#the seams are a mess but it feels nice to wear and It brings me gender euphoria and also looks fine from the outside

[trans-phone-eater]

It's finished!

(You can tell where I've sewn by looking at the seams with white thread)

To get an idea of how much I changed the original piece of clothing, the pants I used to make this skirt looked very similiar to these:

[stevieschrodinger]

Everything is going slowly foggy. The fear is fading. Eddie's vaguely aware that it's probably because he's dying. What was terrifying a couple of minutes ago, is only vaguely of interest now. An ephemeral pressure on the back of his brain. Present, yet easy to ignore.

All he can taste is his own blood, but it's not so bad. At least he can tell Dustin how much he loves him. And Steve's there. Steve Harrington. Who knew he would turn out to be such a great guy? So, yeah. It all feels alright.

Eddie feels sleepy, vaguely aware that he's, actually, probably dying.

He closes his eyes.

There's a strange sense of vertigo, strange enough that Eddie notices he's standing up before he notices that someone's kissing him. It's a soft press of lips. It's wonderful.

Eddie blinks his eyes open, and from an inch away, he's looking at Steve Harrington.

He's standing in a kitchen. it's nice. Eddie's clean; he's wearing sweats and a tee. Barefoot. The kitchen smells like coffee, and sun is shining in through the window.

Somewhere in the house, a child sequels; Eddie startles. "Steve?" He asks, carefully. "I mean...not that it isn't-"

The child comes barreling into the room. It's a little girl. She's wearing the smallest Dio shirt Eddie's ever seen. She throws herself at Eddie's legs, screaming "Papa!"

Eddie has no idea what his face is doing as he looks down at this little girl, but Steve is taking his hand, tugging it, Eddie looks up, "it happened again, didn't it? You forgot again?"

"I...what?"

Steve scoops up the little girl, throwing her over his shoulder, she squeals again, laughing like this is the best thing ever, "come on pumpkin patch, Papa's not feeling so hot today and auntie Robin's going to be here in two whole minutes."

He looks back to Eddie, mouthing 'just wait, okay?'

Eddie, at a loss, just nods.

He creeps to the doorway, watching, fascinated, as Steve Harrington fixes the little girls hair into pig tails. Helps her get her socks straight. Helps her tie the laces on her sneakers. Gets her back pack on her, "eat your carrot sticks today, okay Ronnie?"

'Ronnie,' Eddie mouths to himself.

Watches as Steve puts her little hand into Robin's, standing on the front porch. Robin looks different. Older. She's smartly dressed.

Steve whispers something to her, and she looks at Eddie. Smiles a sad smile. They leave.

Steve stands there for a moment, waves them off, then closes the door. He seems to steal himself, and then he turns and comes back to Eddie, "I have to go to work, but, come on, let me show you something."

Eddie follows Steve into an office, there's shit everywhere, "I don't come in here often, your mess drives me fucking batshit," Steve digs into a desk drawer, brings out a notebook. "I have no idea what's in here, I've never read it. Something about...what happened. You did die. You were oxygen deprived long enough to cause a brain injury, so sometimes you...forget everything. After the second time it happened, you started writing letters to yourself. So, yeah...you call it your instruction manual, I get it for you when this happens."

It takes Eddie what feels like a really fucking long time to process this, and he can't help but notice that Steve's eyes are wet, Eddie feels crushingly guilty about it.

"Okay so what do I...do?"

Steve shrugs, "read it, I guess. You add to it whenever anything important happens...Eddie...just, the bats, they did a number on you...when you, when you look at the scars, the first time, just, brace yourself, okay and...don't forget that I love you, no matter what, I love you."

And Steve just...leaves the house. Leaves Eddie in this absolute disaster of an office. Leaves him holding a notebook that's ratty and untidy and feels like it's bursting at the seams.

Eddie reads.

So, I'm going to try and keep this simple, but I'm you, from the past, and our dumb ass has fucking brain damage...

You're not going to fucking believe this...we bagged Steve Harrington...

Hold on to your hat big boy, but we got fucking published! And if you're reading this, then you are in for a treat, because it means you get to read our genius for the first time all over again...

Okay, so this one was a bad one, we initially, didn't react so well, so, here's what I was worried about, and I'll talk you through it...

So, I need you to not fuck this up for us, okay? So, this is the Steve Harrington play book. The man is romantic, buy flowers, do nice shit. I cannot stress this enough - just pick up your crap man, he hates it when the place is messy. Now, we have to get it right so here's everything I know, I'll start at the top and work down. He loves having his hair played with, and tugged, but not too hard, gentle but firm, there's a sweet spot. The neck, the whole thing is an erogenous zone, I really can't downplay the importance of the neck...

We bought a fucking house! Look at it! Just look at it! And Eddie does, because there's a Polaroid stuck to the page.

So, this might sound dumb, and I probably should have written to you sooner, but...Steve jizzed in a cup for Robs, and Nancy turkey basted it, you know. Anyway, the point is...Rob's pregnant. With our baby. And then me and Nance got drunk, like, to celebrate, and she got all sad that her and Robin weren't having a baby, stay with me, I know this is mad as shit, but Nancy wanted our kid and their kid to grow up together....

Look, I don't know if it's the stress of like, imminent fatherhood, but we've been forgetting a lot lately, so, here's the plan for when Rob's in labor, and everything you've talked to Steve about when it comes to being the stay at home parent, okay...

The next page is just a Polaroid, a little scrunched up face. A little pink potato swaddled in blankets, and underneath it says 'Ronnie Jamie Harrington'...

And the next page, another Polaroid, another scrunched up face, another little pink potato swaddled in blankets, and underneath it says 'Stephanie Edwina Wheeler'...

Steve comes home. He looks exhausted. Like, drained. And, worried and scared and pale and lots of other things Eddie can't even begin to imagine. Eddie holds his arms out and Steve practically throws himself into them, "how long does it take, for me to get back to normal?"

Steve shrugs, "it's different every time, but it's a good sign you're still here, sometimes you run. Those times are the worst ones."

Six weeks later, Eddie writes to himself, "do not, under any circumstances, run away..."

Eddie thinks he's seeing things. Thinks maybe he's going senile. But he hasn't forgotten for...well, it's been years now. At least seven or eight. And yeah, Ronnie might be about to finish high school and Steve might be stressed to fuck over her college applications, but...Eddie's glad. He's glad she's spreading her wings. He's glad they managed to produce a stand up human being.

He's really glad her and Steph are trying for the same colleges, they're always going to have each other.

But yea...he's worried his mind is kind of...slipping. Hasn't told Steve. Doesn't want to worry him. They're both sprouting a few gray hairs, no need to add to those.

But sometimes. Sometimes when Eddie looks out of the window, he thinks, for a moment, that the sky is dark and...it looks like snow?

And sometimes, Eddie catches himself in the mirror, and he's sure he's dirty. A mess. Covered in blood but...no. He walks back a step, checks again. Everything is fine.

Sometimes he's sees movement out of the corner of his eye.

Sometimes, in the beat of the music or the rumble of the car engine, he swears he hears things. Sometimes a voice. Sometimes it sounds like they're yelling.

Sometimes it sounds like Steve.

And once, he blinked awake, Steve bringing him a coffee. But it wasn't Steve, for the time between startled, half asleep blinks, it was Vecna.

It gets worse.

Something isn't right. The house is empty, and it shouldn't be.

He can hear Steve, but he can't find him. And that's silly because the house isn't that big. He searches and searches, growing more frantic. He calls back to Steve, but Steve...doesn't seem to hear him.

There's something dim about the light, but the light has always been that way, hasn't it? Something...dusty, in the air. Eddie feels like he's dreaming. He has to be dreaming; there's a crack in the living room wall. A crack that spreads and lengthens until the whole house is crumbling and Eddie can see clearly now that the sky here flashes red.

That it's always been flashing red.

How did he not see before? The dust on every surface? The pages of his notebook are blank. Eddie knows. He's always known.

Steve.

Steve is here. He's hanging from Eddie's fist, bruised and bloodied and begging Eddie. Begging Eddie to stop this, to hear him, to see him. It's Steve.

It's Eddie's Steve.

Next to him, Vecna says, "finish it."

Eddie has something in his hand, the hilt of something he's sure of, long and sharp and dependable.

Eddie doesn't think, he just moves.

He drops Steve.

He doesn't need to look. Eddie turns, and he swings.

Part Two

[luvissues]

thinking about john price who is just so guilty when he gets home from missions :( he’s always knocked out, fast asleep before you can even think to spend any time with him. he feels awful, he really does- so why not have his boys come to make up for his absence?

(cw: dubcon kinda(?), price being a cheeky bastard)

the first one he brings around is kyle, and while the captain claims not to play favorites, you know this boy must be it from the way john speaks of him. but you can see why.

he’s nothing but polite, all quiet thank yous and murmured gratitude. price had called you in advanced to warn you of his arrival; ‘he’s a good lad, love, no trouble. just needs a nice rest before he heads home.’

dutifully, you’d prepared the guest room. made sure to be a bit more conscious when you cleaned the house this time around. upon coming home, price wearily leaned down to press a firm kiss to the top of your head before lumbering off to bed. it was kyle who expressed his respect towards your efforts.

so, when you’re preparing tea the next morning, he just has to thank you for all of this the proper way. he catches you by surprise- you’d thought the soldier might be a little more like your husband, ever so ready to sleep off the long mission, but he’s up early enough to interrupt your little a.m. habit.

he hums a quiet good morning as he approaches from behind, forearms resting on the counter beside you. you don’t pay him much mind until you notice the slight tug on the bottom of your sleep shorts.

“all i’ve seen anyone wear for the past month is cargos and jeans,” he muttered, as if his interest stemmed from an innocent curiosity. “forgot they made them this small back here, eh?”

and, to your credit, you brush him off like the good wife you are. but that doesn’t stop the way the warmth of his palm skims under your loose shirt, creeping back down. he tsks when he runs a finger over your seam, pushing off the counter so that he can press against your back.

“poor thing, aren’t you? awe, no- you shouldn’t have to wait until price gets up, the lazy bastard. let me help.”

he keeps you pinned there against the counter as he works at you, deft, slim fingers curling so nicely inside. he makes a quick job of it too, not that the hushed, gentle praises he breaths against your neck made it any easier for you to resist.

he doesn’t linger long. simply snaps your drawers back into place, wanders back to his room. by the time john is up, he’s all dressed and ready to go, duffel slung over his shoulder.

“lovely home you keep, price.” he smiles as he kicks on his shoes.

“you know i don’t do even half the work, garrick.” your husband grumbles back, voice rough and thick with sleep.

“i know. wasn’t talking to you.” he chuckles lightly, hand curling around the back of your neck with a small squeeze before he‘s off to the door. you don’t notice the way price lingers longer than he should when he sees his boy off.

simon is a bit different. unlike kyle, you can tell that this man needs just as much sleep as john just by looking at him.

to be truthful, you were just a bit offput at your husband’s call this time around. you’d met ghost a grand total of maybe once in the entire time you’d been married. you’re starting to think that might be for a reason.

unlike his sergeant, he’s (very) blatantly brutish. he shoulders and elbows his way through your house, ducking under doors and manhandling his belongings. you’re happy to leave him be when you go tend to your husband.

john is always beaten up when he returns. it’s like he’s slept on the floor of the humvee on his drive back, except maybe the dirt road was made out of the biggest fucking rocks on the planet, or so it seems. there’s bruises and gashes everywhere, and you can’t even begin to think of how some of them appeared, if not for the van shaking him around like the clapper inside a bell.

either way, it’s a mess to clean him up, and an absolute haul to get him from the bathroom into bed. luckily(?) for you, simon is here, and he seems to have no qualms about helping his half-naked captain into bed.

maybe you should look into that, but you try your best to let it escape your mind.

when you finally get the big man down, you begrudgingly come to terms with the fact that there’s no way you’re sleeping on this bed. john is sprawled across it, pushing his lieutenant away at the offer of painkillers. just because he won’t sleep well doesn’t mean you have to suffer with him.

however, when simon notices you packing up for the couch, you can practically see him frowning even under the mask he wears.

“cap’n ‘ll kill me if i have his missus take the settee.” he huffs, and while you try to be a good host and usher him into the guest room, he doesn’t have any of it.

that morning, you get up nice and early to make sure that you can at least accommodate for your guest, considering he gave up his bed for you. and while it does take a considerable amount of time to shake that bear of a man awake, the only thing he wants is for you to sit down with him.

he makes everything so simple, doesn’t he? from the sleeping arrangements to the tidy way he conducts things. it becomes apparent, the longer you talk to him, that he never seems to have lived any other way. breaking things apart and reconstructing them in his head; keeping his life orderly, straightforward.

the way he approaches you is much the same. what starts as a hand on your thigh quickly becomes him cupping your core over your pants- right to the point. you’d decided to dress a bit more appropriately, considering what happened with kyle, but that doesn’t stop the lieutenant at all. he simply shoves his hand into your joggers, making no show of pulling them down and talking all sweet like kyle did. he only grunts, pulling his hand away so that he can maneuver you onto your back.

he seems to hesitate in his actions, a slight falter that you might mistake as inexperience if not for knowing his age. surely, with a stature such as his own, he’s gotten his way around. instead, his reluctance seems to be a result of your situation- you are important to price. he cannot hurt you, cannot break you, for that would be forgoing the trust placed in him.

but, like everything else, he tries to keep this easy. he shushes you lightly when he bullies his cock into you, but other than that, not a word comes out of his mouth. it would be mildly disturbing if you were paying any more attention, but luckily for him, your focus is directed at the way your nails scrape against the fabric of the sofa and the way you have to bite your tongue to keep yourself quiet; bigger priorities than his unnerving silence.

when john finally wakes, it’s only for long enough to give his soldier a pat on the shoulder and a quick goodbye before he’s back in bed. when you join him, you feel as though you’ve done some unspeakable crime. your husband seems none the wiser as he pulls you closer, and when you stay the rest of the day with him, he doesn’t know that it’s because your thighs are too bruised for walking to be comfortable.

the last to stay is johnny, who seems to have been beaten raw in about every spot apart from his voice box. the man gladly fills the silence that price leaves; he downs a couple of tylenol dry and seems good to go. you wince as you watch him.

the only reason johnny comes back with your husband is due to the length of their mission. something about not having enough time to make arrangements when they were out, so he has to make do now that he’s back. still, your last two guests have left you restless, and you tread carefully around the boisterous sergeant.

well, not that it matters. because as soon as johnny sees even the slightest furrow to your brow when you notice price blacked out in bed without having even removed his uniform, he’s determined to make you feel better.

he all but steers you back to the guest room with a very firm hand on your back. you don’t even remember lifting your feet off the floor- it’s like he pushed you all the way down the hall on his own. thinking back, it’s likely that’s exactly what he did.

unlike simon, johnny holds just about zero inhibitions. and if you though gaz was a talker, well, that made his comrade a goddamn motormouth. half the words he’s saying are either nonsense or spoken in an accent too harsh to understand, but the way he cages you underneath him is all the same.

“we’ve been oot a long time, haven’t we? aye, the captain’s sleepin’ like he ain’t ever wakin’ up!”

his jabbering does a decent job of distracting you from the way he’s hastily pulling your clothes off, but not much.

“right shame, is wha’ it is. dinnae worry hen, i’ll look out for ya, yeah?”

look out for you, he does. the man is relentless, spewing his chatty nonsense while he goes at you. he drags his thick fingers against your walls until you’re pushing him away, crudely lapping at your slick even then. for someone who was off fighting in a country whose name you can’t even pronounce, he sure does have some stamina in him.

and when you look down between your legs, eyes wide at the sight of his spend dripping out of you, he takes it as a sign that he’s not done a good enough job. if you’re not witless, he’s not done.

by the time you’re going back to price’s room, you’re so sore and achey that johnny carries you- not that he seems the least bit bothered.

there’s no way in hell that john can’t see what you’ve been up to this time around, even through his bleary eyes. you’re horrified, but when the sergeant haphazardly tosses you into bed, chirping about what a sweet little bird his captain’s got and how nice it was to see her, your husband only gives him a mock salute before he shuts the door.

he pulls you into his chest with a quiet rumble, tucking his head into the crook of your shoulder without a word.

stupid bastard knew the whole time. you’d be furious, spewing filth at him for what he ordered his men to do, but you don’t get a word in.

he smooths a hand over your head, slings a leg over your own. “mm, good lad, he is. he take care of you alrigh’? i told ‘im too.”

you can hear the hint of pride in his tone, like he’s satisfied with himself for thinking to get the boys to take care of you while he ‘recovered’.

you don’t respond. he takes that as answer enough- you can feel him smiling against your skin as he pulls the covers back over you.

[aristia-pjoheadcanons]

Hi it's literally the same anon that requested the percy NSFW headcanons but I'm back for more🤭

I would absolutely devour percy x virgin fem! Reader headcanons

THANK YOU IN ADVANCE 💙

Interested? Click HERE for Jason nsfw headcanons.

->masterlist

Slight NSFW warning, Percy Jackson and !virgin reader

You are a virgin? Well, he is too. This guy does not have any experience at all. His first kiss was probably you.

First time would be sweet, slow, and soft. He is too afraid to use his strength and does not know how to move his hips.

Once he gets a nice rhythm, the only thing he’s doing it watching your facial expressions to see if you’re enjoying it.

If you aren’t enjoying it, he will also not enjoy it. Pleasure is a mutual thing.

His mother has taught him consent and the school taught him sex ed. So, he does know that he needs a condom.

Percy wouldn’t even bring up sex during the relationship – its just such a weird and odd thing to bring up in his opinion so why would he?

But then as the relationship progresses, I’m guessing after 1 year and he’s in college now; he could perhaps be tempted to be more teasing in a way during kisses and let his hands wander a bit.

Then he would ask quietly if you’ve ever thought about the two of you having sex.

“Have you ever thought of us...y´know…doing...something….together?” “Like what? What do you mean” “you know…like touch--ing….” (Licks his lips nervously).

If you’re open and say yes, he would say “me too” in such an awkward way lol.

He would be tempted to run away from the conversation and apologize if you said no.

“Do you ever wanna….do something…more? —or want ME to do more?” Percy would look at you through his bangs.

The discussion is awkward but important to the both of you. Talking about the things you like and whatnot – but don’t expect anything too detailed he´s too embarrassed to even say sex out loud.

But that doesn’t mean he is a kid who doesn’t know how it works. He gets it, he knows that it isn’t embarrassing to say dick, vagina and sex – but he’s not used to saying it.

When he first bought a condom, he was actually tempted to just ask Grover to buy it because he’s older than him.

But at the same time, it´s kind of embarrassing so he decided not to.

He just took the first one he saw and luckily it was a normal condom that does the job just fine.

He totally didn’t look suspicious wearing a hoodie and having his head hanged low to the ground. When the cashier did small talk and asked him how he was – he didn’t even answer and shifted his feet anxiously.

He is so goddamn nervous before he does it too. He doesn’t know when to make the move or if he should just jump straight to undressing.

Most likely happened when he´s at the Beach house or in his dorm room.

He would be seated somewhere comfortable, like the couch or the sofa. And he would bring a towel and awkwardly put it next to you – just in case of a mess.

Closing all windows and curtains, locking each door – he would not be able to chill out LMFAO.

And then, watch a movie or something. He would sit next to you – not daring to even glance at you. Sweaty palms and you can hear him swallowing his own spit next to you.

You would maybe have to take the initiative with the cuddling or scoot a bit closer to let him know you´re ready.

Maybe he would swing an arm around your shoulders or lean on you.

Then the quiet question comes when he touches the seam of your shirt.

He would start touching any skin that’s available, stomach or legs, or shoulders or neck.

Things gets difficult by then – where should he touch next? He doesn’t know.

Biting his lip anxiously, he’s waiting for you to do something that will give him a clue. If you lean your head back, then he leans down to snuggle his face there and gives it a kiss.

Kissing->making out -> touching your waist and hips and legs.

“I want you”. Something corny he might say but he means it.

If you back-out he is very understanding – but will feel like it´s his fault when it really isn´t. But will take it as a valuable lesson to learn more before he does it again and the next times would be better. No matter how many times you say you don’t want to – he will respect it and will never make you feel bad. Actually, he is relieved that you are vocal about it.

And then, I´m guessing !reader keeps their shirt on at first since it’s the first time so things can get awkward quickly.

Grinding->touch his stomach and he will melt into the touch->help his shirt over his head and kiss his collarbone->Percy would start to inch your shirt higher and higher to expose more but will tell immediately if you get shy or nervous and would stop->eye contact is so important he needs to know how you are and if you aren’t going to talk, you bet he’s going to communicate through other ways.

Then, shimming your pants/skirt/dress off, ->he leans closer and cuddles you->if you say “more” he will send a questioning look because what does “more” mean? More kissing, more touching, more grinding, more noises? -> “more of x”.

Then, when both are naked, don’t worry Percy already has blankets ready to cover the both of you so you are both underneath a shared blanket->”Is this okay?” “Are you alright?” questions will be murmured and quietly asked, Percy is looking for reassurance->then it happens, its difficult to put it in and he already put on a condom->goes excruciatingly slow because he does not want it to hurt (perhaps he confided in Annabeth before he decided to have intercourse with you)->any advice he got from his friend will be used.

In the end, overall, he would be satisfied but wants to be better next time. Percy is the type of person that is always striving for best.

[moonctzeny]

baby, we're two strangers

pairing: jeong jaehyun x fem!reader

genre: smut

word count: 2,255

summary: "When you attend your company's black mask party, you expect free booze and boring small talk with your co-workers. What you don't expect is to meet a cute stranger, who's more than willing to take you out of your misery. You don't know anything about him, not even his name, only the two deep dimples adorning his cheeks"

warnings:  alcohol consumption, fingering, cunnilingus, smut in public (what else did you expect from me), jaehyun is a little on the subbier side at some point(??) but not really

a/n: happy birthday to our precious jaehyun! hope you like this anon, sorry it took so long :(

You always thought those business parties were a pain in the ass. You barely managed to go through 5 days a week with your co-workers without committing first degree murder, now you had to see them during your precious weekends too? The thought of you starting small talk with the lady at the front desk, or having to laugh with your boss’s terrible humour all night made you sick to your stomach. But alas, you know how much your supervisor loved those kinds of parties, and your wallet needed that promotion. He’d lecture you about how they cultivate group spirit and strengthen the company’s teamwork. You just saw it as an excuse to get drunk free of charge.

Catching your reflection in the mirror, you spot a stray hair that escaped the adhesion of your new hairspray, and you quickly brush it to place with your fingers. Your favourite black dress hugged your body, simple jewellery decorated your skin. You don’t even know why you bothered with eye makeup, the obligatory black mask for tonight’s dress code hiding most of your face already, with the exception of your red lipstick. You wonder whether the people who just quickly rushed by you in the hallways, too focused on their own deadlines and to-do lists would even recognize you.

The party was boring, just like you predicted. You’d given up long ago in trying to keep the conversation going with Matt from the IT department (who proved to be the most boring man on earth, apparently) and planted yourself right next to the booze table. You had your own little wine tasting party in the past hour, trying aged drinks from 10 years ago up to vins ordinaires. The alcohol relaxed your muscles and left a pleasant buzz in your head, effectively drowning out the dj’s playlist that only had hit songs from 2016. You were content in your solitude, satisfied with just staring at your co-workers interacting with each other, noticing who disliked who, who were the funny ones, who needed help with social interactions. But your comfortable loneliness wouldn’t last for long. 

“Mind if I join you?”

Ugh. Just what you needed. Matt from the IT department probably told his buddy, Ben - who keeps rudely staring at your skirts at work - that you’re here and informed him about your location. Maybe if you ignored him he would go away. Or maybe you’d just tell him that you suddenly need to go to the bathroom. Had he ever heard you speak? You wonder if he’d believe you if you told him you were deaf, actually.

You turned around to face the man, hoping that he didn’t know sign language when you finally made eye contact with him. This definitely wasn’t Ben. He was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen in your life.

He was tall, with loose curls adorning the top of his head. His porcelain skin seemed to absorb all the light in the room, then send it out three times as bright. He looked fit, his small waist cinched in with the buttons of his suit, filled in fully in all the right places. You could only manage a deranged hum that barely sounded human. 

Through the small holes of the black mask he was also wearing, you can tell he was staring at you. You tried to keep the eye contact but failed miserably, your heart picking up a pace that sure can’t be healthy.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around. Do you work in the IT department on the bottom floor, maybe?”

You clear your throat, begging the wine in your system not to mess this up for you by making a fool of yourself. “I also work on the top floor. Maybe you just didn’t notice me before.”

“No no”, he insists, taking a sip from his drink as well while raking up and down at you with his eyes, “I would definitely remember”.

Your cheeks are burning up at this point and you leave your drink at the table, not trusting your clammy hands to not drop the 2017 Merlot all over the floor. You were done acting like boo boo the fool. You weren’t gonna let this one slip away.

“It’s weird, I don’t remember you either. And you seem like such nice company”

He smiles at your reciprocation and you almost gasp at the appearance of two deep dimples on his cheeks, framing his lovely smile. He looks like a mixture of a prince and what you pictured Edward Cullen to look like when you were reading The Twilight Saga as a teenager.

“What department do you work at, then?”

You have to roll your eyes. The wine has made you a little impatient, and the heat of your body was getting hard to ignore.

“Here’s the thing Dimples, one thing I really fucking hate is small talk. So how about you really entertain me out of this boring party?”

He seems taken aback by your sudden confidence, yet amused either way. He doesn’t miss the fact that you’re the one checking him out now, your whole body leaning against him.

“I figured I should be a gentleman first”

“I don’t want a gentleman. I need a distraction”

He flashes you those dimples again and you get the sudden urge to tackle him.

“I see. Wanna get out of here?”

You didn’t need to hear more. Taking his hand, you lead the mysterious stranger outside the hall area the party was held at, finding an empty bathroom. You felt naughty dragging a man - a stranger at that - to a place like this, reminding you of your days as a teenager. A cold breeze sneaking through the little window spread goosebumps all over the skin of your legs that was uncovered by your short dress, yet you were hyper aware of the heat emitted from the man’s body.

The moment your hands left the rotating lock, you felt his body towering over yours, then the pressure of his soft lips. He tasted sweet, like the liquor he had enjoyed earlier, his hands snaking around your waist to bring you even closer against him. You kissed with vigor and a passion that was burning in your belly, and you suck on his tongue to show him a sneak peek of your talents. He moans in your mouth, a deep rumble that you gladly swallow up, your fingers tugging on his locks in hope you get another one out of him.

You do, and he’s had enough, wrapping his hands around your legs and lifting you up on the counter. He’s sitting right between your legs, right where you want him most, and your dress has now well ridden up, only one layer between you. He seems to be thinking the same thing as his teeth are breaking the skin of your neck, one hand behind you on the mirror, staining the glass.

“Can I make you feel good?”, he asks with a voice filled with arousal and the want to please. In that moment, you wanted to moan out his name, followed by a ‘yes, please’ but you realised you never asked for it, and it didn’t really matter at this point. 

You nod back pleadingly, your eyes watery with how much you’re desperate for any sort of friction. He lifts the hand that had been kneading the soft skin of your hips, and places his thumb right over your lips. Like a reflex, your tongue peeks out from between your teeth, tasting the saltines of his finger. He moves it further inside, satisfied with the feeling and your tongue dancing around it, and when he has finally pushed half of it in you start to suckle the digit. 

The stranger’s eyes haven’t left your lips for a second, completely mesmerized by your mouth’s work and he messes up your red lipstick a bit, dragging his finger down your chin, leaving a red line behind. Dipping his thumb back in your mouth again, he lets you suck a little more until you have coated it with a satisfying amount of spit, then brings it right over your panties.

They are cotton, dampened from the moisture of his fingers and your own arousal. He applies pressure right over your clit, just enough to see you squirm on that counter, then continues to draw figure eights over the fabric. His finger dips in your opening on the lower curve of the number and you feel yourself get wetter, holding on tightly to the man’s broad shoulders and moaning in satisfaction.

He shuts you up with a kiss, nibbling on your lower lip as he pushes you panties aside, and you’re a little embarrassed with the printed watermelons they have on them. He toys with you a little, spreading your wetness around before finally dipping in, smirking at the way your head falls back. 

The heels of your feet are sitting stubbornly on the marble surface of the counter, knees next to your shoulders to give your new friend as much access as he needed. There was no time for you to be ashamed for showing him all of you, the pleasure was overflowing and ripping out your seams. He starts a trail of kisses from the junction of your next, sucking and licking his way to your chest, and frees one of your boobs with his other hand. The cold and arousal has your nipple stay erect and he seems to enjoy the view, sucking lightly and then harshly, while following the same pace petting your pussy. 

“Am I a good company?”, he asks you then, and you’d expect his tone to be teasing but it’s anything but. He’s looking back at you with wide eyes, expecting your feedback and you pet his hair, lowering his head down with the tiniest bit of pressure so that his mouth reconnects with your chest.

“You’re doing so good, baby. Are you going to make me cum?”

He nods eagerly and you lift him up with the collar of his shirt, and you know his expensive cologne will dwell on your fingers after you’re done. You bring him into a kiss, tasting his lips before you whisper over them.

“Then you have to try a little harder”

You could practically see the determination in his eyes, and he wastes no time as he immediately gets on his knees. His breath is cool over your hot core, the feeling sending tingles down your spine. The anticipation is so high that when his tongue finally comes in contact with your sensitivity you almost yelp. 

His talent isn’t limited to his fingers, you think as he leaves kitten licks over your clit, giving the bundle of nerves a gentle suck periodically. Just as you’re getting used to the soothing circles of his tongue he dips one more finger in, successfully stretching you open and you bite your hand to stifle your moans. You’re worried that your wetness will drip down to the floor but then you’re reminded of your panties, the friction of the fabric stimulating you even more. 

“I’m gonna cum”, you moan in a high pitched tone, bracing both you and the man feasting over you on his knees. One last suck and you’re thrown over the edge, legs shaking as you’re desperately trying to hold yourself in place, before you fall or crush his head with your thighs. He lets you ride out your high, still dipping his fingers in and out slowly, prolonging your pleasure as much as possible. When you both feel like you’re done he gets up again, drying up his chin that is wet with your come. The tent in his slacks is painfully visible, and you rub over it seductively as you also rub your still exposed nipple.

“How about I pay you back”

The stranger doesn’t have time to answer, a loud knock making you both jump in shock and you quickly get decent again.

“Is someone still in there? I really need to use the bathroom”

“Coming!”

“Yes!”

You facepalm at the dumb mistake, exposing yourselves so easily at the man on the other side of the door. He lets out a rumbling laugh, and if there was really such a thing as ‘the end of the world’ you wish to any god out there that it happens right now.

“Ahh, I get what’s going on. You keep at it kids, another bathroom became available just now. And use protection!”

You bury your face in the stranger’s shoulder, and you feel him laugh silently at the ridiculousness of the situation. He opens the door just a slither, and when he makes sure no one is waiting for you outside the bathroom, he leads you back to the main hallway.

“So that was…”

“...hot”, he finishes your sentence with a naughty smile and you swear those dimples are gonna kill you.

“My name is y/n”, you say and firmly shake his hand, the gesture too formal compared to the things you’ve just finished doing together, “I still want to thank you for that, if you do too, of course”

“Jaehyun”, he says right back, then rubs the skin right under your lips with his thumb, and his fingertip comes back red. “Sorry for that, I got a bit carried away. You have nice lips.”

“Thank you, Jaehyun”

[slimeypuppy]

Can I request Kenstewy first time for the Agent!AU? :D

warning for yall: this AU is absolutely pretty fucked up and they are fucked up little guys who have fucked up sex. This is consensual, of course, but is it safe or sane? Probably not. TW for blood and icky things with it, which will probably be a common thing in this AU. // This is about 1.9k apparently so enjoy!

Kendall is covered in blood. His hands are slick and sticky, his face splattered, his clothes ruined. Stewy, like usual, has managed to limit the mess on his own person, but Kendall never really seems capable of keeping himself clean. It's part of their different styles of attack. Stewy knows that distance is safest, both physically and legally, but Kendall has been trained to beat someone until their skull caves in and their bones break through the skin.

"Fuck," Stewy says, stepping over the body. "You went off on him. You okay?"

"I knew him," Kendall replies, but he doesn't elaborate.

His hands are shaking and his bottom lip trembling as he reaches out, sticky fingertips trying to get ahold of Stewy's nice white button down. In answer, he takes Kendall's wrists in hand and guides them backward. There's no fight. Just wide eyes peeking at him, like he's fallen to pieces and Stewy is the only one who can put him back together.

"Don't touch me right now, you're a mess."

He allows himself to indulge, though, with his gloves forming the perfect barrier. It's why Stewy wears them. He smooths his palms over Kendall's chest, down toward the buckle of his belt. This is a bad idea. He just thinks that maybe Kendall needs grounding, more than a simple kiss can give him, and flicks open his belt to reach into his slacks. This isn't completely foreign to Stewy, the touching another man like this, but it feels like something shiny and new because it's Ken.

He gets one hand into his boxers where he's warm and sticky for a different reason, and closes his gloved palm around Kendall's dick. He's not incredibly hung, but not small either; he's average, and responsive even with his mind flayed by their jobs. When he rubs his thumb over the head, almost wishing that he could feel the precum on his bare fingertips, Kendall makes a small noise in the back of his throat and tries to dip his head forward to rest against Stewy's shoulder.

"You're fucking bloody, man, stop," he reminds, but Kendall doesn't seem to actually care.

In response, Stewy wraps his other hand around Kendall's throat, not squeezing, but holding him in place. A liquid fire erupts in his eyes as his lips part for more air.

"C'mon, Ken, be good for me," he says, his voice more tender than he meant. "Just stay still and let me take care of you. If you can do that, then maybe I'll let you take care of me."

That seems to be the thing that breaks the fragile softness of the moment. Kendall's eyes flash and he gets Stewy by the wrists to remove his touch. For a moment he thinks he's fucked up, gone too far, but then he's flat on his back with Kendall on top of him, pinning him to the ground with unfair ease. If Stewy really tried, he could get away, but he doesn't think he wants to.

"You're making a mess," he protests.

"You like mess," Kendall counters. "You say you don't, but you keep working with me. You- you fucking give me the kill every time."

He's not wrong.

Kendall shifts to hold both of Stewy's wrists in one hand, using the other to untuck Stewy's shirt and get at his slacks, struggling to pull them off. Everything he touches leaves scarlet smears. This suit is so ruined. As if to make sure, Kendall tears the seam on his pants getting them off him.

"Slow the fuck down," Stewy hisses, and Kendall just rolls his eyes. He nudges Stewy's thighs apart with his knees and brings his hand to his mouth, pressing two fingers against his bottom lip. "Fuck, no. You're covered in blood. Gross. That's gross, babe."

He seems unphased by the introduction of a pet name. "Tell me no, then. If you want this, we're doing it my way. So either fucking- fucking do it, or tell me you want me to stop."

It's at this moment that Stewy realizes he's completely screwed. He's attached. He wants. And Kendall knows it. The one consolation he has is that Kendall wants it too, apparently, and he's more than willing to do whatever it takes to get it. He parts his lips slightly and that's enough for Kendall to push his fingers in deep enough for Stewy to gag, watching him with hooded eyes as Stewy makes a point to get them as wet as possible since neither of them make a habit of carrying lube on the job. Maybe they should. Stewy should've expected that one day, the two of them would reach this point.

After a moment, Kendall decides his fingers are wet enough to pull them from Stewy's mouth, leaving him to wince at the lingering taste of blood and sweat. He doesn't fuck around, Stewy learns, because he pushes two fingers in at once, which is too much at first without enough lube. He makes a hurt little sound and Kendall shushes him, leaning over his body and peppering kisses along the delicate skin of Stewy's exposed throat.

"Relax," he soothes. "I'm not gonna hurt you, Stewy. Do you trust that?"

"I don't trust you as far as I can throw you."

Kendall gives him a lazy grin as he curls his fingers inside of Stewy, adding a spark of pleasure to the burn. "Not smart to uh, to fuck people you don't trust, Stew."

"How about-" he cuts off with a whimper when Kendall slips another finger inside of him. "How about I happen to know you're too obsessed with me to hurt me?"

"I wouldn't say that. I have a habit of hurting things I love."

Before Stewy can argue the point, Kendall distracts him with a biting kiss, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth and tugging until it feels like Stewy is being pulled in a million different directions. He remembers that he's pinned when he reaches to cling to Kendall- and subsequently discovers that he hasn't been struggling at all under the grip.

Kendall breaks the kiss first. "Hey. Look at me."

Stewy doesn't know why, but he does.

"Are you ready? Can I?"

"You asking now, Ken?"

"I- I wouldn't, uh, do this. Unless you wanted it. I don't-"

Stewy soothes him with another kiss. "I know. Yeah, fuck, I'm ready. Just get your fucking dick wet before you put it in me."

Kendall releases him to spit on his hand, which should be disgusting instead of hot, and spreads the saliva around on himself to make it better than fucking dry. This won't be the smoothest lay of Stewy's life but he finds himself to be surprisingly okay with that. He's finding out that he's willing to put up with a lot when it comes to Kendall.

He uses one hand to guide himself inside of Stewy, the other to hold one of Stewy's thighs open for easier access. Despite the roughness of the foreplay, Kendall moves slowly, watching Stewy's face and listening to him closely as he pushes in. It's not the biggest that Stewy has ever taken, but it feels like a lot with such limited prep and the fact that Kendall has him down on the ground, clothes ruined, filthy and debauched. When his back arches off the floor, Kendall smiles a little.

"That good for you?"

"Hurry up and fuck me," Stewy pants. He shouldn't be revealing how much he likes this. "We have to get out of here sooner rather than later."

Kendall takes the instruction like he does any other: with eager compliance. He doesn't start off fast, but he definitely isn't gentle with each thrust, letting his sharp hipbones hit the backs of Stewy's thighs. He watches him too, as he fucks him. Stewy feels pinned by the weight of his gaze, taking in every single thing about him in this moment.

"You should touch yourself," he orders.

Stewy is helpless to ignore such an enticing command, so he does, wrapping one gloved hand around his own cock as Kendall fucks him with the same slow determination he uses to polish Stewy's gun. He's never touched himself wearing the gloves, only others. The cool surface of the leather, bumpy along the pads of the fingers for better grip, is a sensation he didn't know he would love as much as he does.

"I think you'll come before me," Kendall says, punctuating his words with a particularly hard thrust. "I can just tell."

"Are you clean?"

He laughs. "You made a point to tell me you didn't think so."

"No, no, Ken, I mean-" Kendall shifts his angle and Stewy sees stars, breaking out into a soft moan before he can finish. "I mean if I let you fucking come inside me, am I gonna catch something."

"I think of the two of us, I'm the one who should be worried about that."

Stewy's cheeks burn with shame in the best kind of way and he looks away from Kendall, staring at the wall as he rocks back, trying to get Kendall deeper inside.

"But yeah, man, I'm clean. Scout's fucking honor. Should've asked beforehand if you really cared, though."

He means to insult Kendall in response, but he's getting close faster than he thought he would, and coherent thoughts are beginning to slip from his mind before he has the chance to properly asses them. Everything devolves into sensations. The grip of Kendall's hands on his thighs, holding him down and open. The sound of his heaving breaths as he moves faster and faster, fucking like a damn machine at this point. The friction and fullness of a good fuck from somebody who has figured out how to take him apart from their very first time together. The surface of his gloves against a part as sensitive as his own dick.

"Gonna come for me?" Kendall asks, leaning a little further over Stewy. "Babe?" he mocks.

it's that one word that sends Stewy over the edge, muffling a moan into his wrist as he comes all over himself, adding to the mess on his stomach and definitely unsalvageable shirt. Kendall fucks into him a final time and buries his face in Stewy's shoulder, biting down hard above his collarbone as he comes inside of him. It's warm and wet and sticky and frankly gross, but so satisfying that Stewy can't be mad at it."

"DNA," Stewy gets out once he catches his breath a few minutes later, Kendall still on top of and inside of him. "Fucking DNA, Ken, you idiot."

"The cleanup crew will fix it," Kendall murmurs against his skin.

He finally gets up though, pulling out slowly but still making Stewy wince. His own clothes are bloody, but wearable, while Stewy's pants are completely fucked and his shirt showing the evidence of what they did. He means to be mad about it. He opens his mouth to complain, but Kendall holds up a finger and strips the blood soaked sweatpants off the body of the target, handing them over without a second thought.

"Um, ew. Fucking disgusting."

"You had his blood in your mouth," Kendall reminds, a little too smug.

Stewy rolls his eyes. "I'll walk out in my boxers like a big boy. The car should be waiting by now, let's go."

Outwardly, it feels like nothing has changed. Stewy knows that everything has.

[lovecanbesostrange]

It started with an ask on konako’s blog, that led to a small scene with Red kneeling before the Evil Queen. (x) That was almost Red Queen fun. But it spun into something very dark, because the Evil Queen did capture Red and torture as punishment followed (this goes into dead-dove territory, you are warned, it’s messed up). Here are 4k words of what happened in the palace dungeon afterwards (spoiler alert, excessive use of silver):

summary: Red made the Evil Queen look foolish and gets utterly destroyed for it (graphic depictions of violence included)

Finally a little triumph. The Evil Queen went down the stairs into the dungeon. Every step of her well-shined heeled boots echoed loudly from the stone steps. Sometimes she wished she had more patience to make good use of the cells down here. But she was bored too easily not getting answers and the prisoners died quickly. Her torturer barely had anything to do. Why did she even pay him anymore? (Did she pay anyone in the palace? They were allowed to live and had nice enough accommodations and food, for sure that was enough.)

But now Regina wanted to take all the time in the world. Her knights had captured that wolf woman! After the bloodbath she had caused weeks ago that made Regina look foolish, she would enjoy their time together now. And it would send Snow White a message in the end.

Two guards were posted outside the cell and two inside. Of course knowing they dealt with a werewolf made handling the prisoner easier. For one the full moon was a couple of nights away. And silver was easy to come by to keep her in line. Regina had also instructed her blacksmith to forge some chains in preparation for when she would be captured. It had been a priority task.

When Regina entered the cell she smiled and took in the sight. Red was chained up in the middle of the room. She was stripped down to her undergarments, her clothes on the floor, except for her cloak that was draped over one of the tables. Her arms were raised above her head, wrists bound by the heavy cuffs each connected to a chain going through a loop in the ceiling and then stretching all the way to a bolt in the wall. Her ankles were cuffed as well, a short heavy chain in between so she couldn’t take any significant steps. Not that she could run away, since her toes barely reached the ground. Red had to carry her weight in her arms, shoulders.

“Well, well, well, so we meet again.” Regina took her time to enter and circled Red, who tried to follow her with her eyes. “You made quite a spectacle the last time.”

“Do you want an apology?” Red’s voice was firm. Too firm for Regina’s taste.

“I don’t think you could muster up an honest one. You’re a deceiver.” Regina stopped in front of her. “Begging for those peasants’ lives and then killing my men.” She grabbed Red’s chin with her thumb and index finger. “You said there was no need for bloodshed and you happily slaid them anyway.”

“I wouldn’t have done that if you hadn’t tried to take me.”

“As if you thought I would let you walk away from there.” Regina looked closely into those green eyes. Was the bravado real or just posturing? “Don’t get me wrong, the way you killed those men without a second thought was impressive. I can admire that. But the humiliation it would have been to return to the village and enact punishment, admitting to being defeated that day - I can’t let that slide.” She slapped Red across the cheek.

Red closed her eyes and didn’t turn her face back up. She was glad the villagers had been spared. Regina didn’t know how long she had stuck around to make sure there was no retaliation. And whatever was about to follow, would have been worth it. Snow had her plans to strike and they were close to luring the Queen into a trap. But every day more innocent people could die and Red could not sit by. She owed it to the victims of the wolf to use her strength for good now.

She heard Regina take a few steps back and looked again. The cloak was in her hands now. “Do you have any other name or should I just call you Red. Not very original, is it? Naming yourself after a bit of fabric.” Her fingers traced the patterns. “I sense magic in this. But I guess asking about it will not bring me answers, right? Just like any of Snow White’s plans won’t leave your lips.”

Statements. The Evil Queen had made up her mind already, questions weren’t part of whatever this encounter was. Red turned her hands around and tried to get a grip on the chain, change her position the slightest bit to take some strain off of her already burning shoulders.

“Do you know there isn’t much to find in books about your kind?” Regina exchanged the cloak for something else from the table. It reflected a bit of the amber light emitted from the fireplace and Red could see it was a simple dagger. “The one thing that is said over and over though is your weakness towards silver. I’m curious. Is it just the metal or wounds inflicted by it?”

Red already clenched her jaw before Regina put the blade against the skin on her upper arm, preparing to get cut. But instead Regina pressed the flat side on her skin first. Definitely silver. Pure. Red felt the effect in a matter of seconds and bit down, grinding her teeth.

Regina stood close again, caught her eyes with her gaze and kept pressing the blade against the tender side of her arm. “Don’t worry, I will write down everything I’m about to do here, so the books can add a chapter about how to break a wolf when in their human form.” And with that she turned the dagger and cut the skin. Red flinched, more from the shock than the actual pain. It was a relief actually to have the silver leave her.

“Are there noteworthy differences between a cut with this,” Regina lifted the dagger, “and a normal blade?” She gestured towards one of the guards and he immediately unsheathed a dagger from his boot. Without hesitation Regina reproduced the cut on the other arm. The blood almost tickled as it ran down. “Oh no, I’m making a mess. Getting blood out of clothes is such a hassle.”

Regina let one of the daggers fall down and with the other cut along the seams of Red’s top half of what she was left wearing. Red closed her eyes again as she felt air hit her exposed body. She knew which weapon Regina held and she could feel the silver being drawn over her skin, over her collarbone, between her breasts, down to her navel. The point barely left a scratch, but the offending metal felt like being brushed with a nettle. Red took in deep, sharp breaths through her nose.

That reaction was exactly what made Regina go slower with her movements. It wasn’t the sharpness that left the light red mark, no, it appeared the longer she held the blade in place. What an interesting sight to watch. Regina brought her free hand up to Red’s chin again, this time squeezing her jaw with her palm, digging her fingers into her cheek. Red looked at her again.

“You know, the longer you resist, the more adamant I will be to make you scream. That is how these things work.” She brought the dagger up to Red’s forehead, this time with the edge to cut into her skin again. It took a few seconds, but then the blood running over her eyebrows made Red blink.

“Can you hold this for me?” With that she wedged the silver dagger between the torn clothes and Red’s hips. Red squirmed trying to get away, but the blade touched her thigh ever so slightly. “I learned a valuable lesson the other day. A blacksmith works with iron. Like those chains holding you. Not used to working with silver. You would have to ask a silversmith about it. I even found one and he is working on special silver cuffs for me. Or rather, for you.”

Regina stood at the table again, her back to Red. When she turned around she held up a necklace. “So for now, I have to settle for delicate jewelry instead of the collar you deserve.” Under any other circumstance Red would have admired the piece. Obviously the star-shaped ornament was meant to hold a gemstone in place, a diamond or a sapphire, but this was stripped down to the silver components for one purpose only. “So you will get used to a leash later,” was all Regina added as she put it around Red’s neck.

Red held on. Her skin was crawling all over, the itch on her thigh burning already, but she tried to stay as still as possible. She couldn’t do anything against the tears forming in her eyes, betraying her brave face though.

Regina stood before her, brows furrowed. “Your healing isn’t as fast. I will need to wait hours to compare those cuts on your arms. There is something I am forgetting.” She rubbed her temples, feigning to think. “Oh, of course, I need a point of reference!” A clap of her hands alerted the guard. “You, get the girl from next door.” Red’s eyes went wide.

“No. Wait. You don’t need to drag anybody else into this.”

Regina stepped closer and slapped her across the cheek again, harder this time. “I don’t remember asking for your opinion and you will stop being so informal around me!”

“Yes, Your Majesty”, Red quickly gathered herself. “But please, there is no need-” But she already saw a frightened young girl being pushed into the cell. About her height and weight, seemingly healthy. For now. The girl fell to the floor and cowered there.

“I caught her stealing, so normally she would already be dead. But she can be of use for me.” Regina put a hand into her hair and yanked her head up, to make her look at Red. “Or do you want her dead right now?”

The terror Red felt was mirrored on the girl’s face. Was there a chance of survival for her? She was ready to beg for her life; to lie on that table where Regina obviously had more silver tools; to take any punishment herself. “No,” Red whispered. Another yank at the girl’s hair. “No, Your Majesty.”

“A fast learner.” She pushed the girl into a chair with cuffs on the armrests. Seating her in front of Red. The girl trembled and looked to the floor. Red tried to pull at her chains, but it only sent a jolt of pain through her shoulders.

Regina paced the room. After a while she came up behind Red. “Your shoulders must really hurt by now. Let me help you with that.” Her fingers played with the necklace and Red hissed. Shifting it around made the pain more noticeable. “The plate.” She said towards the guards. Behind Red a wooden plate leaned against the wall. A thin metal sheet on one side, coated in silver. She knew that before the guards shoved it under her feet. The wood added a few inches so in theory this took some of the weight off her shoulders, but the soles of her feet would soon itch, turn red, swell, hurt and most likely blister. She tried to balance on the outside of her feet only, to not hurt everywhere all at once.

“Do you know what the second thing is that some texts suggest to use against a werewolf?” Silence. “Oh, that was a genuine question directed at you. Do you know?”

“Fire.” Red answered between breaths. Her mouth was open now, it was dry. She didn’t dare to fully fill her lungs, because that made the necklace move. The attack on multiple parts of her body with the silver was starting to overwhelm her.

“That is correct. You know your weaknesses it seems.” Regina conjured a fireball in her hand. “Fire is pure. It doesn’t discriminate. It can be very elegant.” She stepped closer to Red, hand outstretched so she could feel the heat of the flame. “How fast can you heal a burn wound?”

“I don’t k-” Red couldn’t finish that sentence, because Regina held her hand to her side now. A scream was all that escaped her lips. The fireball wasn’t cast, but the flame burned her flesh. Red clenched her fists and tried to step away, the chains around her ankles making a screeching sound dragging over the silver plate. There was no escape, because Regina just followed with her hand. She closed her hand and the fireball vanished. Red went slack, her breathing sped up. The only good thing was that in this commotion, the dagger had gotten loose and fallen to the floor.

Red sorted out her senses, trying to gather her bearings, when she heard the girl scream. Louder, more fearful, indicating the horrible pain she never felt before. Regina had torn her clothes and burned her at the exact same place on her body. For reference. Red couldn’t put the horror of it into words. Would it indeed be better for the girl if she was dead already? She didn’t even know her name.

And Red didn’t learn her name over the next few days, because whatever happened, she would not talk to her. Regina had strictly forbidden it and the rotating guards would hit her at a single word. It was almost comical. Red’s body went numb. Cuts, rashes, bruises, welts, burns, scratches. It came and went. The pain was a constant throbbing, she got repositioned a few times, but it felt like she would never use her arms on her own accord again. But whatever happened to her, the girl looked worse. Red did heal faster from any wound not dealt with silver. But it did take a lot from her regardless. She lost track of time. What was sleep? Any kind of shame about being naked had vanished. Instead of clothes her body was covered in forming scars, marks and blemishes.

Red tried to count the rotations of the guards, to get any kind of feeling for the passing days. It was only days, right? It felt like forever. Silver on her skin somewhere at all times, lashes from a whip, getting burned with a torch, red hot iron, and so many cuts to make her bleed. The worst still a long deep wound on her right cheek, starting at her ear right to the corner of her mouth. When they allowed her some water, it even hurt to swallow.

Later Red found out it had been five days in total. It seemed like a small window of time. But the Evil Queen lived up to her name. Especially on day four, when she left permanent damage. While Red was mostly kept standing up, the girl was strapped to the chair. Not that she had any energy left to walk out of here, even if they’d opened the door for her. Regina stood behind her and pulled her head back.

“Just look at me, I’m sure this won’t hurt you.”

Red looked on as Regina dripped liquid into one of her eyes. The girl flinched, but that was a reflex. None of her sounds of discomfort or pain left her throat. That made Red more nervous than she would admit. And she was right to be.

“Just as I thought. Look at that, barely irritated.” She pushed the girl’s head forward, her eye teared up, maybe a bit reddened.

Regina walked around her and caught Red’s gaze. “Such beautiful green eyes. Quiet unusual. Of course not as remarkable as the wolfish gold, is it?” The way she kept staring was unnerving and Red’s breathing already picked up. Fear. In a short amount of time she had learned what fear truly was.

“Hold her steady.” A guard came and grabbed Red’s head from behind. Panic sunk in and she started to squirm, tried to turn her face away, to wiggle out of his grip. She wasn’t sure what was about to happen, but she knew she wanted out. Right now. No more pain, she couldn’t take anymore. But she had to.

Regina got a few drops out of the vile, into Red’s right eye. “Don’t worry, it’s mostly water. Just a tiny bit of silver dust mixed into it.”

Red pushed her body back as hard as she could, but her mangled feet had no grip, it was more like leaning into the guy. No force to get him off. And then the pain started. It felt like a needle prick. And all of a sudden the colors exploded in Red’s sight. Everything was sharper, the light from the fireplace brighter. She knew her eyes turned golden like before she would transform. It had happened a few times, when highly agitated. Now it was a physical response.

Regina laughed. “I did not expect that.” She met Red’s terror with fascination. More needle pricks in her eye, the urge to rub it away. Red pulled at her chains, she wanted to press the palm of her hand against her eye and get the irritating feeling out. But there was no chance. All Regina saw was the golden color and Red gasping for air, holding back a scream. The hitched breathing was a good enough tell that this hurt.

Worse than the pain that kept sinking in was the way Red started to see white dots, blind specks in her vision. Three, four, five, more and more. She blinked, her tearducts fighting off the intrusion, but the silver too strong an opponent. Red clenched her jaw and groaned. She let out a growl from deep within, filled with frustration and pain. It was more of a bellow than a scream. Regina smiled at that.

While Red’s left eye got back to its human green, the right eye stayed golden, a misty layer clouding the bright hue. It drew Regina’s full attention, while it would be weeks for Red to discover the permanent change. Blinded, only noting a change between light and darkness. Her eyeball feeling like it was rubbed with sandpaper made the rest of the day seem like nothing. Time moved on

And then unthinkable happened. The chains were loosened completely, the cuffs came off. Red tried to curl up on the floor, but she could barely move her joints. Everything hurt too much. But Regina laughed. “Remember that I said I will make you beg for more than mercy? How about you ask me to end her suffering?”

Red looked up. Trying to adjust to the impaired vision. As bad as she felt, the girl looked worse. “Please…”, the girl said and the guard standing behind her, hit her against the head immediately.

It took everything Red had to turn herself upright, to bend her knees and sit on them. To kneel before Regina again. No side eye, no hint of a smirk, no failsafe. The burn marks hurt worst next to the chafed skin around her neck from the necklace that was also gone now. “Your…” Red was shaking, she had to cough trying to speak. “Please, Your Majesty. End her suffering. I beg you. Please. It’s enough… enough…” And with that she fell down again.

“Pathetic.” Regina’s verdict was cold as ice. “And to think I had a gift for you just now. Guards.” They stood next to Red and pulled her to her knees again, held her up. Regina leaned towards her. “My silversmith has arrived.” She produced a silver object and only when the lock clicked around her neck did Red realize this was the collar she had talked about. She felt the burn on her throat and winced. It was a sound she was used to producing by now.

“So?”

“Please… Your Majesty…” Red was panting, she could not finish the plea.

Regina rolled her eyes. “If this is the best you can do, so be it. Ending the suffering now.” And with that her hand shot straight into Red’s chest and pulled out her heart. “Kill her. Rip her throat out like you always do.”

Red wanted to scream. She wanted to jump the Evil Queen. To tear up the men holding her. But what she wanted was irrelevant all of a sudden. The will to do it was overwritten. She looked at the girl, defeated, not even surprised. While Red’s mind fully woke up for the first time in days, all her muscles reacted to something else. The pain all over her body was terrible, but every second she didn’t comply was even more agony.

Red crawled more than she walked to get to the chair. She hovered over her nameless victim, tried to hold back, but those terror-stricken eyes met hers. “Make it quick, please.” Oh, if only she could turn into a wolf, those sharp teeth would take less than a second. Regina had specified how this girl was supposed to die and Red could not opt to cut her throat with a knife, she sunk her still very human teeth into it. The larynx, so easy to wrap fangs around, was hard, the skin and flesh thick. The scream the girl let out was only short, because the pressure suffocated her. It was impossible to make this quick-

Finally Red tasted blood. Tears ran down her face, but she could not stop herself from this horrible act. This slow, agonizing, inhumane death of a nameless chamber maid, who probably hadn’t even stolen a thing. Someone at the wrong place, at the wrong time, who had suffered for days for cruel experiments with no merit. One more victim added to Red’s tally. Not for good. Not in battle. Not in defense. Needless cruelty.

When the girl’s heart stopped, Red finally could let go. She sank on all fours, spat out what she could of the blood and wailed. Her own heart wasn’t even in her chest, but it had never felt heavier.

“Get the smith down here now, he knows what to do.” Regina sent one guard away. Red looked up, warm blood dripping from her chin, she could feel it. Disgusting. If she had any strength left, this would be the time to strike. But all Regina needed to do was a little squeeze. Her heart hurt. No, Red was helpless. Any thought of fighting back an illusion.

“I think it’s best that you lie down on the table for this next part.”

Red wanted to put her head under a guillotine right now. To kill like that was worse than any of the torture methods the Evil Queen had come up with. Regina had won. But Red couldn’t do anything but comply and lied down, waiting for her fate.

It came in the form of a small white haired man, holding a sort of chalice with a long tongue. His hands were shaking and Red couldn’t tell if it was because of what he was doing or just being in Regina’s presence. She couldn’t make sense of what was happening. A guard came and put her wrists into the handcuffs again, strapping her to the table. A chain going over her thighs and under the table fixated her.

Regina squatted down next to her, stroking her hair. “Feel free to scream for me now.”

“The mold.” Wood was pressed against her back. “Careful with your fingers there, wouldn’t want to burn you.”

And then everything was fire. The scream from Red’s throat surprised Regina enough that she stood up. Loud, agonizing, on the brink of collapse. What looked like a chalice was a melting pot, containing a few grams of molten silver. It was poured on Red’s skin and burned her instantly, severely. Water followed mere seconds later to turn the liquid back to solid, but the damage was done. A silver ring fused into her flesh. The pain and the sensory overload from heat to cold send her into shock. She was still screaming with the taste of warm blood in her mouth when the faint claimed her.

[tossawary]

How do you prepare for a writing session? I have a terrible time focusing on anything and would love some pointers

My focus has been all over the place lately, but, ahhh, here are a bunch of things that help me personally focus on getting that WIP done: 

- Deadlines. Deadlines make me focus like nothing else. If I allowed myself to officially say that my update day needed to be Thursday this week instead of Wednesday, the chapter would come late on Thursday. Having an official update day of the week helps me pace myself. 

(Having that day of the week not be a weekend day lets me actually relax and enjoy my weekend, which helps me recharge.) 

- Outlines. Having an outline to follow makes it easier to write a lot all at once or to pick up where I left off if I’m writing in bursts. My outlines are a mess of point-form notes with all the plot and character moments I think I need to hit. Sometimes they’re snippets of nice-sounding dialogue and sometimes they’re things like, “Shang Qinghua says something here that reminds the audience of the existence of X plot detail coming up shortly.” 

Or: “- Shang Qinghua does Y action. - Mobei-Jun is amused.” 

I can dig up one of my outlines for a PINTWILF chapter. I have nearly all of them still, I think. Some of them have very detailed outlines and then some of them were super vague, like, “I HAVE A VISION, LET’S GO BEFORE I LOSE IT.” 

I have a notes document with the outlines and a document that I’m actually writing in. Sometimes, I’ll have the side by side on my screen, with the notes document on my left, so I can glance between the two as I write. 

(When I do this, I keep a third window hidden, which contains my music tabs and my thesaurus tabs and my distraction tabs. If I can’t see it, it helps.) 

Sometimes, if I want one big window, I’ll copy-paste the outline into my writing document, underneath the in-progress writing, separated by a “CONTINUE HERE”. The point-form notes come up one by one, and I delete the point-form notes as I hit them until the copy-pasted outline is gone. 

- If your eyes are slipping over the words, change the font and the font size. A large, dyslexic-friendly font like Comic Sans is usually good. Switching fonts is also good for spell-checking. 

Shorter paragraphs can also make things seem snappier and catch my eyes better. They can also reveal the beats (plot, character, tension, etc.) of a scene. Once your bones are made clear, you can always go back in and rejoin paragraphs, or elaborate on the beats that need it. 

- Honestly, just having massive chunks of free time (yay, being confined to my house) is what has allowed me to write this much. When I have errands or chores or tasks, I try to get them over with before I start writing, because constantly thinking “I need to remember to pay that bill after this” is a focus-breaker. It’s easier to just do it now so I don’t forget later. 

Work is left at work! So fun writing time can be fun writing time only! 

If I’m hungry or thirsty or need to use the bathroom, I just get up and go do that. Being hungry or thirsty makes my brain uncooperative. It needs energy to do its thing! Get up, solve the body’s problem, take the opportunity to stretch, and then my focus isn’t constantly divided by thinking, “I’m hungry.” Meals and other needs shouldn’t be withheld as rewards! They’re needed for writing! 

If my feet are cold, I go get socks. One more distraction eliminated! 

On a similar note, sometimes I can’t focus because I feel like I haven’t “accomplished enough” of other things and it feels like I have other things I should be doing. Taking a walk, cooking a meal (or a treat!), or getting a task or chore out of the way can help with that. I have Accomplished Something and now I can write freely! 

- Give myself permission to just GET IT DONE and then go back and improve upon it later is a huge help. My writing doesn’t have to be pretty. I don’t have to get it right on the first try. I can go back and make it nice later. 

If it’s feeling a little flat, I can come back later and tone it up. 

If it’s feeling a little too much, I can come back later and tone it down. 

I also don’t have to go back and make it nice later. Projects can be imperfect. 

Likewise, it’s good to give myself permission to be direct when I’m writing. “Oh, damn, I need Shang Qinghua to cross the room here,” I’ll say, and it feels like I’ve hit a dead end. How do I write that transition? I write: “Shang Qinghua crossed the room.” Done! Stage directions don’t have to be fancy! 

Maybe I’ll add an adverb later on the second pass, but dialogue can convey that he crossed the room carefully (“Are you... okay?”) or angrily (“What is wrong with you?!”) well enough. 

I’m also allowed to just use “said”. Sometimes less is more! 

- I’m only “allowed” to post one WIP to AO3 at a time. That also helps. 

If you have other WIPs that feel like they’re dragged you down, you can just mark them as “incomplete” or “on hiatus”. Feeling accountable to others helps me write, but it also helps to remind myself I don’t “owe” my time or effort to any project if I’m not feeling it right now. People might be disappointed that I’m not writing what they want or that I even have to backtrack on a promise, but their disappointment isn’t really my problem. I’m allowed to change my mind. 

Sometimes ideas have limits. Some ideas can become feature-length films and some ideas can become 6-hour mini-series and some ideas are only really worth about a short film (unless you bring in more characters and themes and sub-plots, etc). Sometimes, you have to get the writing version of a seam-ripper, figure out what you’re not vibing with, and come back with more characters and themes and sub-plots to make an idea vibe with you again. 

And sometimes it’s good to follow Marie Kondo’s example and go, “You know what? This unfinished fic taught me that I do not enjoy writing fics like this.” Or: “This unfinished fic taught me that I do not vibe with this idea.” 

- Sometimes, music is more distracting than anything else, especially when I’m writing dialogue. I’ll turn music off when I need to “hear” the dialogue better. Listening to ambience mix style stuff that goes on for hours can help set the mood and also means I’m not distracted by constantly picking new music. 

- Sometimes I wear specific outfits or change into a different outfit when I want to be in a better mood for writing. Usually into a more comfortable outfit. (But sometimes there’s a scene that calls to be written by an author wearing a fancy dress! However, I find very fancy outfits are for very rare occasions.) 

Brushing my hair or brushing my teeth before a writing sessions can help me feel refreshed. Sometimes I shower before my writing sessions. I find it relaxing to feel clean. Changing bedsheets or rearranging the couch to my liking can help too. Sometimes, I channel the energy of a bird picking at my nest and fluffing my feathers, for the Best Environment and Best Look! These cleaning behaviors are important for attracting mates and all the jazz, but they’re also good for attracting personal happiness and good writing vibes. 

- Rereading comments before a writing session can help me feel pumped. 

I answer comments or asks in bunches because most often I prefer to direct my energy towards my writing sessions. I love the comments and the asks! So much that sometimes I want to hoard them forever! But sometimes I need to set them aside so that I can keep making the writing I enjoy. 

Sometimes it can be distracting, though. 

- Okay! I think that’s everything off the top of my head! Key points for me: 

Time! 

Preparation! 

Comfort! 

Environment! 

Different techniques will work differently for different people, of course. Sometimes, these techniques work very well for me and sometimes I just get more distracted. Oh, last thing is something I’m bad at, but: if it feels like I really need to sleep, I probably really need to sleep. Naps are my friend. 

So are break weeks. Recharging is good. 

[lustbile-archive]

[5:52PM]

smut

Your body squirms against the soft fabric of the bed at the warm and tacky feeling of the lipstick tugging at your skin. His dampened breath hitting your skin with every exhale adding to the sensation, making your nerves stand on end and your toes curl.

Lucas always had a habit of presenting the objects he had accumulated on his shopping trips as if they were newly discovered inventions, and with his excited puppy dog eyes, you could do nothing but give him your full attention as he showed you each trinket or new article of clothing. You usually showed excitement, or at least feigned it, but when he pulled out a cheap tube of red lipstick you could only tilt your head in confusion.

“You didn’t have to buy me lipstick,” you attempted to argue. It’s not that it wasn’t a pretty shade, but you had enough tubes holding similar if not the same shade mix into your makeup. That, and just looking at it you knew the cheaper brand would never wear long enough to excuse you wanting it in the first place.

He only grinned, all teeth displayed and a devious glint in his eyes, as his head shook slowly. The lipstick danced in his long fingers as he played with it, his eyes moving across your face and body as you sat curled at the head of the bed.

“It’s not to wear,” he slips his blunt thumb nail in the seam under the cap, the quiet click of it opening only adding your confusion, “well not on your lips at least.”

He had seen it in a porn. Of course he had, and ever since, the idea of writing whatever he wanted across your bare skin in the bright red hadn’t left his mind since. Maybe he wouldn’t write things as degrading as the ones used in the film, but he wanted to write something. The idea of decorating your skin in color outside of the dark marks he liked to leave with his mouth, made his blood rush around his body.

You agreed. How could you not? He seemed so giddy with the idea of marking you all up, and the lipstick was already purchased and opened. All you could do at this point was take off all your clothes as per his gentle request, and lay yourself bare to the adventurous boy.

He lost his shirt, mumbling something about not wanting to ruin the fabric the way he had let you in the past when the colors you’d like to wear would transfer onto his neck and inevitably the collars of his shirts. He left his jeans on, the rough fabric already tighter around the crotch as he loosely tied your hands above your head and around the posts at the head of the bed with the black tie he kept for special occasions.

“Don’t want you to hinder my artistic process,” he quipped, his nose stuck playfully in the air as he situated himself between your open thighs. You stop yourself from telling him that he could just admit he likes seeing you bound and powerless when the fingers of his empty hand brushes gently against your ribs.

His broad back hunches slightly as he leans over your body, his hand starting to gently knead at your flesh, while the other gently shakes while holding the lipstick over your body.

With a whispered reminder to not twist too much of the product out, or it might break against your skin, he makes his first mark.

You’ve felt lipstick on your skin before, a quick kiss landing on the back of your hand to take off the extra product, or a swipe against the inside of your wrist to test if the color would clash with the tone of your skin. But instances like those were nothing compared to the tentative strokes he made below directly below your collarbone. Maybe it was the idea of him marking you with something so visible, or the wet kiss he placed next to whatever he drew, but whichever made your hips stir in response. Your toes curl against the sheets of your shared bed when your small movements cause the rough fabric of his pants to dig gently into the dampening skin between your legs.

“So pretty,” he speaks almost as if he’s been hypnotized as he travels further down your torso. His marks get more confident as he moves, and his mouth gets more aggressive. Not only was he now adding heated kisses to each drawing, but also bites that were likely to bruise as his teeth sink into your skin.

Your mind is too cloudy to be able to feel exactly what he writes onto your skin, but with the time he spends with what wraps around the swell of your breast, you know he’s graduating to longer words. You almost ask what he’s written, but the words die on your tongue when his lips wrap around your nipple.

He’s always been a bit messy, and now is no exception as his drool slowly slips down the side of your chest and curls around your back to wet the sheet below you. His front teeth nipping a few times at the stiffened skin before he pulls away to blow cool air onto it. The whine you let out in response pulls a boyish laugh from his chest before he returns to his job of decorating your skin.

You can only imagine that you look like a mess as he continues to add to the collection of words on your skin. A long pull on the skin of your stomach makes your brain swim with curiosity and your lower belly warm with anticipation at what you must look like.

Your eyes had slid closed in the time he spent drawing on you, only for them to snap open at the clicking sound of the lipstick hitting the hardwood of your floor. He must have thrown in behind his back as he decided he had written everything he wanted. His now free hand moves to your side to brush his fingers against your ribs. Your back arches into the air when the flat of his warm tongue drags against the skin at the center of your rib cage and his other hand finds itself wedged between your bodies to tease the warmth between your legs.

He hums into your skin in response to every whine you let out at the feeling of his mouth moving against the span of your stomach and the feather like swipes he gives to the skin of your core that’s being made slick by your arousal.

The pleas you let out into the stuffy air of your room is his favorite sound, and the one thing that makes him tease you for longer than you're used to. He’d always seemed keen on spoiling you, but now it felt like centuries before his ring and middle fingers dip into your entrance to collect your dripping arousal onto the tips.

He presses his fingers deep inside you, thrusting a few times, before pulling out to flatten to long digits against your hypersensitive clit. His sharp teeth nip at the swell of your chest in time with the moment his fingers begin to circle the buzzing bundle of nerves.

Lucas feels like a breathing furnace as he’s pressed against your already heated skin. His unrelenting fingers and heated breath has you hurtling towards the edge far sooner than you anticipated. The way your hips jump and move in time with his fingers, paired with the high pitch of your whine is all he needs to tell that you're reaching your finish.

All at once, he lifts away from your body, his hands moving away as if you’ve suddenly become electrified. Being denied an orgasm so abruptly rips a desperate whine from your chest as your legs tense around his hips as if they won’t stop you from clamping your thighs together to gain some friction.

He has the nerve to laugh at the way you desperately squirm, a goofy grin pulling at his lips as he leans over your body to undo the knot of his tie.

“Hey now,” he shushes you while massaging the irritated skin of your wrists, “you’ll get to come don’t worry. Just want you to see how pretty you look when you do.”

He pulls you from the bed by your wrists, moving your body in front of his to walk you to the mirror he had put into the wall across from the end of your bed. ’It just makes it easier to get ready,’ he promised you and your friends when they questioned the design decision, but you knew him well enough to know watching himself fuck into you was something that sent his brain into a spiral and made his blood boil. Your friends were probably equally aware of the mirror's real purpose with how shamelessly handsy he was with you at any given time of the day.

You shuffled to stand in front of the mirror, a petulant put on your face as you move your fingers to rid them of how stiff they were from gripping the posts.

“You could have at least let me come once,” he stops you crossing your arms when he grabs your wrists again and pulls your hands to cross behind your back.

“You’ll get to come if you shut up and look,” you stop whining to look at your forms in the mirror, the sight in front of you flushes your skin with a blush as you see exactly what he’s done to you with the lipstick.

The decorations start innocently enough at the space below your collarbones, little hearts scattered across your skin and curving around the dip of your sternum. What causes the embarrassment that roars in your ears is what he wrote further down on your torso.

Sweet names like “baby” and “lover” are placed on the space below your chest and across your ribs, the hearts still making an appearance.

It’s not until you see what he’s written on your stomach, that you curl in on yourself and try to hide yourself in his chest. The word ‘mine’ is written right above your belly button in all caps, the red of the makeup making the word harsh and possessive. The idea of being claimed in such a raunchy way is enough to make you squirm, but the large arrow he’s added to point directly at the space between your thighs hits a place deep in your stomach.

“Aren’t you so pretty?” he traps your wrists in one hand, bringing the empty one to your front to pet your belly. The lipstick smudges slightly from the motion of his fingers making you whine at not only his praise but also his lingering touch.

“You’re my pretty baby aren’t you? Decorated all nice for me hm?” your blush only darkens at his words and the muscles of your thighs tense. You feel your breath pick up and become shallow at the sound of him putting his hand between you again to undo the fastening of his jeans. The rustling of fabric fills the room as he moves to pull himself from the inside of his underwear. You quietly moan when the dampened head of his cock hits against your tailbone, “my pretty baby is gonna let me fuck them deep and hard too aren’t you?”

His hand kneads roughly at the flesh of your ass as he waits for a response, the way his eyes stare intensely into yours puts your brain on slow motion and delays you from forming a coherent response.

A sharp sting against your skin and a loud smack fills the air of the room in response to your lack of answer, the burning pain makes you yelp before you're eagerly nodding your head.

He smiles widely at your response. His fingers soothe the skin he hit, before he returns to hold himself in a fist. He slowly pumps himself between his fingers before he’s dragging the tip against your skin.

You can’t help but jump every time the head digs into your clit, your hips stirring when he presses only a inch or two into you.

“Xuxi please,” you beg, your fingers flexing around nothing making your nails scrape against his wrist. A rumbling laugh shakes his chest at your neediness.

You quietly gasp in unison when he finally begins to press into you. The size of him never failing to knock the air from your lungs as he stretches you and presses against every nerve inside you.

Once he’s fully seated inside you, he releases himself and lifts his hand to wrap around your neck. Your head falls back onto his shoulder when his fingers dig into your jaw and he slowly starts to thrust into you.

The pace of his hips are rhythmic and sharp as he focuses on reaching as deep inside of you as possible. If it wasn’t for the grip he had on your neck, your legs would have buckled and you would collapse on the floor.

“All mine,” he speaks sharply through his gritting teeth, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, before he turns your head to press your mouth tightly together.

A deep rumbling moan leaves your mouth and invades the space of his, when he dips his tongue in to lick at the back of your teeth.

His hips don’t falter once as he pulls away from the kiss to look into your eyes. An uncharacteristically mean look dances in his eyes as he holds your mouth open with his fingers.

“Open wide sweetheart,” his hips begin to move faster, the vulgar sound of your skin smacking against each other fills the empty space around you as you look up at him with innocent and desperate eyes. The look of confusion that flashes across your face makes the corner of his lip lift with a grin as you watch his tongue move across his top teeth as his mouth stays closed.

The devious wink he offers is the only warning he gives you before his lips pucker softly, and he harshly spits into your open mouth.

He quickly moves his hand to close your mouth and press his palm flat against it. Your head is pressed harshly against his shoulder once again, as the hand that was holding your wrists let’s go to move back to between your legs.

His fingers immediately find your sensitive clit, rubbing harshly as he laughs at you again. He thrusts slow to harsh deep presses. He barely moves out of you and grinds against the sensitive spot deep inside of you.

Your thighs clamp around his hand as he forces you to your end faster than your body is ready. If it wasn’t for the hand pressing against your mouth, the sound of his thrusts would be covered by your wails of pleasure.

“You get to come this time okay? Can you come for me?” the deep rattling voice in your ear is almost unrecognizable. The dark commanding tone it holds pushes you even closer to your orgasm and your toes begin to curl into the wood of the floor, “look at my baby going dumb just from a good fucking? Why don’t you come?”

Big tears roll down your face as your orgasm begins to slowly bite at you. It feels like pleasure crawls from between your legs and up the length of your spine before your eyes are rolling back and your groaning into his open hand.

His fingers never move from your clit as the way you clench harshly against him throws him into his own orgasm. Harsh grunts hit your ear and incoherent mumbles about how tight you feel and how wet your cunt is for him fill your muddled brain. The warm feeling of him spilling deep inside you makes your legs shake and your nails claw into his pulsing hips.

It feels like years that you two are stood there pulling aftershocks from the others bones, and it’s not until you scratch at his wrists that he releases you.

You would have undoubtedly landed flat on your face if his long arms hadn’t wrapped around your waist to pull you into his chest. He’s still seated inside you as he sit down on the end of your bed, holding you in his lap as he rests his forehead between your shoulder blades.

You hum quietly as you lean back into him, once again getting to look at the words he’s written onto your skin. The marks are now smudged and unreadable, the only thing still visible is the large ‘mine’ that points to the space that he’s pressed into.

You two sit there absorbing the warmth from the other's body, your nails gently scratching at his arm as he rocks you back and forth.

A petulant and grumpy grunt is heard from the boy below you as you stand on shaky legs. The feeling of his softening length slipping from you and his come rolling down the inside of your thigh makes you gasp, but you continue to walk a few steps to grab the object that has caught your eye.

He’s leaning back on the palms of his hands when you turn back around, an arrogant smile on his stupidly pretty face when he sees the way the evidence of his orgasm starts to dry against you.

“Don’t look so happy Lucas,” you offer him a tired smile as you straddle his lap. His eyes grow wide when you open the lipstick and begin applying it to you chapped lips, “cause I think it’s your turn to get decorated nice and pretty hm?”

[wolf-and-bard]

Proper Procedures for Wooing Witches

for @littoraly-art because you are amazing and I already said this, but I hope you have an awesome birthday <3

Pairing: Yennefer/Jaskier

Word Count: ~2.2k

Rating: T, some explicit language

„My darling Yennefer,“ Jaskier calls out as he swoops into his Oxenfurt apartment with a flat carton wedged under his arm. It already nicked the lavender mesh overlay of his newest doublet, but for once, he absolutely cannot be bothered by that. It’s too nice of a day. “Hello?” He kicks off his shoes.

High noon’s just gone by and Jaskier doesn’t expect Yen to be up yet – which means she will hex his ass if he wakes her. His giddiness outweighs his fears though, heart warming, as he takes in the cluttered entryway. Several pairs of shoes are strewn about, his and hers mixing on the ground. Yen’s all look like they could double as a lethal weapon and are some variation of black and white (though one pair is tinged brown from blood that crusts the bottom, he doesn’t want to know). It’s awfully domestic, a product of the temporary living situation they are in.

When Yen requested to use his rooms for a week or so, she explicitly asked for Jaskier not to be there, but, well, he is weak, he wants her, he couldn’t have stayed away if he tried. Yen’s been snippy from the moment he welcomed her with open arms and the prospect of sharing a bedroom, snippy to the point of grumpiness. That’s fair, Jaskier supposes. It’s also fair that she slips out at the most random times of day, coming back only when Jaskier’s gone to the academy for lectures or the pub for drinks with his colleagues. All fair and good. He catches her about once a day which is more than he can say for most of the year. Fair, yes. Nice, even though Yen is rarely, if at all, impressed with his affection for her. A bard can dream.

“Yenny,” he shouts again and whistles to himself as he slides through to the main room. To his surprise, she lounges at his dinner table by the window, one hand curled around a steaming mug, the other holding up one of his most beloved poetry collections (not only because he wrote several of the entries). Her hair falls in rich raven curls that cover her chest, barely concealed by the sheer black dressing gown she wears. It’s the only thing she wears, Jaskier notices, gulping heavily. Yen doesn’t look up from her reading, her lips are pursed and her tone clipped as she replies.

“For every time you call me that, bard, your balls will grow the tiniest fraction until, one day, they will explode, never to grow back.”

Jaskier considers it. Directs his attention downward. They do feel a bit strange, don’t they? But that’s only because he’s thinking about them. Right.

“I shall not be fooled,” Jaskier says, grinning. “But if you so insist, ‘beloved’ will do just as well. I brought you a gift.” Brushing past his dusty bookshelves and cluttered desk, he struts towards the table and drops the carton on it. It lands with a thud and swirls up more dust – how is it this dusty already, Jaskier could swear he cleaned the place, like, last month?

Yen licks her finger to turn the page which makes Jaskier laugh out loud. He rounds the table to glance over her shoulder, but immediately has to retch. There, catching Yen’s precise attention, is Valdo’s vomit-inducing sonnet about his first time taking a tumble with what Jaskier assumes was a professional. It has to be, no self-respecting person would bed the man free of his coin. Jaskier makes a mental note to spread another rumour about Valdo and various sexual diseases, then plucks the book from her hands and lets it drop to the table. She sighs softly under her breath and allows him to put a hand on her shoulder. Is that… does she lean into him? The tiniest bit? Oh, dear.

“That better not be a dress,” Yen says, reaching out. Her fingertips trace the edge of the carton as if she’s in deep debate on whether to pop it open. This is a game they’ve been playing excessively, him bringing her gifts, her making a show of whether to accept them or not. On the few occasions that Yen invites him for a drink or gives the acoustic properties of his lute a small magical boost, Jaskier fails to reciprocate her cool attitude. He’s too in love to feign indifference and it’s not like she would believe him either.

“If we’re using dress in terms of the precise cut it implies then no, no dress,” he replies, thumb rubbing her skin through the slippery material of the gown mostly to work through the tightness in his throat. It hurts sometimes because this farce makes him think she doesn’t want him. Hell, most things Yen does are aimed at making him think she doesn’t want him. But then there are fractions of admittance like this, like when her gravity shifts towards him or he finds her in his rooms, barely dressed, that make him think there might be more there. Jaskier simply has to practice patience.

“Julian, do I seem like a woman easily impressed with shallow gifts of clothes? In case you hadn’t noticed, I have a very particular style.”

“Oh, I noticed. Trust me, Yenny, you are very much one of a kind,” he replies, mesmerized by her fingers dancing on the cardboard. She loses no time in jabbing back.

“And yet you revert to common courting techniques? That’s pathetic and you know it.”

“Bold of you to assume I am courting you.”

“Bold of you to claim you are not. If I remember correctly, the last time Geralt was with us you got drunk off your ass and asked him for his permission to woo me. Which was sweet but not at all his place to allow. Then you continued to exert yourself into my life on every possible occasion with flowers and picnics and awful love songs. How else am I going to interpret all this?” Yen asks, craning her neck to look up at him from under dark lashes. Gods, she is gorgeous.

“Touché. But do not think I would waste the efforts of my best tailor on just anyone. This is advanced courting, dear.”

“I fail to see its distinguishing qualities.”

“The difference is that these clothes are hardly a gift and more a means to an end.” Jaskier winks which has her eyes narrow, fall back to the carton.

“You want to take me somewhere” Yen asks and, of course, she untangles his intentions immediately.

“Not just somewhere. My cousin’s forwarded me an invitation to a ball put on by some countryside nobleman or other. His work keeps him in Kerack so I’m to go in his stead. That is to say, I’d hoped you would go dancing with me.”

Yen looks up once more and Jaskier starts a little. He will never get used to the vibrance of her violet eyes, how they see through him. Once, she said it took no effort at all to pick at his thoughts, that she always feels as though he’s screaming them right at her. So, he does.

Please, he thinks, mouth twitching into a soft smile. Please, just this once. It would mean the world to me.

Yen huffs a small laugh and shakes her head, then draws the box towards her. Inside, she finds a slim-cut blouse made from the finest black cotton in the city, complete with white lace trim down the front and flaring out at the cuffs and collar. With it, Jaskier had the tailor make a white corset belt and a pair of deep black pants that have applications of the same lace. It would look precarious, almost edgy, on anyone else, but on Yen… the thought alone makes Jaskier’s chest tighten with adoration.

“Jules, this is beautiful,” Yen murmurs as her fingers trace the line of the seams on the blouse. Jaskier puts his other hand to her shoulder and holds on for dear life as his ear twitches. Was that? Did she just? Oh, how he itches to make a quip about the nickname. Because it’s funny, yes, but it also gives him palpitations. He feels like a lovesick puppy trying to befriend a wild cat. Which also means that any violation of trust can ruin what they have. It’s just so fucking precious, this whole affair, and if he were on the outside of it, he would squeal in delight and write a whole novel about it. He still might.

“I’m glad you like it. And it will look absolutely stunning on you. You will look stunning in it. Ah, not implying that you don’t usually look stunning. What I am saying is, the other attendees will be stunned.”

“You’re ridiculous… and stupid too. Are you certain you want to take me to the ball? I’m not exactly popular with the local nobility.”

“Quite the tragedy,” Jaskier says and because he feels daring, he bends down and kisses the top of her head. Then, he saunters over to the stove, pours himself a mug of tea and takes the seat next to her. “And yes, I am certain. In fact, there is nothing I’d love more. Let the people talk.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Yen says on another sigh. “Not about what they say or think or do.”

“Which is part of what makes you so damn sexy.”

Yen rolls her eyes and folds the clothes back into the carton.

“These are lovely, but I will not wear them to the dance,” Yen says. Which means she will go with him at least. It’s not enough, Jaskier is dying to see her wear what he picked out, dying to show the world that such a brilliant woman would choose to spend the evening with him. Most of all, he wants to make her happy. “Trust me on this. You have a reputation to worry about and bringing me along already risks that. Bringing me along in that can and will mess with your career.”

“Trust me, when I say that it won’t matter. I’m already famous and folk love to gossip about famous people. Probably more than they love my songs. I could imagine worse truths to be spread about me. Besides, didn’t you just say you don’t care what people think about you? Why then would you worry about what people think about me?”

"Well I never," she says, but her lips soften into a smile and her hand rises to fiddle with her pendant. Jaskier gently pries it off and brings her knuckles to his lips.

"I don't care either," he whispers. "I just want to go dancing with you."

"I'll portal to my rooms in Kaedwen and get one of my old dresses.” Her face is all smiles, but an edge has stolen into her voice which makes her sound forlorn, sad even, and her eyes flicker over to the folded clothes in the box. Jaskier’s throat tightens.

"Why are you so stubborn? It’s obvious you want to wear them. You don’t need to start giving a fuck now.”

"I'm trying to do something for you here, Julian. I don't usually go out of my way to attend stuck-up parties with peacocks such as yourself."

“Please,” Jaskier says. He still holds her hands in both of his and because he has no shame, and because this really does mean the world to him, he sinks off his chair and onto his knees before her legs. Yen’s eyes widen a fraction. “For me.”

-----

They dance. Oh, how they dance. Jaskier always considered himself a great dancer, he has music in his veins and has flirted and whirled his way through every ball room and banquet hall on the Continent, and it’s clear that Yen is no stranger to this art either. They are exuberant, relentless, they laugh and pirouette and demand their ground, much to the detriment of those with lesser skills. The lack of a dress doesn’t subtract from their flair, if anything, it allows for a broader range of motion

"The only way we could draw more eyes is if we'd brought Geralt along,” Yen giggles. Fuck. She’s so carefree it brings tears to Jaskier’s eyes.

"Gods no," he laughs. "He would ruin all the fun with his growling and brooding. If you're looking for more attention however..."

"Jules-"

Jaskier twirls her and, in that motion, catches her around the waist and dips her low, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips which are parted on a yelp. Before he can tug her up again, her hands come forward to cup his face and she presses into him, grins into the kiss.

“You’re absolutely ridiculous,” she whispers.

“Admit it,” Jaskier drawls as he brings her back upright and they fall into an easy basic waltz, closer to each other than the dance strictly necessitates. “You love me.”

“That is awfully presumptuous of you.” But she laughs, and kisses his cheek, and Jaskier thinks that maybe one day, she will. “Don’t bet on it, bard.”  

[magioftheseas]

Don’t End This Dreaming

For @badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: Bundled Up In Blankets taken from here.

Rating: T

Warnings: Suicide ideation and implied brainwashing. Angst. Not a good time despite what Ren thinks.

Notes: It’s based off the Missed Deadline ending from Persona 5 Royal! Which is pretty messed up but also known as the Sleeping Beauty ending. I thought this would be a fun take on it...and yes, I had a lot of Omori on the brain while writing...

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

When he was a kid, his mother wanted to vacation by the lake. Something about the idea of watching those calm waters to bring her a peace that would help her think about things. To get it all together and clear her head of any unnecessary toxins. She was usually such a serious person, but even she dreamed of taking breaks from everything now and then.

Supposedly.

“It’s important to pace yourself, Ren,” she had said with the kind of dry smile she had whenever she was forcing herself. “If you don’t take a vacation, you’ll just...burn out.”

Sometimes, she talked about bringing him to a lake house. Making his dad teach him how to fish. Laughing at the idea. Other times, she’d ask him in a small whisper if he wouldn’t mind leaving dad behind.

“He might need a break from us, too,” she’d say, and that dry smile would start to crack. “I’m just worried about the mess he’s going to make without us there to keep him on the straight and narrow.”

He’s not sure when he figured out that things were unstable, but had resolved himself to just doing the best he can. Not causing a fuss. Being quiet. Being polite. The ideal worker bee, his mother would fondly call him.

They eventually did go to that lake house. His dad went along, forcing a similar kind of smile. They took him to the lake where they watched keenly as he stepped into the water.

“Do you think about jumping in?” his dad would ask in a low voice, and he could only shrug helplessly. His dad laughed lightly. “Not much of a daredevil, huh? Definitely your mother’s kid.”

It’s not that he sounded resentful, but maybe he had sounded disappointed.

As Ren stepped further into the water, he would look back, expecting something to happen. His dad would wave, his mother still wearing her most professional smile. If he got far enough into the water, they still wouldn’t change much.

Despite that. Despite that.

As Ren floated peacefully on the lake’s surface, he dreamed about drowning.

He imagined this is what drowning would feel like.

Drifting. Drifting.

Sinking to the bottom with a gentle pull.

Everything getting colder, but as he sank lower and lower, his thoughts—his parents—everything would get further and further away. He didn’t have to think and he wouldn’t want to think.

He’d just lose himself in the calm.

In reality, drowning wasn’t a peaceful process at all. Really, he was just hoping for something like—falling asleep.

And never.

Waking.

Up.

--

“Don’t worry. There’s no need to obsess over it anymore. I’ll bring you your happiness.”

It’s strange. For someone like him who never really thought about his happiness at any point, it was almost a relief to hear.

Even if he thought about it now, he’d decide he doesn’t need anything special or extravagant.

Just—contentment would be fine.

--

“Amamiya, get UP!!”

Akechi’s voice cuts through the fog with as much mercy as the man himself would spare for shadows. Gloved fingers dig viciously into the front of his shirt and yank with such ferocity that the seams nearly split open. It leaves Ren’s head spinning, his vision blurring as his eyes force themselves to open.

This. This is what drowning is actually like. It hurts just to breathe and he can’t keep a grasp on himself at all. He doesn’t even know if he wants to, he just would rather it all end—but Akechi grabs him by the shoulders.

“You can’t do this to me, you can’t,” he hisses, shaking him. “Amamiya, for fuck’s sake, you gave me your word.”

...what word was that?

It hurts to think. He doesn’t want to think anymore.

“Ren!” Akechi’s yelling again. Booming so much it’s like a storm disrupting calm waters. “Keep it together or I’ll kill you!”

Ren can’t help but giggle. Then, he’s smacked for that. It’s almost a shock. He sees his mother for a moment, but that image dissipates and Akechi’s glaring at him with such desperate intensity.

Oh.

No, that’s not the kind of face she’d make at all.

Only Akechi could make his heart stir like this.

Oh, Akechi.

“It’s okay,” he babbles, slurs really as he attempts a low croon. He reaches for Akechi unsteadily to wipe away those unshed tears. Akechi quite temperamentally yanks himself away, out of Ren’s reach, which is enough to make Ren whine. “Aww.”

“What the hell is wrong with you,” Akechi mutters. “What the fuck did that bastard do to you?”

“You’re so worked up,” Ren mutters back even as it remains difficult to speak. Because it’s Akechi, he can push himself a little. He likes him, after all. “Come to bed with me.”

Akechi smacks him again. And again. And again.

It stings so much that it makes Ren’s eyes burn with tears, but whatever resolve that grants him is the kind that drives him to grab Akechi’s wrist. To cage it in the circle of his grip and yank Akechi towards him. Akechi, who stumbles with a curse and grabs the front of Ren’s nightshirt to steady himself.

“Ren,” Akechi murmurs, now, voice controlled but threatening to break in a way that Ren’s all too familiar with. “Ren, please, snap out of it. Whatever Maruki did to you, you have to snap out of it.”

Akechi’s trembling.

“That fucking bastard—I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking kill him.”

His mother would hate to be comforted, but Ren has no qualms about holding Akechi close. About rubbing his back and crooning into his hair. If Akechi tries to shove him away, then Ren will just wrap the two of them up in blankets, bundling them together so tightly that Akechi wouldn’t be able to escape.

“Akechi,” he sighs adoringly. “Bedtime.”

Oh, Akechi fights. Because Akechi is stubborn and spiteful and knows nothing else. But no matter how much Akechi screamed and begged him, it was fine. Even Akechi would tire himself out eventually. Everyone had their limit.

Once that limit was reached, there was little to do but fall apart. He was well-versed in that by this point. Why had he ever tried in the first place?

...there was something, wasn’t there?

But he’s so tired, he doesn’t want to think, and Akechi’s so warm. Perfect to snuggle and relax against, even as Akechi’s breathing grew strained.

Ren entwines their fingers.

It hurts. His face really hurts. The choked little sounds that Akechi makes sound like they hurt, too. Akechi lets out a seized up little gasp when Ren presses into him.

They’re so close. The blanket traps their heat. It’s like a nice little pocket from everything and everywhere else. Nice enough to doze in, even amidst all the hurt.

“Let’s not think anymore...”

The words are slurred, but Ren hopes that Akechi hears him before he tumbles into that darkness.

--

What is he forgetting? How long has it been?

When and how did Akechi find him?

Ren does stir awake briefly, but with Akechi tucked against him—what did anything else matter? Akechi finally looks at peace and the moment is only disturbed when Ren thinks that Akechi almost looks as motionless as a corpse.

But then Akechi breathes, and there’s nothing to worry about. Nothing at all. Akechi is with him. Everything is fine.

He doesn’t have to worry. He doesn’t have to think.

He can just sleep.

[please-buckme]

This was my first request! I hope you enjoy it! 😁🥰

A Path Worth Taking. Anakin x reader

SMUT

Warnings⚠️: SMUT, name calling, teasing, choking

Anakin, Obi-Wan and a few troopers were on their way to planet Alderaan in search of an uninvited guest. A Sith. This Sith had been terrorizing the people of Alderaan for days now. Senator Organa sent in his own people to take care of the situation but had failed numerous times, that’s when he called the Jedi council for help. Anakin and Obi-Wan did not hesitate to take on the mission for Senator Organa had helped the Jedi order on many previous occasions.

“We’re almost there, Master.” Anakin called out to Obi-Wan who sat patiently somewhere behind Anakin waiting for their arrival.

“Excellent!” He called back. “We need to meet with Senator Organa to get her coordinates before we go after her. I believe he said to meet him at his home, do you know where that is?”

“Yes, Master.” Anakin said while fiddling with the control panel. Just then Anakin could feel the Force stretching itself in between himself and another who was sensitive to the Force. “Do you feel that, Master?”

“Feel what?” Obi-Wan gave Anakin a confused look.

“N-nothing, Master.” Anakin could feel the Force pulling him in as if to guide him to somewhere he needed to be. Lucky the pull was coming from somewhere on Alderaan.

It didn’t take much longer for their ship to break through the planet's atmosphere and to touch down safely. As they exited Senator Organa stepped out of his lovely home.

“Senator Organa, how nice to see you again, sorry it is under these circumstances.” Obi-Wan said whilst tilting his upper half into a bow.

“Oh if not these circumstances then another. I am so very pleased it is you two the council sent. That Sith has been tormenting my people and killing my guards. I didn’t know who else to call.” Senator Organa put his head down in defeat.

“Well, that’s not your problem to worry about anymore, Senator. Anakin and I will make quick work of this and be out of here in no time. Now, where is this wretched Sith you speak of.” Obi-Wan says.

Senator Organa frowns in response. “Uhh, that’s another problem, we lost her.”

“That’s no problem at all, Senator. We’ll wait for her to mess up and cause a ruckus again, it shouldn't take long.” Obi-wan gave Senator Organa a Siths-will-be-Siths look, making the Senator crack a small smile.

Anakin stood behind Obi-Wan still feeling this odd pull of the Force. He tried brushing it off as if it were possible to ignore. He closed his eyes trying to follow where it wanted him to go. It took him down the long stretch of building, making Anakin’s stomach churn. Once it got down to the street it made a sharp left turn going four blocks down before taking a right..

Anakin opened his eyes. He felt dizzy from the rushed directions the Force was sending him. Then in his ear he could hear a very soft whisper. ‘Come, Come and find me’ the estranged voices said followed by a seductive laugh. Anakin now realized that the weird pull was coming from the Sith they were sent to capture; he could hear the odious, foul cringe in her voice even with just a whisper. Anakin didn’t want to tell Obi-Wan about the pull to her he was feeling. He’d get another lecture on the dark side and how he needs to avoid certain urges and blah blah blah. He never listened to Obi-Wan when he talked about that stuff anyway, so there was no point. Instead he decided to just follow the pull and bring her in by himself.

Anakin clears his throat. “Pardon me Master, do you mind if I step away for a second for some.. fresh air?” He says nervously.

“Anakin.. we’re outside.” Obi-Wan is astonished by Anakin’s idiocy.

“Yes, right. But with the altitude we’re at The air is a little thin.. Master.” Obi-Wan stares at Anakin in confusion.

“You’ve never had a problem with altitude sickness that I can recall but if this is true then so be it. Just keep an eye out For the woman.” Obi-Wan waves him off.

“Yes, Master.” With that Anakin made his way down to the street where the path started, walking fast as to waste no time.

------

Anakin makes it to his destination. It’s an old beat up, yellow house that seemed to be falling apparent at the seams. He put his hand over his lightsaber, that was still attached to his utility belt, just in case he needed it.. He walked up to the front door and peered into the windows. He was looking for her but only saw old, dusty furniture and ugly shag carpeting.

He could still feel the pull but he had a bad feeling about actually entering the house. He turned to leave and when he did he felt the Force pull him through the front door and straight to the back of the house. He fell to the floor once he reached the end of the hallway. He noticed there were two rooms on either side of him. He took out his lightsaber now igniting it as he went to enter the front one on his right.

He, once again, saw nothing but furniture but this time they were wrapped in big plastic tarps. He scoped the room out a little more thoroughly before going back to the hall to now search the room that was on his left. He opened the door hesitantly as he walked in stealthily. After he opened the door all the way he noticed a few things; the first thing was a big open safe against the wall that connected to the bathroom, then an arm chair that sat by a window with the curtains drawn. His eyes continued to scan the room until they landed on her.

The sounds of his lightsaber filled the room as he approached her.

“I've been waiting for you, Skywalker.” She says now turning around to face him. “I have to admit you’re cuter than I thought you’d be.” She grins at that. She stands up for the bed that sat up against the opposite wall of the safe. She walks towards Anakin but stops as he holds his lightsaber out towards her. “Do you even know how to use that thing?” she asked mockingly.

“Of course.” He says almost embarrassed as he stares at her through the sheen of his lightsaber and observers her. He’d hate to admit it but she was beautiful, she wore a long black gowned, almost a night gown, he thought. The straps were thin exposing the skin on her shoulders and the top of the upper portion of the dress exposed her chest to the point where he knew she was not wearing a bra.

“You’re drooling, Mr. Skywalker.” He huffed at her and pried his eyes from her body.

“I’m here to bring you in. You are nothing but a prisoner to me now, Sith scum.

“Calm down,Jedi. Your might hurt my feelings. You don’t want to hurt my feelings do you?” She laughed a wicked laugh. He started to proceed toward her. As he did she took the opportunity to have his lightsaber come to her. She laughed again making him very angry. She played with Anakin for a while as she skillfully messed around with his lightsaber.

“Enough!” Anakin shouted towards her. She gasped then made a humming noise seeming aroused by his anger.

“Calm down, baby. You’re so tense.” She laughed again. “You haven't fucked in a long time have you?” She continued to dance around, then when she looked back at Anakin's face she noticed a pinkish tint had appeared on his cheeks. “Oh right, sex “Isn’t the way of the Jedi” bullshit.” She giggled at that.

“How dare you mock Jedi code.” He screamed. She paused her actions now staring at Anakin in contemplation. He crossed his arm over to the other now feeling violated by her eyes obviously undressing him.

“How about we make a deal, hm? I’ll give you back your precious lightsaber and come with you willingly if you fuck me.”Anakin shifted nervously at her request. He glanced towards the window in annoyance before looking back to her.

“I’d never fuck anyone let alone a dirty Sith whore.” He spat.

This made her angry. She threw the lightsaber into the open safe, locking it. Then without hesitation tossed Anakin like a ragdoll onto the bed.

“Did you really think I was asking?” She grins at him as she sits herself next to his head. “You’re going to do exactly as I say or else I’ll strip you down to your boots, give you a mind boggling blowjob and stop just before your climax. Then, I’ll grab my things, along with your pretty little lightsaber, and be on my way. Is that what you want, Jedi? She then reaches down and palms Anakin over his pants making him involuntarily buck his hips upward.

“It- it’s just a lightsaber… I-I can always make another.” Anakin doesn’t want to lose his lightsaber again, Obi-Wan would kill him. He also can’t stop himself from moaning out as she presses her hand down a little harder on his member.

She tsks, “You’re already getting hard for me and I've barely done a thing.” She brings her other hand down to join the other in undoing the button of his pants.

“S-stop, this is wrong.” He tries to move his hands to stop her from her actions but her hold on him is too strong for him to break. He felt the button pop open and the zipper become undone as well. He groaned at the feeling of being released from it’s all of a sudden tight confinement. He groans even louder when she pulls him completely out of his boxers. “Stop!” he tries again.

“Look at you, you’re dripping for me.” She hums in excitement. “You’re so big too. Don’t you want to know how it feels to have my tight pussy wrapped around your cock.” His member twitches at her words making her giggle in excitement. “It seems your body is betraying you, Skywalker.”

She starts to stroke him slowly as she admires every detail of his smooth, veiny member. His involuntary groans have turned into whimpers of pleasure. “Do you still want me to stop?” She asks, still stroking him.

“Yes.” He says sounding out of breath. She hums as a smirk appears on her face. She then lowers herself till her face is hovering over his member. “What are you--”, He trails off as she takes him in her mouth. “F-fuck!” he screams.

“Still want me to stop?” she asks lifting up from him for only those words as she glides him back into her mouth.

“Y-yes!” He moans. She takes him deeper into her mouth, humming at the feeling of his soft skin grazing her throat. “Oh god that feels so good..” He says without thinking. This makes her moan around his member again sending shock waves through his entire body. He’s given up on any morals at this point, only wanting one thing at this moment, to cum down her throat.

“Do you still want me to stop?” She asks coming up from him again. He looks at her now with saliva dripping down her chin. Just the sight of her makes him twitch which, weirdly, made her the one blushing now. She bit her lip waiting for an answer and he couldn’t believe the words that were about to leave his mouth.

“Gods no.” She giggled before taking him down her throat, gagging only a little on his length. Anakin couldn’t help but to fuck her mouth needing more of it. She bobbed around him at a fast pace bringing him right up to his climax before pulling off. He watched as she frantically hopped off the bed, pulling her underwear off and getting back on. She positioned herself over his hips, as she played with Anakin, which started to become a thing of hers, by grinding her wet cunt on his member.

“Do you want me to fuck you now?’’ She grabbed his member with one of her hands and slapped it up against her wetness making them both gasp simultaneously.

“Y-yes.” He groaned.

She tsks again, “That’s not very convincing.” She circles the tip of his member around her opening making him groan impatiently. “Do you want me to fuck you?” She slides down only taking in the tip, they both moan at this.

“Yes fuck me!” he spats at her.

“I don’t know..” She tries to have him beg again but with all the built up frustration Anakin finally has the strength to break from her hold on him. Him lifts his upper body up to meet her covered chest with his and rolls them over, so he is now atop her.

“How about I fuck you.” before she can answer he shoves himself all the way into her throbbing, wet pussy. She can feel his legs shaking between his hips as he thrusts into her with vingants. “You’re pussy feels so good.” He groans.

“I-I told you you’d like it.” He thrusts harder into her hips at her words making her scream with pleasure. She brings her hands up to his back scratching her way down to his bottom. He winced at her actions but did not stop.

“Ch-choke me.” She requested. He wasted no time in doing so. As he squeezed his fingers into her trachea she felt that overwhelming feeling of arousal gather that her base. “Oh,Gods I’m cumming.” She barely breathed out as she, with one last hard thrust, came around his throbbing cock. He let her ride out her orgasm before pulling out of her, grabbing her by the arm until she fell to the floor. She propped herself up on her knees knowing exactly what he wanted. She took him, once again, back into her mouth. He grabbed a fistful of her hair this time and fucked her mouth till he finally climaxed on her tongue.

After climaxing he shoved her to the floor. He put his boxers then pants back on and, skillfully opened the safe, retrieving his lightsaber. “Get your fucking panties on, Slut. We’re leaving.”

xMasterlist.x

[star-killer-md]

Dream A little Dream of Me Pt. 7

Welp. It’s been uh, a long fucking time. My only excuse is college is hard and also I’m lazy. Anyway, here she be. Thank you to everyone who continues to read this cause I need it to exit my brain and it’s incredibly nice to not just like, scream Kylo porn into the void. 

I hope y’all enjoy and feel free to leave me a comment or reblog or dm if you are so inclined. 

AO3 mirror

Part 8

Warnings: Inappropriate use of the Force, Force sex, angst, nsfw, y’all know the drill

Summary: In which answers are found. 

Ship: Kylo Ren x Negotiator!Reader

Word Count: 6.6k

The room smelled too sweet, the kind that lodged under your tongue and ached in your jaw. It made you long for the silence of your seaside room, made you strangely thankful that Kylo Ren often never filled it. But only for a minute. Because thinking of him reminded you of how you’d woken to an empty bed and cold, damp sheets and that you were certainly not thankful for. 

Meanwhile, Lem Alba seemed intrinsically compelled to do exactly the opposite. 

In fact, once he’d guessed you wouldn’t chew his head off every time he opened his mouth, it never closed again. You weren’t entirely sure if this annoyed or pleased you. But when Lem came to your door and invited you to brunch before all campaign staff were carted off back to the Federal District, you agreed. 

If only to avoid being left alone with your thoughts. 

“Not to grandstand,” Lem babbled between sips of his drink, “but I often feel some of my skills are wasted working just as a personal aide.” 

You glanced up from your plate and nodded, “I think most people in this profession tend to believe that. We’re all a bit insatiable.” 

He chuckled, soft voice melding perfectly with the chatter and bustle of the surrounding tables. You couldn’t help but think that Lem fit in well here, as much as he tried to deny it. His edges blended seamlessly with the velvet and silk background. It reminded you of when he’d plucked you right out of the crowd your first night here. 

“You First Order people have a way about you. Something in the way you stand a bit too straight.”

Something in the way you’re always waiting for the ball to drop. 

“Yes well, I’m not gunning for a power grab,” Lem sighed and rolled his eyes. 

He looked very much like a scorned child and you felt a twinge of remorse, “No, I didn’t think you were.” 

“It’s alright,” he ran a hand through his neat hair and stared at you over the rim of his glass, “I just get so bored of it all sometimes.”

“Mm, me too,” you said around a bite of some extravagant concoction that dripped embarrassingly down your chin. 

You thought of blood and saltwater rolling across your skin and quickly wiped it away with a napkin. 

“Really? I wouldn’t have thought that would be an issue for someone in your position.”

You had to try very hard not to scoff out loud, settling for a disbelieving raise of your eyebrows. Piles of paperwork taller than the Commander filled your head, glowering officers and incessant incident reports—your life nothing more than a series of other people's mistakes that somehow became your fault. Grey walls and meetings that never ended. 

Come to think of it, you’d been bored and tired and frustrated your whole life it seemed. Although, not so much anymore. Still just as exhausted and angry, but less like a pacing animal in a cage. The thought sat uncomfortably in your stomach as you wondered when exactly that had changed.  

Of course you already knew the answer. 

You always were attracted to things that kept you on your toes. 

“Should we discuss this speech I’m supposed to be giving?” you asked. 

If Lem noticed your less than subtle change in topic, he didn’t show it for which you were grateful. 

“Certainly,” he gestured for you to continue. 

“Well, I’ve had it outlined for quite awhile since the powers that be were oh-so specific about the subject matter,” you began, watching Lem grimace sympathetically. 

“Yes, I believe I’m meant to collect a draft from you by the end of the week.” 

The joints in your shoulders popped when you slumped forward, hanging your head against the weight of far too stringent deadlines.

“I’m well aware,” you sighed. “Normally I wouldn’t be so neglectful of the timeline, I’m just having a hard time...focusing.” 

The barely concealed mark on the curve of your neck throbbed as you recalled the massive, decadently handsome distraction that consistently occupied your workspace. Really, how were you expected to get any quality content produced with that dark, looming shadow always poisoning your mind with questions and completely inappropriate fantasy. 

Currently, your entire body seemed to constrict at the notion that it was no longer strictly a fantasy. Your muscles corded taught, pulling like a ruched seam and tugging painfully at the sinew. It felt almost as if you were a marionette with invisible strings controlled by equally invisible hands that tingled as they jerked you about. You got the distinct sensation that someone was watching you, but resisted the urge to turn and look. 

Lem—completely oblivious to your inner turmoil—perked up and offered you a blindingly white grin full of ramrod straight teeth. 

“I have an office I’m more than willing to loan out if you’d like to make use of it,” he said. 

You considered the idea, chewing on your lip. Maybe getting lost in speech writing would be good, you thought. Something easy, something formulaic would do wonders for taking your mind off, well, everything. 

“As long as you’re offering,” you flashed him a strained smile and went back to shuffling things around your plate. 

Lem continued to spew an endless stream of comfortingly meaningless ramblings and you bathed in the sound of it, looking up occasionally to offer a hum of acknowledgement. You didn’t really care what he was saying—whether it was opinions for opening lines or who you should thank first or what color to wear that he thought would bring out your eyes—but you couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a friendly conversation with...anyone. 

So you let him talk, and nodded every once in a while and basked in the normalcy, the mundaneness of the scene. Until, of course, the peace was shattered when your server returned with a new cocktail for Lem, who promptly spilled it all over the table. 

You watched it unfold like the audience of a holodrama: the waiter, tall with an abundance of black curls and long fingers extending the glass, their hands touching for just an instant, the scarlet blush that tinted Lem’s ears when he glanced at the man’s face and stared transfixed even as the drink spilled off the table and onto his slacks. 

It felt very suddenly as if you were seeing something you shouldn’t be. 

But the moment ended quickly and quietly, fizzling out with a whimper as the waiter with all his curly hair frantically mopped up the mess. His voice was low and pleasant when he apologized and rushed off to get another drink mixed. 

For once, you had the urge to participate in the conversation. 

“Who’s that?” you asked, flicking your eyes up briefly and then back down to the wet mark on the table cloth. 

Lem shrugged and fiddled with the stain on his pants, “Nobody.” 

And for once, it seemed, he had nothing else to say on the matter. 

It was truly a challenge to keep the amused smile from splitting your cheeks as Lem so clearly tried and failed not to make a complete fool of himself every time said server returned to clear plates. And when a beautifully decorated fruit tart found its way to your table—decidedly marked as ‘on the house’—you were graced with an extraordinarily toothy, childish smile from your dining companion. 

Your chest ached with it, the display of reality. 

On your first night here, you’d thought Lem looked too much like all the other First Order officers you were forced to work with. Thought his hair was too perfect, his suit too pressed, words too cherry picked. 

But here you were again, getting drawn in by these stupid, simple instances of existence in relation to others. You craved the feeling of fading into the background as Lem stuttered whenever he tried to thank the boy with his curls and warm smile. 

It was strange too, to see that people truly did flush and brush hands and chew their lips and smile so freely. For whatever reason, you’d been under the distinct impression that was an exclusively fictional pursuit, saved for holofilms or storybooks. 

Did those things exist in you? Were there times when you’d fluttered the way Lem did now, cautiously stealing bites of his tart, trying to preserve the delicate design for as long as possible? Or had they atrophied and fallen to dust from disuse, nothing more than a vestigial organ, unnecessary and forgotten—ready to pump your body full of toxins at a moment's notice should it burst. 

And that only raised more questions. How incomplete had you been this whole time? How long had you been ignorant of your deficiency?  

And did it matter?

But that was not something you could ever answer. So, you sat back and watched and listened and breathed it in. 

Appreciated from afar this show of innocenceweakness.

You jolted in your seat, shoulders bunching together as if a hand had grabbed you from behind. The double voice rang out in your head, echoing up like it was shouted from the bottom of some pit inside you. You knew that voice though—would know it anywhere by now.  

It was him, of course it was. 

You could feel Kylo Ren like a shroud, a dampening of the outside world. When you listened closely, you swore you could hear the sound of crashing waves, the crunch of sand under boot heels. The smell of salt and skin and bloody water filled your nose. Your chest was burning, a prison for some roiling, angry creature that flung itself against the steel bars of your ribs.

His ribs.

His heartbeat, a pounding and ruthless tattoo.

His feet already moving in time to the beat, carrying him farther and farther— 

Is it? you shouted back.

The words tore at your throat even as you sat in silence at the table. But no response came, instead the chatter of the dining room returned and Lem tilted his head in concern, standing and gathering you up by the arms. 

He pulled you down the poshly ornamented halls, chattering still but shooting glances down more often with his brows furrowed. You let him lead you, thin arm looped around yours, back towards your quarters to ‘help you pack,’ he said. And you didn’t bother discouraging him. 

You already knew the room would empty. 

***

The meeting had been dragging on for quite nearly an hour already. You were seated at the far end of a comically long table staring off into oblivion, eyes having glazed over nearly ten minutes in when one of the relations staff started going on about color coordinating suits. 

Although, you were not completely tuned out. It was very hard to be when just a few seats away sat the Representative himself with his grotesque excuse for an advisor positioned at his right hand. Fortunately he hadn’t spared you a glance, but it was a challenge not to keep one eye on him at all times—to not consistently feel your calves twitch, ready to bolt through the nearest exit. 

You understood now what it must be like for all those prisoners sitting in the Finalizer’s belly—backed into the final corner, waiting for Kylo Ren to swoop in like a shadow and leave them flayed open to be tossed out with the rest of those who have outgrown their usefulness. 

You’ve been trying not to think too specifically about...him since you’d returned to the Federal District, your room here just as empty as the one by the sea. His shirt, the one you’d stolen was still packed neatly into your bags. You thought about throwing it away, or tossing it in the corner for him to find. But then you remembered the bits of torn up packaging and lace and that you would not sink to that level. Physical reminders aside, your head had been blessedly—or maybe concerningly—devoid of any voices that were not your own since your, well, ‘fight’ you supposed was the word for it at brunch. 

Then again, all you ever did with him was fight, but this felt different. 

There were plenty of reasons for the Commander to be angry with you, in fact, you didn’t think there could ever be a shortage. However, this seemed just a little too...petulant for your liking. 

You recalled some of Hux’s old rants. Generally, you’d just let him rave like you were just another piece of furniture in his office, stewing in the same hot, bubbling pot of indignation. You could hear him now:

“He’s a child, a sulking, immature youngling completely incapable of a single rational thought.”

And you finally understood what he meant. 

If only you were allowed to use the silent treatment, but that seemed to be a privilege only for those higher up in the food chain. 

Besides, you were far too classy for such elementary tactics. 

You spat the last words and hoped to the stars that wherever the hell Ren had run off to, he heard them. Which one of you was the weak one now?

It was Lem who pulled you from the dark, brooding hole you’d dug yourself as he caught your eye from across the table. The speakers were switching, a half-hearted applause ringing out in the cavernous room and he flashed you a quick roll of his eyes. You bit back a smile at the way he jumped when Gahl turned to rattle off some inane order and Lem scrambled to take a note down. 

Watching it reminded you of how he’d nearly leaped out of his suit when the waiter boy with curly hair brought by your plates. Jane was his name. You’d discovered it while Lem was helping you pack, happily filling the silence with how he was much too smart to be working as a server.

And as you thought, your traitorous mind led you inevitably back to the looming, black specter that haunted your every waking minute. You would be kidding yourself if you thought you could ever have given the Commander the cold shoulder when truly he was all you ever thought about. Even before, even if it was just to remember how much you despised him. 

Past tense now, you noted worriedly. What a terrifying concept. 

But your brain was moving quickly past that, tucking it away in some far, deep corner to only be touched on long nights when you were up far past the shift in day cycles. 

Now it was replaying your brunch, closing up on a still of Jane’s hand on the glass about to tumble, on the lip biting, starry eyed and heart pounding look in his eyes. And then he was changing, the skin of his hand growing lighter, milky and soft with scattered freckles. 

Then it was your hand reaching out. Your hand slipping on the glass and Kylo Ren—sweet smile on his face—staring down at you blushing like a ripe fruit in summer.  

His lovely crooked teeth flashed behind lips like pillows filled with the softest featherdown.  

The tips of his fingers brushed your hand, light and nervous in that not-quite-accidental way that should have made your heart leap into hyper drive. Kylo’s eye flicked down at the floor, downcast coyly and glancing every few seconds to catch you staring at the pink in his cheeks.

You watched the scene as if through water, some stark, salty barrier that coated him in a film of non-reality. You waited for the star shine look of his eyes to pull you in, waited to feel your hands shake and your pulse race and any number of other inane, fluttery things that you had seen Lem stumble through.

But the sight of it, the look on this man's face—because it was most certainly not Kylo Ren looking at you with honey eyes, sparkling shy dips of nectar—it was...

It was not at all what you’d thought. 

It was revolting. 

It was an antithesis come to life.

It made your skin crawl with the unnatural feeling of it all. 

Kylo Ren’s face was not built to look at you this way, did not contain sickeningly gentle smiles, his hands knew no soft brushes of fingertips.

No, they wielded saber blades and crushed bone and spilled blood.

They tangled in your hair and molded mottled fingerprints into your skin 

His lips were carved from marble that could not comprehend such an innocent up turning, unless it was to mock his opponent.

They sucked permanent brands of ownership into your skin, and made them throb when you thought of him. 

And that was all you would ever want him to do. 

As much as he roused the caged and angry beast that resided in your bones, as much as he lied and withheld and left you to wake alone—

You couldn’t bear this bastardized, cheap imitation that stared at you sweetly.

That was not your Commander. 

That was not your Kylo Ren.

And you would not have him any other way.

That thought sat heavy with you and called to life something in the depths of your being. A fire, red and electric sparked to life. You recalled the vision he’d shown you. Recalled his words echoing:

“All I see is a whore who has no idea what she’s getting herself into.” 

You felt yourself slip into the memory of his hands burying themselves in your flesh. The image of yourself—ruined, marked, and so clearly his—was crashing to the surface of your thoughts like whitecapped waves on a stormy sea. The ache in your neck returned, as though his hands were wrenching your head back to make you watch as he split you in half with his cock. You saw it in incredible detail, the veins of his length sinking into you to the hilt in one long roll of his hips. It stung and made your nerves sing with the pain of taking him. 

It was delicious. 

It fed you the pit inside you like meat thrown to a starving beast. 

This was how he was meant to be taken: painful in his beauty, lovely in his destruction. 

His skin was so warm when he pressed your back to his chest and growled in your ear: 

“So desperate for your Commander’s cock, aren’t you?” 

And yes, of course you were, of course you always were because really had you ever felt complete or whole without him filling you to the brim? But it wasn’t just his cock you needed buried in you. No, you craved him in a way that transcended your physical being. 

Separate. That’s what he told you, that there was something more to you than just your body that could exist outside of yourself, could slip into his head and find him even when you were dreaming. 

And you were desperate for the feeling of his thoughts. For his mind, for whatever it was that let you hear him whispering all the things he could never say aloud. 

His voice in your head was the only thing that soothed the churning in your guts, it was like salve on a burn, cooling like the mint of his breath. The steady beat of his blood the only thing that truly set you at ease. 

Yes, that was your Kylo Ren. 

Possessive and withholding, saying everything in brief glances and the twitch of of jaw. Complex and often painful and perfect. 

You wanted him that way.

And you needed to hear him. 

You couldn’t stand the silence any longer.

Kylo? 

The single word echoed across whatever void your mind was inhabiting, crosses bounds to seek out something on the other end. 

You waited and wanted and— 

And then you were not so alone in your head anymore.

But the meeting room was coming back into focus and everyone was staring directly at you. The large holoprojector in the table’s center showed the first, familiar graphics of your portion of the presentation. From across the table, Lem was staring at you, brows furrowed and questioning. 

“Right,” you said, making your way to the front of the room.

You felt as though you were back in the academy, bland and boring faces all staring up at your false smile. You tried not to focus on them too hard. “As the delegate from the First Order, I’ll naturally be making the announcement of endorsement. This will be submitted to Mr. Alba for review by the end of the week along with the Order’s formal statement of apology.” 

You nodded and the projection moved on, showing the next set of animations, “Now, as I said, these will be submitted at the end of this week, so if there’s any—”

There was a hand sliding up your thigh. It was distinct and massive and coated in leather, the feeling of it so incredibly acute under your clothing you almost choked in shock. But when you slapped a hand down, there was nothing but empty air. 

The crowd for the most part seemed not to have noticed your pause, too caught up in whispered conversations to the side or staring blankly at the tabletop, so you cleared your throat, “If there’s anything you’d like to be included that should be given to me by tomorrow evening at the latest.” 

Your heart was pounding in your chest, the pulse of it clear all the way to your fingertips. Taking a shaky breath you continued to go over the list of other asinine requests, falling easily into a familiar rhythm. Presentations like this were half your job back on the Finalizer. It was home turf, and you were able to flick on autopilot long enough too— 

What was that? you asked incredulously into the void of your mind

Silence echoed, and you glanced briefly around the room, though thankfully you’d looked down at your notes when the hand returned. This time much, much higher. The unmistakable feeling of leather catching on the edge of your panties made your jaw drop. 

You called. 

Kylo’s voice reverberated through your skull, his tone was blank but you could feel the strange mixture of amusement and annoyance that was not yours. It was irritating on a level you’d thought impossible. 

Well I’m a bit busy if you hadn’t noticed, you snapped, grinding your teeth when his disembodied scoff graced your ears. 

You’d think it might be one of the most alluring things you’d ever heard if the stares of so many faceless campaign staffers weren’t pinning you down at the same time.  

Hmm, he hummed, unconcerned or unbothered by whatever was going on outside of the little world that consisted of just the two of you. 

His hand—because that’s what it had to be, his hand, somehow—curled under the hem of your panties, ripping the elastic to the side where it dug painfully into your skin. 

Stop, you hissed it, spat the word at him and tried to will away the fingers that pulled the meat of your thighs apart. 

But they only spread your legs further, a rush of cold air hitting your cunt and tensing your stomach as his fingers drew up up up— 

You’ll just have to keep quiet, won’t you?

And, of course, since you’ve never been all that good about following orders, the second he plunged two, impossibly thick fingers deep into your pussy, your voice caught in your throat. The garbled half cough half moan half wounded animal cry made every head in the room turn to face you.

Even Atreus, whose dead, white blue eyes locked in on your face and never blinked.

You froze, struggling to recall your place as Kylo worked his unseen fingers father into you, coaxing a wave of slick heat to drip from your core. Your hands bunched into fists, nails digging crescent moon holes into the skin of your palm in an effort not to gasp when he hit that lovely spot inside and made your knees threaten to give out. 

Don’t stop, now. Unless you’d like them to know what a little whore you are, Kylo growled from somewhere deep inside you. 

You caught your breath, plastering a smile on your face and taking a sip from the glass of water being offered to you. 

“My apologies, where was I?”

Shuffling through your notes, you picked up where you’d left off with proper terms to use when addressing members of the Order. You tried not to move, focusing squarely on the projection and schooling your expression—at least you hoped you were. Atreus’ stare never left you now. Like he could smell the lie on your face. Or the way your pussy gushed with ever renewed thrusting of Kylo’s leather fingers, the ridges creating a sinful drag against your walls. 

Well if I’m a whore then what are you? 

From whatever corner of your mind he was lurking in, Kylo chuckled softly. 

Much worse, he mused. 

You bit back a scream when his thumb found your clit, rubbing swift circles with the smooth material. 

But in your head, your voice rang free, and you let out the string of curses you’d been holding back, voice cracking into a whine when he added a third finger. And just as he spread you open, scissored your entrance and glided against your walls, something else opened too, gaped wide and you spilled into it.  

You could see him, but it was a different him, from a different time, walking the halls of the Finalizer. His boots ran out against the durasteel until they came to an abrupt halt and silence filled the corridor. There was a slight tremor in his hand, a minuscule shaking as he gripped his thigh and fell back against the wall, breath coming heavy through his mask. 

It was practiced, the movement of his hand that fumbled with the layers of his robes until his cock sprang free, hard and leaking and with a lovely red flush to the head. Your mouth watered at the sight of his hand stroking long and fast along the shaft, thumb teasing his tip and collecting the little beads of precum that glistened there. 

This is what you do to me, he said. I hear all of it. Every thought you have. I hear how badly you want my cock pounding into you and my hand on your throat and— 

He groaned in your head, the same way you knew he must have in whatever memory you were viewing. Distantly, you could just barely feel the movement of his hand as he jerked himself, hips bucking up into his fist. 

You were not faring much better. The words kept tumbling out of your mouth, sometimes trailing off on a particularly hard thrust of his fingers. Your head spun with this new confirmation. He’d heard all of it. Every frustrated thought, every time you’d goaded him in meetings and hallways and when you’d lie awake— or not so awake—and think about how much you maybe, probably, almost certainly didn't hate him. Not that you hadn’t known, that he could hear you. Not that you hadn’t suspected that it had always been him, not some imaginary replication. That was very clear, but now. Now you had the truth. Now you knew for certain. 

Kylo Ren had always been more than just a dream. 

For so long he had watched you crumbling from afar and said nothing.

And who knew how long he intended to keep you in the dark. 

If there wasn’t a target on your back right now, would you have ever found out?

Kylo, you gasped the words in your head as his thumb sped up in its rhythm on your clit and his fingers stroked your walls, what is this?

You needed to know. You deserved to know. 

And you could feel the words. They were there, right on the tip of his lovely pink tongue, about to find their way past the crooked edges of his teeth, lips loose in the pleasure of you. But the burst of white that clouded your vision and finally made your knees buckle drowned out any truth he may have spared you. Your combined releases flowed thick like heavy metal through your veins as you felt the pulse of him slowly fading from your mind, slipping from your grasp. 

Your hand shot out to grab the table edge, holding yourself upright as everything in your mind went blessedly, horribly quiet and the room grew much louder. Time was unclear to you. The projections showed you’d managed to get through over half of your presentation, but you called none of it. 

Lem was standing up now, walking briskly over to you with a hand on your back and another under your elbow. The fingers in your cunt had disappeared, leaving you feeling empty and cold as your slick stuck to the inside of your thighs. 

“Ah, I believe our financing presentation is up next,” Lem called out, motioning quickly for the team to take over and leading you back to your seat. 

When you were safely sat back in the chair, you felt his stiffly gelled hair brush your cheek. It smelled overpoweringly of apricots and vanilla. Too sweet. 

“Are you alright?” he whispered. 

The concern in his voice was evident, but you were lost in the past few minutes and too frustrated by the silence in your head to appreciate it. 

“Fine,” you mumbled back and turned your head back to the blank table. 

You didn’t look at him as he rushed back to his place by Gahl, who’s gaze never shifted your way. Unlike his advisor. Even now the slip of a man in his dark suit and red tie stared at you down his nose like it was the barrel of his blaster. 

Like he was taking aim. 

You swallowed and tried to go back to that space where time did not exist and your head was not so empty, but it didn’t not come. 

Instead, you sat and listened and hoped you wouldn’t leave a damp spot on the cushions when you left. 

***

There were a lot of rules in negotiations. 

The First Order made sure its best and brightest had them all carved onto the backs of their hands before they ever set foot in the situation room. When you closed your eyes, you could see the words flashing in your mind. You knew them better than you knew yourself. But maybe that wasn’t really saying much. You’d been discovering quite a lot of personal details recently you weren’t previously aware of. 

Though, that was besides the point now. 

Now all you could think of was that the number one rule to a successful negotiation, was to always know more than your opponent. 

Knowledge was your strength, knowledge was your red crackling lightsaber, knowledge was your fist closed, throat crushing Force. 

That was how you came out on top, by constantly keeping the upper hand—by always having an ace in your metaphorical back pocket. 

But right now, you were losing.

And the frustration of it was going to consume you. 

Because you didn't know what or how or why Kylo Ren was in your head. In fact, you weren’t even sure if it was your head he was in. It felt much deeper than that now. And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t keep him out. Whatever you’d done, whatever you’d let in that night on the sand with the sea standing witness, you would never be able to take it back. 

Kylo Ren was a liar. That you knew, because you were a liar too. 

Knowledge was your power, but lies were your currency. They were what you traded at the table, they were what slipped the easiest from your tongue and made sure you walked away from a deal with more than you’d come in with. 

And Kylo Ren was not in the business of negotiations, so there was nothing you could ever offer that would pry his jaw open and spill all his secrets. Nothing that could persuade him to tell you what exactly had taken root in your chest when you’d accepted him, took him inside and wanted to keep him there. 

But you needed to know. 

The desire to understand consumed you and every thought in your head. The same head that found itself clunking against a new desk in a new office with the same unending dissatisfaction. 

Lem had left you a few hours ago, setting you up in his workspace with a glass of water and a concerned smile. You knew you were being unnecessarily rude to him, and had you been less shaken, you might have felt some guilt over it. 

Now you were staring up at your datapad, document resolutely blank, and unable to think of anything other than the way Kylo’s skin reflected the light off the ocean or how his hair curled into little ringlets when it was soaked through and dripping onto your face and— 

You groaned, knocking your forehead into the desktop and squeezing your eyes shut against the barrage of images and the strange, uncomfortable ache they incited. You rested your head on your arms and tried to block out the light of the office, let yourself drift and tried to recall...well what you weren’t sure. 

The Force always seemed so far away, so fantastical that you weren’t ever truly convinced it was real. Not until you’d seen it first hand, watched the bodies of countless ‘troopers dragged from the hallways with not a mark on them. It simply wasn’t something anyone talked about, not at the Academy, and certainly not when you started working under Hux. 

It was...energy, you knew that much. And it was in everything, everyone you supposed, though stronger some than others. You knew it could be used for more than just making objects float around, although for what other purposes you weren’t entirely certain. It certainly wasn’t something you’d ever been able to use. 

But you thought it must have a hand in this, whatever it was that let you see, hear, taste, feel the Commander even when he was so far from you. Somewhere deep in the dusty corners of your mind, you knew that this would always be the case from now on. That even with light years in between, he’d only ever be a hair's breadth away—a whisper of his name or a beat of your heart. 

It was hard to swallow that notion. Hard to comprehend that you would never be alone in your skin. Never would you feel so lacking. What a cruelty, you thought, that it had taken so long. That you had been born into this world incomplete. Your Commander would call that a weakness, but really wasn’t he just as unfinished as you. There was still some gap in him waiting to be filled.

So, then, why couldn’t you find him like he could find you?

You didn’t have the gifts he did, you couldn’t make doors fly from their hinges or break bone with just a twitch of your fingers. And maybe that was the problem. Maybe it always would be. 

Voices from the hall broke you from your stupor. Two of them, the first old and grating, the second slick like oil that left a bad taste in your mouth—the representative and his advisor. You’d recognize them anywhere now. 

“...well I’d say that a drink is in order,” Gahl was saying, trailing off as they walked further from Lem’s office. 

“Sir, we shouldn’t be leaving—”

Atreus spoke that time, the sound of it trickling like cold water down your spine. Thankfully, the representative spoke over him. 

“Lem is here, he’ll take care of things.”  

A hand slapped the closed door currently keeping you hidden as they passed. You stayed still at the desk until the footsteps had completely petered out, listening to the expensive click of their hard soles die away into silence. Until now it had not occurred to you how close they were. How close the blade was to striking. You let out a breath and looked around. Everything seemed a bit more foggy than usual. Then, from across the room, you heard it—a soft creaking. And when you looked up, the door to Lem’s office was slowly falling open on its hinges. 

Like it was pulled by some invisible hand. 

And you felt the same tugging, the same formless compulsion, the same ghosting over your flesh. 

Across the hall, another door was drifting open by degrees, revealing a meticulously kept office with a shiny gold name plate:

Atreus.

Slowly, you let yourself be pulled—a puppet on strings—walking noiselessly across the corridor. In the doorway you paused, staring at the intricate black lettering. You wanted answers, and something told you this is where you’d find them. 

Into the belly of the beast. 

You took a careful step over the threshold, the air honey-thick and clinging to your skin. The office was spotless, not a paper out of place as you circled around the massive desk and ran your hands up the array of drawers. Each one was furnished with an ornate golden handle that glimmered in light from the hall. 

To your right, a drawer slid open just an inch or two. You watched, eyes wide, as it shuttered of its own accord out of place. And your hand similarly seemed to have a mind of its own, reaching out to grasp the handle and reveal it’s contents. 

Inside, nestled atop of a stack of folders was a small, black notebook. At first glance, it seemed innocuous. Not many people used pen and paper these days. But then the space around it started to shimmer, locking your gaze until the world outside it turned hazy. Shaking, your hand reached out fingertips brushing the leather bound cover. You bit your lip, teeth worrying the flesh as you sat on the floor and pulled the book into your lap. The ragged edges of each page caught on your nails when you flipped them open. 

Written in small, messy scrawl, was page upon page of notes. Words ran off the lines, and continued through the margins, most too minuscule or smudged to be legible. Multiple times, the Commander’s name was scratched in between sentences, angry obsessive markings that made your eyes sting. But you kept skimming, letting your hand be guided along. 

Until suddenly the pages stopped turning. 

And you stared down in horror. 

In the awful, disgusting script, was your name circled, underlined and bolded at the top of the paper. Thin, curving, inked arrows drew lines across the other mismatched text and you slapped a hand over your mouth to stifle the grating, garbled sound that threatened to escape your chest. 

There, the words stood out clear as day among the mess of lines.  

Bond. 

Your brain hadn’t even begun to register the implications of this, but you knew. 

This was the answer you’d been searching for. 

And you had no time to process it, because footsteps from the hall were approaching, quick and hard soled. Your eyes went wide and you scrambled to close the drawer and shove the book into your jacket pocket. Knees tearing on the carpet, you tucked yourself into the space under the desk and held your breath. 

Silence rang out in the tiny room. 

From outside, you heard the footsteps grow louder, closer, and finally come to a halt right in the doorway. 

Taglist lovelies: @couldntfuckingtellya @contesa-lui-alucard @thewilddingleberries @isaxhorror @cowboy-kylo @findyourdarkness @kit-jpg @shesakillerkween @obsessionprofessional

[bluesfortheredj]

The Talk.

Talk of an STD and a little bit of depression ahead. No male named, so will tag all those I write for.

His fingertips glide over the warm skin of your neck, making their way down from your jaw to your shoulder, then he slips your vest and bra straps down to your arm while his tongue swirls around yours tantalisingly slowly. Your hands move from his waist to slip their way up the front of his shirt and eventually clasp together at the back of his neck. The kiss had made your mind go completely blank, but as soon as you feel your other straps fall from your shoulder you’re snapped back to reality with a gasp that breaks you from his lips all too suddenly.

“I can’t,” you breathe, letting go of him immediately and pulling your straps back into position, “I really can’t.”

“Do you not want to be with me?” he asks with a slightly furrowed brow.

“I do! I really do, trust me. But I can’t.”

“What do you mean by can’t? Talk to me, (Y/N), please,” he begs.

This wasn’t the first time you’d almost got caught up in the moment, it was so easily done; especially when he caressed your face so sweetly with his slender fingers while his lips left a trail of fire down the side of your neck. You’d always managed to stop in time though, but you knew your excuses were wearing thin and the truth would have to come out one day, and it was looking as though today would be it. Tears were already building up in your eyes and you knew you couldn’t sob your way through this difficult conversation; he needed to hear every detail loud and clear. No other relationship had got this far because you’d been quick to end things before the need for this conversation would arise, yet things were so different with him, and you hadn’t been able to do your usual dump and run.

“How about you go and sit in the living room and I’ll get us a cup of tea, yeah?” he questions desperately, trying to get you to stay instead of run judging by the terrified look in your eyes.

You nod slowly, “yeah, okay.”

He walks down the hallway, the two of you only reaching the bottom of the stairs anyway, and you watch him until he’s out of sight before sighing and making your way into the lounge and perching yourself on the edge of his sofa. It’s the longest five minutes of your life as you await his entrance and he can’t help but give you a smile when he sees you practically ready to run at the drop of a hat.

“You can sit back and make yourself comfortable,” he encourages softly, “it’s okay.”

“Oh… yeah,” you reply nervously as you shuffle yourself backwards.

“Where would you be comfortable with me sitting?”

“Uh… probably the other end?”

“Right,” he nods, stepping back after placing your tea down on the coffee table in front of you and settling into the opposite corner of the sofa.

There’s a long pause as you think carefully about how to say what you need to without bursting into tears or making a run for the front door to avoid it altogether, and your gaze alternates from him to your cup, then finally to your hands that are fiddling with the inner seam of your jeans anxiously.

“I… I don’t really know how to say this… I’ve never had to do this before… I’ve never come this far in a relationship because I’ve been so scared of this conversation.”

He nods slowly, unsure of whether to say anything or not.

“With you though, it’s different, and no matter how much I didn’t want to face this, I couldn’t bring myself to leave you.”

“Well that’s a relief,” he chuckles.

“I wouldn’t say that just yet; you haven’t heard what I have to tell you.”

“You can tell me anything.”

“You’re going to hate me,” you say, inhaling a sob that was threatening to escape as you reach for your cup.

From the corner of your eye you can see him moving to reach out for you, “no, please, don’t,” you say as you put your free hand up to stop him, “please.”

“Okay,” he whispers, knowing this must be serious.

The hand that lifts your cup shakes as it makes its way to your lips and you take a tentative sip of the hot drink before returning it to the coaster for fear of spilling it onto your lap. You take a deep breath and close your eyes as if you’re about to dive into a pool, then the words that had never left your mouth before suddenly come tumbling out in three quick bursts, “I’ve got herpes.”

You hold your breath and clench your fists as if bracing for impact with your eyes squeezed tightly shut, and your body is completely frozen in place while you wait for some sort of reaction; him getting as far away from you as possible, him grimacing at the thought of you, him shouting at you to get out of his house… the possibilities were endless. It must be only thirty seconds until you feel him moving along the cushions and pressing his body against your side as he wraps an arm around your tense figure, yet it feels like forever, and you’re still unsure as to whether you should relax or not.

“Talk to me,” he encourages softly.

You shrug him off as carefully as you can then huddle against the arm of the sofa until he backs away a little and gives you some space, then you cuddle your cup in your lap and keep your eyes fixed on the liquid inside it as you bite back tears.

“I don’t really know what to say,” you eventually reply, “I’ve never done this before.”

“Talk me through what happened,” he whispers, “you seem to expect me to be horrified at this revelation; why?”

“Because I was when it happened. I felt sick constantly, I was disgusted by myself, it made me feel dirty and repulsive, and…” you pause as you shudder at all those thoughts that had invaded your mind all those years ago, “…it was only the second person I’d ever slept with, despite what this sort of thing connotes. He went down on me, there was nothing visible around his mouth, but when I was diagnosed it was confirmed it was the oral type.”

You have to stop as a sob erupts and the first tears begin to fall down your cheeks.

“When I told him he said he couldn’t see how it was him,” you scoff, remembering how hurt you’d felt when he accused you of lying, “as if I’d lie! Absolute bastard.”

“Oh, (Y/N),” he sighs, reaching out to your back and stroking it gently.

“Then when I confided in a couple of close friends I had one say ‘why don’t you just get with him, then it doesn’t matter?’ and the other who was male said ‘it’s a shame we can’t mess around now’,” you laugh through the tears before returning your cup to the table and dropping your face into the palms of your hands as you heave out one long sob.

He can’t hold himself back any longer and he leans forward to wrap his arms around your shaking body so he can then pull you back to rest against his chest while he lets himself fall against the back cushion, “it’s okay,” he soothes while he runs his fingers through your hair, “shhh. I hope you’re not friends with those people any more.”

You shake your head and he nods in approval, “good!”

“I won’t blame you if you never want to see me again,” you mumble, “I won’t mind if you want me to leave.”

“Leave?!” he laughs, “what are you on about?! Do you really think I’d chuck you out just because of this?”

You lift yourself off of his torso but still avoid any eye contact with him, “I would if I were you. You don’t have to deal with this if you don’t want to; it’s my problem.”

“First off it’s not a problem, and secondly you’re meant to share things when you’re with someone, so anything that’s bothering you is our thing to sort out, okay?”

“You’re being too nice. You can’t say this hasn’t changed how you think about me though, and I understand that you won’t want to touch me; I felt exactly the same. I was scared of my own body for so long, it took me years to build up the courage to touch myself after everything.”

“(Y/N),” he exhales sadly, “I’m not scared, and the only way it’s changed how I think about you is that now I know exactly how strong you are. I’m a little intimidated in all honesty!”

“Don’t be silly,” you scoff, then wipe your face with your hands, “can I use your bathroom?”

“You don’t need to ask. Of course you can.”

You scurry out of the room, still feeling those old emotions laying heavy on your shoulders at your admission, and as soon as you shut and lock the door to the bathroom behind you, you let out heaving sobs as your hands grip the sides of the sink. The shame, the sensation of dirtiness, the thoughts of self loathing all come rushing to the surface so quickly you feel as though you’re about to vomit. You manage to lift your eyes to the small mirror on the windowsill in front of where you’re standing and you immediately see a different person to the one you were expecting to see; you’re older now, stronger than what you’d been when it happened, and the changes in your face only reminded you how far you’d come since then. You take a deep breath before grabbing some loo roll and dabbing your eyes, then you click open the lock of the door and open in slowly. When you get to the living room he’s sitting there with his phone in his hand, his eyes fixed on the screen as his thumb scrolls.

“Did you know that around 70% of people have herpes but only about one in three will have symptoms?” he asks, his eyes not straying from the device, “so I could have it and not even know… plus apparently shedding of the virus decreases after time and after two years and barely any flare ups you hardly shed any of it, so the risk of passing it on is pretty minimal.”

“Yeah… I did know actually.”

“Shit, of course you did. That was stupid of me to say, I’m sorry. I’m just reading up, that’s all, and honestly none of this matters to me…” he pauses as he watches your face carefully and lowers his phone, “but I have a feeling that it’s not really the virus that’s the problem… it’s what it represents in your mind, right?”

You nod in reply; he was completely right and it had taken opening up to someone for you to realise it. There was absolutely nothing wrong with having herpes, you were one of millions, but the stigma and sequence of events that had played out during your time of being diagnosed was what had made you so terrified about admitting it.

“I’m really sorry,” you sigh, suddenly embarrassed about getting so worked up about it all, “that was more than a little dramatic.”

“Don’t be sorry! I’m honoured to be the first, and hopefully only, romantic partner you tell so of course it would be an emotional roller coaster for you. Don’t beat yourself up for feeling things so deeply, especially with everything that went on at the time and the shitty people you had around you,” he stands from the sofa and holds his arms out, “now will you please come here so I can hug you without you trying to escape me?”

You let out a short laugh at his question, “I think I can manage that.”

He leans his cheek against your hair as his arms envelop you into a tight embrace, “so… uh… when we do, y’know, I think you’re going to have to demonstrate what you like. I don’t wanna do it wrong after you having perfected it over the last few years.”

You lean away from him to see his face now slightly flushed, “I’m sure you don’t need any… oh! Right,” you chuckle, realising that he wanted to see you pleasure yourself, “I’m sure that won’t be a problem.”

“I can’t promise I’ll keep my hands to myself though,” he winks, giving your bum a quick squeeze.

You smile up at him then bury your face into his neck as you resume the much needed cuddle and he sighs contentedly as his arms hold your now calm body.

[deans-baby-momma]

Wounded Hearts 1

Summary: When John Winchester leaves his two high school-aged sons in a motel in Fairfax IN while he goes off on a hunt, they both make friends. What happens after they have to suddenly leave when John comes to fetch them? Will those friendships endure? Does Dean leave a piece of his soul behind?

Word Count: 3,635

A/N: This is a sequel to Past Haunts, but it’s mostly what happened in the thirteen years between high school and when Sam and Dean return to take care of a haunting in their old stomping grounds of Truman High. The first couple of chapters will be mainly Dean’s POV and then after that, each chapter will switch from Dean’s POV to Rebecca’s POV. I will label them appropriately.

October 14,  1996   Dean’s POV

I watch with pride as Sammy schools some kid. My brother might not look like much but he can fight. I guess all the times sparring with Dad and I have paid off. He gets a few good punches in before laying the bully out. I smile widely as Sam tells the kid that he’s not tough, he is just a jerk. The crowd begins chanting ‘Dirk the Jerk’.

One of the onlookers turns to walk away and slams right into me. I look down to see a girl from a couple of my classes. It takes me a minute to remember her name. Rebecca. Rebecca Quentin.

The blush on her cheeks and the way she pushes her hair behind her ears is adorable as hell! She looks down at the ground after she apologizes but I’ve got to tell her it’s okay. No harm, no foul.

“Hey Rebecca, right?”

I get a glimpse of what a spitfire she is, when I accidentally call her ‘honey’.

“I’m not your honey, Dean!” she rages and honestly it is cute as fuck! 

I smile and try to make up for my obvious mistake. “Listen, Becks,” I begin and cringe at another faux pas. ‘Dammit Dean keep it together.’ “Is it alright if I call you that?”

I sigh and relax when she nods her head that the nickname is okay.

“We got off on the wrong foot. Let me make it up to you. We can go get a bite to eat.” She looks like she is about to reject my offer so I quickly counter. “I’ll even bring my little brother so it won’t look like a date. If that’s what you’re afraid of.” 

When she agrees I can practically feel my heart rate pick up. This girl is beautiful with her gorgeous blue eyes and brown hair. She is a vision and she just agreed to go out with me! Well, Sammy too, but I get to talk more and learn about this angel.

I call Sammy over, never taking my eyes off her. As we leave the school grounds, I wonder if she is aware that she has strategically placed Sammy between us. Was that intentional or just a coincidence? The two of us carry most of the conversation during our trip since Sammy has his nose in some book, the big nerd!

Rebecca Quentin is 17 years old, the same age as me; a senior and is planning on going to college to become a Psychologist. She tells me that she has her heart set on Harvard.

“You must be really smart,” Sam quips glancing up at Rebecca before going back to reading.

On our walk, I learn that she is an only child and lives with her parents on the other side of town. I can’t imagine not having siblings because, although he can get on my nerves, Sammy is my life. I have been protecting him since I was 4 years old, it’s my duty. 

As we pass a movie rental store, I get the bright idea for pizza and a movie in our motel room. After some coaxing, Rebecca agrees and I rush inside to get the movie. ‘All Saints Day’ is one of my favorites. 

Our money situation is getting sparse but I want to splurge for her so I grab a couple bags of popcorn at the checkout and after paying, I join Rebecca and Sammy on the sidewalk.

We walk to the pizza joint and go inside to place our order. I look around the nearly-empty restaurant as we wait. The lighting is bright but is dulled by the amount of wood inside. Dark wooden panels cover the walls with even darker wood beams line the ceiling. The tables are draped with red-and-white checkered table clothes with a candle and a condiment tray in the center. The whole ambience of the place gives off a romantic vibe and I imagine bringing Rebecca here for a date.

‘Get a grip Dean!’ I think to myself. ‘You just met the girl and had to persuade her to hang out with you. She’s probably not even interested in you like that; just too nice to say no.’ The waitress calls our name and I grab the boxes before we continue our trek to the motel. 

At the motel, I am a complete gentleman, holding the door for her to enter first and I even carry her food for her. We settle in, me on the floor and her on the end of my bed. We watch as David Yeager portrays the Hatchet man. Sometime during the movie Rebecca joins me on the floor and when a jumpscare scene comes up she hides her face on my shoulder. I smile as I lean over and whisper, “I’ll protect you.” That earns me a smile and from the look in her eyes, I can tell she actually believes and trusts me. I can’t help myself as I lean over and press my lips to hers, keeping it chaste and innocent because Sammy is right there.  A few minutes later she places her hand in mine and I entwine our fingers, a smile breaking out on my face. I am scared that if I acknowledge it she’ll pull away and that is the last thing I want her to do, so I sit there with a big old goofy grin. We finish the movie and polish off the rest of the food before Sammy begins complaining that he wants to go to the arcade. I only have $20 left for us to live on until Dad returns and the brat is getting on my last nerve.

Suddenly Rebecca speaks up and pulls some bills out of her pocket. “Here ya go. There’s an arcade down at the end. Go crazy!” she tells him, with a laugh.

Sammy’s whole face alights and he begins begging me to go. “Can I Dean? I promise not to go any further. And to come straight back when I’m done. Please?” 

I look at Rebecca and then to Sammy. That means Rebecca and I will be in the room alone, by ourselves. What if she is expecting something to happen. Fuck! I have not watched enough Casa Erotica on stolen pay-per-view for this. I don’t know what I’m doing. Fuck!

I pull Sammy to the side. “No further. And if you see anything...suspicious come back here. You know the codeword.”

Sammy repeats the codeword and is out the door in a flash. Well this just turned awkward. I run my hand across the back of my neck as I turn to look at Rebecca. I take a step closer to her as she steps closer to me. Before long, we are standing toe-to-toe and I can smell her strawberry, I think it’s strawberry at least, shampoo. Her lips are still slightly swollen from the kiss I gave her and I lick mine as I hesitantly reach for her. She walks right into my embrace and wraps her arms around my neck. I lean down and kiss her and OH MY GOD! This kiss is even better than the first. I take a chance and swipe my tongue across the seam of her closed lips and am surprised when she opens to let me lick into her mouth.

She tastes like heaven, if there is a heaven. Her tongue wrestles with mine and she moans as I begin lightly sucking on hers. My hands begin rubbing up and down her sides, the hem of her shirt catching on my fingertips. I pull back and look at her questioningly and she nods so I grab the garment and pull it over her head. She is wearing a little peach bra with a tiny little bow in between her breasts. I swear I could cum right now. She helps me pull my shirt off and then we discard the rest of our clothing until we are left in our skivvies.

We lay down and make out heavily on the bed. I feel like my dick is going to burst, it’s so hard. I slide her bra strap down and then reach behind her to unsnap it. Of course with my bumbling hands, I have trouble but I get it loose and Rebecca pulls it off, dropping it on the floor. 

I stare at the picture before me. Her nipples are hardening to little nubs as I gaze at them. Seeing breasts on television is one thing but fuck me, breasts in real life? There is no comparison. Gathering up all the courage I can muster, I dip my head and kiss one of the stiff peaks, flicking my tongue across it. Rebecca moans above me and her hands land on the back of my head. I continue laving her nipple all the while loving the sounds she is producing.

I slide my hand slowly down her stomach, praying she doesn't feel the tremble in it. My whole body is vibrating with nerves.  I have never gotten this far with a girl and I'm worried I will somehow mess this up. I want to satisfy and please her. When my fingertips meet her panties, I lightly run them along the edge. I look up to see Rebecca's eyes watching me. She wiggles her hips and smiles. I take that as her consent to keep going. 

I push up onto my knees between her legs, almost embarrassed at the obviousness of my arousal. I hook my fingers in her panties and pull them down. Once I get them to her feet I stand up and take them the rest of the way off. I grab the top of my boxers to remove them but my eyes land on her body. Taking my time, I run my eyes down from her face to her neck, over her heaving chest and gorgeous tits down her stomach to….her pussy. Fuck! I palm my dick as I look at the splendor before me. Her outer lips are bare and smooth and I can just see a peek of her clit. How the hell am I going to last, I'm already about to blow my load. I push my boxers down until they fall to the floor.

 Climbing back onto the bed,  I position myself between her legs and lean forward to capture her lips. My cock rubs against her inner thigh and oh my fucking god! How am I getting harder?!

Rebecca's back arches off the bed, breaking our lips apart. "Dean," she sighs and I look into her eyes. Holy shit! This is happening! I'm about to have sex. I sure hope to god Sam doesn't return anytime soon. "Do you have a condom?"

Fuck!! Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. Yea I have a condom; one dad gave me when I turned 13, four years ago. Dammit to hell. 

I crawl off the bed,  trying to figure out if I want to take a chance with that old thing. I look around the room and spot a half wadded sandwich wrapper on the table. It keeps sandwiches fresh and dry so it should work right? I grab the plastic and notice a few crumbs stuck to it. I shake them off and proceed to wrap the cellophane around my dick,  making sure that the tip is covered well.  When I am satisfied with the protection, I climb back onto the bed and take my previous place. 

I grab the base of my dick and line it up with her entrance. "Ready baby?" I ask as sincerely as I can.

I’m nervous as hell but I want to make this good for her. I look down as I run the tip of my dick along her slit, her juices warm and slippery. I press in to breach her outer lips and notch myself at her entrance. I don’t know why but I am assuming this is her first time too. Maybe it’s the look of anxiety on her face or maybe I’m just seeing things. Either way, I want to ease her into this. Ok, yea and me too. “This might hurt and I’m sorry.”

I press into her and am immediately met with resistance. Yep, this is her first time too. Has to be, ain’t no way they are always this tight, right? I lean down and kiss her to swallow her cries as I pull out and push back in. A few more tries and our hips are flush, my dick is inside her! Holy shit, I am inside a girl and fuck does it feel wonderful! I have to bite my inner cheek to stave off the desire to shoot my load. It feels that fucking good!

When Rebecca whimpers, I freeze. Oh fuck! Did I hurt her? I should have been more gentle. ‘Good going Dean!’ I silently chastise myself. I wanted this to feel good for her, not to cause her any pain. I pull my upper body off her enough so that our foreheads are touching. Neither of us are moving, just our chests from the heaving breaths we are both taking. 

“Are you okay?” I ask, although if she would say no I think I’d have to kill myself. I don’t want to have harmed her in any way. 

Instead Rebecca grins up at me and nods her head. I feel relieved instantly. “Yea. Just keep doing what you are doing. It’ll get better.”

I start a slow and steady drive of pushing in and pulling out all the while trying to hide the euphoria on my face. I lean down and nuzzle into her neck, kissing the skin behind her ear.

Rebecca starts making these sweet little sounds that are so much better than anything I’ve ever heard on pay-per-view. It is music to my ears. I begin grunting on the push in and moaning each time I pull out. I swear I am in heaven. If there is a god, I want to shake that guy’s hand.

 Oh god! Now her pussy is squeezing me tight, making my momentum wobble. I can feel my nuts drawing up and I know I’m about to meet my end. White explodes my vision and I push in as far as I can, pulsing and shooting my load into that plastic sandwich wrapper. This is so much better than jacking off! 

Suddenly, Rebecca grabs my biceps; her fingers digging into my skin. She throws her head back onto my pillow with her eyes closed as she screams, “Oh god! Dean!”  I can feel her getting wetter and seeping out around my shaft.

I kiss along her collarbone, careful to keep my weight off of her as we both come down from that magnificent high. Now I know what all the excitement is about. Sex with a woman is phenomenal!

After cleaning up and getting re-dressed, the awkwardness creeps in. We stand in the middle of mine and Sammy’s motel room, just staring at one another with small smiles on each of our faces. Mine will probably be etched on and never go away.

“Well, I uh….I better get home,” Rebecca stammers, pushing her hair behind her ear. Does she realizes how fucking adorable and captivating that little habit is? Probably not, but it fucking is.

I don’t want her to go but I know she needs to get home. I look at my watch and balk as I see that it is almost 6 pm. So that means for almost an hour she and I had sex. Wow!

I grab her wrist and pull her toward me, running a finger down the side of her face. “See ya tomorrow, Becks.” I lean in and give her a quick kiss on the lips and wistfully watch as she opens the door.

Before leaving though, she looks back at me one more time and smiles. There is a sparkle in her eye and I can’t help but feel proud; I put that there. After the door closes, I turn to grab my flannel; might as well go hang out with Sammy in the arcade. Maybe whoop him in a game of Mario Kart. A spot on the bed catches my attention and my heart flutters when I realize what it is. There in the middle of my bed, is a splotch of Rebecca’s cum. I’ll sleep great tonight, with the knowledge that I finally got laid. And we both enjoyed it. The proof is right there. 

I pull my flannel on, checking to see if I had the room key before I strut down the side of the building to the room that the arcade is located in. I look through the window to see my nerdy ass brother sitting at a game for dorks; some type of trivia shit. I go to grab the door handle and wonder if Sammy will be able to tell a difference in me. I am no longer Dean Winchester, virgin but I am Dean Winchester, sex god. 

I challenge Sammy to a round of Lethal Enforcers, totally demolishing him. But at 13 Dad hasn’t let Sammy get much practice in with a gun. Not like he has with me; by the time I was Sammy’s age I could take apart, clean and reassemble almost any caliber weapon in Dad’s possession. I ruffle Sam’s hair as we head back to the room, much to his chagrin. 

“What’s got you in such a good mood Dean?” Sammy asks. “You and Rebecca do it?” I can tell by the playfulness of his voice and the smirk on his face, Sammy has no idea what transpired in our room.  In an attempt to play it cool and nonchalant, I puff out my chest and say, “Yea. I rocked her world.”

Sammy rolls his eyes and continues walking towards the room. I shudder at how much of a jerk I sound like. It was nothing like that at all. What happened between Becks and I was magical and wonderful and I wouldn’t mind doing it again. At that thought, I remind myself to invest in some newer condoms. 

The next morning

I can’t wait to get to school. I have first period with Rebecca and I am hoping to be able to sit beside her. That is, if Amanda Heckerling and her flunkies leave us alone. There is a skip in my step as Sammy and I walk the two blocks to the school. But it falls away when the cell phone in my pocket begins ringing. I know there is only one person with this number and there is only one reason he would be calling. Dad is done with his hunt and is on his way to pick us up. I curse as I take the phone out of my jacket pocket and flip it open.

After the call, I tell Sammy the news. “Dad will be here by lunchtime to pick us up. Do you have everything in your bag?” We had long ago learned to carry our personal possessions with us instead of leaving them in whatever motel room we stayed in. Easier for Dad to just pick us up and leave town before any questions or concerns arose. 

“Yep,” Sammy answers and I can tell he is as melancholy as I am at the thought of leaving this town. In the three weeks we’ve been here, we have both made friends and hated leaving them behind, knowing we’d probably never see or hear from them again.

I go about my normal routine, checking in at homeroom and grabbing my shit out of my locker before heading to English Lit. As soon as I walk in I spot Rebecca but instead of the smile I expect to see on her face, she looks down. Is she ashamed of what we did? Did she tell someone and they made fun of her for having sex with the boy from out of town? I walk past her and take my usual seat at the back. I can’t wait for Dad to get here so we can get out of this shithole! Lunchtime cannot come soon enough.

At lunch, I track down Sammy and we go to the front of the school to wait on Dad. As we hear the rumble of the Impala coming we both look up at the building morosely. The best and worst things happened here. I met a girl and had sex just for her to turn around and deny she even knew me. “This place sucks. Come on Sam,” I say as I head around the front of the car to get into the front.

As we pass the sign that thanks us for visiting Fairfax, I silently wish Rebecca Quentin a farewell. My heart constricts and I feel sick. I lean my head back against the seat, closing my eyes and daydream about blue eyes and dark brown hair and soft silky skin. 

@tftumblin​ @spnbaby-67​ @markofdean79​ @lostinaseaoffictionalbliss​ @travelingriversideblues-x​ @akshi8278​ @keymology​ @hoboal87​ @squirrelnotsam​ @natura1phenomenon​ @drakelover78​ @larajadeschmidt13​ @blacktithe7​ @atc74​ @sea040561​ @delightfullykrispypeach​ @vicariouslythruspn​ @sandlee44​ @mogaruke​  @deanwanddamons​ @supraveng​ @deandreamernp​  @lyarr24​

[superbadassnatural]

Special Treat

Summary: The trials of God have been taking a toll on Sam. Good thing Y/N is always there to take good care of her boyfriend. Square filled: Trials!Sam Pairing: Sam x Reader Word count: 2,320 Warnings: fluff, little angst, mention of weight loss, nudity A/N: This takes place in 08.20 “Pac-Man Fever”. Some of the lines are actually from the episode. This was written for @spntfwbingo​

(x)

Sam dragged himself into the war room. Groaning as he tried to rub the sleep off his eyes. His hair was a mess and his eyes held an endless weariness.

He found Dean nursing his beer while he stared into the screen of his laptop. In front of his brother were you. Your feet were propped up on the table. Your eyes left the book in your lap as he entered the room.

“Look who’s awake,” you beamed, standing up.

“I’m telling you, give me five minutes with some clippers-” Dean said as he took in his brother’s state.

“Ah, shut up,” Sam ran his hands through his hair.

You walked towards him, wrapping your arms around his waist. Standing on your tiptoes, you planted a kiss on his jaw.

“Uh, what time did I lay down?”

“You took a siesta around noon,” Dean answered. “Yesterday.”

Sam’s eyes widened. He knew he had slept a lot, but he had no idea it had been this much. Dean tossed Sam a beer. The youngest Winchester didn’t move a muscle and the bottle shattered on the ground.

“I’m sorry, uh,” his voice was adenoidal. He wasn’t fine.

“Dean!” you scolded.

“That’s why we don’t have nice things, Sam.”

“Sammy?” you asked and he hummed. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he nodded before kissing the top of your head. “How are we on finding Kevin?”

“Look, man,” Dean started. “I’ve hacked into every security camera around Garth’s houseboat, Kevin’s hometown, where Mrs. Tran lived-“

“And?”

“Nothing. We got nothing.”

“We should go out and search for him.”

“Sam, no,” you said. “Please, you need to focus on getting better.”

“I’m fine. I swear.”

“You’re fine?” his brother asked, his eyebrow cocked. “C’mere.”

You followed Dean to the shooting range. He picked his gun and fired three times at one of the targets. The corner of his lips turned down as his eyebrows raised.

“Alright,” he held the gun out for Sam. “You hit that target, we’ll talk about you getting back out there.”

Sam rolled his eyes, taking the pistol from his brother. He held with one hand, index finger on the trigger. He shifted in his place. Both hands gripping the gun tight and this time he fired. Twice. The bullets hit the brick wall. Sam sighed in defeat. You placed your hand on his shoulder, squeezing it slightly.

“It’s okay, Sammy.”

“You need to rest, man,” Dean sighed and scooped the gun.

“Why don’t you go to our room and wait for me, huh?” you suggested and he only nodded, heading towards the bedroom.

“This is not good,” Dean said once his brother was out of sight.

“I know. The second one hit him harder,” you breathed out. “You can go do the things you gotta do. I’ll take care of him.”

“If you need anything- if he gets worse, you call me.”

“I will. Promise.”

You made coffee and a sandwich for Sam. After placing them on a tray, you headed to your shared bedroom. Sam was sitting at the edge of the bed. His eyes staring ahead blankly. Even though the door was open, you knocked, startling him a bit.

“Sorry,” your voice was barely upon a whisper. “Brought you breakfast. I know you should be having lunch, but I think it’s better if you eat lighter things.”

He nodded before sitting back in bed. His back pressed against the headboard. You placed the tray on his lap and his lips curled into a weak smile.

“Thanks,” he said before taking a bite of his sandwich.

He ate in silence. He wasn’t okay, that you knew. Sam looked destroyed. The trials were wearing on him more than they should. You didn’t expect it to make such damages. Sam’s strong. He has been through so much throughout his entire life. It was rare to see him this tired.

“Sammy?”

“Hmm,” he hummed.

“How are you feeling?” you took the tray from his lap as he finished eating and placed it on the nightstand.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” you shook your head, your hand reaching to his hair. “We both know you’re not fine. Don’t lie to me, Sammy,” you tried to say it as gentle as you could.  “You can lie to Dean all you want, but don’t hide from me,” your voice was barely upon a whisper. You didn’t want him to think you were scolding him.

“Y/N, I-” he sighed. He couldn’t bring himself to finish. He was too tired.

“Sam, I’m not mad at you. I’m not,” you cupped his cheek and he leaned into your touch. His growing stubble tickling your palm. “I just want you to be honest with me. I know you don’t want me to worry, but if you keep telling me you’re fine, you’re only gonna make me worry even more. You don’t wanna worry Dean and that’s okay, but you can open up to me. Always. I can only take care of you if you talk to me.”

Sam swallowed thick. He didn’t want you and Dean worrying about him. You have too much on a daily basis that wears you out, he didn’t want to be a burden to any of you.

“It’s worse than I anticipated,” he confessed. “I thought it would be easier and that I could make it, but I’m not sure anymore. I’m tired of fighting. I want to end it and the only way to do it is by doing these trials,” he mumbled. “This whole thing is not doing any good to me. I know that. I can feel it. My body is weaker. I slept for almost twenty-four hours and I’m still tired as shit. I’m afraid I won’t make it. I don’t care about what happens to me, but leaving you and Dean? It’s the worst thing I could ever do,” tears welled in his eyes. “I know that I’m gonna make the world a better place by finishing these trials. It would be a dream come true not having demons walking among us. We could live more peacefully. We could even start our family, but- But I’m not sure I’m gonna make it, Y/N/N,” he sobbed, a tear rolling down his cheek.

“Sammy,” you engulfed him in your arms and allowed your own tears to fall freely. “Nothing is worth losing you. Nothing. I don’t care about the world being a greater place if that means you won’t be here to know what that feels like. I can’t afford to lose you. Not today, not tomorrow. Not ever,” you cried, pulling away so you could hold his face between your hands. His hazel eyes stared back at your teary ones. “I also know that if there’s someone capable of doing this, that someone is you, Sam Winchester. You are the strongest person I know and you can get through it. I know you can, but you don’t have to. Not if you’re not gonna make it or if you feel you can’t do this. You don’t have to carry this on your shoulders. You can lean on me. On Dean. We’re here for you and we’re gonna support you no matter what.”

“I know you will,” he nodded. “Can you not tell this to him? I don’t want him to worry.”

“Sam, Dean is always worried,” you chuckled. “But I won’t tell him,” you pecked his lips. “Right now, I think you could hop on that shower and let me take care of you.”

He nodded, standing up and heading to the bathroom. You picked his boxers and a pair of sweats for him, underwear and an oversized t-shirt for you. Sam stood still in the bathroom. You placed your clothes and turned the water on, making sure the temperature was right.

“Hey,” you approached him, your hands on his hips. “I got you, okay?”

Sam smiled before starting to undress. You did the same. Once his clothes hit the ground, you couldn’t help but notice he was skinnier. Sam always had a muscular body. He wasn’t that bulky, but he was toned in all the right places. You glanced away quickly and hopped on the shower. You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable because you were staring, especially about his body. He took your lead and hopped in.

The warm water hit your back, making you relax instantly. You held out your hand for him, intertwining your fingers.

“C’mere,” you called.

He walked closer and wrapped his arms around your waist. Your body pressed against his, your arms around his shoulders.

“I love you so much,” you said.

“I love you too,” he pecked your lips into a chaste kiss. “More than anything.”

You melted into his embrace. Your head resting against his bare chest. He leaned, chin pressed on top of your hair. The water poured into both of you as you enjoyed each other’s company in silence. He tightened his hold on you, afraid you were going to vanish into thin air.

“I’m here,” you reassured him. “I’m not going anywhere. Promise,” he kissed your temple. His lips lingering a little longer. “Let me take care of you.”

Pulling away, you repositioned him. The water was only hitting his back now. His shoulders slumped as the tension started to fade. You reached for his shampoo and poured the right amount in your hand.

“Can you just, uh, lean a little? Or I won’t be able to wash your hair,” you giggled, earning a light chuckle from him.

He leaned, allowing you to reach for his head. You ran your fingers in circular motions as you massaged his scalp. He relaxed even more and a muffled moan escaped through the seam of his lips. His eyes were closed and he looked so delicate.

“Let your head fall back so I can wash off the shampoo,” you said, standing behind him. Your fingers running freely through his hair. “There you go.”

You finished washing his hair with his conditioner. You planted a kiss on his shoulder. Arms wrapping around his middle. His back flushed against your chest.

“You really didn’t have to do this,” he mumbled. His hands resting on top of yours.

“I know,” you pressed your lips to his skin again. “You’re always taking care of me and making sure I’m okay. Let me do this for you. You need it.”

You grabbed the loofah and poured soap on it before rubbing it against his back. You bathed his skin carefully not to make him uncomfortable. Once you stood in front of him, you noticed his blushing cheeks. The fact that even after five years dating — countless times showering together — you still get that reaction from him warms your heart. The water poured down, dripping on his skin and washing all the soap and some of his worries away.

He reached for your shampoo and opened it.

“You don’t have to do this,” you stopped him gently. “I got this,” you grabbed the bottle from his hand. Sam couldn’t find it in him to protest. He knew it would be in vain.

He stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist. You finished up quickly and hopped out, fumbling for your towels. One wrapped around your hair and the other around your body. Sam’s hands were gripping both sides of the sink. You figured he might have swiped a towel over the mirror because it wasn’t foggy anymore. You approached him, fingers tracing up his bicep.

“Everything okay?” you asked and he nodded.

You dried yourself and pulled up your panties and the navy blue t-shirt you had stolen from Sam. He dried himself quickly, putting on his boxers and his sweatpants. Then he shook out the excess of water from his hair with a towel while you brushed yours. You exited the bathroom together and headed to your room.

“Go get comfortable. I’m getting you a nice surprise,” you beamed.

His lips curled into a smile as he laid in the middle of the bed. You headed out of the bedroom for a minute and came back with scented candles and massage oil.

“You gotta be kidding me?” his eyes glistened, his voice filled with excitement this time.

“You got yourself a special treat tonight, Mr. Winchester,” you winked.

“God, what did I do to deserve you?”

You lit the candles and scattered them around the room, creating the perfect ambiance.

“On your stomach, sir.”

Sam flipped on his stomach, folding his arms above his head. A smile played on his lips. You’d do anything just to see him smiling. You moved on top of him before applying the right amount of the oil in your palm. You rubbed your hands together and started with smooth, rhythmic strokes throughout his back.

He let out a sigh the second your fingers met his skin. Tracing slow, circular patterns up and down the sides of his spine, you applied gentle pressure with your fingertips. Your hands reached for his broad shoulders, stroking, and pulling.

“Hmmm, this feels so good,” he moaned.

You smiled. His eyes were closed and he was allowing himself to relax. You used the heels of your hands to apply more pressure to his upper back. Sam melted as your fingers prodded into his skin, stroking. You took your time massaging your boyfriend. With every press and pull of your fingers, he relaxed a little more. He deserved to be taken care of. Sam was always so worried about taking good care of everyone else, he forgot to look after himself. Good thing you were there to do it for him.

“You’re perfect, you know that?” he mumbled.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you laughed.

“I would,” a chuckle left his lips. “I love you, Y/N, so much.”

“I love you with all my heart, Sammy.”

I really enjoyed writing this one! Did you like reading it? I’d love to know what you think of this one. You can tell via reply, reblog or ask!

Sam Babes:

@maya-craziness​