#AND I think 'more or less just a big sheet of fabric belted onto you' would be comfortable for her physically

[blujaydoodles]

Nyssa ref sheet: sfw edition :3

[merelypeachy]

good luck charm

synopsis: what’s a player supposed to do without a good luck charm before their big game in the morning?

wc: 1.5k

pairing: lupe garcía x gn!reader

warnings: one swear, silly/teasing flirting, a kiss

a/n: i’m so in love with lupe garcía it’s not even funny  

The polaroid in your hand is raised as an imitation of the sight in front of you, with the colors more drab and her posed expression being one of faux excitement solidified in a minuscule square. The pink of the dress is increasingly faded in the photograph, the socks less of an eclectic red, the entire silhouette looking like it couldn’t possibly be her in such an ensemble.

Yet here she is, the dress’s upper half only just unbuttoned, the fabric drooping to reveal the off-tone white of her tank top. The socks are bundled haphazardly to her ankles and her curls peek out underneath the red baseball cap, the ‘R’ staring back into your eyes as you register the view. She stands at an awkward angle, shifted over to one side more than the other, her glove dangling from her fingertips. There’s a sheen gracing her forehead and trailing down her arms that’s noticeable even in the somewhat dimmer lighting of the bedroom, the lamps illuminating her entire figure in a gentle, yellow gleam.

“I didn’t know you were being serious.” You bite your tongue in a feeble attempt to control the grin threatening to break through, crossing an arm under the one holding up the photograph, entertaining yourself all too much with the side-by-side comparison.

Lupe’s eyes roll, though she huffs out a breathy scoff through a barely-there smile, immediately reaching down to unbutton the rest of the few buttons. “The picture didn’t convince you enough?”

You start to shuffle closer, stopping at the end of the bed across from her. The polaroid flutters to a drop atop the sheets from your hands; you figure a photograph isn’t as good of evidence as the real, tangible thing. You shrug as you answer, “Figured I’d see the actual thing to really convince me, ‘ya know?”

Her eyes meet yours as she peers up at you through her lashes, tilting her head in disbelief, curls gracing the skin of her cheeks. “I hope you’re satisfied, then,” she smiles, beginning to unbuckle the belt looped around her waist, “‘cause you’re not gonna see me in this ensemble again until tomorrow afternoon.”

You let out a dramatic gasp, back of your palm placed on your forehead and the other stretched across your chest. “I don’t think I could possibly wait that long,” you admit theatrically, eyeing the pursed grin on Lupe’s lips before yours mirror her own. 

“You’ll see it in all its glory, don’t worry. Dirt stains and all,” she reassures you, dropping the belt to the bed sheets. Lithe fingers undo the last two buttons, the matte red barely peeking through, until the top half is then folded downwards, fully revealing the stained tank top on her figure. She catches your gaze once more—you swear you see a twinkling flash in the brown pools of her irises—before she asks: “How long are you going to be here for, anyway?”. She ducks her head, now pretending to be somewhat immersed in the slight movements of her hands as she unties her cleats, foot propped on the edge of the bed. 

You decide to take a seat, leaning against your hand dipping into the mattress and letting your head dangle onto your shoulder, eyes mindlessly wandering to her short-cut fingernails and a hum slipping from your lips. “A while. A friend invited me over for a wedding, so I’m staying over at their place.” A pause. “But of course, I also had to see you. Couldn’t pass up that opportunity,” you add. 

Lupe steals a glance in your direction, a smile you’d almost describe as shy gracing her features, before she reaches over to drag the sleeves off the curves of her shoulders. The golden glow adjacent from her stature bled onto the skin of her arms, tracing down to her elbows, the angle of her wrists and the slits of her fingers, turning the light peach of the fabric now crumpled at her ribs into a familiar, sunset shade of pink that covered the sky looming just outside. 

She releases a sigh, tonguing the inside of her cheek and slipping out of the dress entirely, throwing it carelessly next to her assortment of casual, more comfortable clothing. “I can’t blame you; I’d visit a famous pitcher, too, given the chance.” Her words are laced with the confidence you always associate with her presence. The biting, usual sarcastic remarks, punctuated with a sly smile that served as a reminder of her sometimes mischievous yet laid back nature; the sparkle plunging into the depths of the deep brown surrounded by delicate eyelashes a showcase of her determination and persistence—they all intertwined with other various mannerisms that melted to form Lupe García, the one who’ve grown quite fond of over the years.

It’s your turn to roll your eyes, making Lupe let out an uncharacteristic and rare giggle as she tucks any wandering strands behind her ears, having traded the cap for one that you both knew suited her better. The muted brown sitting atop her curls compliments the rest of her new outfit consisting of a dark green and gray loose-fitting flannel and caramel-hued slacks. Her socks, however, contrast with the rather simplistic look, the diamond pattern etched into the fabric a minimalistic design nonetheless.

You sigh, reaching across the expanse of the bed to grab the abandoned baseball cap, fiddling with the stitching along the edges before adjusting it on your head. “But enough about that cute little uniform of yours. How’s the rest of your week been?”

Lupe takes a seat in front of you, the mattress dipping with her weight. She crosses her legs, fingers going to toy with the fabric stretching across her knees. You’re not sure if it’s the lighting playing a harmless trick, but you feel as though you manage to barely catch a glimpse of a flushing on her freckled cheeks.

She licks her lips, lifting a hand to lay her cheek in her palm, smushing the half of her face. Her eyes stay mindlessly focused on the styled patches of the bedspread, a finger dragging along the stitching in circles. “Fine. Our practices have been pretty tiring, and my arm feels like shit sometimes, but what can you do.”

You furrow your brows, throwing her a sympathetic look bathed in genuine concern. “Are you resting it at all?”

Lupe scoffs, lifting her head up momentarily before letting it drop once more. “Obviously. It’s probably just ‘cause of minor straining, or something,” she mutters.

You allow the hollow register of the clanging of dishes and jagged conversations floating through the floorboards to act as a basis for the rest of your time spent with her, catching up on every little (seemingly unnecessary) detail that occurred in the moments since you last met. She speaks of the past games, all of the people she’s met—whether with a tone coated in awe or one that’s sour around the edges—and anything else in between. She asks how you’ve been, listening with the seldom nod of her head and a quip here and there. You notice her eyes darting their way to your animated lips, whether subconsciously or not; you bite back an elated smile as you continue on with your words.

A knock on the door is what finally snaps the flowing conversation between the two of you, both your heads snapping to the oak frame as it creaks slightly ajar.

“Lupe? They’re asking that we all come downstairs for a meeting,” a voice chirps, accompanied by a head just peeking through the crack.

The woman in question responds with an ‘I’ll be there in a sec!’ before you begin to rise and stretch your limbs, brushing off imperceptible dust from the front of your clothing. Lupe does the same, striding over to where you stand and crossing her arms, tapping one foot against the carpeted floor.

“I’m guessing that’s your cue to leave, too?” she ponders, raising a brow with a smile tugging her lips. She brings her bottom one beneath her teeth, displaying her teeth in a toothy grin, a sight that makes your cheeks warm.

You throw her a pursed look, rocking back and forth on your heels and patting the sides of your legs for emphasis. “Yeah, unfortunately. But, I’ll be sure to be the first one in the stands tomorrow.”

She clicks her tongue as she twirls around to see you pick up your bag, taking only a few steps to be next to you once more. There’s a certain glimmer in her eyes you can’t quite pinpoint as you meet her gaze, though from the mischievous curve of her lips, a giddy feeling blooms in your chest.

“You can’t leave until I have a good luck charm for the night,” she teases, “‘cause what’s a ball player without one?”

You pretend to remember that very fact, tapping your pointer finger to your chin in mock thought. “You’re right,” your voice is surprisingly small as you lean in, the ghosting of her fingers along your jawline etching you closer and closer, “how could I forget that?”

She smiles into the kiss, a sense of satisfaction surely bleeding into her veins as her hands gently grab hold of your jaw, the calluses of her fingertips tickling your skin.

You lean back, though only enough for her labored breathing to still hit your swollen and slick lips, and whisper with a content grin of your own, “Better take that to heart tomorrow, then.”

[alluremin]

catch 22

pairing: jeon jungkook | reader

genre:  fwb to lovers , college!au | fluff, smut, light angst

warnings: explicit sex; oral (f receiving), fingering, penetration w/o protection, dirty talk, light dom x sub themes, candid sex talk, jimin is a player, jungkook is a frat boy

premise: you and your best friend had agreed: college was for a good time only, no serious relationships were necessary. who knew that a frat boy would be the one to shake up that notion?

word count: 7.2k

At this time of night, you know you should expect to see his eyes following every movement your body makes. It was like you two were magnets of opposite charges, always attracted to one another regardless of how much your substance of choice was affecting your decisions. It’s bound to happen, almost as if by fate.

It was a beautifully toxic connection you shared with him; a vicious cycle comprised of sex, weed, booze, and good music, never in any particular order.

When you glance to the corner of the room surrounded by a hazy cloud of euphoria, the boy in question pulls himself at attention, elbows on his knees, wavy hair falling in front of his eyes. They bore holes into your own as if to say I’m waiting for you to join me, sweetheart. 

Who were you to say no to that?

You know the power you have over him and consequently, every movement you make is intentional; your pivot from the makeshift dance floor, the sway of your hips with every step, the way you push your hair over your shoulder, and the smirk you give him when his eye contact fails to break with your own. The mix of alcohol and marijuana in your body makes you feel like you’re moving in slow motion, in the best way possible. 

You had him wrapped around your pretty little finger. 

No hesitation ran through your body as you sit in his lap and take the joint from his hands. “I was wondering when you’d come back from your stage, tiny dancer,” he teases.

“Oh please, Guk, don’t act like you weren’t enjoying the show,” you smirk at him, taking a drag from the stick in your hands. Next to the two of you, Yoongi scoffs at your banter and takes the joint from you.

Once your hands are free from the vice, it opens your fingers up to run your hands down the length of Jungkook’s torso.

“Oh, believe me, I was. That doesn’t mean I didn’t feel jealous when everybody else got to see the show too, though.” A fake pout takes over his features. One of his hands travels downward from its grip on your waist to settle on the hem of your emerald dress. “Is this new?” His stare is obvious at the space where your dress meets your thigh.

“Mhm, I picked it up a few days back. Like it?” The smirk is evident in your voice, not like you’re trying to hide it. The garment had accomplished its job: make your flavor of the month drool.

His gaze slowly leaves your smooth thigh and reaches your eyes, his hands still toying with the edge of the fabric. “I know what you’re doing tonight.”

You feign innocence, “Oh? What am I doing?”

“Seducing me... As if you need to.” He laughs at your fake pout, taking the hand that hadn’t snaked back around your waist to run softly along your lips. He leans in until your foreheads meet. “It’s working, by the way.”

You don’t answer, instead, you close the small gap between your lips. 

“Jesus, you two, just go upstairs already,” Yoongi groans, pushing at your knees.

Jungkook giggles into the kiss, and for a second the little cloud of lust surrounding the two of you dissipates. A little pang hits your heart just then, as you break your kiss from the boy below you. 

If you had met under different circumstances, maybe the feelings you had brewing in your chest for Jungkook would be less offensive. But you were just a hookup, a weekend bed partner. Nothing more, nothing less. You pushed them aside and stood before offering Jungkook your hands. He grabs them without hesitation, and suddenly the lust is restored. 

You follow the familiar path you’ve found yourself traveling every weekend for months. The fraternity’s house was a maze, but you knew it like the back of your hand, and you couldn’t find it in you to feel shame about it. You drag the boy behind you without a single glance backward. You didn’t need to, knowing his eyes didn’t leave your ass the whole time giving you the boost of confidence you crave. 

When you reach his bedroom at the end of the hallway, Jungkook wastes no time spinning your body and pressing you hard into the door. The impact of his lips against yours pulls a mewl from your throat, your body keening against his in desperation. He responds by slipping his tongue into your mouth. 

By now, the two of you had a routine, and the way you moved was almost like a dance; his arms sliding under to lift you, his spin in route to his bed, your grip in the hair at the base of his skull.

His body follows yours downward when he drops you on his sheets, never breaking the connection of your lips. “You don’t waste time anymore, huh, Gukkie?”

 He sucks his teeth at the nickname, and attacks your neck, drawing a moan from you.

“And you still act like you’re going to be in charge, but we both know that's not true, is it, princess?” You blush at his words. 

Of course, he was in charge, but he has yet to realize that the brattier you act, the more you get exactly what you want. You wondered how many more drunken hookups it would take for him to catch onto your game. 

His hands quickly reach down to pull his t-shirt over his head, and you never get tired of the view that meets you when he does. The small waist, bulky chest, defined abs, and tattoos covering the expanse of his left side - it should be illegal to look as sinful as he does hovering over you. Jungkook proved that God does have favorites.

You sit up on your knees quickly to pull your dress over your head and don’t miss the small gasp that leaves the man in front of you. Forgoing underwear this evening seemed like the right choice, and this moment proves that for you. 

“Jesus, Y/N, you’re gonna be the death of me.” Jungkook’s hand traces down your subtle curves before pulling your kneeling form against his own. You don’t miss the way the cold metal of his belt feels on your lower stomach, the anticipation building in your body for what’s about to happen. 

As his mouth moves toward yours, just before they meet, you whisper, “Is that a promise?” 

That’s all it took for him to finally snap. 

Before you know it, you’re on your back and his head is between your legs. With the drugs and alcohol flowing through your system, every movement his lips make against your inner thighs feels like fire. You’re just about to sit up and groan at his avoidance of your center when he wraps his lips around your clit like his life depends on it.

Your head flies back to hit the pillow beneath it and you swear the coil in your stomach already begins to twist. Jungkook had a lot of things he could brag about. The top three? His body, his voice, and his devilish tongue, in all of its glory. 

His mouth continues its assault on your bud, one of his hands reaching underneath to insert two fingers into your aching center.

“Fuck, Guk,” you moan. He hums, sending a vibration through your core. You were embarrassingly close to cumming. It was like you were under his spell.

“I can feel you squeezing around my fingers,” his voice drips with honey. The low tone was enough to push you over the edge. You saw stars behind your eyes and euphoria washed over your entire body. “That’s my girl.” 

You don’t miss the sweet comment in your bliss, choosing to not think about it too much so it doesn’t swallow you whole.

Jungkook crawls upward and crashes his lips onto yours as your hands expertly undo his belt and the buttons of his jeans. He leans back on his legs to assist you in ridding himself of the last pieces of clothing that separate the two of you, breaking the seal of your lips and looking at you with a gaze that made you stop breathing for a moment.

 It’s not like this was the first time you’ve seen him naked, far from it, but he never failed to take away your breath. If a human could be perfect, you’re sure it would be him.

He wastes no time in coming back to you, lips on yours as he lines himself up with your entrance. He pushes in and his pretty eyes screw shut at the feeling. “Fuck, always so tight for me, baby girl.”

Your ego only has a second to absorb his compliment before your own senses are overtaken by the pleasure between your legs. “Give me a second, Guk, you’re so big,” you say as seductively as you can manage, but you know your words come out as more of a whine.

He only smirks before his lips work their magic against your neck. His tongue licks at the spot below your ears before he bites and tugs at your earlobes. Aside from his dominating personality in bed, Jungkook’s soft side for you always showed through, always waiting for permission, always putting your comfort first. 

You nod your head in a gesture for him to continue.

There was no build-up to his bruising pace. As soon as you feel the grip of one hand on your waist and the other under your shoulder you know you’re not going to be able to walk straight the next day. His hips snap against yours, and with the angle of your legs, you can already feel your orgasm building again. 

His mouth finds yours again, but the way he kisses you juxtaposes the way he’s fucking you in force and feeling. Jungkook’s lips are soft and sweet against yours, perfectly contrasting the hard thrusts from his hips. The combination alone draws a string of uncontrollable moans from your throat, one particularly hard thrust prompts you to scream his name.

“Shh, baby, I don’t want to get shit from the other guys anymore,” he pushes two of his fingers into your mouth. You moan again at their intrusion and happily accept them, not missing your opportunity to look at him with innocence in your eyes as you suck on the digits. 

“Fuck.” He pulls his mouth from your fingers and before you can blink, he has you flipped onto your stomach. He lifts your hips a little to place a pillow underneath, and pushes himself back inside of you, all so quickly that you hadn’t even taken a breath before he was thrusting into you again.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head at the new angle. Jungkook drapes his body over you as he fucks into you from behind, using his tattooed hand to move your hair from your face. The same hand takes the liberty to wrap around your throat with the pressure he knows you like. When you smile at the feeling, he can’t help but kiss the corner of your mouth.

 If only you knew the effect you had on him matched the one he had over you.

“Touch yourself for me, princess,” he whispers in your ear and you swear you’ve never moved faster; it was almost as if your movement were involuntary. His wish was your command. 

“Guk, ‘m so close,” you manage to squeak out in broken breaths. 

“Me too,” he groans. “Ladies first?” At that, he sits up and angles your hips higher to hit your g-spot with more force than before. In combination with your fingers working circles into your clit, the new angle is all it takes for you to come crashing down. 

The man above you follows soon after, your involuntary clenching forcing him to meet his end. He quickly pulls himself out and aggressively strokes his release onto your back. 

The collapse of your body causes the bed to seemingly swallow you whole. Jungkook falls directly next to you moments later. You both lay there, panting, blissed-out messes. His hand reaches up to push your hair off your face. When you make eye contact with him, you both turn into giggly messes. The current atmosphere of the room was lighthearted, contrasting the lecherous one that surrounded the two of you for most of the night. 

Soon the post-sex haze fades, and you feel the sticky feeling of his release on your back and you feel dreadfully uncomfortable.

You kick your leg at the boy next to you. “Guk, towel please?” 

He hums and rolls himself off the bed, somehow landing on his feet effortlessly. As he walks toward his bathroom, you admire the view. Who were you to deny yourself the simple pleasure of staring at his ass, if the opportunity presented itself?

He uses the towel to wipe the stickiness from your skin. His gentleness would surprise you, based on how different it was from how he approached sex, but you’ve been seeing Jungkook for a little over two months now. He had a surprisingly sweet demeanor. The towel is quickly discarded and you hum as you sit up. 

“Thank you,” you giggle at him before standing up and heading toward the bathroom, not forgetting to retrieve your crumpled dress from the floor.

“Hey, are you going home?” Jungkook asks quickly when he notices the garment hanging from your hand. 

“Um, I was thinking about it. Why?” You say hesitantly while you stand at the threshold of the bathroom, you suddenly feel shy under his gaze. An indiscernible look passes through his eyes at your words. 

“I just… I can take you back if you want me to. Or... I mean, only if you want to… you could stay here. Maybe?” 

This was new to you. You’ve never seen Jungkook look so unsure of himself. Normally, the picture of confidence personified, the frat boy in the bed before you looks small, almost timid. You could feel your heart doing backflips at his proposal.

It wasn’t the first time you and Jungkook had spent the night together, but that was normally only when you two were both too incapacitated to operate a car. This feels different, somehow; if it was because you started to realize how you feel about Jungkook, you aren’t sure. 

But what you were sure of was that you could never say no to him. You wordlessly make your way back to the bed and curl up in his arms. If nothing else, you can feel his love for the night and move on with your day by morning. As the end of another cycle draws near, you silently hope it will begin again, as it always does. Jungkook, as he holds you against his chest, is the last thing on your mind when you drift asleep. 

You suspect he’s going to take up a permanent residence in there, no matter how much you try to avoid it. 

The next morning, you wake up before Jungkook. After dreaming of him all night, you’re absolutely terrified by the prospect of being there when he wakes up. 

There was no fear that he would stir with your movements about his room as you collect all of your things. He slept like a rock and you’re pretty sure that not even a tornado, hurricane, or any other apocalypse-causing natural disaster could wake him up in the morning.

You sneak out of his bedroom wearing his massive t-shirt and a pair of boxers he had lent you before you fell asleep last night. The door clicks shut and of course, Yoongi’s bedroom door across the hall is wide open as you’re leaving. 

The shit-eating grin on his face is enough to convey his amusement at the situation before him. He raised his hands to his forehead and salutes you, prompting your middle finger to raise and give him a salute of your own. 

You don’t give him enough time to make a comment to you about the clothes before scurrying to the stairs. You sit on the top steps and hastily slide on your boots. Thankfully you chose the chunky Doc knockoffs in lieu of the heels you were originally planning. You were already obviously doing the walk of shame, at least you had decent shoes to do it in to keep a sliver of your dignity. 

Once you reach the bottom of the stairs, you note the state of the party room on your way to the front door. It looks like a booze-filled bomb had gone off; there were red solo cups covering the floor and the smell of alcohol hit you squarely in the face. You quicken your pace because if you stay any longer, you could see yourself getting violently ill.

The sun nearly burns your eyes out of your head when you open the door. You have to take a second to adjust to the light before you can move down the front steps. The cul-de-sac where all the frat houses resided was in a similar state to what you saw inside. Finals week was over and everybody took the opportunity to celebrate it.

Your phone starts vibrating in the small clutch in your hand when you reach the sidewalk. The name on the screen pulls a groan from your throat, you were too hungover to be berated right now.

“You’re lucky I have your location, otherwise I would kill your stupid ass for leaving me to wonder where you went last night,” Jimin’s smirk was evident through the phone.

“Should I really have to tell you when we’re in Jungkook’s fraternity where I’m going to end up when the night ends?” You quip back at him and he giggles at you.

“When are you coming home? Last I checked you were still there.” You hear shuffling on his end of the line and you suspect that he’s just now getting out of bed himself.

You pull your phone away from your face quickly and realize it’s almost noon. “Shit, I didn’t realize it was that late. I’m walking back now, I’ll be home in a minute.” You don’t wait for his response before hanging up.

It was moments like this that you were glad your apartment was only a street over from the fraternity village. When you and Jimin had scouted out your place, it was solely for the price and quality that you chose it. Your proximity to your campus’s party central was an added bonus.

It’s comical the way Jimin stands on the balcony with his sunglasses on and his hip popped to the side. You can’t help but stop at the door to your building and laugh at him.

“I thought shackers were supposed to be out by 11?” He asks cheekily. 

“Oh please, when you find some poor girl to share your time with, I go whole weekends without seeing you!” 

His jaw drops in feigned offense, but he says nothing. He breaks the character with a chuckle and reenters your apartment, you do the same. When you reach the second story, your hand doesn’t even make it to the doorknob before your roommate pulls it open. He grabs you by the wrist and drags you through the door. 

“You can shower when you tell me what happened last night. We weren’t even there for an hour before you disappeared.” He spins you by your shoulders to sit you on the couch.

To anybody on the outside, Jimin and your relationship was odd, but you made it work. Two years ago, you and he had met at a party, shamelessly flirted, kissed, and immediately recoiled. Kissing Jimin felt wrong, and he shared your sentiment in that regard. From then on though, you and he had been thick as thieves, attached at the hip, and any other expression that conveyed best-friendship. You two told each other everything, including anecdotes about your sex life, which is usually the point at which any outsider to your relationship got uncomfortable with your candidness. 

“What can I say, Jimin, I went there for one purpose and I very quickly got exactly what I wanted.” You giggle, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. You’re hoping he didn’t catch it. 

Of course, though, the boy above you knew you like the back of his hand. Nothing you could do or say at this point would stop the quizzical look in his eyes. “Spill, Y/N.”

You dropped your head and rubbed the back of your neck before you dramatically threw yourself into the back of the couch. “I think I’m starting to like him,” you admit, with as little emotion as you can muster. You don’t know why, but the urge to cry right now is strong. You toss the feelings back into the deep abyss that is your subconscious before they can take over.

“Woah, hey!” He drops onto the couch beside you with concern in his eyes. “It’s time to run. We don’t do feelings for people in this house, were young, out-of-control college kids remember. We don’t have time for that.”

“I know, Jimin, but he’s so addicting. Like one minute he is drilling me into the mattress and the next he’s kissing my cheek and telling me how pretty I am. It makes my brain go to mush!”

“Damn, he’s good.”

“Jimin,” you warn. The look in your eyes tells him to watch his words carefully.

“Alright, in all seriousness, you know what kind of guy he is. I’m honestly surprised that you’ve slept with him for this long. I don’t remember the last time you’ve kept a guy around for longer than a couple of weeks.”

It was true. It sounded worse than it was, you would go through bursts of “uncontrollable horniness” as Jimin called it. You could go months without having sex, but then you would find a guy to sleep with for a couple of weeks until you got bored or he tried to cuff you, then you would cut it off and move into another dry spell. It was unconventional sure, but it worked for you. Jimin only had so much room to make fun of you for it, he was a certified man-whore.

“I don’t know, dude. I know I should stop because I can feel myself getting attached to him, but I just… I don’t want to.” You groan at your situation. Why did you have to pick the most perfect human on the planet as your booty call? 

“Which is exactly why you need to stop. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, babe, but I doubt he shares yours.” You only nod at his statement and stare blankly at the ceiling. 

A few moments of silence pass between the two of you before he pats your thigh and stands up. “C’mon smelly, go take a shower, you smell like dick,” Jimin grins at you and reaches out his hand to drag you off the couch. 

You half-heartedly laugh at him and take his hand. He pushes you toward your bathroom before going back to the kitchen to make the two of you something to eat. 

The person staring back at you in the mirror looks like she’s been hit by a train. There’s mascara smeared under your eyes and your hair closely resembles a bird’s nest. While you’re rubbing the makeup from your eyes with a wipe, your phone vibrates on the counter next to you.

*12:13 pm*

Gukkie: Hey, when did you leave? Sorry I slept through it haha

Speak of the devil and he doth appear. 

You ignore the text and strip before hopping into the shower. Silently, you hope that the scalding water will burn last night from your memory. 

“Damn, was your shower long enough? I thought I was going to have to send a rescue party in there,” Jimin teases as you step out of your bathroom.

“The only way to kill the diseases you pick up in a frat house is to burn them off your skin.” 

You slide into the stool at your kitchen counter as Jimin sets a mug of your favorite tea and waffles in front of you. You thank him with a smile and he only smiles back before going back to his own nearly finished plate of food. 

“Do you want to talk about it some more?” Jimin asks you, and for a second you consider playing dumb as to the subject he’s referring to, but you know it won’t work.

“I honestly don’t know. Ask me later?” 

He nods and grabs your hand from across the counter, sending you a wink. “You got it.”

It’s when you’re bingeing a new show with Jimin later that evening that you remember you never bothered to answer Jungkook. Your phone on the coffee table was now pulling your attention completely away from the murder docu-series on the TV. Jimin is engrossed with the show and pays very little attention when you grab the device from the table.

When you unlock your screen, the little number icon hovering next to your messages alerts you to how much you’ve neglected your phone today. You open the app and scroll through, reading the various messages left for you by friends and family. Thankfully, all were unimportant, usually, just funny pictures or links that they thought you would find amusing. 

You’re giggling at a message from your mom about your dog back home when you back out of the conversation and notice the only unread message was the one you had been avoiding since the early afternoon. 

(12:13 pm) Gukkie: Hey, when did you leave? Sorry I slept through it haha

You debate just ignoring it altogether and just dealing with it the next time you saw him. That would be soon enough, considering that summer break was here and you knew that he wouldn’t be going home as most college students do. You decide against that. At the very least you want to keep him on your good side, you had never ignored him for this long. While your text conversations weren’t the most thrilling, the small bit of connection was enough to keep the two of you on the same page. At each other’s beck and call, that was.

(10:41 pm) You: i left around noon! i didn’t want to wake you up. i’ll bring your clothes back soon

You locked your screen after sending the message and returned your attention to the screen. That was indifferent enough, right?

Not even thirty seconds after you sent the message, the device vibrates on the couch next to you and you’re embarrassed at how quickly you scramble to pick it up. You look across the couch at your roommate, and he’s staring right back at you. 

“Did he text you?” He asks, almost nonchalantly, but you pick up on a little bit of something in his voice. Disapproval, maybe?

For any of his faults, Jimin more than makes up for it in the way he cares about you like a sister. It’s almost as if he can sense that you’re probably going to get hurt by a stupid frat boy.

“Uh, yeah. But I’m just asking him when he’s free so I can drop his clothes off. That’s all,” you quickly reply and you silently applaud yourself for the steadiness of your voice. He has a look in his eyes that says he wants to say more on the subject, but he doesn’t. Instead, he chooses to only nod and return his attention back to the screen. He grabs onto your calves the are slung across him in a silent gesture: I’m here for you, always.

(10:42 pm) Gukkie: Don’t worry about it! I’m sure I’ll see you soon ;)

(10:43 pm) You: something tells me you’re right about that

(10:43 pm) Gukkie: Maybe you could swing by tomorrow, sometime? I’ll be at the house all day so you can drop the clothes off 

Right, as if you would only drop off his clothes and leave. 

(10:44 pm) You: sure, i’ll talk to you tomorrow !

(10:44 pm) Gukkie: Sleep tight, princess :)

You don’t sleep.

You’re pacing back and forth with Jungkook’s clothes in your hand, debating whether or not to ding dong ditch and leave them on his porch. Last night, what very little sleep you did get was plagued by dreams of the curly-haired frat boy down the road. The feelings you felt for him are surprisingly strong, considering you just realized you really did like him. Maybe they had been building up for a while and when you allowed yourself to accept them, they hit you harder. 

Regardless of why they were so pervasive was lost on you, but there was no denying their presence. You could feel anxious hies rising up your neck at the thought of facing Jungkook.

On one hand, you’re dealing with the excitement about seeing his cute bunny smile and inevitably, his sculpted body, if this visit turned into how you suspected it would. On the other hand, you’re terrified. Every time you spend your time with Jungkook, those feelings are probably only going to grow.

This would be the last time with him, you decide before you walk out of your apartment building. You already know that there is no way you could say no to him, so if he decided that he wanted to have sex with you today, that’s exactly what was going to happen. It’s not like you don’t want to. You’d be a fool to turn down sex with him, but you fear the way it made you feel. After Saturday night, it was obvious that you felt more than the normal, post-sex happiness when you were with him.

His fraternity’s house comes into view, the parking lot nearly empty signaling that most of his brother’s had gone home for the summer. His car and Yoongi’s remained, among a few others. You roll your eyes seeing the elder’s vehicle, knowing that he was going to tease you either on your way in or out.

You hesitate a little at the front door, unsure if you should knock or just walk in. Strangely enough, in the two months you had been sleeping with Jungkook, you had never been to the house during the day. 

You don’t get to think about how odd it is seeing the brick building during the day when the door opens and the boy who’s been haunting your dreams beams at you with his infuriatingly adorable smile.

“Hi,” you say awkwardly. “Here are your clothes… I washed them.” You thrust the clothes forward into his hand.

He runs his free hand through his hair and snickers. “Thanks, you didn’t have to wash them.”

“It’s no problem!” You say a little too eagerly and you’re slapping yourself for it. 

“Are you going to come in or just stand there and stare at me?” He asks you with an amused look on his face. 

“Shut up,” you say as you brush past him and walk into the house. You don’t bother looking back at him as you follow the path up to his bedroom, knowing he’s following you, as he always does. 

You’re not sure when the rain started, but the sounds were lulling you into a peaceful afternoon slumber. Jungkook’s bedsheets were always clean, unlike most of the guys you slept with. The soft fabric against your naked body, mixed with the soft light and sounds from the weather outside, gave you a sense of calm you hadn’t felt in the last 48 hours. 

Your head is turned toward the window, eyes shut. It wasn’t that you were necessarily avoiding looking at Jungkook, lately, it seemed like it was the only thing you wanted to do, but you just happened to fall in that position after the activities of the last two hours. 

Jungkook is sitting on his side, resting his head on one hand as he looks out the same window. He sighs, but you have a hard time in your half-conscious state determining the meaning behind the sigh. For now, you were just content with the soft fingers he was using to draw patterns across your exposed back. You couldn’t think about much past that.

“Y/N, are you asleep?” He asks while scooting closer to you. You hum in response and turn your head to face him. He uses his hand to brush your hair away from your face, so tenderly you barely feel his fingers when they run across your cheeks. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“No, I’m awake, just resting my eyes.” You slowly open your eyes and take note of him. He has a small smile on his face, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

A pang of something akin to hurt strikes you in the heart. You realize that he’s probably trying to kick you out. It was the middle of the day and you were overstaying your welcome.

“I’m sorry, I just realized I’m probably taking up your whole day,” you sat up quickly and bend toward the foot of the bed to grab your top. 

“Wait,” he rushes out and pulls you back down to lay down and face him. “Stay with me for a little bit. At least until the rain stops?”

You look down at the bedsheets below you and pick at a ball of fuzz to distract yourself. A sad smile graces your features when you look back at him. “I don’t think I should.”

“Oh… Okay,” he looks upset at that but you don’t want to think about it too long before you sit up again and put your clothes back on. When you return to the bed to grab your phone, you notice that he’s gotten himself back into a pair of basketball shorts and is watching you as you move about his space. “At least let me drive you home?”

You nod your head in agreement and smile at him. “Thank you.”

The walk to the door and following dash to his car through the rain is silent between the two of you. Luckily, though you know he was lurking somewhere, you didn’t have to face Yoongi. It was the small victories that would take you through today.

The drive lasted less than two minutes but felt like fiver years with the awkward silence that hung around you. It was clear by your actions that this would be over after today, neither of you having to actually say the words out loud. 

Jungkook pulled into the spot right in front of the door to your building. At least he wasn’t going to make you walk through the pouring rain. Hopefully, this meant that he wasn’t angry, or at the very least, his ego wasn’t bruised by your unspoken break-up, for lack of a better term.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say as chipper as possible given the circumstances. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. 

“Yeah, sure… No problem.” He reaches up to rub the back of his neck. You noticed he does it when he’s embarrassed or feels awkward without realizing it. You were going to miss that, among many other things. 

You opened the door and were about to step out into the rain when he touches your shoulder. You look at him confused. He looks confused as well, shocked at his own hand for the involuntary action.

“I-I’ll see you around?” He asks, an indiscernible look in his eyes.

“I- yeah, I’ll see you around,” you smile at him gently. He pulls his hand back like the temperature of your skin is burning his own. 

 You quickly jump out of the car and run up to the front of the building - to avoid as much rain as you could and to get away from the boy behind you. You don’t look back.

When you push open the door to your apartment, Jimin is sitting in the recliner and scrolling through his phone. It only takes one look at your slightly damp clothes and the tears welling up in your eyes for him to hop out of his seat and make it to you at record speed. 

“I’m sorry, babe,” Jimin soothes his hand down your unruly hair as you lightly cry against his shoulder. “Did you tell him anything?”

You shake your head. What would be the point? When you and Jungkook agreed to forgo sleeping with other people and engage in a friends-with-benefits-type relationship, you both made it clear that there were to be no feelings involved. You knew he wouldn’t have changed his mind about that. The only thing to gain from sharing your feelings with him would be outright rejection, and you’d rather not deal with that. 

Jimin just goes back to patting your head and rocking you lightly, not caring that your hair and clothes were getting him damp too. You don’t know what you did in a past life to be so fortunate to have him as your best friend.  

You’re standing like that for quite a while before you both hear a knock at your door. You move out of the way to sit on the couch and let Jimin answer the door. The last thing you wanted the person at the door to see were your bloodshot eyes and shaggy appearance. 

“Can I talk to Y/N?” Jungkook’s voice startles you up off the couch. Your panicked movements draw the attention of both your roommate and the frat boy. Jimin just smiles slightly at you and moves out of the way before walking into his room. You had a feeling he would listen to the whole conversation though his door.

You walked up to the door with your head down. His breathing was ragged at as you scanned from his feet up to his eyes, you found that he was soaked. “Why are you soaked?”

“I ran here.”

“But you just drove me home?”

“Oh, I, uh, got home and forgot I was going to loan my car to one of my brother’s and then I… ran here.” He explains, but the confused look in your eye is enough to tell him that you’re not following his story whatsoever. You didn’t understand why he had to come back to your apartment, nor his urgency in doing so.

“What are you doing here?” You wish you sounded a little less sad when you said that, but you didn’t really care at this point. 

“I came because I need to say something to you. I- wait have you been crying?” Jungkook steps closer to you and grabs your cheeks to look into your eyes. It takes everything in you not to melt into him and grab his hands from your cheeks. 

“What did you have to tell me, Guk?” You ask him in the most even voice you can manage. 

“No, Y/N answer me first, please?” Your outright rejection of his touch doesn’t stop him from running his hands up and down your arms.

“Yes,” you answer, your voice uneven as your eyes betray you and begin to well up again.

Jungkook pulls you against his body, holding you tightly against him. “Why?” He whispers the question so quietly in your ear, almost as if he raises his voice any higher you would shatter.

You take a shaky breath, deciding to just say it. “You.”

He pulls back abruptly to look you in the eyes, the confusion across his brow mixes with hurt in his eyes. “Me?”

“I like you,” you blurt out, tears slowing to a gradual drip. “But I know you don’t feel the same, so please don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” He asks, but the look is still painted across his features.

“With pity.”

“Pity? I’m just confused.” He readjusts his grip on you to bring a hand back to your cheek. You can feel your heart pounding out of your chest while he forces you to look into his eyes. 

He doesn’t say anything, instead he just brings your face forward to crash his lips into your own. It’s different from the kisses you’ve shared in the past. The ones before filled with lust, this one was tender and intense.

“Y/N, I like you too. Why do you think I ran through the rain to get back here?” He puts his forehead against yours. 

“You do?” You pull your forehead from his to meet his eyes. 

“Obviously. I was going to tell you earlier but you seemed like you wanted to go home so badly, so I figured I screwed up.” He sighed, a small smile of relief on his face. 

“You should’ve said it earlier then, dummy!” You playfully smacked his chest and sniffled. 

“I wish I would’ve, then I wouldn’t have had to see you cry.” The hand on your cheek slips behind your head and pulls you forward so he could plant a kiss on your forehead. When he loosens his grip, you pull back to look at him. 

“Would you like to come inside?” You motion behind you. Jungkook answers by kissing you back into your apartment. 

He breaks apart from you once the door is shut and looks at you with a cocky grin on his face. “Wait until I rub it in Yoongi’s face that you’re my girlfriend. He said you would never say yes.”

“Girlfriend, huh?” You ask while grinning up at him. There was a lot that had to be addressed in that statement, but you decided to let it slide for a later conversation. 

“Uh, yeah… Is that okay?” He looks a little insecure, realizing what that he said without asking you if you wanted that.

You just giggle at him and kiss him again. You nod into the kiss, that was growing much more heated by the second.

“And that's my cue! I’m leaving,” Jimin escapes from his room and runs out the door before either of you can blink. You both laugh at your best friend's antics. 

“I’ll steal you some dry clothes from his room,” you say as you turn to walk into Jimin’s room. 

Jungkook quickly grabs you from behind and kisses the spot below your ear. “Who says I need clothes?”

You turn your head to look at him and consider glaring for a second. The blinding bunny smile pointed in your direction squashes any of your ideas about reprimanding him. He kisses your cheek and runs into your bedroom, stripping off his clothes along the way. You giggle at his behavior. 

“Baby! I’m naked and I’m in your bed - a little disappointed that you aren’t!” 

Again, who were you to say no?

a/n: im not even sure if anybody is really active on this blog anymore, but i got bored and decided to write this! it is unedited, i dont really mind though :) this is for the people that sent me messages saying that they would want to see this once it was finished. i did write it under the influence initially (as stated previously, i am of legal age!!), so it required quite a bit of editing! sorry for the delay!

[spencers-renaissance]

i can't forgive me & you can't forget

Summary: Spencer is happy that his boyfriend is as compassionate as he is, but watching Derek do everything he can to help Strauss with her alcoholism when he stood by and did nothing back when he was struggling with his dilaudid addiction is beginning to take its toll.

Tags: hurt!spencer, miscommunication, angst, insecurity, est. rel., hurt/comfort, cuddling & snuggling, angst w a happy ending, fluff TW: referenced past drug use, addiction, and overdose, implied/referenced alcoholism

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 4.5k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // The other fic in this universe

Inspired by @marisatomay’s post here!!! The title is from the second part of the poem Betrayal by Lang Leav.

It’s pushing ten pm by the time Spencer finally hears the front door open and close with a soft click, hears the rustling of Derek ditching his leather jacket on the crowded coat rack and toeing off his shoes — no doubt placing them neatly at the side of the hall like he always does — and listens to his footsteps as he nears the bedroom where Spencer’s been holed up since Derek left.

“Hey, baby boy,” Derek says with a warm, relaxed smile, his fingers already working on undoing his shirt buttons, before digging through their wardrobe to find a more comfortable top.

“Hey.”

Spencer watches him with tired eyes. He’s been feeling as hurt and despondent as he does this evening for weeks now, but tonight is the first time he doesn’t have the energy to hide it. He’s spent the entire afternoon in bed, and he’s certain it shows in the imprints of the creased pillowcase on his cheek and his messed up hair, and where just a couple of days ago he’d rush to hide those tells, he simply doesn’t care enough anymore.

Derek turns around from the wardrobe and shrugs off his shirt, replacing it with a soft blue t-shirt Spencer’s always liked on him. “Have you had anything to eat yet?”

Spencer shakes his head. Derek undoes his belt and switches his trousers for a pair of grey sweatpants before walking over to the bed and climbing onto the mattress, grinning cheekily as he rolls over Spencer’s body and leans down to press a tender kiss to the tip of his nose.

It’s sweet and romantic and so painfully normal, and maybe that’s exactly why he suddenly finds himself swallowing back tears. He’s hardly spent any time with Derek outside of work in weeks and he’s hurt and sad and struggling, and it’s only making it worse that his loving and attentive boyfriend hasn’t seemed to notice. Really, Spencer knows he needs to communicate, and that a significant part of his pain is his responsibility, but the shame—

“Well that just won’t do,” Derek murmurs, interrupting his thoughts as he brushes his fingers over a lock of curly hair resting on Spencer’s temple. “I’ll go and make you something. Or we can order in? What do you fancy?”

Spencer shrugs, looking away. He’s not trying to be difficult, it’s just incredibly hard to think about food and a relaxing night in with your partner when you feel like your insides are splintering and you’re just barely holding yourself together.

Even without looking directly at his face, Spencer can see Derek’s brow furrow and his happy expression fade, and soon enough Derek’s fingers are at his chin, gently moving his head until he’s looking at him again. “Hey, pretty boy,” he says gently, looking so concerned it makes his chest ache, “what’s wrong? Tell me what’s going on in that big old head of yours.”

So much of him wants to give in and tell him everything, wants to spill his fears and his anxieties and his anger and his shame onto the sheets of their bed and lay it all out for him. He wants to shout, “See? This is who I am! This is all my mess and my pain and my regret! Look at it!”

But he can’t. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before opening them again to meet the swirling worry in Derek’s deep, beautiful brown eyes and he wills himself not to cry. “Nothing,” he lies. “I’m just tired. Hungry.”

He knows Derek doesn’t believe him, but there isn’t much he can do if Spencer isn’t willing to communicate, so he nods reluctantly and leans down to place a kiss on his forehead this time, lingering there for a moment longer than he usually does. The feeling of his boyfriend hovering over him and asking him what’s wrong and kissing him so tenderly is all Spencer’s craved for weeks, but now it’s here, he still feels sad and empty and hollowed out by shame and bitterness, desperate for something more without so much as an idea as to what exactly more might entail.

“I tell you what, I’ll go make you some tortellini, alright? There’s a pack in the fridge and it only takes a couple of minutes so I’ll be back before you know it,” Derek promises, and Spencer can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Regardless, Derek hops off the bed and heads out to the kitchen, leaving Spencer alone in the softly lit bedroom. He pulls the duvet further up to his chin and buries his face in it, the soft fabric gentle on his skin, and the comforting scent of Spencer’s shampoo mingling with Derek’s cologne settling him slightly.

Derek had spent the afternoon with Strauss at the rehab centre. And not for the first time.

The problem is, how can Spencer be mad at him for that? Really, it’s the epitome of his character: genuine, constant, unconditional compassion for everyone around him, no matter who they are or what his history with them might be. Of course he’d see Strauss struggling with her addiction and swoop right in, getting her settled in at the centre and spending hours with her on visiting days, fighting alongside Hotch to persuade the director to let her keep her job.

But watching him leave every week, watching him text her encouraging messages, hearing him talk about her progress and recovery… it strikes a nerve deep inside Spencer. He isn’t proud of how he feels. He knows it’s petty and illogical, but he can’t help it.

Because somewhere deep in his soul, an old version of himself, a sad, lonely, scared, addicted-to-dilaudid boy is crying out, why didn’t you do that for me?

It’s that question that really plagues him. They’re called into work the next day for a fairly interesting case in North Dakota, and there are some fairly strong links to the world of academia, so usually, Spencer would be all over it, reeling off facts and statistics and reaching out to his contacts to further the case. But for some reason, he just can’t get his head in the game.

He finds himself zoning out on the jet and wandering off at crime scenes without even knowing where he’s going. Initially, his team had assumed that he was thinking, or was going somewhere deliberately that might help them with the case, they’d all counted on Doctor Reid to come up with some brilliant theory to bring them closer to catching their unsub.

But Hotch had quickly realised that his head was somewhere else and kept him close to his side from then on. At least staying at the police station with Hotch and being tasked with reading through the unsub’s literary work and constructing a geographical profile both gives him something specific to focus on, and — as much as Spencer hates to admit it — keeps him away from Derek.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Hotch asks gently when they both find themselves at the coffee pot in the late afternoon. He doesn’t look over at him, his eyes focused on the stream of coffee and creamer headed straight for his mug. Spencer knows it’s a tactic to make him feel less ambushed and more relaxed, but that doesn’t stop it from working.

“No,” he says honestly.

Hotch nods in acceptance. He puts a warm hand on his shoulder and squeezes briefly. “Well, you know where I am if you change your mind.”

Both JJ and Emily eye him suspiciously throughout the case as well, but no one is more confused and concerned than Derek. Spencer tries not to think about the irony.

“Baby, what’s got you all distracted like this?” Derek asks softly when they’re finally alone in their room that night, full up from the rushed dinner they’d all had in the lobby before crawling to their rooms for a couple of hours’ sleep before the manhunt continues in the morning. “This is so unlike you and you know it.”

Spencer doesn’t reply, just continues quietly changing into his pajamas before brushing his teeth and washing his face. Derek’s still sitting in the same position when he comes out, looking frustrated and contemplative, and Spencer feels guilty for making him feel this way, but he just doesn’t know what to do. He can’t act like everything's okay because it isn’t, and he’s tired himself out from pretending that it was for weeks, now. But he can’t tell him what’s going on either.

The thing is, how is Spencer supposed to admit that he’s still hurt over something that happened almost five years ago now? And how is he supposed to admit that Derek doing the right thing is only reopening wounds he’d tried so hard to heal and close? That both Derek and Hotch had specifically helped him heal and close?

He doesn’t know how to verbalise his feelings without sounding petulant or pathetic, so he doesn’t. He keeps them buried deep inside him and hopes desperately that no one comes digging.

“I’m fine, Derek,” he lies again, leaning down to kiss him gently before rounding the bed and crawling under the covers. “Just having an off day, I guess.”

Derek sighs but doesn’t push any further, clearly knowing a lost cause when he sees one. Instead, he follows in Spencer’s footsteps and gets ready for bed silently, whispering a quiet good night before switching off the lamp and climbing into bed on the other side.

It feels like the expanse of white sheet between them goes on for miles.

It’s the first time Spencer’s regretted Hotch’s decision to continue letting them share a room.

The question continues to plague him over the next week. He gets marginally better at pretending he’s not falling apart at the seams, and it’s enough to make almost everyone back off, but Hotch is still concerned and Derek is still confused, and he can feel himself drifting further away from the team each day, as though his rope tying him to the others has been cut, and now the current is having its way with him.

Nothing much changes. He continues in his hurt and lonely quietude, and Derek continues to ask what’s wrong, sighing sadly when he gets nothing out of him, and they exist in tandem.

It had always felt — ever since the beginning of their relationship — as though their relationship was a salsa dance. They were tangled in one another’s lives, both physically and emotionally, and they existed in this relaxed kind of ease that Spencer’s only ever seen before in long-term relationships. They’d fallen into a lucky, easy kind of love, and it was never as much work as everyone had promised him a relationship would be.

They’ve been together for four years, and their worst fight was over whether the cheese grater went in the cupboard next to the sink or above it. (Granted, it had spiraled into some other disagreements that came along with cohabitation, but. Still.)

Spencer knows he’s introducing a dynamic they’re unused to, and he hates it. Guilt plagues him, mingling with his shame and sadness until he’s drowning under the weight of it, no way to claw himself to the surface to take a breath.

They exist on parallel lines: next to one another; yet never crossing over. Their relationship is no longer a salsa dance.

The next off-day they have, Derek can’t get out the door fast enough. “I’m off to visit Erin,” he tells Spencer, and it still makes him irrationally angry that he’s stopped calling her Strauss and now refers to her like a friend.

Is it better that Strauss is now Derek’s friend? Him helping someone he actually cares about makes him not caring about Spencer all those years again slightly less of a gut-punch, he supposes. But the fact that Derek and Strauss of all people are becoming closer while he and Spencer drift apart hurts in a way he can’t even begin to explain.

This time, he spends the entire day crying. Every time the tears slow down and he catches his breath, another wave of grief and pain and anxiety and shame and jealousy crashes over him, and all of a sudden he can’t breathe again. It’s an exhausting cycle, and by the early afternoon his stomach muscles are aching and his ribs feel bruised.

It’s also the first day he gets a craving.

He’s an addict, right, he’s had periods of intermittent cravings over the years, that’s completely normal. Sometimes, even thinking about it in passing is enough for the itch to come back, to whisper the number of his old dealer in his ear, to recall in both his physical and mental memory the feeling that came with each press of the syringe.

This is the most intense one since his withdrawal immediately after waking up in hospital following his accidental overdose in his parking garage. It’s so intense that it scares him.

Crying harder than he thought it possible, he fumbles for his phone on the nightstand and — fighting the temptation to type in the digits of his dealer — he dials the number he’s had memorised since he was nineteen. He can’t speak through his gut-wrenching sobs, but he knows the sound of him crying this hard will be enough, so he lies in bed and continues his pity party until he hears the front door swing open and the rapid steps through the hall.

Soon enough, Hotch is pulling him into his arms and he finally feels a little less alone.

Hotch lets him cry himself out, and only when his tears have dried up and the hiccups have subsided does he say anything besides the reassuring murmurs he’d spoken into Spencer’s ears as he cried.

“Spencer,” he says — somewhat desperately — “please. You have to tell me what’s going on. Let me help you, okay? Whatever it is, I’m here. I won’t let you suffer on your own anymore, I promise.”

Spencer doesn’t raise his head from its position buried in Hotch’s t-shirt, but he does finally say something. He doesn’t know what overrides the shame that’s kept him quiet — maybe it’s the exhaustion or the loneliness finally winning out — but whatever it is, he’s glad it does.

“I had a craving today,” he whispers, because it seems like a good place to start. “Haven’t been feeling good since, uh. Since… Strauss.”

It’s hopelessly phrased, but it’s the best way he can explain it and Hotch, being the miracle profiler and father figure of Spencer Reid, figures it out instantly.

He feels the way he slumps slightly, hears the tired, frustrated sigh, and knows he’s probably beating himself up for not figuring it out sooner.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I just… I couldn’t. I didn’t know how.”

Hotch shushes him. “You don’t need to apologise for that, Spencer, don’t be sorry. I’m the one who should be sorry for being so blind, and I am. I hate that you’ve been suffering like this and we’ve all been too stupid to realise why.”

“It still, it still hurts,” he says quietly, sadly, regretfully, “it still hurts that no one helped me until it was almost too late. But everyone dropped everything to help Strauss— I’m sorry, it’s so selfish, I shouldn’t be—”

“Hey, Spence,” Hotch interrupts him, caressing his arm gently. “It isn’t selfish. It’s human. And you’re right, we should have helped you sooner and it’s always been my greatest regret that we didn’t, and that because of that dereliction of duty, we almost lost you.”

“I’m not, I’m not trying to make you feel guilty or anything—”

“Spencer, I know that. But you need to stop feeling guilty for how you feel, alright? It makes complete sense that this is bringing up both the feelings of rejection and betrayal, and also cravings for the drug you were addicted to at the time. It’s so obvious that I don’t know how I didn’t see it earlier.”

Spencer nods, but he doesn’t say anything for a couple of minutes. “Derek’s been visiting Strauss on our days off,” he admits quietly. “I’ve barely seen him for almost a month now, and that— it isn’t helping.”

“I can understand that. Have you talked to him about any of this?” he asks, even though Spencer’s sure Hotch already knows the answer.

He shakes his head.

“I know it’s hard, Spence, I really do, but I think you need to talk to him. Obviously, it would’ve been better if both he and I had figured it out without you having to tell us, but clearly, he isn’t going to realise by himself. I know that as soon as you explain it, he’ll understand completely.”

Spencer sighs. Some part of him had known this was coming, he just didn’t know how it would come about. He wouldn’t have put money on Hotch being involved, but maybe he should have done. He always seems to come to Spencer’s rescue.

“He’ll probably be out for a while. He usually stays out for hours when he goes to visit her.”

“Well, how about I stay until he comes home, and then you can talk to him? How does that sound?”

Spencer looks up at him. “What about Jack?”

“He’s out with a friend and their family anyway,” Hotch reassures him, smiling as he runs a hand down his arm. “Now how about I make you some tea and we go and sit on the sofa?”

Spencer reluctantly agrees and moves from the safety of his bed to the comfort of his sofa, but he has to admit that the light streaming in from the big bay window and the feeling of sitting up makes him feel just a little better straight away. Once Hotch is back and placing a cup of chamomile tea into his hands, he doesn’t feel quite so much like he’s going to burst into tears at any moment.

“I have to ask, Spencer,” Hotch says carefully, “did you buy any dilaudid? Or attempt to contact your dealer?”

“Thought about it,” he admits, not meeting Hotch’s concerned eyes, “but I didn’t.”

Hotch relaxes. “Good. I’m proud of you, you know.”

Spencer looks at him with a hesitant smile that only grows when Hotch beams back.

They spend the afternoon watching nature documentaries — and Spencer admittedly dozes through a lot of them, exhausted from the burden of carrying so much pain around and the physical exertion of crying so hard — until Derek comes home at just gone five thirty.

“Hotch?” he asks, confused, and his voice wakes Spencer up from one of his unintentional naps.

He scrambles to sit upright, going inexplicably red at the thought of what he knows is coming. For some reason, he feels like he’s done something wrong and he’s about to be told off. He hates that this is what his relationship with Derek has come to.

“Hi, Derek,” Hotch says, squeezing Spencer’s ankle and getting up from the sofa. “Spencer asked me to come over earlier” — which is a bit of a stretch when really Spencer sobbed into the phone until Hotch showed up — “and I was just keeping him company until you came home.”

Derek’s eyebrows only furrow further, looking between them, confused. “Right.”

“Spencer,” Hotch says, meeting his eyes, “are you okay if I go now? You’ll tell Derek what we talked about?”

Immediately, Spencer blushes red as Derek’s scrutinising eyes fixate on him, but he nods and smiles weakly at Hotch, following him with his eyes as he lets himself out, if just to avoid meeting Derek’s.

“Pretty boy?” Derek says cautiously, slowly taking off his jacket and approaching the sofa like Spencer’s a wild animal liable to be spooked away at any given moment. He supposes it’s probably quite a good analogy, actually.

Spencer shifts nervously in his seat, moving his legs out of the way to give Derek more room to sit down on the sofa.

“You finally gonna tell me what’s been up with you these last few weeks?” Derek asks, and Spencer isn’t oblivious to the hope in his voice. “I’ve been worried about you, baby.”

Spencer nods and closes his eyes for a moment, taking a couple of deep breaths to compose himself. He’s told one person, and it went fine— it went well, actually. Derek is his life partner, his soulmate, and they tell each other everything. He just needs to start at the beginning. He needs to tell him all of the disclaimers, remind him that he’s not angry at him for doing the right thing or for being the compassionate person he is, he just needs to— He needs to focus, and he needs to tell the truth.

“I called Hotch earlier because I was scared of myself,” he says, finally opening his eyes and looking into Derek’s. “I was having some of the most intense cravings I’ve had since being sober, and I was seriously considering calling my dealer, but I managed to call Hotch instead, and we talked about how I’ve been feeling.”

“Baby, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here,” Derek says regretfully, his face melting into the very picture of apologetic as he scoots a bit closer on the sofa so he can grab Spencer’s legs and pull them over his lap.

“I know,” Spencer replies, ignoring for now that him not being here is why they have a problem in the first place. He moves on. “I’ve been… struggling… over the last month or so with feelings that I haven’t really known how to rationalise or explain, and when I finally did make sense of them, I felt that I couldn’t share them with anyone, which is why I’ve been so distant and private. And I’m sorry for that, by the way.”

Derek just smiles, caressing his bare ankle with one hand as he rests his other over his shin.

He pauses for a moment, trying to find the best way to word his thoughts, but before he can think about it too hard, the words come spilling out, unbidden. “I’ve found it hard to reconcile your attentiveness and willingness to throw everything at helping Strauss, and the way no-one helped me with my addiction back in 2007.”

Derek’s face instantly falls, and saying the words out loud brings all the emotions he’d managed to control back again in full force, and suddenly his face is crumpling, too. Derek surges forward, moving them both until he’s situated between the sofa cushions and Spencer, cuddling him as close as he can while Spencer cries into his chest.

“I’m so sorry, baby, I’m so sorry,” he whispers, voice breaking as he begins to cry as well. “I’m sorry I didn’t do anything then and I’m sorry I didn’t put two and two together to realise why you were struggling so much. I can’t believe I was so oblivious, Spence, oh God.”

They lie there for a long time, crying together as Derek runs his hands through Spencer’s hair and Spencer clings desperately to the fabric of Derek’s t-shirt.

“I was just feeling so distant from you because we weren’t spending as much time together, and I had no idea how to admit that I was feeling hurt about something that happened almost five years ago,” he continues when they’ve both calmed down again, and they’re ready to resume the conversation. “I guess I just felt… ashamed of both my feelings now and being jealous, which is so ridiculous, I had no idea how to tell anyone how I was feeling. And I’m so sorry that my lack of communication affected us so much.”

“Oh, baby,” Derek sighs, leaning in to press a kiss to Spencer’s lips. “You don’t need to be sorry. I’m sorry that I was hurting you when I should’ve known the effect my actions would have. This whole mess is on me for so many reasons.”

“Der, I don’t want you to feel guilty,” Spencer says insistently, urgently, looking at him imploringly. “You’ve apologised enough for what happened back then, and there’s no way we can change what happened. You were just being the same kind and compassionate person you always are when you were helping Strauss.” He reaches out and cups Derek’s face gently, hating the tells of guilt and self-loathing he can see all over it.

Derek sighs and moves Spencer’s hand to his lips so he can kiss his palm. “When I was sitting in that hospital room waiting for you to wake up,” he explains, “I made a promise to myself. I told myself that I would never let anyone down like that again. I was never going to stand back and watch anyone else I knew fall into the same trap you did. So when I realised Strauss had a drinking problem, all I saw was an opportunity to keep that promise.

“The only problem was that I was so wrapped up in doing the right thing in helping her that I wasn’t doing the right thing by you. I should’ve realised all the feelings, physical and emotional, that this would bring up for you, but I didn’t think. I’m so sorry, baby boy, I really am.”

Spencer cuddles back into Derek, burying his face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder and relaxing into the reassuring scent of his person. “I know, Der. I forgive you.”

“How about we order in some Thai for dinner from your favourite restaurant and watch some Doctor Who?” Derek suggests after a couple of minutes of silence. “I think we’re long overdue for some quality time together.”

Spencer smiles at him, feeling so much of the heaviness that’s been weighing him down over the last few weeks lift that he feels almost like he’s floating. “I think that sounds like a plan.”

They set the living room up to be as cosy as possible, lighting the candles Penelope had made for them and using only their soft lamps to light the room, before piling the couch high with blankets and pillows until they’re cuddled together in a little nest.

The evening is spent eating their favourite food and watching their favourite season of Doctor Who, and while Spencer’s still hurting and they still have healing to do, this feels like a damn good start.

“I’m proud of you,” Spencer whispers to Derek late into the night, when they’re close to falling asleep in the comfort of their blanket pile.

Derek turns to him, looking confused. “What do you mean?”

“You made a mistake when you let things get bad with my addiction back in 2007,” Spencer explains, “and when you saw someone headed down the same path, you stopped at nothing to make sure you didn’t make that mistake again. If anything shows me how much you regret not doing anything sooner, it’s your devotion to Strauss’ recovery.”

Derek smiles at him, his eyes a little watery, and holds his chin gently as he leans in to kiss him. “I love you,” he murmurs. “I love you so much.”

Spencer kisses him again before cuddling back into his side. “I know you do, Derek. And I love you, too.”

And really, when it comes down to it, that’s enough.

Ahhh, this was the first fic in forever that actually felt fairly easy to write thank GOD. I loved this concept and writing that good, good angst was so much fun. Plus, we always love a happy ending in this house! Also, a reminder that how other people when you confront them with the way they hurt you or made you feel is not your responsibility.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @lesbiantodds @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @enbyspencer @reidology @transhanniballecter @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @hotchscotchh @marsjareau @oliverbrnch @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids @ropoto @thosecriminalminds @wifeyprentiss @cmily @love-pyramus @notevanbuckley @thebipolarbisexualnerd (add yourself to my taglist here!)

[captainstiddies]

Little One ; Lawyer! Levi Ackerman x Fem!Reader

a/n: this is my first time in like years posting smut so be gentle lol, but massive thank you to @illumisbundles for being my test dummy and helping with the title and everything love u!!

universe: modern, lawyer! Levi

pairing: Levi Ackerman x fem!reader

warnings: SMUT MINORS DON'T INTERACT LIKE AT ALL, jealous!Levi, edging, dacryphilia, slight overstim, daddy kink, dom!Levi

Levi was always incredibly formal, always a firm handshake and a cordial nod at these types of events. He always had a firm hand on your back leading you through the crowds of people at the annual gala. He was already so stand-offish on the day to day but having to be surrounded by every single one of his rich clients whose only problem was picking which summer home to visit this year was headache-inducing. Having you by his side, however, made it so much more manageable. The way you could navigate any conversation with a graceful smile while always finding a quick way out, made these events much more pleasing for the lawyer.

He tapped your back twice signalling silently that he was going to get a refill on drinks and you nodded pressing a kiss against his temple as he walked towards the bar. Leaving you standing at a small table by yourself, it wasn't long until one of his interns had approached you sparking up a lively conversation. At first, it wasn't a big deal you learned his name was Eren Yaeger and it was his first gala and he at first just seemed nervous until you could tell he started leaning in a little closer, complimenting your 'form'. And when you met eyes with your boyfriend across the room you could see him seething.

Even with how logical Levi was he couldn't help how jealous he became whenever he saw someone flirting with you. Especially when they were almost a good foot taller than him and still taller than you in your heels. He stalked back towards you and by the time Eren even noticed you weren't interested Levi was beside you again this time his hand was gripping your waist, bunching the fabric of your dress. "Yaeger, don't you have better things to do than annoy her?" His stern voice could've made Eren shit in his pants if he hadn't rented the tux, so he almost ran away from the table.

Turning towards Levi you went to speak but instead, you were met with that look in his eyes that already had heat pooling between your legs. "Downstairs, get the car I'll be down in five minutes." With that, he kisses your cheek walking to Erwin to make some excuse that you both have to leave, and without a second thought, you gather your coat and clutch and head towards the elevator.

Your crossed legs bounced as you waited in the backseat of the car, the driver simply smoking as he leant against the wall. You on the other hand couldn't seem to relax knowing exactly what punishment you were going to be given. When the driver swung open his door you jolted upright and less than a second later Levi slid into the seat beside you adjusting his jacket and tapping on the divider signalling to the chauffer to leave. For most of the ride Levi's silent, his hand placed firmly on your thigh squeezing just enough to remind you what you were in for when you got home.

The minute Levi let you into your condo he pulled you into a searing kiss, his hands gripping your hair before he pushes you against the wall. "Levi..." His glare silences you before you can continue before picking you up by your thighs, instinctively causing your legs to wrap around his waist. Levi's lips attach to the soft skin of your neck, sucking and biting harshly intent on leaving marks in his wake. He carried you to your bedroom before letting you fall onto the sheets and Levi had to admit he loved seeing you like this, dress up over your hips, lipstick smudged across your mouth, your heaving chest showcasing the already developing array of reds and purples marks along your neck.

His hands came to run along the skin of your thighs as he sighed. "Oh angel, do you know how much Yaeger truly angers me? He acts like everything belongs to him, and you played right into that didn't ya?" His eyebrow cocked as he looked down at you but all you could focus on was the feeling of his index finger ghosting over your clothed pussy. "Answer me." His command is followed by a swift slap to the outside of your thigh, watching as the skin jiggled. "No! No, I swear Daddy." He tsked at your pathetic plea before finally rubbing against your clit through your panties eliciting a moan to fall from your lips. "Little one, don't lie, I know exactly what you did, you showed him just how low cut that dress was, you let him think he could have you but no. You're mine." Pushing your panties to the side he slid his fingers into your already slick core, curling against the spongey spot inside of you. Setting an intense pace he leaned over you.

"Say it, don't make me ask twice angel." Levi's hot breath against your ear sent a shiver down your spine. "I'm yours, all yours, please I'm all yours-Please." You begged a hand going to his shoulder to steady yourself as the heel of his hand hit against your clit eliciting a lewd moan to leave your lips. Levi snickered as he lowered to his knees. "Use your words little one." He knew you like the back of his hand he knew from the minute he entered the car he knew he had you all riled up the way each time he squeezed your thigh a little harder and you would jump. Now even with his fingers knuckle deep inside you he could read you like a book the way you rolled your hips at each curl of his fingers or the shiver and whine that came from him blowing cool air against your skin.

"I want your mouth, hnn Daddy please i-I'll be good I promise." Your voice hitched as he pulled his fingers from inside you, a whine leaving you as Levi hooked his fingers into the band of your panties pulling them down and throwing them over his shoulder the smirk never left his lips nor did his eyes ever leave yours as he lowered his mouth to your now soaked pussy. He blew cold air against your clit causing you to jolt and whine out for him a hand going to his hair before Levi grabbed your wrist. "Hands above your head angel, one-touch and you won't cum for the rest of the fucking week." You did what you were told and when he was satisfied he sucked your clit into his mouth causing a loud moan to leave your lips gripping tightly at the sheets above your head, back arching as he continued his assault on your clit.

Levi slid his fingers back into your aching core curling up against your g-spot. You were getting close and he could tell from the way you clenched around his fingers at each thrust and from how desperately you were clinging onto the sheets trying to be his good girl."'M so close daddy- Fuck! So close so fucking close, please!" Sadly, your cries fell on deaf ears as you felt the knot tighten in your stomach until Levi pulled away completely. "Bad girls don't get to cum."

Levi continued his attack on your pussy bring you to the edge over and over again until you were crying for him to just fuck you. You were a blubbering mess when he finally rose from his knees, from where he was standing he towered over you, was able to look over your naked form. The dress had been discarded almost ten minutes ago your body was twitching and shaking from the sheer amount of times your orgasm had been ruined. Levi wiped your slick from his chin as he watched you pant. Your eyes glazed over with tears as he undid his belt and pulled his pants and boxers off. Levi slowly worked his hand along his cock, precum already slowly spilling from the swollen tip. Grabbing you from beneath your knees he pushed your legs against your chest, exposing your spasming pussy to him.

He pushed himself into your tight walls, a low groan came from his chest as he bottomed out. "Still so fucking tight angel, so fucking perfect." He started his pace slow and deep rolling his hips against yours every time, hitting your cervix with each roll. It didn't take long for that knot to tighten again inside you, Levi's lips met yours in a bruising kiss, you could still taste yourself on his tongue causing an almost pornographic moan to leave you. The second his free hand came to your clit rubbing hard and fast circles your hands flew to his shoulders. "Please, oh god! Please 'm gonna cum!" This time however he didn't pull away instead he moved his lips to your shoulder biting against the soft skin. A scream ripped through you as the white-hot of your orgasm moved through your body.

Watching you come undone just drove Levi crazy, his thrusts turned erratic as he came closer and closer to his own edge his fingers never stopping as he made you jolt from the overstimulation "No, no daddy, I can't." Your cries were masked by the absolutely lewd sounds coming from your pussy as Levi pistoned into you. "You've been begging to-fuck cum for an hour angel, Jesus Christ can't take another one?" his head fell forward resting his forehead against yours as he pressed further against your legs with his chest his free hand came to your neck squeezing it as he watched you cry from pleasure, the orgasm almost catching you by surprise. You clawed at his back as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you.

Levi snapped his hips into you one more time as he let out a low groan quickly followed by thick hot spurts of cum. Pulling out he watched as a mixture of yours and his cum dripped from your fluttering and gaping hole. He was tempted to finger it back into you, maybe if you got pregnant no one would ever act as if you were free to be picked up like a common whore. His eyes scanned up your body and landed on your tear-streaked face. "Little one, look at me... c'mon open those pretty eyes." He cupped your cheek, thumb brushing against the damp skin of your cheekbone. Slowly you opened your eyes a hand coming to rest on his. "There's my pretty girl." He cooed softly as he kissed your forehead. Standing up he went to the ensuite damping a towel for your face and another to clean you up. Pulling on a clean pair of boxers he sat beside you running the cool cloth against your skin cleaning you as best he could until your shower in the morning.

Once you were situated under the covers he pulled you into his side, pressing soft kisses along your hairline, rubbing gentle circles along your spine. "You were so good for me little one, I love you so much don't forget it ever, please." His voice was soft as he whispered against your skin. Sleepily you nodded, your body was still sore and would probably be tenfold in the morning. "Levi...I love you too, 'm not gonna leave you for some stupid intern, you know that right?" It was his turn to nod, reaching over to turn off the table lamp. "I know angel, sleep now. You need to rest."

[theninjamouse]

3, 12, 40? With the shoregrillster trio? In any combination you like

3. A breathy demand: “Kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond.

12. Sneaking away to a hidden corner to share a secretive kiss.

40. A gentle kiss that quickly descends into passion, with little regard for what’s going on around them.

This is going under a cut because one, it got hecking long and two, it got mildly SPICY. Nothing explicit but you have been warned

Parties are....they’re supposed to be at least a little fun, right?

When it was announced that Gaster’s work on a new environment friendly, cost effective and all around sick public transportation design had been accepted by the city council, there was also the call to a party to celebrate the occasion. You’re beyond happy for Gaster, for his accomplishments in finally getting more steps taken to integrate monster magic into human technology on a world changing scale.

But holy crap, this party is boring.

Calling it a party at all is being generous. It’s just an excuse for people of ‘classier’ society to act like they’re taking part in something grand and to show off how fancy they are by sipping at cocktails and standing around pretending to care about what the other party goers bring up for conversation. But it is an important part of getting full funding for the project, as well as schmoozing up to anyone who might open up lanes for future development, so here you all are.

The majority people here are humans that you don’t recognize in the slightest aside from the occasional ‘oh it’s...that guy. Yeah’. There are a handful of monsters from the science and tech division all involved on the project. They’re mostly keeping to themselves, nervously socializing as little as possible.

Sans was here at some point. You don’t doubt he’s snuck off to find a corner to snooze in, if he hasn’t left the party outright at this point.

Lucky jerk.

However, you will admit, there is an upside to this whole thing. Gaster is not usually one to dress up. At least, not in any level aside from his beloved lab coat that you highly doubt contains more than a scrap of the original material thanks to all the repairs that have had to be done on it.

He’s been talked out of the lab coat and is instead wearing an utterly dashing three piece suit of the deepest purple you’ve ever seen captured by fabric. From the distance between where you’re leaning up against a pillar to rest your feet and him being caught in a circle of engineering heads pelting him with questions, the suit looks black until he shifts and the light catches the lines of shimmering purple.

You sip appreciatively at your drink, eyes taking in the way the suit fits his skeletal frame. Perhaps the night won’t be so boring after all.

“He cleans up really good,” you muse as the air to your left grows warm. “Almost makes the feral cat fuss he made about getting in the suit worth it.”

“Says you; I had to actually drag him out of bed while you were in the shower. He actually tore holes in my sheets.” Grillby leans against the wall as well, offering you a plate of ‘fancy people food’ he snagged from one of the wandering waiters.

Ah, you were wondering about those. You take a piece, not exactly sure what the heck it even is and pop it in your mouth. Your expression twists. “How is it that rich people food always looks so good but tastes like sour air and dried regret?”

“I’m still working that out myself.” Grillby finishes off the plate and sighs.

You shift your gaze to Grillby. He too is dressed to the nines, with a deep red button up, a black and gold trimmed waistcoat and matching tie. He always looks good of course but damn if his snazzy outfit isn’t making the worst kind of butterflies flutter in your belly.

“I’ll make us something actually substantial when we get home,” he continues, oblivious to your less than pure gaze skimming over him.

“If Gaster hasn’t imploded by that point.” The poor guy is fidgeting like crazy. It’s difficult for him to be around so much noise and fuss, this you know from experience.

Grillby looks at you, gaze sharpening a bit as his eyes trail over your outfit. Said outfit for the night is a deep blue one piece, sleeveless suit dress. The smooth material hugs your frame just enough to offer a hint at the form underneath and is blanketed by a sheer capelet that rests over your bare shoulders and gathers together at your waist with a thick belt.

The intensity of Grillby’s staring sends a delightful thrill of heat up your spine. “I guess I clean up alright too,” you murmur, brows lifting teasingly.

“’Nice’ is not quite the word I’d use.” He’s moved closer, plate of food discarded and hand rising to rest rather low on your hip. “Ravishing. Tempting. Something like that.” His head has tilted down, eyes fixated on your mouth.

You pull a goofy face at him, because if you don’t, you’re pretty sure your face will burst under the growing blush in your cheeks. “That’s me, the ultimate temptation.”

He’s not deterred by your teasing. He merely glances around just enough to see if anyone is currently looking your way before his grip tightens and he presses a warm kiss to your lips. It’s soft and gentle and a smile easily comes to your face as you kiss him chastely back.

Then-oh his mouth opens, and you quite forget about your boredom and the fact that your feet are killing you and the taste of bland rich people food on your tongue because Grillby tastes so much better. Your hands rise, gripping the edges of his waistcoat, pulling him closer to you and he makes a sound deep in his throat that urges your mouth to move faster, go deeper-

A laugh rings out, clear and far too close and Grillby jumps like he’s been shocked, pulling away with an eruption of blue over his face. Both of you guiltily look over towards the noise but it would seem that it was just someone laughing at a point in conversation. No one is staring in aghast mortification at the social faux pas.

A little breathlessly, you giggle. “Wow, how scandalous of you. We’re out in the open and everything.”

He shoots you a heated look. “You kissed me back.”

“You used tongue, you cheater!”

He flushes a brighter blue, but you can’t help but notice that his hand remains firmly on your hip. This isn’t fair, stupid party, stupid crowd….

An idea sparks in your heat addled brain. A dumb idea but, well, you’re rather past the point of caring too much.

You press up closer to him again, eyes darting out over the crowd for the briefest moment. You dance your fingers up his buttons. “Why don’t we go rescue Gaster? I think we could all use a... social recharging?”

He blinks and the soft “oh” that escapes him when he realizes what you’re getting at gets your ears burning.

But he doesn’t say no. In fact, he simply nods quickly, steps back and offers you his arm, which you gratefully take. Heels suck and your ankles are not pleased with you. “You want to take the lead?”

“Absolutely,” you say with only a touch of a manic grin actually reaching your face.

Gaster looks on the verge of whipping into a ranting frenzy or throwing an actual punch as the two of you approach. The human speaking to him is going on about engine semantics or something. Incorrectly, going by the promise of violence glinting in Gaster’s eye sockets.

“Pardon me,” you say with syrupy sweetness, cutting off the man speaking. All heads turn, faces going blank with subdued irritation at the interruption. “I need to borrow the good doctor for a bit. Doctor Gaster?”

Gaster inclines his head. “Excuse me,” he says with the sincerity of a child apologizing for stealing cookies. You swap to hold onto his arm and let him sweep you out of the ballroom, Grillby following on your heels.

“You are an angel,” Gaster groans. “Those imbeciles were trying to convince me to add in ‘a profitable angle’ to the design. Pigs.”

“I think that’s an insult to pigs.” You carefully look him over. “Are you holding up okay?”

He sighs heavily, coming to a stop out in the hallway where the only person present is a coat attendant lost in a book.

“Objectively, yes” he says, rubbing at his skull. “I just wish Asgore did not insist on me staying and playing nice with these people.”

“Sounds like it’s just been a big pain.”

Grillby tugs on your arm.

“It is!” Gaster proclaims, sweeping his free arm back towards the ballroom. “Vultures! Well…most of them are, there was actually a rather fascinating young man who had his facts mixed up but the core of his idea was not a bad one—”

Grillby tugs harder.

“Mmhm,” you hum, raising your eyebrows at Grillby. Just because you can, you let your tongue dart out over your lips for the briefest of moments.

He looks as frustrated as a fire could possibly be. Were the coat attendant not glancing up over the edge of his book, he probably would have scooped the two of you up and gone to work right there.

“Uh, is something wrong?” Gaster, finally noticing the agitated flick of Grillby’s flames, looks between the two of you.

“Well, we’re both kind of…hmm, how to be nice about it…bored? Sorry,” you pat Gaster’s arm. “I know it’s your special night.”

“That’s fine, I’m quite bored myself,” Gaster says dryly.

“Oh perfect!” you chirp brightly. You glance to Grillby and smile slyly. “We had a thought about how to recharge our batteries. As it were.”

Not for the first time, Gaster displays an impressive ability to give the look of raising eyebrows without any actual, yanno, eyebrows. “Do tell?”

“It’s not really a tell so much as a show-oop!”

Grillby’s run out of patience. His hands land on both yours and Gaster’s backs, urging you forward and down the hall. The coat attendant is very pointedly Not Looking as you pass by. Grillby must have done recon or something when you first got here because he seems to know exactly where he’s heading. He takes you down a small flight of stairs and round a corner that leads to a small room that’s empty save for a few boxes stacked against one wall and some unused furniture.

And just your luck, it’s unlocked.

Going by the rising purple on Gaster’s face, he’s caught on to what exactly your ‘recharging’ idea is. “Uh-um, yes I—”

“I didn’t have much of a chance to say it earlier.” Your arm slips smoothly away from his and you turn to him. You have to lift up a bit on your tip toes and pull him down to you to press a kiss against his cheekbone. “You look very handsome tonight. And we are your dates to this thing, and yet we haven’t hardly had a chance to even talk to you.”

Gaster’s blush is now bright enough to nearly compete with Grillby’s flames.

Speaking of Grillby-

He’s moved in behind you, hands dropping to your waist as his mouth descends down on your neck. The heat of his body and fire presses against your back and you have to take a moment to catch your breath.

Gaster’s eye lights have gone wide and bright, flickering with a nervous sort of energy as his gaze darts between you and Grillby. He swallows, though he really has no need for it. “I…this isn’t really the best…what if someone sees…?”

“Then you better move fast,” you murmur. Tugging on his tie, you pull his face down closer. “Kiss me,” you demand breathlessly. “Please?”

There’s a moment where his eye lights shift in such a way it almost looks like they’ve taken on the shape of stars and then Gaster’s hands lift to your face, nearly bonking your nose with his teeth with the speed at which he kisses you. Kissing a skeleton is difficult sometimes, given his lack of lips.

But you’ve had plenty of practice.

One of your hands shifts to pull Gaster closer to you while the other desperately scrambles behind to find purchase on Grillby. His own hands are quite busy, one running gentle circles on your hip and the other moving up, closer to where your chest is pressed up against Gaster’s ribs. His fangs scrape deliciously at your skin, nipping lightly in a way that makes you squirm with a mixture of ticklishness and building heat.

Your hand finds Gaster’s spine, prominent even through his suit and you grab on just below where his ribs end. He jolts at the contact, a breathless curse falling out in a rush of air. Grillby takes the chance to pull away from your neck and captures Gaster’s attention with a heated kiss.

Now quite solidly squished between the two, a soft and breathless noise escapes you as you drink in the building pressure of their bodies, basking in the contrast of Gaster’s silk smooth suit and Grillby’s growing heat. His hands continue to work at your curves, every touch sending a searing wave of warmth over your skin, kneading with a gentle intensity that makes you arch into Gaster.

You have just enough presence of mind left to sputter, “D-don’t tear the capelet.”

He growls, low and deep and oh if that rough and wild sound from such a restrained monster doesn’t make the most embarrassing shuddery moan hum in your own throat. “Take it off then,” he suggests with a tug at the belt around your waist. 

So off it comes, fluttering down the floor, soon joined by Grillby’s more carefully folded waistcoat. Then you find yourself being pulled back, led by him to an armchair covered in a cloth. The force of him sitting makes a heavy whumph sound thanks to your added weight on his lap. 

Gaster had let the two of you slip from his grasp while the extra bits of clothing were being discarded and he watches you now with a face openly full of warm affection. When you grin and beckon at him with a finger, he huffs out a sigh that is probably meant to be taken as annoyed, but just comes off as fond and longing. 

“You two are going to get me in trouble,” he grumbles. “There is a party I’m supposed to be at right now just down the hall, or did you forget?” 

Grillby, busy at work pressing scorching kisses over your bare shoulders, pauses and lifts his head. “So eager to get back, are you?” 

“Not at all. But I’ll be missed if I stay away much longer.” 

You sigh heavily, letting your weight lean back against Grillby’s chest. You might just happen to let your hand trail down to your thigh and lightly run your fingers over the fabric there as you pout at Gaster. 

He’s broken out into a bit of a sweat. 

Sweetly, you plead, “Five more minutes?” 

He stares. He sweats. Then his hand smoothly tugs at his tie and it and his coat joins the other outwear on the ground. “Five more minutes.” 

It winds up being six minutes and forty-two seconds but well. 

Who’s counting?

[castleshadows]

For As Long As We Could

Casteel has spent the last seven years inside, afraid of stepping out into the world once again. But, when Elashya dies, he finally decides to face his fears to support Kieran in his grief.

CW: Major Character Death

Written June 17, 2021

Casteel watched as the funeral procession made its way past his window, the sky outside trying its best to match the mood with gloomy white clouds that promised a drizzle later in the day. Similarly, the small crowd was cloaked in white, the color of mourning. Only the dead’s closest family and partners wore anything decorative, a small white lily pinned to the breast to represent the innocence restored to the soul of the departed.

He could pick out Kieran easily in the gathering, holding the back right corner of the casket. To anyone else he looked like he had his head tucked against the wind as everyone else did, but Casteel knew him better than that. No, his friend was crying, judging on the way his shoulders shook every couple seconds. It was a surprise to see him so vulnerable in front of that many people, but Cas didn’t judge him for it. In fact, it was a relief to see him finally show some semblance of emotion. The wolven had been so… stoic the past few days. Elashya had been the first bright light in his life in a long time, and that light had gone out so quickly, that it had left Kieran in a state of disrepair so great that he sought to hide it from everyone around him. Including his bonded.

The wind picked up a bit and somebody's hat went flying. Nobody so much as glanced in the object direction as they continued on with their dreary parade through the streets. Casteel could see the graveyard in the distance, and the hole in which Elashya would forever reside. He knew Kieran saw it too by the way the wolven started shaking. Someone beside him, whom Casteel had never seen before, put their hand on Kieran’s shoulder, rubbing it and comforting him until he seemed to calm a bit.

A rogue bit of jealousy flashed through him, and Casteel worked to control it. He and Kieran loved each other very much. Before his… capture, outsiders looking at their relationship would’ve thought they hated each other. They had been constantly at each out, swinging fists at faces for the most minor things. They still loved each other though. Nothing would change that. However, fifty years of two different kinds of torture had changed them both, and he felt like he hardly knew his dearest friend, his partner in crime, anymore. He wanted to get to know him again, badly. But, every time he tried to step even a toe outside of his current comfort zone, something in his mind convinced him that he would end up back in that cage again, being raped and brutalized, his body nor his blood his own.

Casteel shook his head, yanking himself away from that train of thought before he could board it. It had been nearly three months since he’d had a panic attack, and he didn’t wish to restart that timer.

Cas’s eyes left the window and trailed around the small room. When he’d returned, seven years ago almost to the day, he didn’t want to stay in his old rooms. They reminded him too much of her. Every time he set foot in the bedroom he could clearly see her lying on the bed, waiting for him to return. Every time he peeked his head into the bathroom he saw her in the shower, beckoning him to join as she washed her long golden locks. Every time he smelled her leftover scent in the sheets that had not been washed in fifty-seven years, he wanted to vomit. So, he’d requested a different room, one that didn’t feel so big and empty, and one that she had never set foot in.

His gaze snagged on the small wardrobe in the corner, and he pushed his chair back from the desk walking silently over the wood floors. He stopped in front of the cabinet and slowly opened the fancily embellished doors. They creaked slightly, the sound deafening in the quiet room. Inside were all the clothes he’d worn for the past seven years. Ten tunics, ten pairs of breeches, ten pairs of socks, four belts, three coats, two cloaks and a set of boots that were worn and practically falling apart. All of which were some variation of white, brown, or black. Not the most fitting outfits for a Prince, but something about the routine of it comforted him.

He selected a white tunic, the lightest color breeches he had—a sort of light beige—and a black belt. It wasn’t even close to being appropriate for a funeral, but he didn’t have anything formal and white, so these would have to do. Potentially he could borrow some clothes from Kieran’s closet, or some old ones from Jasper, but he was already going outside for the first time in quite a while, and he didn’t know if he could handle more than one new thing at a time.

Casteel shucked off his soft, stretchy trousers and pulled on the light beige ones. He pulled the tunic over his head and buttoned it up, tucking the fabric into his pants. Glancing out the window, he noticed that the parade was near the cemetery. He would have to hurry if he were to make it on time.

Without thinking much about it, Casteel threw open the door to his chambers and stepped out into the cool hallway. He took a minute to let the reality of what he was about to do sink in. Anxiety bubbled up, but he quickly shoved it down, refusing to let his fear get in the way of what Kieran needed. He was going to be there for his brother if it was the last thing he did. A small voice in the back of his tried to convince him it would be, and he paused, letting the voice take over for a minute. And then he was flying down the hallway, not an all out run, but pretty damn close. Slow and steady wasn’t going to cut it here. It was going to be either all at once or not at all.

The walls were a blur as he sprinted through the large estate. There were usually very few visitors at this time of year, and Kirha and Jasper rarely employed servants, so the halls were quiet and empty.

Casteel slowed down near the stairs, trying desperately not to trip. Nothing took the dignity out of one's re-enter into the world like falling face-first down the stairs.

“Casteel?”

He paused, foot poised above the ground, hand white-knuckling the railing. Turning his head, he met the teary gaze of Kirha Contou. Unlike Casteel, she had known Elashya quite well, and being Kirha, had practically claimed the wolven as one of her own. It was no surprise that she was nearly as upset as Kieran was.

“I didn’t expect you to be out at this time,” she said, her voice soft as if she was afraid she might scare him away. Casteel was afraid he might be scared away too. “Do you need something?”

The silence was the loudest he’d ever heard. He wanted to answer her, but something in him froze. The large parlor suddenly seemed extremely daunting, not to mention outside, where the sky was open and there were no walls to keep him safe. He would have nothing except for the clothes on his back and his own frail body, that still hadn’t built up even a third of the muscle he used to have. Casteel stepped back, away from the door, away from the outside world.

Who was he kidding? He couldn’t do this.

“Cas?” Kirha said again. Her expression was one of love, and she held her hand out in front of her, coming towards him. “I was heading to Elashya’s funeral. Would you like to come?” She cocked her head waiting for an answer.

Steeling himself, he tentatively placed his hand in hers. Casteel would force himself to go if he must. Kieran needed him, and he would be there for his brother. It also helped that Kirha would walk there with him. A comforting presence if he should need it, and he had a feeling he would.

The first steps outside were stressful to say the least, but he kept his eyes fixed firmly ahead, and refused to let himself look at the empty, open sky, or even glance at the few civilians that gawked at him along the street. Eventually he felt their eyes find other places to land on, and he felt a bit lighter, each step less of a challenge than the one before.

Kirha stood by his side the entire time, leading him through what they both knew as the least crowded areas of the city.

Too soon for comfort, the graveyard was in view, and Casteel could see the large amount of people gathered in the middle. It seemed that the eulogy’s had already started and as they grew nearer, he could hear the end of an older man’s speech being delivered. He looked like he could be her father, and it was confirmed when he referenced the dead as his daughter.

Kirha led him through the makeshift pews towards Jasper and their youngest daughter, Vonetta, who waved shyly at him. Kieran sat in the second row just ahead of them, and he seemed to sense Casteel’s prescenese, tensing and turning around to meet his gaze.

His eyes were teary, and there were water tracks all down his cheeks, but he did his best to smile when he saw Casteel, mouthing a quiet “thank you”. Cas nodded to the wolven and then looked towards the podium, where a Priestess stepped up and called the next speaker forward.

“Kieran Contou, partner of the deceased.”

All eyes turned to his brother, and Kieran stood, shakily making his way to the front and thanking the Priestess for the introduction. He stepped up onto the podium and then seemed to freeze, droplets of water starting to build up in his eyes.

Kieran gripped the speech in his hands, looking over the crowd as if they were his death sentence. Tears spilled down his face and Casteel could feel Kirha tense beside him. She very obviously wanted to go to her son, but didn’t know how he would react. He couldn’t blame her. Kieran’s feelings were confusing on a good day, and today was very much not a good day.

Without thinking about what he was going to do, Casteel stood up. Immediately all eyes were on him, but he forced himself to ignore them all except the ones that belonged to his best friend. He made his way out of the aisle, trying not to step on anyone’s feet while still meeting Kieran’s gaze.

He didn’t really remember the walk to the front, only the way his bonded’s eyes, usually full of amusement or boredom or absolute apathy, were completely raw. A window directly into his soul. His friend was vulnerable and practically ripped open for the world to see. And, Casteel couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.

“Do you want me to?” he asked softly, holding out one hand for the piece of paper that contained the handwritten speech.

Kieran looked down at the page and then back at Casteel and repeated the action. Eventually he nodded, shaking as he handed it to his friend. The wolven moved to leave, but Cas wrapped his arm around his shoulders pulling him close and waiting until he relaxed in his grip to speak.

Clearing his throat, Casteel began.

“I did not know Elashya well,” he started in his own words, his voice ringing out stronger and clearer than he’d anticipated, “She and I did not see each other very often and when we did I am ashamed to say that I did not make much of an effort to become acquainted with her… But I can see very clearly from the crowd gathered here today that she was much loved, and I have been told of her kindness and her warm, magnetic personality by my best friend and brother, Kieran Contou.”

The wolven beside him let out a choked sob, and several people in the crowd started to cry along with him. Casteel hugged him tighter.

“I know that he loved her very much, and it is with this love in mind that I read his speech for you today,” he unfolded the piece of paper and started to read about the woman he’d never known, but now wish he had met, “Elashya Fraiser was a bright light in my life—in all our lives—and one that was snuffed out much too quickly… She had such a long life to live, so many things she wanted to do that she was not able to. But I know that if she were here now she would scold me for being so depressing.”

The crowd did not laugh, but several gave small smiles, each remembering something about the deceased. Caseteel paused for a moment, letting the words sink in, and then continued.

“So I will try during this speech not to mourn the life she did not live, but celebrate the one she had,” Casteel watched as many nodded in agreement, “I remember when I first met her. It was at a time when my life was filled with shadows, but they scattered at the first bright smile I saw on her face. That was one of the many things I loved about her. She was always smiling, always looking for a silver lining on every cloud. Her smiles were beautiful, and they made me feel warm inside every time I caught a glimpse.”

He remembered when Shea’s smiles had done that for him. When every glance she made his way made his very soul soar.

“I know what you’re thinking. Every man in love has something cheesy to say about their love’s smile, but Elashya’s was like hot cocoa and a warm blanket on a cold night. Everything about her felt like coming home.”

He had not known Elashya, but his friend's beautiful words made it feel like he had. She sounded like a lovely person, and he really did regret not getting to know her.

“She lit up every room without fail, and made it seem effortless. Even in the last days of her life she stayed positive. Even as her loved ones crowded, teary-eyed, around her bed, saying their final goodbyes, she was able to send them away smiling. Still sad, but at least reassured that she would be okay in the next life. And she will be,” Casteel paused to read the next line, and almost laughed out loud. Even in tough times Kieran found a way to be sarcastic, “If anyone can find something good in being dead it’s Elashya.”

This time there were a couple teary chuckles. Even without looking up, Casteel could sense that many people were in a deep state of nostalgia. He could tell Kieran was too. The wolven had stopped sobbing and though there were still tears running down his cheeks, they were ones not of sorrow, but of a bittersweet kind of feeling. Casteel turned his attention back to the page.

“I’m sorry that my speech is so short, for I fear that if I write any more I will not be able to stop. There is so much about her that I want to share, so much I want to say about the one I loved. The one I still love with all my heart. But, there is a time limit on these, so I will say just one more thing.”

Casteel had told himself at the beginning that he would get through this speech without shedding tears, but reading what Kieran had written about the woman he’d loved was making it pretty damn difficult. He had a way with words that Casteel would never be able to even attempt. And the speech was a painful reminder that he hardly knew anything anymore about his best friend. Kieran had been in love for the first time for the gods sake and he hadn’t been there for him.

Something nudged his side and Casteel opened eyes he hadn’t realized were closed. He blinked away the slight wetness that had been gathering and looked to Kieran, who poked him again.

“Sorry,” he whispered only loud enough for his friend to hear. Kiearn nodded and gestured back to the speech.

“Can I finish?” he rasped.

Casteel handed the page to him, directing him towards where he left off and a second later Kieran was speaking slowly, but surely.

“Elashya and I knew from the moment we fell in love that the end could come any day,” his voice wavered a bit, but he waved Casteel away when he tried to take over, “We knew that it was possible she would die, and I must admit there were times I felt myself falling into hopelessness. There were times where I was tempted to save myself from despair, for I am selfish, and I won’t pretend otherwise.”

Casteel wasn’t sure where this notion came from that he was selfish, for the wolven was one of the most loyal and loving people he knew. But, he didn’t interrupt, only made a mental note to later remind Kieran of the love he held inside him.

“But every moment I was with her has made it worth it. All the pain I have felt the last few weeks has been worth it, and I would endure a million more years of it if it meant I could see her just one last time.”

Casteel felt the same way about Shea. He was deeply ashamed of it, but he could not pretend he didn’t feel the way he felt. He would do anything to have just one more moment with her before. Before she decided she didn’t love him enough to stay with him until the end. But, maybe there was no before. Maybe she’d never felt that way for him. Maybe she’d been stringing him along the entire time. A tear fell out of the corner of his eye, and made a track down his cheek.

“I do not regret a thing and I know she didn’t either. I know that she is watching me now, and I hope that she is proud of me for trying to be at least somewhat optimistic. I admit I’m rather bad at it,” he paused, smiling a bit at his own writing, “But I know that if I were somehow taken back in time with all the knowledge of the heartbreak I was to endure, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Kieran then looked up, meeting the eyes of everyone in the crowd and setting down the card. The tears in his eyes were coming back in full force and he took a deep breath, looking behind him at that coffin poised beside the empty grave. He looked… he looked lost, but like there was hope that he could be found again. Then, with visible effort he turned away, and held his head high delivering the last line of his speech.

“Because the heart doesn’t care how long you may have someone… It just cares that you have the person for as long as you can.”

[musette22]

Okay- going back to that totally brain melting ask (and your, as always, incredible answer) about if Sebastian cries during sex or not. I would /love/ to know your thoughts on what Chris does to Seb that never fails to make him scream 😳

Yes, hi, thank you for this! 💗 

So the day before yesterday I mentioned having some less than wholesome thoughts about how into Sebastian’s long hair Chris was, and how much Seb likes his hair being played with, and I think your ask gives me the perfect opportunity to elaborate on that a bit (and by a bit I mean in 2k words - and many thanks to the awesome @rainbowsandcoconut for brainstorming and helping me out, as always!) So for this one, I’m thinking Seb’s second long hair phase for CW, like when he was at Salt Lake City Comic Con in 2015 and he was gorgeous and tan and clean shaven, and Chris was bearded and pale and beautiful:

Chris and Sebastian started sleeping together not all that long before. However, since then, they’ve only seen each other a handful of times, and the last time was over three weeks ago. They arrived in Salt Lake City that morning from different place, then went straight into to the con, which means they haven’t really had any time in private all day. So by the evening, they’re both wound up from being around each other all day, touching during the photo ops, but not touching like they want to. 

Which means that once they finally get back to their hotel, they’re instantly all over each other, and it’s frenzied and urgent and a little bit desperate.

Chris’s cardigan is the first to go, followed by Sebastian’s shirt, and then Chris is steering Sebastian back towards the bed, still kissing him, licking lewdly into his mouth. When they reach the bed, he gives Sebastian a light shove to sends him sprawling onto the mattress, and Sebastian lies there, panting and looking up at him with dark, hooded eyes. Chris grabs Sebastian’s belt, pulling him back down the bed, towards him, and without breaking eye contact, Chris unfastens Sebastian’s belt and jeans, then yanks down his pants and underwear halfway down his legs. It’s not very elegant, but neither of them particularly gives a fuck right now.

Once his jeans are off, Sebastian lets his legs fall open, shamelessly putting himself on display.

“Can’t wait to get you in me,” he tells Chris, his voice already low and raspy with want. “Haven’t stopped thinking about it since last time.” 

Chris groans, automatically reaching for the bulge in his own jeans and giving himself a squeeze through the fabric. When Sebastian’s eyes flick down to Chris’s crotch and he licks his lips, Chris curses.

“Fucking Christ,” he mutters, hastily pulling off his own clothes. He makes a quick dash to his overnight bag on the chair in the corner to grab the lube and condoms, and then he’s climbing onto the mattress, crawling between Sebastian’s invitingly spread legs. Before Sebastian can so much as reach for him, Chris leans down and takes him into his mouth.

Sebastian shouts, hips bucks up involuntarily, but Chris grabs him and pins him down onto the mattress.

“Sorry, sorry,” Sebastian pants, “just feels so fucking good. Fuck, Chris, your mouth-”

The rest of his sentence gets lost in a moan when Chris puts his mouth to work, sucking, licking, all the while humming low in the back of his throat.

When Chris pulls off again after a minute or so, Sebastian whimpers in protest, dramatically throwing his head back against the mattress. Chris ignores him, instead grabbing the lube and quickly coating his fingers in it. Sitting back a little, he pushes Sebastian’s thighs open wider. He reaches down between his legs, only circling his rim for a few moments to spread the slickness around before he’s pushing a finger into him, right down to the second knuckle.

Normally, Chris would take his time, be more careful about this part, but he’s feeling all kinds of wound up right now and he just needs to get in Sebastian already. So instead of being careful, he resorts to swallowing Sebastian down again, sucking him off tight and slick to even out any discomfort while he opens him up a little quicker than he normally would. Judging by the sounds Sebastian is making, he’s more than alright with that.

When Sebastian starts gyrating his hips and pushing down on Chris’s fingers, trying to get them where he wants them, Chris forcibly pins him down again with his free hand. In response to Sebastian’s loud, pleading whine, Chris gives Sebastian’s inner thigh an admonishing bite. While he’s at it, he decides to suck a mark there, on that pale, smooth skin, the possessive part of his brain lighting up at the thought of that mark still being there tomorrow, when they’ve parted ways again.

“Chris, please,” Sebastian sighs, his head lolling from side to side. He tugs on Chris’s shoulder, trying pull him out from between his legs. “I’m ready, c’mon.”

Although he loves to tease Sebastian, Chris still feels the urgency from before so very keenly, so he sits up and pulls out his fingers, wiping them on the sheets before quickly tearing open and rolling on the condom. When he looks up and sees Sebastian lying there, sprawled out in all his glorious indecency, Chris feels something in his chest tighten and then loosen.

In a thick voice, he orders, “Turn around.”

Sebastian scrambles to obey, flipping over onto his stomach and grabbing a pillow to shove under himself. He pushes his ass back towards Chris, offering himself up, and Chris groans, immediately making a grab for those perfect, firm cheeks and pulling them apart. He lines up his own, thus far neglected dick between them, sliding it slowly up and down. He’s mesmerized by the contrast of his own flushed flesh against Sebastian’s creamy skin.

When the tip of his cock catches on Sebastian’s loosened rim, Sebastian moans. “Chris, stop teasing. Please.”

“Yeah, fuck, okay,” Chris nods quickly, taking himself in hand to line up properly and pushing in, “okay- oohhh, fuck.”

Despite Chris’s prepping, it’s almost overwhelmingly tight, and hot to boot, so Chris has to grit his teeth against the urge to just thrust and take. He fully intends to go slow, or as slow as he can manage – but Sebastian seems to have other plans. Pushes back against him, he impales himself on Chris’s cock, moaning as it fills him up all the way.

“Oh, shit,” Sebastian breathes, letting his head fall forward, hanging between his shoulders. He lets out a slightly hysterical giggle. “Forgot how big you were.”

Once the stars have faded a little from behind Chris’s eyelids, he rubs Sebastian’s hip in soothing circles. “Too much?”

Sebastian gives a curt shake of his head. “Fuck no, you’re perfect. Come on, give it to me.”

Pulling out almost all the way, leaving just the tip inside, Chris says, “Yessir,” and then slams back in.

Sebastian shouts, startled, even though he asked for it. “Oh God,” he moans, “fuck me good- Come on, yeah.”

Sebastian’s hands grip the sheets for purchase as Chris starts to pound into him, his thrusts hard, fast and a little mean. Sharp snaps of his hips that make the steady slap of skin on skin reverberate through the room, forcing a steady stream of ah, ah, unhh, yeah’s from Sebastian’s pretty, pink mouth.

With every sound Sebastian makes, every time his perfect ass swallows up Chris’s cock, Chris loses the tenuous grip on his restraint a little bit further. His mind grows foggy with a mix of lust and the desire to reduce Sebastian to a beautiful, sobbing mess – something he doesn’t quite recognize from himself.

“Kiss me,” Sebastian demands suddenly.

Chris has no choice. He goes immediately, draping himself over Sebastian’s back. Winding his free hand in Sebastian’s hair, he tugs his head up a little so he can kiss him sideways, over his shoulder. The angle is awkward, the kiss sloppy and with way more tongue and teeth than a proper kiss should probably have, and it’s absolutely perfect. God, Chris missed Sebastian’s taste so damn much, dreamed of it almost every night since he tasted it last. He grunts into Sebastian’s mouth, involuntarily tightening his fist in in his hair, making Sebastian whimper, his mouth going slack below Chris’s while Chris circles his hips, grinding his cock in deep, deep as it’ll go.

He stays like that a moment longer, relishing the perfect, snug heat surrounding him, and then Chris pushes himself back up to his knees.

As soon as he starts to thrust again, Sebastian pushes back against him, trying to speed things up, make him go deeper. Chris tuts disapprovingly and splays his right hand on Sebastian’s lower back, shoving him back down into the pillow below his hips, ungently. For a split second, Chris wonders if maybe he’s being too rough, too careless, but he can’t help himself – Sebastian just drives him crazy. There’s something about him. Something about that sweet yet cocky attitude that drew Chris in from the moment he met him, even if it took him a while to see that the attraction he felt physical and romantic rather than friendly.

Of course Chris can be gentle – sweet and patient and careful – he often is.

Right now, though, he just needs, and wants, so he takes. He sinks the hand that isn’t pressing Sebastian down into his long, chestnut hair, getting a good handful and then pulling, forcing Sebastian’s smooth back to arch in a gorgeous, lazy U-shape.

Sebastian yells.

Immediately, Chris loosens his grip and slows down, already opening his mouth to apologize for hurting Sebastian– but before he can get a word out, Sebastian moans.

“Yes, fuck- Like that, harder,” he pants, arching his back even further, and that’s when Chris realizes that Sebastian likes it rough. Loves it when Chris manhandles him, makes him take it.

Sebastian is strong. He’s in great shape, isn’t going to break. He can take it (Christ, can he ever). The realization that he doesn’t have to be quite as careful as he’s used to being with most women he’s been with lights a fire right down to Chris’s core.

Fucking hell.

He’s not the type to ever want to hurt his partners, but there’s no denying he loves being in control, loves testing the limits of his body and his strength – and since Sebastian just gave him the go ahead loud and clear, Chris goes for it.

Using all of his gym-honed strength, Chris starts to fuck Sebastian into the mattress with long, powerful strokes, pulling his head back by his hair and effectively taking away all of Sebastian’s leverage, all of his agency. The position Chris is in means he’s almost using the hand in Sebastian's hair to keep himself up, and still Sebastian is spurring Chris on to keep going, fuck him harder, faster.

Chris growls, a low animalistic sound, and curls the fingers of his right hand around Sebastian’s hip hard enough to leave bruises. Tugging his hips up just so, the angle of his thrusts change minutely, and suddenly, Sebastian is gasping for air and clawing at the sheets.

The sounds that leave him are nothing like Chris has ever heard him make before, even though the sex they’ve had up until that point has been nothing short of spectacular. Now though, Sebastian’s mewling, whimpering, mouth attempting to form words that peter off into gasps before they can materialize.

Something about Chris holding him down and nailing his prostate dead on, combined with the sting of the sting of Chris pulling on his hair, has Sebastian absolutely losing his mind. A strange, primal sense of pride at being to one to do this to him spreads like wildfire through Chris’s chest, warming him up from the inside out and allowing him tap into reserves of energy he didn’t know he possessed.

Chris doesn’t slow down, goes harder if anything the closer to his climax he gets, and it only takes a few more thrusts before actually Sebastian screams out Chris’s name and comes. He comes, untouched, on Chris’s cock, and the minute Sebastian tightens like a vice around him, squeezing and pulsing as his orgasm ripples through him, Chris lets out a loud, drawn out groan and buries himself deep inside one, final time.

It’s possible that Chris’s heart actually stops for a moment, but when it starts back up, it’s racing as if he’s just run a marathon. Which, in terms of physical exertion, actually isn’t all that far off. It takes him a moment to realise he’s slumped on top of Sebastian and he’s probably smothering him, so with his remaining strength, he manages to roll off him. Sebastian winces as Chris slips free.

“Sorry,” Chris murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to his shoulder. With some effort, he gets up, walking over to the bathroom on wobbly legs to dispose of the condom and grab a wet cloth.

When he turns back to the bed, he finds Sebastian looking at him through half-lidded eyes, a dopey grin on his face.

“Fuuuck,” he sighs contently, his voice is slurred with post-orgasm exhaustion, “that was amazing.”

Chris, like the theater nerd he is, can’t help but do a little stage bow.

Sebastian snorts. “C’mere,” he orders, barely curling the fingers of his left hand in Chris’s direction in a sloppy imitation of a come hither movement. “Need cuddles.”

Chris quickly, cursorily cleans Sebastian off, tossing the cloth to the side of the bed before lying down next to him. He snuggles up close, pulling a limp and sated Sebastian into his arms and breathing him in.

“So,” Chris starts after a minute of just lying there in blissed-out silence. His fingers are buried in Sebastian’s hair again, this time to massage his scalp in soothing little circles. “You really liked that, huh?”

“Hmmphh,” Sebastian replies into Chris’s chest.

Chris smiles lazily up at the ceiling. “Just so you know, now that I know how I can get you to scream my name, I’m gonna make you do it all the damn time.”

There’s a pause, and then Sebastian lifts his head to look at him. “I’m counting on it,” he whispers against Chris’s lips, then licks filthily into his mouth.

And Chris –

Chris is in love.

[verdandasrsblog]

So this week I got Annoyed™ at Kara-Meir and Garlandia’s designs (Partially due to @enkoro-rs suggesting I do Kara-Meir, after which I fell down a rabbit hole). Like with the Laniakea overhaul I’m going to put my reasoning/inspo under the cut for anyone that’s interested

Honestly, where do I even start with Kara-Meir? I guess I’ll just go top-down, 

1) Hair - Based on the novel covers it seems like she was supposed to be blonde originally, and just have an absolute shit ton of hair. Since the flow of the in-game design’s braids didn’t make no goddamn sense, I found some ACTUAL braided bun hairstyles and combowombo’d them into one mega hairstyle.  The pins in the buns with the danglies are really just to be fancy, but I also wanted to incorporate the bits hanging off her belt in her in-game model’s concept art. 

pictured: whatever the fuck these are supposed to be

2) Skin/Face/Eyes - So originally I actually colour dropper her skin from the concept art and then realized she was maybe a bit tanner than the concept, but you know what? Fuck it. I tried to keep her face shape from the concept since the cover art of her is just kinda “Generic white lady” but honestly she got a bit pointier than that in the end. I’m also not sure what her canon eye colour is supposed to be; Zooming in on the ref just gave me brown, which is what I ended up using, but if that’s not correct and anyone has the novels let me know. 

3) Clothing - So I restrained her cape to something someone could maybe fight in, but my main concern was her armor - She’s supposed to be a knight but what’s up with the bikini boob breast plate? She’s portrayed as wearing both chain and full plate in the cover art and is clearly a melee fighter, so changing her to plate armor seemed obvious. Since she can wield Sunspear (t75) it makes sense to me that her Def would be somewhere in the 70s to match, which with the rework means necronium. 

So like, obviously Necronium is a particular aesthetic that didn’t seem quite right for her. Looking at her lore, she has a wolf theme in her backstory and since she's also supposed to have some smithing ability (she was raised by dwarves) I thought it'd make sense that she might make her own. She’s also been to Morytania in the books, meaning she could have access to Phasmatite (Her access to the Necrite is a bit more iffy but she is hanging out on Tuska after that event so she has at least some experience with the desert).  I had tried out the red glow initially but it looked like shite and didn’t really fit her anyway, so I think the gold is a better compromise both character-wise and aesthetically. 

4) Sunspear - So she canonically has a sunspear, and I ended up using the current in-game design for it since her concept art one just seemed... unstable 

I get that it’s reforged or whatever but it looks like it’s gonna shatter on impact with anything

Truthfully, though? You know what she should have? One of THESE bad boys:

AKA just a Grecian-style spear head. It’d also be more believable that she thinks it’s a dagger if it looks like this. I still think the in-game sunspear is a bit more ~dramatic~ but it should just be a spear tip quite frankly 

Okay, onto Garlandia: 

1) Hair/Face/Skin/Eyes - I’m grouping the hair in here since I honestly just left it as the in-game version (At least from what I can see from her chat head, I can’t remember if there’s some BS going on on her back or not).  Ancient Greek women did tend to braid their hair so that’s accurate-ish, I guess. For her skin though, she mentions in dialogue that “Her skin shed its colour”, but her model isn’t any paler than the other icyene in game. Accordingly, I made her significantly paler, and gave her a bit of frost bite damage on her extremities from the winter she had to endure after her wings were ripped off (I considered making it darker but there’s a point where they just need to be amputated since it won’t heal, so I went with something less intense to show that it’s healed since). For her eye colour, I zoomed in on her chat head but it wasn’t quite clear - 2/4 icyene in-game have blue eyes, but I went with gold to match the rest of her pallet. 

2) Clothes - This is a big one since I spent a lot of time staring at Greek art trying to figure out what a Greek-inspired character would wear when they never want to be cold ever again (It would make sense for her due to the trauma). Additionally, her skin is kinda fucked, and having it be uncovered would probably just lead to sunburn which is the last thing she needs. The shape of the middle woman’s chiton below inspired the hem of her dress, since I wanted to give her a very flowing, fashionable look:

She was supposed to have been a noble so like, fuckin’ Fashion, Baybee

I also turned her weird metal underpants into a girdle, since a waist band of some form or another isn’t uncommon in the images we have of ancient Greek attire: 

Garlandia, why did you have metal panties? 

Since she’s a bard (I THINK?) I also strapped on some extra storage for sheet music. Her jewelry was inspired by the following pieces, though TBH she could probably be decked out more, I just wanted to leave her hands mostly free for that good good harp playin’ 

3) Shoes - These get their own section because I did way too much research for it not to. Basically, most Greeks straight up didn’t wear shoes, never mind socks. Also, in her model, is it just me or do her shoes look uncomfortable as fuck??

Yikes girl are those cutting into your thighs?

Anyways, with her feet/toes being fucked up from frostbite, I wasn’t going to NOT give her shoes/socks, which meant I started looking at roman artifacts instead:

I found mention of romans wrapping their feet in fabric when it got cold, but the only “sock” I could find was from a roman fort in Britain:

So, like, needless to say after all that and also getting suckered into reading about the nuances of gladiatorial combat for like an hour I ended up going for something more modern:

So anyways they’re 0% accurate from what I could find but I like the vibe 

4) Himation - So remember what I was saying about how Garlandia would probably hate being cold? Check out these bad boys: 

Basically the ancient Grecian version of the Blanket Cape, and also used as outerwear in the winter! It seems like the winter ones would have been made from wool, I’d imagine she’d wear it most places except maybe the desert or Karamja since those are warm enough on their own. 

Anyways thanks for coming to my fucking runescape character redesign dissertation, next on the chopping block? Who knows. Maybe Zuzu (I heard her voice acting recently since I never play with sound and YIKES YIKES YIKES YIKES I HAD NO IDEA OH GOD)

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Tick Tick Tick

Jason ‘J.D.’ Dean x Reader

Words: 2552

Part One of Two

Summary: After killing your perverted ex boyfriend, you finally learn to accept the dark feelings inside you. J.D. copes with real feelings as you pull him out of the numbnesses of his life. 

Notes: This imagine is not for the faint of heart guys. It’s gonna be dark and the reader is not going to be a good person. Murder is going to be depicted as an accepted part of her life and she is going to like it. Both parts of this imagine will be dark and bloody. I mean, it’s J.D. from Heathers. That’s the point. So please please please, if you are uncomfortable, just skip this. It won’t be for everybody.

Warnings: Murder (duh), sex (not smut, but definitly more than I’ve ever done before), language, the whole shabang. 

-

He was dead. Holy shit, he was actually dead. As far as the rest of the town was concerned, Tommy killed himself with a handgun. He’d rather die than spend a single day in prison for molestation and child porn- all of course he ‘admitted’ in his suicide note. Half of his brain was splatter against the concrete outside the football stadium. The other half covered your face. 

You could honestly say that you hadn’t expected to kill your ex boyfriend. But you couldn’t exactly say that you regretted it. Hell, you couldn’t get the grin off your face. You looked at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. Ew. You looked like shit. Not only were you covered in blood, sweat matted your hair down from running through the parking lot. You’d also have a bruise from where Tommy slapped you, but you didn’t care. He’d never touch you again. He’d never touch anybody again. You had to bite your lip to keep your smile from growing even more, tasting just a tiny bit of blood on your tongue. 

You stripped out of your clothes that you would probably be burning later and stepped into the shower. You turned the heat up until it was scalding. You listened to the water thunder against your skull, massaging the brain matter out of your hair. You didn’t hear the creaking bathroom door open or the click of it closing again. With your eyes closed, you didn’t see the shadow of the figure lurking on the other side of the curtain. You didn’t open them until you heard the curtain being pushed to the side. 

You felt your heart start to pound. His green eyes scanned you hungrily as he stepped into the shower, his t-shirt quickly adhering to his chest. Your breathing hitched, his finger tracing your jawline while his other hand snaked behind your back. You pushed down the nervous feelings stirring in your stomach and lifted your chin to confidently meet his gaze. J.D. smirked. 

“Hi.” He greeted, his hand slowly making its way up your spine. You didn’t waste a second before pulling his bottom lip between your teeth. J.D., spurred by your enthusiasm, pulled you closer, one hand on the small of your back and the other cupping the back of your head. You pulled apart just enough to peel his soaked t-shirt off his chest, raking your fingers down his torso. Before long, his clothes were discarded beside yours on the floor. 

With your bodies pressed together, you could forget about everything. Tommy, your piece-of-shit house occupied by your piece-of-shit mother, and that fucking school that Tommy and his band of rapists disguised as the football team used to rule. With J.D. kissing you, you held the world in your hands. With J.D. fucking you, you threw the world into oblivion. 

A couple rounds in the shower lead to a couple rounds in his bed before you finally settled with a post-sex cigarette. With his arms wrapped around you, you took the cigarette from his lips and brought it to yours. He watched you blow out a puff of smoke, watching the grey haze linger in the air for just a moment before vanishing. 

That was his life. Briefly existing in a dark cloud of smoke before scattering into nothing. Smoke didn’t feel. It blinded and it choked and it only came when something was burned. Everything he touched went up in flames and he was all that was left behind. He knew that whatever the hell this was would end the same way. And that gave him a weird, stirring feeling in his chest. Shit. 

“Do you think they’ve found him yet?” You asked, flipping onto your stomach so you didn’t have to strain your neck to look at him. He shrugged, plucking the cigarette from your mouth and taking a drag. 

“It’ll be the talk of the town tomorrow, that’s for sure.” He clicked his tongue and narrowed his eyes at you, trying to read your expression. If there is one thing the six high schools he’d gone to taught him, it was how to read people. “Do you regret it?” You almost laughed. 

“Are you kidding?” He raised a brow to tell you he wasn’t. You kept your eyes on his and kissed a freckled on his shoulder. “No. I don’t regret ridding the world of that sad excuse for a human. Besides,” You traced circles around the spot you kissed. “It was, like, self-defense anyway, right? Who knows what that asshole would have done if you didn’t blow his brains out?” 

The original plan was to knock him out and drive his car off a cliff. You lured him out by telling him you wanted to get back together with a little blowjob under the bleachers. When Tommy figured out he would be getting off, he got pissed and slapped you. That's when J.D. jumped out from his hiding spot and Tommy turned around to get a bullet between the eyes. 

“The only thing I regret is not pulling the trigger myself.” After everything that pig put you through, you would have loved to be the one to send him to hell. J.D. ran a hand from your thigh to the nape of your neck, the motion sending chills across your skin in its wake. You closed your eyes and laid your head against his shoulder. 

There it was again. That feeling in his chest that almost made it hard to breathe. What the fuck? Something was tearing through the numbness, making him feel shit that he hasn’t felt since, well, ever. He didn’t feel things. Feeling shit meant he was tied down to something or someone and that was never part of the plan. 

He sat up suddenly, letting your head fall onto the pillows. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and walked over to his dresser for a t-shirt and some flannel. After he got dressed, he clapped his hands together and faced you with his usual smug smile. 

“Who knew the combination of murder and fucking could work up such an apetite, but I, for one, am starving.” He grabbed a pair of jeans and a shirt, tossing them at you. 

“What are these for?” He rolled his eyes. 

“Well, darling, we can’t have you wondering town in my bed sheets.” His little term of endearment was said with sarcasm, it still made you smile. You stood, letting the sheet fall around your feet. J.D. bit his lip, starting to regret his hurry to leave. You smirked and pulled his shirt over your head. It was a little big so you tucked it into the jeans and found a belt. J.D. tried to ignore how fucking good you looked in his clothes, but he couldn’t help it. He pulled you to him by the belt loops and caught your lips in his. 

“Slushies on me?” You offered, walking your fingers up his chest. He chuckled and nodded.

“Our love is god.” 

-

You didn’t know it was possible to feel like this. If what you felt for Tommy was a spark then this was a wildfire. After grabbing a bite to eat, you went back to his place to burn your clothes, watching the blood stained fabric shrivel into ash. J.D. dropped you off at your house on his motorcycle. It was almost midnight but you knew you wouldn’t be getting any sleep. You stopped at the fridge to grab a bottle of cola among the endless cases of beers. 

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Your mother stood in the doorway with a joint dangling from her lips and a half-empty bottle in her hand. You rolled your eyes. 

“Why the hell do you care?” She laughed, tossing the butt in your direction. You had to jerk away to keep from being burned. 

“You and I are the same, kid.” She took her lighter out of her pocket and flipped it open and shut. 

“Fuck you.” You scoffed, moving towards the stairs. Her hand latched onto your arm. 

“He’s gonna leave you just like your daddy left me, sweetheart and do you know why?” She shoved you against the wall, keeping an arm on your neck while her other hand brought the lighter up to your face. “Because you are a pathetic whore.”  

“Get the hell off of me!” You shrieked, trying to break away. Her arm started to press against your windpipe, making it harder to breathe. 

“Say it.” She spat, flicking the lighter on. The flame danced menacingly, inching closer and closer to your left eye. You stared at her with as much malice as you could. “Fucking say it!” 

“Go to hell.” She clicked the fire off and pressed the burning metal against the skin of your shoulder. You tried to hold back your scream, but you couldn’t help it. Your mother brought the flame back up to your eye, slamming your head against the wall again. 

“Say it!” The heat made your eyes sting, already watering from the searing pain in your shoulder. You leaned towards it. 

“I’m a pathetic whore.” You submitted, gritting your teeth. 

And just like that, she dropped her arm and walked into the living room like nothing had happened. You broke into a sprint, running up to the upstairs bathroom and hurling up the french fries and coke slushie you had less than an hour ago. Your shoulder was screaming at you, the smell of burned flesh stinging your nose. You felt empty and stupid and worthless. Most of all, you felt weak. You felt the tears stream down your cheeks before you could even think to stop them. You collapsed onto your bed, screaming as your shoulder hit the mattress. 

J.D. carefully climbed in your window, silently moving in front of your bed. The gun felt heavier in his hand than it did before. He had to do this. You were breaking through the ice that kept him numb and he couldn’t let that happen. But as he raised his weapon to fire, he heard your sob, muffled by a pillow, but still loud enough to send his mind reeling. There was that damn feeling in his chest again. The feeling that wanted to hold you and never let go, taking down anybody who stood in his way. This couldn’t be what love was. Another cry filled the room and he turned the safety of the pistol back on and tucked it in his waistband. You heard a strange click and looked up. 

“J.D.?” You wondered, seeing his figure looming over you.  Please, not now. He couldn’t see you like this. Pathetic. Just like she said you were. “What are you doing here?”

“I, uh, I wanted my clothes back.” He lied. He didn’t give a shit whether or not you kept them. In fact, he thought it would be fitting. Watching your blood stain his shirt. Come on, just kill her. 

“Oh, right.” You felt your body shrink a little as you slid off of the bed, walking towards your dresser. “Just let me grab something to change into.” You hoped that in the dark room, he couldn’t see the tears on your face. As you brushed passed him, J.D. grabbed your arm, making you cry out as your shoulder jerked back. He roughly pulled you back to him and examined the hole singed into his shirt and the bloody and blackened skin underneath. “I’m sorry about the shirt, I-”

“Did that bitch do this?” He snapped. Seeing your eyes filled with tears set something off inside him. A feeling that was familiar to him. Rage. 

“J.D. it’s fine, I can handle her.” You couldn’t let him think you were weak. His jaw clenched and he stormed out of your room, his booming footsteps thundering down the stairs. You quickly followed, figuring he was just running out after seeing how fragile and pitiful you were. 

Luckily, your mother was fully passed out on the couch so J.D. wouldn’t have to deal with her intoxicated criticism. Instead of running for the door, he stopped in front of her, pacing back and forth. He had hoped she would be awake. He wanted to see her face as she paid for what she did to you. But he would just have to settle for this. 

He rummaged through the drawers until her found her stash of heroin and a syringe. He filled it as much as he could.

“J.D., what are you doing?” You asked, watching him hold out her arm.

“It’ll look like an accident, right? An overdose.” The needle punctured her skin and he injected the drugs into your mother’s bloodstream. She stirred slightly so you had to act fast. You grabbed a pillow from the couch and put it over her face, holding it there firmly until she stopped moving. And just like that, your mother was dead. Similar to the feeling you had when J.D. shot Tommy, any weakness you felt was gone, replaced by pure power. 

“She’s dead.” You gasped. J.D. couldn’t read your expression. Were you upset? 

“Look, I know that there’s that whole mother/daughter bond thing, but-”

“She’s finally dead.” You laughed, throwing your arms around him. You’d been waiting your whole life to be free of her and now you finally were. “We can get out of here. Run away. Together.” You ran back upstairs to your room to grab a bag. J.D. followed hesitantly. Hearing you say you wanted to run away with him brought back that stupid grip around his chest, squeezing and suffocating until he faced what he feared. 

“Y/N, I need to tell you something.” He said softly. You paused. You’d never heard him talk like that before. Almost like he was… nervous. You wrapped your arms around his waist and gave him a smile. 

“What’s gotten into-” You froze, your hands brushing against the cold metal tucked into his jeans. You lifted the gun into your hand and backed away. “Why did you bring this?” The look in his eyes told you before any words left his mouth. Then you remembered. The click right before you saw him. It was a fucking gun. You scoffed. “You came here to kill me, didn’t you?” 

“Y/N-”

“No, no. Don’t let me stop you.” You put the pistol in his hand and wrapped his finger around the trigger. You sat on the edge of the bed and aimed his arm up at your face. “Do it. You’re afraid that you feel something for me. I saw it when we were in your room. So go ahead, J.D.” You leaned forward so that your forehead was touching the barrel. “Do it.” 

There it was. The aching in his chest. The reason he came here to shoot you. Your eyes stared into his and he decided that he wasn’t going to be afraid of this anymore. He controlled it. He tossed the gun aside and crashed his lips into yours, climbing on top of you and lifted his t-shirt over your head. Is this what love was? 

Who the fuck knows?

-

Christian Slater Tag list: @staxryskxes; @adeliness​

[caramarafics]

Reckless (Seth Rollins)

Seth Rollins x OC Maya Grey One Shot 

Warnings: just sad.

A/N: Soooo.... this has been in my drafts for awhile now and after some positive motivation from @royallyprincesslilly​ @thedeboniardevistation​ and @bigstrongblackheart​ I’ve just decided to post it. 

Hope you like it. 

AUGUST 23, 2015 11:27 PM

MANHATTAN, NY

DING!

The elevator comes to a halt upon the arrival of yet another floor. A robotic, yet feminine voice came over the speaker to announce:

“You have arrived at the twenty-third floor.”

The metal doors slowly open to reveal a black and gray hallway with artwork of abstract watercolor paintings hanging on the walls. Standing towards the back of the car, leaning against the safety bar, I watch as my aunt Isobel steps off the elevator. Placing one hand in front of the elevator door so it wouldn’t close she scans the hallway, looking left and then to the right, all to make sure that there was no one around.

After a few minutes, she finally turned her gaze back into the elevator towards me. A small, loving smile softly forms and she extends a hand.

“Come on cariña,” she whispers.

I nod my head and, with a heavy sigh and a push off the safety bar, I throw the thick strap of my Diva’s Championship over one shoulder and my gym over the other. I step off the elevator and into the waiting arms of my aunt and we begin our walk down the hall. 

Isobel puts one hand on the swell of my back while the other pulls her suitcase. My gaze fell to the floor as we walked, focusing on the hotel’s unusual carpet pattern while she scanned the placards on the wall looking for our room. Every so often I could feel her eyes practically burning a hole into me before quickly turning away to look back up at the placards. 

She was worried. She had every right to be. Since leaving the Barclay Center over an hour ago I had barely said a single word. Not to her, to Roman, no one. I was catatonic and numb. 

But who could blame me? After what just happened, anyone would react the exact same way if they were in my shoes.

As we made our way down the hall, I could feel my phone consistent buzzing through the thin fabric of Roman’s hoodie he had lent me back in Brooklyn. Slow at first, but quickly becoming more often with every unanswered second passing by.

Call me crazy, but it almost felt like with every step I took, my phone would go off.

Step.

Buzz.

Step.

Buzz.

Step, step.

Buzz, buzz.

Step, step, step.

Buzz, buzz, buzz.

Normally I would have answered it by now. But instead, I choose to ignore whoever it was and kept on. 

We reached the very end of the hall and finally stopped in front of a door marked 1127. From the corner of my eye, Isobel pulls out a key card from the pocket of her jeans and slide it into the automated lock. A few short whirring, buzzing sounds later, a green light flashes and a loud *click* signals the door had unlocked. She turns the handle, pushes the door open, and then moves to the side to usher me into the room. She follows right behind me, but not before grabbing the “Do Not Disturb” sign from behind the door and hooks it on the handle outside the room.

The door shuts and Isobel sees a small touchscreen wall panel placed by the door. She presses the button marked Lights and the overhead lights come on, revealing the room to us.

Placing my title belt on the dresser, I look around at what would be my new home for the next two nights. For the most part, the room looked like every other hotel room I’d stayed in while on the road. Granted, this was probably the most luxurious of most of them, but still pretty standard. 

There were two Queen beds each donning a fancy purple duvet with no less than eight of the fluffiest pillows I have ever seen in my life, a giant flat screen TV mounted above a black dresser, cashmere floor rugs draped across cherry hardwood floors, a cozy little reading area near the windows with a small leather loveseat, and a wet bar fully stocked with overpriced snacks and tiny bottles of alcohol. 

The only thing that did make the room stand out from all the others, however, was the incredible view. A floor-to-ceiling window panel was centered on the main wall of the room and, because of our floor being leveled with the New York skyline, displayed a near perfect image of downtown Manhattan. There was even a clear view of the Empire State building in the background, lit up in red and blue lights as night blanketed the city.

Moving over towards the beds I toss my gym bag onto the one closest to the window and sit at the foot of the bed, looking out the window. Looking out at the city I couldn’t help but think about how different my life was less than 24 hours ago. I was staying in Brooklyn with the rest of the WWE, getting ready for SummerSlam. I was in this beautiful hotel suite that overlooked the Brooklyn Bridge with the love of my life, my fiancé. My bridesmaids and I had had our final fittings for our dresses, I was getting all the final details ready for my October wedding…

But that was all before a few hours ago.

Before everything had gone to complete and utter shit.

How could this have happened? How could he do that to me? I thought to myself. 

But before I could think of some sort of explanation, the sound of boots clanking across the hardwood floor followed by the thud of Isobel’s purse landing on top of the dresser next to my title.

“Well,” she says with a satisfied sigh, “this is nice. Really nice as a matter of fact, especially with it being super last minute.”

I bring my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them and placing my chin on top, never once looking away from the window. “It’s fine, I guess.” I manage to mumble out.

“Fine?” she snorts, “Maya, come on! Look at what we got. Gorgeous view, fancy sheets, free Wi-Fi, a fully stocked bar...”

I hear movement from behind me and see a light flick on through the window’s reflection. “Oh my-, Maya you’ve gotta see this bathroom! It’s got a huge shower and…” she pauses, “Oh. My. God. The floors are heated. Cariña the floors are heated!!”

But I don’t move. I don’t spring up from the bed to revel in her excitement over heated floors or whatever other fancy details the room had to offer. Instead, I just sit there in silence, holding myself as I gaze out into the city and its nightlife. 

I observe the streetlights perched on the sidewalk creating an ominous glow on the pavement. The mixture of city cars and yellow taxis, halted by ongoing traffic as they struggle to reach their destination on time. The small groups of tourists stopping every few minutes for selfies with various buildings in the background, including this very hotel.

All the while my mind replays the events from earlier. A single tear manages to escape from my eyes as my subconscious began to torture me with a play-by-play of what happened. It all still felt like a dream to me, a sick twisted nightmare that no matter how hard I tried I just couldn’t wake up from. My brain searched and scanned through every single memory collected from the last three years of our life together.

It was desperate to find any little detail that I may have missed that could explain just where everything went wrong. Something that could’ve prepared me for what would eventually happen.

But I find nothing.

No hints, no little clues. 

No hidden messages or blaring warning signs.

Nothing that screamed out: “Maya don’t be alarmed, but just two months before you’re supposed to get married… you’re gonna find your fiancé half naked with another woman.”

Boy that would’ve been a great fucking warning now, wouldn’t it?

I was so lost in thought that I didn’t feel the bed dip or that Isobel was now sitting right behind me. I nearly jumped out of my skin when her hand found its way into my hair, softly playing with it and twirling the ends around her fingers. Another arm wrapped itself around my stomach to embrace me. My body quickly relaxes and I lean into her embrace, my head resting just above her chin. The hand that was in my hair moves to join the one around my stomach and I feel Isobel’s lips plant a soft, motherly kiss at the base of my temple as she gently rocked me.

I knew just how much it pained Isobel to see me like this; a deflated, catatonic alien that had replaced her bubbly and vivacious niece. I’d barely said less than two sentences to her or to anyone else since we left the Barclays, just a few grunts here and there whenever somebody asked me anything. She probably had dozens of questions she wanted to ask right now; ‘are we canceling the wedding, where are you gonna stay, who does she need to call, what I actually wanted to do now,’ things of that nature. 

But rather than bombard me with things that even I had no earthly clue how to answer, she said nothing and just held me.

Though she was my aunt and nearly seven years older than me, I often viewed her as the big sister I never had and the mother figure I had so desperately yearned for. She was my protector from bullies like Angela Ferrell in sixth grade after I had come home crying one too many times for her liking. Isobel pushed Angela face-first into the mud and threatened to shave her bald if she ever messed with me again.

When I reached the preteen stage and my body began to develop, she was the one who explained to me the so-called ‘joys’ of becoming a woman and who took me to the pharmacy to buy my first box of pads. She also, in a very detailed description, broke down the basics of sex and practically scarred me for life. 

After Bryan Anderson gave me my first kiss in fifth grade, she was the best friend that I ran to her to spill all the juicy details. And when I was a junior and my first ever boyfriend Joaquin broke my heart for some varsity cheerleader, she picked me up and helped put the pieces back together with junk food and my favorite horror movies… only after we went and egged Joaquin’s truck. 

Whether it was something as simple as helping me with my calculus homework, or something big as catching a red-eye flight from London to Houston just to watch me compete in my very last high school gymnastics invitational, there was never a moment in my life that I couldn’t rely on her to be there for me whenever I needed her the most.

And tonight, tonight was one of those moments when I definitely needed her.

We stayed like this in comfortable silence for what seemed like hours, just staring out into the night as she held me close to her. I feel her chin fall gently against my shoulder and her breath tickles at the side of my neck for a few minutes before she finally speaks.

“You feel like talking about it?” her voice just above a whisper.

I say nothing but shake my head.

Her lips press themselves gently against my cheek, hugging me a bit tighter as she does. “Ok, that’s fine. We don’t gotta talk about it tonight.” 

“But,” she pauses, “What we should do right now is get some food. Cause I don’t know about you, but I am starving.” 

Once again, I am silent. Intentionally I knew what she was trying to do. First, she would pump me with some of my favorite foods, maybe even some top shelf liquor, then after a few of the cheesiest and goriest slasher films she would happen to find on demand and I appeared to be in a neutral state, she would lay on the questions. It’s been her routine since I was 13 and about 80 percent of the time it usually worked. Sadly though, It’s unlikely that this particular problem could be easily fixed with takeout and Freddy Krueger.

She was right though. I hadn’t eaten anything since this morning and just the mention of food made my stomach growl. 

“Tell you what... why don’t I order us some food, and while I do that you can take a shower and get cleaned up. ¿Suena bien?”

I thought it over for a little before eventually nodding my head in agreement.

“What do you wanna do; Chinese takeout, get a couple pizzas…?”

I look up, her brown eyes meeting mine. “Can we get both?”

A small laugh escapes her mouth, and she squeezes me again. “We can absolutely do both. I’ll even throw in a couple of those brownie sundaes I saw in that menu. While you shower, I’ll call the boys and see where they are with your stuff.”

I nod once more and with one final squeeze and forehead kiss from her, I remove myself from her embrace and slide off the bed. She follows and moves towards a conveniently placed touch screen panel near the window. I watch her press a button on the panel and, in an instant, large panels start to descend over the window panel, slightly darkening the room and hiding Manhattan away for the rest of the night. 

I grab my gym bag from off the bed and make my way inside the en-suite bathroom. Once inside, I shut the door and lock it. Just as she said earlier, this truly was an incredible bathroom. A lot nicer than some I had had before. Apart from the aforementioned heated floors there were marble countertops, super soft Egyptian cotton towels, two complimentary bathrobes with matching slippers, full-size bottles of luxury brand skincare and body products, & to top it all off, a huge glass walk-in steam shower with two large overhead rainfall showerheads and about six square wall panels placed on both the front and back walls. 

Setting the bag next to the sink I make my way over to the shower. On the outside wall was yet another touch screen panel solely for controlling the shower. I look it over for a few moments before finding an app that says ‘RAIN’ and press it. Instantly, the overhead panels come alive and water begins to rain down on the inside. I mess around with a few more buttons, adjusting the water temperature and whatnot, before finally moving away so that the water could warm up.

Back at the sink, I started to open my gym bag when I felt my phone once again start the incessant vibrating like before. But this time instead of ignoring it, I pull my phone from my jacket pocket and look at the screen.

The first thing I see is his profile picture followed by his name. It was one of my favorites of us together, taken almost a year ago at a mutual friend's Halloween party. We were dressed up as Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen from Game of Thrones, complete with three ‘dragons’ perched on my shoulders. I was looking at the camera but his eyes were fixed solely on me, a smile stretched across his face as he looked.   

I watch the call stop and my home screen reappear with the notification bar.

Over a dozen missed calls and voicemails. 

With a sigh I unlock my phone and scroll through the list of missed calls, seeing one name in particular more often than others.

Seth.

Seth.

Seth.

Renee.

Roman.

Seth.

Brie.

Nikki.

Seth.

Seth.

Seth.

Renee.

Nikki.

Seth.

Roman.

Seth.

Seth.

Seth.

Seth.

Annoyed, I tossed my phone onto the counter, not caring where it landed or if it had smashed. I open my gym bag and go to pull out the set of post-match clothes I always kept handy, so I could change quickly out of my sweaty gear after any of my matches. But when I went to pull them out… nothing. Only my workout clothes from earlier, an extra set of bra and panties, deodorant, and sneakers.

Shit.

I look down at my body, currently covered in the giant hoodie.

Shit, shit, shit.

My suitcase, my clothes, my laptop… all of that is currently on its way from Brooklyn. 

I forgot to pack my spare change of clothes. 

And as if things couldn’t get any better... I’m still in my ring gear from my match earlier. 

My eyes rolled to the back of my hand and my hand runs over my face, an annoyed chuckle escaping as I relish in my own stupidity. 

Great. I thought. Just great. Good job there Maya.

Not wasting any more time, I throw off the hoodie and angrily start to undress. Starting from the bottom, I unlace my wrestling boots and set them next to the toilet. I remove my sweatpants and shimmy my way out of the custom wrestling shorts Isobel had made specifically for tonight. The matching top was next to come off and once over my head I let it fall to the floor next to my shorts, leaving me in just my sports bra and underwear. 

The gear for tonight was all-white with intricate gold lines patterned along the sides, knees, and chest with four symbols faintly embroidered in white on each side; one was mine, the other Roman’s, then Dean’s, and finally… his.  

For months, he’d been throwing the idea around of switching up his ring gear and trying out new colors aside from his usual black attire. And once Isobel had sketched up a white and gold version of his gear, he was beyond ecstatic to showcase it for his Title for Title Match at SummerSlam. 

And when she had enough fabric left over from doing his gear she made a second set just for me. 

“It’s kind of like your wedding dress,” she said to me. “Just in gear form. Hey, if you want I’ll even attach a veil to your butt and it can be your train.”

I quickly shake the memory from my head and free myself of what was left of my clothing. Grabbing two of the white bath towels placed underneath the sink, I set one on the back of the toilet and hanging the other on the hook placed next to the shower. I grab a bottle of complimentary body wash I open the shower door, and finally step inside.

I stand directly underneath, letting the warm water hit my skin and cascade around me and down my body. The splashing against the tile echoed off the walls but it wasn’t enough to drown out my thoughts as they continued to torture me. Every kiss, every touch, every ‘I love you’ we had ever said played on an endless loop in my head as I tried to pinpoint the moment that everything changed.

Meeting for the first time at that college bar back in NXT. That first kiss backstage in NXT that caught us both off-guard. The night he had told me for the first time that he loved me, which was followed up by the night we first made love.    

I try to shake these thoughts from my mind, but it won’t work. No matter what I try to think about, no matter what other happy memory that doesn’t involve him, those memories are still all that play. A few stray tears push their way out but I quickly wipe them away.

No, I thought. You are not going to do this Maya. This isn’t happening right now. Stop it!

I reach over to grab the bottle of body wash from the shelf inside the shower...    

And that’s when I saw it. The tan line on my finger, now completely visible on my left hand that just a few hours ago bore my beautiful oval cut diamond engagement ring. 

The ring that he claimed to have been carrying around in his suitcase for months, hoping to find that right moment that never seemed to come. 

Until the night of WrestleMania, just mere seconds after winning his WWE World Heavyweight Championship, he would look over to Joey Mercury and trade him his newly won title for a small black box. He would get down on one knee and take my hand in his. And then, in front of Vince McMahon and everyone else currently occupying the Guerilla, would ask me to spend the rest of my life with him. 

Now that hand was bare. The ring was gone, given or rather thrown back to him after what had happened.

And just like that, my world came crumbling down. That false sense of reality I had created since leaving the arena had finally collided with actual reality and smacked me dead in the face.

Seth, my first love, the man I was set to marry in less than two months… had cheated on me. And I had caught him tonight. 

Three years of my life, our life together, all gone in a flash. Our plans for the future, children, traveling the world… were all just illusions and fantasies that would never come true.  

My legs carried me backward until my back hit the wall of the shower and I slid down. A wave of nausea swirls all around my empty stomach and my chest tightened like someone was stomping on it repeatedly. The first sob that left my mouth was quiet, nothing short of a small childlike whimper as the tears fell. But more and more as reality continued to sink in, they grew louder. The tears flowed more, so much so that I couldn’t tell what were tears and what was just water from the showerhead. 

My body sank more and more into the ground that before I knew it I had curled myself into a ball, crying into my chest as the water turned from warm to cold. 

But I didn’t care. My head swam with half-formed regrets. My heart felt as if my blood had turned into tar as it struggled to keep a steady beat. 

I was emotionally bankrupt. There was nothing left to feel, nothing left to say, nothing left but the void that now enveloped me in swirling blackness.

And it was all because of him.  

END.   

[fandom-collective-writers]

Reader x Le Comte de Saint Germain {IkeVam} - Letters to You

Title: Letters to You

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Character: Le Comte de Saint Germain

Genre: hOHOHOHOHOho smut

Warnings: sexy sex

Kinks: 18th century sexting: the telegraph, masturbating, biting (vampire biting), slight (very slight) choking, sensual ??? idk , internal cumshot, prob some other things idk

Intended Gender Audience: Female Audience 

Word Count: 2290 words

POV: second person

Request: “I see youve started without me”  by non

Written by: @mythiica​

Other comments: HAH that was entertaining to write, sorry im late! 

Before he left, Comte told you that he would only be traveling for a few days at most. He flashed you one of his irresistible smiles and his canines even sparkled in the lights. Like a gentleman, Comte embraced you tightly before stepping into the carriage and waving goodbye. 

          That was a week ago, and you are starting to get anxious now. 

         The moment you make it down the stairs, you call out for Sebastian and ask if any news about Comte has come. You know that he is getting tired of your antics – constantly inquiring about any mail or telegraphs from him – but instead of scowling at you, Sebastian extends a gloved hand and presents you with a slip of yellow paper. 

         Finally, news from Comte! 

         “Thank you, Sebastian!” you call over your shoulder as you run back upstairs. As you clutch the paper to your chest, you can even smell his scent embedded in the parchment. It is hard to mistake the beautiful combination of sharp earl grey tea mixed with the sublte sweetness of pastries and pen ink. It comforts you to have it in your hands, and you know that whatever message he has sent you is very important. 

         Back inside your room, you throw yourself across the bed, undoing Sebastian’s hard work to make it, an you tear open the envelop to pull out the letter. Your name is written in fine penmenshap across the length of the paper, making your heart ache for Comte. Upon beginning to read, it is almost as if you can hear your lover’s voice in your ear. 

We have just passed through Romania from the east, and are headed back to the mansion. I warn you that my excursion might take longer than anticipated, mainly because of a storm that hit us in Moldova. Do not worry though, I will be back before you know it. 

         You had heard about the strange and powerful thunderstorm that blew through eastern Europe, but you are happy to know that Comte is well and safe. Brushing your finger over the cursive, you realize that the telegraph is dated three days ago. Perhaps it got lost and was not delivered in time? You hang on to the notion that, perhaps, Comte has sent you another message and that it will arrive later today. 

         As you go to set down the paper, another sheet comes loose from the back. The handwriting is less neat than his normal script, but you can still make it out. 

         I have to admit that I absolutely long for you. Although it has only been a few days since we last saw each other, my heart grows weary with every passing moment. Sometimes, there is a rush of warm air that sweeps through my chambers, and I imagine it to be your aura watching over me. But the other, less innocent notion, also crosses my mind, and I have indulged myself this evening. 

         This is for your eyes only, ma cherie, and I know it will bring you joy to read this from me: not only do I miss your beautiful smile and the sound of your laughter in the morning, but I desire the desperation that sparkls when our limbs entwine in front of the fireplace. How long has it been since I had the chance to see you unravel?

         Your breath catches in your throat, and you have to stop reading for a moment to shift your legs and squeeze them together. This second letter, obviously more personal and… dirty… was Comte sexting you? Late eighteenth century style sexting, albeit, but the heat of arousal is already tempting you to satisfy yourself like Comte has. 

         It does not feel the same if it is not you giving me this carnal pleasure… your hands are much softer than my own and, by some kind of magic, you seem to know exactly what I need in the moment. It is beyond shameful to admit that I am consumed by this passion, and that it has lead me to do unspeakable things to the pillow… ah, and now the rush of embarassment. I wish that I could have brought you with me on this trip, for not only would you have the chance to witness the countryside in its winter glory, but I would also ensure to keep you warm during the night. 

         Without realizing, you have slipped your hand down past the elastic of your skirt to press against your underwear. There is already an obvious wet spot, and to think that Comte can do this to you from just a written message… you begin to share his fantasy and give in to desire. There is no harm in doing so, after all, he still has to return home. It feels heavenly to grind against anything, even if it is not your Comte. 

         I sometimes what is hotter: the crackling fire or inside of you. Surely, when I dip my fingers into your heat, it boils my blood and goes up my arm until I feel your burning warmth everywhere. It is not enough just to imagine it because there is nothing on this earth that compares to you as your walls clench around me. The lit in your voice teases me, but it soon melts into moans when I coax your release faster and faster. What a beautiful sound and what a heavenly sight: you, beneath me, unraveled and marked with the white stains of my love. 

         His words flow like poetry and seemingly guide your hand to follow the motions he describes. Your wetness welcomes your fingers with ease, and you contort your body in every direction, searching for the position that allows you to touch yourself more. Spreading your legs seems to be the best option as you delve your digits deeper into your core. 

         You very well know that I was against biting you at first, but upon doing it for the first time, it was like we were merging together in more ways than just physically. The blood – your blood – ignited me, and I knew that we were meant to be together. Not only our bodies, but our hearts and souls together. Can you feel my emotions as I write this? I sincerely hope you can, because I miss you so very much. We will see each other soon, ma cherie. 

         Now, you give in to the pleasure of the flesh, and every other sound is drowned out by your gasps for air and your drawn out moans. The room already smells like sex, but you wish it would smell like his cologne. Turning your head to his pillow, you bury your nose against it as your fingers rub your most sensitive spot. Bliss envelops you just like it does when he is the one giving it to you. It is wonderful – your release – and it sends you higher than you have gone on your own before. 

         As you remove your fingers from inside of you, you feel the slick dribbling down your inner thighs until they drip onto the bedsheets. Giggling at the mess you’ve made, you turn back to reach for the letter to read it again, but it is not there. 

         You turn over, looking for it, and think that maybe in the excitment of everything, it fell off the bed. From the corner of your eye, you see a whisp of a shadow and a flash of yellow. 

         “I see you’ve started without me, ma cherie–”

         At first, you cannot believe that he’s standing in front of you. When you go to sit up and get out of bed, Comte holds out a hand, signalling to stop. The next moment, he is by your side. Comte brushes your hair back with one hand and starts removing his jacket with the other one. “I thought you would read that before I arrived home, but this is even better than I anticipated.” 

         You are compelled to look directly into his beautiful eyes – it is not that you would want to look at anything else, but you do not realize that his shirt is off until he presses his chest flush against yours. The next second, Comte is whispering how much he missed you as his belt clinks off. Snapping back into reality, you fumble with his trousers until they too land on the floor in an abandoned pile. 

         “Ah, yes, this is what I have been missing...” Comte’s voice is hot and heavy, and now that his own clothes are gone, he works at your bodice to remove it completely. You had gotten off while still wearing everything, and when his gaze falls to the wet spot that had soaked through the fabric of your skirt, Comte laughs heartidly. “How interesting. To think my words made you this wet. I do not know to be impressed with my own skill or yours~” 

         “Comte!”

         His fingers lace across your throat as he leans over you, raw emotions seeping through his teeth as he nips your jaw. “Yes, do call my name like that. I think I longed for your voice the most of anything…” Comte drags his tongue across your neck, searching for your pulse like he forgot where it is in the time that he was away. Upon finding it, your lover suckles on it. His hand slips between your legs simultaneously to pull your thigh back, giving him space to grind against you. 

         “P-Please, I’ve been waiting so long for you!” you hiccup as you drag your nails acorss his back. A groan rumbles in the back of his throat – a sign of his own pleasure. You do it again to entice him and coax out another moan. 

         “Tell me, did you like my letters?” 

         “Yes!” 

         Applying the slightest big more pressure, Comte smiles, his fangs winking in the lamplight. They enter your flesh the same time his cock enters your wetness. It is a glorious sensation: the fluid motions of his tongue as it rolls over the puncture marks and the powerful thrusts that send your toes curling. A hand flies into Comte’s hair, and you tangle your fingers in his caramel locks to hold on to him, to ensure that this is not a dream. 

         He grips your thigh in such a way that you know there will be spots of beautiful purple left on your skin. You can already feel the knot building up in the pit of your stomach, but Comte is far from done with you. 

         Cuping your face gently, Comte runs his fingers over your cheek to brush your hair out of the way. His gaze is so loving and deep, you feel like you could get lost in the amber alone. Your hand falls to his jaw and you do the same to him before sitting up slightly. Your breasts are flush with his as you nuzzle against Comte. 

         He continues to thrust into you mercilessly, but the two of you are suspended in a loving moment. Having been reunited now, you cling to him and teeth on his earlobe. “Bite me again, Comte… I trust you, and I’ve missed you so so much.” 

         Obeying your command, Comte dips his head to the marks already at your pulse so he can run his tongue over it again. He presses dainty kisses down your neck, all the way to your collarbone where he bites you once more. This time, he is more gentle, but you are still hit with a wave of pleasure that makes you moan joyfully. 

         You squirm under his firm grip, making some of the blood run down to the bed. Comte catches it with a swift lick before the crimson has a chance to stain the pillowcase. “Careful..” he whispers as his lips fixate against the new puncture marks to suck on you. 

         Mewling, you shift your hips in such a way that allows Comte to bury himself deeply into you. His tip rubs against the spot that makes you unravel instantly – as he repeatedly thrusts against it, you entwine your fingers with his. “Comte, I’ve–” 

         “Sh, ma cherie, I know. And you are so beautiful.” 

         You remember his letter in the moment and clench harder around his length because you want him to climax with you. Comte moans and leans back slightly, giving you a full view of his muscular chest. He rakes his fingers through his hair and continues to thrust into you, dragging your orgasm out longer. A line of blood trickles down his lower lip, so you reach up to catch it with your thumb. 

         Comte grasps your hand and laps at your digit. You moan again, and Comte smirks before coming down to kiss you once more. He tenses a final time and releases inside of you. Crying out, Comte shushes you gently and nuzzles against your cheek. “Ma cherie, how wonderful it is to be home..”

         There is a moment where everything is still and Comte still covers you with his body. But he shifts and takes his place next to you. His seed trickles out of you, making you feel incredibly dirty, but Comte pulls your leg over his hip to hold you close. 

         “You were supposed to receive those earlier than today, but I must say, I am not dismayed in the slightest.” 

         Pressing a hand against his chest, you nuzzle close to Comte and pull the blankets up over your shoulder. Comte gives you a quick kiss across the bite marks before holding you close. “Next time I leave, shall I send you more messages like that?” 

         “No, take me with you. I’ll keep you warm,” you reply with a grin. 

[bluezey]

Renaissance Faire

Ian and Barley take their little sister Judy to the Renaissance Faire.  In the midsts of having a good time, Barley helps Ian figure things out at a clothing bazaar.

Tried to get a good balance with Ian, as he’s just discovering some things about himself, but is afraid he’ll get teased for it.  It was a little trickier this time around, but I think I kept it in character and away from being offensive.  If I do offend, I apologize.

It was a mild Saturday afternoon in autumn.  Colt had to work and Laurel wanted to rest, so the Lightfoot brothers were responsible with babysitting their five year old elftaur sister Judith.  Since it’s the season, and it just opened this weekend, Ian and Barley decided to bring Judy along to the Renaissance Faire.  The brothers have been going together since their quest, but now Judy can tag along and enjoy it with them.  Barley was dressed in his adventurer outfit, Ian was wearing his normal everyday clothes and carrying his wizard staff, and Judy was dressed in her green Princess Kenna dress from Pretty Pretty Centaurs.

Even with watching a five year old and having to enjoy more of the kiddie things, the day started out great.  They went to the stables to see the dragons and griffins, Judy even got to pet one. They saw blacksmiths, glassblowers, leather workers, and weavers.  They got to see an actual joust, but had to leave early when one of the jousters fell off his dragon steed and Judy got scared.  After a quick lunch at the food court, the trio ran into a few wandering performers, one claiming he was doing “magic” when it was really simple tricks.  It was when Judy proclaimed that his big brother Ian was a wizard too that Ian sheepishly showed off a few spells of his own, really wowing the crowd with actual magic.  Ian felt just as embarrassed as the pouting performer.  He didn’t mean to upstage the guy, but Barley and Judy did so much encouraging that it was drawing a crowd, and it got pretty awkward.

The brothers were on their way to the arts and crafts section when Judy caught sight of something and ran into the bazaar, with Ian and Barley chasing after her.  They checked a shop or two when Barley found Judy in a tent selling clothing and jewelry and called Ian over.  Ian caught up to catch the little elftaur happily fawning over an adult sized princess dress so extravagant and expensive that it was displayed under glass.

“It’s so pretty!  I want it!” Judy exclaimed.

“I’m afraid that’s a little out of our price range,” Barley admitted.

Judy pouted, stomping her hoof into the ground.  “I want it!”

“It’s too big for you,” Ian said, hoping that truth will end her tantrum.

Judy finally realized this and her face fell.  Her elf ears perked up, she looked at the dress and then back at Ian.  “I bet Iandelle would look pretty in it.”

Ian’s eyes grew wide, he gripped his staff with both hands as he quickly darted around the tent, seeing if anyone he knew was in there.  Just a cyclops dressed in medieval commoner clothes at the register, and he wasn’t paying much attention.  It’s not like the cyclops knew Ian’s little identity anyhow, but he didn’t want anyone outside of the family to put the pieces together and realize that he spends his play time with Judy in an actual dress.

Barley could catch Ian’s fears and told Judy.  “I’m sure she would, Judy.  Why don’t you go to the children’s clothes over there?  We’ll be over here.”

Judy trotted off to the racks of children’s costumes as Ian and Barley made their way to the men’s costume section.  As they ducked between two racks, Ian gave a shaking sigh of relief.

“You know,” Barley commented in a quiet voice, “you really gotta calm down.  It’s cute how you do girly stuff with Judy.”

“I don’t want people to know about that,” Ian replied back in a hushed tone.

“Who cares?” Barley shrugged.

“I do!” Ian looked over the racks, the cashier was still bored and Judy was fiddling with some play dresses.  Ian pretended to leaf through some of the male costumes, and Barley followed suit.  “Do you have any idea what would happen if someone found out?  My social life would be over.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, Ian, it’s not the dark ages,” Barley said.  “It’s modern day.  Times have changed.  Guys can wear dresses.”

“I have a bad enough time with some people treating my crap as it is,” Ian debated.  “If word got out that I spend some time at home in dresses and stockings-“

“Ian,” Barley commented sternly.  “You’re acting a little transphobic.”

Ian stammered, trying to explain what he meant by that.  “I- I’m no- I mean-“  Losing focus of where he was, Ian accidentally walked into a mannequin, knocking it over, along with himself, to the ground.

That got the cyclops’s attention.  “Hey!” The cyclops started storming over there. Ian panicked, grabbed a random piece of clothing off a nearby rack and covered his feet up to his calves with it. “You better not be stealing anything in here!” the cyclops snapped as he approached the two.

“I’m okay,” Ian replied sourly, realizing the cyclops was worried if they were thieves rather than if Ian was hurt.

“And watch your damn kid! I’m not a babysitter!”  The cyclops turned and stormed back to his post.

“Language!  She’s five!” Barley shouted back.

Ian sighed, then tensed up as he felt Barley tug the piece of clothing off his legs.  “No no, I got it,” he stammered, reaching for the tunic.

Barley completely pulled it away, revealing Ian’s lower legs.  Ian was wearing his usual denim jeans and blue sneakers, but in his sitting position his pant legs pulled up a bit, revealing the white stockings underneath. They were white and plain, so they looked like socks when they completely covered Ian’s legs, but when his ankles were exposed, it was pretty obvious.

“Dude.”  Barley looked up at Ian.

“I- I was out of socks,” Ian lied.  Barley gave a look, he clearly knew Ian was lying.  Ian sighed, crossing his arms, resting them on his knees.  “I use my regular voice when I’m ‘Iandelle,’” he quietly admitted, so quiet only Barley could hear.  “I don’t even like wearing the dress.  But… I like the feel of the stockings… and lately I’ve been enjoying how good the lipstick looks on me, and…”  Ian sighed. “… I don’t know what I am.”

Barley paused after Ian confessed to him.  He placed a comforting hand on Ian’s shoulder.  “Hey.  You’re Ian.”

“But I don’t know who I am,” Ian repeated.

“You just told me,” Barley replied.  “You’re a guy who likes some girly stuff.”

“But what if someone finds out?”

“Who cares?”

“I do!” Ian quietly shouted, frustrated with the whole situation as he rubbed his head with the heels of his palms.

Barley sat up on his heels, thinking for a moment.  He then got an idea, jumped up onto his feet and walked away.  Ian was left alone for a moment, wiping a frustrating tear from his eye before climbing up on his feet.  He placed the mannequin back upright and brushed the dirt and grass off of its outfit, as the floor is just the ground of the field that the faire sets their tents up every year.  He turned around and jumped back to see Barley inches from his face.  Barley was grinning from pointy ear to ear, like he had something he couldn’t wait to show Ian.  “… what?”

Barley revealed what he had behind his back.  On a simple hanger was a green plaid fabric.

Ian was confused.  “A skirt?”

“A kilt,” Barley explained.

“A kilt?” Ian was more confused.

“You never heard of a kilt before?” Barley asked, surprised.  “Guys wear them.”

“So even though I don’t like princess dresses,” Ian replied, still confused, “you gave me a skirt.”

Barley rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to show you that guys wear ‘girly’ stuff too.  In the olden days, guys would wear these.  In some kingdoms, it was traditional.  Soldiers would wear them.  Hell, I think in one kingdom, only guys could wear them.”

Ian was eyeing the kilt again, only less oddly.  “Huh.”

Barley shoved the clothing into Ian’s arm.  “Just try it on.”

“How?” Ian asked.

Barley pointed behind Ian. In the corner was an area blocked off by a few sheets, with a simple marker written sign that read ‘dressing room.’

“Oh,” Ian replied.

“I’ll go check on Judy. I’ll check on you in a minute.” Barley ran off before Ian could respond.

Hesitating at first for how he was just left there so quickly, Ian stepped into the dressing room. It was a simple corner of the tent, the floor was grass, the walls were tarp or fabric.  There was a scratched up wooden stool in one corner, and a full length mirror in the other.  Ian closed the curtain and hung the kilt over the mirror, followed by leaning his staff against it.  He kicked off his shoes, took off his jeans and placed them on the stool.  He then put on the kilt.  While it was made to look like it was wrapped around his waist and held up by a black leather belt, it slipped on like a skirt and had a zipper on the side.  He looked in the mirror, then just stared into it as he realized his red flannel shirt clashed furiously with the green plaid kilt.  Thankfully he was wearing a plain white tshirt underneath, so he took off his red shirt.

“You done in there?” Barley called out from the other side of the curtain.

Ian was checking the kilt out in the mirror.  It hung down to just under his knees, and it didn’t look half bad.  “Yeah.”

“Then let’s see it!” Barley said.

“Yeah!” Judy added.

Ian hesitantly slouched over.  After a moment, he peeked his head out from behind the curtain.  Still no one, and the cyclops wasn’t paying attention.  Ian pulled the curtain away, but didn’t dare to step out of the dressing room.

“You look great!” Judy exclaimed with a big smile.

Ian grinned nervously. “R-really?”

Barley looked sideways at the white stockings.  “Hold on.” Barley ran off, but was quickly back with a pair of knee high socks.  Ian took them and closed the curtain.  A minute later, he opened the curtain and glared at Barley.  “Really?”  Ian looked down at the thick white cotton socks.  Each sock had a small black tassel just below Ian’s knees, sewn to the hem.

Barley rolled his eyes. “They’re men’s socks, Ian.  And it’s either this or the stockings.”

“Shh!”  Ian quickly looked at the cyclops, but he didn’t move, hopefully that means he didn’t hear that.

“So are we getting it?” Judy asked.  “I got one too!” she added, happily holding up a pink princess play dress with ruffled rose colored sleeves.

Barley added, “I checked the price on both of them.  We can afford it.”

Ian exhaled as he thought about it.  “Okay.”

“Great!”  Barley pulled the price tag off the kilt.  “Put your shoes on.  You can wear that out of the store.”

“Outside??” Ian took a double take in a panic.

“Guys wear kilts, Ian,” Barley repeated himself.  “For Feldar’s sake, we walked by at least two guys wearing them today.”

Ian blinked, not remembering that he saw that.  “We did?”

“Yeah.”  Barley took Judy by the hand and they both went to the register to make their purchases.

While still unsure, that thought put his mind at ease.  He closed the curtain, took off the socks, picked up his shirt after hiding his stockings inside them, and put on his shoes.  He then met up with Barley and Judy just as they finished making their purchases.

Judy hugged Ian, clinging to his waist because of her short five year old height.  “Now Princess Kenna has a guard!”

“Huh?” Ian asked, confused.

Judy explained, “Princess Kenna comes from a kingdom where her guards wear those skirts.”

“They’re called kilts, Judy,” Barley quickly explained.

“Oh, right.  Kilts,” Judy corrected herself.

“And Princess Kenna likes boy stuff like dirt and archery.”  Barley turned and told both Judy, as well as Ian, “If girls can like boy stuff, boys can like girl stuff.”

“I like dirt.”  Judy smiled.

Barley patted Judy’s head, ruffling her brown hair.  “That’s my girl.”

Ian smiled at Barley as he tucked his shirt, and the hiding stockings, into the paper bag with Judy’s newly bought play dress.  Barley and Judy left the clothing tent, with Ian close behind them, as if trying to hide behind them.  With each step through the bazaar, Ian was growing more nervous.  But, with each step away from the bazaar, on their way to arts and crafts, Ian grew a little more collected.  It was a strange feeling, walking through the fairgrounds, feeling the air on his powder blue legs, but the thick fabric of the kilt constantly reminding him he’s basically in a skirt.  And yet barely anyone seemed to notice or care.  One or two people would look up at Ian, but then quickly look back down.  A voice in his head was claiming they were judging Ian, they may be even making fun of him when he’s not looking.  But, he knew better that they paid no mind to Ian.  To them, Ian was just another person who dressed up for the faire.

The arts and crafts section was pretty fun, though messy cause of all the kids playing with glue, glitter, construction paper and other messy items.  Judy didn’t mind getting dirty, which led to Barley having to clean her off with a wet wipe before they left the area.  Before they did, Judy made a few drawings, and even had a surprise for Ian and Barley.

“Kneel, good sirs,” Judy proclaimed, instantly playing make believe as Princess Kenna.

“I can only kneel so far in this thing,” Ian chuckled as he bent forward with his hands holding down his kilt, Barley kneeling like a noble knight.

Judy then placed a daisy crown on each of her big brother’s heads.  The crowns were made of paper and pipe cleaners, but they were flowers all right.

“Thank you, fair Kenna,” Barley played along as he rose to his feet, Ian chuckling as he rose to his. Ian adjusted his crown nervously, but not so awkward about it when Barley was wearing one, and Judy placing her own daisy crown on her head.

After listening to a few tales of yore from some story telling entertainers, the three decided to call it a night.  The brothers made it to the van before Judy got too tired to walk, thankfully, as her horse half was making the elftaur too big for even Barley to carry these days. Judy climbed into the back of Guinevere the Second and immediately fell asleep.  Ian and Barley climbed into the front, with Ian keeping his legs together in his new kilt.

Ian took off his daisy crown and ran his fingers through his fluffy hair.  “That was a fun day,” he commented as he tucked the crown into the paper bag in front of his feet.

“Same time next year?” Barley half joked as he backed the van out and drove out of the dirt parking lot.

“Oh yeah,” Ian replied, as the van made it onto the modern paved road, starting their journey back home. “I’ll even wear the kilt.”

“Cool,” Barley smiled. “Think you can wear the kilt outside of the Renn Faire?”

Ian shook his head.  “Oh, no,” he chuckled with a smile.

Barley gave Ian a smirk and a sideways glance before merging onto the expressway.  Today was a great day.

----

Author’s note: raise your hand if you figured out that Princess Kenna is their realm’s Princess Merida?

[slxyangel]

Hangers Down (Axl Rose x Reader)

Summary: Usual hookups in unusual places.

Wordcount: 2k

Warnings: Barely any, except for smut and a bit of cursing.

A/N: This was requested AGES AGO by @axl80s​ and I finally fucking did it. I’m so sorry hun, I hope you like it :)

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

Masterlist: https://twitter.com/ReadehFreddeh/status/1185626889144147969?s=20

He came home to a stark naked, recently showered version of you who was leaving the towel on the bed and ready to put on lotion with her back towards the door of the room. The first thing he did when he entered the house was leaving the jacket in the living room, so now his hands and attention were free to admire the glorious vision he had in front of his eyes.

He leaned against the threshold, quietly and with an amused expression, not wanting to give away his presence there. You were so engaged in your tasks you hadn't realized you had a red-haired spy behind you. He loved moments like these, seeing you do simple stuff, absorbed in your own world and thoughts, unbothered, uninterrupted, natural. Oh, and besides, you were naked and wet, that was definitely a plus to the combination.

You were on your feet fondling your legs, up and down, unconsciously offering Axl quite a spectacle of your ass in the process. Then came the arms, which you rubbed promptly, nothing fancy, and then the front of your torso. Your hair was out of the way in a poor attempt of a bun, only picked up enough so that it didn’t bother. From his point of view, there was basically a bare back with it’s correspondent bare ass, and a pair of elbows bending and unbending so that two hands he couldn’t see reached every corner of what he wanted to touch. Thanks to this, he wasn’t surprised when he felt his erection growing against the fabric of his jeans. Well, he was, but only because of how long it took to happen. Two minutes, impressive.

Once you were done and turned around to get your panties from the drawer you literally jumped at the sight of him standing there, against the open door with a smile that was up for no good.

- Go on, don’t mind me -- he said, without moving a muscle.

- JESUS! You scared me, Axl. What do you want??? To kill me???

Your hands, that had traveled to two strategic places (and had been pretty unsuccessful on their task, to be honest), fell to both sides of your body once you identified the intruder as your boyfriend.

- Believe me babe, there is a set of things that I want to do to you right now, and killing you isn’t one of them.

You snorted and shook your head. An amused sigh escaped your lips and you made your way to your aim, the wardrobe. After you opened the door but before you reached the drawer, a pair of cold hands held your hips from behind and spun you around, 180º. He wasn’t moving fast, so even though you had plenty of time to get away from his mischievous intentions, you didn’t do it until his lips were already against yours. You moved your neck backwards with your eyes still closed and a sort of smile easing your features. That left him with plenty of space to shift down to your neck and bite it. Your hands were on his shoulders, putting the slightest pressure to pull him apart, though you let him do. But when he started sucking on that sweet spot in the crook of your neck, the one he knew for a fact drove you crazy, you had to stop him before the already growing heat inside of you became a more serious and less undoable issue.

- Stooop, I have to go to work -- you said, increasingly unconvinced.

- At seven p.m.? -- His raspy voice sounded muffled since he hadn’t really listened to you and had gone back to misbehaving above your collarbone.

- Yes, Axl. I have the night shift this week, remember? -- you spoke as you tried to get away from him with difficulty, mostly given that you were trapped between the wardrobe and a very insistent Axl.

- Nope, I don’t remember.

He grabbed your ass with both hands and squeezed it until you had no choice but to stand on your tiptoes and get closer to him, all your bare front brushing against his body. His lips were hovering above yours without touching them more than a couple of times, deliberately. You didn’t want to give in to the kiss, but as much as you tried to fight against it, your eyes were just about to close. The fucker knew exactly how to play his cards. He let go of your right butcheek only to come at it again with renewed force, slapping the flesh to make a filthy sound that filled the room.

- I just had a shower…

- Don’t worry, I’ll just lick you clean.

And just like that, he lifted you up from your butt and dropped you on top of the drawers, seating you between all the hanged clothes. Even a few hangers fell down, but he didn’t seem to care, and at this point you didn’t either. He was only focused on three things: bending down, spreading your thighs apart with his hands and eating the everloving hell out of you.

His mouth had no mercy, it moved through every single inch of you with a dexterity that had you whimpering his name and holding onto both the fabric around you and his hair. He was fast and efficient, as if he was phisically hungry. You could feel the fluids starting to drip off of you, and in any other occasion you would have been worried about wetting the furniture and the clothes inside of it, but seriously, your mind wasn’t in no shape for thinking anything besides how good he was making you feel. He went from sucking on your clit to entering you with his tongue, and you couldn’t help but squirm on your seat. His arms couldn’t do much to keep your legs separated, so he finally gave up and let you close them around his head, pressing your flesh against his ears. The pleasure was too much to handle, but he wasn’t stopping or slowing down, though you could feel him smiling against your center. Your cries filled the room as he kept up his steady, desperate rhythm and you came on his mouth with a loud and filthy moan. The muscles in your back contracted and your head fell back, but your legs didn’t seem willing to give up any of the pressure you were putting on Axl, who was running out of air. He lightly tapped your right thigh with his hand, twice or three times, and when you realized where you were and what was happening, you freed him, lowkey worried and still lightheaded.

- I’m sorry -- you mumbled, with a shy smile on your face.

- Don’t be, that was hot.

You looked at him, with his lips all swollen and wet and his hair extremely out of place, and when you finished the scanner you thought it must have definitely been hot, because of how big the bulge in his pants had grown. Now your shy smile became a surprised yet a pretty greedy one.

- You like what you see? -- he asked, teasing you.

- Fuck me. Now.

You didn’t know if he was expecting a “Yes” or a “No, I’d like it better if you took off your clothes”, but you had run out of patience. Still seating inside the wardrobe, you grabbed the t-shirt he had on and got rid of it as he took off his belt and his pants. You started kissing him fiercely, tasting your own flavor in his mouth and getting turned on again. Well, not that you had been “turned off” at any point. Once he was naked he grabbed your ass the same way he had done minutes before and lifted you up, carrying you to the bed. Those scarce two meters were glorious; the feeling of his hard tip brushing against your wet core gave you a sneak peek of what was coming next.

He laid you on your back and positioned himself on top of you, between your legs. Thin strands of his red hair tickled your shoulders, neck and face, making you giggle to the contact. Your hands grazed down his sides, and when you reached his ass, you squeezed it and rose up your hips, urging him to enter you. I mean, you were already soaking, and he was already hard, so what was the wait for? Suffering? He read your thoughts and lined up with your entrance with the help of your own hand. The very second he entered in contact with your warmth, he thrust into you with the same eagerness he had eaten you out with, and began a series of swift motions that had you repeatedly pushed against the headboard.

You could barely explain what you felt, the sensation of your deepest space clenching around his length was one you would probably never get used to and you most definitely would never get enough of. With each push he seemingly reached new levels of depth, and you kissed him as a prize. Your eyes were closed, but you knew exactly where and how everything was: the bed unmade, sheets and towel wrinkled at his feet; his arms at both sides of your head, one pressing the pillow and the other caressing your hair; his knees on the mattress, your legs over his ass; he locked up your body and you locked up his. You also felt the way he moved his mouth to your ear and whispered “Look at me” with the softest of voices, contrasting with how hard and good he was fucking you.

So you did, you opened your eyes and sensed how his thrusts became unsteady as much as he tried to fight it. The feeling was great, so pleasant, so intimate, but you knew you weren’t even half as close to your own orgasm as you had been a while ago, so you decided to enjoy it your own way. You cradled his face with both hands, looking at him with sweet eyes and, no words spoken, gave him your permission. He had a little frown on his face due to the effort and concentration, and he lightly shook his head in denial. He wanted to make you feel good, but he didn’t seem to notice that that felt as awesome as it could get; you being the one who made him lose control… there were no words to explain such a feeling. He was trying, he was really trying, as if it was a matter of pride, but the instinct was stronger than him for once and he sank one more time into you, letting himself go. His head lowered and hid in the crook of your neck, releasing the most harmonious sounds ever, and you stroke his hair until he came back down from his place in paradise.

He stayed there, quiet, for a little while, enjoying what was left of his orgasm and inhaling your scent. You enjoyed yourself too, feeling him inside of you and telling your inner lioness to calm down and breathe, but a sudden movement made your mind snap out of there. He pulled away from your chest and propped himself up in the bed, still looking at you. Then, as if that last minute of relaxation had never happened, he lowered himself and sank his head between your legs. You were absolutely confused, but his tongue dancing down there left little to no space in your brain to formulate coherent sentences. Then, as if he had read in your mind the words he knew he wasn’t letting you speak, he mumbled:

- I said I was gonna lick you clean.

[smol-and-grumpy]

Better Than Fiction

This fic is a re-post.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Summary: You were reading Dean Winchester fan fictions to pass the time. The fic is still very much on your mind when Jensen came home. So much that you let things slip out of your mouth that should have stayed inside.

Warnings: Smut (dirty talk, masturbation, daddy kink (?))

WC: 2228

Fiction is in italics.

She sits on the edge of the bed, her wetness sweeping onto the bed sheet, probably ruining it, but she couldn’t care less. Dean undresses himself before her very eyes and her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip at the sight. The dim light from the motel’s bedside lamp illuminates the room, bringing out the muscle in Dean’s perfect sculptured body when he finally turns to her, letting her see all of him. All of his adonis-like body that was covered with little scars and she loves each and everyone of them. Some of them, she helped patching up, some of them, were from her, from the time when she went dark and tried to kill him. But every time Dean would bring her back, his voice would soothe the way and guide her back from the darkness into light.

You let out an audible sigh, gripping tight at your phone as you felt a tingly sensation running down your spine and ending up at your core. The writer wasn’t wrong. You always felt speechless when you saw Jensen naked. He had less scars than Dean, but he’s not a hunter now, was he? He just played one on television.

He walks closer. Slowly making his way over to her. Too slowly for her liking but what can she do about it. Dean likes to take his time. Always had. He moves as if he’s the predator and she was his prey. And honestly, she’s more than ok with that. His chest heaving and sinking with every breath he takes. His eyes dark with lust and his lips curves into a smile that means nothing but trouble.

Oh, god, yes.

Your fingers scrolled down on your phone display, eager to read more. Jensen liked to take his time too, but only if said time is available. Normally it’s much quicker but only because they were both so turned on and honestly, the weekends when he’s home, time can be a real bitch and it’s more of a rush. You really can’t wait for the hiatus. Anticipating the slow love making that could drag on for days.

It shouldn’t surprise her anymore to find his body sprinkled with faint freckles. But it always does. It never ceases to amaze her and she always hoped that he’ll let her play connect the dots when they were done.

These writers really have wide imagination. But again, they ain’t wrong.

Dean cups her chin with his index finger and thumb to tilt her head up to be able to look into his beautiful emerald eyes. ‘You ready for Daddy, baby girl?’ He asks, his voice raspy and full of need. And she looks up to him, her eyes sparkling with want.

Fuck.

Daddy? Were you really going to go there? When you clicked on the fan fiction, you didn’t notice the Daddy Kink tag and now you’re too invested to get out. But do you really wanna get out, though? It was weird already, reading a fic about Dean. Well, not really weird but it’s actually Jensen who plays Dean and if he knew, he’d probably be mad. Or maybe he’d laugh at you. You don’t know but you really want to see where this is going. You bite down on your bottom lip, contemplating if you should carry on with what you started. “Oh fuck it,” You muttered to yourself as your thumb dragged the fan fiction to the next page.

‘Yes, Daddy,’ She swallows down the excess saliva that build up in her mouth. Dean’s cock is just inches from her face, the smell of precum intruding but so alluring, ‘I want you, I want my Daddy to fuck my face and then I want you to fuck me senseless…please,’

Oh boy, you were really going there, weren’t you?

You sat upright on the couch, your heart beating just a fraction faster than before and you could feel the stickiness dripping out of your core. Getting off the couch, you walked up to the bedroom, thinking about reading the rest in bed where you could do things to you, because this fan fiction is a whole other level.

‘That’s right,’ Dean grins his predatory grin, ‘tell me what you want me to do to you, baby girl. What you want Daddy to do to you,’ He waves his erection in front of her lips and moves a little closer, the precum smeared tip now grazing her lips, painting on it like lipstick with a liquid so sticky sweet, ‘Do you want Daddy’s cock? Want Daddy to fuck you good, plow that enormous dick into your tight little cunt, huh?’

Ok, but that almost made you giggle.

It was slightly too much dirty talk and Jensen would never say things like that, not that you wanted him to. And honestly, how do they know that Dean - well, Jensen - has a big dick? You wouldn’t use the word enormous, but yeah, it was big and it was glorious and just thinking about it made your skin prickle with anticipation. When will he be back? The flights got delayed and you’ve been waiting so long already and you don’t even know how you wound up looking for Supernatural fan fictions on the internet but here you were, adding fuel to your arousal that doesn’t seem to cease.

‘Open up, baby,’ Dean purrs and she did what she was told, opening up her mouth just enough for him to sink in the tip of his cock, the tang of precum salty weird but oh, so familiar on the tip of her tongue. She closes her lips around his head, sucking in all the precum she could, and Dean let out a growl of desperation. She opens up wider, enough for him to sink half of his cock into her wet, awaiting mouth, ‘yeah, that’s it, baby. Just like that, good girl. Always good for Daddy.’ She loves when he praises her, the praise sending arousal right to her core.

Of course she would be a good girl. Dammit. You got out of your pants and tossed them somewhere on the floor. Your panties followed suit and then you were lying there, clutching your phone in your one hand as the other one threaded through your slick, touching you where you wanted to be touched most, right in this moment.

“Babe, I’m home!”

The familiar rumbling bass of his voice came from downstairs, making you jolt up in bed. You tossed your phone next to you as you tried to scramble to your panties and jeans, putting them on before he would be here but it was too late. Damn him and his long legs and the way he always took three flights of stairs at a time.

The door swings open and a bearded, smiling Jensen was looking at you from underneath his cap. They wrapped up a little more than a week ago but he stayed behind to sort out some things with his apartment and honestly, this had been the longest you’ve been apart from him.

“What are you up to?” He came in and closed the door behind him as he dropped his cap onto the bed. You’ve had a hard time covering up your modesty, trying to act normal - well, as normal as you could with a bare crotch and the blush in your cheeks.

And Jensen knew, oh how he knew, because he was strolling over to your side of the bed with a stupid grin on his face.

“Babe, you couldn’t wait? Had to start the party without me?” He tried to sound disappointed but you knew that he wasn’t. Not in the slightest.

“I…uh…” Your brain worked overtime, trying to build up phrases that could get you out of this situation - or at least make it less embarrassing for you. You couldn’t tell him that you’ve read Dean fan fiction and it got you all hot and bothered, could you?

“I’m sorry, I was just… I’ve waited so long already,” You said, grinning as his hand caressed your legs. The touch was electrifying, making you weak in your knees and you were glad that you weren’t standing up.

Jensen moved you, scooting your ass close to the edge of the bed before he bent over you, his lips claiming your mouth as if it was his. It was, technically. Never been anybody else’s since he laid eyes on you. Never wanted to be anyone else’s.

“Fuck,” He growled low, the sound desperate and needy as he ground his clothed crotch into your soaking pussy, rubbing his erection against your wet heat and making you whimper something incoherent. What are words? They were too overrated, “I want to do so many things to you,” He kissed a trail down your jaw, “but I gotta be in you, feel your tight warmth, alright, baby?”

Was that a question you needed to answer? You didn’t know because you couldn’t.

Jensen’s shaking hands found his belt and undid it quickly, his fingers unbuttoning his pants hastily before he dragged the fabric of his jeans and underwear down, his leaking and very much big cock springing free, slapping wetly against his stomach.

He took his time to marvel at you, your dripping pussy glistening in the daylight that shone through the bedroom window. “I would love to taste that, but I’m going to do it later. Now? I just need to be inside of you.”

Fine by you, really.

Jensen fisted his hard cock, running it through your slick, coating the head of it with your juice before he lined up just at your entrance and sank in. Slowly at first until he was halfway in, making the both of you moan out. “So good,” He panted, pulling out again so that only the tip was still inside of you and you whimpered at the loss.

He looked you in the eye, smirking mischievously, before he pushed his hips forward, slamming home in one clean stroke, making you yelp and moan the word that should not be said aloud. “Ah..D-daddy…” It came out before you realized it and you quickly slammed your hands over your mouth, eyes wide agape as Jensen froze inside of you.

“What?” He asked, almost out of breath.

Your heart started to race and all the blood rushed up to your head.

“What?” You countered him, asking him the same question to distract him and you weren’t even sure if he heard it because your hands were still over your mouth.

“What did you just say?” Jensen was still inside of you, he lazily circled his hips just so he won’t get out of rhythm.

You knew that there’s no escape. He heard it and you will never be able to live this down. Oh, Jensen would make sure of that, alright. So the only rational thing to do is to remove your hands from your mouth and face the imminent embarrassment.

“I..uh…” You stammered, “I’m sorry, I read this Daddy Kink Dean fan fiction and I guess I couldn’t shake it off.”

He frowned at you at first because he told you before that he didn’t like for you to go snoop on the internet and read fan fictions. So, you were expecting that he would abort his mission and give you hell for doing it.

“Dean fan fiction? Really?” He asked, his movement completely stilled now.

“I’m sorry. In my defense, it wasn’t Jensen. It was Dean and he apparently likes to be called Daddy in that fan fiction and I was too invested to stop reading.” No matter what you would say, there’s no escape out of the hole you just dug yourself in.

Jensen said nothing for a whole minute and when he opened his mouth again, he started to chuckle, leaning down to kiss you. His tongue grazed at your teeth before he sucked in your bottom lip and opened up wider for him to claim your sweet mouth. He parted after, his forehead still resting on yours, “It’s ok. I didn’t know you’re into it.” He said gently, and then he stood upright, pulling at your top on the way up and twirled his fingers around your nipples, coaxing out moans that sounded a lot like ‘Daddy’ but you managed to bite on your tongue. He rested his hand on your thighs as he pushed them apart and up, almost folding you in half.

“I’m not!” You protested loudly.

“Really?” Jensen did the thing again, where he looked at you with raised eyebrows and that look in his eyes.

“Fuck…” You let out a frustrated groan, “..ok, yeah, maybe I do like it a little bit? Are you satisfied now?”

Jensen threw his head back and laughed out loud and it took him a moment to compose himself. He cleared his throat then, trying to speak but he was still laughing with tears in his eyes.

“I actually am satisfied with your confession, yes. Now, let’s see how many times Daddy can make you come, shall we, baby girl?” He winked and grinned devilishly, one of his hand cupped your pussy, thumbing at your nub before he pulled his dick out to just the tip again and slammed into you, making you choke out another “Daddy…”

[theonewiththefanfics]

Hawkins’ Charm (Part 6/?)

Synopsys: They had gotten out of Hawkins. After all the shit that had happened, all the heartache and pain, Billy and the Reader had gotten away from that hellhole, building their life in California as he had dreamed. But when Max’s graduation rolls around and they go to celebrate, it’s as if the Upside Down was just waiting for all of them to return. And it has a bone to pick.

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x f!Reader; platonic!Steve Harrington x f!Reader

Genre: angst, lil bit of fluff

Warnings: blood, mentions of injuries and death, fighting, swearing, implied stuff, smoking

Word count: 3319

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT CONDONE BILLY’S ACTIONS AND THE THINGS HE’S DONE! THIS IS BASICALLY AN AU, WHEN REALLY LOOKING AT IT! SPOILERS FOR S3! READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION!

Billy’s grip was crushing as he held onto Y/N’s limp body who'd been sedated by Joyce and Hopper with a tranquillizer. It had been against every word of his, but he could only glare at them as he maneuvered her out of the house and towards the Camaro. Next to it stood a big van, it sides a rust-covered white and there were no license plates.        “Place her in the trunk,” Hopper motioned with his head.        Billy had to scoff, unconsciously hugging Y/N tighter. “I’m not placing her in the trunk, are you fucking insane?”        “Just put her in the trunk, we don’t have time for this!”        “She’s a human! She’s Y/N, not some roadkill!” Alex argued for his brother-in-law.        “She’s that thing's slave right now!” Hopper raised his voice with each spoken word. “And we don’t want it to know where we’re going."        A tense silence settled between the three men. In the back of Alex’s and Billy’s minds, they understood that Hopper cared for her, and he wanted the best, which would be not letting her sit in the car next to them and give away their position to the Mind Flayer, but they wouldn’t budge.        “I’m not placing her in the trunk.” There was no room for a discussion. Billy had put his foot down.        Hopper looked like he might burst, as he ran a hand through his thinning hair. Only then did everyone notice what he was wearing.    Jim was adorned by what looked like a prison suit. It was dark grey, had tears and holes pretty much everywhere and didn’t smell too great. He’d gone through hell, and for a second, Billy’s heart twinged. But then he remembered him choking the life out of Y/N (even though he was doing it to save him and the rest), he still didn’t appreciate it.        “Let’s put her in my car,” Nancy came as the savior, holding the brake cables in her hand. “I have an open trunk, so you can sit next to her and watch over.”        “Fine,” Hopper replied earning a scowl from Billy. “But we need to put something over her head, so if she wakes up, the Mind Flayer doesn’t find out where we’re going.”        Small grunts of agreement erupted around them, and even Billy couldn’t find anything to counter it, so with gritted teeth, he nodded, watching as Nancy opened the back of her car. Johnathan quickly rushed and slid underneath it to hook the cables back into place, and Joyce came out of the house with a large white piece of cloth and El’s black blindfold.        “That is so not helping,” Alex mumbled, as Hopper put the pillowcase over Y/N’s head and tied the other piece of fabric around it as well. “Now it looks like we’ve kidnapped her.” Her blood-soaked shirt was not helping one bit.        “Look, kid-“        “I’m eighteen.”        “Look, kid,” Hopper gritted, losing his cool. “I know it’s your sister, and I know you care about her, we all do. But right now her comfort’s the least of our problems while the Mind Flayer is inside. Now, if you want, you can be my guest and announce to the Demogorgon and his little doggo army where we’re going, but if you want to keep your head on your shoulders, and save Y/N, this is what we have to do.”        Alex and Billy had never wanted to punch someone more for being right.

       “She’s gonna be okay. We’ve done this before,” Joyce gave the Californian a tight-lipped smile and patted his shoulder.        “That does not make me feel any better,” Y/N’s brother mumbled but didn’t say anything else.        He wanted to sit at the back with his sister, but when Billy laid her body down, it made him think she looked too much like a dead body, so he opted for driving with Joyce, Hopper, Robin, Lucas and Dustin in the van the ex-Chief had stolen when he had escaped. The rest consisting of Max, Billy, Johnathan, Mike, Will and El hopped into Nancy’s restored vehicle.        “Hop, you said the Russians are back,” Joyce asked after he’d told them to drive to the local store. “What do they want… again?        “I don’t know, world domination? It’s not like they talked about their big evil plan while torturing me.”        She gulped, sharing a look with Lucas and Dustin, but didn’t say anything.        “The Gate’s open,” Dustin announced. “Do you have any clue what they could want with the Upside Down? What did they want in the first place?”        Hopper shook his head, turning down a hard left. “Whatever they think they can do with it, they’re wrong… it’ll kill them first and then us.” The next sentence threw everyone for a loop, as he stopped by where Joyce used to work at the convenience store. “We need a bunch of foil.”        Mike’s eyebrows scrunched up as they all jumped out of their cars, El and Billy standing guard to keep an eye on Y/N and to deter anyone that might wanna know what’s up. “Why?”        “Cause we wanna cook that bastard out of her.”        Billy hadn’t smoked in years and now despised the smell and taste of the cancer sticks, but he hoped Y/N wouldn��t mind much if he did it just this once given as to what they were preparing to do.        He looked through the back window and watched how Y/N’s chest rhythmically rose and fell.        “It’s gonna be okay,” El’s voice made him turn around and look at the teenager. Billy’s mind played the memories of him trying to feed her to the monster four years ago in vivid detail. He remembered how gentle her touch on his cheek had been. How she had talked about the one time before Y/N that he’d been happy. She had helped him break out from the spell.    “We’ll get her back. I promise.”        Billy smiled. Somehow, he didn’t doubt her words. “Thanks.”        El just shrugged. “She’s my friend too. I care about her. Besides,” she let out a small chuckle, “I miss Clara.”        She’d met his gremlin only once, but the little blond-haired girl had taken a huge liking to El. Especially when she had made her dolls dance with her powers. Y/N and Billy had been very much so against her showing her telekinesis, but, later on, understood there’d be no harm in letting the two-year-old witness a little bit of magic.        The sight as everyone exited the store with handfuls of tinfoil would’ve been almost comical, if not for the fact everyone knew what it was for.        “Were to?”        Before Joyce had left Hawkins with her sons and El, she had cleaned up Hopper’s old place a bit. Fixed the roof as best as she could and covered the furniture with some sheets, so that it didn’t seem like they’d left it without a care. It had been El’s home. Jim’s home. She couldn’t do that to them.        Y/N didn’t stir once throughout the whole silent ride, and from time to time Billy had to doublecheck underneath the pillowcase if she was breathing. When her soft warm exhales greeted the back of his palm, he sighed in relief.        The car stopped with a jolt, and everyone was up and running. Billy didn’t even heave a breath, so used to Y/N’s weight whether she wanted to have a piggyback ride or acted dramatically and made him carry her to their bed.        Nancy, Johnathan and Will were carrying every heater they could find into the bedroom and given how the cabin was in the middle of the nowhere, and winters in Hawkins were not the kindest, there was quite a lot of them.        “Is it gonna be enough?” Billy asked, placing Y/N down on what used to be El’s bed, and smoothed some hair out of his wife’s face. She looked so peaceful like that, he almost forgot what had transpired in the last twelve hours or so.        “I don’t know, but it will have to be,” Hopper said and gave instructions to the rest of the Party as they laid out the foil along the walls and ground.    “Cover the rest with sheets and everything you can find. Block out any markings she could see to identify where we’re at.”        “We had less when Will…” Joyce started but didn’t finish the sentence, though everyone knew what she meant. “It worked then.”         "It's just gonna have to work," Hopper said. They didn’t want to think about what they’d have to do if it didn’t.        Billy and Steve were left to tie Y/N up on the bed, belts and ropes at their disposal.        “When you think it’s tight enough, tighten it more,” Hopper stated and nailed a piece of sheet to the wall.        “Yeah, I’d like for her to retain all her limbs, thank you very fucking much,” Billy snapped at the older man but did as he was told. The Mind Flayer was strong, and he remembered how much power he himself had. Granted, he’d been possessed for different reasons, but there was no doubt in his mind, once that thing figured out what they were doing, it would fight tooth and nail to remain in its current host.        Hopper rolled his eyes and huffed, making sure that not even a sliver of light from the setting sun peaked through the fabric. “I think she’d much rather lose a hand than her life.”        Together they brought every possible heater around the bed and plugged them in. It became almost unbearably hot in the span of a second, and Billy was happy for his open shirt and that he’d left his jacket in the car.        Robin had helped Steve stoke a fire in the flimsy-looking fireplace and the flames that licked upwards added to the growing temperature.        Y/N’s chest started heaving, and she stirred on the bed. A soft whimper escaped her mouth, and Billy saw how her clothes stuck to her chest. Her lashes fluttered open but quickly closed when a bright light above shone directly into her eyes.        “Billy please, it hurts,” she begged tears slowly running down her cheeks. Or maybe it was sweat. Either way, he wasn’t happy seeing her face scrunched up in agony. “Billy,” she panted looking into his eyes. “Please.”    He had to turn away from the sight before him. He couldn’t stand watching as she arched up from the bed, and the rope dragged across Y/N’s skin, burning a bright red line across her collarbones. The only marks he ever wished to see were from his fervent kisses, and this was so not it.    “It’s not her talking,” Joyce reminded everyone, as she pushed one of the heaters closer.        Their clothes were already clinging to their bodies, beads of sweat rolling down their skins, accompanied by the perspiration of stress. The foil had helped. A lot. It felt like they were stuck under the direct heat of the blazing sun, combined with an open fire. Which it kinda was.    “Honey, please,” Y/N whined, trashing on the bed and lifting against the ropes. He saw her muscles flex and unflex and thought to himself it was a miracle they were holding her in place.    "Bil-" she started, but he wasn't going to listen.        Two hands slammed on each side of her head, and their eyes met. For a second, Billy was lost in her Y/E/C gaze, but then he looked at the black veins in her orbs. “Get out of my wife.”        That was not the right thing to say, as it would seem he’d just pissed the Mind Flayer off.        “You’re a shit husband, let alone a father!” Y/N sneered and then groaned as Max shoved a portable heater closer. “I’ve thought about leaving you so many times, it’s ridiculous.” Every word was laced with so much venom, it was like acid was being poured over his head.        Alex grunted as Y/N tried to break free from the binds and had to hold her down. “Don’t listen to her!”        “But every time I stayed,” she continued her verbal assault. “Out of pity. Because I knew no one else would. Not even your fucking mother wanted to stay around a piece of shit like you.”        It took everything in Billy not to rip her out of that bed and slam her against the wall. He was just about to crack, when his eyes saw her veins turn completely black to the point the color could block out the moon in the sky at night. It wasn’t Y/N speaking, he reminded himself, it was the Mind Flayer.        “You can’t take care of me or Clara; you don’t deserve us,” even in so much pain she was delivering a blow after blow to Billy’s heart. All of his self-control was now turned to not breaking apart as Y/N spewed his worst fears at him. No, not her! He reminded himself. It’s the Mind Flayer. “And I certainly won’t let you taint the three of us with y-“        She didn’t get to finish the sentence. Y/N’s back arched up from the bed, the belts digging into her skin leaving angry marks. Billy shut his eyes to block out what was happening. Instead, he thought of the times her back had lifted from the mattress while his head had been between her legs, or their hips had met one another’s in harsh thrusts. Not when a scream of pain tore through her throat as El used her powers to pull out the piece of Mind Flayer possessing her body, seeing as the heat alone wasn’t helping.        Y/N was struggling back as if she didn’t want to let go of the demon in her body. For a moment El lost her balance. She had fought bigger things, worse things, but for some reason, this was the hardest battle yet. Maybe because she was trying to save her friend, yet, it seemed like she was doing more harm than good.            Nancy had been hugging Johnathan from the moment Y/N had started screaming, but it wouldn’t stop. It just wouldn’t stop. His shirt was soaked not only from his sweat but her tears.    She couldn’t lose another friend.        “What are you doing?!” Billy yelled at her as she rushed to the open fire and pulled out a brightly glowing piece of metal.        “I won’t let it win!” Nancy bellowed and thrust the burning hot poker in Y/N’s side.        It was the last nail in the coffin. Black plumbing smoke propelled itself out of her from every possible place, making everyone who was near stagger back and away, as if being just in the proximity of it would infect them as well. But El didn’t let it escape.        Her hand was outstretched, and a little stream of blood trickled down her nose, mouth and then chin.        “Burn it,” she sneered as she held it in an invisible grip.        Mike was right there with a can of old hairspray he’d found in El’s old room and a lighter Hopper had tossed him.        Even in its separated form, the second bright red flames touched it, the Mind Flayer released a shriek, that made everyone else close their ears.    Both Mike’s and El’s faces were scrunched up at the piercing sound, but they had to get the job done. And in two minutes there was nothing, but black flakes left that drifted to the floor like ash from the sky.        The whole place turned completely silent; it was like the woods outside were holding their breath as well, not believing what had transpired in the old, half-broken cabin they were hiding from the rest of the town.        “Benny’s,” a hoarse voice from behind them said.        Billy whipped around and saw Y/N’s head lol to the side, eyes blinking and trying to adjust to her surroundings. “Dollface?”        “Benny’s,” she mouthed again.        “Are you-” he was beyond confused as he pushed the matted locks away from her sweaty skin but couldn’t help the astonished chuckle that escaped his mouth. “Are you hungry? Really?”        “No, you idiot,” a horrendous cough rattled through her body as she tried to sit up but couldn’t because of her binds. “It’s where the Mind Flayer is. I don’t think it thought I’d make it, so it didn’t bother with hiding… there’s a whole tunnel system down there. I think they used it as storage and had products delivered that way… it’s a pretty cold place… and leads right to the lab…”        A small voice from the very back of the room spoke up.        “Y/N?”        She smiled as Billy removed each rope and tie, and she opened up her arms as Alex barreled towards her and crushed her in a hug.    “Hey shitbag, ya’ miss me?” Y/N whispered, her throat still very much so sore.        “No,” he sniffled pushing his face in the crook of her neck. “Just didn’t want to be the one to tell mom you’ve been possessed.”        “Sure,” she drawled out. “Just admit you fucking missed me.”        “Why would I do that? I was so close to getting your car…”        Y/N pulled back with her eyebrows scrunched up. “You do realize I’d rather have it chucked into the ocean than let you have it?”        “What a great big sister you are,” Alex scoffed, but when he pulled away, there was an undeniable smile on his face.        “Uh, I’m the best,” Y/N mimicked his tone, as she slowly sat up on the bed, Billy’s palm resting on the small of her back, as she did so.            “I’m uh,” Hopper scratched at his neck making her look at him. Now when he was face to face with Y/N, instead of the Mind Flayer, the bruises on her neck were harder to swallow, especially since it was his handiwork. “I’m sorry about, you know… choking you and stuff…”        “ ‘S okay,” she lifted her shoulders and dropped them as if it was an everyday thing she had to go through. “You had to do what you had to do… I’m glad you’re back, by the way. You know, just as a side note.”        Hopper grunted and put his hand on El’s head, as the girl leaned into his side breathing heavily; a small smile played on her face as she looked at the other girl.    “Yeah," Jim said. "I’m glad I’m back too.”        Y/N looked around the room giving everyone shy grins and snorted when Steve and Robin waved at her, but when she saw Max pacing around the room, her lips turned down a bit.        “You okay there, Maxine?”        The redhead didn’t even react to being called by her first name, even though she despised it will all her being.        “It’s just that… I don’t get it,” Max was biting her nails, and Lucas gently slapped her hand down. She’d already bitten them down to the skin during the whole ordeal, he didn’t want to see her rip them apart so hard they started to bleed.        “Don’t get what?” Nancy asked, offering Y/N a towel to wipe the sweat and dirt and blood away from her face and arms.        “Why would it want to kill you, apart from punishing Billy? Wouldn’t that, you know,” Max nodded vaguely, “kill the Mind Flayer? It made sense when he tried to kill Billy, seeing as he was the only one strong enough to go against it.”        Everyone was looking at Y/N whose eyes had dropped to the floor. She couldn’t look at them. She knew why, it just wasn’t something she wanted to say out loud.    “Because I wasn’t the main host…” Y/N finally sighed out after a moment. But when Billy asked who was, there was no way she’d meet the blue orbs that were like the ocean. She kept her gaze on where his wedding ring used to sit, only now realizing it was missing.        “It’s your dad, Billy. Neil's the main host.”

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