#all real men want is to cry and be tickled by their crush

[minamill]

Rhea and Cedar’s painting date was interrupted by Celeste’s love proclamation! After a good cry and reassurance from his crush, Cedar and Rhea has a great rest of their date

there’s so much to say about this.. i didn’t know sims could crash a date and why did celeste proclaim love to a woman she just met and why did cedar cry about it i-

[father-time-and-baby-new-year]

Hey bestie can u make a eren x reader one shot where eren just won’t let the reader move on🙃

thank u anon for this lovely idea

scumbag!eren x crybaby!fem!reader

WARNINGS: dubcon/noncon, past toxic relationship, slut-shaming, possessive behavior, yandere tendencies,

WC: 1.8k

He pins your wrists against the dingy bathroom tiles with an unrelenting grip, and you swear you've never felt more claustrophobic in your life.

The dark-haired boy eyes the glitter on your cheekbones, the neon-colored eyeliner, the rogue on your lips, and the black satin of your mini dress exposing a substantial amount of plush thighs. He's never seen you like this-never allowed you like this before.

You almost feel like uncharted territory but nothing escapes his observant nature. From the tremble of your lips, and the water starting to collect in your lower lash lines, Eren knows this you. Maybe not who you were pretending to be in the strappy heels, low neckline, and the party-girl masquerade you put on in front of your shallow ditzy friends, but he knows who you really are. Vulnerable. Scared of your own shadow.

"E-eren,' You stammer, "Please let me go." You try not to think about the voice cracks, trying to sound as assertive as you could without meeting his eyes. Eren, of course, thinks you look like a baby mouse. Hopeless and trapped.

"Don’t you miss me?" He mummers into the nape of your neck. You have an explosive No prepared in the roof of your mouth, ready to sound out the single syllable, until his hand, adorned with chunky silver rings, covers your mouth, muffling your whimpers. You could taste the metal.

“It’s a rhetorical question.” He’s smirking, green eyes lit up dangerously under the too-white bright lights, “Let me talk okay? I just want you to listen.”

All you’ve ever been doing is letting him walk and talk over you. And then when you finally got the nerve to stand up for yourself-

“I haven’t seen you the past three months” his low voice interrupts your contemplation, “It’s like you’ve been ignoring me.” He finishes flatly, his thin lips stretched into a line. His multitude of ear piercings catches the light, glinting sharply.

It’s too overpowering, his close proximity after going cold turkey. His presence is like a drag of a cigarette after not smoking for months. Hurts your lungs but the remnants of what you used to feel with the sudden rush of nicotine bubbling up again. Because when all is said and done, you’re still deliriously attracted to him. And you hate yourself for it.

You try to focus on the other sensations, sensations that aren’t busy on the feel of his warm breath or his hands holding yours down. You can still hear the song playing from the club.

All my bitches feel like I dodged the county

Fucking with you feel like jail n——-

Yeah, it really did.

Changing tactics, he holds you by your neck instead, giving your aching wrists sweet relief but that relief is nothing compared to the panic of having his beefy hand on your thrumming pulse.

His grasp wasn’t tight. You could breathe, but it was the kind of tight that let you know he would go tighter if you didn’t listen properly. React properly.

“You’re fucking ignoring me again” he’s practically growling the words out, baring all teeth, “I know I’m pretty difficult to tune out, so I would like to know what the fuck you’re thinking about.”

His hand leaves your delicate throat- his knee between your thighs keeps you in place- to roam down the satin of your dress, the fabric clinging to every curve. You hate how scrutinizing his viridian eyes are, feeling a wave of insecurity wash over the previous hot-girl-summer confidence.

He hated how good you looked on the dance floor, laughing with your stupid friends like you had lost all your inhibitions. Hated that you looked so good, everyone could see it. Hated how you didn't notice his eyes boring holes into you. Do you remember the time how you used to be hyper-focused around him? Aware of every movement, aware of every tonal shift?

And now you didn't even look at him.

"Are you thinking of other guys? I saw you grinding on those men like a slut." He presses his body deeper, "Have you fucked any other guys since we broke up? You must have. I know how slutty your pussy is"

You bite down on his hand. Hard.

You're counting on his reflexes, for him to retract his hand and give you an opportunity to run to the door. But Eren has been fighting for years and predicts your maneuver. With a calculated sidestep, Eren lets go of his hand, before promptly slamming you against the bathroom wall again but this time front-first.

Clouds dance in your vision, and you're sure you would have fallen by now if not for him holding you up. Eren uses this newfound position to his advantage by groping your ass, rutting his dick against your backside.

Deciding to be petty, you let the spite-coated venom escape your pretty lips, "Yeah. I fucked so many boys, and they were so much better than y-"

Anger blinded him. Roughly, he turned you around to face him once more, forcing you to look up at the green-eyed monster. He flipped your dress up, nearly ripping it during the process, shoved your lacy panty aside, and plunged his fingers inside. He felt a visceral sense of validation course through him at finding wetness coating his slender fingers to your utter mortification.

"Liar. I know you haven't been fucking anyone else." His smile is all teeth, pearly white and sharp,

You gulp, feeling sweat beading down your neck and arousal pooling at the bottom of your stomach. Damn yourself.

"You don't know that."

He looks almost feral, green eyes in slits and hair all mussed up, falling out of his usual bun. The top few buttons of his black button-up are left unfastened giving you a gracious view of his smooth muscular chest, and the dangling silver cross-chain.

"No, I do. See a little birdie told me all you've been doing the past few months is crying yourself to sleep, and eating frozen meals. This is the first time you've been out since I broke up with you, huh?" Condescension drips with every word.

He thumbs away the tear falling down your cheek with a mocking kindness and adds, "There, there. Don't cry. Good thing I happened to be here tonight, right?"

You're full-blown crying now, too upset to care if you're smudging your make-up. This is the real you. This is how Eren remembers you.

"Awe, my precious little crybaby, don't worry. You came here tonight looking for dick? I'll give it to you. It's okay," He coos, breath tickling the shell of your sensitive ears. Well, every part of you felt sensitive right now.

You're rubbing your eyes, sniffling, "E-exactly. You b-broke up with me, so why are you here? Why can't you just let me be?"

The dark-haired boy sighs, and with an uncharacteristic softness, leans his head down to press his forehead against yours, and intertwines his hand with yours, noses almost touching.

"To be honest, it was just to teach you a lesson." A soft exhale, "I didn't think you'd actually stay broken up with me." He's crushing your fingers now, "Didn't think we'd be broken up with for real."

Your eyes flash with indignation, feeling your body surge with an emotion you couldn't qualify, "I don't care. Yeah, I was sad but god, you were a terrible boyfriend! I'm so much better off without you. All those lonely nights are still better than any night I've ever had with you!"

You're breathless by the time you're done.

"Done with your little monologue?"*

You can feel your shoulders shaking, and you almost want to laugh from the indecorousness of it all. How could he not care? Was this how little you mattered to him?

"I know you're lying because" Without any preamble, he shoves his fingers inside of you again, finding that spongy spot that made your knees weak, eliciting a soft moan from your downturned mouth, "You're wet. And you want me."

"In fact," an edge of excitement colors his voice, "I bet your insides are still molded to fit my dick."

It's hard to talk when one thumb is violently brushing over your clit, and his tongue is forced into your mouth, drowning any whines of protests. You close your eyes, focusing and unfocusing. A hand snakes up your dress to fondle your tits and tease your perky nipples.

It's just one sensation over another, and your sex-deprived body was welcoming all these feelings with open arms. Eren knows your body like it came with an instruction manual and that manual advised him to bite your earlobe, which was especially sensitive. He knew where on your collarbone you liked to be marked, how hard you wanted your nipples pinched, and how you could ride his face with complete abandon.

But right now, he didn't want to pleasure you. He's coaxed enough orgasms out of you throughout your relationship.

He unbuckles his belt and frees his long slender cock, the head a flushed angry red, dribbling with precum. He lines his full-mast cock to your entrance. Fully alert as to what was about to happen, pretty pleas of "no Eren, please don't, no" are falling out of your mouth, wide starlit eyes dotted with pearlescent tears. He kisses the top of your head like the way he always used to.

And then he thrusts himself inside. You give up so easily, he thinks. Do you even realize how you're swinging your hips on your own accord? How you're wrapping your lush legs around his waist to pull him deeper?

His pace is ruthless, making your head bob up and down. Moans and grunts drown out the music from the club. You're begging him to slow down.

"You're mine. Always mine. Always were. Can't fucking believe you really thought-" He doesn't even finish his thought because a violent shudder rips throughout his body.

Your nails are digging into his back, so sharp it could have been clawed. You could feel yourself right on the edge-

The door shakes to reveal a tall young man with slicked-back blond hair with a frat-boy laugh.

"Holy shit! Eren?!"

fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckcufkcufkcufckfuckfuckfuckfuc

Shame burns your face. You have no choice but to cover yourself behind Eren's broad frame. You're just hoping to every god he'll go away, and keep this to himself.

Your dark-haired ex-boyfriend turns around to face the blond, "A little busy here, Porco. Shut the door. I'm uh, getting reacquainted with someone."

"Goddamn. Is that ___" You don't even have to look at Porco to recognize how impressed he was.

"Get out Porco." Eren growls.

The door closes with a loud thud.

You're borderline hysterical at this point begging Eren to get out of you, but his grip on your hips is iron-tight.

Outside you hear stunned gasps, but one phrase stands out to your straining ears: "Yeah, I guess they're back together."

Eren kisses the top of your head once more, "After I fuck you, we'll go home together girlfriend."

----------

* {A/N}: This line "Done with your little monologue?" is inspired by this delicious fic by @hotwings0203.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Portrait of a Dangerous Man🎨6/End

Warnings: (series) non-consent sex and rape; slow creep; cucking; (this chapter) cucking, violence, blood, some untagged extreme events.

This is dark!mob!Clark Kent x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Your dream of having your work hung in an art show comes true but your first buyer is not all he seems to be.

Note: Here’s the grand finale, I hope you all enjoy it!

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

You breathed shakily as you clipped the chain of diamonds around your neck. Clark stood and you watched him place his gun down. He rolled his head back and cracked his neck as he shrugged off his jacket. He slung it over the corner of the upholstered chair and your fingers fluttered down the front of your dress.

“Marcus,” he called tauntingly and clapped his hands, “I think you should see this with both eyes, don’t make me take one out.”

“Stop,” you hissed, “please.”

“What do you care about him, sweetheart? He’s a pimp,” he said brusquely.

You lowered your eyes and sniffed. He nudged you with a bent knuckle then hooked his finger under the strap of your dress.

“It’s getting late,” he warned, “let’s go.”

You stepped away from him and pushed down the zipper hidden underneath your arm. You kept your gaze to the floor as you slid the straps down your arms and shimmied out of the taut fabric. You flung the dress away and bent to undo your strappy heels. Clark tutted as he got close and slapped your ass.

“I like those, they go well with the necklace,” he purred and traced his finger up your back to snap the band of your bra.

You winced and stood. You reached back and unhooked the bra and tossed it at him with venom. You exhaled and pushed down your panties as he hummed. It took all your strength and pride not to cover yourself and cower. He came up behind you and traced your shaped with his fingertips.

“Come on,” he gripped your waist and walked you around, only feet from Marcus as he stopped you in front of the ladder, “up.”

“What?” you grabbed the rungs as he urged you closer.

“Go up,” he repeated brusquely.

You climbed carefully and when you got to the top, he tickled the back of your thigh.

“Turn around, sweetheart, and take a seat,” he demanded.

You heard Marcus sob against the gag and you turned as you tried not to slip. You sat on the top of the ladder as you faced Clark and he grasped your knees. He pushed until you let him part your legs and you felt the cool air along your cunt. He bit tip of his tongue out and kneaded your thighs.

“I’ve been patient, I can keep on,” he taunted as he leaned in and his hot breath grazed your folds, “I want to savour this, sweetheart.”

He flicked his tongue along your cunt and you hissed and clung to the sides of the ladder. He pushed your legs back so that your feet hooked around the rungs and held your hips in place. You gasped at the sensation that steamed from your loins and bit your lip. 

You put your bent finger between your teeth and moaned. His tongue moved faster as if encouraged by your weak drawl and your heart fluttered wildly. You dropped your hand to your throat and the diamonds pressed to your palm. You gulped and leaned your head back as you tried to stifle a whine.

He kept more fervent with each lap, and you pushed your thighs against his face. You looked down without thinking and the height made you dizzy. You rasped and grabbed the back of his head as you feared you would fall. He growled and sucked on your clit. You groaned as your lungs burned and your eardrums pulsed. 

You panted as the flames licked at your flesh. You turned your head away from Marcus in shame as you felt the sudden peak rising. Your hand slipped down to grasp the back of Clark’s neck and you squirmed as you came into his mouth. He kept the pressure on your clit and teased it lightly with his teeth until your legs hung limp and slowly dragged his lips down your thigh, a trail of your arousal left along your skin.

“Mmm,” he stood and shoved his hand between your legs. He pushed a finger into you suddenly and the ladder teetered beneath you. He steadied it with his other hand and added another finger, “listen to her, Marcus. How could you let this go? Priceless.”

He pulled his fingers from your cunt and held them up so that they glistened in the light. He presented them to Marcus and raised them to his mouth to suck them clean. You grimaced and looked away once more.

“Sweetheart,” he turned back and kicked the bottom rung, “you can turn around.”

You blinked at him and swallowed. You trembled as you stood on a rung and he caught you before you could fall. He helped turn you around and placed your hands at the top of the ladder and he guided you to the bottom rung. You gripped it tightly as he groped your ass and smacked it several times so the sound reverberated. 

Your flesh stung as he pressed himself to your back and nuzzled your head. He gripped your hips and rubbed his thumbs along your hips. He pulled your waist back so you were bent slightly against the ladder. He pushed apart your ass as slid two fingers down to your cunt.

He ran his fingertips along your wet folds and unzipped his pants with his other hand. You quivered as he came flush against you and bent his knees as he prodded at you from below. His tip brushed along your entrance and he coated himself in your juices before he slid just inside.

You bent your head and gulped in air as he stretched you. You reached back as he pushed in another inch and you pressed your hand to his stomach blindly. He grabbed your hand and twisted your arm behind your back. He thrust into you completely and bent to whisper along the shell of your ear.

“Feel that,” he jerked his hips so that you cried out, “perfect fit.”

“Please…” you croaked.

“Please… more?” he mocked and drew his hips back, only to slam into you again.

“Nnngghhh,” you groaned and clung to the ladder as he rocked slowly.

“This is real art, Marcus,” Clark said as he ran his hands up your side and cupped your tits, “look at her… listen to her.”

“Pl--” you couldn’t speak as your walls tightened around him snugly, begging for more even as the strained around him.

“Mmmmm,” he kissed your neck and sent a shiver through you, “so sweet.”

He nibbled playfully then sank his teeth in as he sped up. He grunted and stood back as his hips clapped against your ass. His motion stuttered for just a moment and suddenly a loop of cloth fell over your head and around your neck. He pulled the tie until it was taut around your throat and wrapped the tails around his hand.

“Ah, look at her wearing her leash like a good kitten,” he purred, “my kitten.”

You shook your head and moaned through your clamped lips. Why did it have to feel so good?

He grabbed your chin with his other hand and turned your face towards Marcus. Your head lolled in his grip and your lashes fluttered as you saw the shadow of the man you loved. You couldn’t just let that go, not in a night. A tear trickled from your eye and leaked down the side of Clark’s hand.

He kept his hand firm around your jaw and his other arm swept around your waist. He lifted you from the ladder and you squeaked. He carried you to the chair, his cock buried as deep as it would go. He bent his legs as he placed you on the cushion and you latched onto the back as he began to fuck you again; harder, faster than before.

Your voice rang out as your groans grew almost to wails. All your anger and sadness bubbled over as the pleasure forced it from your lungs. You bared your teeth and blinked through the blur. Marcus shook his head as the stool wobbled beneath him. You hated him, you hated the man behind you. You hated that you were so stupid.

You came with a shrill cry and Clark dropped your head against the back of the chair. You hugged the upholstery and whimpered as he sped up. He lifted your legs off the seat as he rutted into you, his growls savage and carnal. Your nails dug into the fabric and you closed your eyes, surrendering to the swell of ecstasy.

He rammed into you so hard you were crushed against the seat. He supported himself against the arms of the chair as he pounded into you. He huffed and swore under his breath as you felt him quake and he spilled into you. You braced yourself, disgusted by him and how great it felt.

When he finished, he lingered inside you, his knee against the edge of the seat. He slid out of you slowly and his cum dripped out of you as you sat back to catch your breath, your arms shaky as you pushed away from the cushion. He went to the table where your paints were and he took a clean rag from the bunch to wipe himself. He whistled and caught his breath.

“Did you like the show?” he taunted Marcus and tossed the dirty cloth at him, “I sure did.”

Marcus grumbled through the gag and you backed off the chair. Your walls were tender and tingly, your legs trembling, and your soul racked with shock and spite. You could hardly see as the dim light made your head ache and you shook your head as you tried to escape the afterglow that drained the energy from you.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her,” Clark continued, “I can give her anything she wants and what can you do, hmm?” 

You fell against the small square table and your hand scrambled for the dark pistol. You stood straight and turned to limp over towards the men. Clark’s back was to you as your heels knocked clumsily against the wood. As you neared, Marcus lifted his head and his brow wrinkled.

You aimed at Clark but before you could pull the trigger, his arm was around yours. He pushed the gun down and you fired into the floor. He overpowered you easily as his hand wrapped around yours and you fought for control of the gun. He chuckled darkly and forced your arm forward.

He pointed the barrel at Marcus as you tried to push it away and another shot went off and left your ears ringing. You screamed as you watched the blood spread across your boyfriend’s chest. Clark released you and you fell to the floor as the gun spun across the floor. 

You got to your knees and dragged yourself over to Marcus. You reached to touch his bleeding chest and more spread onto the gag shoved into his mouth. The red stained your hands and dripped down your arms as you rose to cradle his head and his breath rattled as you pulled the cloth from his mouth. His eyes rolled back and you felt the strength leave him entirely.

“No, no, no,” you grabbed his chin and smacked his cheek, “please, please, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Marcus…”

You were yanked back suddenly and nearly fell over on the strappy heels. Clark spun you to face him and you hit his chest. You looked up at him as he pushed your face against him and embraced you. He hushed you as he pet your head.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s alright,” he cooed, “you won’t be alone.”

Tears flowed down your cheeks and choked you. You sniffled and shook your head as you pushed weakly against Clark, “you’re a monster.”

“You pulled the gun, sweetheart. We could’ve been done…” he snarled as he dragged you over to the window and spun you against the glass, “but the adrenaline always get my blood pumping.”

He pressed you to the glass as your hands streaked scarlet along the window. You heard his zipper again and in an instant, he was inside you. You were on the toes of the heels as he shook the glass and thrust into you deliberately. You leaned your forehead to the cold pane and stared out into the night, the metallic smell of blood tugging at your nostrils.

🎨

You didn’t sleep, you didn’t even lay down as Clark moved your body how he wanted. The water couldn’t be hot enough to scald away your guilt and the memories of a night that never ended. The afterglow of the shower and your night did little to ease the horror of your existence. You felt as if the blood still stained your hands as you buttoned up the borrowed shirt.

You went to the window of the spacious bedroom and looked out as you heard the voices below. The black plastic bags loaded into the back of an equally dark car. You sobbed and smothered it with the loose cuff of the shirt. That was how you said goodbye, watching the remnants of your boyfriend thrown away like trash.

“Sweetheart?” Clark’s voice set your hair on edge and you turned to face him, a towel hung loosely around his waist, “I know it’s hard now--”

“How can you be okay?” you edge away from him as he neared, “he’s dead. You shot him.”

“Wasn’t my finger on the trigger,” he planted his hand against the wall and blocked you with his arm, “you shouldn’t play with guns.”

You sniffed and mopped up the last of your tears. He was so callous, so calculating. It chilled you completely.

“Who are those men?”

“A few soldiers,” he said as he dropped his arm and grabbed your hand, “you look tired. You should sleep.”

“I can’t,” you tried to tug away but he kept a hold of you.

“Well, if you’ve still got the energy,” he pulled you against him and snaked his hands down to your ass.

“You’re horrible,” you uttered as you grasped his thick biceps.

“To some,” he bent so that his nose touched yours, “but I can be real good to you, sweetheart.”

You stared at him, worn and weak. He kissed you and you let him. Marcus was dead because of you. You thought he was the selfish one for wanting everything this man had, but hadn’t you wanted the same? You came here to paint because you wanted to get paid. You were no different and now he was gone and you were stuck exactly where you belonged. It was what you deserved.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he parted and turned you to walk you backwards to the bed, “you’re gonna need your sleep.”

He nudged you down onto the bed. He went to the window and drew the long drapes and the room dimmed. He swept away his towel and let it pile on the floor as he climbed up next to you and reclined with a sigh. You laid back on the pillow and looked up at your reflection in the mirror set into the ceiling.

“Now that is art,” he winked at your reflection as he reached to caress your cheek, “you’ll see it soon enough.”

[tinyjeanmarco]

jean relationship hc’s!

greetings! i realized my url name includes jean and marco and i haven’t written anything for them, so i’m gonna write some jean headcanons here and then post some marco ones later! i love these men so much. (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ ) jean’s character arc has to be one of my favorites, it’s just so lovely how much he changes and grows.

jean x gn!reader

warnings: minor manga spoilers for chap 127, mentions of marco’s death, kinda angsty?

okay so, first off, this man would get into fights left and right with eren about you. he would always make comments about how hot you are, and eren would be like, “dude, shut the fuck up?”

you were never around when he made these comments, so eren, being your good friend, would get mad at jean for being creepy.

he never meant for it all to come off weird to everyone else. he just has a mega freaking crush on you.

everyone also thought he had a crush on mikasa too, so it was even more annoying.

one day though, eren was just real mad at jean, getting into fights as they usually do, and eren decided to fuck him over.

he went up to you after dinner one night and told you about jean’s raging crush on you. this took you by surprise, but you were kinda pleased.

when he saw you all flustered about it, eren just got even more angry.

“you’re telling me you like that stupid horse face back?!” and you shyly nodded.

he just threw his hands up in exasperation and walked away.

now, you had to go find that stupid horse face and tell him you like him too.

you found him still at the dinner table with connie and sasha, so you asked him if you guys could talk alone for a second.

cue connie and sasha cat calling because they’re those kind of friends.

jean tells them to shut up, but as if that would do anything. 

he follows you to an empty hallway and asks you what’s up, cuz he’s a bit worried. he’s never seen you so nervous before.

then it hits him that maybe you know about his crush?

“whatever you heard, it’s not true.”

“o- oh. it’s not?” you visibly deflate and he’s quick to pick up on this.

“maybe?” cue you telling him that if it is, you return the feelings and this boi is dumbstruck and confused because his crush is admitting feelings for him. he does a mental fist pump. or maybe an actual one and you’re just like “wut.”

after you two talk it out more though, he officially asks you to be his s/o to which you say yes to.

lemme tell you, jean boy is a clingy one. he hangs off you any time he’s around you now that he has the ability to do that. always pressing kisses to your lips and wrapping his arms around you.

you two actually get in trouble a lot for sneaking off to make out, which is always jean’s fault. he just can’t keep his lips to himself, okay?

always pet his hair or he will throw a fit and become cranky. he loves when you scratch his head while petting his hair. it really helps him fall asleep when you guys are cuddling.

when jean decided he wanted to grow out his little mullet that he has, and grow some facial hair, you hopped on that train so HARD. like uhm, yes sir, please do. you look good already but the new hair will be some EXTRA hotness.

him rubbing his stubble on you to tickle you when you both are just relaxing together. he takes any chance he can to rub it on your cheek or neck. it’s just so funny to see your reaction to it.

post time skip jean is really tired of all the fighting, so i think that he sometimes just has to take a break and he hides himself away from everyone for some peace and quiet.

you usually find him wherever it is that he decides to hide that day, and just sit next to him, pulling him into a comforting embrace.

you’ve learned that talking to him about it doesn’t really help, and can sometimes make him feel even worse, so you just sit there, giving him your warmth to remind him that not everything is quite so bad. you have each other.

he’s really grateful to always have you at his side, and he never fails to tell you so whenever the mood strikes him. he just loves you so freaking much and doesn’t know how he got so lucky to have you.

he breaks the silence you two have when you’re sitting together to tell you about his daydreams where you two live together, have a nice home and started a family. that those thoughts are what keep him going and give him strength to fight.

please hold him tight when he breaks down crying, telling you that he can’t ever lose you because you are his whole world. sometimes you start crying too and both of you become a giant mess.

when you guys look up to the stars, you both like to talk to marco, hoping that somewhere out there, he hears you guys and misses you two just as much. 

when he found out the real reason why marco died, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him from beating up reiner, tears also pooling in your eyes. after he stalked off, you walked silently after him, pulling him into a tight hug. you both cried, leaning against a tree, holding each other until you fell asleep.

moving awaaaay from the sad stuff, jean loves spending money on you. he goes into town? buys you food from the market he knows you love.

his favorite things to buy you are those little fruit pastries from a bakery. he loves buying them because he also gets to eat them, and the flavor just reminds him of being with you since you were the one who introduced him to them.

definitely hard to sneak them around sasha, but you two manage.

whenever you guys have a day off, he’s so excited to go on walks with you outside the walls now that they’re free of titans. of course you still gear up and bring horses just so you two don’t run into any bad situations, but he loves spending his days off with you.

give jean love, okay? he deserves it after all the shit that’s happened to you all on paradis. hug him a ton. kiss him a ton. just make the boy happy. (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡

[theseshipsshallsail]

There’s a new club in the Village - Infinity emblazoned in bright, neon letters - and naturally, the building is jam-packed with society’s outcasts on its opening weekend. Oliver grimaces, pressing his third beer to the side of his face, yet the condensation does nothing to soothe his overheated skin. It’s like a furnace of writhing bodies, and with every bead of sweat that bisects his neck to soak into his collar, he can’t help but wonder why he ever agreed to come in the first place.  

“Drink up,” Vanessa says, brandishing a bright amber concoction as she slides into the booth opposite him. “You look like you need something a little stronger.”  

Oliver raises an eyebrow as he returns the bottle to the table, then plucks the wedge of orange peel from the rim of the proffered glass. It’s been three years since he tasted a negroni, and the potent combination of gin, Campari, and vermouth sends his mind reeling in directions he usually fights tooth and nail to avoid. 

“Remind me again why you brought me here?” he asks, trying not to wince at the bitter aftertaste. “This isn’t exactly my scene.”

Vanessa scoffs. “Well, if you ever left your study...”

“I’m up for promotion!”

“You’ll be up for an ulcer if you don’t slow down. Besides, you deserve to let loose after... you know.”

You know, meaning his divorce, and the eighteen month shit-storm that preceded it.

Vanessa has the office next to his, and in between general grousing about University politics they’ve become close friends. It helps, of course, that she understands his situation all too well, and even though her parents never tried to strong-arm her to the altar, she and her girlfriend still have to hide their relationship from the rest of their colleagues.

Oliver sighs as he takes a second sip of his drink. “It’ll take more than a one night stand to loosen me up,” he tells her, and the filthy smirk that curls Vanessa’s lips has him tempted to bang his forehead against the table.

“Whatever tickles your pickle, Professor.”

“Why do I put up with you?”

“Hell if I know.” Slurring somewhat, she taps their cocktails together, and Oliver laughs as she leans forward, poking him in the chest. “Listen, Ollie, you and Micol did a spectacular job of making yourselves miserable, but at least you stayed faithful ‘til the end. Why not enjoy yourself, yeah?” 

“Why not indeed?” 

He’s aiming for sarcastic, yet his tone falls somewhere short of exhausted. She’s right, he realises, but Oliver hasn’t had much interest in men or women for a while. He’s not so deep in denial to admit his heart still belongs to another, and being hopelessly in love with someone he can’t have has done a real number on his libido.

“Damn! This place is heaving!” Simone says, slumping in her seat when she returns from the bathroom. Slinging an arm around Vanessa’s shoulder she drops a quick kiss to her cheek, and Oliver averts his eyes, the casual intimacy leaving him yearning for the impossible. “A few too many student-types for my liking, though. Makes me feel like I’m back in the theatre department.”

“Makes me feel like I’m pushing thirty,” Oliver mutters, painfully aware of the significantly younger crowd as he tugs at the cheap material of his shirt. Too many curries and not enough exercise has made him self-conscious of the few extra pounds at his waistline, and depressingly, twenty-eight feels ancient in comparison. 

“You wanna call it a night?” Vanessa asks, and Oliver nods absently as his gaze catches on a couple in the middle of the dancefloor. 

Caught in a world of their own, they make a striking picture. The taller of the pair is bleached-blond and athletic, his arms wrapped tightly around the slim waist of the man in front of him in a surprisingly protective gesture. Oliver can’t see his partner clearly from this angle, but his skin is pale and shimmering as they move to the beat, dark curls falling in a tousled mess. Whether it’s by artful design or sweat-damp from dancing, he can’t quite tell, yet Oliver is hypnotized by the way they bounce as he loses himself to the music, obscuring his vision until the other man reaches forward, gently brushing them away.  

The bass pounds in his rib cage, and Oliver’s throat feels constricted as he watches the brunette link his hands behind his lover's neck. Profile half in shadows, he raises up on tiptoes to whisper in the shell of his ear, and Oliver experiences a crisis of tenderness when he butts their temples together. Something squirms in his stomach. Something raw and envious. Memories flare, unfair and brutal, and he immediately blames the burning of his retinas on the relentless assault of the strobe lights surrounding them. 

“Oliver? You okay?”

No. 

Definitely not.

The jostling crowd causes the blond to alter their position, and Oliver’s head spins from more than just the alcohol as his blood runs cold in his veins. 

“Elio…” he murmurs, vaguely aware of Vanessa’s stifled gasp when she tries to get a better look.

“Your Elio?”

He wants it not to be - wants his eyes to be deceiving him - yet there’s no denying the truth. All that he’s forgotten - all that he’s clung to - coalesces in a rush of unslaked longing, and between one blink and the next, Oliver remembers everything. 

“Not anymore,” he whispers, but then, why would he be? 

Elio was seventeen when they first met, and Oliver isn’t naive enough to think he hasn’t fallen in and out of love many times since then. He’s beautiful, intelligent, talented beyond measure. Was he really so arrogant to imagine he would still be single? Pining for him, maybe? Saving himself? And for what? A six week romance one too-hot Italian summer? Something his cowardice cut short with a long-distance phone call?

He was, wasn’t he?

Arrogant. 

And so very stupid.

“Of all the gay bars in all the world…” Vanessa takes a swig of her piña colada as he continues to spiral. “I thought you said he lived in Italy?” 

“He did,” Oliver replies, picking at his thumbnail. “He moved here for school.”

“And you didn't contact him?”

“To say what?” His ears ring from the shrillness of her tone. “Hey, Elio. Remember that time I broke both our hearts ‘cause I’m a gutless schmuck? How about I buy you a coffee to make up for it?”

“It would’ve been a start.”

“It would’ve been selfish,” he says, tearing his eyes away. “He has enough on his plate with Juilliard. I’d only get in the  -”

“Juilliard?” Simone’s low whistle interrupts his self-reproach. “Impressive.”

“Son of a professor,” Oliver explains. “I always knew he was a genius.” He gathers himself with a quiet huff. “Though he’ll probably say he knows nothing.” The spark of nostalgia is crippling, and it takes everything he has not to break down on the spot. “I should go,” he says, draining the remains of his drink as he rises to his feet. 

“Oliver -”

“Why don’t you come back to ours?” Vanessa offers, making to follow, but whatever expression is on his face causes Simone to catch her by the wrist.

“We’re here if you need us, alright?”

“I know,” he says, eternally grateful for their support as he pushes some cab money into her hand. “Get home safe. I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”

“You’d better,” Vanessa tells him, obstinate in her concern, yet all he can focus on right now is leaving.

The swirling thoughts inside his head are all-consuming, but Oliver is determined to reign in his emotions for a little while longer. Ignoring the way his shoes stick to the tacky vinyl flooring, he grits his teeth as he snakes his way through the crush of humanity. He needs space. Fresh air. Hell, a damn time machine wouldn’t go amiss. He has nobody to blame but himself, and he’s halfway to the exit sign when his pace grinds to a halt, his masochistic streak unable to resist one last glimpse. 

A flash of irrational panic makes him breathe in deep - hold it for a count of three - and when he turns to scan the roiling bodies that fill up the dance floor, he finds them immediately. The shock doesn’t lessen, and if Oliver thought his heart had broken when they’d clung to one another on a train station platform, it’s naught compared to when Elio tips the other man’s chin up with the same fingers that used to play his body like a finely tuned instrument. White noise fills his ears as he ghosts a kiss to his lips - two chaste pecks at first - and then harder. Hungry. Mouths open. Tongues swirling. Deep and dirty. 

Just the way he likes it.

Fool that he is, Oliver doesn’t turn away. But he’s not the only one. Their bawdy display has garnered a small audience of the jealous and horny, and when the cat-calls eventually die down he notices a clearly disappointed red-head stalk past them on route to her table of friends. 

Time has not domesticated him, it seems, and Oliver feels like crying as the world returns frame by frame - the oscillating pulse of the dance track. The lightning burst of colour from the laser system above. An innate sense of powerlessness floods through him - the depths of which he hasn’t experienced since Elio sobbed against his chest in an attic bedroom - and a heavy weight settles in his belly as he recognises the cues and rituals that were once directed at him alone. 

Elio has obviously flourished in his absence. His body language is looser, more relaxed, assured in a way his younger self could only dream of, and Oliver allows an almost-smile as the couple laugh for a moment before turning to walk away. 

His fingers itch for a cigarette - a habit he’s struggling to waive - and the next thing he knows he’s taking a seat at the bar, a double shot of bourbon in his hand he doesn’t remember ordering, and a screaming admonishment from his better judgement to not do anything stupid. 

All I had to do was find the courage to reach out and touch, Elio said once, rife with self-mockery, and Oliver’s advice was to try again later. Was this it? Their later? And if not now, when? Because whatever his feelings of bitterness - whatever his misguided envy - if he lets this opportunity pass him by, he will always wonder. Always look. 

In truth, he already does. 

Ever since Samuel mentioned Elio was moving to the States, he’s carried the idle fantasy of crossing paths in some random book store, eyes locking across a busy street, a name - his, theirs, both - shouted across a bustling coffee shop. Of all eventualities, though, he hasn’t prepared for an Elio who might not be happy to see him. Who might dismiss him. Cast him aside like some ill-fitting chapter in the editing process. The context is all wrong, and for it to happen like this is akin to being plunged into the icy waters of the berm.

“Accidenti!” an achingly familiar voice says from somewhere behind him. “Are all Americans incapable of taking a hint? Or is it just an East Coast thing?”

“It’s the accent, mio amico. Fries their brains.”

“Never mind their brains,” Elio replies in the same lazy drawl. “I think you’ve sprained my tonsils.”

There’s a snicker to his left, and like a moth to a flame, Oliver peers up into the mirror behind the bar, only to find his living nightmare mere meters away, sharing a cigarette. Elio’s still wearing the same bracelets he did that summer, and three years of sleepwalking collapses around him as Oliver hunches over, palms sweating. 

“Seriously though,” the blond continues. “Look at this place! Wall-to-wall entreés, and you won’t so much as skim the menu. You’re spoiled for choice, compagno.”

Elio scoffs as he brings the filter to his lips. “Didn’t I tell you choice is an illusion?”

“As is time, according to Adams.” The man slings an arm over his shoulders. “And here you are, free as a bird, wasting the perfect opportunity.” 

Elio flips him the middle finger. “Stronzo,” he says, leaving Oliver more confused than ever as he studies him over the rim of his glass. “It’s a curse.”

“Self-inflicted, maybe.”

“So what’s the answer? And don’t say forty-two.”

The guy chuckles. “Variety,” he says, signalling the harried bartender. “Things didn’t work out with the violinist - I get it. È la vita! You’re not in the mood for pushy red-heads? Fine. But don’t sell yourself short. Trust Fund Tina’s not the only one checking you out.”

“Perhaps.”

“What perhaps?” A knowing smirk shoots in Oliver’s direction. “See for yourself.”

It’s like experiencing the first tremor of an earthquake. Elio was always a force of nature, and bracing for disaster, Oliver feels the fault lines buckle beneath him. He thought he was done letting fear and shame dictate his life, yet even now, at peace with his true self, he can’t bear to witness the seismic shift between past and present. Instead, he falls back on avoidance, tearing strips off a frayed beer mat until the hair prickles at his nape.

He can feel it - the instant his fate is sealed - and taking a deep breath Oliver returns his eyes to the mirror, meeting Elio’s stunned features. Dark brows climb towards his hairline as the happiness on his face shifts into something else. Something measured. Unrecognisable. A blank slate, almost. For a moment, Oliver fears he’s going to ignore him completely, but then Elio straightens his spine, offers the half-smoked cigarette to his friend, and with a few whispered words strides forward with purpose.

His daring is a law unto himself, but the look he’s giving him now exudes superiority - omniscience, almost - as if he can read every thought that’s going on inside Oliver’s mind, and has already deemed them wanting. It shouldn’t be such a turn on, yet his heart skips a beat regardless. Then another. Every instinct in his body tells him to reach out, to hold Elio’s hand, tuck those wild curls behind his ear, but it’s no longer his place - if it ever really was to begin with - so Oliver takes a deliberate sip of his whiskey, scared and aroused simultaneously, before swivelling towards him.

“Oliver.” His name on Elio’s lips - three smooth syllables - and he feels reborn. “Long time no see.” Hesitating, he offers up a pack of Luckies. “Fumo?”

“I shouldn’t,” he says, dragging trembling fingers through his hair. “I told myself I’d quit. God knows it won't take much to -” 

“Tempt you?” 

Heat rises to Oliver’s cheeks. “Yes,” he admits, and Elio’s smile is a shallow, brittle thing. 

“Well, you know yourself,” he says, returning the cigarette carton to his pocket. “Don’t let me ruin your good intentions.”

His flippancy is like a red rag to a bull, and Oliver’s hackles rise as he sets his drink on the counter, irritated enough by Elio’s calm exterior to try and provoke a reaction. “Is your boyfriend not the jealous type?” 

All he receives is an eye roll. “Bruno’s not my boyfriend.”

“Could’ve fooled me. From what I saw earlier.”

“You saw nothing,” Elio replies, defensive. “We’re friends. Roommates.”

“Roommates?” Rising from his stool, Oliver takes a step towards him. “That kiss -” 

“Is none of your business. Not anymore.” 

It hits him like a punch to the gut. Oliver’s lips part, but no sound passes between them. He’s being irrational, he’ll accept, but old habits die hard, and through sheer force of will he quashes down his guilt, knowing better than to use it as a weapon. 

“Of course,” he says, chastened. “You’re right.” 

“I usually am.” 

“Elio…” This isn’t how he wants the conversation to go. “I know it’s too much to expect your forgiveness, but please don’t be angry with me. We were friends, once. Before anything else.”

“I’m not angry.” A beat. “Not anymore.” Tipping his chin, Elio folds his arms in front of him. One more barrier despite the brush-off. “I’m processing.“

“Processing?”

“Yes, processing. Originates from the Old French proces. Related to the Latin processus, and from the verb procedere in Middle English.”

“Wise ass.”

“Sempre.” Elio shrugs, watching him openly. “What are you doing here, Oliver?”

“My friends saw the flyers,” he says, bypassing the here, specifically, when Elio’s attention drops a few inches lower, and he realises he’s staring at his ring finger.

At the white line that’s all but vanished since he signed his way to freedom.

“You’re…”

Oliver clears his throat. “Divorced,” he manages, shuffling his feet. “Almost three months now.”

“Divorced?” Elio’s mask slams back into place, the distress in his voice palpable. “Why?”

And there are so many things he could say to that - the stress of his job, money, differing expectations - but this is Elio. His first love. His forever love. He, above anyone, deserves the truth. 

“I think you know why.”

“Do I?” That same phony indifference. “What the eyes see, and the ears hear, the mind believes.” 

“The truth is never that simple.”

“Not for us, it seems. Not in this world.” Elio gives his head a small but firm shake, blowing out a frustrated breath. “You know, tonight was supposed to lower my stress levels, not raise them,” he says, granting them a temporary reprieve. “But then, you always were hazardous to my blood pressure.”

“Trust me. The feeling’s mutual,” Oliver tells him wryly. “Might I recommend some deep breaths?”

“Deep breaths?” Elio rocks back on his heels. “If I had any peaches I’d be using my right hand.”

It catches him unawares, and Oliver can't help it. He snorts. Overcome by relief. Then he laughs - a weak sound, and damn near helpless - but a laugh, nonetheless. Cupping a palm to his mouth. Moving it to his eyes. Feeling the tears he’s been fighting since this whole debacle began.

“My God you’re incorrigible,” he mutters, the sharp stab of regret cutting him to the core as he glances over his shoulder, and the blond - Bruno - shoots him a wink. “When you said I saw nothing...”

The hesitant curve of Elio’s smile lights a fire in his chest. “There was a girl on the dance floor who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Lucky for me, Bruno’s never been shy about putting on a convincing performance.” 

Oliver winces. “Well, I bought it.”

“Mission accomplished, then.” Elio edges closer. “I could’ve said the same for you, once upon a time.” The air between them grows charged. “Do you ever miss it?” he asks. “Italy, I mean?”

“Every single day.” Oliver finds himself captivated by the smattering of stubble along Elio’s jawline. The touch of smudged kohl beneath his lashes that turns his gaze smouldering. “Do you?”

“In a way.”

“Just a way?” He’s not entirely certain they’re talking about the same thing, and Vanessa’s advice seems all the more pertinent. “Let me buy you a coffee?” Oliver asks, and Elio frowns.

“What? Now?”

“If you like.” 

“It’s gone midnight!” 

“Tomorrow, then. Whenever you’re available.” Suddenly desperate, he closes the gap between them. “I can’t excuse my actions, Elio - I know I can’t - but at the very least I owe you an explanation.”

“Oliver...” This time it’s Elio who reaches out, his usually steady hands uncertain as they entwine with his. “I was young, not stupid. What’s there to forgive? You left because you had to. You married because -”

“I was weak.”

“Cazatte!” The tension in Elio’s body snaps back like a coil. “My father would have carted me off to a correctional facility,” he murmurs, squeezing his fingers tightly. “I’ll never forget those words.” 

“I’m sorry...”

“Don’t be!” Elio sounds furious on his behalf. “Weak, you say? No. Control over others is the true weakness. Coercion. Conformity. All it does is breed hatred. And that’s not you. Not my Oliver.” 

“Am I still?” he asks, laying his cards out on the table. “Your Oliver?”

“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” 

Oliver swallows thickly. “I guess we will,” he says, dropping his forehead to Elio’s crown.

He’s braver at twenty-one than Oliver could have dared imagine, and for the first time in years the dull ache beneath his ribs is replaced by a different sort of craving. The way they fit together so easily, like no time has passed, fans the banked passions within him - the desire to press his lips against Elio’s neck, to nip his way along countless freckles until he can fist those unruly curls and guide his mouth back to where it belongs. 

Flush against his. 

Devouring.

But not yet.

This isn’t leading to sex. Not tonight. This is about reconciliation. Reassurance. Redemption.

“There’s a late-night diner on the corner…”

It’s a whisper against his cheek - so quiet he barely hears it - and Oliver leans down, pressing his face to Elio’s collarbone, breathing him in. He knows this won’t be easy - knows there will be dark clouds before the dawn - yet here they are, older and wiser, and three years might as well be yesterday as the parting crowds provide a temporary island in which to weather the storm.

[sweetestlamb]

Touch My Heart Part 2

Summary: Baby come back, you can blame it all on me. Or how to get your man back using bath soaps. 

She has to cry silently, let her heart crack and splinter in silence because she doesn't want to explain her tears to Hong Yeon or Court Lady Choi. She should have expected nothing, should have known the King would want the one he truly fell in love with. But she'd still hoped, wished, dreamed selfishly that he would accept her and her feelings.

That he would beg and plead with her to stay, would declare that he loved her too. She knew that wasn't the case but still her useless heart had been holding out, only to be shredded apart when his eyes revealed how much he missed Jang Bong Hwan. It wasn't fair for either of them, she couldn't be a replacement and he would be forever longing. They would live eternally in limbo, that was no life worth living.

It was a fool's dream, she'd thrown away her chance when she jumped into the lake drowning both her desires and ambitions. She thought filling his shoes would be doable, some of his quirks and behaviors had left a lasting impact on her soul and they had many hobbies in common. But they weren't the same, maybe cut from a similar quilt but the patchwork was too intricate to be replicated.

So she cries, gasping sobs that rattle her bones and wreck her lungs; for the life she couldn't have and for the pain she knows the chef must be going through. If she was this heartbroken at the thought of being without the King, he must be crushed; soul and spirit pulverized to dusty remains.

Sleep comes to her painstakingly, her eyes so raw and red that even the act of closing them hurts and she twists and turns all night until the sandman pulls her under.

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"Hong Yeon-ah, you have been loyal to me since the day I was brought here." The young court maid looks at her with a puzzled smile at her sudden reminiscing, but nods as if she's used to her oddities by now, barely pausing her actions.

"Yes, you're highness. You are always most important to me. I will be loyal to you until the end. And when your child is born, I shall be loyal to them as well." Hong Yeon smiles sweetly at her whilst gently brushing her hair, putting fragrant powder on the roots as she twists her hair into braids.

"I will always cherish you."

"Your highness?" The court maid stops braiding her thick hair, peering into her eyes inquisitively through the mirror. "Why are you speaking as if you will not be here with me?"

She forces a content smile, having now accepted what she just do for herself, the King and most importantly Jang Bong Hwan, the one who saved them all.

"I might be going on a faraway trip, don't look for me. Just care for my baby and take care of the King." She can tell that the younger woman has many questions on her mind but mostly she seems...saudade; she understands more than she wants to and she's sad but she knows the Queen well enough to know why she must do this.

"I too, will always cherish you. I hope we meet again and I can be by your side once more, it was my greatest achievement."

She hugs the court maid, no her close friend probably one of her best friends. Remembering how eagerly she would follow her around, becoming her confidant and supporter as she found her footing in the palace.

"I hope I meet you in another life." She whispers into Hong Yeon's trembling head, embracing tighter because this is her last time.

The others are not as perceptive as Hong Yeon, but she does notice tears lingering in Court Lady Choi's eyes before she blinks them away.

"Thank you for always nagging me, it made me feel like I finally had a mother. I hope you can find your own happiness now." She knowingly looks over at the royal kitchen, making the older woman blush and turn away.

"Are you going to be okay?" She thinks about the question, and she smiles as she answers, "Yes. I'm going to be happy, I will make sure of it this time." She now knows that she has the power to do so, nothing can control her life besides her.

She sends for her father, hugging him tightly despite his apparent confusion. He's been all she's had for so long, it's her hardest goodbye of all. He will never know she's gone but she will mourn his loss until she takes her last breath.

"Father, I love you. I know everything you did was for my future, I know you made mistakes along the way but I couldn't have asked for a better father. In another life I want to be your daughter again." She cries into his shoulder, childishly gripping the bottom of his robe like she did when she was young and had a nightmare.

He looks at her with wet eyes and a huge grin, chuckling before rubbing her belly and showing her all the new gifts he's brought for his grandchild. She smiles and listens, soaking up all his love and warmth to keep her warm on those lonely days.

Later that night, she presses her palm to her stretched skin she's barely showing now only a minor bump under her clothes. But she can feel the life inside of her, her sweet baby.

"My baby, know that I loved you. That I would do anything to protect you. Please be good to them and have a happy life. I hope we too will meet in another life, you are blessed to have two mothers who adore you. Never want for anything." When she feels light taps at her belly, she grips her belly tighter.

She has no regrets, it's time.

The next day, she goes through her day as expected. Letting her servants serve her and enjoying the breeze from the lake, she takes in the majesty of her life and smiles at the sky.

When night falls, she stealthily rises from her bed donning only socks on her feet to make her steps undetectable, she's already said her goodbyes so there is nothing keeping her back now. Only her fears but she's stronger than she was before, there's no turning back now.

The lake glistens remarkably under the mystical glow of the moon, calling to her like a siren. The water sloshes as she steps into it, hissing at the cold that prickles at her skin before her body adjusts. She keeps walking until the water buoys her off her feet and licks at her collarbone, taking a deep gulp of the night air she plunges her head under the watery sheet. Water burns her lungs as she loses the ability to breathe, resisting her bodies urge to escape.

This time is different, this time she's here to live.

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He goes through the motions of life, but everything feels like a chore. He quits his job, deciding to open a a small restaurant with his savings. His restaurant instantly becomes a fan favorite because of his delicious flavors and affordable prices, he also takes to cooking at a soup kitchen on the weekends. There's a young girl whose innocent smile reminds him of Dam Hyang, he always gives her extra meat with a wink.

That's the only thing brings him joy these days, he had so desperately wanted to be back and now, now he was miserable.

What had he been missing so much? His body? His job? Technology? All of it meant nothing now, it couldn't fill the void in his heart. Nights are the hardest, sleep is elusive and his thoughts race thinking about them- how were they living without him? Was his Cheoljongie able to fall asleep? Did Court Lady Choi and the head chef make it official? Was Hong Yeon doing well? Did they even notice that he was no longer in the body of the Queen or was he already forgotten?

Did he mean anything to them or was he easily replaced by Soyong? Those thoughts haunt him daily and he starts drinking, blacking out every night in a stupor just trying to turn off his brain. But that does nothing to soothe the ache.

He tries to find comfort in others.

Finding willing partners is easy, women throw themselves at him but he's more thoughtful now, no longer seeing them as conquests. He remembers their names and cooks them breakfast in the morning, but he still feels hollow like all of his innards have been scrapped out with a jagged spoon.

So he sleeps with men, gets fucked hard into his bed stifling his moans into pillows trying to feel something, anything. But being taken does nothing, he's still empty even while stuffed full. Nothing compares to him, everyone else falls short and it makes him crazy; he has to move on. One night stand after one stand does nothing to abate the emptiness he feels.

Spending time with his mother brings him solace, she's older so he has to care for her but it's not a chore, he's happy to.

"You seem different these days." He hums as he bathes her, swiping a soapy loofah across her shoulders and wetting her short thin hair.

"How so?" He hasn't mentioned anything to her or anyone, there's no way anyone would believe his story. Sometimes he wonders if it was all a vivid dream that he created to deal with his coma but the proof is in the history book, the one he keeps on his bed side table. A reminder that it was real, that he's not crazy. It's both grounding and soul crushing.

"You're waiting for something." She answers mysteriously, eyes sliding shut as he tips her head back to wash out the shampoo.

He doesn't reply. He's not waiting for anything, there's nothing coming. This is his life now. He's just waiting for the end.

After putting his mother to sleep, he travels back home his body aching, tight from lifting another human. Mentally fatigued from suppressing his feelings all day.

He watches idly as the water fills up the tub, his fingers dancing across the surface before he stops the flow squirting a honey scented bubble bath until the water is foamy. He undresses dropping his clothes carelessly on the ground before dipping one toe into the bath, he groans at the welcoming heat letting the water envelop him fully.

The bubbles tickle his nose as he sits in the tub, his muscles slowly relaxing under the luscious heat. It feels nice. He should be content, he's able to take a warm bath in his lavish apartment that should be enough to raise his spirits.

Tears start pouring from his eyes, he hadn't let himself cry that day that feels like a lifetime ago. Had sucked up all his sadness and loneliness and pushed them in a corner of his mind, but now the corner is exploding and he can't control his emotions. All his walls are crumbling in his mind.

He sobs, choking on air and wiping at the moisture on his face but they are falling too quick for him to catch and he starts to hiccup.

"I'll never see them again. Hong Yeon, Court Lady Choi, head chef, Cheoljong, my baby! It's like I never existed, why did this happen to me? I never asked for any of this!" He screams at his ceiling, he's never been a religious person not wanting to put that much trust in an intangible being in the sky, but if there is some omnipresent being, he curses them for punishing him.

"Why me?" He pounds at the water, shouting when soap splashes back hitting him in the eye. Flailing and attempting to rub it out, he's unaware of how close he is to his shower caddy until his hand hits the metal contraption, causing the suction cup adhering it to the wall to lift and the caddy precariously dangles before loosening and crashing down. Pain explodes in his temple before he slides into the water, excess leaking over the edge and onto the floor. Soapy water fills his lungs until he loses consciousness, everything fading to darkness.

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"Jang Bong Hwan! Wake up! Open your eyes."

A familiar voice penetrates the foggy cloud in his brain, as he struggles to clear mind.

"Please! Wake up. This may be our only chance!"

The voice pleads with him, he feels wispy threads weaving around his mind and finally he starts to force his eyes open, willing his body to follow his commands.

Wake up. Wake up. WAKE UP!!

Bursting free of his prison, he jolts awake looking around wildly shocked to see himself submerged in water far deeper than his tub is capable of holding, everything feels familiar. Eerily so.

Then he glances in front of him and a face he's grown so used to seeing is peering back at him.

"Kim Soyong?" He barely whispers, certain he's having a ridiculously vivid dream.

"This isn't a dream. I've been waiting for you."

He stares at her in shock, in complete disbelief about the situation. What the fuck was going on??

"What the fuck is going on?" He voices his thought, watching as she smiles and swims closer to him.

"I'm bringing you back. I'm giving you back this body." She states confidently, taking his world and knocking it upside down.

"What are you talking about? Everything is back to the way it should be, the King loves you. History changed. Everything is as it should be." He squashes the desperate hope that blooms at her words, nothing was that simple. It simply wasn't their fate to be together.

"Is that how you truly feel? Is everything as it should be? Are you happy?"

Happy. That feeling is foreign to him now. But he has accepted his fate, he was able to help his King that was enough.

"I helped him. That's enough. I can't ask for anything more." He answers honestly, resolve melting as he thinks of his King and his smile.

"He loves you. I thought what I felt for him was love but I know the difference now, love is earned. You earned his love."

The tears start again, he looks at her lost. He doesn't know what to do.

"But you deserve to be happy too. I know everything you went through, I felt it too. I can't let you die because of me, I want you to live Soyong." He cries heart aching for the woman in front of him, she only ever did what she thought she had to. If someone had truly been there for her without any motives, this could have been different.

"I do deserve happiness too." She agrees and his heart jumps because this is it, he'll truly never see Cheoljong again.

"But I won't get it in this universe." Blinking through his tears he stares at her, a sad accepting smile on her face.

"I will always live in your shadows. That is not a true life, I want a fresh start. I deserve a live of my own without any regrets." She swims closer until they are face to face, nose barely grazing as she carresses his cheeks. It's clear what she intends to do, her lips moving closer until only millimeters separate them.

"Take care of him and our baby." She whispers before closing the gap, warm lips pressing against his and then he feels a sharp tug from the center of his stomach lurching him forward and then suddenly backwards.

He's only able to get out two words, "Thank you." Before he's plunged into darkness again.

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He swirls in a sea of nothing for what feels like eternity, locked somewhere he can't escape. He wanders and wanders trying to remember who he is and where he is? The darkness is unchanging and he feels smothered by it, running only to end up back at the same spot. But then he hears a sound, something soft and sweet. A voice, a voice he recognizes but he doesn't know how.

Who is that?

Where am I?

Those questions spin around and around in his head, vicious cycle that leaves him feeling no closer to the truth or the end.

Then he hears another voice, louder and deeper. It's pleading and pained, his heart aches for the agony he can feel and then he feels a sensation, a distant touch and suddenly a door opens in the darkness, light pours into the once desolate room and he rushes to the door, chasing the light. Needing to be closer to that voice and that touch.

His head is throbbing, opening his eyes feels like a splitting headache but he pushes through the pain desperate to see where is he. His eyes are burning but he forces his heavy lids up and sunlight floods his vision, making him wince and shut them once more.

"My Queen?"

It can't be. No. He's dreaming.

He feels a hand wrap around his own, completely cocooning it.

"My Queen! You're finally awake!" The King cries, relief emitting off his body as he clutches him to his chest. His hot tears landing on the thin material covering his shoulder.

Throat scratchy and aching he licks his lips before speaking, "Cheoljongie?"

Immediately the King freezes in his arms, it's so quiet he can hear the crickets outside chirping loudly. The King slowly leans back, his eyes darting all over his face with something that looks like nervous wonder.

"What did you call me?" He whispers, his eyes wide.

"Cheoljongie!" He screams suddenly throwing himself into his King's arms, which are loose at first but then they become rib straining tight but he doesn't care, he needs this hug more than he needs air.

The King breaks them apart grabbing his face ardently, "Is it really you? Jang Bong Hwan?" His name sounds foreign on his tongue and now it's his turn to be speechless.

"You kn-kn-know my name? You know who I am?" He stutters incredulously, feeling the tears streaming from his eyes but this time doing nothing to stop them.

"I know everything. I know you're a man from the future, you were telling the truth. You always told me the truth."

He feels steamrolled, pressed out and flattened by this discovery. He knew that and he was still here hugging him? It didn't make sense.

"How do you feel? About the truth?" It's not an easy question to ask but he needs to know the answer, there are in a different time now. Cheoljong hadn't said such when he had explained to him that sexuality was more fluid in the future, people were allowed to express themselves in many ways. There was no right or wrong way to love.

It was a nice sentiment, but this was a Joseon period. Everything was different here.

"I love you."

He's not expecting that answer and he stares with his mouth open, feeling himself being drawn into a tighter hug his small body slotting perfectly into Cheoljong's. It's unnerving and familiar being this much smaller than him again.

"I love you so much. I don't care what form you take, I'll love you every single time." He growls the last words, rumbling between their bodies.

He's never said these words out loud to anyone but his mother, but he knows that he means it. He's never wanted to say them to anyone before but now he can't wait, he's bursting with it.

"I love you too. Life was empty without you, I was walking in an endless desert. You are my oasis." They stare at each other passionately, the King's fingers warm on his cheeks as he clutches at his royal robes. They gravitate towards each other as their lips meet and the universe rights itself. He moans at the sensation of having his King's lips back on his, the kiss tethers into frantic in mere seconds. All of their longing and heartache colluding as they slam into each other.

Their tongue slide and twist around each other, he nibbles at the King's lip letting him lick at his open mouth gasping as a hand grips the nape of his neck.

He grabs the King's hair pulling him closer so he can plunge his tongue deeper, swallowing his hardy groans and letting some breathy moans escape from his bruised lips. It's going to take some getting used to, being so slight once more, whimpering as the King easily manhandles him pushing him back onto the bedding and bracketing him in his powerful arms.

The move knocks his head into the floor, momentarily dazing him as a soft "Oof," falls from his lips.

The King reacts immediately, drawing away with concern pouring from his face.

"I apologize my Que...en I was too eager, you've just woken from a vegetative state. Now is not the appropriate time for such.... activities. I will control myself." He notices the King's hesitation as he pauses while saying the title which has become something more for them.

"It's okay. You can still call me that it means too much to me now and I don't want you to be careful. I've spent all this time feeling alone and empty, trying to find other," now he hesitates and the King's eyes widen and then scowl in comprehension, "Means to feel alive. It was all futile, nothing compared to you."

The declaration does little to douse the jealousy he can feel surging off his King, he almost purrs in response. Excited. Electrified.

"I will make you forget about all others. My name is the only that will fall from these lips," Cheoljong rubs a large thumb across the his full bottom lip, seductively. "I missed you so much and I'll show you just how much."

"I spent so much time hoping to get back to my dragon, only to miss yours too much to enjoy my own. It's sad isn't it?" He pouts reaching out boldly to grab the King's thick cock peeking through his layers.

The King smirks, crawling over him before lifting up his dress easily and lowering his undergarments with a swift tug.

"My dragon missed you immensely, it's time to get reacquainted. " Cheoljong warns before slipping into his body without preamble, he shouts and tightens at the intrusion.

Every cell in his body feels alive and buzzing.

They get acquainted all night, into the wee hours of the morning hoarse shouts filling Daejajoen hall as all the court ladies blush and cover their faces bashfully. Hong Yeon smiles knowingly at Court Lady Choi, both with matching 'earmuffs' the Queen had gifted them long ago.

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"Mr. Jang, can you hear me? Mr. Jang?" She struggles to regain conscious as a light is shined into both of her eyes, blinking wildly she turns her head away trying to escape the bright glare.

"I apologize. I had to check your pupils. How are you feeling? You've been in a coma for three days. We were very worried since you had been comatose just a month prior. It's not good for the human brain to be in that state several times." She listens absently to the doctor(?) too fascinated by all the unfamiliar things surrounding her.

There's a strange machine beeping away next to her and something attached to her arm, her eyes bulge at her arm, it is larger thick with muscles she's never had before. She flexes and watches entranced as her arm gets even bigger.

"Mr.Jang, are you okay?" Finally she glances over at the feminine voice, clipped and professional but a tinge of genuine concern.

She's gorgeous, a round face and wide almond eyes that are scanning something in her hands, she has thick hair that is held up in a topknot with tendrils framing her face and her lips are succulent and rosy red, she feels blood rushing to her nether regions. When the doctor notices her staring she puts down the thing in her hands, to meet her gaze head on.

"Mr. Jang?" She finally realizes that's her name, Jang Bong Hwan.

"What's your name?" She feels compelled to ask as if this is the most important question she'll ever utter, something tugs in her stomach as they stare at each other.

"Dr. Won Beom."

She smiles.

Author's note: This will be my canon moving forward in my future untouchable updates, I'll also be incorporating a love story behind Director Hong and Kim Hwan because they are the sweetest beans and I feel like they can get great advice on their relationship from our King and Queen. 🥴😉 I was very selfish with this fix-it I don't want to let go of my Joseon family, so we're staying here instead. 

[alabasterswriting]

Gone With the Rest of Me

Writing this because Chapter 7 of Men of Power is not cooperating, so I need to redirect before coming back to it. Also @jasontoddiefor‘s Medical Trauma Time Travel AU is eating away at my brain. So here you go!

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25050571

Anakin screams.

He screams because his skin is on fire and his lungs won’t work and there’s a man above him with tears on his cheeks as flames burn the sight from his eyes. He screams because the man has wrinkles and the pain is old and his lightsaber cleaves out a piece of his soul as it cuts the man in half. Satisfaction is agony; a cold pit of apathy, like the loss of a mechanical limb. It should matter, but it doesn’t when he’s long convinced himself the original didn’t either.

Something jostles him. There’s a presence in his head and it doesn’t belong there. It stings like new skin, and aches like a muscle freshly used, and no matter what shields he throws at it, it slips through them all like sand through fingers. It’s dug into Anakin’s mind as if it didn’t burn with all the others, and nothing makes sense.

“Stop, stop,” he begs. It’s too deep. Far too deep. It smells of sapir tea and sulfur, home-cooked meals and burning flesh. His voice is a whisper because his throat is scorched and he can’t speak any louder, even though there’s no pain except for the phantom of what was. The presence recedes as if burned and Anakin wants to laugh except he hasn’t laughed in twenty years, and something is wrong. Something is so wrong and he just wants the galaxy to stop so he can get off and fix it.

Hands touch him. They’re gentle and pressing and he doesn’t understand because there’s no pain. There’s no pain even though he feels it as vividly as lightning dancing across flesh. Each touch stings; the hand on his head is like lava on his scalp. It sets flames to hair he shouldn’t have anymore, each follicle a tendril of unrelenting agony, and he doesn’t even know why he leans into it so desperately.

Someone somewhere is shouting. He thinks he hears his name, but that isn’t right because his name belongs to a dead man and remembering the dead is a fool’s errand. There are questions - he thinks they’re directed at him - and a light in his eyes that is bright, bright, oh Force, it’s so bright.

He’s screaming again even though he never actually stopped. White, it’s white. Blinding, horrible white, like the inside of his Qabbrat. Only, it’s not his chamber because he’s laying down and he can’t breathe and the hands are everywhere and - doctors.

They’re doctors. A heart monitor beeps its familiar tune and a droid rattles off the confusing diagnostics that make sense only to healers. He’s surrounded by medical equipment, but it’s too busy, too bright to be the droids and nurses he knows. They shout and touch him with hurried hands and worried voices, and it doesn’t make sense because the nurses don’t touch and the droids aren’t gentle and neither are ever worried. This isn’t familiar. He doesn’t want to be here. He can’t be here. This is wrong, so wrong and he needs to get out.

Something crashes behind him and there’s a sound like crumpling metal close to his ear. It’s loud, horribly so, and it doesn’t make sense because there’s no static and his helmet is off and why is it loud?

Shouts erupt from the people around him. Metal groans and the table he’s on shudders, and suddenly there are more hands. There are more hands and he hates it. He hates them and he hates their concern and he wants them off! A great cry rises up around him from a cacophony of bodies thrown into walls. It splits ear drums that have long melted away, and Anakin cries.

He cries and the table shakes and he doesn’t care if the room collapses around him because at least then there will be silence. Silence and darkness and he’ll know where phantom pain ends and real pain begins. He doesn’t notice as the overhead lights flicker and die. He doesn’t notice as machines warp around him. He shakes on the table as full of agony as he was on that day two decades ago. Arms - weightless and sensitive and foreign - reach to grasp hold of his ears in an effort to block out the world.

It doesn’t work. The world keeps spinning and he spins with it. For the first time he notices the Force’s screams. It’s screaming and shouting and crying, and he doesn’t know if it’s echoing him or he’s echoing it, but it doesn’t matter because he feels like a sun inside and it’s been so long. So, so long since he heard it like this. It’s light and bright, but shadows - familiar and terrible - follow in its wake like vornskers hunting a meal. He hates it. He wants to pull away but he remembers this. This feeling of impending implosion within his own power and it scares him. It scares him and he hates that and there’s nothing left to temper it. He can’t temper it; he never could and -

There’s a hand on his head. It’s callused and steady and warm like sunshine on Naboo. Anakin’s forgotten what that felt like. He hungers for it, head tilting like a babe suckling for milk. Desperately, he struggles for more of that warmth, more of that comfort. It’s been so long since he’s felt either and he doesn’t deserve it, but Anakin Skywalker has always been a selfish bastard.

The hand seems to understand as it cups the back of his head and lifts it up. It’s gentle - oh so strangely gentle - as if Anakin will shatter otherwise, and he’s not so foolish anymore as to say that isn’t possible. Another arm carefully wraps around his chest. It freezes him in place because why isn’t it crushing him? Why isn’t it hurting him? He braces himself for the impact of whatever attack this is, but nothing comes.

Instead, there’s a moment of breathless weightlessness before he feels himself settle against a torso. A heartbeat pounds in his ear, loud and clear and scared, but the body is steady, holding him as if he were a child. He’s not. He’s a monster and monster don’t get held like this, but he’s too tired to fight. Everything is too much - too much sound, too much touch, too much sight - and if these are his last moments, well it’s not the worst way to go. He settles, shaking and gasping against the body, burrowing into it like a bygone memory. He thinks there’s something wet on his cheeks, but that’s impossible because he hasn’t been able to cry real tears in decades.

The arms tighten. They hold him steady as the person bends over, encompassing him fully in an embrace that should feel like a trap, but doesn’t. A voice whispers in his ear, choked with an emotion he thinks he should know but can’t remember, urging him on, telling him to do something, but he can’t concentrate. His mind is a mess, like his Master just gouged out a piece of his brain and set it on fire.

He chokes. He chokes and there’s nothing there to help him breathe and oh Force, where’s his respirator? His body is suddenly alert, flailing about in the embrace struggling for air. So this is what they’re doing. Clever. Let the monster suffocate. They took his respirator and are suffocating him and he can’t breathe and -

“-kin! Bre-! Ana- you have - breathe!” The person yells. Anakin can feel the rumble against his cheek, but the person doesn’t understand. He can’t breathe. “You have to - in! Ana-in. Breathe. Listen, -me. Anak-. An-! In, one, -wo, thre-. Hold. Out, one, two, -ee. Again. In..” the voice continues, but Anakin doesn’t listen. He can’t. He can’t do it. He can’t breathe. Why don’t they just give him his respirator?

“General!” Another voice, also familiar, shouts nearby and Anakin flinches. The arms tighten reflexively, but the pain he should feel never comes. Instead, a sound like pressurized oxygen enters his space, and everything else ceases to matter. A mask is placed over his mouth, forcing oxygen into his damaged lungs and he feels himself sag back into the stranger’s embrace. He can breathe. Oh Force, he can breathe.

The hand on his head cards through his hair and he doesn’t have the energy to question that. All he cares about is the air. Glorious, glorious air and the sunshine warmth of the stranger. A torso bends just slightly further around him, and he can sense the person’s head as they lean towards him. Bristles, pointed and sharp poke at his sensitive skin, and the sensation of soft fingers against his cheek is almost enough to make him sob. It’s electric. His nerves are fit to explode. Every brush against his skin is like liquid fire, but he welcomes it like the pathetic fool he is. It’s gentle. He’d forgotten what gentle felt like.

The stranger’s touch is enough to calm the Force into a manageable screech, and if he concentrates hard enough he can almost drown out the sound of the doctors scurrying around. Almost. Not quite. But he’s too tired now to bother retaliating. Whatever they want to do to him can’t be worse than what’s already been done.

He focuses instead on the crisp voice of the stranger. They murmur softly into his ringing ears, calm and soothing as if afraid to spook him, and it’s familiar in a way that makes his stomach lurch and his heart break. The bristles tickle his nose and he wants to reach out. Wants to see. But his mask is off and it’s too bright and he’s blind without it.

A thumb wipes something from his face. He can’t tell what it might be but a nail clips against his eyelids, sending a burning sting through his head that forces his eyes open. Funny, he doesn’t know when he’d closed them if they’d ever been open in the first place.

Light from a window greets him. It spears through him like a bolt to the brain and he hears something whimper nearby. The stranger cups his cheek again and Anakin marvels at the way the man’s hair catches fire. Anakin hates fire, but it’s a dull hate. Old, and one he doesn’t have the strength to call upon.

But it’s that hate that gives him time to pause. Because the room is bright but there’s color. There’s gold in that fire-hair, and it’s been so long since he’s seen gold he almost can’t believe it. Gold. In copper hair, against a pale face and blue-

Luke? But no. It’s not Luke.

The face that meets his belongs to a dead man. He tries to reach out but his arms won’t move and he only ends up sending a shudder of phantom pain down the length of his spine. It’s agony and he bites his lip to keep quiet, but the dead-man doesn’t care. The hand leaves his cheek and reaches out to clasp hold of his fingers. It’s feather light, but Anakin feels every callus, every scar, every groove. The nails need cutting, but he welcomes the pins and needles they cause.

He knows this hand. He dreamed of cutting it off for years. He dreamed of it reaching out to him for years. There’s a scar from a repair job gone wrong on the inside of his thumb and a burn from a cooking incident on his forefinger. They should be wrinkled, but they’re not; smooth with youth, and leathery with experience.

Fire-hair dances and he can’t stop staring. He knows that healers are bustling around him - knows that they’re touching him, but they’re meaningless next to the dead-man. The man’s face is young, with only the beginnings of laugh lines, and his blue-grey eyes have not yet clouded with age.

Anakin wants to sob. He wants to rage. Because this is the face he’s dreamed of killing. For twenty years, this face wreathed in flames is the one he wanted dead. Dead, for not loving him enough to put Anakin out of his misery when he had the chance. The hunched old-man colored in nothing but the red of his suit’s lenses was a poor substitute.

But the man’s arms are warm. His voice is soothing. He smells like sapir tea and regulation caff. The fingers that hold Anakin’s are gentle and the beard against his cheek is scratchy from days left untrimmed. When he leaves here, he’ll probably trim it. He’ll shower and make caff that Anakin will steal, and then he’ll shake his head ruefully before turning around to make the tea he’s already had in preparation. Maybe he’ll do paperwork. Maybe he’ll nap. It varies depending on the day and Anakin finds himself shaking at the thought.

Because it doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t understand. The galaxy is spinning and the Force is booming. He can’t tell up from down, and bonds long dead are thrumming with energy. He’s going to be sick. He has to be dreaming. This can’t be real and yet all he wants is to curl up into the embrace of the man who haunts his nightmares and beg him to finally end it.

“Please.” He doesn’t know if he says it out loud or in his mind, but the dead man holds him close and quietly shushes him.    

Someone tugs on his arm, and he feels the familiar sensation of needles piercing his skin. He doesn’t want it, but he never does. There’s a brush against his mind and he doesn’t recoil. Master does it all the time. The trick is not to fight, even when he digs.

But the dead-man doesn’t dig. He brushes his presence over Anakin’s forehead as gently as a parent does their child. The world grows fuzzy and he thinks he hears the crisp accent say, “Sleep, Anakin. You’ll be okay,” before his eyes begin to close and his head tilts to press against the dead-man’s chest. Someone injects him with something else, but he’s too far gone to care. 

He falls asleep to the sound of Obi-Wan’s heartbeat and the knowledge that he’ll still be gone when Anakin wakes up. 

[notyetneedcoffee]

Date Nights 3

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Smut

New Naughty Series

“It’s your turn,” You grinned.  

Steve cracked open a fresh beer. “You sure you don’t want to just hang out around here?”

“Just pick.” You nudged him. “We don’t have to take all night.”  

He leaned closer, covering your mouth with a tender kiss. “Okay, Sweetheart.” Steve reached into the jar and pulled out a little rolled up note. Opening it up, he read it aloud. “Do something together that you usually do alone.”

His eyebrow rose, mischievously.

Completely deadpan you stole his beer from his hand and took a swallow. “Jacking you off does not constitute a date.”

Steve laughed, head thrown back. “Okay, okay.” He drew in a deep breath. “Maybe later, though.”

“Oh, definitely later.” You smiled.  

He looked thoughtfully at you, mind racing. The corner of his mouth tipped up and his blue eyes searching your face. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers. “Got it!” He stood up, taking his beer away from you. “But no booze for you.”

“Hey!”

“Nope,” He finished the beer in one pull. “Now, go put your shoes on. You’ll be good in jeans and that sweater.”

“Where are we going?”

“The range.”

“Okay.” You said slowly, pulling your shoes on.  

Steve took your hand and let you to the firing range in the basement of the Compound. You’d never been there before. The outer chamber was nothing short of an arsenal. All kinds of weapons hung from racks, ammunition stacked on shelves, and only people with proper clearance could open the cases. In the middle of the room, a table held tools and supplies for cleaning.  

At the moment, both Bucky and Clint sat at the table with parts of weaponry laid out before them. Tony sat on a countertop, fiddling with a setting on his left gauntlet. Steve nodded a greeting. “Guys.”

“Hey, what are you two up to?” Bucky leaned back in his chair.

“We’re going to do some shooting.” Steve opened a cabinet pulling out Sig Sauer P320. “Sweetheart, have you ever owned a gun?”

Before you could answer, Tony barked a laugh. “You kidding? She was raised by peace-loving Haight Ashbury hippies. Didn’t you live in a commune for a while?”

“Hippies? Seriously?” Bucky chuckled.

“Doesn’t your mom run a dispensary now?” Tony pointed his tool at you.

“You mother sells weed?!” Clint howled.  

“For medicinal purposes.” Steve grumbled.

“Among other things.” You grinned, throwing Clint a wink.  

Bucky laughed heartily at the uncomfortable look on Steve’s face. “Why start her with something so boring, pal?” He finished the assembly and held out his M249. “Let her play with a real gun.”

Before you could say a word, the two men flanked you at one of the lanes. Both went over the safe handling of the handgun and the machine gun. You listened, intently, a small smile on your face. Finally, they stopped.  

Steve handed you safety glasses and ear protection, “Did you get all that? Any questions?”

“I’m good.” You donned the safety gear. 

Before either could respond, you picked up the Sig, popped in the mag, and fired once, paused for a heartbeat to check your sight, and fired nine more in quick secession in a tight little cluster at the center of the target.  

“What the -” Steve breathed.  

You cleared the Sig and ejected the magazine. Picking up the M249, you flicked off the safety and squeezed off a few shots. Smiling, you changed aim to the head of the target and blew a hole the size of a baseball in it.  You lowered the light weight machine gun, pulling off the ear guards. “Nice.”

Bucky laughed.

“You said you did know how to shoot.” Steve looked at you with an odd mix of confusion and arousal on his face.  

“No. You assumed. Just because I’ve never owned a gun doesn’t mean I don’t know how to fire one.” You smirked.  

Bucky must have recognized the look on his best friend’s face, because he ducked out of the room without a word.  

Steve leaned close to you, hot breath tickling the skin of your ear. “That was really sexy.”

“Oh?” You purred. Taking off the glasses and running your nose along his jaw.

“Mm-hmm.” His hand slid over your hip, dipping lower to the warmth between your legs. “Took me by surprise.” He placed open mouth kisses on the side of your neck. “I’ve seen you be sweet, seen you outsmart the room, seen you be funny and charming, but fuck...” he growled out the word. “The badass look is sexy as hell on you.”

His teeth nipped your ear as he pulled your ass tight against the hard evidence of his arousal.  You gave a little moan. “You got a thing for girls with guns?”

He chuckled low. “Got a thing for you. You keep surprising me.” One hand cupped your breast as he pulled you against his rutting hip with the other. “I love it.”

“We, oh damn,” a shiver ran down your body. “We better cool it or get someplace private, ‘cause I don’t think bending me over right here is such a good idea.”

Steve groaned, freezing. “You’re right.” He took a deep breath before standing up straight. “Okay. Yeah.” Steve picked up the weapons and headed to the exit. Peeking out he breathed a ‘thank god’ before pushing the door open. Clint, Tony and Bucky were gone.  

He quickly stowed the weapons, knowing they should be cleaned before being put away. The raging erection in pants demanded other action, though. You watched his quick work with a grin. As soon as he slammed the last cabinet closed, Steve swept you up in his arms and kissed you hard.

“Let’s go.” He murmured against your lips.  

“Yes, sir.” You quirked an eyebrow at him.  

A low growl escaped his chest and he practically carried you out of the range. Thankfully, you didn’t pass anyone on the way to his quarters.  Steve kept pulling you close, kissing you, lifting you against him. As soon as his door closed, he buried his hands in your hair. “Say that one more time.”

“What?” You smiled against his lips. “Yes, sir?”

His eyes fell closed, and his grip tightened. Oh, that was new. Your voice dropped to a husky purr. “What can I do for you, sir?”

Steve’s eyes opened, studying you. His thumb traced your lower lip and you took it in your mouth, sucking and rolling your tongue around his digit. His eyes darkened. “You can get on your knees and suck my cock, like I know you want to.”

His words sent a flood to your core. Hell, yes.  

You lowered to your knees, keeping eye contact with him as your hands ran over his chest and abs, down his thighs. You moved all the way to his feet, removing his shoes and socks. Rising up, you unbuckled his belt. Steve’s hands clenched at his side. You unfastened his jeans, breathing hot air over his cock before touching him. You took him hand, licking up the length of him, stroking.  

When you finally took him in your mouth, he moaned. His hands combed through your hair, pulling it away from your face so he could see. You pushed him to the back of your throat, swallowing against him. He growled jerking into you, pushing you to limit of your reflex. Your hand grabbed his ass.

Steve bit back moans, watching your head bob, fighting the urge to fuck your mouth harder. Finally, he pulled you up, crushing your mouth with a brutal kiss. He held himself back, eyes closing. “What do you want, Sweetheart?”

You nipped his bottom lip. “Fuck me hard, sir.”

“Hell, yes.” He groaned. Picking you off the ground so your legs came around his waist, he marched to the bed. He threw you on the bed. You were pulling off your sweater before you stopped bouncing. Steve yanked off your shoes. Clothes were thrown in every direction.  

Steve manhandled you until you were naked, on all fours, ass facing him. His large hands ran over the cheeks of your ass, pulling them apart, fingers sweeping over your wet cunt. “So, sweet.”  

“Steve,” you whined.  

You felt the sharp crack of his hand on your ass. “What?”

Gasping, you corrected. “Sir.”

“God, look at that.” He smacked you again. You jumped. Pain. Pleasure. You felt yourself dripping. “You like that, don’t you?”

A moan escaped your throat.  

Steve slipped two fingers in, rubbing against your wall, roughly stroking the spot he knew so well. With a cry you dropped to your elbows. “Tell me. Say it, Sweetheart.” His other hand spanked you. “You like that.” Again, and you cried out. “Don’t you?”

“Yes, sir!”

He fucked you with his fingers, hard and rough. His other hand coming around to tease your clit, slick with your own juiced. “Do you want to come for me, Sweetheart? Are you ready to squirt all over me?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Not yet.” He was suddenly gone. You let out a something between a whine and a scream. Steve flipped you over, pushing your knee to your chest. He entered you in one deep thrust.

“Fuck!” You clutched at the bed covers. He held your crossed ankles in one large hand. Resting on his knees, he pulled out almost all the way before sliding in again. His hard cock pressing against your g spot the whole time. Your eyes locked closed.  

“Look at me!” His hand slapped you ass. Your eyes popped open, panting. Steve thrust into you harder, faster. “Fuck, you feel good.”

“Yes, sir.” You reached for his hip, his shoulder, anywhere you could touch. “Harder, please, sir!”

Steve let go of your ankles, fingers digging into your hips. Skin slapped on skin. “Yes!”  

Heat flooded through your body. Toes tingled. Thighs quivered. Tension coiled in your core. “I’m gonna... oh god...”

Steve leaned back, angling to fuck up at just the right angle. He watched, open mouthed, as his cock slammed into your wet cunt. You writhed, but he held you tight. You cried out, coming hard, flooding over his cock, soaking the duvet. He lost it.

With a growl, he slammed into you hard, fast, stealing your breath. Unable to come down from the first orgasm, he pushed you over the edge a second time.  Your whole body shook, mind whited out.  You screamed. Steve growled as your cunt clutched at him, milking every bit of hot come from him until he collapsed over your sweaty, still shaking body.

His soft lips roamed over your neck. “You okay, Love?”

“Mmm.” You panted. “I can’t feel my feet.”

He chuckled, and you felt it down the length of your body, including where he remained buried in you. “That was,” he sighed. “intense.”

“Yeah.” You nuzzled him, unable to move anything else.

Steve pushed off you and lay at your side. “Bed, or bath?” His fingers traced over your sweat soaked chest.

“Coma.” Your eyes closed.

He kissed you lightly. “That good, huh?”

“Mm-hmm, yessir.” You smiled lazily.  

Steve got up and you whined at his absence. “Just going to run the bath, Sweetheart. Don’t worry if you doze off, I’ll take care of you.”

“You’re so good to me.”

He came back, placing a soft kiss on your lips. “That’s my line.”

You rested, drifting in a wonderful haze. Date nights were a really good idea.

TAGS

@rainbowkisses31​​ / @dsakita​​​ / @geeksareunique​​​ / @lbouvet​​​ / @buckybarneshairpullingkink​​​ / @theneuropsychwriter​​​ / @vanillabunn21​​​ / @sammghgecko​​​ / @beautifullungs​​​ / @badassbaker​​​ / @the-omni-princess​​​ / @sebbysstangirl​​​ / @jesseswartzwelder​​​ / @unadulteratedwizardlove / @the-reading-octopus​​​ / @bangtan-serendipity​​​ / @kiki5283​​​ / @mindtravelsx / @my-favorite-fics-and-imagines​​​ / @patzammit​​​ / @thegetawaywriter​​​  / @vxidnik​​​ / @jennmurawski13​​​ / @wildmoonflower​​​ / @rynabarnesrogers​​​ / @notyourtypicalrose​​​ / @sllooney​​​ / @wwe-fanfiction-queen​​​ / @thorfanficwriter​​​ / @scarlettsoldier​​​ / @morganhoran1671 / @michelehansel​​​ / @sexyvixen7​​​ / @readermia​​​ / @buchanansebba​​​ / @what-is-your-plan-today​​​ / @imma-new-soul​​​ / @asiaaisa77​​​ / @babygurl8840​​​ / @acf2510​​​ / @firefly-in-darkness​​

[crimson-wrld]

Caged

Helloo my name on here is Crimson, you can call me that or Z. I found the whump community recently, it's always something I've enjoyed but just recently found the name for on a random check-in to Tumblr lol. I've followed a lot of cool blogs and done my fair share of lurking and reblogging before I decided now is the time to share one of my writings. I have also been thinking about making a new whump story, just for my tumblr here and maybe posting drabbles too.

I write a story over on Wattpad (lol) that is very whumpy and this is a snippet of my most recent chapter. Now here is some context because this is from chapter 38 meaning there are a lot of characters and I felt like it sounded better without changing them to their respective roles, so I hope it's not confusing.

The backstory is that the whumpees are being held in captivity by the whumpers. The whumpers are watching back a video of the narrator whumpee from the night before while making the whumpees serve them. Lucas did not know what happened and gets distracted by a part of the video, which is where this starts.

Whumpers (nicknamed) - Hardhead, Vicious, Baldy, Chip, Sasquatch, Crazy

Whumpees - Talon (narrator, also referred to as Mutt), Lucas (also referred to as Runt)

Caretaker - Sebastian (is a romantic partner to Talon the narrator)

((I've never done this before so I'm not totally sure how to write the CW and tags but I'm trying. Just know that this is heavy writing))

CW: brief implied past noncon, brief noncon mentions, past noncon drugging mention, brief slut-shaming language, captivity, choking, manhandling, hair pulling, claustrophobia, sensory deprivation, multiple whumpers, multiple whumpees, dehumanization, suffocation, stress position, collared, restraints, muzzled/gagged, blood, sleep deprivation, hallucinations, thinking they're going to die (please let me know if I missed anything)

"This is my favourite part!" I hear Hardhead exclaim loudly, then the tv becomes louder, so blaringly loud that it sounds like I have my ear flush against one of those really big box speakers. Lucas continues grabbing a case of beer from the fridge but we both turn our heads toward the tv at the sudden volume change.

It's the part where the drug kicks in and Hardhead has me on his lap facing the tripod camera, hand squeezing the life out of my neck. I can hear myself desperately struggling for air, trying to plead for help, something... for it all to stop- but the drug turns my words into mush. I can see it from another perspective this time, I can see my face losing colour and the sort of foggy memories of it come flooding back.

Then I see his hand trail down my stomach. My arms are weakly flailing out and trying to pull his other hand off of my neck. Then his hands are on my privates and in real life, I look away from the tv. Tears are falling down my face as I hear him verbally teasing me on the video, calling me a whore and laughing at me as I try to breathe. I was so drugged I don't even remember that.

"I bet you like that, dirty whore, don't you?" I hear him say. I start to bring my hands up to cover my ears.

The sound of a gasp and shattering glass fills the room and I jerk my head up to Lucas. He's holding the fridge door open and is staring at the tv, mouth agape and face horrified. It's like a train wreck- he just can't look away. The pack of beer he was holding is on the floor, bottles now in a million pieces scattered around, beer puddling in the tiles and spreading all over the place.

"Shit," I say, staring wide-eyed at the mess on the floor.

"What the fuck was that?!" Vicious yells from the living room.

Lucas snaps out of it then, looking down at the foam bubbles and liquid and glass all culminating together.

"Oh no--- What do I do?!" He whispers, voice cracking in panic. My heart is pounding in my chest harder now. Without much thought, I make a hasty decision.

"Don-don't worry-- I'll take the blame," I say, stepping closer to the broken box so it seems more believable. I hear the couch creaking and steps nearing the kitchen.

I just don't want to see him get hurt.

"Wait don--" Lucas starts to say but falls silent when Hardhead and Vicious walk through the door.

I can hear Hardheads voice echoing in my head, "Rule four; listen. Do what I say. If you don't, I'll punish you- if you make a mistake ill punish you too."

I know I've only known him for about two days, and the situation is deathly far from ideal, but I kind of see him as like a little brother, and I feel the strong obligation to protect him from these terrible terrible fucking people.

"What the hell are you two dogs doing in here?" Hardhead yells, looking down and seeing the mess between our feet. "Which one of you bitches did that?" He yells louder, his face getting angrier.

They take their beer really seriously.

Before Lucas can say anything I look Hardhead in the face and speak in my still semi-croaky voice, "I- I did it. I'm sorry Master." I say bowing my head after.

Lucas looks at me with wide worried eyes speaking, "No! I--"

"Shut the fuck up Runt! Go grab a mop and clean this shit up." Hardhead demands. Lucas brokenly stares between me and Hardhead. I can see the guilt on his face.

Viscous taps his foot, grumbling, "Do it now, Runt."

Lucas looks back at me again, and I give him a nod of encouragement. He frowns and reluctantly leaves to grab the stuff to clean.

"Now Mutt, you sit." Vicious instructs, hooking his finger through the collar loop and pulling me down, letting go when I allow myself to fall to my knees the rest of the way. I feel some of the glass slice into my knees and legs and I hiss, not daring to move though.

"I'm sorry Master's- it just, just slipped," I plead, seeing if I can maybe lessen whatever this punishment is going to be.

Hardhead chuckled evilly, "Oh you're gonna be sorry." He crossed his arms over his chest and takes a single step forward. Lucas gets back into the kitchen now, keeping his eyes trained to the floor as he starts sweeping some of the glass from the floor a little further away.

"Nevermind that for now Runt. Let's have a show. There's something I've been wanting to try for a while now. This is the perfect teaching moment..." he says creeping right up next to me. He grabbed me by my hair tightly and pulled me awkwardly behind him into the living room where the rest of the men are still finishing the rest of the video. Vicious follows closely behind, tugging Lucas by the arm.

I rub my head when he lets go and tosses me to the floor. I hit the ground with a groan, the wounds on my chest bursting with pain, quickly scrambling to get on to my knees though, so I don't get in more trouble. I remember they like me in this position when I got into trouble before.

I whimper when I feel the glass in my knees push in deeper, and I try to pull as much as I can out when they turn away. I manage to get most of it out and I hold my hands over the wounds with pressure to hopefully stop the bleeding.

"Tie him up please," Hardhead says to Vicious, louder than the rest of the conversation. Then he opens the door to the basement and quickly disappears down the stairs.

Vicious smirks, saying, "Don't mind if I do." He opens up a drawer of a dresser on a wall nearby and pulls out a few bundles of rope. They keep that stuff everywhere- because they're sadists.

He stalks toward me until he's behind me, and he shoves me onto my stomach. I reflexively put my arms out in front of me so they don't get crushed and see there's now blood smeared on my hands- more than I expected.

Vicious planted one of his knees on my back to keep me down and the other knee on one side of my body to trap me even more. He grabbed my arms and forced them behind my back. I grit my teeth when he tightly ties new ropes over the deep wounds from yesterday's ones. Then he takes hold of my elbows and jerks them closer together. I gasp and let out a surprised yelp. This would hurt regardless; because elbows are not supposed to bend that way, but it also brings my injured shoulder into an extremely uncomfortable position. I squirm and struggle without even realizing, kicking my feet slightly and raising my head, mouth open in a silent cry of anguish.

All I really notice is Lucas onlooking the scene with a deep frown, twiddling his fingers before a hand tangles in my hair and shoves my face into the rug on the floor.

"Calm it down there, doggy," Crazy laughs, pushing my head down more than should even be possible. The shag rug tickles the side of my face and I squeeze my eyes shut as I feel more rope wrap around my elbows. They pull taught, but not touching, and only because I'm not flexible enough to do that, because if I could, Vicious would have done it. There's no slack though, the rope is so tight that I can't move my arms apart at all, and he tied the space in the middle too, so I couldn't try to move them closer either. It's very uncomfortable, and my shoulder throbs harshly. Involuntary whimpers escape my lips. The men find that funny.

Then the knee on my back disappears, Crazy keeps his hold on my head, and I feel hands reappear on my legs, tying just above the bend of my knees and then my ankles too. I can't stop focusing on how tight the bonds are.

Once Vicious finishes, Crazy lets go of my head, and grasps me from under my arms, lifting me back up and positioning me back on my knees like a kid playing with a Barbie doll. I let out a long breath of resignation. My hair is now a mess on top of my head and hanging in my face, reminding me of the bed head Sebastian says is so cute on me.

Hardhead comes back upstairs with a tote bag in hand. He must've gone down there to gather the stuff for whatever he wanted to try. The fact that it was something he wanted to try out scared me more, because I had no idea what it could possibly be.

He closed the basement door and walked a few steps toward another door about three feet down the wall. He opens it up and reveals something that makes my heart drop.

It's a cage.

A metal wired dog cage, only big enough to fit a medium-sized dog. It's rectangular, and the roof is short, way too cramped for a human.

I start freaking out, tugging against the ropes and jerking my body around, struggling futilely to get away.

"No, wait!" I cry as Hardhead starts walking toward me. I struggle more, tears falling down my face, trying to tilt backward but Vicious and Crazy hold me down in my place.

"This is what happens when you fuck up," Vicious says evilly, and I look around the room desperately, like there's anything I can do. The men are amused, and joking amongst each other, clinking beers and watching the scene unfold. I look to Lucas, and he's crying too; silent tears, pooling from his brown eyes. They're filled with so much guilt.

"I'll do i-" He starts to say, but when I realize what he's doing I cut him off.

"It's fine Lucas!" I shout panicked and wide-eyed. That's one thing I'm not going back on; I don't want him to get hurt.

When I speak Vicious violently backhands me, so hard that my head snaps to the side and I sob out.

"Shut up." He growls, then he tightly grips my jaw and straightens my face out so I'm looking forward at Hardhead instead of at Lucas, holding me there.

Hardhead comes toward us, dumping the contents of the bag onto the floor. It's a random assortment of things and I don't like any of them. Among those things is a muzzle- a fucking muzzle. My heart just pounds harder and harder, the tears just fall faster.

Hardhead crouches in front of me, right up close into my space. He reaches behind my neck and grabs hold of the collar. He unclasps the back piece and I almost feel a breath of relief coming until he pulls it tighter.

"This is an extra punishment for escaping," he says pulling it tighter and fumbling with it until he fastened it closed, "I'd say about two more notches is good, for now."

I feel my breath escape me, it becomes even more of a chore to breathe in-- it's miserable. I hate the feeling of being manhandled like this, having to let them touch me, feeling so helpless... no control.

I just want Sebastian to hold me and tell me it will all be okay.

Hardhead picks up a bag of cotton balls from the pile on the floor and he stuffs a few of them deep into my left ear. I try to pull away but Viscious just tightens his hold and corrects me the way they want me. The sound in the room distorts, everything is muffled on one side. He pushes the cotton in as much as possible, then places some sort of earbud on top that wraps around the base of my ear and fastens it so it won't fall out. My fighting does nothing to stop them mirroring this on my other ear.

I can barely hear anything after that-- only very slight chatter, but I can't make out what any of it means. A hand touches my cheek from behind me, and I don't even hear it coming. I jump and turn to see Crazy laughing. I don't hear that either, which is like a blessing and a curse at the same time. Vicious lets go of me when I turn.

On my way looking around the room Lucas catches my eye again. Chip is next to him this time, pulling him close to his side, like in a hug, but it's obviously not in a comforting way. Lucas is sort of shrunken into himself, but when he notices me looking he puts his fist to his chest and rubs it in a circular motion.

He's signing 'I'm sorry.'

I shake my head at him.

It's not his fault... and it's not mine either.

I look back at the closet. The cage feels like it's looming over me--- it terrifies me.

My vision goes black, and at first, I think I've passed out, but that's obviously not the case because I'm clearly still conscious. Then I realize that I've been blindfolded when I fell the knot tighten at the back of my head, hair pulling into it painfully. I flinch when they touch my face to adjust it.

"No, please..." I start to beg, "I'm sssorry, I'm so-rry-- p-please." My pleading is interrupted by sobs and hiccups. I can hardly even hear myself speaking, I mainly just feel the words rumble and vibrate in my chest as I speak them, and I don't like that feeling by itself.

I gasp for breath, facing wherever I think Hardhead is standing and continue again.

"Please I-" I was cut off by something being pushed into my mouth. I recoiled backwards instinctively, being stopped by someone standing behind me. What I now realize is a bit is shoved further in and I'm forced to bite down as my mouth is enveloped in leather and the leather straps pull taut against my skin so tight I feel like they're cutting in.

The muzzle...

Nothing happens for a few seconds. I feel a slight movement, then hands on my legs, and hands on my sides. One of the fingers hits the burn by my ribs and I let out a muffled whine, feeling the floor disappear from beneath me. I try to struggle again, fighting against them as hard as I can, though it's useless, and I quickly have to give up because the tight collar, the bit in my mouth and the leather residing over it leave me breathless. I suck in air from my uncovered nose desperately, having to focus on it alone because of how hard it is.

I'm not even claustrophobic, but the thought of being stuffed in that cage, in the closet, alone... scares me so much. It's even worse because I'm being deprived of nearly all of my senses.

Then I'm being set down and bent forward, pulled around and shoved until I feel the cold metal of the cage against my legs. They have me sitting on my knees again, bent so that I fit under the short roof. I can feel the wires against the skin on my exposed back and the back of my head as well.

I was thinking it couldn't get any worse when my head gets pulled downward harshly by the collar. I get surprised and jerk up reflexively only for someone to grab me by the hair and push me back down lower. I feel hands fumbling at the front of the collar and occasionally a bit of rope touching against different parts of my neck for a minute before they and the hand in my hair go away. I try to lift my head back up but I can't- it's held in place. They must have tied a rope from the collar loop to the bottom of the cage.

I realize they still aren't finished when my tied wrists are pulled up next. They get tied to the part of the cage where the roof meets the side. My hands are flush against it and some of my fingers are forced to stick out. The same thing happens to the rope on my elbows to the roof of the cage, making my arms nearly form a ninety-degree angle.

I'm left still and locked into the stressful position, then there's a slight vibration, followed by a larger one, then... nothing.

It must've been them closing the doors- shutting me off from everything completely, except for the cold metal beneath me and the throbbing, pulsing, pain. I can't decide if this is better or worse than what was originally planned for me today.

I mean it should be better, right?

There's no warm breath over my shoulder and on the nape of my neck, no hands trailing over my body, no breathy groans in my ears, no chapped lips over my skin and my mouth, no hands pulling my hair, nobody forcing themself onto me...

There's just nothing.

So why is my heart still racing?

Why does it feel like the walls are closing in?

I don't know. I don't know why I want to stay in and leave at the same time- why I can't decide even though the options seem easy.

I feel like it's only been a minute or so when my arms start to ache and my shoulder develops a raw stabbing pain, not unlike the way it felt when it was originally injured. I attempt to shift my position to relieve the ache, which is where I come into even more of a problem.

If I lean forward and bring my head low, which id hoped would allow my arms to move down more, it pulls on my shoulders. The rope securing my arms to the top of the cage makes sure my arms can't move when the rest of my body does, and therefore threatens to pull my shoulders out of their sockets, which especially doesn't bode well on the one that already has been.

When I try to do the opposite and lean my head backward, a similar problem with my arms arises, but to go along with it, they've somehow tied the collar so that it pulls tighter when I pull my head away from the floor, completely cutting off my airway. It feels just like when Hardhead was squeezing his hand around my throat.

If I return to the middle like I originally was, I realize that I have to give my effort to keep my head in the right position, or risk losing my arms... or suffocating.

I decide that I definitely want out.

Seemingly on cue, the pain of everything else seems to slam into me full force, like all the adrenaline of the situation has fully crashed. If I have to hold this position... then I don't know how long I can last... and I don't know how long they're going to keep me in here.

Tears soak through the cloth blindfold and I can't manage to get my sobbing under control, which in turn spirals away the focus I had kept on my breathing. I start to panic, my chest tightening. I'm going to die.

Holy shit. I'm going to die.

I have a hard time doing it, but I scream, as loud as I can through the muzzle. I can't even tell if I made any noticeable noise or not, I can only feel the rumble in my chest, hear my own racing heartbeat. I have to wait a second before I do it again, jerking my body as much as I can -which isn't very much- and squeezing my eyes shut tight. My mouth feels dry because of the bit pushing on my tongue, the pain in my throat comes back full force. My attempts to move make the new cuts on my knees hurt. Everything hurts.

I can't fucking breathe.

Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.

In my moment of total desperation I think about it- Sebastian- think about him, his soothing voice.

"Breathe baby, breathe," I can hear him say, "Just focus on me Cuci, in... and out."

I remember how he helps me through a panic attack, ''I'll do it with you, just copy me,' and I can almost see him in front of me, appearing in the darkness, taking deep breaths in for me to mimic.

And I do.

I suck in a large breath through my nose, following the fake Sebastian that I'm so inclined to think is real. I'm staring into his blue eyes, and he's staring back into mine. He raises his hand, and lightly places it on my cheek, mostly resting over the tight leather, and he whispers to me, but I don't know what he's saying, all I hear is the noise. I want to lean into his touch, but I cant-- I want him to hug me tight, and kiss me, but I can't ask him to either. He looks so real- but he's not... right?

I can't tell, but it doesn't matter, I just match his breaths until they're back under control- the tint bit of control I have over them. He whispers more to me, leans forward and gives me the lightest kiss on the forehead, then disappears, a puff of smoke into the air, like it was blown from Hardheads very own cigarette.

I wanted to laugh, a bitter laugh... it can't have been that long yet, and I'm already losing it. But obviously, I couldn't. I can't do anything.

I don't know how long later it was when my tears had dried up, the hallucinations had been plaguing me for so long. I could feel cold hands on my sides, my hips, feeling over my shivering body, grabbing at the shorts, and I couldn't tell if they were real, but I couldn't even manage to care, because I had to focus on breathing and keeping my head up.

I'm so fucking tired. My throat is dry-- it burns, I can't feel my arms, my legs sting, my wrists and ankles never had time to recover from yesterday, the direction of me trying to move rubs against my burns, everything sore, my feet are numb from sitting on my knees for so long, I'm seeing random shapes and hearing random things. I'm losing my mind.

I just want to lay my head down, close my eyes, relax, sleep.

Please let me sleep.

It gets to a point where my eyes drift closed, and it gets harder and harder to open them back up each time. So hard I eventually resort to leaning forward slightly every time I start to drift asleep so it relights the pain in my shoulders and forces me to stay awake. I just have to remind myself; if I fall asleep ill pull my shoulders out.

I'm exhausted. My brain is fuzzy. I don't know how long I've been in here in this stress position. I don't know how much longer I have to hold it, but I hope it'll be over soon.

If they let me out ill be good, I'll be so good for them. No mistakes...

So good...

[slashingdisneypasta]

Hewitts / Pleasant Valley x Fem!Reader || Oneshot

Title: The Multiverse Theory and the Horror Fandom 

Notes: 

I don't really know what it is, but I enjoyed creating it, so I’m posting it! If I get an idea as to what might happen next, I’ll probably add a part two. 

Its crack

Plot: 

Okay, you are from this universe and you are your Slasher fucker self. But you’re transported from your home, to the universe that the Slashers live in, specifically 2003 Texas Chainsaw Massacre. They capture you of course and decide to keep you.

Now the Hewitt’s have decided to go on a roadtrip and are of course taking you, their hostage, with them.

They end up staying in Pleasant Valley, despite your warnings not to. 

Warnings: Mention of real life people, breaking of the 3rd wall, if you look then there is some hints towards sexual assault cursing. Its comedy though mostly, so its pretty okay

~~~

“We’re lost.”

“No, mama, we not lost. We’re just taking the scenic route… “Hoyt transparently bullshits, looking around completely lost at the surroundings that we pass at a 100 km/h. Nothing but wheat fields and cows as far as the eye can see. Georgia is even more boring then Texas had been.

Luda Mae rolls her eyes, not taking any his shit after 6 hours in the car with him just today. God, I’m on her side. Can we stop somewhere just for a little bit? I mean, I don’t have to pee anymore since I held it for so long that the urge went away, but I’d still like to try because now I feel like I’m going to explode at any time. “So, we’re lost.” She announces, leaving no room for argument.

“Definitely lost… “Monty, in the seat beside me in the back seat of Hoyt’s tiny sheriff car, agrees with his sister, also watching the fields go by moodily. Why didn’t we take the goddamn truck, anyway? I would rather be tied to top of that, then squished back here between Thomas and Monty. I mean, there’s not even any doorhandles in the back here! Why did I have to be in the middle? Its not like I’m going to throw myself out the window! Sometimes I think Hoyt’s paranoid. And I hate him. And his ego’s too big.

Of course, Hoyt snaps back at Monty even though what he said was so mellow. It certainly didn’t have the amount of pent up frustration that Luda Mae’s had behind it. “We ain’t lost, goddamn it- Look! There’s a town. We’ll stop there and ask for directions if you really want. Just to make sure we’re going the right way, which I’m sure we are.” I look up from my hands, bruises all over the wrists from Hoyt and the ropes, and cuts all over the fingers from cooking with Luda Mae… and jagged fingernails from before I gave up. When I was still scratching at the walls and floor and Thomas, wanting to escape this mad family.

My fighting spirit isn’t completely crushed, now… but it has been a while since I screamed for help. I’m waiting for the moment, the right moment to try and escape. Of course, I don’t know if that moment will every come… but I still hope. And that’s something.

Now, looking up out the front window to see the town Hoyt’s talking about, I wonder if this will be the place that I’ll escape in.

Then we rush past the sign and I do a double take.

What did that say?!

I glance at Thomas, my designated warden to see what he’s doing now since he had been sleeping for most of today’s trip- yesterday he had stayed awake and alert, but today it seems that he decided I wasn’t about to crawl over anyone and creep through the window so it was cool to nap,- to see he’s alert, and when I look at him he turns to look at me back. I flash him a fake smile and turn to Monty, because he speaks. And he’s on the right side of the car, so he would have seen the sign.

“Hey, what did that sign say?”

“Why are they talking again?” Hoyt pipes up in the front as we get nearer to the town and I start to feel sick in my stomach. I raise my eyebrows at Monty instead of answering Hoyt’s goad.

Monty shrugs, leaning his back on his hand and looking out the window again. “Uh, Pleasant Valley.”

Oh my god.

It cannot be possible that more then one Horror movie exists in this world… right? I’ve been through enough trauma; I do not need to endure Robert Englund’s trademark craziness- oH, or Bill Mosely’s either. Oh god, - and his band of confederate lunatics. Do not do this to me, universe.

My heart’s beating faster then a bullet train as I wait, still as a statue and straight backed, for any more hints that I am where I think I am.

Thomas watches me with a hard stare, alert and suspicious about my odd change in posture and body language. I try to ignore him, which is of course hard, but I make do.

Then we start to pass people in this town, and they’re men in overalls and women in the most era-incorrect costumes I have ever seen. And they’re smiling and waving at us.

And I feel sick, and sink back into my seat so nobody outside can see me through Monty or Thomas, hopefully.

“Hoyt,” I call, quietly for the ‘sheriff’s’ attention. My voice doesn’t lift even to a normal volume, I’m so scared so he either ignores me or really doesn’t hear me. I try to be louder. “Hoyt!”

“Yes, hostage?”  

“I think we’re going the right way as well; I saw sign on the road a few miles back that said so. We should just keep going.”

“What?!” Luda Mae turns in her seat to look at me furrow her eyebrows- she doesn’t believe me one bit. “What are you doing, slouching in the back like that? Sit up!”

“Are we stopping?”

“Uhh… “She turns to look at Hoyt, and he nods. “Looks like it. About time, too. I need to stretch my legs, and we obviously need those damn directions.”

“We do not need the- “Hoyt sighs, exasperated, then furrows his eyebrows as he focuses on something in front of the car. “What the fuck are these wackos all doing out there in the middle of the road? Get outta my way… “

Mow them over, Hoyt! MOW THEM OVER.

Of course, he slows to a crawl and then a stop, and I thank god that the back windows don’t open, lest I feel any more in danger. If they were open, I definitely would have feared scary ghost cannibals would stick in their hands. As it is, cross my arms and let Hoyt do the talking. Of course, I mean. What else could I do?

I can see full frontal the mess that we’re getting into, which once upon a time in a different world -my world. Oh, how I wish I was there right now, - would have been a good sign. Seeing Kane Hodder, Robert Englund and Lin Shaye and the ‘Guts and Glory Jubilee’ banner would be a sign I’m about to have a good night full of horror movie enjoyment and probably fanfiction as well. But now I see it and I wish to never watch that movie again, much like the Texas Chainsaw Massacre franchise.

Hoyt puts his hand on the car door handle next to him. “No, no, no, don’t get outta the car!” I exclaim, quietly and reaching to grab him back but he looks over at me, gives me a ‘I do what I want’ kind of look and then gets out of the car.

“Good afternoon, sheriff! Welcome to our Guts and Glory Jubilee! You’re our honoured guests!”

Oh, dear god.

Hoyt slams his car door shut and Luda and I wince at the sudden noise. “What the hell are you people doing out here in the middle of the road??! Me and my family are tryna get through here.”

“Aw, my bad sheriff! We’re just so tickled to have you with us this fine day!” Buckman doesn’t seem stirred that Hoyt’s clearly southern, and therefore ‘confederate’, like him, as far as he’s concerned which is what I was hoping for, so I decide to blow this whole situation out of water- I have no choice.

And what, in hell’s name, could I possibly lose at this point?

I lean forward in the car, keeping an eye on the scene, to talk to Luda Mae. “Hey, so this may be a bad time to mention this but, uh.” How do I break this news? “Well, I’m from a different universe. That multiverse noise? That’s real. Anyway, more importantly, I’m from a world in which you and your sons, and Monty, are just movie characters. Your movie is called ‘The Texas Chainsaw Massacre’, Thomas is the Texan Chainsaw guy and he is called Leatherface.” Luda’s slowly turning her head to look at me like have 7 eyeballs. I keep talking through, quickly ad feverishly, desperate. “I know it sounds crazy, and you can ask me any question about ya’ll’s passed if you want as proof but just get your son back in this car please. This place also has its own movie, and its even less pretty then what goes on in your house.” I look pleadingly at her, hoping to God, by some miracle she believes me.

“Sit back down!! I’ve been in a car with 3 sweatin’, stinky men for 6 hours now today and I am in no mood for your stories.” She turns back in her seat. “God.”  

“Oh Jesus, you said it… “ I whine, plopping back down in my seat, looking at Hoyt and Buckman who have now met in front of the car and aren’t yelling at each other across the road and immediately assume the fucking confederate mayor is successfully feeding the fucking fraudulent sheriff’s ego, and drop my face into my hands. A few minutes pass, and I stay like this, occasionally making frustrated crying sounds without really crying, and getting annoyed groans and ‘shut up’s from Monty beside me, until a hit to the car jolts me up. “What! What? What’s happening- are they attacking!?”

Everyone who heard, ignores me and I see it’s just Hoyt coming around the car opening Thomas’ side. Oh god, breeze has neve felt so terrifying. “Come on out, family. We’re stayin’ the night! I can’t tolerate settin’ in this car with you people anymore.” On no. No, no, no. STAYING?

Thomas gets out and Luda Mae follows, opening Monty’s door for him and letting him out onto his wheelchair that Thomas gets out of the trunk for him and unfolds. I cross my arms and stay inside. When Hoyt realises this, he leans down to peer inside the car at me and thrusts a thumb to point behind him. Slowly, menacingly he drawls. “Get out of this car.”

Oh, what is he going to do? What could he possibly do that he hasn’t already done to me.

I stubbornly look away. “You said family, I’m not family. I’m not leaving this car, no way. You can’t make me.”

“You wanna bet, sugar?”

He reaches in, wraps a calloused hand around one of my arms and starts pulling me until I topple out of the car, into the dirt. He lets go of me and immediately slams the car door closed again so I don’t slither back in.

“Fuck.” I mutter, glaring up at him from the floor. He locks the car in front of my eyes.

“Now, when you’re feeling more like an adult and not a child, you can come on to our room- that building over there. “ I feel like running after him when he walks off to the building, but before I can get myself out of the dusty, beige dirt, a hand enters my vision and I follow it up and scream on the inside. Mayor George Fucking Buckman.

He smiles so charmingly… you could nearly believe he isn’t depraved. Then I see the eyepatch and I’m reminded. “Would you let me help you up outta the dirt, little miss?”

Mmmm, I guess.

Best to stay on his good side, I think as I take his hand and he hauls me up. I don’t want to be on the receiving end of one of those glares that the whole town like to take part in with him. Noooo thank you. Not for me.

“Thank you.” I say quickly, looking to get out of there and find the Hewitt’s. They’ve all disappeared into the building Hoyt went towards a moment ago now. I brush the dirt off my pants and then clap my hands off of each other to get rid of the dirt that’s on them now, and any remnants of feeling Buckman’s hand, then flash a tight smile in Buckman’s general direction and escape towards the building.

They have to listen to me!

I burst into the place and see Thomas trailing behind the rest of that devil family down a hallway and run down there. “Thomas!” I pant, because that was a long hallway. Where are we now?! The Overlook hotel!?! “Thomas, what kind of warden are you? Please, don’t you ever leave me alone with that man ever again!” Thomas narrows his eyes suspiciously at me above his normal, leather mask -Luda and Hoyt had decided before we left their murder mansion that the human flesh mask would probably not fly in normal society, so he swapped it in for the old one,- then nods in front of him for me to walk there where can watch, and I gladly go there.

___TIME SKIP: A couple hours later___

All day, I have been trying to persuade the Hewitt’s that I’m not from here. I described Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning in explicit detail, including of course the Sheriff Hoyt thing, the Eric/Dean confusion, Bailey, Monty’s legs being chainsawed off… I even recruited some comic book information about Hoyt’s time in the Prisoner of War Camp and Sargent Chow, but they just think I’m a stalker now.

I mean, why the fuck not? Why wouldn’t I stalk these freaks? Truly, being around them has been a joy filled time.

I don’t throw back at my face that I watched their movies religiously, readers. That’s was when I thought they were fictional! (Yeah, I know you’re there reading this. This sure feels like a fanfiction to me, and as a fangirl, I’m an expert.)

So, I’ve decided I have one more option. One more chance to survive.

Hopefully this doesn’t go worse then plan A did.

Through pretending like the rope around my wrists was too tight when Hoyt tied me up by the hands to his bed frame, when really in truth it was a bit loose, I manage to make him think I’m stuck for the night. So, when he falls asleep – I know he’s asleep because he snores like a feral racoon… that also has rabies… (He drools) – I carefully, quietly, I struggle out of the ropes and carefully put them on the floor. Then turn to the window.

We’re on the second level of this building, but the possibility of a broken bone or two will not deter me from getting out of this mess. Especially since Thomas is waiting in the hallway outside this room for any sign of me trying to escape and getting hurt from falling out of a window is much preferred to meeting the business end of his chainsaw.

Not that I’ll be out of danger when I get out… as I’ll still be in Pleasant Valley… but I will have completed Level 1 at least.

Opening the window, I wince and look back at Hoyt to make sure the gentle rubbing sound the window makes against the frame doesn’t wake him, then turn back and immediately get to crawling out. Once I have succeeded in getting onto the ledge I hold on to the gutter - hoping beyond hope that it’s sturdy, - and reclose the blinds and push the window closed as well again. Covering my tracks.

Then I start the perilous journey down the building, which somehow, I succeed in! When I finally drop down on the dirt again and turn around though, I nearly out loud this time. “Miss Shaye! -“I stop myself, making an ‘Oop’ sound. You would think I would stop making these mistakes- I have been tortured and keep prisoner by the Hewitt family. Certainly not the late R. Lee. Ermey or Andrew Bryniarski either. The Hewitt’s. - But alas, I am still making this mistake apparently. “Sorry, you remind me of someone else!” I smile at Granny Boone, who must have been standing there watching the whole time I conquered the hotel building, stands with her hands on her hips and one eyebrow purposely halfway up her forward. She’s waiting for an explanation. “I didn’t want to wake up my family, and its time for the midnight stroll. Couldn’t sleep!”

My heartbeat races in my chest, because I have every confidence that this woman could kill me with her bare hands if she doesn’t like my answer. For a few moments, she makes me wait as she does looks at me suspiciously like Thomas. Oh god, are you going to eat me or not, ghost lady!?

“Oh, well that’s very considerate of you! Could I join you on your walk? I’m in the same boat.”

Oh, for fudges sake.

I smile politely though, and we start walking side by side down the middle of town. Silence hangs between us, but as we walk, I start to think this could work. I was planning on finding Buckman and telling him my story to see if he would believe me and do something because this whole town is supernatural and hard to believe, but I actually think this may have worked out in my favour! Maybe. He’s a sexist, chauvinistic bigot. But at the very least Boone’s a woman like me, with less of a boner for authority so hopefully she’ll at least listen. So… maybe…?

“So… “I start, sounding loud since it’s so quiet out here. “Can we talk? Woman to woman? I don’t know, you just seem trustworthy!” Oh, puke. What am I saying? “Sorry if I’m out of line, but… something crazy’s going on in my life.”

“Oh, trust me. I know crazy.” I side eye her as she smirks ‘mysteriously’. Oh, I know you know crazy, lady. I know. I know it all. You know crazy intimately. “Uh but go on. Sure thing. What kind of good Christian lady would I be if I didn’t bend an ear to our esteemed special guests?”

… Uhuh.

Well, okay! Works for me. “Thank you.” I clap my hands together. “Well. It started a month ago now, I guess… Haven’t really been able to keep up with time. First, I should probably explain the multiverse theory…”

[notapaladin]

oh you take all of the pain away (redux)

Because I am the only person writing Obsblood fics, I wind up rereading them a lot to get my fandom fix!...so I notice when I can definitely do much better with an older concept. This is The One Where Acatl Has Nightmares, But Better.

Also on AO3

Older version here.

-

The shadows on the wall were taunting him. Acatl closed his eyes again, but it didn’t help.

This is ridiculous.

“Mmm,” Teomitl murmured into his ear. “I can hear you thinking.”

That was also ridiculous, but oddly endearing. He huffed out a breath and shifted back to curl more fully against Teomitl’s lean, well-muscled chest, enjoying the warmth of his skin for a moment before it occurred to him that if he could still feel said warmth, something was definitely wrong. Namely, that he was still awake, and it was far past sundown. “Mrrrgghhh...”

Teomitl’s arms tightened around him, and a soft nose pressed into the curve of his shoulder. He was being cuddled like a child’s favorite toy, and if he hadn’t been so irked by his continued state of wakefulness he would have smiled. His lover could really be terribly sweet sometimes, even when his speaking breath tickled. “Go t’ sleep.”

He unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth to grumble, “I am trying.” There wasn’t any heat in it. He was far, far too tired for that. After the night they’d had, where Teomitl had slipped into his courtyard at sunset and proceeded to very thoroughly make up for the time they’d spent apart in pursuit of the loose threads to a particularly nasty haunting case, every muscle in his body felt like half-melted rubber. He ought to be sleeping like a corpse. He was almost too tired to think.

And his body refused to quiet down. He rolled onto his stomach, burying his face into his arms with a grunt; it was an action that took him out of Teomitl’s arms, generally something he regretted, but cutting out distractions—and Teomitl was certainly a distraction, half-asleep and so wonderfully warm—sometimes helped him sleep. Not always, but sometimes.

Besides, it wasn’t like his lover was going anywhere. A hand smoothed down his spine, gently shifting his hair off his back, and he let out a long sigh. Maybe if he just lay here, he could become one with the mat.

There was another soft mumble behind him. “Night.”

He hummed in acknowledgment. Good night, love.

In the cool, still darkness, Teomitl’s presence a bulwark at his back, with no sound save for their steady breathing and the measured thumping of their heartbeats, he slowly felt himself fall.

And fall.

And fall.

Down and down and down...

Only to land on his knees with a shock like a distant blow. The ground was cold and hard under him, and strangely lumpy; as he got to his feet, he saw why.

It was not dirt, nor carved tiles, but hard-packed bones made of gold and jade. He touched a fallen clavicle. It was slippery. Feeling disconnected from his own skin, he picked it up and turned it over in his fingers as he walked. Teomitl fidgeted with things like that, too—not bones, but rocks and sticks and whatever he happened to be holding. He said it helped him focus.

It didn’t help Acatl focus. He walked through the Sacred Precinct, but it was a Sacred Precinct unlike any he had ever seen before. Beautiful, shining, with gold plating every temple wall and turquoise set into the very steps of the pyramids—but empty. There was no sound, not even his own footsteps. A river of blood flowed down the steps of the Great Temple to collect in a pool at its base, but even that made no sound. There were no priests chanting hymns, no commoners offering penance. He was alone.

Alone...

No. Not alone. Teomitl was here somewhere, he knew it. He couldn’t hear that familiar, impatient tread, but he knew it was just ahead of him, that if he ran faster or called out his lover’s name he would be there and—

And—

He opened his mouth. He closed his mouth. What good would calling out do?

He turned the corner and entered the palace gates, and the first sounds he heard fell like hammers on his ears, for all that they were the thin, chattering-infant voices of ahuitzotls.

“All hail...”

“...our great Revered Speaker...”

“Drowning, drowned, all are drowned...”

The courtyards were not empty. He thought he would have preferred it if they were. No, they were filled with ahuitzotls on their hind legs, dressed in the feathers and gems of nobility, and all chattering amongst themselves. As he walked past them, they stopped to watch him go. His skin crawled. He knew better than to run.

“...They cast the reeds...”

There was a particularly large one blocking his path through a doorway. As he edged around it, it met his eyes. “He is our Emperor,” it hissed. “Not yours.”

Ice flooded his veins. He opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out.

He kept walking, and the palace changed around him. Now the frescoes were set with gems, now hammered gold had been set into them to accentuate the eyes of the gods that were, he felt, definitely not watching. Under his bare feet—when had he removed his sandals?—the floor grew warm and slick in a way he recognized far too well. Fresh blood. Another river. No. Another lake, mirroring the one on which Tenochtitlan lay.

The doorway in front of him stood wide, and he knew what he would see when he walked in. He didn’t want to. Duality preserve him, the last thing he wanted was to walk through that door.

His legs carried him forward anyway, and when his gaze adjusted to the brightness he choked back a noise that wanted to be a sob.

Teomitl had gotten there ahead of him, and was sprawled negligently on the throne with a bloody macuahuitl in his hand. The blood was deeper here, lapping at his calves and Teomitl’s sandaled feet, and his lover looked...bored. No, not bored. Vacant. There was gold on his arms and fingers, turquoise at his lip and ankles, and his face was as expressionless as a doll’s. Fear stopped Acatl’s throat.

Before he knew it, he was wading towards him. The blood parted like humid air. “Teomitl!”

Teomitl lifted his eyes. There was no hint of recognition in them. “We do not give you leave to call Us by that name, priest.”

“Teomitl—it’s me—”

His next step went through nothing at all, and the world was filled with blood-tinged saltwater. Teomitl’s throne cracked and broke apart as he watched, sending him tumbling through the depths an arms’ length away. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t move.

Terrified, he opened his mouth to call Teomitl’s name again, but water rushed in to fill his lungs instead of air, and he thrashed desperately. Knowing there was no use in calling for Lord Death, the words of a prayer nevertheless drummed through his head. Though it be jade, it is crushed, though it be gold, it is tarnished. Only for a little while do we have the feathers, the jade, before it must come to Your embrace...

The voice of his patron rang through the water. “No.”

He froze, floating suspended in the current. My Lord?

Mictlantecuhtli wasn’t there. Not physically, at any rate; even in a dream, Acatl knew he’d feel it if he was in Lord Death’s presence. But even so, He was suddenly sitting on His skeletal throne, gazing dispassionately down at them both through a curtain of blood, and Acatl felt his heart quail in his chest as He spoke again. “He must die. Such is the way of the world.”

No! Desperate, he lunged through the water. Yes, of course one day Teomitl would die, as all men did, but not like this. Not when he was young and strong and beautiful, not when he hadn’t completed what he’d set out to do. He should die at a great age surrounded by his loving grandchildren, not choked to bursting with the waters of his own lake. Acatl couldn’t let him.

“Why do you struggle? You know you cannot stop this.”

That was right. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t even try. He was the High Priest of the Dead, wasn’t he? It was not for him to interfere. Maybe Teomitl had even been meant to die of the plague. Maybe he should have left him there. Maybe, when Teomitl had spat out the words of his heart—red up to his ears, not looking at him, fingers white-knuckled in the folds of his cape—he should have turned them aside and continued on the solitary and cold and lonely path set out for him.

Now, for the first time, Teomitl was looking at him as though he knew him, and his eyes were wide with panic. A flailing hand reached for him—their fingers were close enough to touch—but when it encountered his skin, it slipped through as though he was already a ghost. “Acatl!”

He couldn’t respond. Blood and water filled his mouth. I’m sorry. I love you.

Eyes wide open, he watched Teomitl sink into the darkness.

“Acatl-tzin!?”

Everything was dark. His limbs refused to obey him.

Something shook him, hard. A voice he knew as well as his own snapped in a note of panic, “Wake up!”

All at once, it was like a spell had been broken. His eyes shot open, and the tension coiling through his paralyzed limbs finally resolved itself in a jolt that had him sitting up and staring into space. His heart was hammering fit to escape his ribcage, and each breath burned. When he felt wetness on his face, he realized he’d been crying. “Hah,” he managed, aware now that Teomitl was staring at him. He couldn’t turn to face him. He couldn’t bear to.

Teomitl’s grip on his shoulder was tight enough to bruise, but the look in his eyes was wide and soft and frightened. Frightened for him, he realized. “Acatl...?”

“Just a dream.” He sucked in a breath. His chest still hurt, and it was hard to breathe through the horrible congested feeling of too many tears. That’s right. It was just a dream. It wasn’t real. Wherever my soul wandered in my sleep, I’m here now. This...this mat under me, these four walls around me, this is real. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“I was awake. Ish.” Teomitl made a quiet grumbling noise, and Acatl immediately felt much worse. Of course Teomitl had been easy to rouse; as swiftly as he dropped off to sleep, he’d always struggled to stay that way, and what sleep he did get was all too frequently disturbed by nightmares. He’d sworn that Acatl’s presence helped, but...well. It clearly hadn’t tonight. “How do you feel?”

Acatl grimaced, staring down at his hands. If he balled them into fists, they didn’t tremble so badly. “I’m fine,” he lied. It would be true eventually.

Teomitl saw through him in an instant, as always. And, as always, he had no patience for it. Gaze focusing into a sharp glare, he snapped, “You are not, you’re shaking. I’ve never seen you have a nightmare like that before.”

He focused on his breathing. In. Out. In again. Slowly, his heart started to calm, and the residue of that sick terror started to drain out. “...I’m...” But he couldn’t finish the lie.

Seeming to come to a decision, Teomitl let go of Acatl’s shoulder to cover his hand instead. It was shockingly gentle for a moment; at first Acatl almost couldn’t process it, but then it sank in. The warmth of his lover’s skin, the smooth calluses from his swordwork, the faint raised scar across his palm. ��No. You were crying in your sleep.”

He closed his eyes briefly. No, that wasn’t a good idea. He could still see the ahuitzotls when he blinked, could still see the specter of his lord telling him to let Teomitl die. I couldn’t. I can’t. I won’t. He opened his eyes again, and this time he looked at Teomitl. His beloved looked drowsy, moonlight shrouding his features, but he could make out a hard, stubborn set to his mouth that he knew very well; it said that Teomitl knew what Acatl was doing, and he didn’t appreciate it. And Acatl had promised him honesty. Reluctantly, he nodded. “Mm.”

Teomitl gave his hand a gentle squeeze, but his voice was firm. “You should talk about it. It’ll help. Isn’t that what Mihmatini always tells us?”

He didn’t want to talk about it. Gods, that was the last thing he wanted. Maybe if he said nothing, thought about everything else under the sun, it would go away. But...

But Mihmatini had been right, when she’d told them that. And it had helped. Exposing the deepest feelings of his heart had gotten Teomitl to lay down his sword, had turned them from teacher and student to friends and then to lovers. He couldn’t deny him when he asked to be trusted with this, even as he dug a penitential nail into the soft skin of his own thigh. I cannot believe it is right for me to tear myself from him, O Lord. Not from the man who had upended Acatl’s lonely life and built a space for himself in it with nothing but dogged persistence and a radiant smile. “...You won’t take no for an answer, will you?”

Ah. Perhaps he’d been a bit curt, because Teomitl looked stung. “I would. You know that. But if it disturbs your sleep—if wherever your soul has wandered has hurt you—then I want to know about it.”

“So you can kill it?” Acatl quipped, half-serious. Granted, he wouldn’t put it past him...but still.

“Hrmph,” Teomitl muttered. “If I can, yes.”

Oh, my love. He exhaled. “...Alright, then.”

But saying he’d tell his lover about it and actually making his mouth form the words were two different things, and for a long moment he couldn’t figure out where to begin. Finally, with Teomitl’s thumb making little circles over his knuckles, he started to speak. “I was in the Sacred Precinct, alone, but I knew you were there somewhere.” Every surface gold, and all those rivers of blood, and me in the middle of it thinking only of you. “The palace was full of ahuitzotls dressed as noblemen and warriors, all praising you. All calling you their savior. One told me that you were their Emperor, and not mine.”

Teomitl growled quietly, sounding like an ahuitzotl himself. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I know that now,” he huffed. “But...”

He trailed off. He couldn’t continue. Teomitl’s fingers tightened on his. “But?”

“I saw you in the throne room, the Turquoise-and-Gold Crown on your head, and you didn’t know me.” Underneath Teomitl’s firm grip, his hand clenched into a fist. “You looked at me like a stranger.”

Teomitl wasn’t looking at him like a stranger now. He was, in fact, looking more than a bit disturbed. “I could never. Do you think I could forget who you are to me?”

He shook his head. “I know.” There had been a time, when the plague was threatening them and Chalchiuhnenetl was breathing poison into Teomitl’s heart, that he’d been afraid of that exact thing. Now that he was awake again, with Teomitl’s hand on top of his, he had to agree with him. The whole thing was ridiculous. Ahuitzotls didn’t talk, and Teomitl made no secret whatsoever of his feelings for him. They’d go back to sleep, and it would all look better in the morning.

“He must die. Such is the way of the world.”

He nearly choked on his own breath. My Lord wasn’t there, he reminded himself firmly. That was only a nightmare. I’m doing nothing against His will by loving Teomitl, and I won’t stand idly by while he dies.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” he said automatically.

Teomitl’s eyes hardened. “Acatl. You’re shaking like a leaf.”

He was. When had that started? He took one deep breath and then another, reaching for Mictlan’s presence within him. Cold despair pulsed through his veins, forcing him to swallow past a lump in his throat, but at least he wasn’t trembling. The words came slowly, pulled through his lips by a copper fishhook that tore skin on the way out. “...I dreamed that I saw Lord Death. And he told me...we were both drowning in blood and lake water, and he told me to let you die. You knew me then. You reached for me. And I froze.”

“Acatl,” Teomitl breathed.

“And then I woke up,” he snapped. All of a sudden he was angry—with himself for being such a fool, with his soul for wandering free in places he should have thought it would know better than to go, with Teomitl for cracking the stone walls around his heart. “I woke up, and I realized it was a dream, and I am fine. Lord Death has said nothing against us. There’s no need to concern ourselves with my nightmares!”

“There is when the man I love wakes weeping next to me! Do you think I can ignore that? Do you think I would ignore that?” Teomitl made an angry stabbing gesture with his free hand, the one not clinging to Acatl’s like a lifeline. “I don’t care what your nightmares say. I know perfectly well you serve the gods with all your heart, but you’re still you. You carried me to safety when I had the plague, when I was being a complete bastard to you. You wouldn’t let me drown even if Mictlantecuhtli stood in front of you and ordered it.”

Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. I might. Duality help me, if I ever had to make that choice...I might. He didn’t think he would. He knew that it would tear him in two if he did, that his heart would never be the same, that Lord Death who was always fair wouldn’t demand that anyway, not without due cause. But the possibility glistened in his mind like a bloodsoaked knife, and he couldn’t banish it. “I’m sorry, I’m overwrought—”

Teomitl kissed him. It was quick and sudden and hard, licking into his half-open mouth and leaving him reeling from the sensation of a hot mouth and a clever tongue and the faint sting of teeth. He was kissing back before he knew it, grabbing for his lover’s shoulder just to keep himself upright; when a hand found his waist and gripped hard in response, fingers digging into the meat of his side, he let out a breathy whine that wasn’t even remotely one of pain.

Then Teomitl broke the kiss, gazing steadily into his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered. “I’m yours. I’ll always be yours.”

“You can’t—” Promise that, he was going to say, but then Teomitl’s mouth was on his again, stealing the words. This kiss was slower and more tender, but no less devastating for that. When that tongue slid into his mouth again and the hand at his waist slid up his ribs, he arched his back with a moan. He might still leave me, came the treacherous thought. He is a warrior, and once he is crowned he’ll have no shortage of enemies. But that’s not tonight, is it?

Teomitl shifted attention to his throat, lips moving against the sensitive skin. “I can, and I will. Let me prove it to you.”

Then he was uncurling himself, sliding a thigh between Acatl’s legs as he pressed him down to the mat, and Acatl let himself be molded. Yes, this was what he wanted—Teomitl on top of him, all solid muscle and strong, gentle hands, a mouth pressing kisses to his collarbone and a hand lightly tugging at his hair to keep him in place. His hands just seemed to fit at Teomitl’s back, mapping out muscles with his palms and making his lover shiver appreciatively; he had a moment to feel smug, but then teeth nibbled at his throat and he shuddered all over, feeling the tension in his own spine drain away. “Mmm...”

“That’s good,” Teomitl breathed. “Lay back, love. Let me take care of you.”

A hand skimmed down his stomach; as tired as he still was, his body twitched to life. Falling in love with Teomitl had done wonders for his stamina. The thigh between his legs rubbed against his rapidly stiffening cock, and he exhaled sharply. “Oh.”

“See?” Teomitl’s voice was soft. “We’re both here and alive. Together.” He wrapped a hand around Acatl’s cock, thumbing the sensitive spot below the head as he started to work him to full hardness. It didn’t take long, not with the friction of that perfectly placed thigh, and when he squeezed a little harder Acatl gasped.

“Ah...!” It trailed off into a sharp cry, because Teomitl knew just how to touch him. The twist of a wrist at just the right angle made him shudder anew, rolling his hips into that wonderful hand. He was full of sensation, had to do something with it; needing more, he slid a hand up into Teomitl’s hair and drew him up to for another long, hungry kiss. Yes. Yes. Every beat of his heart said it—that they were here, that they were alive, that nothing would part them if Teomitl could stop it.

Teomitl returned the kiss eagerly before drawing away with a wicked smile. “You’re beautiful like this.” He punctuated his words with a slow upwards stroke, and when Acatl sighed in pleasure he chuckled quietly. “You sound as good as you look.”

That was accompanied by another rippling squeeze. Acatl couldn’t even think. Heat rose slowly through his veins, coiling in the pit of his stomach, and he rocked steadily into it. There was Teomitl’s sure, strong hand and the steady pressure of his thigh rubbing against his balls; he ground against it breathlessly before finding words again. He knew he was blushing. “Nnh...voyeur...”

Teomitl smirked, unrepentant, and pressed up with his thigh, pulling a ragged groan out of him. “You deserve to be looked at.”

He huffed out a breath, turning his face away. You always say that. That I’m beautiful, that I’m desirable—I don’t know where you get that from. You’re the beautiful one. And the one that deserved attention too; when he shifted, grinding against him, he could feel Teomitl’s hard cock grazing his own. Loose-limbed with his own desire, he managed somehow to get a hand between them and reach for it; it all but twitched against his fingers, and he gasped a little at how eager his lover was. “Nnh...wait, wait, let me...”

But Teomitl was shaking his head and drawing back, robbing him of his prize. “No.” His grin flashed white teeth in the darkness. “This is for you. You can make it up to me in the morning.”

And there would be quite a lot to make up; Teomitl was still keeping that slow, steady pace, but it was relentless. The building pressure at the base of his spine was enough to make Acatl groan and arch, letting his head fall back. That exposed his throat, and when Teomitl’s mouth found it again he let out a ragged moan at the faint scrape of teeth at his pulse. The way he was going, there would certainly be marks the next morning. He thought he should probably care about that, but at the moment it didn’t seem to matter. No, this slick rolling pleasure was far more important.

“Mmm...” More, he wanted to say. More of this. He couldn’t find the words, but that didn’t matter either; Teomitl knew what he wanted. He only had to let him give it to him. So he bucked into that clever hand, grinding against on his thigh on the way down, and let the sparks coalesce into a blaze.

“That’s it, c’mon...nnnh...” Acatl had slid against Teomitl’s cock again, and this time his lover wasn’t able to ignore it; he gave a rough, wonderful little growl and wriggled against it, seeking more stimulation. When Acatl reached for him again, he didn’t pull away.

Oh, and Teomitl was so responsive. He had to have been hard since nearly the moment they’d started touching; when Acatl squeezed, circling the head of his cock, his groan was loud and sweet to Acatl’s ears. Emboldened, he did it again, establishing a steady rhythm. “What was that,” he breathed with a hot grin, “about me making it up to you in the morning?”

“Acatl-tzin.” It came out in a near-whine, one that went straight to his cock; he shuddered, fucking into Teomitl’s grip, and redoubled his efforts. Teomitl kissed him roughly, all teeth and tongue and a deliciously reverberating moan, and as the hand on his cock sped up he knew he was close. It would be easy to lay back and enjoy it, but he wanted to please his lover as well.

I love you, he thought, and when he got his mouth back—Teomitl had moved to his throat, muffled gasps and soft cries setting his blood to simmering with desire—he gasped out, “Need to touch you—oh.” He hadn’t thought Teomitl was holding back on him, but evidently he had been; he shifted to press their cocks together, grinding hard against him, and it turned the world behind Acatl’s eyes to white sparks. Words failed him. He was so close—gods, so close—

His orgasm rolled through him like the tide, and all he could do was groan as the inexorable tremors rippled through him. Teomitl’s followed a moment after, hitched breaths ending in almost a sob as he spilled himself over Acatl’s skin.

Even when they both came down from that high, they didn’t move. He knew he should clean up, but he was utterly content to lay on his back like a lizard and bask in pleasantly languorous postcoital bliss. His nightmares had never felt further away, nor had he ever been so wonderfully aware of the body he inhabited. I was such a fool. How could this possibly displease the gods? Teomitl was the one to wipe their combined spend off their stomachs with the nearest piece of fabric and immediately flop onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow and gazing at Acatl so tenderly that it made his heart melt. Acatl had to touch him again, settling a hand on the curve of his waist and feeling a smile tug at his lips. My beloved. I made the right choice.

Even in the darkness, Teomitl’s smile was like a sun rising. “...Feeling better?”

“Mm...” His nightmares were already vanishing into the mist, scraps torn to four hundred piece by the way Teomitl had touched him. If he went back to sleep now, he suspected his dreams would be much less trying. Quite possibly stranger—the memory of a particularly vivid one where Acamapichtli had turned into a very large owl still stuck with him—but they wouldn’t feature Teomitl dying in front of him. He was looking forward to it. But there was sweat drying on his skin, and the temperature had dropped quite a bit. Honesty. “It’s a little cold.”

Then he squeaked, because Teomitl was scooping up one of their discarded cloaks and wrapping it and his arms around him like a giant tamale. He found himself with his face buried in Teomitl’s chest, soft cotton cocooning him gently, and he drew in a long breath that was full of the scent of his lover’s skin. They were safe. They’d remain safe. Ahuitzotls were not known for their verbal capabilities. “Mmm...”It was a little difficult for him to get his arms free of the fabric, but he persevered until he could slide them around Teomitl’s waist, holding him close. There, that was better.

“Warmer now?” Teomitl nuzzled into his hair, sounding gently amused.

He yawned, working his jaw in an approximation of a word. “Mm-hmm.”

“Good.” Teomitl stroked his hair, and his eyes fluttered shut on a long exhale. His lover’s voice lowered. “Let’s go back to sleep. I’ll be here in the morning, Acatl.”

He smiled. “I know you will.”

[dramyhsturgis]

Halloween 2020, Day 17

If you’re looking for a truly beautiful and meaningful work to read this October, then try this first novel from one of my favorite authors, Lipan Apache wordsmith Darcie Little Badger. This is not a work about Halloween, but with magic and monsters, murder and ghosts, it’s perfect for the season. 

In fact, it’s perfect, full stop.

By page four, Elatsoe had me: “She could handle mundane dangers, like violent men with guns or knives, but every tunnel, bridge, and abandoned building in the city was allegedly home to monsters. She’d heard whispers about clans of teenage-bodied vampires, carnivorous mothmen, immortal serial killers, devil cults, cannibal families, and slenderpeople.” What genius is this? And don’t get me started on the scarecrows with real human eyes. Or Kirby the ghost dog, the best boy ever. Or the locals who stare at strangers. Or Teddy Roosevelt.

Here is the official description of Elatsoe: “Imagine an America very similar to our own. It’s got homework, best friends, and pistachio ice cream. There are some differences. This America been shaped dramatically by the magic, monsters, knowledge, and legends of its peoples, those Indigenous and those not. Some of these forces are charmingly everyday, like the ability to make an orb of light appear or travel across the world through rings of fungi. But other forces are less charming and should never see the light of day. Elatsoe lives in this slightly stranger America. She can raise the ghosts of dead animals, a skill passed down through generations of her Lipan Apache family. Her beloved cousin has just been murdered, in a town that wants no prying eyes. But she is going to do more than pry. The picture-perfect facade of Willowbee masks gruesome secrets, and she will rely on her wits, skills, and friends to tear off the mask and protect her family.” 

I can’t recommend this young-adult novel highly enough (for YA and adult readers alike). I laughed and I cried; I also punched the air in triumph three separate times. I want to foist this book on everyone I know. 

Here is a taste:

Sometimes, the world was too mysterious for her liking; Ellie intended to change that someday. In the kitchen, her father nursed a mug of coffee.

“You’re awake before noon?” he asked. “Did summer end while I was sleeping?” He smiled with his mouth, but his brown eyes seemed sad.

“Feels like it,” Ellie said. “Where’s Mom?” 

“She took a dawn flight to McAllen.”

“Is that because…” Ellie trailed off. Every word about the tragedy felt like a psychic paper cut, and too many stings would make her cry. There was nothing shameful about tears, but Ellie hated the way her face ached when she wept. The pain felt like a head cold. “When did it happen?”

“Last night,” her father said. “Around two-thirty. He peacefully walked to the underworld. No struggle, no pain.”

“No pain? You can’t know that, Dad.” Although Ellie spoke softly, he heard her. Must have. He no longer pretended to smile.

“Lenore needs help with Baby Gregory. That’s why your mother left suddenly.” He put his coffee on the counter and hugged Ellie. His wool vest tickled her chin. Ellie’s father had to wear blue scrubs and a physician’s lab coat at work, but during off-days, he broke out the cable-knit sweaters, tweed pants, and scratchy wool vests. “She has other duties. Your aunt and uncle are crushed with grief. They can’t handle the burial preparations alone.”

Oddly, thinking about Trevor’s widow, infant son, and parents helped Ellie push through. She had a job to do: protect them from Abe Allerton. “Are the police investigating the crash?” she asked.

“I believe so.”

“Let me make it easier. Abe Allerton killed him. Abe Allerton from a town called Willowbee.”

Her father stepped back, perturbed. “Why do you believe that?”

“Cuz spoke to me in a dream. Told me who killed him. Same way that drowned boy told Six-Great-Grandmother about the river monster.”

“I see.” Judging by his furrowed brow, that was an exaggeration, at best. “Wait. What river monster are you referring to? Didn’t she fight a few?”

“The one with a human face and poison scales. That’s not important. Dad, I think Cuz reached out to me in between phases, after his last exhale but before his spirit went Below.”

“It’s possible. You and Six-Great are so much alike.”

“You think so?” she asked.

“Sure. I never met the woman, obviously, but you’re both remarkable ghost trainers. Intelligent and brave, too.”

Ellie smiled faintly. “Thanks,” she said, taking a glass from the cupboard and pouring herself some orange juice. She had no appetite for solid breakfast. “You know what this all means, though, right? Abe Allerton from Willowbee is a murderer, and he cannot hurt anybody else.”

- from Elatsoe by Darcie Little Badger (2020) 

You can read a longer excerpt from Elatsoe here and access a Q&A with Darcie Little Badger and see related videos here. You can also find links to some of Darcie Little Badger’s spooky online short stories on her website here.

The book is gorgeously illustrated by artist Rovina Cai. 

[impala-dreamer]

Unskinny Bop

SPN FanFic

~A mysterious stranger swings by your club one night and he's hard for you to resist.~

John Winchester x stripper!Reader

2,107 Words

Warnings: NSFW! Stripping, Hoeing, Prostitution, Fornication. YadaYada. John's a sexy motherfucker.

A/N: So, this happened. lol.  "I don't write John!" oops... This was a request made by Cindy Jo on Patreon for kinktober "lapdance". Hope you all enjoy...

Feedback is Gold ~ My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon

He walks in and the air in the room shifts. You can feel it hit you all the way up on the stage.

He’s tall and handsome, collar of his leather jacket popped up against the nape of his neck. His hair is dark, almost black, just like the look in his eyes. He’s bruised and scruffy, dangerous.

Mama always told you to stay away from men that looked like him, but Mama wasn’t there.

You hook your left leg around the pole and spin, slowly, just enough to show your wares and grab his attention. You get it; his eyes are glued to you as he sits in the dark corner of the club and lights a smoke. The match flares and you see hazel and lust flash up at you. His thin lips part as he exhales and you can almost feel the smoke in your head, making everything else fade away.

A man at the edge of the stage waves a twenty at you so you dip down to recieve it, popping your hip and offering him the string of your thong. The cash is cold and scratches your skin as it slides beneath the elastic. The man’s fingers linger on your thigh as you stand and back away with a sexy smile. You give him a moment of your attention but your mind is in the back of the room.

Your song ends and the crowd looks away, uninterested with applause, instead looking for the next dancer as she lingers behind the curtain. That’s fine with you, your dance is done and your intentions are set.

“Hey there.” You smile as he looks up, runt of a cigarette dangling between his lips.

He takes a puff and pulls it away, snuffing it out in the ashtray as he sits back in his chair and looks you over. “Hey yourself, Princess.” His voice is pure sex and gravel and your pussy throbs as it washes over you.

“Rough night?” you ask, looking down at the dried blood caking the knuckles of his right hand. There’s a ring on the left, thin band of yellow gold, but that doesn’t turn you away. You’ve seen husbands come and go, all with the same idea in their heads. It was nothing new and you were nothing if not discreet.

He smirks and rubs at the back of his hand. “You could say that.”

He’s not offering any more or asking, but he doesn’t look away. He licks his bottom lip slowly and your pulse quickens.

“Maybe a dance will distract you,” you tease, crossing your arms so your tits pop, nearly escaping the thin white babydoll you’d thrown on after your set. The lace can barely hold you in, but he doesn’t seem to mind, eyes falling quickly to your cleavage.

“I think that would be delightful,” he grins.

You can feel your nipples stiffen as his gaze draws across your chest. Leaning down to give him a better look, you place your palms on the table next to his hand. “Twenty for a quick one out here,” you explain with a sweet bat of your eyes. “Forty if you want some privacy…”

He sits all the way back in his seat and cocks his head to look you over, eyes dropping from your tits down to your barely covered pussy and down, lingering on your naked thighs. He smacks his lips and dips into his jeans, pulling a wad of cash from his pocket. Five wrinkled twenty dollar bills fan out on the sticky tabletop.

“How much will that buy me?” His eyes flash up to yours and everything your Mama ever told you about dangerous strangers suddenly disappeared into oblivion, lost forever.

The VIP room is covered floor to ceiling in crushed red velvet and black leather, the lights are dim and tinted with pink gels, and wall length mirrors are strategically placed across from the round couch, giving customers the perfect view.

He followed you inside, heavy boots thudding on the thin carpet behind you.

“Have a seat,” you offer, waving a hand over the leather couch.

He sits in the middle, spreading his long legs and resting his palms on the worn denim. He watches silently as you shut the door and flip the light switch, turning on the pink lights.

“Classy,” he jokes, looking up at the spotlights.

You laugh and flip a second switch, flooding the room with music. A hard, familiar guitar riff flows through hidden speakers behind the couch and you start to move, rocking your hips to the song.

“Nice choice,” he comments, nodding in approval at the song.

“You don’t strike me as a Poison fan,” you tease, moving closer, smoothing your hands down over your lace bodice.

He sits back and sighs happily, eyes fixed on your tits. “Really? How do I strike you, then?” His lips turn slowly at the edges, daring you to answer honestly.

You bite your lip and dip your chin, looking him over. There’s scratches on his cheek, a bruise on his neck, cuts on his knuckles. His jacket is old and worn, cuffs of his jeans muddy and frayed. Still, there’s something in his face that tells you he’s OK, he’s a good guy, just rough and tumble.

“I don’t know,” you answer coyly, peeling the strap from your left shoulder. “You seem dangerous...mysterious...sexy.” The right side falls as well and you inch the lace down off of your tits, swaying your hips as you strip for him.

He smiles and rubs his thighs, clearly enjoying your display.

“Did I get close?” you laugh, pulling your tits free, nipples hard in the cool air.

He nods and bites his lip. “Pretty close.”

The babydoll pools at your feet and you step out of it, slowly lifting each leg as you do, giving him a nice long look. “Well, maybe I can get closer.” You watch his eyes glaze over at your words and keep dancing, moving your body faster with the hard beat. “I like being close, don’t you?”

The tip of his tongue presses against his top teeth and he nods subtly. “I do.” His right hand dips between his thighs, fingers teasing his cock. You watch the bulge twitch and rub your tits for him, moaning as you pinch your nipples hard.

“Good. So do I.”

You turn quickly and shake your ass a bit, backing up until your legs are against his knees. The denim is soft and you lean back, placing your hands on his firm thighs. He feels so solid, so thick, and your pussy drips as you rub against him.

He lifts a hand to tease down your spine, forcing your back to arch away instinctively. It tickles, but fuck, his touch is so warm you melt into it. Scooting back, you set your ass against his crotch and start to grind, rubbing hard with the music, rolling your hips. You can feel your tiny panties soak and hope he can feel it as well. It’s not every day a customer actually turns you on like this.

“What’s your name?” he growls, hand suddenly tight on your hip.

You rock against his palm. “Candy.”

His fingers tighten. “Really?”

“No,” you laugh and stand up, spinning around to straddle his hips, shoving your tits in his face.  The stubble on his chin scratches your breast and sends a shiver down your back. “What’s yours?”

He clicks his tongue and fits his big hands in the curve of your waist. “You can call me, Sir.”

A smile pulls at your lips. “OK, Sir,” you tease, rubbing down on his stiffness. “How’s this feel?”

He hisses and slides his hands upwards to cup your tits. His hands are huge, strong; fingers warm and rough, calluses tickling wherever they land, bringing up a forest of goosebumps across your skin. “Real nice, Princess.” His words are a rumble on his lips and your cunt closes around nothing, hungry for him.

He leans forward suddenly and flicks his tongue against your left nipple, hazel eyes staring upwards to see your reaction. Your eyes roll a bit and your jaw drops; no one’s touched you like that in a long while. Dances were usually handsfree, but every now and then…

His mouth closes around your nipple and his teeth nip, making you jerk down hard on his lap.

“Fuck!” you whimper, pushing a hand through the short hair at the nape of his neck. He pushes into you, burying his face in your chest, sucking and lapping at your sensitive flesh until you tug at his hair, yanking his face up to yours. “I really shouldn’t be doing this,” you moan, plastering on an innocent look. “I could get fired.”

He sits back, lips wet and red, curled in a sly smile. He plucks your nipples with his fingertips and tips his head to the side. “You want me to stop?”

It’s so simple, so honest. If you say yes, he’ll stop right away and let you go.

If you say no, you’re sure to get caught with his cock plugged deep in your cunt.

You can feel him, hard and ready beneath you; your cunt already soaked and aching. You rub against him, pushing down hard, making him bite his lip. Just a little tease before you answer.

“I’m not supposed to fuck the customers, Sir,” you tell him, pouting as you lock your arms around the back of his neck and lift up slowly.

He keeps his eyes on yours as he reaches into his jacket pocket, runs his tongue across your collarbone as he fumbles with a wrapper.

“Ask me,” he growls when he’s ready, cock sheathed and leaking precum into the rubber. “Ask.”

You lean in, pressing your lips to his ear. “Please, Sir. Fuck me.”

He’s inside within seconds, thrusting upwards as he pulls you down by the hips. The stretch makes you cry out, biting your lip to hold back a scream. He’s so thick, so hot, and your cunt has never felt so full and happy.

“Ride me,” he commands, leaning in to snap his teeth over your nipple. “Hard.”

“Yes, Sir.” Your head falls back as you lift up and on your knees and then slam down, desperate to find a rhythm while your body tightens around him. “Fuck, you’re huge,” you moan as you take him deeper.

He lifts his hips, meeting your downwards push and pulls his lips from your tit with a wet pop. “You fit like a glove, Sweetheart. Such a sweet little pussy.”

“Fuck!”

The music changes as you ride his cock; steady beat of the drums like a metronome for your hips. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, suckling and biting at the tender flesh that hides your pulse. You know it’s going to bruise, you know you should stop him, but he feels so good. The heaviness of his big hands on your body, the scratch of his cheek against yours, the pull of his mouth. You can’t think straight as he takes over, thrusting up into you while you roll over the edge, cunt pumping around his cock, your slick dripping down onto his old jeans.

He holds you up as you slump backwards, body convulsing as the quick orgasm flows through you. One giant arm braces your spine, a giant hand on the back of your head, holding you steady as he finishes.

He cums like a rockstar, growling through clenched teeth; dark eyes becoming slits as he takes a relaxing breath and lets you go.

There’s little small talk as he cleans himself up; making use of the box of tissues hidden behind the sofa.

“I’m here every night but Thursday,” you say sweetly, hoping he’ll be back, wondering if he’d want you again.

“That’s nice,” he says passively, fixing his belt and giving you a polite smile.

Your heart is racing as you cover yourself back up, trying to fix your hair in the mirror while keeping an eye on him. “You can also ask for me by name if you come back and don’t see me. Maybe we could-”

“Thanks, Princess,” he says, cutting you off as he reaches for the door. “But I’m just passing through.”

You never did see him again but you remember the smell of him, leather and ash, sweat and whiskey; the feel of his lips tugging at your flesh, the fullness of him pounding away at your aching cunt.

As far as customers go, Sir was one to remember.

2019 Forever Tags:

@akshi8278​ @amanda-teaches​ @arses21434​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @because-imma-lady-assface​ @burningcoffeetimetravel​ @colagirl5​ @cosicas-cuquis​ @cosmicfire72​ @courtney-elizabeth-winchester​ @covered-byroses​ @crashdevlin​ @dean-winchesters-bacon​ @deansenwackles​ @deansgirl215​ @deanmonandnegansbitch​​   @dolphincliffs​ @dubuforeveralone​ @emilyshurley​ @emoryhemsworth​ @ericaprice2008​ @eternal-elir​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @flamencodiva​ @focusonspn​ @gayspacenerd​ @hella-aj-the-trickers-son @herbologystudent252​ @hobby27​ @ilsawasanacrobat​ @justcallmeasmodeus​​ @katymacsupernatural​ @lastactiontricia​ @maddiepants​ @mariekoukie6661​ @meganwinchester1999​ @missjenniferb​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @mysticmaxie​ @onethirstyunicorn​ @our-jensen-ackles-love​ @peridot-rose @pisces-cutie​ @risingphoenix761​ @roonyxx​ @roxyspearing​ @sandlee44​ @shadowkat-83​ @spnbaby-67​ @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester​ @spnficgirl​ @supernaturaldean67​ @supernatural-took-me-over​ @thehardcoveraddict​ @tmiships4life​ @wegoddessofhell​ @winchesterprincessbride​

[hellcaster901]

Leather Dreams Ch-7

Chapter 7- The choice

Summary: Bonnie and her group are new to Alexandria. Rick and his people letting them in during a war they didn’t know about, being thrown in as extra people to fight. But as she sees the man they despise, she can’t help herself feel drawn to him, and he can’t either.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT, language etc.

Author’s Note: You guys are literally the fucking best. Like seriously? You guys are fucking amazing. I really hope you like this chapter

Masterlist

I woke up to the sound of Emma’s cries, the sound loud, almost like an alarm but times a thousand. I groaned, rolling over and looking over at Emma. I rubbed my eyes, seeing her throw her arms around, her legs going as she cried. 

“Ok ok.” I moaned, sitting up. I pushed back my hair, forgetting for a moment that it was short. I grinned at myself, tugging on a strand. I stood up, dragging my feet over to the crib, looking down to see Emma in her little sleep onesie. “It’s ok sweetie.” I mumbled, picking her up, she sobbed a little bit more, her cries calming as I held her.  “What are you crying about baby girl?” I whispered, kissing her head. She cried a little harder, throwing her head onto my shoulder. “Awe it’s ok.” I chuckled, I moved the curtain, seeing the sun rise. It had to be around 7 in the morning. “You’re going to be momma’s own alarm clock, aren’t you?” I joked, poking her side, she sniffled, her tears slowing down. I smiled, kissing her head again before walking downstairs. 

I grab her bottle from the cabinet, preparing her a bottle as she watched me, her hands slapping my arm with excitement. I shook the bottle, moving with it and bouncing Emma. She giggled, her hand grabbing my shirt tightly as we moved. I walked over to the couch, holding her in my arm as I fed her the bottle. She grabbed at the bottle, holding it with me as I sat there. I watched he as her throat went, drinking the formula, her eyes getting droopy. “You look so much like her.” I whispered to her, “But it looks like you got your dad’s hair.” I thought back to the locket with the picture of Emma’s parents. She very much looked like them, the eyes was her mom’s and the raven hair was her dad’s. I set the necklace on my dresser, keeping it in a small bowl. Every night since then, I’ve looked at it, a heavy weight in my chest knowing her dad never even got to see her. 

Emma fussed in my arm, pulling away from the bottle. I set down her bottle on the couch, lifting her up and patting her back. It was rough knowing that I was taking care of her. It was hard to really convince myself that I was her mom now. Emma burped a couple times, before she stopped altogether. “You’re such a good girl.” I smiled, placing her back in my arms, I could see how tired she was, her eyes closing slowly before opening up again. I rocked her slightly, getting myself into a position I knew wouldn’t hurt my back. I laid there, a sleepy child in my arms, trusting me with her life. “I love you Emma.” I whispered. I leaned my head against the couch cushion, my eyes getting droopy. My eyes closed, Emma between my body and the couch, her head resting in my armpit. 

***

“Bonnie… Bonnie.” A hand on my shoulder shook me, my head lifting up and seeing Claire staring down at me. 

“What what?” I asked, my arm tightening around air. I looked down at my arms. “Where’s Emma?” I gasped, sitting up and looking around.

“It’s fine.” Claire shushed me, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Jenny took her upstairs a little bit ago, getting some new clothes on her.” I sighed, rubbing my face. 

“I’m sorry.” I laughed lightly, shaking my head. I pushed back my hair, giving her a smile. “I’m sorry.” I said again. 

“When did you cut your hair?” Claire grabbed a piece of hair, twirling it around her finger.

“Last night, Jenny cut it.” I told her, winking at her, “After Tony got a piece of her.” Claire’s eyes widen.

“Oh my god, shut up.” She laughed, pushing me. 

“Really. I put Emma to bed and when I left she was coming out of his room in one of his shirts.” We giggled, gossiping together. 

“That slut.” She grinned. We all knew Jenny had a crush on Tony, ever since we got stuck together. It’s also been her giving him doe eyes, and him never noticing, always so worried about me. I never gave him the time of day, I knew let him have an indication that I had the same feelings, yet, from recent actions, he thought I did. “Good for her.”

“I know, good for her.” I repeated, standing up. “I need to get dressed, get Emma and get some sun on us.” I told her, leaving her in the living room and walking upstairs. I heard Jenny giggling with Emma, her own laughter spilling out of my room. I peaked in, seeing Emma on the bed, Jenny leaning over her and playing peek a boo. Emma squealed with laughter, her arms going, moving around and her legs kicking. Jenny laughed, leaning down and placing kisses on Emma’s face, peppering kisses over her chubby cheeks and forehead. Jenny noticed me from the corner of her eye, waving at me. She leaned back up, grabbing onto Emma. 

“This little one loves to laugh. She’s such a happy baby.” Jenny giggled, rubbing the baby’s back. I waved at the baby, her hands slapping down on her sides. 

“She really is.” I could never get over how active she was, how she was so eager to move around. “She’s going to make a run for it once she starts walking.” Jenny laughed at me, handing Emma over to me.

“I was supposed to get her dressed, but I got a little distracted.” She grabbed onto the clothes she set aside. “She just loves getting attention.” I kissed the side of her head, Emma cooing at me.

“She really does.” I mumbled against her head, pushing back her hair. “And I am willing to give that to her.”

“You’re an amazing mother.” I smiled, grabbing onto the clothes Jenny had. “You really care for her.”

“Of course I do.” I placed her on the bed, unfolding the clothes. I pulled the onesie on her, a black and white striped one with some black leggings. “Who else is supposed to watch her?” I joked, tugging up the leggings. “You look like a little criminal.” I mumbled to her, tickling her sides. 

“What are you going to do about Negan?” I tensed slightly.

“What about Negan?” I mumbled, thinking back to him, what he did for us. 

“He brings all this stuff for Emma, without you even asking.” She shrugged, crossing her arms. “It seems like there’s something there.” She points out.

“There’s not.” I denied. “I literally met this man, and he’s just trying to make Rick look bad, you heard what he said yesterday.” I shook my head, “And you know he comes every couple weeks.” I smiled weakly, “I’ll worry about it when I see him next.” I thought about it, my body tensed with excitement as I thought about seeing him again, about seeing him with Emma. It made my heart swell at the thought of it.

“Well, you should think about it quick cause it looks like he’s here.” My head snapped up, looking at her. She looked out the window, giving me a smirk.

“Shut up.” I panicked, I grabbed Emma, getting to the window with her. I moved the blind back, seeing Negan’s men walking around. I looked over at the gate, seeing his truck. “He was just here yesterday.” Jenny shrugged. We watched as his men went into the houses, some taking their time as others came right out with items and supplies in their arms, walking back to the trucks. “He already collected everything.” 

We watched for a few more moments, his men taking what he wanted, and I spotted him. My breath hitched, watching him as he walked towards our house, Lucille on his shoulder. 

“He’s coming for you Barabra.” Jenny whispered, I shoved her, shaking my head at her jokes. We looked down again, my eyes meeting Negan’s. I gasped slightly, his eyes on mine. He grinned, winking at me. “Give me Emma.” I took a deep breath, shaking my head. 

“It’s fine.” I whispered, watching as Negan walked towards our door. A pattern of knocks coming through the door. “Is Tony and Rob here?” I asked, Jenny shook her head. “I think Claire is still down there.”

“I’ll get the door.” Jenny said, as another series of knocks came through. I held Emma, hearing Jenny jog down the stairs, her feet hitting the wood flooring as she got to the door. I heard Jenny talk, Negan’s voice booming in after hers. I grew nervous as I heard his voice, his heavy footsteps walking around downstairs. Jenny’s voice came through, walking up the steps to my room. She gave me a wide eyed look, coming up to me. “He’s really eager to see you.” She whispered to me, grabbing Emma from my arms. I nodded, shaking my shoulders, trying to shake the jitters out. Jenny watched me, her eyes filled with amusement. I ran my hands through my hair, pushing it back. 

“How do I look?” I asked, looking down at my clothes. I was still wearing my pajamas. A baggy shirt, and some pajama shorts. “I shouldn’t even be worried about how I look.” I mumbled, shaking my head. 

“You look fine, get down there.” Jenny whispered, pushing me out the door, she followed me. I walked down the steps, seeing Negan’s back. I tried to avoid eye contact as I went into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle and began making formula. “What are you doing?” She asked me.

“I’m making Emma some formula. Bring her outside, let her get some sun.” I smiled, shaking the bottle. I could see Negan out of the corner of my eye, watching me with amusement as I shook the bottle. “Go see if Claire is here.” I smiled at her. She nodded, she handed Emma to me real quick, going towards the rooms. I smiled down at Emma, making faces at her as I shook the bottle.

“She’s gotten big.” He sent down Lucille on the table. I nodded, bringing the bottle up to Emma. She grabbed on instantly, bringing it to her mouth. 

“Good girl.” I mumbled, holding the bottle, leaning against the counter. I could feel Negan’s eyes on me, watching me as I held onto her. Jenny walked back in, shaking her head.

“She’s not here.” She smiled, taking a quick look at Negan. “I’ll take Emma outside.” She reached for Emma, grabbing the bottle from her mouth. Emma let out a cry, her arms slapping down. “It’s ok.” Jenny smiled, once she was in her arms, she gave the bottle back, Emma’s cries stopping. “I’ll see you in a little bit.” I nodded, watching as she left with Emma, looking at Negan before leaving. I crossed my arms over my chest, looking over at Negan. He unzipped his jacket, another white tee underneath, pulling it down his arms, and dropping it on the table next to Lucille. 

“You cut your hair.” He smirked, walking towards me. I nodded, pushing back a strand. He stopped in front of me, his heat covering me. He smelt like smoke, a deep musky smell. I tried to hide the fact that I enjoyed it, but I knew Negan could notice. He noticed everything I did. He pushed back some of my hair, his fingers brushing against my cheek and my neck. Dear God. His fingers traced down my neck, going to the collar of my shirt. He tugged on it slightly, pulling it down my shoulder. He revealed some skin, his eyes staring at the skin. “I fucking dig it.” He smirked. “You cut it to get a reaction out of me?” I shook my head, my hair brushing against my shoulders.

“Couldn’t let a walker… or someone grab it.” I mumbled. Negan’s eyes shot up to mine, remembering when he grabbed onto it. He reached up, his hand going through my hair, grabbing onto the short hair. He pulled, my head going back, my neck being exposed to him. 

“Doesn’t stop me.” He smirked. My heart thumped against my chest, watching as Negan’s other hand reached up, his hand wrapping around my neck. I tried to hide the excitement, my small smile giving away how much I really liked Negan handling me. He saw the smile, he saw how much I actually enjoyed his hands on me. “You’re fucking liking this, aren’t you?” He had that shit-eating grin, showing his white teeth. He knew I did, he knew I enjoyed feeling whatever he was willing to give my body, he wanted to hear it from my mouth. “Aren’t you.” He replied harshly, his hands tightening their grip. 

“Yes Negan.” I whispered, clenching my thighs together. He leaned forward, pushing me harder against the counter. I felt his body against mine, his hips digging into mine. I could feel his bulge pushing against my hip. He was enjoying it just as much as I was. He liked being in control, he liked having this power over me. 

He let go of me, his hand leaving my hair, his hand leaving my throat. He pulled away from me, walking back to the table. I watched him, my chest rising, my heart hammering against my chest. I rubbed my thighs, watching his lean body walk around the kitchen, looking around.  He was playing with me, toying with my body. He wanted to see the reaction, he wanted to see my body react to him. And I gave him exactly what he wanted. He ignored me as he walked around me, walking out of the kitchen into the living room. “Come on.” He smiled, waving for me follow. I pushed myself off the counter, my bare feet pating against the wood floor. He sat down on the couch, his arm hanging over the back of the couch. He nodded at the seat beside him, looking down at my legs. I sat down, crossing a leg under me as I sat on it. I pulled my shirt down a little bit, trying to cover my legs. “Don’t” He whispered, grabbing my hand. He pulled my hand away from shirt, letting my shirt snap back to where it was. 

“What is it like?” I whispered, trying to distract myself from what just happened. He raised an eyebrow, that shit-eating grin still on his face. 

“What is what like?” He whispered back, his eyes on my thighs. 

“Having a place like this, under your thumb?” His eyes shot up to mine, pride in his eyes as he stared into mine. 

“Sweetheart,” He started, leaning forward. “It makes my dick hard, that’s what it feels like.” A shiver ran down my back, hearing his foul language. “Is Old Rick trying to get some intentel on me?” Negan smirked. I shook my head, leaning forward a bit too.

“It’s just me asking.” I said confidently. I felt different when I was with Negan. I felt… good when I was with him. “I have the man in front of me, why not ask.” 

“How’s Emma?” Negan asked, I smirked, leaning back on the couch.

“She’s good. She’s growing, starting to understand.” I told him, looking at the door. “She’s my everything.” I smiled. I sighed, standing up from the couch. “What can I do for you Negan?” I asked, wondering why this man was here, or even asking about Emma. 

“Come back with me.” He simply said, throwing his arms over the back of the couch, a cocky grin on his face. I scoffed, shaking my head.

“You’re fucking with me.” I scoffed, going towards the window. I saw Jenny and Emma on the lawn, a blanket underneath Emma as she wiggled. I grew tensed seeing Negan’s men standing at the bottom of the stairs, guns in hands, keeping watch. 

“I’m serious. After we got freaky the last couple of times, I couldn’t get you outta my mind. My damn wives are frustrated I ain’t giving it up to them.” I froze, hearing his words.

“Your wives?” I asked, turning around, my arms crossed. He chuckled, crossing a leg over his other. 

“My wives, sweetheart. Come back, and you’ll be the hottest wife with a kid.” Negan smirked, watching for my reactions. I couldn’t help the laugh that rose from my throat, covering my mouth. The smirk on Negan’s face fell, the once smile turning into a pissed frown. 

I don’t know where  the confidence came from, I walked towards Negan, his legs uncrossing, as I straddled him. The smile was back, letting me do what I needed. I placed my hands on his chest, moving them up to his neck and then his hair, tugging lightly on the short strands. I leaned forward, placing soft kisses on his neck, trailing up to his ear. 

“Just because we fucked around a couple times, doesn’t mean I’ll be your fucking wife.” I whispered to him, leaning back to see his face. He was pissed, his hands clenching. “I appreciate what you’ve done for Emma.” I whispered to him, “But I can’t give you what you want.” I leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on his lips. I was surprised to see him accept my small kiss, his hand finding its way to my hip. I pulled back, Negan leaning forward, following my lips, groaning slightly when I pulled further away. I moved my leg from his side, reading to push myself off the couch, but Negan caught me, dragging me towards him. 

A small yelp fell from my lips as he flipped us over, pinning me onto the couch, holding both my wrists in his huge hand. “Negan.” I breathed, looking up at him, noticing the almost primal look on his face.

“I bring all this stuff for Emma, to help you out.” He growled, ducking his head down, his lips attaching themselves to my neck. I gasped slightly, my head tilting to the side, giving him more access as he assaulted my neck. “I ask you to by wife, come back with me to somewhere safer for you and Emma and you,” He thrusts against my core, his bulge rubbing against me, tearing a gasp from my lips, “laugh in my face.” He growled, biting down on my neck.

“Negan.” I gasped, arching my back, rubbing my tits on his chest. He moaned, feeling me rub against him, his other hand moved from holding himself from the couch, kneeling on his knees as he shoved his hand under my shirt, finding its way quickly to my bra. With a frustrated groan he hooked his fingers into the cups, tugging it down roughly, freeing my nipple. I moaned, feeling the sensitive nub rub against my shirt, Negan’s hand quickly groping me.

“I don’t appreciate that sort of fucking behavior, Bonnie.” I heard the smirk in his voice. He lifted his head, his lustful eyes looking into mine. 

“What are you going to do? Punish me?” I whispered, arching an eyebrow. Negan’s eyes widen, the smirk on his face grew into a grin as he released my wrists, standing up from the couch. 

“Get up.” He ordered. I could tell he wasn’t taking any back talking, and I quickly stood up. He took a small step towards me, towering me. I looked up at him, waiting for his neck move. Anything to give me some signal to what he was going to do. He really wasn’t going to punish me… was he? I jumped slightly, feeling his fingers grab at my waistband, his fingers, tugging on them slightly, brushing against my skin. He ripped them down, licking his lips seductively as we stared at one another. I knew if I didn’t want to go any further, he would stop. I knew I shouldn’t want to do this with him, I shouldn’t. This just shows him that I was in the palm of his hands, and he knew it. I knew it, and I didn’t want it to stop. 

I watched as Negan knelt down, chills running up my body seeing him kneel in front of me, his face near my womanhood. I watched as he hooked his fingers onto the band of my underwear, tugging them down. I took a deep breath, stepping out from my clothes bundled at my feet. He smiled, his hands slowly making their way up my leg, the roughness sending goosebumps over my body. He noticed, a chuckle leaving his lips. 

“You react so well to me, baby.” He moaned, watching his own hands touch my legs. His right hand grabbed the back of my knee, lifting my leg and throwing it over his shoulder. Before I could even moan his name, he launched himself forward, landing his mouth right on my pussy. 

“Negan.” I gasped, grabbing onto the back of his head. He moaned against my clit, the vibrations making my knees weak. “Oh my god.” I moaned, throwing my head back, feeling Negan’s tongue lick between my lips, gathering my juices. He licked up my cunt, moaning as he tasted me, his lips wrapped around my bundle of nerves. “Jesus Negan.” I gasped, feel his tongue make short licks at me. “Please Negan.” I moaned, massaging the back of his head, feeling him grin against my pussy. I moaned, feeling his fingers slid between my lips, rubbing small circles on my clit. 

“You’re so fucking wet baby.” He moaned, bringing his fingers to his mouth. I watched as he sucked on them, moaning as he pulled them out with a pop. He resumed his activity, teasing me, only pushing in the tips of his fingers then pulling them out to rub me some more.

“Jesus fucking Christ Negan.” I groaned out of frustration, clenching my fist, just wanting to feel something fill me up. Negan chuckled darkly against my thigh, pushing my leg off his shoulder and standing up. I whimpered, pouting like a child as he stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He did say a word as he walked past me, sitting back on the back, his legs spread, one arm thrown over the back of the couch, the other resting on his thigh, his hand rubbing the thick bulge in his jeans. 

“Over my lap, baby.” He smiled, that shit eating grin on his face. 

“What?” I asked, looking down at his lap and back at him. “I’m not doing that.” I huffed, trying to ignore the feeling between my thighs at the thought of Negan bending me over. Negan’s smile was gone, replaced by that sinister glare. He knew I was being stubborn, I knew I was too. 

With a small sigh, I knelt on the couch, laying myself across Negan’s lap. I heard Negan’s dark chuckle above me, a blush creeping up my body as my head hung there, feeling his hand caress my legs. “Count.” I furrowed my eyebrows, looking over at him,

“Wh-”

SMACK 

I jumped forward, the stinging traveling down my ass to my pussy. I clenched, whimpering as I clenched around nothing. “One.” I moaned, feeling Negan rub the sensitive spot. Negan’s cock twitched in his jeans, the hard bulge bumping against my stomach.

SMACK

“Two.” I moaned louder, gripping the couch cushion. 

The game continued, Negan spanking me, me counting for him, my ass getting redder and redder and my pussy dripping onto my thigh. He continued to spank me, one after another after another, stopping in between to rub the sensitive red spot. I knew my ass was red like a tomato, hurting from Negan even touching it. 

“15.” I gasped out, sobbing slightly at the pain. I felt Negan’s body move, moaning when I felt his lips on my sore ass, feathering kisses, soothing the soreness. “Please Negan, I want you.” I whimpered, wiggling my ass in his face. I felt his laugh, his stomach shaking slightly against my side. 

“You’ve been such a good girl.” Negan moaned, his fingers trailing up the back of my thigh. I whimpered, feeling his fingers slid into my entrance with ease, stretching me. We both moaned at the same time, the feeling of finally having something stretch me, and the feeling of having me wrapped around his fingers made us both crazy. “Bend over the armrest and I’ll give you what you fucking want.” Negan growled, tugging his fingers from me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen us move so quickly. I pushed myself from his lap, drooling at the sight of Negan as he stood up, working at his pants. “Hurry before I change my mind.” Negan smirked, moaning as he tugged his pants down, his cock busting out from under his underwear. I moaned, seeing the length and girth of his cock, excitement running through me as I turned around, spreading my legs for him, and leaning across the arm rest. I heard Negan moan, looking over my shoulder to see him stroke his cock, looking over me like I was his own personal pornstar. He knelt behind me, positioning himself at my entrance. After all this build up after these few weeks, it was really happening. “I’m not going easy princess.” Negan warned, rubbing the tip of his cock between my lips, gathering my juices and spreading it over his cock.

“I don’t want you to.” And with that, he pushed in, shielding all of himself in me in one push, forcing a strong scream from my lips.

“Holy fucking shit Princess, this pussy is tight as shit.” He groaned, his hands going to my waist, his fingers pressing into my hips tightly. 

“You’re so fucking huge.” I moaned, leaning my forehead against the armrest, the pleasure was overpowering the small tinge of pain I felt from being stretched so quickly. “ Please move, daddy.” I froze, realizing what I said actually came out of my mouth. I knew Negan heard it, but I didn’t know how he was going to react.

“You are one dirty slut.” He laughed, leaning forward, his chest against my back. I moaned, feeling his cock tugging slightly, a shot of pleasure running up my body. “Keep calling me daddy and I’m going to ruin this fucking cunt.” He whispered in my ear. I bit my lip, turning to look at him. I rubbed my ass against him, a moan leaving his thin lips.

“Then fucking ruin me, daddy.” 

Negan gave me an animalistic growl, leaning back. He grabbed my hips, pulling out slowly, and slamming back in. The only sounds leaving my lips were noises I didn’t even know I could make, and Negan’s name. His cock stretched me wide, getting balls deep in me as he fucked me, never missing a beat, and never slowing down. This man was a sex god, and this man knew what he wanted, and knew what he was going to give me. I’ve never been stretched so wide, his cock bigger than I’ve ever had. In length and in girth. I was basically a rag doll against him as he fucked me, holding my hips, setting a brutal and almost violent rhythm as he used me. 

His hand trailed up my back, grabbing the spot where my neck met my shoulder and pulled me up. I let out a small scream, feeling his cock reach deeper into me, the tip hitting my g-spot as he held me against him, his left arm wrapping around my waist, his other arm wrapped under my arm and over my chest, his hand wrapping around my throat. “God yes.” I moaned, his hand tightening around my throat, his hips slamming into my ass as his cock slid in and out of my tight walls, hearing my juices coat him, the sound was almost like a porn.

“You hear how fucking wet you are?” Negan whispered into my ear, “hear how wet you got for Daddy’s cock?” I nodded, grunting being the only sound I could make with Negan’s hand tightly grabbing my neck. “You feel how fucking hard you got Daddy’s cock? Bending over my lap, smacking this fat ass of yours.” He pulled his arm from my neck, a rush of air going to my lungs. 

“Negan I’m gonna cum.” I gasped, dropping my head to rest on his shoulder, pushing my chest out for his greedy eyes. I felt the familiar knot in my stomach, my thighs shaking slightly. My body was ready for the orgasm Negan was going to me. He chuckled, landing a hard slap on my ass.

“Gonna cum all over daddy’s cock, huh? You dirty slut.” I nodded, Negan’s filthy words only pushing me closer to my orgasm. “You dirty slut, taking Daddy’s cock like a fucking pro.” He growled, pushing me back down, holding my head to the couch, his hand twisting in my hair as he hammered into me.

“Oh my god.” I screamed, bucking against him, his cock drilling into me. “I’m gonna cum.” I moaned, feeling that knot grow and grow, until it finally exploded. I came with a scream, a hand on Negan’s in my hair, and the other gripping the couch until my knuckles were white.

“Holy fucking shit.” Negan moaned, feeling my walls tighten around his cock. “You just fucking came all over me, you dirty slut.” Negan laughed, I looked back at him, seeing him look down at where we were joined. “You want Daddy to cum?” He asked, looking back at me, that grin on his face. I nodded frantically, clenching at the thought of his cum filling me up.

“Wait a second.” I mumbled, reaching back and pushing at his stomach. Negan’s eyebrows furrowed, his eyes frantically looking over me, trying to figure out what he did wrong. I turned around, settling myself on my knees and grabbing his shirt. I pulled him down to me, his chapped lips meeting mine in a heated kiss. He wrapped his arms around my waist, my arms around his neck, our lips moving in sync. I gently pushed him back, Negan moaning as I pushed him on the couch, throwing a leg over his, keeping my lips on his. I reached down between us, grabbing his cock, moaning when I felt how wet he was. I never pulled away as I pumped him a few times, lining him up and sinking down on his cock.

“Fuck babygirl.” Negan moaned against my lips, his hands reaching down and grabbing my ass. “You taking over then, huh?” He mumbled against my lips, massaging my ass. I smirked against his lips leaning back. I grabbed my shirt, lifting it over my head, hearing Negan groan as he saw my breast, the one cup from my bra still messed up. I threw the shirt to the side, reaching behind me and unclipping the garment. Negan watched me with an intense face, his eyes looking over my body, a smile creeping up his lips. “So fucking sexy.” He smirked, leaning forward and latching his lips around my nipple. 

“Oh Negan.” I moaned, grabbing onto his head, pushing my chest out to give him more access. I moaned feeling his cold leather rub against my thighs, the zippers leaving cold streaks along my body as he grabbed at me. I reached for the back of the couch, getting a hold and lift myself up. “Fuck.” I grunted, sitting back down on his cock.

“God damn.” Negan moaned against my tit, leaning back on the couch. He looked over at me, looking down at where we joined. “Gonna ride daddy’s cock?” He smirked. I braced myself against him, my arms around his neck as I began bouncing. The moans left my mouth involuntary, his cock hitting deeper than before. “God fucking damn it.” Negan growled, grabbing my hips and slammed me down harder on him.

“Fuck.” I screamed, my arms tightening around Negan. “Jesus Negan.” I moaned, resting my head on his shoulder, moving my hips over him. We moved together, his hands slamming me down, lifting myself up to, not even noticing the soreness in my thighs as I rode him. 

“Keep this up and your gonna get a pussy full of cum.” He chuckled in my ear, his hand coming down and slapping my ass. I leaned back, bouncing on his cock and kissed him. 

“This pussy better be filled.” I mumbled against his lips.

“You fucking dirty girl.” Negan growled, he wrapped an arm around my waist, his other hand going to my knee. “Hold on.” He stood up, his cock still in me.

“Oh my god.” I moaned, dropping my head back to his shoulder as he walked with me, my back touching the cold wall. “Oh my fucking god Negan.” I moaned as he began setting a brutal pace.

“Who’s pussy is this?” He growled to me, his hands wrapped around me. I knew I was going to have marks. “Whos is it?” 

“Yours.” I gasped, throwing my head back at the pleasure. “It’s all yours Negan.”

“Gonna mark this fucking pussy with my cum, babygirl. You want that?” He moaned, his pace losing rhythm.

“Fucking cum in me Negan.” I whispered into his ear. 

With a strangled growel, a few thrust of his hips, he stilled in me. I moaned feeling his cock twitch in me, his cum leaking into me, coating my walls in white. I was on cloud 9. High on pleasure, high on Negan. I needed more, I knew this was going to be a problem. 

This man had me wrapped around his pinky.

[hamiltimes]

Answer all of them. 1-170. have fun.

HELL YES LETS GOOOOOOOO

1: How tall or short do you wish you were? 

5′2″. Exactly how tall I am now. I like being short.

2: What’s your dream pet? (Real or not)

I’ve always wanted a ferret. They can weed out people for me. If a person says “Ew, it’s a rat” then they ain’t worth my time.

 3: Do you have a favorite clothing style? 

Whatever’s on sale. Preferably baggy and comfortable

4: What was your favorite video game growing up? 

Always has been and always will be the Nancy Drew computer games. I’m obsessed. There are 32 games (we don’t talk about number 33), and I’ve played each one dozens of times.

5: What three things/people do you think of most each day: 

My laptop, my dog, my tumblr account

6: If you had a warning label, what would yours say? 

Warning: Prone to spontaneous breakdowns, both physically and mentally.

7: What is your opinion on [insert person/thing here]? 

Honest opinion on @Elizard-Hamilton, the person who sent this ask: They’re super sweet and kind, and probably the first reciprocal tumblr friendship I’ve ever had.

8: What is your Greek personality type? [Sanguine, Phlegmatic, Choleric, or Melancholic] 

Don’t know what that is, too drunk to figure it out right now.

9: Are you ticklish? 

God yes. But I retaliate. If you tickle me, you will die.

10: Are you allergic to anything? 

No, that’s the one medical thing that I don’t have.

11: What’s your sexuality? 

Hetero-Demi Sexual. So I like men, but I’m only sexually attracted to them if we’ve been close for a long time.

12: Do you prefer tea, coffee, or cocoa? 

Cocoa, always. Specifically, Tim Hortons Hot Chocolate. Medium, 2 creams.

13: Are you a cat or dog person? 

Dog. Always.

14: Would you rather be a vampire, elf, or merperson? 

I answered this one already, definitely merperson.

15: Do you have a favorite Youtuber? 

Nope.

16: How tall are you? 

See above.

17: If you had to change your name, what would you change it to? 

I’d just add an L to my name. New name, pronounced the same.

18: How much do you weigh? [Only ask this if you know the user doesn’t mind!] 

Right now, 126 lbs. But I should be 110. I just got off a medication that made me gain 40 pounds practically overnight. I went from 100 pounds to 140 pounds. I’m slowing losing the weight.

19: Do you believe in ghosts/spirits? 

Not in the traditional sense, but I do believe there are things about the departed we don’t yet understand. Kind of like way back when they though lightning was a supernatural event, until they found a scientific explanation for it. I think there’s stuff we just haven’t discovered yet.

20: Do you like space or the ocean more? 

Ocean.

21: Are you religious? 

Nope, athiest.

22: Pet peeves? 

Idk, I can’t think of any right now.

23: Would you rather be nocturnal or diurnal [opposite of nocturnal]? 

Wtf I don’t know? Who cares? I’d rather be whatever koalas are. They sleep 22 hours a day.

24: Favorite constellation? 

The only one I can think of right now is big dipper. That makes it my favourite and also my least favourite constellation.

25: Favorite star? 

See question 24, but North Star.

26: Do you like ball-jointed dolls? 

I don’t know what that is? Do you mean like Barbie? I litterally watching Barbie Nutcracker right now, lol.

27: Any phobias or fears? 

Spiders.

28: Do you think global warming is real? 

Duh.

29: Do you believe in reincarnation? 

No.

30: Favorite movie? 

Does Hamilton count? If yes, that. If not, Knives Out. I’m a sucker for a good murder mystery.

31: Do you get scared easily? 

Yes.

32: How many pets have you own in your lifetime? 

Oh god. Idk. You’re going to make me do math on vacation. Lets see. 3 Dogs, 2 Cats, ungodly numbers of fish, 2 rats, 5 hermit crabs, 3 hamsters, probably others I can’t remember.

33: Blog rate? [You’ll rate the blog of the one who’s asking.] 

@elizard-hamilton 10/10. 5 stars. Thumbs up. Gold Star.

34: What is a color that calms you? 

Royal Purple. I used to have a bedroom where everything was royal purple. The walls, the furniture, the bedding, the accessories. Everything. It was a great time in my life, so the colour makes me think of good times.

35: Where would you like to travel and/or live? 

I’d love to go to Belgium. My grandmother was born there, and we still have family over there that I’ve never met.

36: Where were you born? 

London Ontario

37: What is your eye color? 

Hazel

38: Introvert or extrovert? 

Introvert

39: Do you believe in horoscopes and zodiacs? 

Not at all

40: Hugs or kisses? 

None of the above. I have Asperger's, I don’t like to be touched.

41: Who is someone you would like to see/visit right now? 

I’d love to see my BFF from high school again. Haven’t talked to her since we graduated. Rachel, if you’re out there, I miss you.

42: Who is someone you love deeply? 

My parents.

43: Any piercings you want? 

None.

44: Do you like tattoos and piercings? 

Nope. I don’t have anything against them, they’re just not for me. If you have them, I won’t think any less of you. There’s nothing wrong with them.

45: Do you smoke or have you eiver done so? 

Nope. I’ve already got really shitty lungs (I have Cystic Fibrosis), I’d rather not make them worse than they already are.

46: Talk about your crush, if you have one! 

Oh gosh, he’s cute, funny, talented, a great singer, a great writer, he wrote a hit broadway musical... oh, he doesn’t count? Then no, no one right now.

47: What is a sound you really hate? 

Styrofoam rubbing against more styrofoam.

48: A sound you really love? 

The notification sound tumblr makes when I get something in my inbox

49: Can you do a backflip? 

HA no.

50: Can you do the splits? 

HA HA no.

51: Favorite actor and/or actress? 

Do I even need to answer this? I’m going to anyway. It’s..... drumroll........ Danny Devito! Lol, no, it’s Lin Manuel-Miranda

52: Favorite movie? 

This is the same as question 30.

53: How are you feeling right now? 

Drunk. Next question.

54: What color would you like your hair to be right now? 

Purple. I used to have purple hair. Then I got older and got a real job and I’m not allowed to die my hair anymore.

55: When did you feel happiest? 

At 16, with my purple hair and purple bedroom and my bff in like grade 11

56: Something that calms you down? 

Hamilton

57: Have any mental disorders? [Only ask this if you know the user doesn’t mind!] 

Asperger’s, Depression, situational anxiety.

58: What does your URL mean? 

Every time is Hamiltime. Because it’s always time for Hamilton.

59: What three words describe you the most? 

Bizarre, confrontational, idk. Is there a word that means unwilling to put up with anyone’s bullshit? Because if so, then that.

60: Do you believe in evolution? 

Yes. Evolution is a fact, it’s been proven. So this question should not say do you believe in evolution, it should say do you accept evolution.

61: What makes you unfollow a blog? 

If they start posting stuff i disagree with, or if they totally veer into a new fandom I’m not interested in. I’ve lost so many good blogs to kpop.

62: What makes you follow a blog? 

Idk, I like their stuff?

63: Favorite kind of person: 

Kind people.

64: Favorite animal(s): 

Pug.

65: Name three of your favorite blogs. 

I’m not going to start naming friends, cause I’ve got way more than three and I know I’m going to forget someone, so here’s 3 random blogs I enjoy: gmoringgnight, tinywhim, torsnavi

66: Favorite emoticon: 

I’m on my laptop, i don’t have emoticons right now, but probably the one where he’s crying laughing

67: Favorite meme: 

All of them. I love all the memes.

68: What is your MBTI personality type? 

I’m too drunk to remember right now, ask me tomorrow.

69: What is your star sign? 

Pisces

70: Can your dog roll over on command, if you have a dog? 

He cannot. He’s an idiot. But he can give you a high five, if that counts for something.

71: What outfit out of all your clothes do you like to wear the most? 

Leggings, T-Shirt, Hoodie. Whatever’s clean.

72: Post a selfie or two? 

No

73: Do you have platform shoes? 

No

74: What is one random but interesting fact about yourself? 

I can solve a rubik’s cube

75: Can you do a front flip? 

LOL NO

76: Do you like birds? 

To look at, not to own or touch

77: Do you like to swim? 

Very much. In the water, it’s the one place my back doesn’t hurt.

78: Is swimming or ice skating more fun to you? 

Swimming. I don’t skate. I know, oh wow, a Canadian who can’t skate. Sue me.

79: Something you wish didn’t exist: 

Trump.

80: Some thing you wish did exist: 

Alex Clairmont-Diaz

81: Piercings you have? 

My ears are pierced.

82: Something you really enjoy doing: 

Reading

83: Favorite person to talk to: 

My mom

84: What was your first impression of Tumblr? 

Amazing, finally a place I can be as weird as I want and it’s totally anonymous.

85: How many followers do you have? 

I have no idea.

86: Can you run a mile within ten minutes? 

HA no

87: Do your socks always match? 

Yes

88: Can you touch your toes and keep your legs straight completely? 

When I was 14, they did a surgery where they put metal rods in my spine to keep it from growing crooked. My spine doesn’t bend at all. So I’ve never tried to touch my toes, but I’m going to go with no, I can’t.

89: What are your birthstones? 

I think Aquamarine? I don’t remember.

90: If you were an animal, which one would you be? 

Koala. They sleep 22 hours a day.

91: If a flower could aesthetically represent you, what kind would it be? 

I can’t think of any flowers right now beyond rose and tulip, and neither represent me. Is there a flower that’s really ugly? If so, that.

92: A store you hate? 

Gap. I despise that store with every escence of my being.

93: How many cups of coffee can you drink in one day? 

None. It tastes like manure.

94: Would you rather be able to fly or read minds? 

Ooh, fly. No more wheelchair.

95: Do you like to wear camo? 

I don’t think i particularly like or dislike it. I just don’t wear it.

96: Winter or summer? 

SUMMER ALL THE TIME

97: How long can you hold your breath for? 

Not long at all. See explanation above, r.e. Cystic Fibrosis

98: Least favorite person? 

Trump

99: Someone you look up to: 

My mom

100: A store you love? 

Hot Topic. Yes, I’m basic like that. 

101: Favorite type of shoes 

Flats, cause I don’t have to attempt to bend over to put them on.

102: Where do you live? 

Hamilton, Ontario, Canada. Yes, I’m serious.

103: Are you a vegetarian or vegan? If so, why? 

Nope.

104: What is your favorite mineral or gem? 

Wtf? Are people supposed to have a favourite mineral or gem?

105: Do you drink milk? 

No

106: Do you like bugs? 

No

107: Do you like spiders? 

NO

108: Something you get paranoid about? 

If I remembered to turn off my computer before I go to bed.

109: Can you draw: 

Nope

110: Nosiest question you have ever been asked? 

On a daily basis, people ask me why I use my scooter or my wheelchair. Every day. Not so much during the pandemic, but yeah.

111: A question you hate being asked? 

“When are you going to get a boyfriend?” “When are you going to settle down?” 

112: Ever been bitten by a spider? 

NOPE

113: Do you like the sound of waves at the beach? 

Who doesn’t?

114: Do you prefer cloudy or sunny days? 

Cloudy, cause then I can stay indoors guilt-free

115: Someone you’d like to kiss or cuddle right now: 

My dog. But he’s with my sister.

116: Favorite cloud type: 

???? Is this something I’m supposed to have an opinion on?????

117: What color do you wish the sky was? 

???? IDGAF ??????

118: Do you have freckles? 

No

119: Favorite thing about a person: 

Their laugh

120: Fruits or vegetables? 

Fruit

121: Something you want to do right now: 

Get another drink, but that’s probs not a great idea

122: Is the ocean or sky prettier? 

Ocean

123: Sweet or sour foods? 

Sweet

124: Bright or dim lights? 

Dim

125: Do you believe in a certain magical creature? 

No

126: Something you hate about Tumblr: 

I can’t reblog ads. Some of those ads are really, REALLY funny.

127: Something you love about Tumblr: 

Completely anonymous. I could be anyone. For all you know, I’m actually Mike Pence. (I promise I’m not)

128: What do you think about the least? 

Idk? There’s probably lots of stuff I’ve never thought about at all

129: What would you want written on your tombstone? 

Nothing, but I want there to be a little machine on top that looks like a parking meter, and when you put money in it you get wifi for an hour.

130: Who would you like to punch in the face right now? 

Trump, most of the politicians in the states. I want to go to New York, and I can’t because y’all can’t get your shit together and kick this virus.

131: What is something you love but also hate about yourself? 

My face. Not going to elaborate.

132: Do you smile with your teeth showing for pictures?

Yes, but only because I get yelled at if I don’t.

133: Computer or TV? 

Computer.

134: Do you like roller coasters? 

I used to. Then the back surgery and now I can’t anymore.

135: Do you get motion sickness or seasickness? 

Motion sickness no, seasickness yes.

136: Are your ears lobed or attached? 

Lobed.

137: Do you believe in karma? 

I believe that what you do will eventually come back to bite you in the ass, but I don’t believe in some cosmic force that balances the scales.

138: On a scale of 1-10, how attractive would you say you are? 

0. Not going to elaborate.

139: What nicknames do you have/have had? 

None. My name has always been Adele. The few people who tried to give me nicknames got shot down real quick.

140: Did you have any pretend or imaginary friends? 

When I was little, yeah

141: Have you ever seen a therapist/shrink? 

Yes ma’am. For over a decade.

142: Would you say you are a good or bad influence to others? 

Both at different times.

143: Do you prefer giving or receiving gifts/help? 

Giving. I never know what to say when receiving.

144: What makes you angry 

A lot of things these days. Can’t think of anything specific. My sister, usually.

145: How many languages do you speak fluently? 

Two. I speak French and English.

146: Do you prefer boys, girls, and/or non-binaries? 

Boys.

147: Are you androgynous? 

Nope.

148: Favorite physical thing about yourself: 

My face. Not going to elaborate.

149: Favorite thing about your personality: 

My “take no shit” attitude.

150: Name three people you would like to talk to right now in person. 

Lin Manuel Miranda, Renee Elise Goldsberry, anyone from West Wing

151: If you could go back into time and live in one era, which would you choose? 

Revolutionary America

152: Do you like BuzzFeed? 

I’ve been known to partake.

153: How did you meet your spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend/partner? [If you have one.] 

Nope. I’m forever alone.

154: Do you like to kiss others’ foreheads or hands for platonic reasons? 

No. I have Asperger’s. No touching.

155: Do you like to play with others’ hair? 

No.

156: What embarrasses you? 

When I need to ask for help for really simple things because of my wheelchair or other disabilities. I hate it.

157: Something that makes you nervous/anxious: 

The future, for reasons way too complex to write in a tumblr post.

158: Biggest lie you have ever told: 

I convinced half my second grade class I was related to Elton John once. That was fun. They believed it for like 3 months.

159: How many people are you following? 

Hundreds.

160: How many posts do you have on your blog(s)? 

I don’t even know how I would find that out.

161: How many drafts do you have on your blog(s)? 

Right now, I have 12, but that’s because I’ve queued up the next 4 days HamiltonHungerGames. Usually, I have none. I don’t understand how people have drafts. When I feel like writing something on tumblr, I start a post, I end the post, I post it. I never use drafts

162: How many likes do you have on your blog(s)? 

??? Again, I have no idea how to find that information.

163: Last time you cried and why: 

I honestly don’t remember.

164: Do you have long or short hair? 

Usually long, but right now short. My mom decided to give me a covid haircut, and she does not understand the meaning of “Just a trim”.

165: Longest your hair has ever been: 

Down to my butt. 

166: Why do you like, dislike, or have neutral feelings about religon? 

Dislike. I’m not going to talk about it here, but if you’re really curious you can dm me.

167: Do you really care how the universe and world was created? 

Yes, because if we know where the universe and world came from, we can figure out where it’s headed. See the book Origins by Dan Brown.

168: Do you like to wear makeup? 

Not at all.

169: Can you stand on your hands or head for more than thirty seconds? 

I can barely stand on my feet for more than 30 seconds.

170: Did you answer the questions you were asked truthfully? 

Tried to.

Ok, this took me an hour and 45 minutes. I’m tired, I’m drunk, I’m going to regret this in the morning, I’m going to bed. Night y’all.

[readbeneaththelines]

Just The Person I Need Pt. 2

Kwon JiYong is a Multi Million Dollar business man thrown into parenthood when his brother and sister-in-law die in an accident. leaving A son and daughter behind. Y/N is a nanny that loves what she does. What happens when their lives become intertwined? Will she be Just The Person He Needs?

Characters: Business Man!Kwon JiYong X Nanyy!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut somewhere along the way

Word Count: 1890

Warnings: None for this chapter

cr,to gif owner

You were a young and carefree spirited woman. You graduated university a few years ago after coming to Seoul to study abroad and decided to let your degree go by the wayside and began working with children instead of business administration. You had a natural way with children, sharing in the innocent joy they found in everything they did. You worked for a couple of families as a part-time nanny. You didn’t mind the crazy schedules or the constant back and forth between them. All you cared about was seeing those kids smile when you were with them. The children you cared for came from highly influential and very rich families. You got to spend almost every day in gigantic homes, chasing little ones as they played hide and seek one one floor of the house, baking cookies or cupcakes with the little girls, or playing catch with the young boy. Everyday was something new, and you loved it. 

Half the week was spend with the Choi family and the other half was spent with the Kim family. Mr. Choi was a neurosurgeon and his wife was an obstetrician. They doted on their kids, and you, taking several vacations each year. You traveled with them on most of the trips, fitting in like one of the family members. You loved their three children dearly and had been working with them for almost two years. Mr Kim was a lawyer in a large corporate law firm and his wife was one of the partners. They were a little more reserved than the other family, but you didn’t mind. They had only one child, a little girl of age two. The three days you spent with them, were constantly busy. Chasing the little girl all over the penthouse suite that took up the entire top floor of a skyscraper. They did not travel as much, but when the did, they spare no expense in assuring you were well taken care of too. 

Friends often asked why you chose to be a nanny instead of following through on you education.  Smiling at them, you would calmly say, “The joy I see when I engage their minds and hearts gives me more joy than anything else on this planet. I am the one bringing those smiles to their lips, I am the one enriching their minds, and I get to share in that joy and happiness. Who wouldn’t want to experience that every day?”.

You was sitting on the floor, the Kim’s little girl propped on your lap. She was singing a song as the toddler clapped her hands along with the tune. Giggles erupted as she finished the song with a huge flourish and tickled the girl’s sides. 

“Mow, Mow peas!” she squealed as you went straight into another tune.

The doorbell rang, startling the toddler and causing her to wail out of fear. You quickly wrapped your arm around her and stood up. 

“There, there. Did that mean old doorbell scare you? I’m sorry. Let’s go see who it is so we can tell them they are being mean by scaring little old you.” you sing-songed as you walked to the main door. 

The bell rang again and you yelled back, “Coming, give me a moment, I’m on my way.”

Finally reaching the door, the girl settled on your hip had stopped crying and was down to just sniffles and hiccups. Re-adjusted her to the other hip, you reached for the door handle. Opening it slightly, you peeked around the solid oak door.

“Hello. How may I help you?”, you asked as your eyes came to rest on a young gentleman in a slate grey Dolce & Gabbana suit. His hair was slightly longer on top and swept to the right, his brown hair had honey gold highlights that honestly shimmered in the light. His brown eyes were piercing, the same honey gold color in speckles throughout. Your breath hitched as you lifted your head to meet his eyes straight on. When he spoke, his voice had a tenor tone about it, thick and seductive. His smile was captivating and you were drawn to his lips like a moth to a burning flame.

“Hello Miss. I was on this side of town and was wondering if Mr. or Mrs. Kim happened to be home at the present? My name is Kwon JiYong, and they work with my company. I was just going to ask them a few questions before I headed home.”

“They aren’t home quite yet, but Mr. Kim should be here any minute if you would like to wait in the lobby downstairs. If you are unable to wait, I would be glad to give them a message for you.” you stated. Suddenly, a chubby hand reached for the door, pulling it opened further.

“Is that Jae-ri’s hand I see?”, he spoke, a tinge of laughter in his voice.

The little toddler squealed in delight at the sound of his voice. Leaning to the left, and almost falling from your grip, the chubby cheeks grew from the smile she was giving him as she strained to look around the the edge of the door.

“I see you Jae-ri, give your momma a big hug for me, okay?”, the same laughing tone was still there. Jae-ri bobbed her head as she clapped and giggled at the top of her lungs.

“She must really like you, Mr. Kwon. She is usually shy around most people.” you said as you watched the two of them interacting.

“Yeah I get to see her when they bring her by the company’s family cookouts and some quick meetings. She is the cutest thing, but she is a real handful from what I’ve seen.”, he smiled a goofy dimple-filled grin as he finished talking. Jae-ri giggled some more as he made a few more funny faces.

I’ll wait for them downstairs, thank you for your help Miss…” his voice trailing off since he didn’t know your name.

“Y/N. Sorry and no problem. It was nice meeting you Mr. Kwon.” Y/N said as she watched him turn and saunter off for the elevators. Looking back at Jae-ri, she whispered, “I can see why you are so smitten with him Jae, he is quite the looker isn’t he?”.

You watched as he boarded the elevator, blushing when he caught you staring and gave a small wave and bow. Shutting the door, you set Jae-ri on the floor. Taking a deep breath, you exhaled, releasing the breath you had been holding as he walked away. 

Damn girl, has it been that long since a man talked to you let alone stood that close to you? you muttered to yourself. 

You were in the kitchen, fixing dinner for Jae-ri, when you heard the main door open. Two male voices and one female voice wafted down the corridor into the kitchen.

“Y/N, we're home.”, you heard Mrs. Kim calling out. Picking Jae up,  both of you wandered into the great room where Mr. and Mrs. Kim were standing with Mr. Kwon. You felt your face flush, knowing that he had caught you earlier staring at him.

“Why hello again Miss Y/N, I didn’t think I would be seeing you again so soon”. Looking at the couple, he explained about coming up first to see if they were here before running into them downstairs.

Jae wiggled her way out of your arm and half toddled, half ran to her parents, a drool filled smile spread wide across her cherub face. After hugging her parents, she wiggled free again, and reached up for JiYong to pick her up.

“Alrighty squirt. Give Uncle Ji a big hug” he lifted her up and gave her a quick squeeze. He then set her down and watched her waddle-toddle-run down the hallway, her mom in tow behind her.

“Would you mind getting Mr. Kwon and myself a drink and bring them into my office please?”  Mr. Kim asked. You nodded your head at both gentlemen and headed for the side table. You placed a few ice cubes in the snifters and poured both men a whiskey straight. You knocked on the door, then entered. Both men were seated on the large leather couch, chuckling about something or other. You set the glasses in front of them, then turned towards Mr. Kim.

“Sir, is it okay if I retire a little early tonight? One of my roommates from Yonsei University is in town. I was hoping to catch up with her before she leaves again.”

“No problem at all. In fact, why don’t you take tomorrow off and spend some time with her. Eun-ji is going to work from home tomorrow morning so she can spend some time with Jae-ri.”

“Are you sure? I would appreciate that so much. Thank you Mr. Kim. It was nice seeing you again Mr. Kwon, have a good evening. Thanks again sir.”

Without hesitation, you were out the door and heading for your room. Grabbing your cell from the dresser, you called your friend Ha-eun and confirmed that you could meet up with her. You put on some light makeup, brushed your  hair and put it in a loose ponytail. You quickly changed into your favorite jeans and sleeveless button-up top. Telling Mrs. Kim goodbye, you headed for the door. Your head was down as you hurried your pace, causing you to walk straight into Mr. Kwon’s arm.

“Oh! I am so sorry sir! I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t hurt you, did I? I am so sorry!” your breathing sped up, hoping that this handsome young gentleman wouldn’t fuss at you before leaving. Tear streaked makeup is the worse to fix.

“No, it’s okay, I’m fine. Are you okay, Miss? I didn’t mean to stop in front of the door, I was just about to leave.” he looked you over, making sure you were steady.

“Thank you, I am fine, just a little startled.”you spoke, voice strangely shaky, almost like a school girl trying to talk to her crush.

“Please allow me to accompany you downstair, Miss, since we are both headed out, that is.” A hint of a smile curved at the corners of his mouth.

“Yes, thank you. See you tomorrow evening Mr. Kim. Give Jae a goodnight hug for me.”

And with that, you and JiYong were out the door and waiting on the elevator. When you reached the lobby, he told you goodbye and held the door. 

 She is quite the cute thing, they are lucky to have someone as energetic and cute as her as a nanny.  

He lingered his gaze as you walked down the sidewalk, a light spring in your step as you went. He took in the sway of your hips, the back and forth movement as your ponytail swung with each step. He could still see green eyes looking up at him after she bumped into him. Shaking his head, he laughed at himself. 

Well Ji, has it been that long since a woman looked you? You might need to get out more often for sure, if that’s the case!

He lifted his eyes to watch as you began to fade out of site. If only he knew then just how much you were going to change his life.

@min @beautifulseoulliar @agustd-suga-yoongii @astronomyturtle @aspaceformyself @dreamyoongi i @trashkazuya @maxinaptak @micky1518 @rosiemilas @karri570

@seoulsunshineandstories @kwonnansi @xjamlessparkx @berryjam17

@kingsuckjin