into the unknown. Right before boarding the boat, he turned to her once more as she called out to him.

“John?,” she asked. “Yeah Gracie?,” he called back, a small smile forming on this lips. “

“Please take care of yourself Johnny….and I’ll be waiting for my letters.” John could see her eyes lighting up as she shouted out to him.

“I will Grace, I promise I will. You’ll have plenty of letters don’t you worry.”

Gracie watched as her best friend boarded the boat. Moments later he appeared on the top deck, finding himself a spot next to the railing and stood waving to Gracie. A smile graced her lips as she watched him waving to her, and she would laugh when every so often he would do a salute. John noticed these laughs, and did them twice as much when he noticed she enjoyed them.

Gracie’s heart broke as she watched the boat sail away slowly. She stood and waved the John until she couldn’t see him anymore. Once the boat had sailed far enough, she let some tears finally fall down her cheeks.

#buck and bucky #bucky egan #john egan #mota #rosie rosenthal #mota x reader #mota spoilers #john egan x reader #john egan x oc #Gracie and John #austin butler #callum turner #nate mann #john brady

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eldritchgray · 2 years

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Yesterday at work a guy handed me a pamphlet for a baptist church and it took every ounce of my self restraint not to tear it up in front of him. I tore it up after he left :)

#why do christians act like this?#it's annoying as hell #the worst part is i remember going on youth trips where the leaders would rope us into doing this #ex christian #ex evangelical #had i not been at work i Would Have ripped it in front of him

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ghoulschooldropout · 2 years

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thinking about MacCready's silly little outfit

#love to draw it hate to think about it #my dude why did you keep the back #get a shorter coat if the front part was bothering u so much instead of ?ripping??? it off???#and what is keeping that pocket on your leg? tape? is that tape? what is that #please just rip the other sleeve off or sew a new one on #it just cant be comfortable the way it is #i would be so annoyed with the sleeves i gotta have either both rolled up or both rolled down you just cant be lopsided like that cmon man #his fucking belt is the only thing keeping this outfit together literally he takes that off his coat falls apart and his pants fall down #do you guys think he goes commando? i feel like he would (derogatory)#like aesthetically i love this outfit somehow he makes the asymmetry work for him and altogether its like ok cohesive outift #and like you look at all the parts and it paints the picture the devs wanted to tell about him-- it fits his story #like ok I Get It homeboy is a practical self-taught wasteland mercenary hurting for caps #+green to show association with gunners and call back to fo3 #but like do the bullets chafe him at all? do they jingle when he walks? or does he secure them tight enough not to?#his hat's baller though no complaints there #i like his lucky charm bullets even if they are a bit silly #would've been cool though if he had more personal beef with winslow and barnes and was like 'im saving these two bullets for them'#revenge quest shit ig lol #anyway maccready ? smooch #i bet he thinks he looks so cool hes like yeah bullets on my thigh? badass.#the shreds of my coat flapping behind me in the wind? badass #and gotta have a scarf. thats his staple #k rambles #sorry the brain rot is strong today

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moondirti · 2 months

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𝐂𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 [18+]

familiar! ghost × witch! reader

you are a witch trapped at home by a devastating blizzard. ghost is the demon that answers your call. ( PART 1 of 2 )

DEAD DOVE. RATED R. HORROR/SMUT. 6k. – AO3

please please please read the warnings under the cut before reading. this is leagues darker than my usual work. it is a dark fic, and you know your limits better than i do.

warnings: discussed cannibalism. graphic depictions of gore. vomiting. killing/butchering animals. violent thoughts. malnutrition. alienation/isolation. manipulation. corruption. mentions of somnophilia. dark!ghost – i.e. simon does not conform to human morality. afab reader using she/her pronouns.

inclusivity note: the reader is described as smaller than simon, but he stands at 250 cm in his true form (8"2), so i assumed everyone – if not, most – would fit that category. she's also malnourished/sick at the start and so there are some references to unhealthy weight loss

Situated between a dense network of ancient oaks, a lesser demon would have mistaken the cottage for a boulder had they spawned further than ten metres away. Save for the warm orange glow illuminating its arched windows, the home married perfectly to its surroundings – disfigured and hideous, walls warped by unevenly stacked stone and a roof bowed under a thick blanket of snow. Overgrown bushes stick out from under its gnarled fence, dead branches desperately reaching, and the ivy he assumes was once adhered to its front has since been ripped out by the storm, whipping in the howling wind.

But Ghost is no lesser demon; in fact, he’s far above this whole affair. Something of his rank answering the summons of a novice who could offer no more than sheep’s liver buried in their front yard was an occurrence practically unheard of. For good reason, too. He’s dangerous in the right hands, willing to resort to lengths that even the devil wouldn’t dream of so long as he receives proper payment. Most power-hungry neophytes would slaughter, have slaughtered, to have him as their familiar. Even then, he is above their grovelling.

So, to be lured out of respite by sheep’s liver, of all things…

He supposes he has no excuse for it, not that he has to explain himself to anyone. Perhaps he’s here only to satisfy his curiosity. The call hadn’t come from the lips of someone who’d been practising – sharp and sure, roused by a brand of audacity special to cocksure practitioners – but from someone softer. More sceptical. It’s unusual that an occultist would have both knowledge and skill to summon a familiar, yet still be suspicious as to whether they even exist at all. He’s not so much offended, then, as he is morbidly interested in what reaction his appearance would incur.

Disgust. Terror. Reverence.

Warmth pools in his belly, blood oozing in fat globs to fuel the flame that compels him to head into the small home. It’s hard to make out what’s inside merely by looking through the windows; the glass has glazed over from the contesting temperatures on either side of it, painting a bleary picture of a fire silhouetting vague shapes. The doorstep creaks under his heavy foot, but nothing – from what he can see – moves in response to the disturbance. It’s late, he knows. If it weren’t for the thick clouds shrouding the sky, he would see the moon sinking towards the west horizon. Anyone with any sense in this world knows to be asleep during witching hour.

The doorknob is round. Brass. Worn by a hand that’s gotten very good at grasping it in the same manner every time. Ghost takes a moment to digest what that tells him about his new client before turning it and ducking inside. He was right to assume it’d be unlocked. While he’d have been able to find a way in otherwise, the silly little oversight manages to elicit more excitement in him than necessary. Their mistake is added to his quickly growing character evaluation. A routineer. Garden-variety mortal, too naive for their own good. Someone isolated. Someone–

Small.

Size has always been relative for something of his stature. At two and a half metres, he’s able to tower over even his own. But it truly hits him, right there, how long it’s been since he last encountered a human. He tries to tally the decades in his head, only to fail and fail again by fault of distraction. It shouldn’t hit him as hard as it does. She fulfils every bit of what he expected, after all; plain, though younger than the typical practitioner of familiar-summoning ability. Fast asleep on a threadbare couch. Drowned in clothing, skin dewy with sweat. A book abandoned, open on her chest, stuffed with spare pieces of parchment and illegible annotations. Ink-stained fingertips.

But his hand could crush her head if he was truly compelled to do so. He could scoop the bare ankles currently peeking out of her quilt and throw her over his shoulder like wild game, skinned and simple to carry back to hell. He remembers the fallow deer he’d feasted on just last week, belly soft as he sunk his teeth into it, and considers letting his appetite get the best of him with the one that’s unwittingly made herself available tonight. Crack open her ribcage to gorge on the gooey insides that no doubt taste like honey to a monster with his appetite. Bury his snout into her sweet-scented neck and get a sense for prey that can fight back, if just barely.

But the moment passes. In her slumber, she shifts to lay on her side, spooning the grimoire closer. The minor hint of life reawakens another, more primaeval urge in him, last felt aeons ago when he was a younger fiend and the world had been a much more vulnerable place.

(The urge to take, to bend and break to fit his fancy. Chewing on cartilage until it smacks like gum between his maw, flossing the foul curl of his canines. To sink his claws into tender calves and carve an irreversible Ghost-shaped hole in her home, a haunting so stubborn she’ll turn to a fake God to try and expel him.)

And it’s violent. A rather restive longing. But placed next to the patience he’s learnt in the centuries since, he makes his choice. A natural conclusion to a creature who’s always gotten what he’s wanted.

Yes, he’ll stay. Be here when she wakes and revel when those eyes widen at the sight of him, darkening the corner of her room. He’ll stay; trail around and observe as she tries to make sense of her routine in light of the beast looming over her shoulder. He’ll stay, maybe ravage what's between her legs, devastate her sense of preservation and instead make her beg for the damage. Fall short on his duties as a familiar. Stay until he gets bored, when he’s had his fill of the crying and the quaint box she calls home. When playing with his food any more will lay the morsel to waste. Only then will he finally tear into the temptingly delicious meal in front of him.

For now, though, his neck aches from having to stoop under such a low roof. He resorts to a bygone human form instead, one he consumed ages ago – bones snapping, flesh dimpling, folding, morphing into a much smaller thing, a man – and waits.

Morning finds you doubling over the side of your couch to retch up what little food you had scavenged the previous evening.

The loss is sore. Your stomach protests as the stale bread and water emulsion punches up your throat, emptying out onto the hardwood floor. Acrid. Bitter on the back of your tongue, sharp like the cramps that erupt in your abdomen once you lay back down. Sweat plasters baby hairs to your forehead, crawling down your back and pooling underneath your bandaged breasts. You wipe it off with trembling hands, kicking the suffocating quilt until it slouches off the armrest on which your feet lay.

Last night’s fire is little more than smouldering ash. Still, the cottage maintains a pervasive heat, the air buzzing with an unnamed vigour. It’s unlikely that the blizzard has ceased long enough for the snow blanketing your home to melt – and given the walls’ remarkable ability to release warmth faster than they absorb it, the current temperature is enough to confound you.

Likely a fever, you think, pressing knuckles to your temple. The timing is unfortunate enough, though something about your conclusion falls apart when tested against the churning of your gut. You’re clearly unwell, that much is apparent by the bile spoiling your floor, but you’d be a fool to miss the supernatural root of it. Like a perpetual tremor, never waning despite the way your muscles flare. A delirium that unfurls from your nape to slowly embrace your ears. You blink, trying to make sense of the queasiness that continues to wrack you.

You’d run out of herbs two days after the blizzard snowed you in, the remaining potions lining your pantry ones best left untouched. It couldn’t have been anything you took, then. Nor was it a spell; the last one you’d cast was an ignition charm you’ve performed so often you know its effects like the planes of your cheeks. You cycle through yesterday's happenings with febrile imprecision, sipping long gulps of oxygen to tame the queasiness lapping up your chest. Like bailing water out of a quickly sinking raft. Cupping it in your palms and throwing what you can overboard. You get nowhere, and your nausea only worsens.

You’d gone to sleep with your grimoire in hand. Had you cast something while in a hypnagogic state? Possible, though rather uncharacteristic. Your fingers dig into the cushion gutters, poking for any sign of the thick book. As a migraine begins to tear at your skull, your search borders on unhinged. Pillows fly across the room, cushions following suit. The quilt billows as you air it several times over, providing some fleeting – yet much needed – airflow.

You’re so focused on finding it that you almost miss the fact that the charred voice behind you is not your panic made material. Not the voice inside your head.

“Under the couch.”

This one is hoarse. Deep. It almost instantaneously shatters the heavy atmosphere cloaked over your shoulders, breaking your pyrexia with a sharp shiver down your spine. Pure ozone injected into the bubble you’ve made for yourself, the one you thought was so secure. Where the knife you taped to the underside of your table has remained untouched in the years since you moved in, unneeded. Hunched the way you are now, you can see it. Glinting as a mocking smile does; all teeth. Too far for you to retrieve without alerting your intruder. Too far for it to be an option. Your instincts rear.

Slowly, you crouch lower, hand skimming under the couch. Your pinkie grazes the well-loved leather of your grimoire’s cover. It manages to ground you to the situation at hand, though the reality is far more horrifying than what you could’ve conjured on your own. Distorted still, rippling with the impact of your fear. Paralysis battles adrenaline – your mind freezes with the shock of drowning, your body championing for survival. It doesn’t give you time to catch up.

Wood splinters under your heel as you twist, springing in the general direction of the voice. Heavy book in both hands. Your shoulders square, steadying as hinges to your attack. The figure is just visible; you barely make out the silhouette of its head before you aim for it.

But it grabs your wrist and flings your grimoire across the room in a fraction of the time, the spine splaying open onto an adjacent wall. Your stomach capsizes. The raft tips, flips, sends you crashing into frothing waves. Migraine blinding you for a brief, horrifying moment; one where you can’t see the thing shackling your wrist, or anticipate the hard kick it gives to your ankles. You buckle with the pain, held up by one heavy paw. A low whine syphons from your chest.

“Enough of tha’, now.”

Your vision comes into focus several seconds later. Still watery, brine spooling over your eyes, readying them for pruning, but clear enough to make out the depth of this ravine you’ve shipwrecked over. And it’s–

Uncanny. Teetering the thread between jarring and inhumane. Nothing about it – you’ve a hard time believing the moniker of ‘man’ – strikes you as superficial. Nothing skin-deep. Like a mountain seen breaking the horizon line from continents away, its rocks humming a song too closely resembling a banshee’s shriek for it to be alluring. Something concealed within its caves; underground, bubbling, molten. An impetus for myths, undiluted by tired parents using it to scare their children into bed. Still crowned by its original savagery, conceptualised centuries ago by a peasant who made the mistake of getting too close.

But it isn’t a concept, you quiver. It’s here – fleshly, corporeal. And it's even made an attempt to look human. As if you wouldn’t feel it itching to burst out of this skin, suffocated by too small constraints. Over six feet and then some, shoulders doubling yours and fingers that stretch a bit too long, a bit too thick. No face: everything but its eyes covered in knitted headwear, framing the pair of pale pupils, shadowed by a heavy brow.

Some suicidal, hare-brained part of you wonders what would happen if you were to lift the bottom of its mask. (What you would see. How it would react.) But the compulsion is quickly stifled by another wave of gagging, empty stomach looking for anything to regurgitate. The thing masquerading as a man catches on fast, flipping you so your back tucks against its chest. You end up projecting water over the carpet, coughing until your head pounds like a ripe bruise. It’s then that you realise your condition has everything to do with its presence, souring now that you’re practically nestled against its abdomen.

“What…” You question between dry heaves. “What are– What do y-you want with me?”

“Better question ‘s, wha’ do you want?” It murmurs back, rumbling too close to your ear. Rot thickens its breath, potent enough that it draws the tears already dotting your lash line. No doubt a corpse remains stuck somewhere down its gullet, stored away for later. No doubt you’ll join it soon, gnawed on until your flesh falls off the bone. The perfect victim; all alone, the town pariah. A witch by the common man’s standards. Cast out to a dismal forest to die.

“I don- I don’t–”

“Summoned me, didn’ you? Dug a nice little hole and all. Well,” His hand shifts, clasping tighter around your struggling arms. “I’m ‘ere now. ‘Bout wha’ you expected?”

You use your retching as an excuse to play a game of catch up, squeezing the last of your tears out. Your memories bleed into one another, ink on wet parchment. Summoned. Dug a… hole, to call on this thing of supernatural proportions currently occupying your home. Why would you want that? What have you done? The past year has been marked by loneliness of a drastic degree, certainly, yet–

And then it comes flooding back to you.

(Washing the salt off of preserved sheep’s liver. Fastening it to a bouquet garni with twine. Folding the modest sacrifice under layers of earth. Pouring milk onto the upturned dirt.)

“Aren’t you supposed to be an– an animal… Or something.” You choke.

(You never thought it’d work: this magic amateurishly scribbled onto the back of your book by a hand long necrotized. The runes had been difficult to fathom on their own. And the way the spell had sounded on your clumsy tongue made you sure you’d done it wrong. It was purely a pursuit of curiosity. Something to keep you occupied, for lack of anything else to do.)

“Or something.” It answers.

A familiar. Yours, to be precise. In service to you since it took the offering you fashioned. Or, of greater import, one that can’t do anything to you lest you ask for it.

(Foolish to think you can clamp a collar on a feral beast and expect it to heel.)

The girl has a harder time adjusting than his original estimate.

Of course, there’s the illness. The affliction that plagues all mortals who come in contact with a demon for the first time. She’s violently sick for days, verging on the full first week of his arrival. Constantly bent over herself, holding a metal pail close for the inevitable purge of bile, that which her liver overproduces to compensate for a lack of food. Her under eyes blacken five shades darker. Her cheekbones grow more pronounced. Ghost watches it all with a macabre sort of interest, unable to take much satisfaction in the affair as his meal withers away before his very eyes. Wrists thinning into willow branches. Lips flaking like dead bark.

He's almost tempted to do something before she begins to recover herself. Gets more used to his unnatural presence, it seems. Gradually. Slow.

It starts when she wakes up one morning, having slept in later than he’s known her to, hiccupping but otherwise solid. After laying on the couch for an hour, she limps off with dwindling energy to fry a batch of velvet shank for breakfast. The meal is hardly enough for one, yet she plates two-thirds of it for Ghost and places the dish on the table he’s commandeered for his own. It’s a kind gesture; he doesn’t have it in him to be kind about it, though. Yet before he can criticise her efforts, she waddles off to pry a window open. Frigid winds encroach on her sheltered home at once, snow flurrying in, but she braves the cold until a crow lands on the windowsill.

“Hello.” She croons, smoothing a knuckle across its crown. “Sorry I’ve been away. Here,” Digging into her breast pocket, she pulls out a handful of chokecherries and feeds them to the bird. “make them last. Supply is low.”

The crow merely picks them off her palm, coos lost in the roaring storm that batters at the door. For the first time since his arrival, Ghost is tempted to bleed into the shadows. The affair he’s made voyeur to is delicate, an understated glimpse into a life entirely foreign to him. It aches when he can’t piece together why she would give up her food for nothing in return, or why she treats him the same way she does a feral bird. He thinks it must be ego, this snarling anger in his chest.

So when the crow flies off with a final farewell pet down its back, he hardens into a nastier version of himself. Ghost still hasn’t touched the paltry breakfast when she turns her attention back to him, a fact she meets with a gingerly raised eyebrow.

“’Fraid I won’t eat tha’, pet.”

She takes a moment to process his epithet of choice, eyes narrowing in an almost comical turnaround of her previous gentle expression.

“Wouldn’t it be the other way around?” She scoffs.

The indignation alone should be enough to incense him further, never mind the apathy she adopts when she shucks the contents of his plate onto her own and marches back to the couch. It doesn’t. If anything, he calms a little at her willingness to take away what she so graciously offered. The cat does have claws, then. Albeit petty, piddling little claws – like the runt of a litter who’s learnt to bite back at anything that gets too close – but a fire, nonetheless. He appreciates that, perhaps more than he assumed he would.

Her sickness, he finds, is not the only issue.

Ghost lacks context for her situation – why she lives alone when the closest towns are just bordering the forest, or why no one ever seeks her out – but it does not escape him that the girl isn’t properly socialised.

In the centuries since they first emerged, he’s absorbed a keen sense for mortal behaviour. Credit to their alarming predictability, pattern recognition has halved the effort needed for his hunts. Not that he pretends to be at one with their psychology, but it’s easy to pin just where exactly she deviates from the norm when his strategy for ravaging her depends on it. More than once, he finds himself inexplicably engrossed in her habits.

Given her home is limited to the living room, kitchen, and washroom, she struggles to find a space where she can escape his oppressive presence. Ghost does not make it easy for her, either. He could choose to blend into the darker corners of her cottage, embodying the moniker he’d been given all those years ago and disappear almost completely – or enough to give her a mental break. But the mood strikes him more often than not, and he’ll loom over her like a spectral shadow, looking to provoke the grave mood swings that seize her like Satan does his miscreants. By far the most entertaining outcome had been when overstimulation trounced her usual level of tolerance and she pulled a knife on him, zeroed in on his jugular. He’d managed to scruff her by the nape until she wore herself out – which isn’t to say she didn’t put up quite a fuss.

Since then, she has yet to lash out to such an extreme, instead locking herself in the washroom when her temper skyrockets. Ghost is almost disappointed.

That’s his pet at her worst. At her best, she opts for quiet coexistence, either whispering to the crow who visits daily and appears to be her only friend, or cradling that ugly book in both hands. The back of the couch where she lounges most often obscures his view of her, but he’ll get the occasional vision when she pokes her eyes above the top to check on him. He maintains eye-contact – the heavy, uncomfortable kind that engenders pure humiliation and pummels her back into place, eyebrows furrowed and contentment spoiled – until the boredom gets to him.

The next time she sneaks a peek, then, he effects a gruff “Still ‘ere.”

She keeps to herself after that, nose buried in her grimoire like a chastened fawn.

It takes three weeks for her to settle into normalcy. By that time, Ghost’s patience has already started to wear thin.

The girl operates under the impression that he can’t do anything unless she orders it of him. He doesn’t blame her, credulous thing that she is. The notion is generally accepted by most of her grade, propagated by some text meant for beginners, written by a man who lacked the subtlety to discern between rules and good form. It’s true that familiar’s tend to only perform feats their counterparts ask for, but only because to do otherwise is bad practice. What else motivates a symbiotic relationship if not trust? Dependency?

Of course, that’s if a demon has anything to gain that a human can provide. He’s always found it to be a little more than pathetic. Reared to hunt, formidable in his thaumaturgic ability – Ghost has lasted centuries by remaining self-sufficient, unwilling to lean on the inferior class of rational beings. Unwilling to do their dirty work in exchange for blood he could obtain very well on his own. At least, that had been the conviction when he’d answered her graceless summons, bent on killing both his curiosity and hunger with one stone.

But something about her had made him glad to abide by the niceties. Had soothed the spring of his haunches as he prepared to pounce, or otherwise convinced him to play passive until golden opportunity struck. He’d wanted her to have as much a hand in her own unravelling, like a frog brought to a boil, entirely oblivious of its impending death until much too late. Her erroneous understanding of their dynamic, then, had paired nicely with his purposes. So he led her on to believe it, wasted most of his days amenable at the dining table as if waiting for instruction. As if she was the one in control, buzzing to shatter the perception when she inevitably asks something of him.

What he’s found, unsurprisingly, is that she’s blossomed under the reassurance. The initial fear that gripped her once she realised he wouldn’t be going away has since watered down to a weak, background agitation. He tastes it in the air; the mild unease as she flits about her cottage, the first thing to go when something else captures her attention. The way she hardly takes note of him anymore, waking up or retiring to sleep with nothing but covert glances to where he monopolises space.

So that feeling of frothing irritation returns at her docility, only more powerful than it had been when she’d offered her last chokecherries to the crow. No witch or wizard of her acumen has ever been so lacking in spite – and from what little she’s allowed him to see of her outbursts, he knows she isn’t short of it either. Yet she’d given up so quickly. Forfeited her home and comfort to a monster she hasn’t attempted to make any use of. And fuck– if that isn’t what he’d wanted. He needed her secure in him, pretty and soft enough that she’d be tempted to trade him for favours, for little feats of magic or the completion of chores she no longer has to worry about now that she doesn’t live alone.

Nevermind the detail that she refuses to ask anything of him; it still claws at him the wrong way, razor-sharp and deadly as it tears up his throat. This anger on her behalf. A compensation for the response she should be having. It stirs him when he realises that, for all intents and purposes, what he feels is pity. Perilous, committed sympathy.

There’s a reason he steers clear of it, too. Quick to snowball. He already feels it growing, avalanching into the hollow recess where he’d suppressed the soul of his first meal. Something shifts, then. He can’t place it. Just knows that the outcome he’d envisioned – where her bones serve to pick his teeth of the soft flesh from her thigh – is no longer a viable option. Just knows that his intentions with her mutate into something perhaps more dangerous, a little more unhinged. To weed out the wickedness he’s only seen in flashes. To see her corrupted into a far worse version of herself.

It’s late into his twentieth night when Ghost decides to do something about it.

He wedges back into her cottage when dawn splinters over the virgin snow. If he were a passionate man – not this hellhound trailing blood behind him like breadcrumbs – he’d remark on the way the tepid sunlight stains the forest in shades of peach and lurid blue. But the crow between his teeth hangs limp, and he’s hurried for the best way to present his gift, too absorbed in the task at hand to pay much mind to scenery.

The house is as tranquil as it always is at this time. Suspended in amber, a fossilised quaintness he’s grown used to. Golden, almost sticky slow. She’s still fast asleep on the couch, soft snores whistling from underneath a patchwork quilt (which smells so much like her that, to his mutt senses, they’re one-in-the-same form.) Despite the precarity of the moment, he makes no effort to keep quiet. His natural disposition isn’t prone to making any unintentional noise though, and so the only thing he disturbs are the dust motes bobbing in suspended animation.

Ghost places the dead bird on the table. It won’t be long before the blood drains from the punctures in its neck, and he prefers his meat iron-rich and wet, so he makes quick work of morphing back into his human form and washing his muzzle clean. There’s a sick thrill that curls in his gut; something like adrenaline, ozone-rich. Ruthless. He holds a crystalline picture of her reaction to the slaughtered friend he dragged into her home; angry, doe eyes glazed with tears as she yells at him for acting against her best wishes. Bad dog. Perhaps she’ll pull the dagger she keeps taped to the bottom of the table to indulge a sense of security. Perhaps she’ll drive it into his chest. That’s for hoping.

Standing over her now, he imagines the way her serene face morphs into something foul when she’s pushed to her limits. His cock twitches at the mental picture, aching behind the confines of his pants. A heavy hand moves to adjust it, stilling once it cups his balls to consider whether it’d be overkill to tug it over her face while she remains nice and still like this. It would be – not anything he’s above, granted, but excessive nonetheless. Besides, she’ll have plenty of time to accept the attention. Learn to love it, even.

When she wakes, Ghost has already plucked the crow. The feathers pile in the centre of her round dining table – distinctive even when detached from a body, meant for her to draw parallels to the game he currently masticates. Yet she hardly notes his presence at all. Instead, the unsuspecting thing merely clears the sleep from her bleary eyes, weighed down by a heavy cloak of sloth, more focused on wiping the drool off her chin than him. If she had been, perhaps the pieces would fall that much faster; at least, that’s what the quick-tick rap of his pulse insists upon.

But he’s no over-eager brute. He can wait.

Yet he is tense when she shuffles to and from the bathroom, bare feet padding along hardwood. Like a flood, his body grapples against the tidal urge to grab her jaw and force her gaze upon his bloody teeth, sharpened and marred behind the mouth of his true form. Look at me. Have you no survival instinct? There is a threat in your home and you parade in front of it, blind as a mole. You’ll get eaten like this. You’ll be condemned to hell between the jowls of horrible men.

(More monster than ever, really. Even like this, bound by his approximation of what a mortal man looks like, his face remains stuck to its original construction. The knitted mask he wears is more for her sake than his; he’s never been able to replicate the particulars of humanity. The delicate planes of their lips or the angles their noses protrude at. Better not to try, then. Better to hide it all away.)

It’s as she scrounges for breakfast that she finally heeds the pinpricks of blood dotting the floor. Fat, dark splotches draw a clear line from the doorway to a very calm Ghost, sat with his thighs spread over her too-tiny chair. He’s yet to finish his meagre meal – each bite seasoned with a satisfaction that bloats heavy in his stomach – hence the evidence of his crime still paints the corner red. A violent picture. Distressing, if he were to interpret the way her brows knit tight.

Crimson meat marbled ivory. Wings pried off a picked apart ribcage, shanks sucked clean of slightly tougher muscle. Still intact are the heart, tongue, liver – their membranes dissolving to soak into the table. The smell of death will be hard to rid of, he’s sure, much like the inedible parts of the bird that scatter carefully in front of him. Its glossy black talons. That tell-tale beak. Feathers on which her eyes linger, like she recognises the sheen but is too upset to connect it to the crow she fed daily. Her only friend.

She steps closer. Ghost devours every minute expression that flits upon her face. For the expressiveness of her pupils – contracted, small like organic pearls – she doesn’t portray much externally. Her fingers wring her skirt, twisting and twisting until it wrinkles in the impression of her thumb. Her lips purse into a thin line. But as far as his sharp observation goes; no tears. No ugly rage rippling her cheeks.

“What is this?” She asks in a small voice.

“Breakfast.” He says. It isn’t the response she’s looking for, and a frown tugs at her mouth. Not necessarily sad. Her hands release to clench at her sides. He smiles behind the mask. He can’t help himself.

“I didn’t tell you to do this.”

The smile breaks into a low chuckle. “No?”

“No.” Shaking her head, emotion surges up her throat. It bubbles thick and forces her to adopt a higher pitch to overpower it. “You brute. I-If you could’ve done whatever… whatever you wanted t-the whole time–”

“C’mere.” His hand snakes around her wrist, using it to wrench her closer. He consciously keeps his grip light – too much force and he could easily shatter bone – but the girl does not share his concern. She pulls and fights and stubbornly protests his direction.

“No! Get the fuck off! Get out!” She heaves. Seethes. Spittle launches from her tirade, her nails digging into his palm. She looks for blood but he won’t give it to her. She’s doing well, but not well enough. Eventually, he is able to pull her onto his lap, locking thick arms around her squirming form. “You bastard. You monster! I’ll fucking kill you. I’ll murder you in your sleep and feed your rotten insides to the maggots. Let me go!”

He’s blood-filled in his trousers. The hefty bulge knocks the small of her back and of all things, that’s what gets her to suddenly slacken. Though her chin tips to rest between her collarbones, lashes deliberately cast down. Refusing to meet his eye for all she’s worth. Good, he thinks, a warmth blossoming in his chest.

“You ough’ to know your friend didn’ put up a fight.” He starts, nosing the part in her hair. Despite his knitted mask serving as a direct barrier between them, he can smell the pine and juniper berry soap she uses to wash up. Sharp. Sweet. Particularly potent behind her ear, where he considers her lobes like low-hanging fruit.

“Shut up.”

“Need to hear this, pet.” She doesn’t listen, naturally, hips bucking wildly the instant he loosens his hold. His fingers bruise when he readjusts her on his thighs. “Need to know it was your fault as much as i’ was mine. Yeah? Y’let it grow too comfortable. Fed it daily and robbed i’ of its ingrained fear of strangers. In the end, it got much too friendly. Didn’ have the sense to fly away when I approached it.” Her breath pinches into a piercing whine. Ghost likens it to the kettle she keeps over her stove, waiting for steam to burst out of her ears.

It does not come. Instead, she cries. Beads of brine break her waterline, streaking miserable paths down her cheeks. He’ll grant her this: she does not sob unreasonably. Her hiccups are limited to if and when the air hardens in her lungs. He lets her have a moment before continuing.

“S’what happens, see. You get complacent, ‘n’ next thing you know, you’re meeting your God. Tell me, pet: do you think the afterlife would be pleasant to a witch?”

When she doesn’t respond, he bounces a knee to knock some sense back into her. Her weeping starts anew, only this time accompanied by a stuttered acknowledgement.

“Hm?”

“N-No.”

“No. ‘Course I could ‘ave told you that much, but it’s importan’ you come to the moral of the story yourself. Fight, or die.” Ghost strokes the goosepocked flesh of her upper arm, voice softening to deliver the final part of speech. It’s treacherously low, ultimatum like powdered ash cushioning the roughness in his throat. “And believe me when I say, dying ain’ the better option. There are far worse fates than me in Hell.”

He does not know whether it lands like he wants it to. If it accomplishes anything at all. But she doesn’t attempt to peel herself off him in the aftermath. Instead, she mourns herself dry for the next hour, snivelling wretchedly on his lap.

When her crying stops, the air is still laden with something. Hesitation rolls off her in waves, dense with the renewal of fear. He supposes it must be hypocritical of him, to both strike her with terror and expect her to overcome it, but he hums anyway, nudging her temple off his shoulder in an appeal to state what’s on her mind.

What comes instead is a deceptively simple question.

“What’s your name?” She asks. Doesn’t demand of him to tell her. Doesn’t set up grounds for him to ask for something in return. He can either answer, or not. She leaves the choice up to him. Clever girl.

He grapples with it a moment too long. A long dead man beats at his ribcage and demands to be heard. A meal he never managed to digest. Hissing. Snarling. S-Si-Si–

“Ghost.”

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obsessedduh · 2 months

Text

MDNI – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Simon 'Ghost' Riley with a bimbo house wife! you're so well behaved and domesticated. he loves it when as soon as he kicks off his shoes from a stressful month or two of work. you run up to him and give him a hug before rushing him onto the couch. sooner or later he has a beer and dinner placed right in front of him.

oh how he loves you dearly, you're just so well behaved!

so when he says his best friend, Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish, has sadly broken up with his girlfriend, who cheated on him and he needs a place to stay. you gladly offered, you knew it was bad but you slightly had the hots for him. who could blame you though, have you see him!?

little did you know you were going to be face down into a pillow while johnny fucks your aching hole better, your pretty pussy clenching on his thick cock. he wasn't as big as simon maybe two inches shorter? but it was enough to make you scream his name.

simon sat there and watch you two. watching his best friend fuck his domesticated wife's perfect pussy. fuck, johnny was sure he was seeing stars. your pussy is wayyyy better than his ex-girlfriends. it just sucks him up so well, so good. you arched you back a little bit and mewled when his cock starts to slam perfectly your g-spot, your pussy clenches harder around his cock, moans and groans escaping from both of your lips.

simon laughed darkly, palming the aching erection in his pants while watching the white ring surround johnny's cock as he thrusts into you. you whine as his hand slips in between your slick folds to rub your swollen clit. you let out a broken moan and squirt all over johnny's cock. johnny groaned, his orgasm now approaching as well.

"don' ya dare cum in her, johnny."

but poor ol' johnny didn't hear him, to pussy drunk to listen to him so he buries his seed deep inside your pussy, you moan, eyes rolled to the back of your head as he fills you up nice and good, groans and grunts slipping from his lips. he pulls out and stares as his cum drips out of fluttering hole. his groan was cut of by an disappointed one from simon.

"i said don' cum in her johnny."

simon got up from his sheet and walked up to the two of you. he pushed johnny onto his knees in front of you, his hand roughly gripping onto his warhawk. a groan left from johnny's lips.

"sorry simon...dinnae hear yer."

"didn' we discuss this earlier, it's lieutenant to you."

"right...sorry L.T."

you heard an approving hum from simon, but you were confused. discuss this? discuss this when? then it hit you. they've done this before... haven't they? oh well, not like you could care, not when simon uses the hand in johnny's hair to push his head into your pussy, forcing him to eat his own cum out of you sensitive hole, if you weren't in your own world, it would've been considered nasty. simon chuckled the grip in johnny's hair, not loosening one bit, not even when his other hand shifted down to play with johnnys weeping, sensitive tip.

his eyes shot open and he groaned into your pussy, his pussy drunk moment being ripped away from him as simon's fingers teased his cock. he stop eating you out for a second to focus on his pleasure rather than yours, how mean! :((

you whined, your hole clenched around nothing. simon realised and gave a harsh tug on johnny's hair which made him let out a pained grunt.

"wha'? feel too good? too good not to pleasure my sweet wife, the one who let you fuck her nice and dumb earlier, even let you cum in her?"

johnny looked up at you for second, ashamed and guilty.

"sorry princess, dinnae mean ter' stop..."

you smile softly, telling him silently that it's alright before gasping at the rough tug on his hair from simon, pushing his head back into your pussy. you were definitely scolding simon for that later

after a couple of thrusts of his tongue, you came and when look down apparently so did he, cum dripping all over simon's hand...

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

guys i would love requests about this!! 😭 also i'm changing the theme up a bit so it may look different from my works and some of them are very random themes cuz i'm just testing them out.

wanna know more about me? —> here

masterlist —> here

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celaenaeiln · 9 months

Text

JL: Nightwing! It’s a delight to see you! You should come by more often.

Nightwing: Thank you! I’m so sorry, work has been piling up on me but I’ll try to drop by the office party this Sunday.

JL: Ofcourse! Looking forward to seeing you there. By the way, is Batman coming late?

Nightwing: No, I’ll be filling in for him today.

JL: Did something happen?

Nightwing: Nothing much, he’s just grounded.

JL: ???

48 hours earlier

Dick: Bruce, I’m telling you now and we’ve had this conversation before but you need to build a better rapport with your children. They look up to you as a father figure and your actions influence their behavior.

Bruce: …hmrgh

Dick: And you might not be aware but you unconconscious behavior is damaging. Tim has picked up your terrible habit of constantly working in front of a screen-it’s going to strain his eyes. He’s always inside too, so you need to make him go outside more. I’m not always here, I have an entire city to run, the titans need me, I'm mentoring hundreds of heroes, the Justice League calls on me to help them, and I need to keep up with my social life. The people in Bludhaven where I teach and work also call me if I’m gone for a day-the point is-I can’t always be playing second parent here in Gotham.

Bruce: ……hmrgh

Dick: Damian always looks up to you

Bruce: *side eyes*

Dick: He does! See you don’t even realize it! He wants to make you proud and Jason gets mad when you don’t make time for him because he cares too. Stephanie doesn’t have a dad she can turn to and it would mean the world to her if you took her out to an amusement park or something. When was the last time you spent time with her.

Bruce: ….hmrgh

Dick: And-

1 hour later

Dick: -that’s why you need to stop working, go to them right now, and bond with them.

Bruce:

Dick:

Bruce: ……...hmrgh

Dick: I’m waiting.

Bruce: *dragging himself off the batcave chair and begrudgingly trudging upstairs under Dick’s watchful eye*

Bruce: *listening to the sounds of his kids in the living room and pumping himself up* Better relationships mean better teamwork. Better relationships mean better teamwork. Better relationships mean better teamwork. And Dick. Do it for him.

Bruce: *entering* *clearing his throat* Children. We will be going-

*The living room is in utter chaos. The cushions are strewn and ripped with stuffing coating the couches and floor which for some reason is stained yellow, the flower vase is shattered and so is the table it was sitting on, there’s string confetti on the chandelier, there’s spray paint and neon goo across the walls and in Tim’s hair, Jason has deep claw marks down his face as he wrestles with Damian who’s sporting massive bruise on his cheek and trying his hardest to bite him, Stephanie is dunking Tim’s face in a tub of soda which splashed everywhere while he’s ripping out Jason’s hair and also trying to kick Damian with his foot, the tv has massive spiderwebs and looping on tellatubies like a broken record machine, Titus is spitting out a feather while a random goose runs around honking while Alfred the cat chases after it at full speed, knocking down decades old paintings.*

Bruce:

Bruce: *rolling up his sleeves and stomping forward to join the fight* HMRGH.

#Bruce is NOT a responsible parent #he is the type of parent who sees his kids throwing punches and would jump in and start throwing punches too #dick only found out later what happened from Alfred during his biweekly calls #when he goes and lectures them he asks them who started it and the kids all point to bruce who points at them in his it’s them grunt #dick grounds all of them #bruce wayne #batman #dick grayson #nightwing #tim drake #red robin #damian wayne #robin #jason todd #red hood #stephanie brown #spoiler #batfam incorrect quotes

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kisses4reid · 2 months

Text

convenient | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

summary - studying while working at a convenience store is easier that thought when a regular happens to be a genius.

genre - fluff, fem!college!reader x earlyseasons!spencer

warnings - school work, that always scares me. they’re the same age!!! early 20s. mention of condoms.

edit - bc this is getting so much love, i’m opening a taglist for part 2!!! just comment or put in a req to join the ‘convenient’ taglist 🫶

the chime of the door didn’t phase you, the creaks and squeaks of the store slowly becoming one with you. flipping onto the next page of your biology textbook, something that was unnecessarily expensive, you shake your hand to get rid of the cramp you slowly became aware of.

it was only when a wave of man’s cologne and a plastic bag stood in front of you that you ripped your eyes off of your books.

he was tall, skinny, had long(ish) hair and looked amazing. there wasn’t really anything else to say, other than that the thin smile he displayed toward you made you smile back.

“just these for today?” you ask, fixing your posture and pushing some loose strands back to their place behind your ears.

“yes, thank you.” he says, voice as timid as his appearance. it was a bag of apples, a 2 minute bolognese container, and a bag of coffee. you scan them, weigh the apples, and watch him as his long fingers slip through his wallet to find a debit card. “have a good night.”

your eyes return to your textbook as you go to erase an answer you had previous written, obviously wrong.

“the heads of the phospholipid bilayer are hydrophilic, not phobic.” he says. it surprised you, making you return to his gaze slowly before realising you should probably reply instead of staring at the man.

“oh- yeah, thanks. i caught that it’s just, i guess i’ve been staring at the same words for so long i can’t differentiate them.” you give a small fake laugh as he nods, giving you a long look before coughing and leaving promptly. he leaves with his bag, and his hands fiddling with each other.

you can barely focus after that. customers come and go, and although you’ve only been doing the late shift for a week, this encounter with the unknown man couldn’t leave your mind. the way he dressed, his smell, his voice and how he corrected you (which would totally annoy you usually). you hoped he would return.

and he did. three days later, this time even later than the last.

you were stuck in a dark purple sweater, the aircon in the store blasting cold air that you were too lazy to fix. and although the air flipped pages of notes and questions, you were still stuck in a trance.

the blasting aircon blew a wind of mens cologne this time, it smelt like wood. your eyes glanced up from your books and trailed the familiar man, noticing how he was reusing the plastic bag from days before.

he returned to the checkout with apples, a 3 minute cannelloni, and a bag of coffee. he was now the one trailing you, “where did Latrice go?” you look up, chuckling a bit,

“Latrice is getting paid by her daughter-in-law to babysit the twins,” you reply, surprised you were willing to tell him so much information. he could be a stalker for all you know. or just a regular, obviously that’s way more likely. “trust me, i miss her as much as you do. $14.98.”

he nodded with a small smile and sliced his card down the side of the card reader.

you searched for him now, only after two encounters you were already craving some sort of human interaction at work. usually you avoided it since the only other ‘regulars’ were old men and mean teenagers. you had switched to writing a biology report on your computer, the sound of the keyboard almost covering the sound of the door bell.

a bag of apples, a 2 minute lasagne, a bag of coffee, and a banana muffin.

“big night?”

“uh- what?”

“you got a banana muffin. i thought you were starting to become predictable.” you bagged his things as he chuckled, looking over you and your laptop. you noticed only because you were also looking at him, “biology report. wanna read it?” you joked, but he didn’t catch that part.

now he was behind the register, sat on your wheelie stool reading and editing your report while walking you through everything he was changing. you didn’t understand most, but you were just happy to stay around him. you weren’t even scared of Old Alan, the guy who only buys cucumbers and condoms. nobodies ever asked him, don’t think anyone wants to know.

“what’s your word limit?”

“3500.”

“only 3500?” he gave you a raised eyebrow, voice getting slightly higher. he coughed, “sorry, that’s nearly impossible.”

you sigh, “i know… i’m y/n by the way. thought you should know who your helping cheat.”

“i’m not helping you cheat, i’m just… editing,” he hit backspace a few times with a lowered bottom lip, “my names spencer.”

you smiled and crossed your arms as you leaned against the counter. spencer. yeah, that sounded nerdy enough.

pt. 2

#spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x yn #criminal minds #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds imagine #cm #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid x fem!reader

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vilsoo · 2 months

Text

TAGS. nsfw, fem!reader, gym bf!toji, toji is just so horny, he rips your leggings, manhandling, dirty talk, unprotected sex

leg days with toji was his favorite. not because he gets to work on his quads, but because he gets to watch you work on your glutes and hammies. he knows exactly what you’re doing wearing those butt scrunch leggings, showing your ass in front of him as you do your romanian deadlifts, lying leg curls, and hypertensions. it was impossible for him to concentrate; he just couldn’t take his eyes off of you and your pump. but what also pisses him off is that he knows that you love being his little distraction. it’s gotten to the point that the both of you got carried away left the gym a little earlier than usual, forgetting one important thing you would do every leg day for muscle growth; your cardio.

luckily you didn’t have to worry about that at all with toji. cardio with a man like him who’s more than twice your size with large biceps and impressive upper body strength can suffice as the intense cardio you needed after a workout. but cardio at home can vary in many, many different ways…

“i’ve been wanting to do this the moment you walked out the house looking like this.” toji’s voice was so terse as if he’s been riled up way past his limit, pushing you over your couch’s armrest and ripping your leggings open that had you whining on the cushion. “oh shut up, i’ll buy you a new one.”

he gives a couple of harsh slaps on your ass before he burries his face into it, humming like a greedy, desperate man as he indulges in your juices that he wasn’t surprised you were so turned on by this. he just wanted to torture you, use you, manhandle you for working him up (un)intentionally at the gym— you were barely able to see him buried between your legs, holding your thighs apart in place as he flicks his tongue repeatedly in and out of your pussy, sloppy and messy for him.

“other guys get to check this ass out for free, but it’s too bad they can’t eat it out the way i do,” toji chuckled as he toyed with your clit with his fingers, easing in and out of the entrance of your pussy. “i pity them. they’re fuckin’ missing out on how good you taste… but you know i don’t like sharing.”

all you could do was reply with whimpers and pathetic muffled moans, with no sign of a coherent thought running through your head from the way he sucked on your clit while fingering you. but just as you were about to warn him of your orgasm nearing, he immediately stops, as if he can tell from the way your thighs began trembling and your muffled moans became more needier and louder.

“you’re gonna come in my mouth already? we haven’t even gotten to the cardio part yet, pretty girl,” he teases as he harshly slaps your ass again. “ride on my cock first until you come. you’ll also feel that burn in your thighs.”

that wide grin on your face was all he needed to see before he lays down on the couch with his cock already out and hard for you. you manage to stand up and position yourself in reverse cowgirl on your knees between his legs, showing your ass off for him to slap and grab again. you take his cock and rub it on the folds of your needy, aching pussy before sliding down on it with all your weight. immediately you can feel his dick twitch eagerly inside you, the living room filled with the lewd sounds of your ass slapping against his skin and your wet, soaking cunt enveloping his dick. you can feel the burn in your thighs with how fast you were thrusting your hips on him, sweat trickling down both of your skins. the pain and the pleasure ignited in your body like ecstasy, working yourself out but also fucking yourself so good on his cock. when you arch your back and kept gyrating and bouncing your hips on him, you can feel him hitting your g-spot repeatedly that it unleashed an orgasm in a white-hot sensation.

suddenly toji already grabs your waist out of impatience, sitting up on the couch and setting your body down on his lap. “you did so good for me, coming on my cock like that.” he kisses your temples as he slid his hand down to rub your clit. “but for teasing me so bad today, i get to fuck you like a dumb whore on this couch. you’d like that, right? when i remind you of your place?”

again, you grinned like an eager little slut ready for him to use you. your back was pressed against his chest, him forcefully spreading your legs open and locking your legs high up in the air in full nelson. taking his cock that’s still hard, he roughly bucks his hips into you. his cock kept repeatedly ramming the sensitive spots in your cunt that tears starting to glisten on your face, your jaw slackened, and your eyes rolled back. toji’s stamina could never go out even right after you two had just left the gym. it was just a hot sight to see; a messy slut with her leggings ripped open, legs locked in the air and forced to watch yourself take his thick cock pounding deep in your pussy that your thighs couldn’t stop trembling. no glute exercise, no hamstring exercise, or not even cardio on the stairmaster could compare to the intensity and soreness you feel in your legs from toji fucking you like this.

#𝐍°⦗ 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐒﹕ ̊ ̟𐦍 #toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji x reader #toji x you #toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #hot toji smut #jjk toji #toji zenin #jjk smut #minors dni

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harunayuuka2060 · 2 months

Text

Professor Trein: I've never seen your classmates- I mean, your students this behave.

MC: They just value their lives, professor.

Cerberus: Grrr...

MC: Oh. Is there anyone trying to cheat?

Random student: !!! *immediately rips off his cheat sheet*

MC and Professor Trein: ...

Professor Trein: Can I borrow Cerberus for my history class later?

MC: Sure thing, professor. But how about, Lucius?

Cerberus: Grrr...

MC: Aww~ Look at you, Cerberus! You're such a good boy! Be good to Professor Trein and his cat, hm? I'll play with you together with Lucifer after you finish your task. *pets him*

Cerberus: *wags his tail*

The students: *thinking* Curse Crowley...

Barbatos: Great work, MC. Here's your Hell Coffee.

MC: Thanks. *takes a sip* Ah.

MC: So bitter.

Barbatos: *chuckles* It's more bitter than before, isn't it?

MC: *smiles* Yes. *then their face saddens*

Barbatos: Is there something wrong?

MC: I just missed Luke and Simeon.

Barbatos: Hm. Then why not invite them here?

MC: ...

Barbatos: Don't tell me you have forgotten that you possess the power of the Ring of Light?

MC: ...

MC: *facepalm* Yes.

Barbatos: *chuckles* I figured. Now, don't sulk and enjoy your recess.

MC: Thank you, Barb.

MC: Vil... What are you doing here?

Vil: I've heard from your demon butler that you are turning yourself into an angel to gain access to this Celestial Realm.

MC: Yes?

Vil: I must see what you will look like, potato.

MC: ...

MC: Okay. I think it'll be fine if you're the only spectator- Lilia, what are you doing here too?

Lilia: Same reason. *while holding a camera*

MC: ...

MC: Whatever.

Solomon: *chuckles* You're famous even here, huh?

MC: More like infamous, but yeah. Anyway, Sol? Mind lending me a hand?

Solomon: No problem. *uses magic to change them*

Vil and Lilia: *in awe; also Lilia not forgetting to snap pictures*

MC: Okay! I'm ready to get my baby!

Solomon: And your other husbando.

MC: Right. *breathes in*

MC: I am the magician, MC…Ring of Light! Heed my words! Open the way forward and create a path where there was none!

MC: Unlock the Gates of the Celestial Realm!

Vil: Ugh... Everything is bright! I can't see a thing!

Lilia: Good thing I have my sunglasses.

Vil: *frowns*

*The light disappears after a few seconds and MC as well*

Solomon: Yup. I'm sure they are in the Celestial Realm right now.

MC: ...

Simeon: ...

MC: *ended up straddling him*

Simeon and MC: *both blushes in embarrassment*

MC: I am sorry!

Simeon: *chuckles* I thought for a second that I had committed a sin.

MC: Come on now. You're calling me a sin?

Simeon: *chuckles again* No. I mean, I have been thinking of you for a while.

MC: *smiles* Sorry for being gone. I got into some sort of... unexplainable event.

Simeon: Oh?

MC: By the way, is Luke here? I'm here to invite you and him to this new world I'm living in.

Simeon: Is it similar to Devildom?

MC: No. It's a bit similar to the human world, except with magicians.

Simeon: Oh. *smiles* We would love to be there.

MC: Great!

*Back to Twisted Wonderland*

Diavolo: Simeon! Luke! I'm so glad to see you again!

Simeon: *chuckles* We're glad to see you too, Diavolo.

Luke: Yeah!

Lucifer: I'm surprised you easily got permission, MC.

MC: What permission?

Lucifer: ...

Simeon: MC snatched Luke in front of Michael. *laughs*

Luke: *giggles* It was fun when the other angels started to chase us!

Lucifer: ...

Lucifer: MC, why you-

MC: It's my parental rights, Lucifer.

Lucifer: ...

Malleus: That is your son, child of man?

MC: Yes! Isn't he adorable?

Luke: *staring at Malleus and wondering if he's a demon*

Malleus: How old is he?

MC: Um. He's ten. Yes. He's ten years old.

Luke: *pouts* MC! I'm over a thousand years old!

Malleus: ...

Malleus: What? You are older than me? *squints his eyes*

MC: Mal, don't. *knows that he's judging his height*

#twisted wonderland #obey me mc #twst mc #obey me simeon #obey me luke #twst malleus #obey me lucifer #obey me barbatos #obey me diavolo #obey me cerberus #twst trein #twst vil #twst lilia #twst x obey me

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myfictionaldreams · 2 months

Note

I you are interested I wanted to offer a possible request.

It would be a smutty mafia!stucky one (you can pick which one of them or both if you want)

So I was thinking about the reader topping one of them, but not in a dominant way. Like she was good or something and wanted to reward her by letting her pick anything she wanted and she wanted to ride them while they were restrained.

So (whoever was picked) would be bound to the bed with a blindfold and the reader gets to use them for her pleasure with free rain and cause of the blindfold they feel and hear everything more intensely so they can hear how wet she is as she uses them for her reward.

So she's not dominating them just getting a free use card and can move however she wants unprompted, cum how many times she wants, overstimulate (whoever is used) until she is happy and can use toys on herself too but all they can do is lay on the bed restrained and wait for her to be satisfied before being let go.

This came to me so randomly so I thought it might be an option for you maybe if you liked it. Have a nice day!

Being on Top // Mafia!Stucky x Fem!Reader

A/N: I've thought about this request so much. Thank you so much for sending it!

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, angst, anxiety, mention of gunshot wound, free use, voyeurism, multiple orgasms, rough sex, oral (f receiving), cum eating, cockwarming, overstimulation, restraints, blindfolds, vibrator, begging, praise kink, riding, dom/sub, rough cock play, masturbation

Words: 5.2k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

Bucky watched intently. Fighting the urge to blink and wet the dryness itching at his eyes, he continued monitoring the situation before him. You were vacant. Eyes glassed over, and your body curled in on itself like you were attempting to make yourself as small as possible. It wasn’t this that concerned him; it was that you couldn’t look Steve in the eye despite trying to glimpse him out of the corner of your eye every couple of seconds.

Steve was watching with just as much concern as the bodyguards throughout the room, Sam and Natasha. Unbeknown to you, however, your gaze flicked towards Steve again but then swiftly landed on the spot on the carpet that had so thoroughly captured your attention.

Bucky had been trying to work the cogs in his brain for over an hour now, trying to figure out what was happening in your mind. The visible signs of distress he’d witnessed before when you were feeling fragile, whether it be due to being needy and submissive or because you were beginning to feel unwell with sickness. The first was most likely as you were displaying any visible signs of being ill; your heart rate was fine, and the same with your breathing; he knew he’d been counting and listening carefully. For once, he thanked his unique abilities.

The most likely answer was that you were experiencing some sort of mental health decline, but when you were needy or in the form of subspace, you would crawl into either his or Steve’s lap, not look frightened even to look the latter in the eye.

Risking a look away, Bucky caught Steve’s eye. The same level of concern was etched deep into his face; brows furrowed so deeply a line had formed between them. His teeth were clenched so hard that he looked like his jawbone would snap as he held his tongue, trying and failing to think of the right way to approach his girlfriend. The one person who shouldn’t be scared of him now looked as frightened of him as the enemies who cowered at his feet.

Bucky was running out of options as you began to chew on the corner of your recently done red-manicured nails, one of the many treats gifted to you by him and Steve for Valentine’s Day. It was never a good sign when you fell into old habits, and Bucky was on the verge of ripping out his hair and trying to decide what was best. Ask what is going on or approach you like a scared animal.

As his mouth opened, however, a flash of red distorted his view of you as Natasha stood directly in front of where you were curled up on the couch placed in Steve’s office for your comfort.

Natasha looked down at you, giving you a casual grin as she held out her hand with the matching manicure on her nails gleaming back at you, the red almost the same shade as her hair. Your eyes darted between her wiggling fingers and the welcoming smile as she nodded toward the door.

Taking her hand without a single word, you unfolded from your curled-up position and stood, mindlessly following her out of the door. Natasha pulled you into the elevator at the end of the corridor, riding down a couple of floors before arriving at the food hall with a private kitchen. One of the main perks of owning the entire building for the gang was that the sky was the limit concerning the facilities that could be added.

“Sit”, Natasha instructed, pointing to the table closest to the kitchen side as she began to boil some water, pulling out two mugs from the cabinets. “When I was a child, I used to suffer from nightmares, well, I still have nightmares. I’m just old enough now that I can drink something a bit stronger. But back then, when my hair used to be blue, I’d make myself a hot cocoa”. As she finished explaining, she placed a steaming hot drink before you, topping off the sweet beverage with a squirt of cream and marshmallows.

Sitting down opposite you, she took a moment to let you settle in, feeling thankful that you cupped the drink and allowed your hands to warm as you didn’t shut her out.

“Do you ever think about how fragile we all are?” you asked after staring into the mug in your hands.

Natasha frowned, opening her mouth to make a sarcastic comment of ‘not really’ but refrained as she saw the seriousness in your expression. “What’s brought this on?” You didn’t answer at first, but she noted how you uncomfortable shifted in your seat, shoulders hunching forward to mirror how you sat moments ago.

It took her a couple of minutes, but then it all dawned on Natasha as she sat forward in her seat, leaning on her elbows on the table. “Does this have to do with what happened with the boss three days ago?”

She knew she'd guessed right From how your eyes flinched and teeth began biting your lower lip. Steve had been shot whilst out for dinner with you and Bucky. It had been a well-calculated attack, and no one blamed themselves more than Natasha did for not spotting the attacker before it was too late. She was his bodyguard and had yet to fail at her job, and even though it was a superficial wound and, thanks to Steve’s accelerated healing, was already just a pink scar on his abdomen, Natasha still cursed herself.

Steve didn’t blame anyone other than the asshole who shot him and had spent many hours with him the previous night, getting his revenge and delving into all of his secrets. He’d been more concerned and out for revenge due to the distress it had caused you to see Steve shot. Hysterical was putting it lightly.

You’d screamed until your voice croaked, cried until your eyes were swollen, and become completely overwhelmed by the situation, needing to stay by Steve’s side entirely without sleeping until yesterday evening when you’d all but passed out. With Bucky staying by your side, Steve was able to sneak out and finally get his revenge against the shooter, and when he returned, you were swift to motherhen him even though he insisted that he was practically healed and back to normal.

“Talk to me, Sweet. I can’t help unless you tell me what's going on in that pretty head of yours”, Natasha encouraged, leaning across the table and grasping your hand.

You sighed, squeezing her hand back as you tried to find the right words to explain your feelings. “I just realised how useless I am. I mean, Steve was shot, and I completely froze; I think all I was able to do was scream. I didn’t even put pressure on the wound or hold his hand. After everything I’ve seen whilst being a part of this gang, you’d think I’d be more aware of intense situations and how to handle myself, but everything just flashed before me and how close I was to losing one of the men I love. And Steve - god, I’m so embarrassed! I’m too scared to look at him properly for fear of seeing shame in his eyes at how I reacted. I mean, what kind of a girlfriend am I to the infamous Steve Rogers, the leader of one of the most dangerous gangs in Brooklyn? I couldn’t handle something he’d been training me to be prepared for. He must have thought I was pathetic”.

“Do you really think I’d ever think that about you?” Steve asked from the doorway with Bucky over his shoulder, both looking defeated.

You were startled at his appearance, cursing his silent steps as you also felt somewhat vulnerable with him having heard your worries. “I, um, I didn’t want you to hear that”.

Steve sighed as he roughly rubbed his palm over his face and stepped further into the room. Natasha stood with a last squeeze of your hand before exiting and patting Bucky on the shoulder as she moved past him and out, leaving the three of you alone.

“Baby, you know I would never think any of those things of you. What happened was a horrible mistake, and I wish more than anything that you weren’t there to witness it. I always want to keep you protected, physically and mentally and trust me, if anything ever happened to you, I’d-” he closed his mouth, eyes clenching in a flinch like even just the thought of you being injured caused him physical pain.

Bucky wrapped an arm around Steve’s shoulder, “The main point here is that you’re both ok. There’s no point dwelling on the past, and we all react differently when we see loved ones hurt, so I don’t want to hear anymore self-doubt coming out of your lips”, Bucky reprimanded whilst giving you a pointed look and pulling himself and Steve closer towards you.

You couldn’t help but squeal as he moved back your chair, turning it to face them as they each pulled their chairs close enough that their knees brushed yours. Steve cupped your hands, lifting them to his lips to kiss your fingers and palms. “Please don’t shut me out, and next time you have any anxiety over what's happened, you need to talk to me, Sweetheart”, Steve urged whilst maintaining eye contact that you didn’t break this time.

“I will; I’m sorry” Without missing a beat, you closed the distance and kissed him deeply as he wrapped his arms around your back, pulling your body into his lap so he could hold you close.

“God, you two are going to make me cry in a minute”, Bucky suddenly announced, leaning back in his chair and wiping away an imaginary tear from his eye. Steve rolled his eyes as he held you closer with one hand and reached out with the other for Bucky to take, which he did with a smirk, removing the now empty chair so that he could be knee to knee with Steve and place his metal hand on your lower back.

“As much as I love my life, I sometimes hate how dramatic it is”, Steve mused a second later as he kissed the side of your head.

“Mmm, I agree - shit, this drink is good”, Bucky half shouted as he drank more of the cocoa in the mug as you turned towards him with an amused smile. He looked at you and paused mid-sip, “This is yours, isn’t it?” he realised out loud before swearing and slamming the mug back onto the table. “Shit, sorry, I thought it was Romanoff’s. I’ll buy you a special treat on our way home, which I think we need to discuss, by the way”.

Steve sat up straight in his chair, causing you to move slightly in his lap as he gave Bucky a questioning stare, “What’s wrong with home?”

“Nothing’s wrong with home; why do you always assume the worst?” Bucky questioned with his head tilted to the side, catching your eye and winking before continuing. “I was just thinking that maybe the two of you need some special time alone tonight”.

“I don’t want you to go anywhere either”, you say quickly, not wishing to be separated from either of them.

Bucky’s fingers reassuringly added pressure to your back as he gently shook his head, showing the misunderstanding. “I didn’t mean it like that, Doll. I just meant maybe you two could have some fun together, and luckily for you two, I have something in mind”.

Bucky’s plan for you and Steve resulted in the two of you hours later being naked in your bedroom with him watching in a chair.

“Remind me why I’m handcuffed again?” Steve asked with a sarcastic drawl from where he lay in the centre of the bed, his head carefully resting on the fluffed pillows and both wrists handcuffed above his head around the bed frame.

“Well, you tend to be all dominate and in charge when you’re having sex, and I think our sweet girl needs some reminding that you’re ok, you’re safe, and what better way for her to do that than her to be in control of how she touches your body?” Bucky explains nonchalantly as he rubs a hand over his growing bulge in his underwear, the rest of his clothes in a pile on the floor.

“Ok, that makes sense, but why the blindfold?” Steve asked, tilting his head toward where Bucky was sitting but couldn’t see with the thick black cloth tied around his head covering his eyesight.

“Ah well, that's just fun for me; I get to watch our beautiful girl at work; you get to feel it. I mean, I need to have some fun tonight”, Bucky responded cheekily as you smiled whilst trying to adjust your weight from where you sat naked, straddling Steve’s chest.

“I’m um, I’m not very good at being in charge” You tried to hide the quiver in your voice, but instantly, your cheeks began to warm with embarrassment.

Bucky leaned forward in his chair, capturing your attention fully as he gave you a reassuring smile, “Like I explained, Sweetheart. All I want you to think about is your pleasure. You can get yourself off, fuck Steve, use toys, whatever you’d like to feel good but don’t worry about Stevie, boy; he can handle whatever you’re going to give him”.

“I sure as fuck can” Steve grinned as he rolled his hips, causing you to gasp and lean forward, putting your hands out onto his shoulders to stop yourself from falling.

“Hey! None of that now, Rogers. Just sit back, relax and enjoy the ride,” Bucky grinned, showing his straight teeth as it was your turn to roll your eyes before focusing your attention on Steve.

One of the reasons you were never the one to be in charge, other than you were submissive down to the very bone, was that you were unsure what to do. To Steve and Bucky, it seemed to come so quickly for them, knowing where to touch, the next move to have you groaning in pleasure, but sitting there staring down at Steve, you were unsure where to touch him or how to start. Do you just slide a few inches back and sit on his already hard cock? Do you suck his cock for a bit or jerk him off? But what if he came and you overstimulated him?

“I can see you are overthinking over there. Remember what I said; think about your pleasure only”, Bucky reminded you quietly.

Nodding your head, you took a moment to stare down at Steve, and the events over the last few days dawned on you. Even though he’d survived significantly worse in his life, you couldn't help but contemplate just how close to losing everything you’d ever dreamed of and needed. Having him here, beneath you, living and breathing.

Before you could lose yourself to the overwhelming emotions threatening to spill over, you decided to clear your mind of those negative thoughts by lowering your mouth to his. The two of you released a breath simultaneously as Steve eagerly pressed his face firmly against yours, his head lifting off the pillow slightly.

It wasn’t a desperately messy kiss, full of tongues and saliva. It was a kiss that had the moment standing still as your hand rested over his heart, feeling the beat beneath, having the reminder that he was still here with you.

Pulling back from the kiss so that you were hovering over his face, you whispered intimately, “I love you”.

“I love you too,” was his instant response in the same calm tone, like a whisper in the wind.

Swallowing the emotional lump in your throat, you briefly pecked his lips once before trailing kisses down his chin and exploring the column of his throat, smiling as you felt him swallow beneath your lips. With your hands, you trailed your fingertips down his arms, feeling goosebumps lining his skin as you moved to meet where your mouth met his skin.

Slowly as you could, you kissed your way down his chest, making sure to lick and nip his peaked nipples, enjoying the little gasps he released as you contemplated that you’d never noticed how sensitive his nipples actually were. Further down, you moved as your legs shifted between him, making sure that his legs were spread so that you could fit between him perfectly.

As your lips continued giving open-mouthed kisses over his abs, you aimed for the pink scar close to his hip bone. The kiss pressed to the recently claimed gunshot injury that had even lightened in the shade since this morning with his accelerated healing. Steve’s legs tensed as he tried to refrain from thrusting his hips into the air as your breasts pressed against his thick length that you were attempting to ignore whilst worshipping his body.

“This is a cute moment and all, but I wanna see you cum already, Doll”, Bucky groaned impatiently as you looked at him over your shoulder as he sat with his hands clenched in his lap, as he continued to refrain from touching himself even though he was evidently very much aroused.

You smile against Steve’s skin and take one last breath of his natural body scent that had mixed with the spicy aftershave he’d used earlier this morning. Taking your time, you shift back to your original position of sitting across his abs, carefully sitting above the fresh scar that was still sensitive.

“I think I want to put these chiselled abs to good work”, you say whilst stroking a finger down them, laughing to yourself as Steve tensed, defining them even more solidly. Relaxing the position of your thighs, you sighed as your wetness now rested against his abdomen.

It wasn’t as satisfying as humping against his thigh because of the flat shape of his toned body, but that didn’t stop you from riding him slowly, making sure to really drag your clit in small circles against his body.

Your moans were breathy and gentle as your pleasure bloomed in your core, especially as Steve struggled to keep his emotions and body in heck beneath.

Licking his lips, he admitted, “I really fucking wish I could see you right now”.

“Oh, don’t you worry, big boy, she looks beautiful, there’s no doubt about that”, Bucky responded as he finally moved his black boxers to midthigh, his hand wrapped around his shaft as he matched the pace you were driving.

Deciding you needed something that had more definition than his perfectly sculpted abdomen, you shifted back down the bed until your cunt was flushed with Steve’s shaft that was hard and resting against his pubic bone. There was already a patch of precum that had pooled, and without thinking, you scooped it up with your finger and sucked the juices, savouring the musky saltiness.

“Holy shit”, Bucky cursed as his eyelids lowered in arousal.

Steve was trembling with restraint now as you began to slide your warm cunt against his shaft, making sure not to go over the tip as you wanted to savour the feel of his length first before fucking yourself on him.

In this position, you were quickly coating his cock in your juices, helping to prepare him for when you did want to sit on his cock, which, in fairness, would probably be soon with how horny you were feeling.

Faster and with more pressure, you ground down on his shaft until the burning in your core exploded, your cunt pulsing around nothing as you shivered through the sensation, breathing deeply with soft moans.

Leaning your hands on his chest, you shifted your hips forward, catching the tip of his cock against your pussy and continuing with the slow movements, not wanting to rush the adrenaline and burn that came with his cock thoroughly stretching your walls.

“So fucking tight”, Steve cursed, pressing his head back further into the pillow as the veins in his arms bulged as he restrained himself from easily snapping out of the handcuffs.

You couldn’t think of coherent words to respond, so sighed in satisfaction, taking a moment to savour the sensation. Eventually, though, the hunger for more became ravenous as you began to lift yourself off of his cock and then slam back onto him.

It was different riding him like this; usually, if you were on top, he’d either have a hand around your throat or his hands gripping your hips tightly and directing your movements. With all the movements being down to just your body, it was almost like having a life-size sex toy that moaned and breathed.

Additionally, it meant that you could really draw out the orgasm that was already threatening to suffocate around his cock as you rode him with slamming hips. Eventually, it all came too much, and with one hand on his chest and the other gripping your breast to squeeze the flesh, you had your second orgasm and a shiver of pleasure.

“You’re so fucking big”, you moaned as you attempted to catch your breath but settled for a different motion instead of riding up and down. Keeping your hips flush with his so that his balls rested against your arse, you began to circle your hips clockwise and then anticlockwise.

Steve gasped as his chest heaved with the attempt of arching his back. “Wait, Steve, shut up for a second”, Bucky demanded, and the three of you stopped making moaning noises, but you continued with your grinding and hip circles, which was when you could hear it too. The obscene sounds of your gushing cunt, sloshing and slurping with the movements. It felt incredible to be so full of Steve, but hearing how much this move was making him lose his mind only motivated you through feeling breathless.

“Holy shit, that’s the best thing I’ve ever heard, but if you keep doing that, I’m going to cum”, Steve grunted, his mouth hanging open so that his grunts of pleasure were unfiltered. Bucky was just as vocal from where he sat, getting himself off.

“I want you to cum; please cum for me, Sir”, you begged as Steve moaned at the nickname used. As his dick hardened inside of you, your fingers quickly began to circle your drenched clit matching the movements of your hips as you joined him by cumming at the same time, squeezing his shaft with your walls and milking his cock internally.

It felt unbelievably satisfying to feel the liquid filling you entirely and having no other room but to leak out of the sides and onto his pubic area. Your thighs have tightened so tightly around Steve’s body you were sure if he didn’t have his healing ability, you’d have caused bruises from where your knees had dug into his side.

He never complained once, though, as he tried to catch his breath just as desperately as you were. Slumping forward, your face rested against his chest, directly over his heart so that you could listen to the wild racing of his heart. You were exhausted from riding his cock, and for a moment, you determined the fantastic shape he was in was probably down to being on top all the time.

Your thighs and abdomen muscles ached as you determined you needed a little break from the riding but not from the orgasm, and even though you were feeling a little overstimulated internally, you were somewhat determined to see how far you could go.

Reaching blindly on the bed, you found the vibrating wand and moved it between your bodies until it rested against your clit. With Steve’s cock still somehow still hard, you remained with him inside of you as you turned on the vibrator.

Steve groaned as the vibrations were felt through not just his pubic mound but also your cunt as both were stimulated by the powerful toy. It wasn’t even on the highest setting, but it was enough to take your breath away at first, soon, you settled down, content with simply lying there until an orgasm built.

For a moment, you contemplated releasing Steve from his handcuffs so that he could wrap his big arms around you, but you knew that once he was free from those handcuffs, it would be a free-for-all.

One orgasm spiralled into two, and you had to push the vibrator away as the ache deepened within your cunt. You were exhausted and on the verge of becoming entirely too overstimulated for the orgasms.

“I- I don’t think I can cum again”, you admit whilst gently rocking yourself against Steve’s cock.

“Could I make one request?” Steve asks whilst licking his lips, his voice just as deep as it is when he first wakes up.

“Hmm?” you say in response.

“Sit on my face. I know you’ve had enough, you don’t have to cum, and if it hurts, I’ll stop, but I wanna taste you so bad right now”, Steve pleaded.

“How could I say no to that request”, you muse. Carefully and with a great deal of mess, you slipped off of his throbbing cock, which twitched in the air as his and your juices continued to drip out of your cunt and down his shaft.

With the way you’d climbed off, you ended up kneeling over his face so that you were facing down his body, staring and admiring his cock until the other man in the room caught your attention as Bucky kneeled on the bed.

Just as you lowered your soaking cunt onto Steve’s hot mouth, Bucky reached forward and began to stroke Steve’s cock. The mafia boss beneath you nearly choked on his own cum as he drank down the juices flowing out of you but soon found a rhythm, and as his hips rolled to meet the strokes of Bucky's metal fist, his tongue and lips matched this.

Reaching forward, you pulled Bucky in for a desperate kiss, his tongue brushing against yours, dominating in every way. With the taste of your cunt in his mouth and Bucky’s fist, Steve was cumming again as Bucky carefully caught the thick white seed in his fist, licking up every drop that Steveall but screamed out with his orgasm.

This time, you watched as his cock softened, and carefully you crawled off his face with the help of Bucky’s steady and damp hands. With Bucky’s lips against yours, he stated, “I know you’re not done yet, get back on him”.

Pulling back, you looked down at Steve’s clammy body and the pink blush that had hued over his chest as you determined, “Won’t I hurt him if I sit on his overstimulated cock?”

Steve answered for Bucky, “Fuck no, you won’t hurt me. Get back on Princess”, he pleads desperately. Turning back to face Steve, you try and angle his soft cock at your entrance, but it wouldn’t go back in as Steve cursed at the handling.

“Are you sure I’m not hurting you?” you asked fearfully.

“Yes, I’m sure just- I don’t know. Buck, grip me hard in your fist or something,” he responded, sounding frustrated with his body for a second. You had to bite your lip as Bucky shrugged and gripped Steve’s flaccid cock in his hand, causing the blonde to gasp and arch his back, nearly knocking you over in the process. “Yeah, just like that.”

“You know Steve, some would call you a freak for getting off on pain like that”, Bucky joked half-heartedly as his fist began pumping up and down the hardening cock in his hand.

“Yeah, well, you’re one to talk”, Steve sassed back as he finally became hard enough that you could slide back down his cock. “Just a warning if I cum again, I’ll probably be shooting air out”.

Again, you had to bite your lip to hold back the laugh from Steve’s admission. Bucky led beside the two of you, reaching over to tilt Steve’s blindfolded face towards him. “I thought you could go all night? What’s the point in having all of these special abilities if you’re already shooting blanks after two orgasms”, Bucky contemplated.

“Yeah, well, you have her sit on your cock and see how long you last, asshole”, Steve bite back earning a chuckle from Bucky as you watched them both fondly, trying to get to find a good rhythm to move your body, opting for a slow in and out and circle of your hips.

The soaking noises of your wet cunt began to fill the atmosphere once more as Steve and Bucky started to make out, dimming the noise of their moans. Bucky eased back and whispered into Steve’s ear, “Do you hear how wet she is? Best you can feel it, how sopping wet our girl is. Aw, poor thing she’s getting tired”, Bucky smirks as you frown at him. You were exhausted, but you weren’t letting that stop your movements, by the way, Bucky was winking at you, you knew he was up to something.

Steve gritted his teeth, almost growling as he contemplated his next move, and you realised Bucky was antagonising him as the next second, Steve’s snapping out of the handcuffs. You’re suddenly on your back in the middle of the bed as he rolls the two of you over.

Steve’s face delves into the crook of your neck as your legs are instantly pushed back so that your knees nearly brush against your chest as he completely crowds around you. Clearly having driven him to his limit, Steve did not hold back; he began to fuck you with unfathomably hard and fast thrusts.

His cock was a blur as it pounded into your drenched cunt. All you could do was cling to him, nails scratching into the skin of his shoulders and then up to his jaw, pulling his face back so that you could push his blindfold up that was still covering his eyesight. He blinked down at you, groaning at the sight beneath him as he kissed you feverishly.

You were stuck between kissing, moaning and trying to gasp for breath as your orgasm plummeted through your cunt until you were close to sobbing with the overwhelming emotions. Steve’s powerful body fucked you deep into the bed until he was deeply crying out your name with the trembling effects of his third orgasm. From the feeling of it, he definitely wasn't shooting blanks as more of his seed oozed out of your well-used cunt.

He remained on top of you for a while, his body keeping yours warm as you breathed one another in, but eventually, he was moved onto his side by a gentle hand of Bucky’s.

“Come on, big boy, I need you to move over so I can clean you both up”, the brunette explained as he sat on the bed with a warm washcloth. Steve sighed in contentment but remained with his arms around your torso as he observed Bucky clean up his sensitive flaccid cock.

As Bucky moved between your legs, you tiredly gasped, “Wait, you didn’t get to cum, Bucky”.

Bucky grinned up at you, leaning down to kiss your cheek as he explained, “Oh, don’t worry, I did, twice. You should see the back of Steve; think I might have got some in his hair as he was fucking you into next week”.

Steve quietly cursed before chuckling as he reached a hand behind his head, “Well, the sheets are thoroughly ruined for tonight then”.

#mafia au #mafia!stucky #stucky x reader #stucky smut #steve rogers x reader #mafia steve rogers #bucky x reader #steve rogers smut #mafia bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky smut #marvel smut #bucky #bucky barnes #steve rogers

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2hightocare · 2 months

Text

INFATUATED!

“In a world of boys, he’s a gentleman.” — mini series ❦︎

Synopsis: The feeling of finding a person who makes your tummy do cartwheels everyday, no matter what the situation is.

Pairings: nonidol!jungkook x fem!reader

Warnings: super cute duper fluff, jk being the epitome of every girls dream man. Argument, oc crying, Jungkook wasting money on oc, banter, cussing, flirting. Js super cute cliché shit…

a/n: they’re my babies… they’re so ‘tear in my heart’ coded but after this I might be inactive. I have a paper due in three weeks 10 pages long so…. Plus in my free time I’m working on a series that I will drop the teaser and aesthetic maybe later or tmr🤍🤍🤍 enjoy!! Kithes.

Falling in love with Jungkook was so easy that it scared you. He did everything right, and whenever there was something wrong, he would do anything in his power to make it right. You thought it was too good to be true, and he would just disappear into angel dust if you blinked too fast.

“How do you feel?” Your boyfriend moves your hair out of your face, kissing your forehead in the process. “Warm.” You talk about the fever you have. The covers that were wrapped tightly around you are shredded from you. “Hey!” You pout, shaking from how cold you feel even though the air is off and it’s not cold. “You’re not going to get better, baby.” He pouts back at you, holding the covers tightly on his chest as you try to fight back for it.

“I'm freezing,” you whine, your eyelids fluttering shut as his palm touches your face.

“You’re burning, baby,” he lets you know while sighing.

You had gotten sick yesterday, which had started with a sore throat. You had thought when you would have woken up today it would’ve been gone; spoiler: it got worse.

Jungkook makes his way to his kitchen, opening up the gray cabinet in front of him. He pulls out the tray filled with medicine his mom gave him whenever he moved out around four years ago. He pops open the pill container, taking two small white round pills out before grabbing a water bottle and making his way to you, who’s curled up on his couch.

Jungkook feels like shit whenever he can’t do anything to make you feel better. It didn’t matter what it was; he would do anything in his power to make you feel better. Seeing you sick, your face red from how hot you are, your eyes closed, and curled up from how cold you felt had him thinking that if he could take away your sickness and be sick instead, Jungkook would choose that option in an instant.

He hands you the pills and the water bottle and watches you take them one by one. He remembers when you gawked at him when he took 4 pills at once and learned that you have a fear of the pill going down the wrong tube.

He also remembers that you prefer pills and injections instead of just medicine syrup. Which baffled him, to say the least; how could someone prefer an injection instead of just strawberry-flavored syrup? He laughed at you, which you just shrugged because it was the truth; you preferred to get poked by a needle than just drinking something.

“That’s actually crazy.” Jungkook throws his head backwards as a laugh rips out of his chest. “It’s nasty. I don’t care what flavor it is. I would literally throw it up.” You scrunch your nose, remembering the taste of the medicines your parents literally shoved down your throat so you could get better.

“Don’t get me started on how anything medicine strawberry flavored gives me PTSD till this day.” You shiver from the thought, which has your boyfriend laughing at you.

“I can’t breathe,” you say, your voice scratchy from your sore throat as you breathe from your mouth. “I should’ve enjoyed breathing when I could,” you joke, watching your boyfriend's eyes twinkle. They had a small glimmer to them, making you wonder how that could possibly happen and why you haven't seen it before with anyone else.

Jungkook had no clue how he ended up here… with a girl he met in a chemistry class that accidentally dropped sulfuric acid all over the floor alongside the beaker smashing into tiny pieces. He watched how your eyes widened as a small piece of your hair dropped beautifully in front of your face out of the low ponytail. You had tied it with a blue latex glove as a hair tie since you didn’t have one after no one in class had one to let you borrow.

That was two years ago; now here he was taking care of you as you struggled to breathe from your congested nose.

“Can I get my blanket back?” You pout at him, which he only shook his head with a chuckle.

….

“Get whatever you want,” Jungkook gave your ass a little tap as you entered the makeup store, your eyes widening from excitement. “Don’t say stuff like that,” you give him a look, which has him tilting your face up with his hand.

“Why, baby?” He chuckles, pecking your pouted lips.

“Because it makes me feel things, duh,” you whisper into his lips. He smiles into your mouth. His lip piercing sends cold shocks through your body that has you playfully shoving him away, remembering where you guys are.

“Get whatever you want, and then we can go to the bookstore,” Jungkook picks up the black and white striped little Sephora bag before pointing in front of you to walk.

You giggled as you started looking for the things that have been sitting in your phone cart for a while now. Jungkook follows behind you, stopping whenever you stop to look at the shelves for something before you drop the product in the basket in your boyfriend's hand.

“That’s really cute,” Jungkook mentions the lipstick tester you have in your hand. “You should get it,” he says, tilting his head at you, watching you open the lid being met with a reddish-dark color.

“Don’t you think it’s too dark?” You look up at your smiling boyfriend.

“What?” You giggle as you stare back at him. “You look beautiful,” he says casually, reaching for your beanie and pulling it down a bit more, fixing it. “You literally want me to die right now,” you joke. “Baby!” Jungkook laughs at the tone of voice you used.

“You can’t keep saying things like that without expecting me to literally melt away,” you lean your body onto him while he wraps his strong hands around your much smaller frame as you look up to him.

“I just say whatever is in my mind at the moment, princess,” he explains, giving your waist a small squeeze, making you squirm as the feeling made you ticklish. “Ah!” You laugh as his fingers dig into your rib cage, tickling you.

You push him away as he tries to continue to tickle your tummy. “Stop!” You laugh, trying to get away as far as you can from him.

Jungkook stops when he sees two girls around your guy's age pass beside you both with judging eyes. “Someone’s mad...” Jungkook whispers into your head as you just shake your head with a laugh.

“Let’s leave, I got everything,” you giggle, intertwining your fingers with him, making your way to the line.

When you guys finally get to the line, you are met with a pretty blonde girl, her dimples carved into her skin when she smiles up at you both. “Hi, is that all?” The girl said, you take notice of her name tag.

“Yes, that's all, thank you,” you smile back. “Find everything you wanted?” Genesis asks, as she starts scanning the products. “Yeah, thanks,” you say, playing with the strings of your hoodie as you see the price rise with each scan.

“Card or cash?” Genesis says, as she points to the credit card reader.

“Card,” Jungkook says before you could reply. He pulls out his black card from the back of the phone case, before scanning it through the white card reader without looking at the price. The machine makes a small sound, “here you go, have a wonderful day!” The girl says ripping the receipt before putting it into the white and black bag, handing it to you.

“Thank you, baby,” you say as you walk out the door of the store, Jungkook smiles at you before shrugging. “The least I could do, princess,” he gives your hand three small squeezes, which feels like he’s squeezing your heart as well. “It was expensive as fuck,” you pout at him. “How much?” He asks, “a thousand.” You cringe, scrunching your nose up at realizing the astonishing price. “That’s it?” Jungkook raises an eyebrow before reaching to the passenger side of his car.

“What! You’re crazy,” you say, giving him a slight swat. You watch as the side of his lips quirk up, making you mirror his actions.

“I love you,” you pout, as he leans into his car. “And I love you so much more,” he says, pulling you into him from your waist.

You tipped toe to reach for his lips, his lips mold with yours perfectly as you both were pieces of a puzzle. “How do you want the kiss?” He asks, giving your waist a squeeze. “What is this, a drive-thru? I get to ask what type of kiss I want,” you giggle, letting your forehead drop onto his chest which rumbles with a laugh.

“You get to ask whatever you want from me,” Jungkook rubs your back softly on top of your thick hoodie. “Oh shit,” your eyes widened as you saw the small print of your makeup on his black shirt when you raised your head upwards. “What?” He looks down to his shirt where you’re rubbing your fingers on the dirty print.

“I just ruined your shirt, baby, ahh!” You freak, which has Jungkook laughing while trying to reassure you that it’s fine and he’ll just wash it when he gets home.

As much as you guys had moments like this, you guys had your disagreements. They weren’t as bad where they ended in screaming matches or end up not talking for days, you guys usually make up the same day before going to bed. Jungkook loathed going to bed whenever you two fought; he felt compelled to make things right before even considering sleep.

“Why are you making me feel bad?” You say, your voice cracking, which echoes the fractures in Jungkook's heart. “I’m not, baby. It’s just... I can’t do anything about it,” Jungkook tries to reason with you.

“She was literally all over you, and you didn’t stop it,” you feel your eyes start to water before staring down at your converse.

“She’s my mom's best friend's daughter; I can’t just tell her to fuck off, y/n. I backed off. I can’t control what she does,” Jungkook raises his voice, a tear falling down your cheek as he addresses you by your first name, a departure from his usual endearments, which feels like a knife to your chest.

“Okay, then,” you nod, tears starting to cascade down, smudging your makeup in the process.

Jungkook's throat tightens; he feels like he can't breathe, feeling like shit. He watches you wipe your tears, small sniffles escaping your mouth. “I’m going to go,” you sniffle, turning your back to him and reaching for your bag.

“No, don't leave, let’s talk this out,” Jungkook implores, turning you around to face him. He reaches for your cheeks, wiping away the tears that continue to fall down your puffy cheeks. “You’re hurting me,” you say, with a sniffle.

“I know. I’m fucking sorry, baby,” he feels his heart racing, wanting to die for making you feel bad for caring about him.

“Why didn’t you push her away or say something? You made me look fucking stupid, Jungkook,” you cry, recalling the pang of feeling as Kailey flirted with him in front of his family, and he did nothing to stop it, leaving you feeling small and insignificant.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he kisses away your tears, trying to soothe the ache in your heart. “I promise I’ll shove her off whenever I see her, and if I have the chance to avoid her, I will,” he whispers into your cheek with each kiss he leaves on your face.

“Promise?” You whisper, finally meeting his worried eyes.

“Promise, baby,” he whispers back, holding eye contact with your red, puffy eyes.

“I hate making you cry; please forgive me,” Jungkook pulls you into him, hugging you tightly as if afraid you'll slip away. “I forgive you, just don’t do it ever again,” you sniffle into his chest, feeling the throb in your heart melt away.

“I love you,” he says, swaying you both in the middle of his living room.

“I love you,” you sniffle.

….

"But the Maze Runner is so good," you literally whine at your boyfriend, who is in the middle of changing his shirt.

"Yeah, but not as good as Spiderman," he says, poking his head out the shirt hole with a grin.

"Okay, true, but the Maze Runner is just as good; you need to read the book to understand," you mumble, trying to separate a piece of hair from your mouth as you curl another strand with your wand.

"You just have a huge crush on Dylan O’Brian, let’s be honest," your boyfriend chuckles, sending you a look through the mirror, to which you just roll your eyes back at him, acknowledging a) that he was right. b) he was literally right.

“Says the boy who had a crush on Fluttershy when we watched My Little Pony,” you say, giving him a 'don’t try me' look. His jaw falls before giving your hair a tiny soft pull.

"You said you wouldn’t bring it up," he laughs before shaking his head with a chuckle. "Well..." you just shrug.

“Fluttershy reminds me of you,” Jungkook stands behind you, his fingers playing with your freshly curled hair. “Until you act like a brat,” he tugs on your hair, making your head snap backwards, where he leaves a big fat smooch on your lips.

“Okay, princess, let’s go,” he says before unplugging the curling wand wire, grabbing your bag and coat, before holding your hand and leading you outside.

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