#my fics Tumblr posts

  • definetlynotatimetraveler
    28.05.2022 - 2 minutes ago

    Alright cast your votes should I write fluff or smut to cope?

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  • k-s-morgan
    28.05.2022 - 6 minutes ago

    hello i was reading over some of your hannibal hashtags and i feel like you have such a good grasp on all of the hannibal meta. i saw that youve written some hannibal fics in the past and i was jw, have you ever thought of writing your own version of what you think happened post-fall/s4 events? i feel like if you wrote something, it would instantly be in the leagues of some of the current greats. i feel like you have such a good understand of the chars and their motivations, i would def read it

    Thank you so much! I do love this show and its characters deeply, and I’m glad you liked reading my analyses & honored that you’d read my fic.

    For some reason, I never felt motivated to write a post S3 story. Maybe it’s because I’m so deeply satisfied with the show’s ending - knowing Will and Hannibal are alive and together is everything to me, the details of what they are doing are secondary. Or maybe it’s that I read such brilliant post-canon fics that I don’t feel the need to offer my own version. Here’s the list with my favorite recs.

    Or maybe it’s something else - I don’t know why but my ideas for Hannigram stories always revolved around AUs. It’s weird because in other fandoms, it’s on the contrary and I want to write only canon-based fics! 

    So far, I wrote 3 Hannigram stories, two on AO3 and one for Ravage anthology, and I don’t have any immediate plans for writing more. But who knows what the future brings! If S4 ever aired and it was terrible, I’d likely feel the need to ‘correct’ it))  

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  • scoopsahoy
    28.05.2022 - 7 minutes ago

    Can I just say don’t put x reader in the tag if you’re going to be excluding a LARGE portion of the community and fandom in your fic, especially when it concerns superficial details like “5 foot nothing” and “one hundred pounds,” I can guarantee you that most of the people reading this don’t fit that description and the fact that you would include them shows that you are purposefully meaning to exclude members of the community, like those aren’t necessary details and all that they serve to do is make people feel like shit and feel as though they don’t have space in the community, do better please

    woah, excluding people was not my intention. i, myself, am not 5 foot nothing (i'm 5'7") and am certainly not one hundred pounds (double that and then add some). i write but i'm not very active in the fanfic community, so i'm not very aware of things like this.

    i apologize if my writing came off as exclusive, it wasn't what i meant to do.

    i'd appreciate it if you could come off of anon and message me directly, i'd love to mutually speak about this.

    #answered ask #i hope you guys don't think i'm excluding y'all from my fics #it was never my intention to do so
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  • doctorjameswatson
    28.05.2022 - 8 minutes ago

    I have 650 words of a Kate Stewart fic. I really wanted to finish it in time for the Kate Stewart week 2022 but I’m at work all day tomorrow and I’m really sleepy right now. So, there will be fic, just not quite yet.

    #kate stewart week #fic#my writing#kate stewart #i guess there is always a chance but i'm not sure it is going to happen tonight
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  • cupids-chamber
    28.05.2022 - 11 minutes ago

    we need more yandere y/n

    Yes so I can reach my Cupid peak.

    #and than I realize the rosu fic of neige x yandere cupid #and question my life swiftly #cupid answers! #sour <3
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  • skullotonin
    28.05.2022 - 13 minutes ago



    #skullwrites #dont question what fic it was #because they left kudos on MULTIPLE of my fics #and im crying #skullspeaks
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  • unloneliest
    28.05.2022 - 16 minutes ago

    keerthi @inncarnate’s fic is posting this has been all time top pieces of writing to me for YEARS everybody stream ghost is born right now or ELSE

    #jam posts #above all else. im a keerthi fan blog. i dont CARE if u havent watched teen wolf i sure haven't READ THIS FIC. #it's so so so dear to my heart it's in a mobius loop of influence w/ my big wip and i will love it forever it's so!!!!!!!! #everybody cheer and clap for my blorbos in law or else!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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  • newts-and-sharks
    28.05.2022 - 17 minutes ago

    Quick question will you ever add more to your starshine starlight ao3 fanfic or did you post something about it and ⟟ never saw it?

    Ok, so I’m gonna be honest, I hate how I characterized moon and star in that fic. I feel like they don’t really have a personality, and if they do, it’s not the one I meant to give them. I wanted moon to be the older brother that is very protective but also pokes fun playfully and in general is an affectionate jackass. Sun himself was supposed to be the mother hen kind of brother that had light hearted jokes and was emotionally available unlike moon. Star was supposed to be naive and inexperienced, but still has common sense and smart enough to pull pranks on moon and sometimes sun.

    I’m just really dissatisfied with the fic in general, I hate the pacing, the wording, just everything and I’ve considered flushing it down the drain entirely. I might upload the meeting sun chapter, but I have a system for how I update my fics. The next fic that needs to be updated is the Monty fic but I’m also writing a new fic rn with the jesters as dragons, so it might be a minute. I also update with two chapters at a time.

    Again, sorry for not updating as much, I’m trying to balance how much I draw and write into equal portions but I get carried away with either one or the other. But I will try to see if I can update it after the other two fics!

    #starlight starshine fic #sibling fic #I’m just so tired recently and I don’t know why #I just want to curl up in my room and not come out for a few weeks #just stop being a human for a bit #yk
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  • cacowhistle
    28.05.2022 - 18 minutes ago

    the first night

    fandom: the owl house characters: luz noceda, amity blight, hunter (the golden guard), willow park, gus porter, camila noceda, vee wc: ~3k

    Luz utters the words I’m back, and it is like time stands still for a very long time. Then Camila is rushing forward, and Luz is throwing herself into her mother’s arms with a sob, and Camila Noceda crushes her daughter against her chest. “Oh, bebé I missed you so much—”
    “I missed you too, mama—”
    “—Are you okay? Are you hurt, what’s wrong—”
    Luz laughs wetly, pushing back from her mother’s embrace. “I can explain. Can we—” her voice breaks. “Can we get something to eat?”

    ao3 link in the notes!

    #toh #the owl house #toh spoilers #the owl house spoilers #toh fic#toh fanfic#toh fanfiction #the owl house fic #the owl house fanfic #the owl house fanfiction #luz noceda#amity blight#hunter toh#toh hunter#willow park#gus porter#my writing
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  • stoprobbers
    28.05.2022 - 18 minutes ago

    Now that you’ve finished the newest volume, I had to let you know that during Jonathan’s anxious golf rant, when he reveals he’s lying about his college plans/application AND mentioned that he couldn’t go because of his family I immediately gasped “It’s Future Tense!”

    So, how does it feel to have the show rip off your fic premise?

    HAHAHAHAHAHA i will have you know i messaged a friend and was like "THEY RIPPED ME OFF!"

    pretty sure i did it better, though ;)

    #duffers fuckin' ganking my flagship fic! #but it worked out for them in my story and it's gonna work out for them in this story #i know it will #because it has to
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  • perpetualcontrolleddrowning
    28.05.2022 - 20 minutes ago

    Blackbonnet Soulmate AU - Part 10

    The Nettles in the Garden Don't Go Away


    Summary: It's party time, y'all

    Read on AO3 (x)

    Read Part Nine Here (x)

    Ed wants to go to the party. It’s clear from every motion in his body. The way his enormous eyes are focused so intently on the invitation in Stede’s hand. It’s clear from the way that he asks questions and then interrupts the answers to announce that they’re going.

    This is something Ed really wants to do. And the man has done so much for Stede at this point, taught him so many things, it would be selfish to let his own hangups get in the way of showing Ed all the different levels of society.

    He promised that he would teach Ed how to be a gentleman. A large part of that is going to events like these and rubbing elbows with all the other important people. He’s taught Ed how to dine and how to dance and the different forms of address. What was that for, if not this?

    Stede does not want to go to the party. That’s the crux of it, really. Stede has always hated events like these. He had always thought that it would be better if he had an ally in all of the socializing, someone who he could count on to have his back, but the thought of going to this party with Ed isn’t doing anything to soothe his usual anxiety. The stress is already buzzing and upset in the back of his mind, but Stede ignores it, packs it away.

    He made a promise. Stede Bonnet promised he would teach Ed the ways of being a gentleman, and he is trying so hard to become the kind of man who keeps his word.

    He walks to his quarters and finds Ed already there, eagerly going through the auxiliary closet. He’s pulling out things that are part of a darker, jewel-toned color palette, and Stede is proud to see it. He shakes off the last of his low mood. This is for Ed. He’ll have an ally. It’ll be fine.

    “For tonight,” Ed calls, over his shoulder from where he is finding his way to the formalwear section of Stede’s closet, “I was thinking I could wear purple. You said that it’s a good color for me, right?”

    This is going to be fun. The buzzing in the back of his head is leftover from a different life. Everything is going to be fine.

    He helps Ed pick out an outfit and then guides him over to the table in the corner of his cabin.

    “We’re going to have to do something with your hair,” Stede says, carefully not thinking about everything that might entail.

    “Yeah, man, we have to make it fancy, right?”

    “Right,” Stede echoes. “If you don’t mind, I would be happy to style your hair for you?”

    “Are you sure you’d be able to? It’s quite a bit different from yours.” Ed meets Stede’s eyes skeptically, and Stede feels a flare of indignation on his own behalf.

    “I have a daughter, Edward. I know how to style long hair.” Ed laughs a bit and lounges easily in the chair, waving his hand toward his own head in a ‘do what you must’ sort of motion. “And of course I know you have different hair from my own. I spoke with a woman last time we stopped to restock and gathered some oils and combs that would be more appropriate for you.”

    Stede isn’t watching Ed’s face when he says this, because he is too busy gathering all of the supplies that he needs for the task ahead. Hair oil and pins and combs and silk flowers and small purple ribbon to match the piping on the coat they picked out. His avoiding Ed’s eyes has nothing to do with the fact that he is starting to fear that this was all a bit presumptuous. That perhaps he, as always, has crossed an unspoken social boundary in buying hair products for a man he has known for only a few weeks.

    Well. It’s too late now. He’s already said the words out loud. Awkward or not, Baby Bonnet does nothing if not soldier on.


    There’s something so fascinating about all the little details that, apparently, go into preparation for a night. Usually, when Ed wakes up in the morning, he splashes some water on his face, scrubs at his teeth for a bit, and wrangles his hair into something that will stay out of the way. When it becomes impossible to manage, he’ll angrily yank a comb through the gray curls. If he pulls strands out or makes it frizz up around his head, that just adds to the energy he’s trying to bring.

    He’s never spent this long getting ready for something. Stede helps Ed pick out his outfit for the night, and it’s all rich silk and brocade and embroidery. There are some fabrics and textures that Ed has been obsessed with since the first moment Stede showed them to him, but Stede had assured him that they weren’t the sort of thing used for daily wear. That they should be saved for special occasions.

    Maybe that has something to do with how quickly Ed jumped at the opportunity to attend a party like this.

    He’s sitting at this small table, Stede once a-fucking-gain at his back, and he is not going to waste the next few hours thinking about that. Instead, he keeps thinking about the things that Stede described earlier. Fancy people and dancing and gossip and meeting eyes across a room. Brushing elbows with important people. Seeing the world that Stede comes from. The idea is intoxicating.

    He can’t sit still, but Stede doesn’t seem to mind too much. The man is seated behind him, slowly pulling a hair oil through Ed’s curls while humming quietly to himself. It’s something that Ed has noticed the past few days, ever since Stede hummed for them when they danced together. He does it all the time, really, whenever it’s been quiet for too long. Ed’s not even sure Stede knows that he does it.

    Ed’s fingers keep tapping on the table next to him, on the chair, on his own legs. He gets ahold of this tiny silk ribbon that Stede’s brought over and keeps running it in curlicues through his fingers. Fascinating texture. He shifts seating position and swings his legs back and forth. Stede just continues messing with his hair and chuckles softly when Ed’s movements make it difficult to do his work.

    “You’re wiggling more than my Alma ever did,” he laughs, jokingly. And it’s fucking Ed up, actually, the way that Stede has been talking more and more about his kids. About Alma and Louis. He sounds so soft and proud when he talks about them. It fucks with Ed’s head a bit. The idea that there are fathers who talk about their children like this. Who learned how to brush hair patiently and steadily, unphased by knots and dirt and rats nests. Who touch so gently and then weave flowers in behind them.

    Normally, Ed wouldn’t be able to stand sitting in one place for this long. Especially when he’s this excited. But it’s the combination of Stede’s humming, the soothing and steady touches to his hair, the feeling of silk and brocade against his skin, the way his fancy clothes weigh heavier on his frame than his leather getup usually does. There are so many different sensations from so many different sources, and none of them are overwhelming, and so Ed is just left sitting in the almost-silence of the room. Buzzing with energy but satiated. Ed is a tuning fork, resonating with the echo of Stede’s humming. The beast is awake and at attention, but not yet in motion.

    And, see, this is the shit they don’t warn you about, with all these fancy men. It’s easy to hate them from a distance. Easy to plan their deaths then.

    But now.

    Stede’s fingers are smoothly pulling apart the snarls against the nape of Ed’s neck. He never has the patience to get that far with his brush. With the untangling strands of hair comes the heavy smell of tobacco smoke and Ed’s own hair oil.

    “Your hair is absolutely lovely,” Stede says, like that’s something anyone has ever fucking said to Blackbeard. “The gray in here looks more like silver. It’s almost like a night sky. With the stars and everything. When I go gray, I’m afraid it’s going to look quite a bit like I’m being washed out in the sun.”

    Ed sits there, struck frozen by Stede’s words. It’s fucking things like this. Moments like this where he’s 100% sure, because what kind of line is that, if not the kind you use right before you slam someone up against the wall to give it to them rough and dirty? Why would anyone ever say something like that unless they were trying to get something with it.

    His whole body is aflame, frantically burning through any kindling within him and stretching toward the fresh fuel in Stede. He’s tugging at sections of hair now, seeming to weave them into something beautiful. Every part of Ed is yearning toward every touch. He wants to flop, boneless, back into Stede’s lap and let the man do anything he wants for as long as he wants. Ed wants to be back in that beautiful moment from nights ago, when he was dancing with Stede and happily following his lead.

    It’s all muddy again now. Will they or fucking won’t they, except it’s horribly, terrifyingly clear that one of them fucking will.

    Stede comes around to the front of Ed. He’s utterly focused on his task, not a thought behind those eyes except what he will do to style Ed’s facial hair. Stede combs his fingers through the wild black and gray strands of Blackbeard’s black beard.

    Has anyone ever actually touched his beard? He only started growing it out properly after he’d split up from Jack and Hornigold’s crew. Surely someone must have done, at one point, but Ed can’t remember a moment.

    Stede is patiently dampening Ed’s beard, dabbing oil onto his hands, pulling it through with fingers and comb. Ed can’t stop looking at his eyes. They’re some fucking color that’s a mix of brown and blue and green and gray. Ed wants to throw something at the wall, just to hear it shatter, just to break this moment. He wants to pause this moment and never let it stop. He wants to shout so that Stede will stop focusing on his beard and look at him again.

    Stede holds Ed’s chin gently in his hands. He reaches into Blackbeard’s black fucking beard and ties little, purple silk bows into it. Like everything Stede Bonnet has ever fucking touched, he pulls away and he’s made it beautiful.

    Stede directs Ed’s gaze to the looking glass in the corner. Stede has made him beautiful. There are flowers in his hair and bows in his beard and they match the color of his outfit. Ed can’t recognize himself. He doesn’t think anyone he’s met before this moment would recognize him.

    Ed looks in the mirror, and he can’t see a trace of Blackbeard. He doesn’t even know who the man looking back at him is. He likes it.


    Stede has been uncomfortable from the moment he walked into the party, and the anxiety has been buzzing louder and louder at the back of his skull, but he still can’t quite put a finger on what it is that is making him so uncomfortable.

    The hosts of the party come to greet him, and they are smiling and indolent and fake, just like Stede had known they would be. They invite him and Ed, sorry, Jeff, into the parlor. They announce it to the group and half the party follows.

    They’re all whispering and looking and pointing and there is something horribly, awfully familiar about it. Stede wants to duck and run, to do anything it takes to get the two of them out of the spotlight before. Before. Before something happens.

    He’s trying to make inoffensive guesses with his “phrenology.” He’s trying to touch Antoinette as little as possible while still passing as a master phrenologist.

    And then Ed speaks up. Stede feels the bright spotlight swing from him to his companion. There is a gasping, desperate fear that rises within him at the thought, and he’s doing everything he can to catch Ed’s eye, signal him, communicate abort, abort.

    The buzzing is getting louder, the spotlight is getting brighter, and Stede can’t breathe. He’s been here before. He’s been the center of attention at a party like this, and it doesn’t go well. Not when you’re Stede Bonnet. The best thing they can do is stay out of everyone’s eyesight and fly under the radar.

    Ed isn’t listening. He’s standing up, talking louder, drawing attention to him like a magician’s cape. Ed has always been larger-than-life. Blackbeard is able to command the attention of thousands and thrive on it. But this is a party for the upper crust. This is not a safe place to test if that same charisma transfers to other social contexts. It’s testing out miracle shark-repellant for the first time in the middle of a feeding frenzy.

    He sees the way the crowd is watching the two of them. An interesting, new attraction to assess. James’s good friend Stede.

    Stede knows what lies at the heart of himself, and he knows the way that people like this search for any mistake, any flaw, and hold it up in the spotlight for all to see.

    I heard that you attended a celebration at the Belgrave estate last year.

    My parents say that you're a bad influence.

    After the first few times that Stede manages to catch Ed’s eye and shake his head, Ed stops looking at him. That buzzing in the back of his mind is getting louder and louder. He has to do something. Something to draw attention away from Ed, before something happens to him.

    It’s terrifying. He can feel the steel bands of panic tightening in his chest the way that they haven’t in weeks. It’s difficult to take a deep breath, even thinking of drawing the attention back to him. But Stede was raised among these people. Stede’s felt their derision before and he knows what to do with it. Knows how to handle it.

    Like jumping from a cliff into freezing water. He just has to take the first leap and then there’s no backing out.

    The crowd is laughing and they’re all turned to face Ed and he doesn’t know how cruel they can be.

    Stede pastes on a smile, screws his courage to the sticking point, and steps forward.

    “Actually! I too have traveled and, in fact, I’ve got an amusing anecdote-” That man who first greeted them, Stede can’t remember his name, interrupts with a bored yell and that’s fine, Stede was expecting that, and it gives him a bit more time to scrounge through his own memory in search of anything resembling an amusing anecdote.

    There’s a hand on his shoulder, followed immediately by the warm, lounging weight of Ed.

    “Forgive him! Forgive my friend here. Once he’s palmed your cranium a few times, it’s impossible to shut him up!”

    The crowd immediately bursts into laughter. Stede feels all of it, the hand on his shoulder and the laughter like a physical force, through a crackling layer of ice. He tries to smile, and laugh, and act like he was in on the joke this whole time. He tries, he tries, he tries.

    There’s snow in his ears.

    It’s hard to keep track of things, after that. Someone reached into Stede’s chest and stole his voice. He tries one more time to pull Ed aside, to warn him, but it’s hard to even focus on the words. He can’t hear anything Ed is saying in response.

    Ed’s playing the pianoforte. He’s dancing with the other guests. He’s joking and laughing and wrapping them all around his littlest finger.

    He’s not even looking at Stede.

    No one’s looking at Stede anymore. He could leave the room, the party, the boat and no one would think twice.

    He stands there for a while, waiting for the crowd to turn on Ed, but they don’t. And maybe that was always what was going to happen. What had Stede been thinking? He’s been around Ed for weeks now, seen the way that others respond to his presence. The way everyone loves him from the moment they first see him.

    In what universe would Stede Bonnet’s experiences be a useful measure for someone like Blackbeard?

    A few more minutes pass, but the crowd is so loud and they all keep laughing and he’s so far away from it all that the distant sound is becoming overwhelming. So, Stede does what everyone has been hoping he would do since the moment he arrived, and he sees himself out.

    He tries to find Frenchie and Oluwande, see if they need his help with anything, but they’re thriving too. Of course they are. Of course everyone here would love the two of them. Stede knows his crew is fantastic, that’s why they’re his crew.

    It’s good that everyone is loving them.

    Stede goes to find a privy. He lowers the toilet seat and spends an indeterminate amount of time staring ahead of himself, dead-eyed.

    Once his buttocks start to go numb, and his mind is nothing more than an even, sparkling snow field, Stede stands up. He splashes cool water on his face. He goes to wait outside for everyone else to finish up with all their frivolity.


    There’s something Ed knows he’s forgetting. He knows it’s something important.

    He always gets like this, when there’s a crowd like this. If everyone is in high spirits, and everyone’s laughing, and they’re all looking at him, he gets swept up in it so easily. It’s like the beast fucking lives for this shit.

    There was that first moment, when Ed had mentioned killing a Prussian, and the room went quiet. He’d thought that he’d fucked it all up. But then everyone had started laughing, and that was it.

    It’s intoxicating. It’s dizzying and overwhelming and giddy, the way that it always feels when he’s the center of attention. Ed doesn’t know how to describe it because he’s never bothered talking to other people about it. He feels lighter than air and like he’s watching everything happening from outside of himself but in a good way. People are laughing and he’s shouting, he’s joking, he’s moving and dancing and laughing.

    It’s good. It’s good and he’s high on it. This was such a good fucking idea. There’s no filter between his thoughts or his actions. Ed has no idea what he’s going to do next because he’s outside himself, a few seconds behind his own body, watching it happen. But it doesn’t matter if he’s out of control. Everyone’s having a good time, the whole party fucking loves him, and there are no consequences. This isn’t his boat. This isn’t his crew. He isn’t Blackbeard. He’s Jeff, the accountant, and if something starts to go wrong, that’s someone else’s problem.

    There are dizzying gaps in his memory. He’s laughing with that woman who he first talked to when he walked in. There’s a gap and then he’s got a mask on top of his head. He’s making animal noises and people are laughing.


    He’s seated at the piano, singing a bawdy sea shanty for the third time and emphasizing every word so the others can sing along.


    He’s dancing around in circles, circles, circles, moving from one person in the crowd to the next. Everyone’s blood is up and everyone is shouting and laughing and they all love him. When he moves from one person to the next, they always meet him with a smile.


    There’s something Ed knows he’s forgetting.


    Stede has always known that his crew is the best of all the crews out there. That’s only confirmed as Frenchie greets him, encourages him, and then lets the two of them sit in silence for a while. Stede stares out over the dark water, reflecting the stars. After the time he spent with Ed’s hair this afternoon, he can hardly look at the night sky and think of anything else.

    It’s a few more minutes of silence before he realizes that Frenchie is working his way up to something. He keeps saying half a syllable and then cutting himself off and frowning. Stede tilts his head in Frenchie’s direction but doesn’t look at him just yet. When Stede’s struggling for words, he doesn’t like eyes on him. It always makes it so much harder for him to think, if someone is looking at him and waiting.

    “I’m not sure you should have left him like that, Captain.”

    They’re both facing out over the side of the boat, so the words fall with a splash in the water, rather than hitting Stede directly in the chest. If he weren’t so buried in snow, if he weren’t so outside of himself, Stede would probably be feeling shocked and offended right now. Frenchie doesn’t have any idea what happened. Frenchie has no idea how hard these parties are for someone like Stede.

    But. Stede is buried in the snow, the drifts high above his head. And Frenchie’s words ended up in the water. So, instead, Stede lets out a vague hum of acknowledgement and inquisition.

    “Just saying. I checked in there before I came out here, and it looked like he was putting on a spectacle for all those people. Would have joined him myself, but after what Olu and I got up to, it was better for me to avoid showing my face. If you and he are going to have any kind of relationship, and I’m not saying I know anything, just that it’s obvious the two of you like spending time with each other, you’re gonna have to learn to have his back.”

    The words are only half registering through the icy cocoon around Stede, but that last sentence sounded like a threat. Like Stede had left Ed in danger. He’s pushing, pushing, pushing against the snow, trying to make his brain focus and stay present, because this sounds important.

    “Sorry, Frenchie, could you say that again? I didn’t abandon Ed. He was doing well and made it quite clear that he didn’t need me there. I figured I would leave him with all his fans.” Maybe some bitterness sneaks in. Stede should work on that. It’s not fair to Ed that he’s feeling jealous like this. It’s not Ed’s fault that he’s so charming and wonderful.

    “Yeah, maybe it’ll all be fine. But I know people like this, and they’re vicious. And being different around people like that, it’s dangerous, you know?” Stede is doing everything he can to keep focus, but Frenchie’s words are bringing back a thousand memories of a thousand luncheons. Of parties and balls and gatherings and the way that Stede had always been on the outside. How any input he offered was met with derision and dislike and laughter. How his input tonight had been met with mocking. From Ed.

    “I do, actually, know that, Frenchie. I have been to more than enough of these sorts of events myself, and I am quite aware of what happens when you’re the odd one out in the group.”

    Frenchie is no longer pretending to stare out over the sea. He’s kind of side-eyeing Stede and scrubbing his hands through his hair.

    “Look, captain, I get that you don’t fit in with those people, and that’s why you ended up out here with us. I’m just saying, sometimes you lump your experiences in with the rest of us, and I’m trying to say that it’s not always the same. Sure, you’re with us now, but you were still raised with people like this. You still look like you fit in. You still know all the rules better than someone who just started learning.”

    “I don’t think,” Stede starts, feeling the rocking of the ship beneath him more than he’s felt it in weeks, “that anyone in the room is really thinking about that. They all seemed to love him.”

    “You and I both know how quickly that can change.” Frenchie is fully turned toward Stede now, and his eyes are steadier and more serious than Stede has seen them since he joined the crew.

    They sit in silence for a little bit longer. In the face of this reminder, the snow is starting to melt. Or maybe it hasn’t melted, but Stede has climbed to the top of it. He can feel it against his back, but he’s laying above it, for now.

    “Thank you, Frenchie, for saying something.”

    They sit together, in the dark, and Stede tries to look back over the night through this new lens. He has been so caught up in the buzzing in his head, in the ticking sense of some impending doom, of his own crippling inadequacy, that he forgot just how uncomplicatedly cruel the upper class often are.

    He’s starting to regret leaving Ed alone back there. If Frenchie’s right, then it will be Stede’s fault if something goes wrong. He needs to be there, even if nothing happens. In case Ed needs something. Instead, he’d just slipped out without saying a word. He’d brought Ed to this party, among a crowd of people the man had never interacted with before, and then just left him.

    Stede is turning to go back in when Ed comes out instead. He’s hurt and angry and ranting to Frenchie and Stede. And Stede is listening, but he’s also looking at the jerky way Ed is moving his body. The way that his earlier pride and flamboyance in his outfit has crumpled into a hunched, defensive posture.

    He’s not expecting it, and so the boiling rage gets him by the throat and hurtles Stede into its steaming depths before he has a second to think. One moment, Stede Bonnet is feeling guilty and useless on the deck of a ship. The next moment, Stede Bonnet is a growling, beastly thing composed of rage and flame.

    How dare they. Ed is beautiful tonight, with his starlight hair up around his face and woven with flowers and ribbons. Ed had poured all of his charm and light and joy into the party. Stede had seen it.

    And these people, his people, had laughed at it. As if the condescending, uninspiring lackwits had done a single thing in their lives to deserve the absolute miracle of Ed’s attention. Of his care. What had any of them done to deserve their place at that party? Resting on their generational laurels, day after day, never once having an original thought. Indolent and utter wastes of space, stealing all the air that Ed could have put to better use.

    These were Stede’s people. He had seen the way they responded to Ed’s presence and been idiotic enough to assume they understood what a gift they had been handed.

    Stede sees Ed readying his pistol. He stops him for several reasons. The most logical reason is that people like this disrespect acts of violence and passion. That’s the whole point of passive aggression. Show an emotion, give them a reaction, and you have already lost the war. It’s all fine and good to fling daggers of words at each other, but the second someone shows the bleeding wounds or cries out in pain, it’s over for them. The rest of the room would be on Ed like hyenas if he stormed in there, guns blazing and anger in his eyes.

    The most emotional reason that Stede stops Ed is because he keeps seeing an image of Ed overlaid on the one in front of him. Just before they stepped out of his cabins and readied themselves to depart, Ed had taken one last glance in the mirror. He had puffed himself up, pulled a few theatrical and uppity faces, watched the way that his clothes draped on his frame. It’s a joy, such a deep and unending joy, to watch Ed love things. That image overtop of this defensive and devastated Ed is untenable.

    The main reason, of course, is that this is Stede’s fault. He brought Ed here and he left him here. And Stede is trying to become the kind of man who stands by his word and stands by his friends. He is trying to become the kind of person who Ed can trust to have his back, just as he trusts Ed to have his back when they walk into an ambush or raid another ship. Stede is livid, angrier than he can remember being since that moment in the carriage with Louis in his lap. He made the mistake of trusting the party to treat Ed the way that he deserves.

    He is going to make them regret ever looking at Ed. As if they had ever been worthy in the first place.

    And he’s going to use their fucking language to do it. He’ll smile blandly and hide his emotions away and he will burn this ship and shatter its remains upon the rocks. Watch them try to apologize. See if they’re ever privileged enough to see Ed again.


    Ed fucking hates looking stupid. One of the best parts of being Blackbeard, really, is the fact that everyone always assumes that he knows something they don’t. No one ever questions him anymore.

    That moment at dinner? With everyone laughing and the noises growing louder and louder in his ears? Fuck that. Stede wasn’t kidding when he said that these people could use their words to be cruel.

    Ed wanted to blow them all to hell. Show them who they were messing with. Stede told him to stand down, and so he is, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t still want to.

    Stede went back belowdecks with the other two from his crew, but fuck if Ed is going to have anything else to do with this crowd. If he’s going to keep his word to Stede, then he’d rather just get off this ship as soon as possible. As soon as they all finish with whatever tomfoolery they’re up to.

    Now that he’s out in the night, though, with the darkness and the rocking of the sea and the rhythmic slap of waves, he can feel his heart slowing a bit. The few lights on deck are less glaring, and the noises from below aren’t grating on his ears. It feels the same as he does when he’s coming down from a raid, one where the other crew actually put up a good fight for once. That come-down from the electric high.

    And, now that it’s not quite so loud in his brain, he’s starting to remember some of the things he said to Stede. Potentially not the most, gentlemanly type of things, considering that’s what he was pretending to be tonight. Not the sort of thing a man like Jeff The Accountant is supposed to say.

    When did Stede actually leave the party? He can’t remember a moment, just that Stede was there at the beginning and, by the time they moved to dinner, he was gone.

    Well, fuck. What the fuck is he supposed to do with this? It’s been years since anyone other than Izzy even dared to get mad at him over something. And, when Izzy’s upset, all you’ve got to do is slap him on the shoulder and point him in the direction of some good old-fashioned pirating and he’s right back on your side. No…words. Or, even worse, feelings needed.

    Stede is not exactly the type to enjoy that kind of stuff. From what Ed’s seen of his interactions with the crew of The Revenge, Stede is the type of person who wants to get snippy and moody and then complain a bit before sitting down and having some kind of, fucking, heart-to-heart.

    Fuck, but the man is going to be utterly unbearable to be around on the trip back. And Ed’s going to have to figure out how to fix things, and it’s going to be messy and difficult and an utter disaster. If they don’t get chased off this ship first for whatever half-cocked plan Stede was up to right-

    There’s a scream belowdecks. That’s Blackbeard’s fucking cue, he supposes. Back on duty, with a crew that’s relying on him to have all the fucking answers to every problem. It was nice to be Jeff, while it lasted.



    Except, and it takes a moment for Ed’s brain to comprehend what he’s seeing, but when he arrives back in the parlor room, it is to the sight of Stede and his crew standing calmly and peacefully above a scene of chaos. People are screaming and crying and wrestling on the ground. A curtain just caught fire.

    Stede’s smiling. Stede did this on purpose. He told Ed to stand down and that he would handle the people who spoke down to him. And then he did.


    Whoever is watching from above, whatever imbecile it is that decides soulmates for the people here on Earth, Ed wants to strangle them. This is entirely too on the nose. This is obscene, seeing the flames rise while Stede smiles.

    When was the last time? Or, was this the only time that Ed had stepped away from a problem and someone else had solved it for him?

    Does it count when Izzy does it? Izzy, who checks with Ed and follows his every command to the letter. Izzy, who goes above and beyond and who has spent decades learning Ed’s every quirk in an effort to anticipate his moods. Izzy, who stands behind Ed and waits with bated breath for the next command, the next direction.

    Ed was ready to blow up or leave. Stede commanded him to stand down. And then Ed dicked around on the deck while Stede exacted revenge. And not just any fucking revenge. These people are full-blown panicking at this point.

    “We should,” Stede says, in that conciliatory, calm voice of his, “We should probably get going.” And he leads them all out.

    Back to their dinghy, his crewmembers rowing them back while Ed just…sits there. When was the last time he just sat there?

    And, it’s, okay, he doesn’t feel bad, because he’s Blackbeard and Blackbeard can do whatever the fuck he wants. It just sucks that he was all revved up to have this blowout fight with Stede, and Stede is just sitting quietly next to him, smiling vacantly when he catches Ed’s eye. People are screaming behind them from the boat Stede set on fire on Ed’s behalf.

    It’s a side of Stede he never expected to see because he genuinely believed it didn’t exist. The worst sort of anger he’d managed to draw from the man was a scowl and fake-threatening tone.

    And if Stede was perfectly capable of doing that all night, if he could have done that before he ducked out of the party, long before Ed, that means that he was choosing not to. And it means that he only did all of that to defend Ed.

    It was Ed who fucked up the party so badly that Stede had to defend him. Stede had tried at every point of preparation to warn Ed that he wasn’t ready, and he’d been so fucking stupid to ignore the warnings. And now the man wasn’t even going to chew Ed out. No, Stede was going to sit there and smile instead of turning that rage and retribution on Ed for putting him in that situation.

    Inconsiderate motherfucker. Why won’t he just lash out? Is this what he does, when he’s upset? Just, sits in it and thinks about the things he did wrong? This is infinitely worse than just punching a man in the face and moving on like that resolved it all.

    No one’s talking on the way back, and Ed’s thoughts are so fucking loud in his head. This fucking sucks.


    Okay, so perhaps Stede hadn’t intended to mean it literally when he said he was going to burn the ship down. That’s always been the way it works for him. Stede’s anger at the defense of people he cares for burns bright and shimmering, and sometimes he’ll get out a sharp remark or two, but fire doesn’t burn long in snow, and he’s never been sure enough of the social contracts around him to really follow through. How far is far enough? How far is well beyond what was deserved by the original offense?

    In all his life, for the few moments his anger flared before melting in snow, Stede had never managed to do something this drastic. Not by a hundredth. He’s been at sea for almost a month and a half now, and it feels like years of experience. Maybe that’s what happens when he lives his life outside of the snowstorm or maybe that’s how the life of a pirate always is.

    The point is: the fury had howled and growled and pounced and Stede hadn’t done a thing to stop it. And now all those people are scattering overboard and dropping in the few dinghies they have. Stede can hear their screams as they’re rowing away.

    He’s searching through himself, like that incredibly kind man had taught him to, back when he was haunted by the ghost of Nigel, but Stede can’t find that same curdling guilt in his stomach. They’re fairly close to several different islands and there were multiple rowboats on that ship. Besides, all Stede had done was make the people confront their own poor decisions. If they can’t handle that news, is it really Stede’s fault, what’s happening to them?

    Maybe. Maybe it is. But, well, these were the same people who had said unkind and hurtful things to Stede’s friend. If they couldn’t handle the same treatment, they really should have considered that.

    When Stede gets back to his cabin, his first stop is to wash his face again. This time, it’s more to remove the scent of smoke than it is to hide any evidence of tears.

    He’s trying to calm down. The snow from earlier in the night is long gone, and Stede is left feeling like a prowling, beastly thing. In the quiet of the bathroom, with so many noises removed, Stede can feel himself coming down from the high of it.

    When he steps back out into his living quarters, he finds Lucius lounging on one of the couches.

    “How was the party?” he asks, not looking up from where he’s sketching in his book. It looks like he’s putting the finishing touches on a, ahem, rather risque piece.

    “Terrible, like I knew it would be,” Stede mumbles, throwing himself into a chair nearby and relishing the solid plush-thump of his body falling into furniture. His body calms a little further. “I set a ship on fire before we left.”

    “Uh huh, great,” Lucius says, leaning close as he focuses on what seems to be a particularly tricky bit of shading. “I spent the day waging psychological warfare against Izzy.”

    “Dear lord. But, then again, he is a truly unpleasant man, isn’t he?” Stede is taking a moment to push against the floor, leaning his full body weight into the back of his favorite chair and feeling as more and more of the upholstery surrounds his body and presses back. It can’t hurt to spend a little time debriefing with his crew. “I’ll never understand why Ed feels the need to keep him around.”

    “Do you think anyone’s ever led a mutiny against a first mate? Like, if the whole crew got together and agreed to take Izzy down, could anyone really stop us?”

    “I don’t think that’s a mutiny. I’m pretty sure it’s the captain that dismisses the first mate. So, we would really have to focus on convincing Ed.”

    Lucius snorts a laugh and then erases the resulting wobbly line. “Yeah, but I’m talking about ways that the crew could do it. Maybe if we just tossed him over while Blackbeard’s distracted. You know? Ask for forgiveness, not permission and all that.”

    “As if you’ll be able to pull something like that over on Ed.” Stede feels obligated to defend his friend, seeing as the man isn’t there to do it for himself.

    “Please,” Lucius scoffs, “I mean, obviously he’s a great captain and tactician and stuff, but he’s distracted all the time when it’s just the crew. I’m pretty sure I saw him when I was sneaking over here, just standing on the deck and staring over the edge.”

    “Alone?” Stede asks, sidetracked by this idea. Maybe Ed is still upset over the events of the night. It was a trying night for everyone. Not just Stede. He’s trying to remember what Frenchie talked to him about. “Maybe I’ll go check on him.”

    “Wow,” Lucius drawls. “Imagine my surprise.” But he waves a hand in Stede’s direction and continues to draw while Stede gathers himself to leave. “Send him my love, all that.”


    Beautiful things, Ed reminds himself, because he was a fool to ever forget. We’re just not those kind of people.

    It was nice, for a moment, to pretend like that wasn’t true. Nice of Stede to indulge him in the fantasy, as if anyone has ever been brave enough to say no to Blackbeard once he’s got an idea in his head.

    The red silk is wrapped around and around his fingers. The red handkerchief. His first gift from his soulmate. His first gift from…Stede. Because it was Stede. He must have been just as young as Ed, back then. Maybe younger, and isn’t that a fucking thought.

    It had been the softest thing Ed had ever touched. He had kept it up his sleeve for weeks, feeling the slippery, body-warm liquid of it up against his pulse point. The first thing that had ever fed the beast. Moved from sleeve to inner pocket over the years. Taken out less and less.

    He tries not to risk it or get it dirty, but that’s pretty much impossible with the life of a pirate. Within a few years, the vibrant red of it had faded to something ruddier, mottled with stains. Salt water. Grog. Rum, a few times. Whiskey, once. And, of course, it gets sweaty as hell in all the black leather. In the last few years, Ed’s started to notice that the fabric itself is wearing away, pulling thin in some places and the weave falling loose in others.

    It’s the first fucking nice thing that he ever owned. Secreted away from his rich fucking white man of a soulmate who, Ed now knows for sure, owns hundreds like it. His soulmate who, even with all that, stole and stole and stole from Ed over the years. His soulmate, who gave Ed something fine and beautiful and that Ed’s lifestyle has left gritty and uneven, stained and falling apart.

    Ed’s still in his fucking fancy outfit, and it’s stupid. He’s so fucking stupid, standing out here in the dark, sweating all over this wonderful outfit he took out of Stede’s closet. Even in the night, out here, it’s so fucking hot all the time. There’s sweat all bundled up with his fancy hairstyle and ribbons and flowers. He’s making these clothes stink. Stede will probably have to burn them, to get all the Ed off of them. Lost fucking cause.

    He’s too focused on all of these thoughts, building a home in the self-pity that hurts so fucking good. When he really gets into it, he can wallow like this for days. Drives Izzy absolutely out of his mind.

    It’s the self-pity that’s so loud in his ears he doesn’t hear Stede walk up.

    “That’s a lovely piece of silk you’ve got there,” Stede says. Ed wants to hide it away and never let Stede or anyone else see it ever again. He knows better than to show such a clear weakness to anyone.

    “Oh, this tatty old thing?” he scoffs, because it’s always been safest for him to hide the most vulnerable parts of himself by putting them on display and striking before anyone else could.

    “Sometimes,” Stede says, and he’s whispering. Talking so gently. Like he fucking knows, the bastard. “The old things are the best things.” The man reaches out for a second, and the beast rears up, snarls in warning, but before anything can make its way to Ed’s expression, he’s already stopped.

    “May I?” Stede asks, checking, always checking. The hand hangs in the space between them, patient and undemanding. Ed could shut this shit down, stomp away, slam the door behind him, and Stede would simply approach him again tomorrow. He could say ‘no’ and Stede would move on like nothing had happened. Stede asks if he ‘may’ and it’s a soothing stroke along the beast’s flank.

    And, well, why the fuck not? Ed’s already embarrassed himself in every possible way tonight. Already made it quite clear what happens when he’s allowed within spitting distance of anything fine.

    Might as well hand the handkerchief over to someone who knows what to do with it. Stede probably would have stolen it back through the soulbond at some point anyway.

    Ed hands over the red silk, and Stede cradles it between his fingers. Stede’s hands are soft and lightly tanned and unblemished. He’s maneuvering the silk carefully and gently. There’s a fishing hook caught in Ed’s stomach, pulling him forward. He keeps waiting for Stede to drop the fabric to the floor, throw it over the side, tuck it away from sight.

    Stede folds the silk up into a neat little flower and, after glancing in Ed’s eyes to make sure it’s okay, he leans forward and carefully arranges Ed’s handkerchief in the breast pocket of his stolen jacket.

    And what else did Ed think would happen? He’s been telling himself for years that his soulmate is stealing from him. That his soulmate has taken everything and he’s going to steal it back with interest. But this is the truth of it, isn’t it? That blaring, glaring truth that Ed has done everything to avoid seeing for the past few weeks.

    Stede hasn’t stolen anything and Stede isn’t hoarding his beautiful things. Stede would hand it all over to Ed in a second if he thought it would make Ed happy. Stede has been doing that the whole time. He’s cake on Ed’s birthday and shiny rocks that catch in the sun. Giving and giving and giving, ten presents for every one he took.

    Stede pulls away, and he’s made the handkerchief beautiful. He makes everything he touches beautiful. That ratty, stained piece of fabric Ed has never been able to let go of is sitting prim and proud in his breast pocket. Stede’s outstretched hand is a treasure trove with the doors blown open.

    The moon is high and loud above them, and the stars in the night sky are so fucking bright, and it’s all turning Stede’s eyes dark and liquid. Stede’s smiling, but it’s not his usual, giddy, up-to-fuckery grin. It’s this quiet, wondrous thing.

    “There we go,” he says, and his eyes are the only thing Ed can see, the only thing in the whole fucking world. This moment is the whole fucking world. Stede reached out and touched him and made him beautiful and now he’s staring at Ed like he can see that beauty mirrored back.

    “Look at that,” Stede says. “You wear fine things well.”

    And that’s it.

    Just like that, Ed’s heart has leapt from his chest and deposited itself, bloody and aching, in the loose curl of Stede’s fingers. It’s a shriveled, blackened thing. There’s a hole blown clean through Ed’s chest from where it escaped, but it doesn’t even hurt. The wind is echoing through him. He just keeps staring, keeps feeling the way every gentle flex of Stede’s fingers unwittingly constrict around the gory organ.

    Make it beautiful, Ed thinks, for a wild, irrational moment.

    And Stede is looking at him, and his eyes could swallow the world whole, and Ed is 100% sure, this has to be it. He’s dying here, and his heart is settling comfortably, snug against the hollow in the center of Stede’s palm.

    He’s going to kiss Stede. Because it’s the only thing he can do. Because to do anything else might kill him. There’s this moment, with the ocean and the sky and the stars in a riot around them, when Ed really thinks it’s going to happen.

    And Stede leans back.

    So, Ed leans back.

    And then there’s another moment, a shuffle, scramble, mumble of a thing. Putting the space back between them. Ed’s pretty sure he claps Stede on the shoulder at one point, but he can only guess that from the lingering warmth on his fingers and the panic-black hole in his memory.

    This is where he slinks off to lick his wounds. This is where Stede decides whether he’s going to run screaming for the hills or if he’s just going to come back the next day with firmer boundaries. 

    Except, when was the last time that Stede fucking Bonnet did anything according to expectation? Ed hasn’t even had his first taste of self-pity, is just beginning to glance over his shoulder to steal a final look, when he catches Stede’s eye.

    And then. They just. Stand there. There’s a gleaming white thread tied in the air between them. It’s the thing that pulled Ed in before and it still isn’t gone. Stede’s just standing there, the starlight caught in his crows feet and the feathery ends of his hair. He’s smiling and looking right into the center of Ed (and then clear through to the other side, owing to the recently-acquired hole).

    Stede smiles, and nods one last time, and then finally turns back toward his quarters.

    And Ed is left standing there. He’s waiting for the icy, creeping dread to arrive. For the self-pity and the panic and the surety that he’s gone and blown a cannon-shot through the center of every good thing. And it doesn’t come.

    The wind is glancing over the hole in his chest, setting his body singing like the lip of a wine bottle. Somewhere far outside of himself, Ed feels his heart constrict with the grasp of someone else’s hands.

    He rubs a palm over the place in his chest where his heart used to be.

    In that empty space, there’s a tiny, wavering flame, just brought to life. Set there by his soulmate.

    And just like that, he knows. Ed’s still reeling from all the revelations tonight, and it’s about time he let Stede in on one or two of the things he knows. Like the fact that they’re soulmates, for a start.

    View Full
  • bluejayblueskies
    28.05.2022 - 21 minutes ago

    flying internationally by myself for the first time and i'm being sooo brave about it 😰🫠

    #i haaate flying it's so uncomfy and inconvenient :/ #hrggg also v nervous for when i land bc i will have 0 help figuring out how to get to where i am staying #on the bright side i have downloaded 20 fics to my phone :) (and discovered that ao3 can download to epub which is 😩👌) #personal
    View Full
  • demonlovingangel
    28.05.2022 - 22 minutes ago

    The Devils' Plaything - Midnight Hunger

    the first in a series of poly smut, starting with Beelzebub because he's my boy, my light, my life, my beloved

    posted on AO3 as well, if you prefer that format

    AFAB gender neutral reader named Yuki

    anyway it's NSFW, explicit, 18+, lemons, smut, pwp, minors DNI, etc.

    You can't take it anymore. It's late into the night and you have classes in the morning but you can't sleep. You can't get the seven demon brothers out of your head and it's driving you insane. Insane and completely horny.

    You huff and splay out on your bed, kicking the covers off of you in frustration. You want so badly to sleep, but your equally intense desire to get your holes filled by any of the demons you live with is stopping that from happening. You tried rubbing it out already but that's no good, just as soon as you finish yourself off with a fantasy of one of them, you start thinking about another one and you're doing it again. It's just not the same. No matter how much you squeeze your breast and tweak your nipples and rub your clit and finger your hole, it's just not the same. You need to be pounded so bad. You need to be held down by Lucifer, or Beelzebub, or any of them, and fucked silly. You need to feel your pussy stuffed full and your body shaking and, God, you can't take it.

    You practically throw yourself out of bed, snarling as you leave your bedroom to, well, you're not really sure. Maybe just walking around the massive structure that is the House of Lamentation will tire you out, and sleep will win over your hyperactive sex drive. You let your legs take you through the hall until you end up in the kitchen.

    Unsurprisingly, Beelzebub is in there already. He turns to you when he hears you walk in, refrigerator doors open with one of his hands holding a box of popsicles, the other holding a single one that's already unwrapped. “Oh, hey Yuki. Got hungry too, huh?”

    You shake your head. “I can't sleep.”

    He hums in understanding, eating the entire popsicle in one bite. The stick comes out of his mouth missing a chunk.

    You look at the box in his hand, and it's the kind that you like but haven't gotten to yet. You were waiting until the right moment to eat one, so you could savor it, but you realize now that living with Beelzebub and saving unmarked food for later is a one way ticket to disappointment. It's now or never. “Can I get one of those?”

    He nods, another one of them already in his mouth, then pulls the last one out of the box before tossing it aside. He kindly unwraps the frozen treat before handing it over.

    You thank him and eagerly put the half melted popsicle to your mouth, only for it to immediately crumble between your lips and down onto your cleavage. You yelp at the sudden cold on your skin while at the same time reflexively bringing up your other hand to try to catch the wayward pieces, but, –

    – Beelzebub is there first. His head is practically between your breasts, his mouth open to catch the bits that didn't want to stay on the stick. His tongue trails a line up your chest where the popsicle touched and it sends a shock through your body straight to your core. A moan involuntarily escapes your mouth at the much wanted skin contact and your face burns red.

    His head tilts back to look you in the eyes, but you look away and hope he was too occupied with capturing the escaped treat that he didn't notice. Then, he leans close to your face and licks your bottom lip.

    “Got it all.” He says with a triumphant tone to his voice as he pulls back.

    You turn to look at him now, mouth agape and eyes wide. You already figured he's not the brightest of the bunch, but surely he realizes what he did? What that noise you just made was?

    “Yuki?” He asks quietly, head tilting to the side. You can practically see the little spinning wheel over his head as he processes what just happened. “Ah,” He says finally. “Sorry.”

    “Uh...” You lick your lips, tasting his saliva mixed with the lingering flavor of the popsicle. “It's okay.”

    He's looking you straight in the eye with a soft expression on his face, his lips parted to match your still gaping mouth. You would have thought he would have gone back to raiding the fridge by now, if you weren't already thinking about how attractive he is. Thinking about how bad you want to feel his tongue on your skin again. Thinking about his bulging muscles pressing against your body. Thinking about how uncomfortably hot your panties and sleep shorts are all of a sudden. You can't stop thinking about how this is your perfect chance to get exactly what your body has been so badly yearning for this whole night.

    “I think, uh,” You start, swallowing to quell the dryness in your throat. “I think you missed a spot.”

    “Oh, did I?” He asks, breaking eye contact to gaze down your tank top and into your cleavage for any remaining popsicle pieces.

    Before he can realize there's nothing else there, you snap through any self control holding you back and take just one step closer, all you need to feel the heat of his body against yours. You stand on the tips of your toes and place your hands on his shoulders for leverage to plant a kiss on his lips.

    He pulls his head away for a moment and you wonder if you went too far. The two of you have gotten close, but did you misinterpret your connection? Your fingers dig into his shoulders with worry, only for it to be met with his hands grabbing you by the hips.

    “Here.” He picks you up and runs his hands down your butt and to the back of your thighs, pushing your legs around him. “Now you don't have to strain so much.”

    Overcome with relief, you wrap your arms around his neck and lean in for another kiss. He meets you halfway while wrapping his forearm under your rear to give you better support, the other hand pressing into the curve of your back. A moan rises up and out of your mouth, finally getting the itch deep inside scratched. But it isn't nearly enough to satisfy your lust.

    “I want you, Beel...” You whine, pressing your body to his as much as you can, your fingers digging into his upper back.

    “What do you want?” His head tilts to one side, eyes only looking into yours for a moment before they drift downwards to gaze at your lips.

    “I want you inside of me.” You bite your lip, face flushing as the blood rushes to your head at finally admitting your desires. “I want you to fuck me so bad. I'm so horny.”

    He grunts and without another moments hesitation he presses his lips to yours again, pushing past them with his tongue. The fingers of the hand holding you up are digging into your ass and his arms are squeezing you tightly against his body, allowing you to feel the erection budding in his sweatpants. His tongue is tasting every inch of your mouth and you lean in as much as you can to encourage him as you do the same to him. You move one hand up his neck to ball a fist into his messy orange hair, making him growl into your mouth. His dick is getting harder and you roll your hips into him to the best of your ability, desperate to feel it against your clit.

    You pull away from the kiss to gasp for air and his hands move to grip your thighs, prying you off of him. He leans forward so he can gently set you back down onto your feet before his hands find their way up your shirt. He pushes your shirt over your chest while he lightly runs his palms up your body, causing electricity to radiate across your skin. His hands are kneading your now naked breasts, mouth nipping and kissing at your neck. You tilt your head forward and to the side to give him a better angle, and you can see the way his pants are barely keeping him contained at his point. You reach out to grab his shaft over the fabric, and he's rock hard. He's huge, he has enough girth that you're not even close to being able to wrap your whole hand around it. You start stroking his cock and bite your lip to keep in any moans he's trying to coax out of you with the way he's working your neck.

    He lets out a deep moan against your skin when you squeeze him tighter, stroking him nice and slow. Almost as a form of repayment, he quickly moves one of his hands off your chest and into your panties, sliding a thick middle finger in between your folds and over your clit. “Wow, you're so wet.”

    You moan into his ear as a response, unable to form coherent sentences with how good his finger feels sliding against the length of your slit. He rubs the thumb of his hand still on your breast against your nipple, flicking it as his thumb goes side to side. His pointer and ring finger on the hand between your legs close in to press your labia between them and his middle finger as he rubs his hand back and forth. You dig your fingers into his forearm, more stimulation and pleasure than you're used to flooding your senses. “Beel...” You mewl.

    “Is it good?” His lips brush against your ear as he speaks slowly into it, his voice lower than usual.

    “Ye-yeah...” You answer with a slow, deep exhale as he pushes one of his fingers inside of you.

    “How about that?”

    You can only moan and press your forehead into his shoulder in answer as he slowly works his finger in and out of you, pressing and rubbing his fingertip across your g-spot. “More... please...”

    He slides another finger into you in response, encountering no resistance with how soaking wet your pussy is. Wanting to return the favor, you move your hand into the band of his sweatpants and boxers to free his cock. The sheer weight of it is keeping it pointed downward despite being fully erect. He's uncut with a bit of a swell near the head, a thick vein showing through there and a flush of red at the tip. You would almost want to get down on your knees to give it a good taste if you didn't so desperately need him buried all the way into your cunt. You put your hand around him again, relishing the soft skin of his cock as you go back to stroking him, pulling his skin back enough to reveal the red and swollen tip.

    His fingers pump into you harder and he squeezes your boob, his teeth pressing into your neck. You can just feel the tension in his jaw as he fights the urge to take a bite out of you, tasty human that you are. You move your hand up his arm to his face so you can caress his cheek, hoping to soothe him and push his focus further into the moment as you beg into his ear. “Fuck me...” You bite his earlobe, giving it a tug. “Please...”

    Then, he pulls away from your neck and removes his hand from between your legs. He sucks your juices off of his fingers while his other hand moves to your lower back, his other one joining it as soon as he's done licking it clean. In one swift motion he moves his hands into your panties and pushes them down to your knees. At the same time he pulls you closer and picks you up, gravity doing the rest of the work in removing your bottoms entirely. Your arms and legs are wrapped around him again, his one arm under you to hold you up while the other hand reaches for his cock. The head of his cock rubs against the length of your slit as he pulls it up between the both of you.

    He holds you tightly with one arm, his shaft pressed between your bellies while the other shoves his bottoms the rest of the way down so he can step out of them. His hands grip your hips, so tightly it almost hurts, and he pulls you away from him slightly, his shaft sliding down between the two of you.

    “Help me out here.” He says, gesturing downwards with a jerk of his head.

    Immediately understanding his meaning, you move a hand down his chest to grab around the base of his cock to hold it still. With a bit of silent coordination, you angle his dick just right for him to pull you down on top of him. He slides into you with ease and without hesitation, coaxing a moan out of you. You've been so tense and Beelzebub filling you up, stretching your walls around his huge cock, is exactly what you've been yearning for. He savors your warmth for only the briefest moment before he lifts you up and brings you back down again, repeating it again and again. He moves his own body with the motions, thrusting into you at the same time as he pulls you down onto his cock. There's a tinge of an intensity, something between aching pain and over-stimulation, as he enters you up to the hilt, driving into the sensitive area deep inside.

    “Beel...! Yes...!” You cry out between thrusts, moving your hand back up to his shoulders to hang onto him for dear life. Each slap of his hips against yours sends shocks through your legs, tense from squeezing around his waist, and you're already unsure if you can keep yourself up much longer. You hook your feet together and cling tightly around his neck, never wanting this moment to end, never wanting him to stop.

    He lets go of your hips and holds you up with one arm again, his other hand following the length of your spine up to your head to grab onto your hair. He lightly tugs to pull your face out of the crook of his neck and immediately goes in for a kiss, hot and intense with the way he presses his face so desperately against yours. The rocking of his body slows and it's almost agonizing, the rhythmic pounding that lights up your nerves with each thrust turns into long strokes, the finer textures of his cock able to be felt as he pulls away slowly and pushes back in again. You whine against his lips, unable to pull yourself away to truly protest, to beg him to bounce you on his cock, to plead to be his own personal fuck toy.

    At last your lips part in a gasp for air and he squeezes you tightly, pushing his dick right into the deepest parts of you. You moan at the sensation and he loosens his grip just enough to be comfortable, stopping the movement of his hips. You don't get the chance to ask why he's stopped as he carries you across the kitchen to the nearest raised surface. Beelzebub sets you down on the edge of a counter, placing his hands on it just behind you and on either side of your hips, his cock remaining inside of you the entire time.

    He resumes the motion of his hips and his breath is getting heavy, finally feeling the strain of vigorously fucking you while holding you up. You lean back on the counter, shifting your weight to your hands as you take in the sight before you. Beelzebub's skin is glistening with sweat in the dim lighting of the kitchen, the thin fabric of his tank top sticking to his chest to emphasize the shape of his muscles, the soft ripples of his abdominal and the smooth swell of his pectoral. Strands of his red hair stick to his brow and the sides of his face, his head tilting forward with his mouth agape and eyes fixed between your legs, watching as he fucks you. You follow his gaze to find that the size of his cock at this angle is enough to make a bulge in your stomach when he pushes all the way into your pussy.

    “Oh, wow.” You gasp, placing one of your hands over the area and feel the way your stomach shifts to the movement of his cock. You press lightly and your skin tingles more intensely when he slides in, pressing your flesh between him and your hand. You bite your lip as you feel your climax closing in and as much as you don't want this moment to end, you would much rather make the most of it. You move your hand down from your stomach to your clit, feeling how engorged it is with a swirl of your fingertips before you start to rub.

    “Yuki...” He lets out with a moan, leaning in closer for a kiss. Your lips move together as his hands pull back from the counter, caressing your sides along their way to your front. He presses his palms into the underside of your thighs, fingers digging in as he lifts your legs up over his shoulders. You shift your weight onto your forearm while he moves as close to your body as the counter will allow, practically folding you in half. His hands are back behind you on the counter to hold himself up while his dick presses firmly into the tender area deep inside of you.

    He's panting for breath as the pace of his thrusting picks up, pounding his cock directly into your most sensitive spot while you fervently rub your clit. You're teetering on a precipice, feeling certain you're going to fall into the waves of pleasure every time his hips slap against yours while he drives balls deep into you, only for you to be rocked away from the intensity when he pulls back. It feels so good you can't help the quiet whimpers that leave your lips until, finally, he pushes into you and it pushes you over the edge. He doesn't stop and you're crying out with each thrust, your legs twitching and muscles going into a spasm with the intense shock-waves radiating out from your core. Your climax is messy, your juices spurting out and slicking both of your bellies, but that doesn't stop you from rubbing your clit or stop him from pounding your pussy, chasing the high.

    It doesn't take much more for him to follow, the feeling of your pussy squeezing and quivering around his cock bringing him to orgasm that much faster. He starts to gasp for breath as his climax reaches him, his hips slowing down to a stop to bury himself all the way into your pussy. His breath is hot against your skin and you can feel his cock throb inside of you with each pump of his cum.

    “Oh, Beel...” You breathe, leaning your head forward to rest on his shoulder. He rubs his head against yours before resting against it in return.

    “That was good...”

    “Yeah...” You barely manage to say, feeling dazed.

    You wrap your arms loosely around him, just to feel him, just to savor the connection the two of you are sharing in this moment, and he brings his arms in closer around you. The two of you stay like that in the comfort of each others presence while you catch your breaths and recover. Up until a deep and powerful rumble cuts through the silence.

    “I'm really hungry now.” He says, standing up straight with a hand on his stomach.

    You can't help laughing, having almost forgotten the kind of demon he is. Typical Beelzebub.

    “I don't see what's so funny.” He frowns.

    “It's nothing, don't worry.” You reassure him as you lower feet down to the floor. Soreness is starting to set in and your legs are tingling like crazy, almost going numb. The now wet floor beneath you is no help to you keeping your balance either, and you lose your footing. You're sure you would have keeled over, if Beelzebub hadn't been there to catch you. Your face ends up pressed against his chest and you're gripping onto his arms for dear life.


    “Yeah, thanks.” You blush, more out of embarrassment than anything. What if you had gotten hurt? What are you going to tell Lucifer? 'I slipped and fell on my own cum after your second youngest brother fucked me silly on the kitchen counter?' Nah-uh. You find your footing more carefully this time in order to stand on your own, glancing around the room. “What a mess...”

    Sweatpants and sleep shorts, along with the undergarments they once hid beneath them, are strewn on the floor and there's a mixed puddle of cum dripping down the counter you were just sitting on. That's to say nothing of the mess Beelzebub had made before you came in while he was eating everything he could find out of the refrigerator. Your better sense is returning and you wonder if fucking right then and there in the kitchen was the best idea. If anything, your desire to sleep is now winning over like you hoped, but you fear the consequences if this isn't cleaned up.

    “Yeah.” He chuckles. “Did you enjoy it?”

    You groan, thinking more about how you really don't want to clean up this mess right now and to just go to bed when you know you can't. But goddammit, you do have to admit that it was amazing. “Yeah, I did.”

    “I'm glad.” He says quietly, pulling you closer to him since you never left his arms. You turn your head to look at him and he's gazing down at you with a soft smile. It makes your heart flutter and you melt into his arms, resting your head on his chest.

    “I'm so tired, I want to go to bed.” You mumble. “But if I don't clean this up Lucifer is going to be pissed.”

    “I can do it.” He says as he idly rubs your back.

    “Really?” You perk up, tilting your head to look him in the face. His gaze is sincere and intense, no ulterior motive hidden behind his violet eyes. He nods and you squeeze him tightly, overcome with relief. “You're the best, Beel! I'll buy an extra lunch just for you during school tomorrow.”

    You settle into bed after collecting your bottoms and taking a quick shower, eager to sleep as you slide comfortably under the covers, only to jerk up as you curse to yourself, making a sudden realization. Beelzebub came inside you. You're not on any form of birth control andBeelzebub came inside you. In a panic, you grab your D.D.D to do a search to see if humans really can get pregnant from a demon. From stories you've heard when still in the human world, you're pretty sure they could. But maybe, just maybe, the truth was to the contrary and you'd be just- “Fuck!”

    There is a distinct possibility you could be having Beelzebub's baby.

    While you're busying yourself with your D.D.D to calm down, your period tracker app notifies you of your period coming up. At least you don't have to wait long to find out, and you spend the next few days worrying.

    Thankfully, he didn't take.

    You're not even sure if you'd be having sex with Beelzebub again or if that was some sort of fluke, but you make a mental note to make him pull out the next time.

    #obey me! #obey me fanfic #beelzebub x reader #beelzebub #beelzebub x mc #beelzebub x you #obey me beelzebub #obey me beelzebub x reader #obey me beelzebub x mc #obey me beelzebub x you #smut#my fics
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  • k-s-morgan
    28.05.2022 - 26 minutes ago

    I just wanted to tell you that I really love "What He Grows To Be"! I'm reading chapter 9 in small doses because I don't want it to end. When I started it I wasn't even sure I liked Tomarry that much, and now it's probably my favorite fanfic. I fell in love with your characterization of Tom and Harry, their relationship, the obsession, the devotion (chapter 8 completely destroyed me, it's my favorite). Sorry for this deranged love letter, english is not my first language

    Hey! This is an old ask, so I’m sorry for just getting to it just now! After the war began, I mentally separated my asks into “before” and “after.” Now I’m trying to catch up with both.

    Thank you so, so much for your feedback. I’m happy you enjoyed WHGTB, writing it has been a joy, and I’m still so pleasantly surprised that many people seemed to love it. I thought everyone grew tired of Harry-raising-Tom plot already, but I needed to write my own version anyway :D 

    I hope you enjoy the conclusion. Next week, I’m going to start working on the last chapter properly, and if I can find some less spoilery bits, I’ll post snippets.  

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  • mandelirious
    28.05.2022 - 32 minutes ago

    Brown Eyes

    modern din x reader; coffee shop au

    word count: 1.1k

    a/n: i am not immune to coffee shop aus 🙈 this is probably a part 1 since i have more ideas!! self indulgent fluff that came to me while i was making coffee this morning and frantically typed out unedited. hope you enjoy!! 💕

    A fight–bloody, brutal and sure to lead to someone’s death. It was all playing out before your eyes with perfect clarity. There was a well placed shot ringing through the air, a body falling, a scream of anguish, and then-


    Your head lifted from your laptop screen at the sound of your coworker’s voice and you were immediately pulled back into the real world. The universe you were writing was replaced by warm sunlight, light wood counters, and the ever-present hiss of a steam wand that seemed to be the soundtrack of your life. A bell sounded as the heavy front door was pushed open and you hopped off of your stool to take their order. The customer was one of your regulars, a sweet older lady that you tried not to blame for interrupting your already scarce writing time as you made her usual latte. Today was supposed to be your day off–your day for sleeping as late as you wanted and then writing until your hands cramped. Instead, you were back at work for the seventh day in a row because you were too damn nice to say no. Plus, you could use the extra money.

    The bell above the door rang again before you could finish the drink and your laptop sat sadly abandoned for the next hour as you found yourself in the middle of the lunch rush. Nevarro Coffee House was small, but it had no shortage of regulars and locals that didn’t mind paying just a bit more for good coffee. It was located around enough shops and offices to keep a steady stream of customers, although having a Starbucks a few blocks away ensured that you never got too busy. You worked routinely through the rush, writing forgotten in favor of pulling espresso shots and warming up enough pastries to feed a small army. Finally, the bell above the door quieted and the rush ended as quickly as it had begun. Taking advantage of the lull, you grabbed a rag and began to wipe down the counter, waving your coworker off to her break. The counters and espresso machine were covered in their usual smattering of coffee grounds, syrups, and sugar dumped haphazardly from the available packets. You wiped it all down, enjoying the silence of an empty shop until it was once again broken by the clang of the bell.  

    The door opened to another customer, one that was vaguely familiar to you as he’d been in a few times before. You smiled expectantly as he leaned against the counter, squinting at the menu on the wall above your head…for a while. It was a small menu–you didn’t offer too many variations–but he was staring at it like it held the secrets of the universe. 

    “Can’t decide?” You broke the silence and he blinked like he was coming out of a trance, eyes coming back to you a little unfocused. He looked exhausted. Dark circles stood out under soft brown eyes that he rubbed with the heel of his palm. 

    “I’m sorry. I’m a little tired.” He said in what had to be the understatement of the year. He smiled a small, self-deprecating smile and shrugged his broad shoulders. Dark, unruly curls framed his surprisingly handsome face as he tilted it up again to the menu board. He looked at it for only a beat before his eyes landed back on you. “Actually, just give me anything. I need the caffeine.”

    You raised an eyebrow at him. In your experience, people were very particular with their coffee. You’d been yelled at even when you’d followed customers' extremely specific customizations, so making something with no direction was new for you. “You sure? I don’t want to steer you wrong.”

    He shrugged again, waving off your concern. “Go for it, I trust you.”

    Emboldened by this stranger’s unusual faith in you, you got to work. “Do you like it sweet?” You ducked into one of the cabinets, grabbing your favorite Colombian light roast and measuring out the grounds.

    “I like it strong.” He was smiling again when you glanced over. One of his elbows was on the counter and he was watching you, curiosity in his tired eyes. 

    “Good answer.” You tried not to get distracted by the feeling of his gaze on you. People watched you make their coffee every day, but this felt strangely intimate. Maybe it was because there was no one else in the shop, or because this man had come in looking like he had just rolled out of bed with his sleep-tousled hair and was watching you like you were the most interesting thing in the world. 

    An Americano seemed to fit him. Strong, smooth, and simple with a sprinkle of cinnamon on top to give it depth. He took a sip as soon as you slid it over to him, looking back up to you with surprise. “That’s actually…very good.” 

    You grinned, more pleased at his words than you should have been. When he pulled out his wallet, you waved him away. “It’s on the house. You look like you need it.”

    His face softened, looking genuinely touched for a moment before he pulled out a bill worth more than coffee and dropped it in the tip jar with a timid, “Thank you.” He was at the front of the shop before he turned around again, one hand on the door. “Does this drink have a name?”

    “It’s just an Americano with cinnamon,” you answered, a little proud that you’d made something he’d want to order again.

    He looked a little disappointed and glanced from his cup back to you. “Can we give it a name?”

    Laughing in spite of yourself, you shook your head. “No one but me will know what it means if we do that.” 

    “Then I guess I’ll just have to come back for you.” He said it was such a nervous, endearing smile that you couldn’t help the zing of excitement that ran through you. This was going to be dangerous.

    He was still watching you, unsure but holding your eyes as you grinned and said the first thing that came to your mind. “Brown Eyes. We can call it Brown Eyes.”

    You got only a glimpse of his smile and blushing cheeks before he ducked his head in a nod and pushed open the door. Maybe working extra shifts wasn’t so bad.

    #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #my fics
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  • eclipseyeger
    28.05.2022 - 35 minutes ago

    a sith shakes a jedi down for a password to something and when they open the thing a home alone trap boxing glove pops out at them 

    #idek #i have weird fic ideas but this is pushing it but i love it anyway #take a tip from jack frost and fight  fear with absurdity i guess #my suff
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  • the-final-sif
    28.05.2022 - 36 minutes ago

    In other news, run to the rising sun update and it gives me so many Brain Worms.

    #sif speaks #it's one of my fav dreamon fics #also really good discduo
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  • alxalb
    28.05.2022 - 38 minutes ago

    mahonia + sage :3

    mahonia ⇢ what place, thing, activity inspires you most and how do you express yourself when it does?

    im trying not to think about work or producing Things right now so im going to talk about inspiration in like a ...holistic..spiritual sense.....

    20 minutes away from my place there is a baháʼí temple right by a lake beach. on the outside it's absolutely gorgeous and has baha'i tenets written on the sides, and on the inside it's super intricate and quiet and you can just sit to worship or think. i'm not of the baha'i faith (although i do like a lot of of their beliefs, i'm just not religious) but i find the temple very restorative to visit and it makes my mind feel refreshed. the beach nearby is also really nice to sit by and let the waves come. :-)

    sage ⇢ what ‘medium’ of art (poetry, music, fiction, paintings, statues etc.) is the most touching to you? why do you think that is?

    wtf that's SO hard because all of them move me for different reasons. i think because i engage with music the most, it touches me the most. i think i'd rank them (1) music, (2) poetry, (3) films/fiction (4) statues, (5) paintings, but it's all really close.....

    i do think bc music is both like a mental and sensory experience it gets to me the most and i listen to it ALL the time it just affects me more. like im someone who focuses on lyrics from the first listen so i guess the seeds get planted early. also sometimes i make it a blorbo moment

    flower asks :3

    #thank u bestiekin #andy tag#ask games #also if im being honst f1 inspires a lot of art/fic in me not that i actually produce it #bro listening to music when i was in my 'kendall roy literally came out of me via mitosis' was a fucking trip
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  • euphoricfez
    28.05.2022 - 39 minutes ago

    I wrote this in like an hour I was just thinking about fexi being on the phone and lexi sounding “off” so fez drives to her house just to hug her. thats all this really is lmfao

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  • savemefromanepicoftimewasted
    28.05.2022 - 40 minutes ago

    Not Like This Pt. 2

    Jake Lockley X Reader Slight Marc Spector X Reader, Steven Grant X Reader Except she needed him more than anything right now, and he was refusing to come back out, to talk to her like an adult. a/n:this is a part two to this fic right here! thank you to everyone who gave feedback! it is much appreciated and I hope you like part two as much as i liked writing it! if you're interested in a part three let me know! Italics are Steven Bold is Marc also huge shoutout to @gaylemonshark, @mentalfictionleftmyassbehind, and @itstartswithhelloo for helping me not only start writing, but finish this fic

    Jake was still in shock, even nearly two and a half months later, her belly sticking out farther almost everyday as she grew their child in her body. The doctor's visits weren’t exactly easy, either Marc or Steven fronting before Jake could get any say. This wasn’t even their kid, why were they so worried about what was going on? Y/N assured him almost daily that things were fine, and the doctor said the baby was growing at a healthy rate.

    It still didn’t settle his nerves, though he’d never admit it to her, let alone let her know he’d sometimes let Steven front when his emotions ran too hot. It was easier to lie than tell anyone the truth.

    Jake was terrified he’d be a bad father, that he’d let Y/N down and end up leaving when she needed him the most. So he’d revert back into his mind, letting the other two front while he caught his bearings. There were times he’d be gone for days at a time, refusing to speak to anyone. Y/N knew Jake needed the space, that he was just as nervous as she was about becoming a parent. 

    Except she needed him more than anything right now, and he was refusing to come back out, to talk to her like an adult.

    “Y/N, you don’t need to do all of that darling, I’ll get to it in a minute,” Steven was helping put the crib together. Claiming that he was the better of the trio to ask for anything handy.

    Y/N of course didn’t believe him for a second, raising a brow before handing him a screwdriver and plopping down on the couch. Marc had brought up the option of moving in together, claiming they would need a better space to raise a baby in, rather than Steven’s small apartment. She jumped at the chance, ready to be closer to Jake, and the two other altars she’d met not so long ago.

    “The baby keeps moving, I can feel it,” She smiled softly, resting a hand on the lower part of her belly, frowning at the small stretch marks that covered the skin.

    All three men adored her belly, no matter how she looked with, or without a shirt to cover the bump. It was simply another part of her to love, which they showed nothing but adoration for everyday they could.

    “That’s probably cause they hear you talkin’, know it’s their mom,” Steven never shied away from talking about the baby, not the way both Marc and Jake did.

    “I think it’s because they can hear you, little baby hears four different voices and keeps trying to figure out whose who,” Y/N giggled, rubbing her hands all over the bump, feeling the light flutter as the baby moved around.

    “That could be true, lord knows you are always asking me to read to ‘em, begging me practically,” Steven let out a small cheer as he screwed together the base of the crib to the legs.

    The nursery was slowly coming together, the walls already painted with a mural that represented everyone. Jake was the one who’d insisted on it, claiming it was more so for the baby than him. Y/N just patted his cheek and moved on, not wanting to cause a fuss over something Jake seemed truly happy about.

    “Darling?” Steven looked almost nervous, hands gripping the crib tighter as he glanced over at Y/N.

    She raised a brow at him, waiting for him to ask whatever question seemed to suddenly be burning through him.

    “Jake’s going to be fronting tonight, Khonshu has a job and he needs him for it. He’s asking for you not to worry, and that he’ll be back before you know it,” There it was, something she’d been waiting to hear for the last few weeks.

    “That’s fine, Steven, I’ll make sure to lock the door when he leaves tonight,” It was a ritual they’d had before she’d met the other two.

    Whenever he left her home she was to immediately lock the door, no matter how badly she wanted Jake to come back home, she had to lock the doors and go back to sleep. It’d saved her life a few times, Jake catching some of Harrow’s disciples before they could sneak into the apartment building.

    It was starting to bother her though, the way Jake was talking through either Steven, or Marc instead of speaking directly to her. Had she done something wrong? Had Jake finally realized he wasn’t ready to be a parent and was finding his excuse to leave?

    “Hey, Steven?” Y/N took a slow breath, gaining the courage to ask the question that had been burning through her mind.

    Steven looked over at her, eyes wide and curious as if he was waiting to hear something besides what Y/N had in mind.

    “If you could, could you find out if Jake’s planning to leave? That way I know I have to take care of this baby on my own? I mean, it’s not like he’s being very subtle right now,” She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

    Steven’s face screwed up into an expression she couldn’t quite decipher before his eyes rolled back, mouth pulling down into a tight line.

    “Is that what you think of me? That I’m going to leave when things get tough between us?” Jake scoffed, grabbing his coat from the rack that lined the wall beside the front door.

    “You haven’t spoken to me in weeks! What else am I supposed to think when the man I love is suddenly ignoring me?” Tears were building up in her eyes, falling down her cheeks before she could stop them.

    Jake wanted to ignore her, to prove to her that things were perfectly fine. Why was she worrying so much about what he did? This wasn’t something new for them, Jake had a job to do, and god dammit he wasn’t about to let anything ruin this for him.

    “Answer me!” She stared at him, waiting with baited breath.

    “You’re being dramatic, lock the door when I leave,” Jake didn’t spare a glance behind him before storming out, the door slamming behind him harshly.

    Y/N angrily stomped over to the door, locking both the deadbolt, and the door lock before going back to the couch. Her emotions were running wild, how could Jake be so selfish and then have the nerve to claim she was being dramatic? It was a valid reason to be upset, so why the hell was Jake being such an idiot?

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~Jake had been walking around for nearly two hours, the sun slowly creeping over the horizon as he stopped to take in a deep breath. The job Khonshu had sent him on was easy, much easier than he’d been expecting considering his line of work. So when it came time to head back to the apartment, he refused, digging his heels in and walking around the quiet streets instead.

    Seriously, Jake, you’re acting like a total dick right now, she has every right to question your motives when you refuse to step up and talk to her like an adult.Marc's right, Y/N’s been worried sick for weeks, it’s not healthy for either of them to be dealing with that much stress.Jake rolled his eyes, ignoring the other two that were trying to tell him how to feel, he would deal with things on his own time.

    If you don’t tell her what’s going on, then I will, or would you rather Steven tell her that you’re nearly ready to walk out on her?“Shut the fuck up! She doesn’t need to know what’s going on right now!” Jake couldn’t control his emotions, tensions had been running high for a while, and right now he was about to blow a fuse.

    Tell me I’m wrong and I won’t say anything to her. She’s having our daughter, Jake, Y/N deserves better than to be left in the dark.“You don’t think I know that? We’ve discussed having kids before, but neither of us were ready for it to be right now. So excuse me for being fucking nervous,” The sun was now beaming down on Jake, heat slowly sinking into his skin as he stopped in front of what looked like a book store.

    You can be nervous Jake, but don’t push her away because you refuse to talk things through like an adult. Marc and I have been helping her do things that should have been you, I’m pretty sure her doctor knew it was me at the last appointment.

    They’d both found out the gender of the baby. A little girl that was growing perfectly fine, Jake could already tell she’d had Y/N’s nose. Except Jake had been playing backseat driver while Steven went to the appointment, using the excuse of being exhausted from a recent trip. Y/N hadn’t believed him for a second, instead hiding the pain in her eyes with a smile. 

    Steven could always tell when she was upset, call it a sixth sense or whatever, but he was in tune with everything she felt. He’d mention it to Marc when he noticed she was feeling more upset than normal. It could’ve been due to the hormones, sure, but Steven wasn’t going to make her deal with any of this alone.

    “It doesn’t matter if the doctor knew, they’re gonna think I’m some piece of shit anyway,” Jake muttered under his breath before turning and heading into the book store.

    The person manning the register paid him no mind.

    Maybe he could find a book to read for the baby, he’d been doing it when Y/N was asleep, always making sure she wouldn’t wake up before reaching over to his bedside and grabbing one of his personal books.

    Steven had offered some space in the book shelves that lined the walls, but Jake always claimed he had no use for them, that he barely read as it was. 

    “Excuse me? Do you have any children’s books?” Jake was almost nervous to see how small the section was, most small shops didn’t have enough for him to choose from anyway.

    “We do, it’s right through that doorway, should be pretty easy to find,” They hadn’t even bothered to turn around, still stacking books carefully, and yet carelessly in the same moment.

    Instead of responding Jake walked over to where they’d said, jaw dropping open at the wide selection of different books. There were bedtime stories, books he’d read as a kid. Well, that Marc had read as a kid. Hell there were even books about Egyptology that were for kids.

    Without thinking too hard, Jake grabbed a few books, snagging the last Egyptology book and heading over to the register. He laid them down on the counter as the cashier turned to face him, the kid looked barely eighteen, bags under his eyes almost as dark as Jakes.

    “You’re gonna make some kid very happy mister,” The kid was smiling, ringing up each book and setting them into a plastic bag.

    “They’re for my daughter, I’ve been meaning to read more to her and I thought why not start now,” Jake smiled at the kid, trying to seem more friendly than he tended to be.

    “That’s really awesome, I kinda wish my parents had been able to read to me more as a kid, but they did what they could,” The kid cleared his throat, telling Jake the total. 

    Jake reached for his wallet, handing him enough cash to cover the total, and leave a decent tip in the glass jar that sat beside his now-bagged books. He looked floored when Jake dropped two twenty’s into the jar, as if no one else bothered to tip. Books were a chance to escape reality, why not give where it helps?

    “Have a nice day kid, try not to get into trouble,” Jake wasn’t sure why he’d said it, he didn’t know who he was so why did it matter.

    He smiled almost nervously, wringing his hands together for a moment before sliding the bag over to Jake, nodding slowly. “Thanks, I’ll be here all day anyway,” Jake glanced down at the nametag pinned to his shirt.


    An easy name to remember. He’d have to swing by later on and get a few more books when he had the time. Well, if he wasn’t thrown in the dog house til the baby got here at least.

    Just go back to the apartment and apologize, and don’t half ass it either, she deserves a true apology.

    Marc’s right, she’s probably been up all night waiting for you to get home. The last thing any of us need is to be put in the doghouse. 

    “Yeah, I know,” Jake couldn’t stop thinking about the ring he'd hidden away. 

    He’d originally bought it after their six month anniversary. He knew deep down that Y/N was the woman he wanted to marry, but with Marc still being married to Layla he couldn’t do that. And now with him being an absolute dumbass, he couldn’t very well propose yet.

    You can propose to her, Jake, I’m sure she’d say yes even after you guys had a fight, lord knows I pissed off Layla more times than I could count and she still said yes.

    “That is not the same Marc, Y/N deserves better than anything I’ve ever given her,” Jake said, turning onto their street.

    The other houses, and apartments were quiet in the early morning, nothing but the sounds of birds, and distant cars could be heard. What if they got a cat together? Could that be something fun? Or would one of the other two reject the idea before it could even form?

    Personally I’d love a cat, but I don’t know how much change Y/N could handle right now.

    She’d be fine, hell all she’s been talking about lately are her friend's cat that just had kittens. Maybe we can reach out and see if we can adopt one of them?

    It wasn’t a terrible idea, she trusted her friend and knew the kittens would be in good health if they were to adopt one.

    “Aren’t they planning the baby shower too? With her other friend, whatshername?” Jake knew he wasn’t going to impress Y/N’s friends, not when he constantly forgot their names.

    Lala, and Kaitlyn, we’ve told you this nearly five times already. It’s supposed to be a surprise though so don’t say anything.

    Jake nodded to himself, mainly letting Steven know that he wouldn’t tell Y/N what was going on behind the scenes. Maybe he could propose then, slip the ring onto her finger without her noticing.

    After getting his keys out, and unlocking both the deadbolt and the door lock, Jake stepped inside the apartment. Y/N was curled up on the couch asleep, arms wrapped around the stuffed Tarewet Steven had bought for the baby. 

    Well, I guess your apology will have to wait, if you wake her up you’re insane.

    Marc’s right, she’s going to need all the sleep she can get. The doctor mentioned at her last appointment that rest is best for her and the baby.

    “Don’t worry, I don’t plan on waking the pregnant woman,” Jake whispered, setting down the bag of books onto the coffee table.

    Y/N hadn’t even stirred, breathing even and relaxed as she clutched the stuffed hippo tighter. Jake couldn’t stop the smile from spreading over his face, this was the woman he loved, the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

    Without thinking about it too much, Jake grabbed one of the books out of the bag, kneeling down beside Y/N and beginning to read to her belly. They’d picked out her name the same day they found out what they were having. Arya Rose Lockley. Or Spector, or even Grant depending on who was fronting. Though realistically they’d have to take Marc’s last name, he was the true owner of the body.

    They’d always be Jake's daughter first and foremost, Arya Lockley had a nice ring to it too, along with Y/N Lockley.

    “No puedo esperar para conocerte, tu madre y yo hemos estado esperando tanto tiempo.” Jake would do anything for his two babies, promising them each the world.

    Had Jake lifted his head, he would’ve known that Y/N was awake, eyes glowing with happiness as she watched the father of her daughter read to them in Spanish. Jake had mentioned teaching them Spanish, while Steven would teach them French. 

    “I hope she gets your curls, she’ll look so cute,” Jake’s head whipped up, staring back at Y/N who was still watching him lovingly.

    He opened his mouth to apologize, to tell her how sorry he was for everything he’d said, and that none of it was true.

    “I already forgave you, Jake, why don’t we get into bed so you can talk to Arya there?” Y/N didn’t give him a second to think about it before she was pushing herself off the couch.

    Jake held her lower back as they walked to the bedroom, almost afraid something would happen to her. Y/N crawled into the bed first, laying on her side with a hand pressed against her belly. Jake grabbed some comfy clothes, changing quickly and tossing his other clothes near the laundry basket.

    “I’ll get to that later, now get your butt in this bed mister,” Y/N patted the space beside her, giggling when Jake all but threw himself into the bed.

    He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her flush to his chest as they cuddled. Marc, and Steven were asking for a brief minute of control to say hello. Jake refused, pressing kisses to Y/N’s cheeks, lips, and jaw. They could take control after he’d been truly forgiven by Y/N, until then he was going to make sure Y/N knew how much he loved her. tagging: @mentalfictionleftmyassbehind, @itstartswithhelloo @daddysfavoritesexkitten @darklingbrekksov @simonsbluee @gaylemonshark

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