#and the fact that his saint has his own voice | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

prentissluvr · 4 months

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something about being close — sam winchester

pairing : s.2!sam winchester x gn!reader, featuring platonic dean ➖⟢ genre : angst, fluff, ➖⟢ cw : sam and reader are lovingly mean to each other, bad insults (weird, stupid, lame), bad jokes, swearing, canon typical violence and ghosts, arguing, so much kissing, could be ooc but idc, edited but most likely still contains a few mistakes, single usage of y/n ➖⟢ wc : 9.5K summary : sam is acting weird, and when it puts people in danger, you can't let it slide (despite the fact that you're totally in love with him).

“hey, check this out,” sam calls to you and dean, not bothering to look up from his computer screen. “think we found our violent spirit.” you part from your own research without a single qualm, resting a hand on the back of sam’s chair as he leans back for you and dean to get a better look. “marissa hancock. she was a student at the college, died a violent death there, just like we thought. it’s thought that the janitor impaled her with his mop while he was working in her dorm hall, but he was never put away for lack of evidence.”

“explains the janitor kabob,” dean quips, already headed to shrug on his jacket.

“easy solve,” you admit. it only took a solid half hour of searching through records to find the right murder. “but why’s she killing now? she’s had, what?” you lean further over sam’s shoulder to inspect the record, “fifty some years to be killing janitors, why start now?”

“dunno,” sam shrugs, and you can feel his shoulder brush against you, reminding you how close he is. doing your best to stay casual and maybe not stare longingly at his pretty face from this close up, you straighten your back and go to grab your own jacket as sam types away on his keyboard. “looks like her original murderer died two weeks ago.”

“right when the killings started,” dean finishes. “alright, let’s go. you got where she’s buried, sam?”

“yep,” he stands, shutting his laptop. “saint mercy cemetery, not too far.”

“hm,” you laugh out, “second saint mercy cemetery this month. people need to get more creative,” you note as you exit the motel room and head down the short hallway to get to the impala.

“and what would you name a cemetery?” dean asks, ready to catch you off guard or tease you for anything he can get his hands on.

“i should have thought of a clever answer before saying that,” you admit, “but i do wish it were socially acceptable to call them dead people neighborhoods.”

“that’s lame,” sam grins, throwing his arm around your shoulders for just about two seconds before he has to let go to get through the small doorway and outside.

“c’mon,” you complain, “i know it’s kind of lame, and definitely insensitive, but imagine someone just asked you where you’re headed after work and you get to tell them you’re going to the dead people neighborhood. cemetery’s no fun, at least dead people neighborhood is accurate.” you close the back door of the car behind you as you settle in to punctuate your point.

“you’re weird,” sam teases in a matter-of-fact tone, not even looking back from the passenger's seat to see the sneer on your face.

“no, you’re weird,” you fire back.

“alright, kids,” dean interrupts, “enough bickering like we’re four, we’ve got a job to do,” he snickers as he backs the car up.

“okay, dean,” you and sam chime, voices full of mocking and almost totally in sync. dean rolls his eyes hard, because it’s just one of those days where the two of you can’t stop feeding into the antics of the other, regressing the combined mental age of the three of you by at least twenty years.

having known the brothers since you were kids through bobby, and starting to hunt with them about a year and a half ago, you’ve certainly grown close with the both of them. but a little closer in age, you and sam are nothing but two peas in a pod. and much to dean’s chagrin, that means it only takes a split second for the two of you to switch things up and turn against him when he tries to break up your banter. it’s pretty much all loving argumentation, of course, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t annoying as all hell for whoever has to witness it.

“and for the record, i like dead people neighborhood,” dean offers, ignoring your moment of synchronicity with sam.

“yes!” you celebrate, reaching around the seat in front of you to lightly hit sam’s shoulder. “you’re the lame one, you’re no fun.”

he scoffs, mumbling something to himself about how, “of course dean likes dead people neighborhood. it’s stupid.”

you resist the urge to tell him that he’s stupid, and instead follow dean’s direction to focus on the case.

“hold on, dean. you should drop me off on campus first, one of us should make sure another janitor doesn’t fall on his mop handle before we can burn the bones,” you suggest.

“no.”

your brow furrows at how fast sam shuts you down, his serious tone a harsh contrast to his practically whiny mumble moments before. you glance at dean to see that he’s got his own eyebrows raised in confusion.

“what’d’you mean, ‘no’?” you question.

“i mean,” he clears his throat as if he’s just realized his strong denial was awkward, “that that could be dangerous alone, so i’ll go and you can stick with dean.”

you send a bewildered look to dean, one he doesn’t catch trying to pay attention to the street name up ahead. “i’m sorry, are you suggesting i can’t handle a measly ghost?” mostly you’re confused by sam’s words, but you can’t help letting a bit of offense slip into your voice.

“n-no, no that’s not what i’m saying,” he fumbles, trying to fix what he said, “i meant– i meant it would be safer for anyone not to go alone. so– so i’ll go with you and dean can stick with burning the body.”

it’s a clumsy, bad save that’s entirely unconvincing.

“you’re seriously gonna stick me with grave digging duty?” dean grunts, “y/n’s right, it’s just one ghost, we don’t need two of us to deal with it. digging up a grave is arguably harder.”

“exactly,” you reason, “which is why i should go scope out the dorm hall, and you should go with dean to the dead people neighborhood.”

“she’s buried in a family mausoleum,” counters sam, “her grave doesn’t need to be dug up, which means it’s a one person job, and since there could be an actual violent ghost in the dorm, two people should go. and don’t try to make dead people neighborhood a thing, at the very least it’s too long, not to mention it’s not funny.”

despite the fact that he’s teasing you, you’re glad to hear something normal come out of his mouth. his hesitancy to let you take on the ghost is odd, especially considering the ghost might not show up at all. it’s not like he’s never been protective of you, it’s in both his and certainly dean’s nature. but he knows full well that you are completely capable of handling one violent ghost, and he’s been weird like this for the past two weeks.

you laugh when you admit, “it wasn’t quite as good in context as i thought it would be, but it wasn’t that bad, i’m just tryna to stick with my bit,” you defend, “and fine, two people at the dorms, one on dead person arson.”

“are you serious?” sam laughs, halfheartedly tossing his head back to give you a judgemental look through the corner of his eye.

“dead serious, pun absolutely intended,” you let out a full laugh at the strangled sigh he lets out. oh how you love to rile him up with bad jokes. “you’re too easy, sam. for that, i’m sticking you on grave duty. dean and i will handle the dorm.”

“you should be on grave duty, for all the bad jokes today,” he argues.

dean practically growls in annoyance, “how about i go on grave duty, so i can get away from your annoying asses.” it’s not a suggestion, and the both of you huff out a sigh, but don’t argue.

dean drops you off a little ways from the dorm hall for you to grab a shotgun and salt rounds with less of a chance of being seen. you leave the other shotgun for dean just in case, bothered that yours is still broken from the last hunt. there hadn’t been enough time to fix it yet. so, you grab an iron rod, hoping to use that before any guns on a college campus. it’d be a sticky situation to get out of, being caught with shotguns in a dorm, and at the very least incredibly inconvenient to scare the hell out of a bunch of college aged kids at eleven pm. sam sticks the shotgun under his jacket, generally hiding it from the view of anyone not looking too closely.

walking a few minutes, you find the right dorm hall and sam hands the gun off to you to pull out his lock pick. but, glancing behind you, you shove the gun back into his hands and yank him into you.

“the hell?” he resists for a split second before you quickly interrupt him.

“shut up! hide the gun and act like you’re piss drunk. someone’s coming,” you hiss. in a swift movement, he tucks the gun back under his jacket as you shimmy the iron rod into your sleeve, then he swings his free arm around you, practically dropping half of his weight on you. “dude,” you complain, before falling into character. “sammy, come on!” you whine loudly. “i can’t reach my id with you like this,” you pretend to feel around for something in your back pocket while keeping him standing, and he immediately picks up on what you’re trying to do. he stumbles forward so that you have to use both hands to keep him upright, and you curse at your false struggle. “help me out here, sammy, will you?” you try to make your voice sound overly desperate, maybe a little innocent too, “why don’t you lean against the wall so we can get inside,” you beg, trusting sam to play his part well.

“nooo,” he slurs, dragging the word out in a whiny pitch, “don’t wanna.” he turns into you and haphazardly wraps his lanky arm all the way around your form, tugging you to him and nearly knocking the both of you over. you feel heat rush to your cheeks at this and desperately remind yourself that he’s only pressing his face into your neck so that he can get a look at the person approaching and keep the shotgun well hidden from view.

you see the girl out of the corner of your eye, young and clearly a student headed for the dorm.

“oh, thank god!” you exclaim, “hey, i’m so sorry to bother you, but do you think you could open the door for us?” you ask as sweetly as you can, pulling your eyebrows together to gain sympathy, before adding on a humorous tone, “my boyfriend is stupid drunk and i can’t get us inside.” you can feel sam stiffen for a split second at your words, and you yourself wonder if you should have just gone the “friend” route for the sake of your own sanity. you’re going to want to keep calling sam your boyfriend, over and over again.

“oh my god, of course,” she laughs goodnaturedly, and you thank the lord she’s laid back, rather than some uptight rule follower ready to report you to administration. she swipes her id and holds the door open for you, and as you struggle into the building, you think that sam is making this harder for you than it has to be. but there’s absolutely no denying you love the way it feels to just have him all over you, even for the sake of illegally entering a building with a gun.

“thank you so much,” your voice is one big sigh of relief, slightly muffled by the fabric of sam’s jacket.

“yeah, don’t worry about it,” she smiles, “you two are super cute, by the way,” she compliments before turning towards the stairs and waving a kind goodbye.

you do your best to not stumble over your words as you thank her, heat once again rising to your face, and you’re sure that sam can feel the warmth of your neck. body stiff, you turn and head down the hallway in the opposite direction, sam still clinging to you until it’s clear.

“alright, get off, you big dork,” you snort, gently pushing him away and doing your best to regain your composure to proceed as if you don’t have a massive crush on him. “did ya have to make it so hard for me?”

he shrugs with a sly grin, “had to make it convincing, didn’t i? besides, it was your idea, you don’t get to complain.”

you stick your tongue out at him and he raises his eyebrows as if to say, “really?”

“she was really nice,” you note, voice almost wistful in a way that sam easily picks up on. about a year into hunting with the brothers and dean was off buying food, you and sam had collapsed onto a motel bed together as you had many times before by then, both exhausted after a long case. that night, as you spoke in tired, hushed tones, with no need for anyone but the other to hear your words, you had somehow ended up with your head resting on his biceps and one of his legs swung over yours.

that’s the night you told him you were jealous that he got to go to college, even if it wasn’t for long. you’d told him how you liked the idea of that life, even if you had to return to hunting after it was over. you wanted friends your age, to learn, go to stupid parties and have a college partner. you knew the experience wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies, but you wanted it anyway. he’d said, sure, it wasn’t perfect, but it was a hell of a lot better than hunting in his opinion. he wanted you to have that. once this was all over, and you both got justice for your families, he’d help you apply, make sure you got in somewhere, maybe even go with you. a hush fell over the room and he knew you weren’t convinced.

“yeah, she was,” he says, his own voice a touch more gentle than moments ago. “we were lucky.” he doesn’t want to tell you that most college kids would be at least cool enough to let you inside, maybe not as friendly as her, but that it’s true you’d like it here. he doesn’t want to remind you of what you can’t have.

a silence falls over the two of you, punctuated only by the shuffling of your feet or the rustle of clothes. it’s comfortable and easy because you’ve done it a million times before. you don’t have to say anything to agree that you’ll head to the basement where the original murder occured. the both of you stay quiet and light on your feet, sam always peering around corners before rounding them.

in the basement he stops you with a simple finger to his lips. he leans in close to whisper as quietly as he can, “janitor’s here.”

you resist the urge to call said janitor an idiot, because who the hell is going to be cleaning an area in which three of your coworkers have mysteriously died in the past two weeks, but you just nod instead, taking in the way that sam’s eyes look under the dim light.

“wanna wait around til dean calls or warn him?” you ask, equally as quiet. he turns his head to look back around the corner before continuing.

“well, we should warn him, but we can’t use the drunk ruse on an employee. he probably has a radio scanner on him, might even be connected to campus security,” he points out.

“fbi?”

“we look too much like college kids right now,” he reasons.

“right,” you agree, “well then, stupid college kids trying to see a murder scene? we’ll link arms and you can hide the gun behind your back. just so we’re near him til dean burns the bones. hopefully nothing’ll even happen.” it’s as if you jinxed it all in that moment, as the lights immediately begin to flicker, the buzz of electricity filling your ears and a sudden chill filling the air. “nevermind,” you curse, flicking the iron rod back into your hand and barging around the corner, only a hair behind sam.

“way to jinx it,” he grunts.

you just scoff and beg him, “just try not to use the gun.” this time neither of you attempt to hide your presence as your shoes pound against the tile floor.

“no promises,” sam says, the gun up and loaded in front of him.

“what the hell?” the janitor barely has the time to exclaim before he’s thrown against the wall.

“i got it,” you warn sam, eager to avoid gunshots and sprinting full speed towards the apparition, iron rod in front of you. you throw all your weight into reaching the ghost of the young girl before she can flicker out of reach. the iron in your hand makes contact, and she evaporates for the time being. unfortunately for you, your momentum keeps you going, through the space the ghost just occupied and straight into the section of the floor slick with soapy water. with no time to gain any semblance of your balance, you slip and come crashing to the ground. your back hits the floor and the wind gets knocked out of your lungs in the same moment that the iron skitters out of your hand.

you struggle a bit to sit up due to the wetness underneath you, gasping slightly and letting curses fall from your mouth the moment you can speak again.

in a split second reaction, sam shouts your name, his voice inappropriately taught and worried for such a silly accident. he’s by your side in an instant, strong hands pulling you up and his anxious voice asking if you’re alright. you wave him off easily, unconcerned for yourself.

“help him,” you urge, “i’m fine.” but he doesn’t back off nearly as easily as you’d think.

“are you sure, did you hit your head? you couldn’t breathe for a second there,” his hands stay glued to you as he rattles off his concerns, ones that you find utterly unnecessary and unhelpful considering the fact that you’re fine, and the ghost could reappear any second. his strong grip keeps you from bending down to scoop up the iron rod, but you have to wrench yourself away from him when you hear a strangled cry come from the janitor. he whirls around with you to see the ghost with her hands around the janitor’s neck, crushing him against the wall as his feet dangle just above the floor. the iron rod is back in your hand in an instant, but sam’s shotgun lays abandoned on the floor a few feet away.

he dives for the weapon, but with a flick of the ghost’s hand, he’s knocked against the wall with a noise so loud it hurts to hear. before she can pay you attention, you fling the iron towards her, vaporizing her once more. the iron clatters to the ground as the janitor collapses to his knees. you rush towards him, pulling him away from the wall before tugging a container of salt from your jacket’s inside pockets. apologetically, you haul the poor man to his feet, throwing a quick look over your shoulder at sam. he’s groaning painfully, but already moving to get back up.

knowing he’s easily survived worse, you turn your attention back to the janitor, who’s sputtering out confused and incoherent questions about what in the goddamn hell is happening.

“just stay there,” you urge him, too pressed for time to add adequate sympathy to your tone. “stay in the circle and she can’t get you.” with practiced ease, you shake the salt onto the ground with barely enough to make a small, solid ring around the man.

you scoop up the gun from the ground, then turn to help sam onto his feet. “we’re gonna have to tough this out til dean gets done,” is all you say when you place the weapon into his hands, despite the urge to ask what the hell is wrong with him and why he’s so off his game. you turn to grab your own weapon, but it seems the ghost is reappearing faster and faster. this time, you’re the one who gets tossed into the wall, but you stay pressed against the cold surface as a mop flies to meet you, the long handle pushing against your throat and cutting off your air supply. you take in a strangled gasp, hands clawing at the old wooden handle and giving yourself a few splinters that you couldn’t care less about in the moment. of course, it doesn’t budge.

the second you’re flattened against the wall, sam shouts your name again, this time with his gun in the air, swinging around to get a shot at the ghost. but before he can react, it flies out of his hand and she reappears right in front of him, pushing him against the wall across from you.

he struggles against her wildly, his hand itching to get free of her hold to reach the hidden iron knife in his pocket. but before he can get there, her grip weakens and she lets out a strangled scream as she bursts into flames. the flames climb up her old fashioned pencil skirt and swallow up the bloody wound in her abdomen. her grip on you and sam falters as she burns away, then dissolves completely as the last of her ashes fade out into the musty basement air.

you drop to your knees, coughing and gasping for breath as the sound of the mop clattering to the floor echoes through the hallway. sam’s saying your name, half through a cough and his voice still so worried as he stumbles towards you. then he’s on his knees too and his hands are sturdy on your shoulders.

“‘m fine,” you rasp out, hand reaching for his bicep to ground you to something solid and steady. he stays right there, completely ignoring the poor man who’s still practically frozen in fear in the tiny circle of salt and the ringing of his phone. one of his hands slips around you to rub soothing strokes up and down your back and it brings you even closer to him, your forehead dipping to rest on his shoulder. you feel silly for how much he’s fussing over you, but you can’t quite scold or question him until you’ve caught your breath. clearly something is bothering him (and you want him so bad), so you let him hold you close.

“are you hurt anywhere?” he finally asks once he feels your breathing even out under his touch.

you pull away from him gently, shaking your head before verbally confirming, “no, i’m alright sam. nothing more than your typical bumps and bruises.” your voice is a touch raspy from the pressure on your throat, but it’s nothing that won’t go away with some water and rest, maybe some tea if really necessary.

his hands stay on you as he stands. “are you sure?” he asks, and you can’t figure out why on earth, heaven, or hell he’s so overly concerned about you. frankly, it’s starting to worry you. and definitely annoy you. all the sudden he’s acting like you’re fragile, like you can’t take care of yourself. things which he should know for a fact aren’t true.

he lets you slip away from his hold as you swoop down to pick up your lost weapons and face the poor janitor.

“sorry about that all. you can step out of the salt now.” he looks at you as if he can’t be sure, and your tone softens a bit. he’s young, probably just a college kid himself. “she’s really gone this time, i promise. you won’t ever have to worry about her again. though, i wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to look for a different job.”

he nods and thanks you, and you tell him to repay the favor by not mentioning you and sam. then, at a pace you certainly can’t blame him for, he scurries away.

“c’mon,” you nod to sam, “we should get out of here. you should also call dean back. he’s probably worried you didn’t answer.” with that, you turn back in the direction of the stairs without looking back at sam, rolling your eyes when your own cell ring. you pick up with a, “we’re fine, dean,” before he can even ask why the hell it took you so long to answer him. he lets out a sigh, half relieved, half annoyed.

“what took ya so long?” he asks anyway.

“had a few bumps in the road since little miss janitor-killer showed up, but we’re fine. neither of us are hurt. would’ya pick us up in the same spot you left us?”

“yeah, ‘course. already on my way, see you crazy kids in five.” with that, he hangs up and you don’t have to glance over your shoulder to feel sam following behind. it’s all just the familiarity of his footsteps, the sound they make, and the pace at which he walks. it’s the particular rustle of his favorite jacket, soft and scratchy sounding all at once. it’s the feeling of his tall figure, his broad chest so close behind you that he’d run right into you if you stopped even for a moment. you debate whether to ask him what the hell is up now or at the motel. for now, the priority is getting out unnoticed, so you clench your jaw a bit and continue in silence because you’re beginning to feel a little angry with him. you think he can feel it, so he stays quiet too, all the way out the dorm and down the street to wait for dean.

it’s not uncommon to be quieter after a hunt is finished because you’re all usually tired and more often than not achey from some toss around or another. but sam can tell there’s something else bothering you tonight. from the way you tilt your shoulder away from him, the distance so nearly imperceptible that only he would notice, he’s willing to bet that he’s that something. and though he doesn’t want to admit it, he thinks he knows why. he just won’t be the first one to say something about it because he’s stubborn, a little prideful, and most of all, too afraid to explain why he’s acting this way.

even so, he just can’t help himself. he hovers near, so near that once you’re settled by the side of the road, you can feel him without actually touching him. you’re tempted to nudge him away, just because of how overprotective he’s acting. you’re also tempted to lean back into his chest because somehow you know his hands wouldn’t waste a second in gathering you up and keeping you closer than ever before. it starts to rain a little bit, soft and almost unnoticable if it weren’t for the new chill in the air. for a moment, you can feel one hand hover over your waist, just for a second before there’s a light swish of fabric when it falls back to his side. you wonder if he’s worried about you getting too cold.

you hear dean before you see him, the rumble of the impala coming into earshot moments before its headlights appear around the corner. the car slows as it nears you, pulling to the side of the road with the front windows down and some classic rock guitar riff filtering into your ears. the music’s quieter than you know it was just moments ago from when dean was alone. he greets you two with a simple, “hey,” once he’s fully stopped and you place your hand out, palm up and wordlessly asking for sam to hand you the rifle to put in the trunk.

“i got it,” he says, not waiting for you to argue when he takes the iron from the loose grip of your fist and makes his way to the trunk. you slide into the back seat behind the passengers side and return dean’s greeting.

he twists in his seat to watch you as you close your eyes and massage your shoulder with a wince. it’s beginning to become more sore, just like all the rest of your body.

“you okay?” he asks, voice full of his normal gruffness that tells you cares enough to ask but knows not to be too worried.

you open your eyes back up to give him a nod. “‘m fine. just the usual ghost beat down. y’know, bumps and bruises.”

“mm, sure do,” he agrees, “so what? dearly departed marissa thought you were janitors?” he asks skeptically. you hear the slam of the trunk, and moments later sam’s settling into his seat in front of you.

“no,” you scoff, “some idiot kid was actually cleaning down there. told ‘im to get a new job,” you snort humorlessly.

“well, i’ll say,” dean raises his eyebrows in agreement before twisting back to face the wheel. he sneaks a look between you and sam before switching the car out of park and getting back on the road. for a few minutes, all you hear is the muted music, the constant roll of the engine, the light patter of rain on the metal roof, and the road under the tires. then dean switches off the music. “anything happen back there that i should know about?” he ventures.

“no,” sam answers casually, “nothing, just the usual.” you don’t even answer. you just can’t figure out if you should involve dean, tell him how sam was unthinking and almost entirely uncaring about the innocent civilian involved, all because he was so worried about you.

“alright,” dean concedes, glancing at you through the rearview mirror and sounding entirely unconvinced. he doesn’t turn the music back on, just lets the silence reign, so you close your tired eyes and lean your head against the cold glass of the window. you’ve fallen asleep in the back of the impala countless times before, but your drowsiness doesn’t take over this time in favor of letting your mind wander over what to say to sam. you can’t just let it be, and tonight is certainly the worst it’s gotten. plus, it’s an easy habit for you to wait for sleep when you’re already so close to the motel.

when dean pulls into the parking lot, he doesn’t turn off the engine. “gonna grab some grub. i’ll be back in a bit with the usual.”

“grab me something for dessert, will ya? ‘m craving something sweet,” you request, leaning towards the driver’s seat.

“sure thing,” he nods, and you slide out of the car and close the door after a thank you and tired smile. “anything for you, sammy?” you hear him ask.

“i’m good, just the regular,” sam responds as he exits the car. you unlock the motel door, and he’s inside the room just a moment later, closing and locking the entrance behind him. you stand facing away from him at the shitty table, your jacket already strewn across the back of a chair. you can hear him behind you, going through his routine movements. he’s taking off his jacket, setting it down on the edge of the bed. then he’s pulling comfier clothes out from his pack.

“you wanna shower first?” he offers, breaking the silence of the room. you can feel his gaze on your back.

“sure,” you swallow, “thanks,” you say without any sort of edge to your voice.

“‘f course,” he says, and he means that. his eyes follow you as you pull out your own change of clothes, just a tshirt and sweats, and make your way to the dingy bathroom. you’re tired, so you’re quick with it, but the water’s already lukewarm by the time you’re done. you dry off and dress quick, eager to lay in bed.

and yet, when sam takes your place in the bathroom and the sounds of the shower start up again, you sit at the table instead, picking out a few splinters in your hands before folding your arms and resting your head against them. you stay that way, even when you hear the water turn off, the bathroom door open, his heavy footfalls that are only heavy because he’s so tall and not for lack of gentleness, then the scraping of the chair across from you. he doesn’t even say a thing, just looks at the top of your head and the tip of your nose. the shape of your hands, the point of your elbows, and the curve of your back.

with a deep breath and some pain in your neck, you lift your head. you look back at him and slump your chin into your palm.

“i’m upset with you,” you state.

he frowns. even his frown is pretty. “i know,” he sighs.

“so? why are you acting like this?” your voice is tired, but you still manage to infuse accusation into your tone, “sam, why are you suddenly acting like i can’t take care of myself out there? you’ve been weird for nearly two weeks now, and i don’t like it. i don’t like this.”

sam doesn’t know how to respond. he’s used to being yelled at, shouted at, angry at. he’s used to yelling and shouting and getting angry back. and though he’s certainly fought with you before, he’s still not used to the level tone and the way you say each word so slow, like you’re not actually arguing. just upset and rightfully a little angry, like you just want to understand.

sure, he can hear the plain anger in your voice. you’re not trying to hide it. but you’re not yelling. how’s he supposed to use the heat of the moment to shout back, “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” or “i’m just trying to help,” when there is no heat in the moment? instead, he’s embarrassed and the only answer he can come up with, the only one that he can mean if he answers in that same, level tone you’re using is, one he’s having too much trouble saying aloud. any other answer would just be too wrong like that. or maybe if you were shouting, he’d tell you the truth, because he could yell it out, loud and rash without thinking about it. if he says it now, it’s not because he just let it slip. if he says it now, there’s no way to take it back, to get around everything threatening to bubble over the surface like forgotten water on a heated stove.

“i don’t think that you can’t take care of yourself. i know you can,” is all he says, because it’s true and it skirts around the real questions. his voice is rough, halfway between pleading and holding back from the anger he doesn’t yet know how to control. you heave a sigh.

“so why, sam? why?” you let the heavy question stew for a moment, then go on when he doesn’t even meet your gaze, “or, i don’t know, if you’re not gonna tell me, just promise me you’ll stop?”

he clenches his jaw because he knows he can’t. he just wishes you would shout. then, he’d tell you. he can imagine the words coming out of his mouth, but only if they’re loud, only if you’ve pressured him to do it. he realizes that’s probably fucked up. but the other way is too vulnerable, too vast of a leap to take to when he’s just not sure.

“sam,” you press, “you don’t have to worry about me, i swear. i don’t understand what’s got you like this, but it’s getting in the way of you being able to do your job right. that kid could have died because all you could do was worry about me,” that’s when you begin you raise your voice, just a little. because that’s what’s making you most upset about this. you hate it ‘cause you feel like he’s doubting your abilities as a hunter, but you hate it even more because it’s making him disregard the safety of others and of himself, for you. “sam, i only slipped. sure i got the wind knocked out of me, but you dropped your gun for that? frankly, that was stupid. and the poor kid was being choked, and if i hadn’t been lucky enough to throw the iron before she could react, he could have died. i need you to understand that. i need you to understand that i can do this job, that i’m strong enough, and that if you don’t trust me with that? people could die. and i’m not about to let that happen. so either you tell me what’s up and we figure it out, or you stop and i pay you the huge favor of just dropping the whole thing, okay?”

suddenly he looks all sad. “i do trust you,” he says, voice all sincerity and nothing more.

you close your eyes for a moment, half in frustration and half because you could really use some shut eye right about now. “that’s not– well, it is. it is part of the point. but i need an answer from you, i need you to tell me you won’t let whatever this is put somebody else in danger.”

he clenches his jaw. he’s still stuck. you still haven’t shouted.

“just spit it out. i can practically see something rolling around on the tip of your tongue. just say it, sam.”

there’s an edge to your voice, so maybe he can.

“i can’t lose you.”

there it is. it’s said with an edge, too, like he wanted to shout it but couldn’t. it’s said rough and a little bit angry and full of this undying faithfulness and yes, love.

but you still don't quite understand it, so it makes you sigh. it makes your eyes soften a bit and it makes you a little angrier than before. it makes you want him to mean that with all his chest and it makes you want to shake him hard until he comes to his senses.

“that’s always been a danger, ever since we met. you know that,” your voice is something so oddly gentle in its frustration, “sammy, you’re my best friend, and i can’t lose you either. hell, i don’t think the words “best friend” even begin to cover the depth of how much i care about you. but we’ll both be safer if we trust each other, if we trust in both of our abilities to keep ourselves and the other safe. tell me that you understand that.”

it takes him a minute to speak again, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he searches for what to say. “two weeks ago,” is all he manages at first. you try to think back to it, and it immediately dawns on you. “i couldn’t prote–”

“sammy, no,” you interrupt, “that wasn’t your fault, okay? i know this doesn’t help to say, but we can’t always protect each other perfectly, to the extent we really want. i’d do anything for you, sammy, you know that.” after that there’s supposed to be a “but” where you explain to him that you can’t let that get in the way of your thinking straight and keeping everyone safe. instead, those last words just hang, suspended and weighty in the air.

“but you could’ve been killed,” the way he says your name is almost desperate. “it was dean that saved you. i was there and i couldn’t even help. what if next time, dean isn’t there? what if–,” his voice breaks, and he effectively cuts himself off from finishing the sentence. you know what he was trying to say.

any answer you give to that, you know isn’t enough. “but i wasn’t killed, sam. i’m here. i’m right here and i’m alive and i’m well and i don’t want to spend all my time worrying about you worrying about me. not like this.” you let that sit for a moment or two, and though his eyebrows are still all sad and pinched together, you think you’re starting to get through to him.

“but i can’t lose you,” he repeats stubbornly.

“sam,” you’re practically begging at this point, frustration creeping back into your voice, “the best way for you to keep me safe from ghosts and monsters and everything else is to take care of the problem, efficiently and effectively, like we always do. if there’s no monster, it can’t hurt me. but if you drop your weapon just because i slipped on soapy floors and lost my breath for a second? then it’s not just you and whatever innocent bystander around who’s more vulnerable now, it’s me too. so if that’s what it’s gonna take for me to convince you to stop fussing over me, then, please, think about it like that.”

sam is smart. he loves logic and reason, and you’ve handed him just that. but even more than that, he loves you. in the end, that trumps all.

“but i love you.”

he says it like a plea. like he didn’t mean to say it at all but it was the only thing running through his mind, and therefore, the only thing running off his tongue.

“sammy,” you breathe out, and then it’s like there’s no more air for you to breathe back in. that sweet nickname of his coming out of your mouth, resting on your tongue before tumbling into the air, is half like a drug to him, half like a bitter wind to sober him up quick.

“i– i only meant that i–,” he meant just that and now it’s said and now he’s never going to take it back, even if you hate him for it. “i meant that,” he says it firm and true this time, “i love you, so i can’t lose you.”

the way he looks at you, right into your eyes like they’re the prettiest things he’s ever seen, like you’re the best thing he’s ever had, oh, it has you hooked like bait has a fish who bit down too hard. it has you praying he never looks at anybody else like that again. it has you rising out of your seat and it’s pulling you across the small, wobbly table. he’s wedged into the grooves of your heart, so deep it could kill you to pull him out, so you follow the tug and he leans in too so the line isn’t so taught, so that it’s easy and comfortable and beautiful to reach his lips.

his hands are like a net that catches you up in big, lovely swaths. they travel from your own hands, that lean against the table to keep your lips pressed to his, up to your elbows and then he knows he can never get enough. so he pushes up out of his own seat, drags his hands further up your arms until they can wrap around your biceps and push you up. not for a moment does he let his lips leave yours as he stands and pulls the both of you away from the table until he can bring you close, right into his wide, warm chest. then his hands can roam, gentle over your sensitive back, up to your neck then the back of your head to push your face into his. the other hand gets to go from your waist to your hips, or dip to the small of your back and press you flush to him.

you can only get away from him for a second, just enough time to whisper, “i love you, too,” before he swallows you back up. you melt right into him, and he loves it so much, but he feels how tired you are and he remembers he is too. so he only kisses you for a minute longer before letting your head rest on his shoulder. without any reservation, he presses a long kiss to your temple and you sigh a sweet sigh into his worn out tshirt.

unwilling to let go, he waddles with you, all bundled up into his arms, to the edge of the bed. without warning, he collapses into it, taking you right down with him and pulling out a little shriek from your mouth that he finds to be nothing short of endearing. he laughs, a belly laugh that you can feel the vibrations of as it moves up into his chest and out of those pretty lips of his. with some struggle to readjust yourself, you press a sweet peck to those lips. another easy i love you.

then you collapse back into his hold and the low quality plush of the motel bed. “now promise me you’ll pull yourself together next time we get a case?” this time your ask is so much more lighthearted, sweeter because it’s mumbled into the skin of his arm. you mean it just as much, but you can’t help the fact that you feel like you’re floating, “now i really, really can’t have you getting us in trouble. i’ll need to be able to kiss you at any given moment, so you have to promise me that you’ll trust me to take care of myself. because it works, and you know it. it’s the safest way. for both of us.”

the sigh he heaves can be felt through practically your whole body. it’s heavier than you wish it’d be, but he relaxes against you just a bit more. “i know,” he relents, “i’ll do my best, okay?”

“thank you,” you breathe out, too relieved to care that he couldn’t quite promise. you know this all means he’ll just be more protective of you, but you can say the same for yourself. now that you’ve kissed him and he’s told you he loves you and you’ve said it back, right against his lips, you’ll worry about him extra. but the both of you know the best ways to keep each other alive, and that has to be enough for you. you allow yourself to snuggle closer into him before joking, “d’you think dean’s ever gonna come back?”

you feel sam’s quiet laugh more than you hear it. “yeah, he really did us a favor with that one, didn’t he?” you can hear the smile in his voice before he remembers himself, “do not tell him i said that.” having you in his arms like this has got him a little giddy, saying things aloud that he normally wouldn’t.

letting out a laugh of your own, you promise, “i won’t. but i’m starting to get hungry. maybe we should call him and tell him the coast is clear, we didn’t tear the room to shreds or anything like that.”

sam chuckles again, and you decide very quickly that you like the way it feels for him to laugh with you so close. neither of you move, not to get a phone to call dean or to stop yourselves from growing drowsy. not for anything.

you’re half asleep when you hear the familiar sound of the impala’s engine near the room. it turns off, then comes the sound of its front door being open and shut. just because you’re hungry and it spells the arrival of food, you force your eyes open and let out a groan when you wiggle your arms out of sam’s hold to stretch. the way his hands shift to your waist as you do so has you a bit flustered and you wonder if you’re supposed to pretend in front of dean that you haven’t spent the last half hour kissing and cuddling. but sam doesn't seem to care, because he just sits up when the door’s lock clicks, one hand by your head to hold him up, the other still settled decidedly on your waist. so you decide not to care either, and turn your head around to accidentally grin at dean when he peeks his head through the door. you had meant to look casual, but the second someone else becomes a witness to the fact that you’re laying together like this, you’re beaming.

dean visibly relaxes when he takes in the sight, pushing the door all the way open to walk in, then lock the door back up behind him.

“hey, there,” is all he says, shooting the both of you a look that says, really, you’re just gonna keep sitting there like that in front of me? it’s not that bad, but he’s allowed to tease because he just turned a twenty minute food trip into an hour purely for yours and sam’s sake. you clear your throat awkwardly, and only when you sit up does sam’s hand fall away from you.

you pad over to the table as dean places the paper bag of fast food on the surface. he drags over an extra mismatched chair and sam follows close behind you, pulling the remaining chair to sit beside you. as you begin to pull food out from the bag, now clearly gone cold to the touch, dean sits down, complaining that they didn’t have pie, so he bought you two cookies for dessert instead.

“well, thank you for the food anyways,” you smile, hoping he picks up on the fact that you’re thanking him for the other thing too, “damn shame there was no pie, though,” you say, more for his sake than yours. you wonder why he didn’t just pick some up from somewhere else since he was gone so long.

“mhmm, and don’t sweat about the pie. just got a slice somewhere else,” he shrugs, “ate it in the car, there was only one slice left and i didn’t want you to feel like you were missing out,” he explains with that familiar teasing edge which makes you think he indeed caught onto the double meaning of your thanks. you let out a small huff of laughter before tearing into the food, only now realizing just how hungry you are. you’d felt it creep up on you on the car ride back, smiled at the mention of food from dean, even stupidly thought about it during a quiet moment in the argument with sam. but the second your lips found his, that was the only hunger you’d felt. to keep kissing him, to keep him close, keep him loving you. only when you settled all the way into his arms, sure that you’d be able to satiate that hunger again, could your body remember you hadn’t eaten since early this afternoon.

the three of you eating like this, late at night and without much conversation, is common and comfortable. dean is on what you assume to be his second burger, because there’s no way he’d have just sat in the car, probably parked in a random lot and wondering how long he should be gone, and just waited to eat an extra-bacon burger until he came back. sam’s nearly the same as always, too, but tonight he sits so close that his forearm brushes against yours. you bump elbows or knees every so often, and the side of his socked foot is pressed against yours the entire time.

you sigh, content with the nearness of him that’s so much more complete and full than it was just hours ago. now, there’s no need to hover. now, you can just swoop in and land, take what you want, give what the other needs.

dean makes no teasing comments, but you can feel the way he’s been examining, reading the two of you. you’re not sure if you’re supposed to say something aloud, but you know that he knows the two of you so well that he understands almost exactly what must’ve happened while he was gone. maybe he’s not teasing because this is the outcome he wanted to come back to. he probably knows better than the both of you how you were crushing, pining even, over the other.

he takes his turn in the shower when he finishes his food, and you and sam begin to clean up a few minutes later. once all the trash is crumbled up and tossed away, you go around and turn off all the lights but a single bedside lamp. as you turn away from clicking off the lamp in the corner of the room, sam’s right there in front of you. you don’t have the time to be startled by him sneaking up on you, he’s so quick to cup your face with his hands and slot his lips against yours. he lingers a long moment before pulling apart just enough to rest his forehead on yours.

“gonna kiss you forever,” he whispers, and you realize you’ve turned this giant man into a complete and utter sap.

“you better.” your grin is wide and real and he can almost feel your lips moving, he’s so close. just as you’re ready to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him hard, the steady white noise of the shower shuts off. you sigh and laugh a little, leaning in to steal one more chaste kiss before brushing past him. but he turns with you, hands still warm on your cheeks and not letting go until he’s kissed you once more.

when dean’s gone from the bathroom, sam follows you in to brush his teeth with you. you’ve done so plenty of times, but tonight, sam gets to loop his free arm around your waist and pull you into him, rather than stand shoulder to shoulder in the cramped space. he gets to make you giggle through toothpaste when he does so, and you get to switch your toothbrush to your other hand and wrap your own arm around his waist, too. he gets to make you laugh dangerously harder when he tightens his hold on you to prevent you from bending and spitting into the sink when you’re done. you try to hold back the laughter with your mouth full of toothpaste, then he’s the one laughing around his toothbrush because there’s white, foamy spit rolling down your chin from the corner of your mouth and threatening to drip to your dark-colored tshirt. of course, he lets you spit and rinse your mouth, relishing in the continued sound of your laughter.

“you asshole! almost ruined my shirt til the next time we make a laundry stop!” you take revenge as he rinses out his own mouth, splashing the running water onto his face as he swishes water around in his mouth.

he spits the water out in surprise and sputters an indignant, “hey!” before he bursts into laughter again.

you’re both giddy, high off of kissing each other, and silly from the exhaustion of a hunt, so he tugs you into him by your hips and keeps laughing into the crook of your neck. you wrap your arms around his neck and thread your fingers up through his soft, newly washed hair. you kiss the closest thing you can reach and he melts right into your arms.

it’s only when you yawn that he pulls away from you. “we should get to bed, huh?”

you nod and twist towards the door, peeking through it to see dean sleeping in his bed, his still form highlighted by the warm light of the cheap lamp. taking sam’s hand with a shy smile, you lead him to the other bed, turning off the last light and climbing under the covers with him not far behind. he loops his arm under your head, then the other over your waist to splay his hand flat across the small of your back. the way he does it is exactly the way you wished he would, as if he’s thought about holding you like this every night you share a bed, just as you had. with a final glance towards dean, he kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.

you try to stifle the giggle that the soft, ticklish contact of his lips wants to pull from your chest, praying that dean is really as asleep as he looks. the both of you stiffen a bit when you hear dean’s blankets rustling, but you let out another breathy, quiet laugh when it goes silent again.

sam’s about to kiss you all over again when dean’s voice rings out into the hush of the night, startling you both.

“no shenanigans while i’m asleep, lovebirds,” he grunts.

that brings more laughter out of your lips and a rush of heat to your face that you’re sure sam feels, too. he just groans in annoyance at his brother, because of course dean had to get in at least one borderline dirty comment. neither of you really answer as dean shifts around in his bed again, likely turning his back to you and mumbling something mostly unintelligible.

the only word you can catch is “finally.”

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nocontextlestat · 3 months

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(TW for everything)

*in lestat’s voice*

so, let’s talk about our gorgeous murder gremlin armand. in the books, he canonically:

- burned his own paris coven alive after lestat destroyed their centuries old belief (TVL)

- let louis kiII his second paris coven (IWTV)

- tortured nicki with his coven while he was still human, because he was angry at lestat (TVL part 4, ch 2)

- tortured lestat to force him to say claudia’s name as the guilty vampire (TVL, epilogue, ch 1)

- mentally manipulated and vampirically raped lestat (TVL, part 5, ch 1)

- threw lestat off a tower when he came to him to beg for help (TVL, epilogue, ch 1)

- told louis that lestat was dead and didn’t tell the truth for decades (IWTV, part 4)

- told lestat that louis was dead and didn’t tell him the truth for decades again (IWTV-TVL)

- mentally manipulated louis to make him turn madeleine into a vampire (IWTV, part 3)

- telepathically kept telling claudia to die/kill herself/leave louis to himself (IWTV, part 3)

- tortured daniel for days (QOTD, part 1, ch 4)

- drew daniel to absolute insanity for a decade (QOTD, part 1, ch 4)

- locked nicki up and cut off his hands so that he couldn’t play his violin like crazy anymore (TVL, part 6, ch 3)

- scalped his human victim because he was curious (TVA, part 1)

and so on. and you’re mad that they— *checks notes* ruined his character on the show by making him the villain? am i correct? he is literally one of the most iconic villains in literature. also, shouldn’t we be glad that they didn’t show him actually torturing claudia by cutting her head off and stitching it on a woman’s body before the trial? while she was still alive? (TVA part 2)

why do you need him to be a saint to be able to love him? he should be a lovable character to the viewers despite and because of the stuff he has done, no? are you sure you're built to consume gothic fiction?

"what about the things lestat did?" i literally made a list of lestat's crimes and never shut up about it and you're yet again proving my point. this is not an attack on armand. he's my favorite right after lestat. i wrote fact threads on twitter for both of them. i know my material.

#interview with the vampire #iwtv #amc iwtv #iwtv amc #lestat de lioncourt #lestat #armand le russe #iwtv armand #armand iwtv #armand #love him the way he is for fucks sake

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petertingle-yipyip · 2 months

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ALWAYS BEEN YOU - KAZ BREKKER

//follow-up to this (for context, really) but can be standalone// also @darker0moon221b asked for this//

Pairing: kaz brekker x reader

Word Count: 3,146

Summary: On the heels of a rough night and unbelievable confessions, Y/N still has to make sure Kaz is alright. What comes after is… shocking.

“I loved you first.”

“What?” Your head snapped up and your hands around the kit tightened till your knuckles were white. “You don’t mean that.” You laughed nervously.

Kaz didn’t waiver in his eye contact, dark eyes boring into yours. You shifted slightly under his gaze but he didn’t speak. Even when you rose to your feet, he didn’t look away, didn’t say a word. He just watched you intently, like if he looked away you would vanish.

Those four seemingly simple words bounced around your skull. You tried to imagine what his expression was when he said them, but you couldn’t. There was no way for you to know what he was thinking. That cursed unreadable expression crossed his features and you would’ve given anything for any of his other looks. That near smile that only you seemed to get or even his widely recognized scheming face.

“I loved you first.”

You had imagined it, right? He gave you nothing to think otherwise. Yes, that’s all it was. A tired brain mixing with a yearning heart to play on your own foolish infatuation. Kaz Brekker was many horrible things and few wonderful. But he was not someone who confessed love. Maybe he didn’t know love. Maybe he didn’t want to. Either way, it wasn’t about you. That much you could convince yourself.

“Okay.” You said finally. You had no idea how much time had passed while your thoughts ran rampant. “Well, make sure you eat and drink something to help with the blood loss. I’d say something with some sugar. Oh! Nina was by earlier, brought some new pie. You might like it.”

“Y/N?” He tried but you pretended not to hear him.

“I’ll come check on it in the morning, if that’s alright. Make sure no infection has set in and you still have your wits.”

“That’s all?”

“Is there anything else?” You cringed slightly at the desperation in your voice.

“You tell me.”

You swallowed the thoughts that threatened to embarrass you further and simply nodded, lips pressed tightly to a line. You moved to grab your fallen book but once your eyes went down, Kaz seemed to know your intention. Of course he did. You immediately stopped when you saw his movements, the stretch of his long yet muscle bound bare limbs.

You also realized he was still shirtless.

You turned on your heel instead and briskly walked out the room. You made sure the door was firmly shut behind you and then you practically ran to your own room. You all but slammed the door and dropped your kit to your desk. You yanked off the remaining glove and pushed your hands into your hair. You let out an uneven breath and tried once more to piece together the night.

You were reading in Kaz’s office. He came in, covered in blood. You cleaned him up and he smiled at you. He said he loved you.

You laughed slightly and then put a hand to your mouth.

“Oh Saints, I’ve gone mad.” You said to yourself. You shook your head and decided to sleep it off.

But your dreams were simply replays of that damn smile.

The next morning, you dragged your feet to get ready. You brushed your hair and teeth, then washed your face leisurely. You knew Kaz was likely already waiting for your promised arrival and he’d have some comment locked and loaded, just itching for an opportunity, but that only made you want to avoid it more. But the deal was the deal.

You tucked a pair of gloves into your pocket and cut a new bandage wrap from your fabric pile before you headed to see him. You greeted the few Dregs that were up at the early hour before you hesitated outside his office.

You tugged on the collar of your shirt, just so you didn’t pat your pocket, and shifted on your feet. You hated the fact that you were dreading something you were good at, simply because you had gotten something you had only dreamed of. And for what? Because you couldn’t believe it? Because you decided to want something so simple from the one person it always seemed so improbable from?

Then again, improbability wasn’t impossibility.

“Why are we staring?” Jesper whispered loudly and you jumped. “It’s just a door.”

“Ha ha.” You said sarcastically and jammed your elbow into his ribs. “And it’s not that I’m staring. I’m stalling, it’s different.”

“Okay… Why are you stalling? Meeting with the boss you don’t wanna deal with?”

“Of a sort.” You nodded. “Do you think…”

“Wylan would say no but I beg to differ.” He shrugged and glanced over with a wide grin. “What’s on your mind?”

You nodded towards Kaz’s door.

“What’d he do this time?” Jesper sighed and his smile fell.

“When he’s come back after having the ever-loving shit kicked out of him, have you ever heard him say anything strange?” You tried to keep it vague. Telling Jesper was just as bad as screaming it across the Barrel. You loved your friend but he was a gossip.

He gasped dramatically, thus confirming your hesitation. “Is there news?”

“Maybe… I’m hopeful, don’t get me wrong, but I also can’t convince myself it happened.”

“Well, what was it?”

“So you can tell all of Ketterdam and get us both in trouble?” You laughed. “No way.”

“Oh, come on!” He tried.

You shook your head with a smile and knocked on the office door. After a second, you could hear the tapping of his cane coming closer. You looked back at Jesper, who was still staring with wide, pleading puppy-dog eyes. The door cracked open so you shot your friend a wink and ducked inside.

“You took your time.” Kaz complained once you shut the door.

“Good morning to you too.” You rolled your eyes, both glad and disappointed to be back to your usual banter. You turned and found him sitting in your chair, cane resting against the arm while he rubbed out his bad leg. “How do you feel?”

He shrugged. You could’ve been mistaken, but he seemed more irritated than usual.

You made a face to yourself and crossed the room. You stopped a few inches from him, not even letting your shoes touch, and leaned in quietly. His eyes went wide for a moment and it almost seemed like he had a forward lean of his own. Your eyes were on the cut of his forehead, checking the length of it once then twice then a third time just for the hell of it.

But even with your focus on the injury, you could see the movement of his own eyes. Darting between yours, following the shape of your jaw, your lips, trailing down your neck.

“That one looks good.” You leaned away and nodded. “You didn't feel any sort of dizziness or sickness after I left?”

He seemed to lose himself in his thoughts before he answered you. You knelt in front of him, nudging his knees apart. The jostle seemed to bring him back to the moment, which caused a new flash of surprise. You wondered for a second if it meant something in your favor or if he was feeling some sort of after effect from the fight.

“Kaz?” You tried waving a hand in front of his face. “Is something wrong?”

He reached out and took your hand in his. You said nothing, but your expression betrayed you. Kaz let out a small chuckle and let himself smile again, smaller than the one that threw you last night but still genuine. Your eyes were wide and soft in awe at the simple contact but coming on the heels of the confessions last night, it had to have some weight.

“Nothing’s wrong.” He said quietly. “Truthfully, Y/N, I worried I had misunderstood you.”

“What?” Your brows furrowed.

“Do you remember what you said last night?”

You winced. “In painful detail, yes.”

He chuckled again and you lost the fight to hide a smile. “I thought about it all night.”

“Really?”

“I wondered if I had misheard you, if I had misread your cues.”

“Hang on.” You cut in, snapping into focus as if you had been hit with cold water. “Cues? I wasn’t giving cues.”

“Really?” He challenged lightly. “Should I list them?”

“Please do, but while you try and embarrass me, unbutton your shirt so I can check your side.”

“Those wide eyes that always find me in a room.” He pointed to your eyes before taking off his gloves to work the buttons. “You ask something specific of me then change it to mean everyone. The way you curl up in this chair and face my desk, pretending to read but you’re looking over your book towards me. Hell, even the way you say my name.”

“That’s… a good list.” You said carefully, admittedly embarrassed. You dropped your eyes and pulled the gloves from your pocket.

“Do you want to know what really convinced me?”

“Not particularly but I’m sure you’ll tell me anyway.” You confessed with a sigh. Once your gloves were fitted to your hands, you leaned an elbow on his knee and looked back at him.

He leaned in as if to tell you a secret, though it was likely just to free some space while he wriggled out of his shirt sleeves. You wanted to lean in and meet him, finally kiss him, but you knew better. Instead, you forced your eyes to stay on his side. You tried not to let your gaze wander across his muscle-bound, scar-riddled torso.

Focus, Y/N.

You shifted to sit up on your knees and reached in. Your rubber covered fingers met his skin carefully and you gently prodded and pulled on the injury.

“Nothing to say anymore?” You asked lightly, hoping to break the now thick tension.

You dared a glance at his face and his eyes were closed, head leaning against the back of the chair. Your movements froze as you simply looked at him. He almost looked content, so much softer when his eyes were closed. It was small moments like that that made you forget he was the Bastard of the Barrel, Dirtyhands Brekker. He was someone to be feared. Men with any sense wouldn’t dare to cross him. Women with any sense swooned and batted their lashes for his attention. Kids with any sense feared their closets because the monsters come from there.

But to you, especially in those fleeting vulnerable instances, he was just Kaz. And that was always enough for you.

You shook the thought and went back to your examination. You ran your fingers over the length of the wound and frowned when you realized one of the stitches were looser than it should’ve been.

“Were you messing with these last night?” You accused quickly.

“What?” He finally spoke. “No.”

“Dammit.” You cursed and pulled your hands away. You dropped to sit on your heels and blew a sigh while you threw the gloves on the floor in annoyance. “It’s not as tight as I’d like it to be. Must’ve been the gloves.”

“Do you need to fix it?”

You looked over at the discarded gloves and frowned. “More practice is what I need.” You muttered before looking back at Kaz. “It should be okay. It’s clean so as long as you keep it covered, it won’t bleed through your clothes or anything… But it’ll scar for sure now.”

He shrugged. “What’s one more?”

“You never told me what tipped you off.” You said, looping back to the prior conversation.

You knew you should’ve left, let the unspoken thing between you two stay unspoken, but you also knew you needed closure. You needed to know with certainty if your pining was obvious. If you needed to pack up and run from your embarrassment. Maybe Inej would let you join her crew next time she came to port.

He held his hand out to you and you went for it, then hesitated. You kept your hand just out of his reach before closing your fingers to create just a bit more space. The idea of putting your hand in his - his bare hand - was something you had only dreamed about. You heard him make a noise of impatience at your hesitation and he leaned forward again to take your hand in his.

“You’re always careful of my space.” He began carefully. It was a list he knew, something he had drafted and gone over a million times in the past few weeks. Or maybe it was months. It could’ve been years for all Kaz could tell. Everything with you seemed to come together in the best and worst ways. “You’re careful of contact.”

“Because I know you don’t like it.” You shrugged. “Doesn’t everyone seem to avoid you for one reason or another?”

“Well, yes, but you do it to be considerate not because you’re afraid.”

“I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

Kaz took a deep breath and his eyes finally met yours. You could see the war raging behind his eyes. The contact of your hand in his must’ve been driving him insane. You could see his chest rising and falling with deep breaths, like he had to consciously force the air in and out of his lungs. His jaw was tense. Hell, his whole body was wound tight as elastic, ready to snap. To shove you away, to scream at you, to start a fight neither of you would hold back in. But he didn’t. He willed himself to maintain the contact, even when you gave the slightest tug to free your hand.

“No.” He finally spoke. “Never you.”

“What are…” You tried, but the question wouldn’t form. What was he thinking? Why wasn’t he letting go? Why was he tormenting himself just to hold your hand?

“When I felt your gloves last night, it all made sense.” He explained and the grip on your hand seemed to tighten slightly. “I knew I hadn’t been crazy.”

“I might be.” You said mindlessly and he chuckled.

“We both might be.” He agreed. “But still… You didn’t have to use gloves, but you did, because you wanted to be able to help me. Right?”

“Someone has to.” You tried to sound casual.

“They don’t.” He corrected. “But you want to.”

“Because I care about you, Kaz. You’ve been my friend for years. I’d hate to lose you.”

“Do you love me, Y/N? Truly.”

You swallowed hard, licking your lips to stall. Your free hand twitched and knowing your pockets were empty, you tugged on your shirt to adjust the fabric. Suddenly, the room felt very warm.

“I…” You began slowly. “You’re still holding my hand.”

“Yes.”

“Without your gloves.”

He let out a shuddering breath. “Yes.”

“And that doesn’t make you want to run?”

“It does.” He answered tightly. “But I don’t want to run from you.”

“You don’t have to do this.” You put your other hand on his knee. “Let go, Kaz.”

“No.”

“Why are you doing this to yourself?”

“Because how can I be with the woman I love if I cannot bring myself to touch her?” He answered quickly and your eyes went wide. “If I cannot hold her hand or touch her face, her lips… If I cannot bring myself to hold her, what kind of love is that?”

“If she truly loves you, she’ll bear it.” You offered.

“You shouldn’t have to.”

“Me?”

“Yes.” His expression shifted slightly to relief. “Yes, you, Y/N. It’s always been you.”

“So I didn’t imagine it last night? You said you loved me first.”

“Truthfully, I was worried I had imagined it all. But I couldn’t stop thinking about those damned gloves and how I wanted to feel your touch without them… Just be honest with me, Y/N. Do you want this?”

“Of course I do.” You said without thinking. “But I can’t ask you to torture yourself just to be with me.”

“You’re always so gentle.” He spoke softly, admiringly even, and it made you blush. “You don’t have to be so with me. I can take it.”

“And you shouldn’t have to.” You managed to wiggle your hand free and you watched his chest rise and fall with a heavy sigh of relief. “I do love you, Kaz, in a way that scares me. But I won’t be the reason you force yourself to do something you can’t.”

You stood and reached for the book you left the night before.

“No one forces me, Y/N.” He stood in front of, one small step to block your reach. “I want to do this for you.”

“Don’t make me move you.”

“You wouldn’t push a cripple without his cane, would you?” He feigned innocence.

“I’m serious, Brekker. Let me get my book so I can go and you can think this through.”

“I’ve spent weeks thinking it through.” He shook his head. “I want to try. For you, yes, but also myself… I want to hold you and kiss you and touch you for myself.”

“If I give in and if I’m with you.” You said firmly, pointing your finger near his face. “We need to be very open about limits. I won’t push and I expect you to stop when you need to.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted sarcastically and you had to refrain from kicking him in the shin. “Anything else?”

“You need to give me your word, Kaz.”

“Don’t trust me?” He raised a brow.

“I trust you with my life you buffoon.” You rolled your eyes with a small smile. “But I need to know you’ll commit yourself to what I’m asking.”

“Y/N, darling. I give you my word, on any and all Saints you want to invoke, that I will take that time I need so long as you’ll let me.”

“Good.” You nodded. You thought if there was anything else you could or should have him agree to. Your mind was blank so you shoved your hands into your pockets. “I suppose that means we’re together now.”

He grinned and you couldn’t help but smile in return.

“Finally.” He said and you could tell he was truly happy. “Can I kiss you?”He took a step closer.

You freed a hand and gingerly brushed your fingers along his temple, sneaking into his hair for a second. He gasped but you noticed he didn’t flinch. Feather-light, your touch went along the angle of his jaw and danced down his neck, curved with his shoulder, and skimmed his arm until you reached his hand. He interlaced his fingers with yours and you felt his other hand under your chin, tilting your head back.

“If you’re sure you can bear it.” You said quietly.

#kaz brekker fanfic #kaz brekker x fem!reader #kaz brekker x y/n #kaz brekker x you #kaz dirtyhands brekker #kaz brekker fic #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker #six of crows x you #six of crows x reader #six of crows fic #six of crows fanfic #six of crows #dirtyhands brekker #kaz x reader #kaz x you #kaz x yn #kaz x y/n #kaz brekker x yn

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fruitsofhell · 10 months

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My other fun addition to the Hbomberguy video stuff is not just that you need to start checking everyone's sources just to make sure you aren't being duped, but to not use them as a stand in for media consumption/experiences either. Like I'm not gonna lecture you on reading sources cause I am the first one to not and that's my laziness, but like sometimes more important than checking the original analysis of something is just to... see tge thing being analyzed yourself. That's not even about misinformation or lying, sometimes people's opinions just SUCK ASS.

Like there are youtube video essayists I overall kinda respect but they have dogshit opinions on things. I used to love Jack Saint's bad faith overly critical analyses of throwaway kids films, until I realized he also saw films that in my opinion had a lot of merit, and it turned me off from him. Big Joel is cool as hell, but anytime he gives his opinion on animation save like a few points, I completely glaze over and find him annoying. The other day I watched a video essay about the "Magical Negro" trope, and the first movie sourced interested me, so I watched it and I hardly understand why they put that in, it framed the movie as something it wasn't.

Just in general, it's good practice to make sure your opinions on media are your own and experience it yourself. MY biggest takeaway from the Hbomn video wasn't to throw rocks at Somerton or start obsessively fact-checking every essayist I watch, but to make sure I have a baseline of what they talking about myself and not letting anyone throw around media examples without reckless abandon. The Celluloid Closet and Tinkerbelles and Evil Queens is on my watxh/read list now, but the first thing I did from the words he stole from Celluoid Closet was watch Rebels Without A Cause out of curiosity of this gay subtext in a 50s blockbuster. And it was a super interesting experience that has given me my own unrelated opinions. Not to discount whatever important queer reading and historical importance the film has, but I'm happy I also have more than just that cause I Watched It Myself, not someone's specific and unavoidably biased reading of it.

The video isn't about cultivating suspicion but cultivating appreciation for the skills of analytical/informative/opinion writing. So even when people aren't being lying grifters, it's just good to be your own critic and media analyst. Maybe you'll even contribute to that world yourself, or maybe you'll keep all your cool opinions in your heart and die, who cares. The point is that unlike some people, your opinions and words are your own. It's a beautiful thing to have your own creative voice.

#shut the heck up #video essays #hbomberguy #james somerton #media analysis #art mush #<- for when i get cheesy about the beauty of art and creative processes

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darklordofthesimp · 1 year

Text

Anything VII (König x Reader)

The 7th instalment in the Anything-Verse

Main Masterlist

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - 7 - Part 8

Like the characters? Read their fics below!

Sunshine Masterlist || Saint Masterlist

Series Summary: A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper.

A/N: I’ve already got the next chapter mapped out hee hee

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Unrequited Pining || Tension

Warning: Graphic Language

You’d barely slept, how could you?

Though you supposed that you should have been used to broken rest, this time it wasn’t for the usual reasons. There were no nightmares that clawed at your mind, no anger that made you sweat- but, there was paranoia.

There was crippling anxiety that had you wanting to hide beneath the covers, there was fear that gripped you by the throat. The sensation of being stunned was overwhelming, your thoughts were scattered and your world was tipped upside down.

Everything that you believed, everything that you had come to terms with, it was all a lie.

You risked a glance at the clock, groaning as you realised that you’d have to get up. It was a mission, more so than usual. Dragging your sorry ass from the safety of your sheets was proving difficult, but the knowledge that you’d have to go train with König made it all the more impossible.

You took a deep breath in as you pulled your top over your head. It was different now, the lines were blurred and König might not be the enemy that you imagined him to be. If there was anyone that was going to help you unravel this with the same urgency that you felt, it was going to be him.

He’d do anything to prove himself, anything to stay as a sniper.

He wanted to keep the life he’d stolen from you.

Your stomach turned at the thought, the words weren’t sitting as right as they used to. The anger that occupied your chest with relentless heat has begun to cool as of late. If König was truly misinformed, it would mean that he really was just trying to do his job.

It meant that he was paying the consequences for someone else's misdeeds.

It meant that he was also a victim.

A chill ran down your spine and the fire in your chest reignited. Maybe he was a victim, but he sure as fuck didn’t look like one- he didn’t look like you.

You groaned as you stepped through your broken doorway, the reminder of how unhinged König could truly be was unwelcome as always. You thought that the Austrian kicking the door down would terrify you, it told you that you were never safe no matter where you locked yourself up. Instead, the fact that he’d done it to ensure your safety confused you.

You mulled over it as you walked towards the gym, mindlessly stepping one foot in front of the other.

A couple of minutes spent trying to decipher how you felt towards König felt like hours, any small bead of energy expended suddenly blew out to exhaustion. The man was an enigma who left you stranded in your own thoughts, flailing to find land.

“Good morning, Birdy.”

You forced yourself not to flinch away from König’s voice as you stood deathly still in the doorway. The man offered you a small wave from inside the gym, his arm stretched over his head as he loosened his muscles.

You didn’t want to gawk at him, honestly. It was just kind of hard not to.

He was larger than life, something that would never fail to amaze you. The sheer size of him was one thing, but his presence took up the rest of the space in the room. The breath in your lungs dissipated into nothing as you took in his visage.

“Good morning, König,” you managed to say softly.

You both froze for a moment, the gentle return of his greeting had caught the pair of you off guard. You supposed that there had been a shift between the two of you over the past few weeks.

But the way you felt about the man before you gave you whiplash.

Torn between hatred, fear, familiarity and comfort, you wished you could just chalk him down to a psychotic beast that wished you harm.

But he wasn’t and he didn’t.

The path your mind had begun to wander reminded you of the revelation you’d come to.

König cleared his throat, slowly standing upright as if he didn’t want to shatter the fragile friendliness between you both. Finally, you stepped into the room, one heavy foot after the other and your heart in your throat. You wanted to break the silence between you before that unnamed tension could grow, feeding on the quiet and everything that went unsaid.

“What did you have planned today?” You questioned with a raised brow, “anything torturous and terrifying?”

The Austrian snorted softly through his nose, crossing his arms over his chest. The slight smirk that pulled his lips upward had your breath catching in your throat. He cast his eyes downward before flicking that jade gaze back up to meet yours.

“Isn’t everything I do “torturous” and “terrifying” according to you?” König said, the playful tone was obvious but tentative.

You took a deep breath. He wasn’t diminishing the incident, he was finding some semblance of humour between the both of you. You swallowed the small drops of rage that threatened to open the floodgates.

“No,” you said, pushing your hands into the pockets of your hoodie. “That’s just you, I meant the training this time.”

You watched the shift in König’s features, the way his shoulders relaxed and his eyes softened. The olive branch had been extended, received and the see-saw of emotions between you had finally tipped to fall on the opposite end.

“Well,” König offered a small smile, “I promise that the training today will not be as scary as I am.”

You tried to ignore the genuine relief that flooded through your chest, tried to maintain the easy-going air that had settled in the space between you. Despite your best efforts, anxiety threaded itself across your throat as you stepped closer to the looming figure before you.

König slowly uncrossed his arms, sensing the shift in your attitude. It seemed like he always knew, even when you said nothing and your face didn’t change, he knew. Sometimes it irked you, but at times like these when he could read you and adjust, you appreciated it.

“I promise,” he reiterated, that jade gaze as soft as ever.

You took in a shaky breath, then released. “Okay.”

“Okay?” König repeated, taking a step toward you.

“Okay.”

And right there and then was the first time you’d seen him smile.

It was brief, barely a flash of his teeth as he quickly regained control of himself, but it was enough. You knew that you’d never be able to dispel that image from your mind, you knew that you’d be thinking about it as you went through the never ending cycle of wondering whether you hated him or not.

You knew that you’d want to see it again.

A shiver ran along the length of your spine and an unfamiliar heat spread across your neck. You cleared your throat in an attempt to clear your thoughts. It might have been unsuccessful in that regard but it did get König to step into action.

“Right,” he said with a sigh, scanning the space around him. “The sooner we get started the sooner you can escape the torture.”

Now it was your turn to snort as you took your sneakers off. “If only it were that easy.”

König rolled his eyes, approaching you with slow and lazy steps that had your heart racing. You straightened up, letting him move closer until he was barely a breath away. The moment that you had both shared in the kitchen raced across your mind, the scene beginning to look dangerously similar- hopefully Graves wouldn’t appear around the corner to trigger your fight or flight reflex this time.

“Can I help you?” You managed to choke out, dropping your gaze from his.

“Uh, no.” There was mirth in his voice. The man took a step backward, his hands raised with his palms facing outward. “Are you not ready?”

You tried to not look at the size of his fingers, you tried not to remember how they felt wrapped around your throat.

“Ready?” You stammered.

You couldn’t bring yourself to make eye contact, frozen as you stared at those fucking hands. They’d done so much damage, so much.

You tried not to remember.

Saint had always told you to replace a negative interaction with a positive interaction whenever you’d begun to spiral. When you remembered how hard his eyes had been when you'd been on that roof, you tried to remember how soft they were when he spoke to you now.

Your mind fell back to the moment in the kitchen.

“I’m ready.” You nodded, taking in a deep breath as he moved in close again. The scent of him flooded your senses, the faint recollection of his deodorant, something sweet and woodsy.

Those hands slowly lowered and you watched as they fell to rest on your forearms.

You remembered them holding you down, pinning you to the concrete as the weight of him pressed into your stomach. But, you also remembered those same fingers holding you ever so softly as he inspected you for burns.

You let loose a soft breath, forcing your gaze upward. He was already watching your face, his eyes scanning your features for any sign of serious distress.

“Well,” König murmured, his words tasting of the caramel latte he’d been sipping on earlier. “You going to take me down or not, kleine vogel?”

You raised a brow, “you don’t need to cuss me out, I’m getting there.”

The man frowned for a short moment, mouth opening and closing as he fought to find the appropriate response. “I did not swear at you?”

The sentence was more of a question than a statement and while he was stuck in his confusion, you saw opportunity.

You swung your hands around the grip that he had on your forearms, digging your fingers into his skin instead. You dragged him towards you with a sudden jerk that took every ounce of strength that you had.

For a moment, you were worried that the giant wouldn’t budge. However, his whole body fell forward as you dropped onto your back with him above you. Both your feet came up to rest on his pelvic bone, bracing as the entirety of his weight fell onto your legs. The momentum was your best friend with this movement, pulling his hands to your chest as you kicked him over your head.

The sound of 300 pounds hitting the ground hard behind you had your heart soaring. Adrenaline was pumping through your system, propelling you to your feet as you spun to mount your victim.

König’s face was contorted, teeth bared as he gritted them hard. His hands were above his shoulders, fists clenched and you could tell that you’d stunned him.

Satisfaction flooded your being.

You scrambled up the length of his body, pressing your weight onto him as you clenched your knees hard onto either side of his hips. Your hands came down to push against his wrists, pinning his body as best as you could.

The silence between you both was only broken by the sounds of panting. König’s chest heaved beneath, shallow and quick breaths as his eyes slowly fluttered open to glare up at you.

“That was rude,” he groaned. “Smart. But rude.”

“Yeah, well,” you replied with a shrug, taking a moment to try and wet the dryness in your throat. “Fights are often unfair.”

König’s eyes narrowed for a moment before conceding your point. “Yes. Yes, they are.”

You’d seen the signs too late, the way his lips quirked upward before he ripped his hands from yours. You’d felt his fingers grip your waist but you were unable to react before the world tipped from beneath you. The floor met your back hard enough to banish the air from your chest and your body froze as you were spun right back into the disadvantage.

A gasp ripped from your throat, eyes wide as you stared at the man now above you. His hair fell across his forehead, resting atop his lashes as he watched you through a hooded gaze. Neither of you said a word and you didn’t bother trying to fight him off. König made a show of slowly moving to grip your biceps, your fingers scrabbling uselessly against his forearms as he pressed you into the ground.

His body was tucked between your thighs, spreading your legs far enough apart that they were rendered useless from beneath him. You swallowed hard, struggling to catch your breath.

“Very unfair,” he confirmed with a husky murmur.

“It’s always unfair with you,” you rasped, your fingers gripping his skin tightly. “Always, König.”

König’s face fell, any trace of satisfaction turning into something akin to sorrow. He cast his gaze aside.

“Perhaps,” he said. “ But, perhaps if you were prepared it wouldn’t have been so unfair.”

You watched him carefully.

“Wrong place, wrong time.” You whispered.

König met your gaze again, observing you for a long moment before offering a hesitant nod. “Yes.”

Maybe, this was your chance. This was the opportunity to talk to him about what you suspected, to hear his side of the story entirely. Maybe, if you could sift through the discrepancies between your stories and what his chain-of-command had told him, you could both unravel the mystery.

Either someone was trying to kill you and used him as the weapon to do so or something bigger was at play.

Maybe, both?

“Speaking of,” you began shakily, your fingers nervously tapping against his skin. There was no real way to gently ease into the topic, you’d just have to drop the bomb. “Do you think that maybe the whole incident was a little too… convenient?”

König fell completely still, his eyes baring into yours.

You supposed that maybe you could have been a little more tactful.

You swallowed nervously when his chest didn’t move to breathe, he was as still as a sniper watching for their target. He reminded you of a snake lying in wait, preparing to strike out at any given moment. Suddenly, you didn’t feel so confident that he was the one that you should have spoken to about it.

The man said nothing and you’d begun to realise that he didn’t plan to.

“I just mean that,” you scrambled for words, anxiety clawing at your throat when he only stared. “I just mean that maybe it wasn’t just an accident or a miscommunication, maybe they were using you as a way to get what they want.”

König’s face didn’t change when he spoke. “And what would that be?”

You hated how perfectly still he was.

“To take me out.” You could barely spit out the sentence.

The mans grip tightened against your arms and the small amount of trust that you’d built between each other teetered on the edge of a proverbial cliff. Adrenaline dumped into your system when he took in a deep breath, clenching his jaw. His eyes never left yours, holding you captive not just physically but mentally. You were scrambling for air.

“I think that you are overthinking,” he finally said, relaxing his grip and releasing the tension from his lungs.

Your heart dropped.

Overthinking?

Why wouldn’t he want to investigate this further? It would exonerate him, it would relieve him of the guilt, it would make him innocent.

“What?” You rasped, blinking as though it would clear your confusion. “How can you say that?”

“Easily,” König said, sitting up. His demeanour was suddenly so cold. He let go of your arms, shooting you one last look before he attempted to stand up. “You’ve been through a traumatic event. Overthinking is normal.”

Desperation clawed at your chest. Before you could stop yourself, you reached upward to snatch his hands. König’s fingers interlocked with yours and his eyes widened when you pulled him back toward you. Your hands were trapped between his and the floor once more, his face only a breath away.

But you couldn’t even think about the proximity and, for once, you didn’t even care.

How could he just dismiss you like that?

How could he just try to leave without even hearing you out?

“König,” you whispered pleadingly. “Please, just listen.”

The man shook his head immediately, trying to pull his hands from your grip. You held on as tight as you can manage, his name falling from your lips over and over as you begged him to stay. You needed him to hear it, you needed him to help you.

“Let go, Birdy,” his voice was firmer than you’d heard in months, the sound of it a shock to your system. How the tables had turned, this time you were not the one trying to escape. Regardless, you disobeyed, only tightening your hold on him.

“Just tell me what happened, maybe we can work it out,” the words sounded desperate, even to you. You sounded like a lover pleading for a second chance to make the relationship work. You sounded like you were holding to your last tether of sanity. You sounded crazy.

König’s face was hard when he tugged back again. “We already know what happened, Birdy.”

“Listen to me-”

“Let it go, Birdy.”

“But if you just-”

“Enough!”

You recoiled, flinching as he yanked his hands from yours, breaking your grip as easily as tearing a cobweb. König’s fingers wrapped around your biceps, pushing you back against the floor, restraining you from getting a steady hold on him.

The man leaned down, jade eyes alight with something you’d never seen. He burned, the thunderous expression painted across his features warned you that his blood was simmering beneath his skin.

“Enough,” König seethed, his voice dangerously quiet.

Fear trickled down your spine.

Your heart dropped.

As you watched the Austrian soldier lean over you with a ferocity that rivalled that godforsaken night, you realised that in your desperation you had been so stupid. So, so, so fucking stupid.

König wasn’t going to help you.

König was in on it.

#konig x reader #König x reader #König #könig cod #könig call of duty #call of duty x reader #call of duty #Modern Warfare 2 #könig modern warfare #könig mw2 #COD MW2 #cod mw2 x reader

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justporo · 8 months

Text

Bedroom Hymns

If you thought Astarion was done with you with how you look wearing nothing but his shirt, you are very much wrong. In fact, Astarion is only just starting to enjoy himself as he finally has you where he wants you - on his lap, writhing desperately.

PART 1 | MASTERLIST | AO3

Author's Note: I don't even know what to tell you anymore. This is roughly 6k of just smut and me losing my shame writing said smut. I hope you enjoy - and someone take me out back for overwriting this. Apparently it needed to be let out.

Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Tav (You) Warnings: explicit sexual content, vaginal sex, blood kink, nipple play, slight edging light dom/sub dynamic, light predator/prey dynamic Wordcount: 6k ~~~

You gazed upon your lover and soulmate beneath you, how he was kneeling under you, some of his curls twined around your fingers. Breath and a feeling for reality were still blissfully eluding you. If you had thought that he’d been a heavenly body descended from the skies eternal to bless you with his presence it now seemed you had switched places.

His crimson eyes were bright in the low light, almost glowing and the way he smiled at you - tips of his fangs visible and the corners of his mouth curled up so far - showed this kind of wild joy one really only felt when indulging in some of the most carnal pleasures. And there was awe in the way he looked at you, like somehow he couldn’t believe his own personal goddess had come and stretched out her hand to him, ever so benevolent.

You felt ethereal, eternal.

And thankfully Astarion was fully devoted to you, a firm believer and frequent worshipper at the temple that was your body. Ready to offer you plenty more pleasure. He’d see that prophecy fulfilled - for his own sake and yours of course. You couldn’t wait to see it all unfold.

If you could have stayed forever in this perfect moment, you would have. But a few things kept dragging you back to a less sleek and paradisiacal vision.

Astarion’s fingertips still digging into your backside, the burn of his handprint there and the dizzy feeling swirling through your head were the testament that he had indulged you plentily. The visible bulge in the thin sheets that were precariously draped around your lover’s waist and its occasional throbs in the meantime were the prophecy for a night long not over.

When you dragged on some strands of the vampire’s hair he answered you with a low growl, eyes darkening. And the kisses he had been trailing along your thigh turned into letting his teeth scrape - he was a predator after all, only allowing you to play with him as long as he deigned it satisfactory. The tables could be turned onto you quickly and the thought made your whole lower body clench.

Maybe you liked this rougher, realer version better than any possible divine vision. Maybe you craved the broken perfection that allowed for your continuous fall into corruption.

Neither of you were saints. But he’d given you so much of him already. But In turn he demanded the same devotion now. More than just a humble offering to show your dedication to him now.

Thankfully, you were more than prepared to offer him everything.

You let him caress your thighs a bit more while his fingers kept kneading your behind, but then you tugged on his hair harder than before, dragging him from his source of enjoyment which he commented with another growl.

“Stop playing with your food and fucking take me, Astarion”, you demanded, voice only slightly shaky, making your own heart race anxiously with the bold words and your core throb in desperate need.

It earned you another slap onto your ass right on the same spot where another had landed before. That and delight reflecting on Astarion’s face for you so openly stating what you desired. Meanwhile your butt stung deliciously and had you bite your lip.

“If you want me inside of you, my heart, then be a good girl and sit”, he replied in a low, almost rumbly tone, practically barking the last word, and with his hands on your behind nudged until your still wobbly legs gave in by themselves.

You saw the open challenge in his narrowed ruby eyes and you weren’t fully decided if it was more threat or promise, but you were enticed anyway as you let yourself obey to his barked command.

The muscles in Astarion’s arms flexed as he let your body slide down along his torso slowly. His hands wandered up from your butt, to your hips, gradually wandering up over the sides of your body while you were coming down on him.Your thighs spread apart on their own while you felt your own heated skin brush against the smooth and cool body of the vampire.

It just felt natural like this: letting your legs open for him, straddling him and feeling how much he craved you immediately as you sank down with a blissful, lewd sigh spilling from your lips. Astarion’s eyebrow and cock twitched in delight as he heard that.

Meanwhile your eyes didn’t stray from his for even a single moment. Nothing in the world could have ripped you from this view: Astarion’s pupils dilating while you sank onto his lap until the black almost blotted out the vibrant red of his irises.

Your limbs still felt weak from the forceful orgasm just moments ago but your body was completely and utterly helpless when it came to Astarion. You already felt lust coil in your abdomen again, when you settled down onto him, legs splayed as far as possible. Your hands had wandered from his hair to his shoulders, holding onto him with a soft trembling.

When you sat comfortably on his lap only the sheets were between his eagerly twitching erection and your obscenely wet and swollen core. His dick strained against your folds and his arms around you tensed at the sensation of finally getting to experience some friction. Immediately it made you grind your hips into him, desperate to feel more than just a taste.

The mixture of your wetness and his hardened length already starting to leak in anticipation of what he was about to unleash onto you quickly had the thin fabric between you drenched and cling to his cock as you already began losing control over your movements and the last of your humility.

Your head lolled back and your hands clenched onto his shoulders with a noiseless moan leaving your throat. The first time he’d made you come tonight had already nearly made you burst into a million pieces. You weren’t completely sure how you’d survive another one.

But gods, you were so eager to feel him.

And even more than that you wanted to please him. Wanted to give him what you had experienced just a few moments ago: pleasure so intense it made you forget anything but your own desire and the body of your lover pressed against you. You wanted to make him feel that again and again until he would have forgotten everything that had come before you. You wanted to be his path to salvation if possible.

You were positive you could do it. And you would devote your whole self - body, heart and soul - to make up for all the pain he was made to suffer.

His shirt in the meantime had ridden up on your upper body while you had slid down against him. It was bunched between the two of you now. Your breasts pressed against him, your nipples already pleasantly peaked, but still covered by the linen.

While you kept slowly grinding against him, Astarion’s hands slid up from your hips over your back and then slid around your torso to cup your tits from below: perking them up by pushing them up and together with his palms. You hummed contentedly as you enjoyed the view of your own daunting cleavage through the loose lacing of Astarion’s old camp shirt as you looked down. Something about seeing yourself like this was adding majorly to your already heightened senses and lust.

When the vampire noticed that he wasted no time pushing further while lifting up his hips a little so you could more tension down there too. He pushed you so far, your breasts squished so hard it stung pleasantly, that it made you squeal in delight.

And you heard a very similar noise coming from Astarion, almost purring for you, as he began playing around with your boobs more. He let them jig down then squeezed them again, letting his thumbs wander to rub lazy circles over their peaks until they were even more clearly outlined, the fabric spanning over them when he tugged the shirt tightly over them.

Your hands sank down to grab onto his arms, fingertips indenting on his biceps and feeling the muscles move slowly under your splayed fingers.

A violent twitch of him between your legs - that your own body quickly responded to - and a breathy moan spilling from his lips had you snap your gaze back from your tits to Astarion’s face. It was filled with admiration as he kept toying and gazing at your boobs that felt deliciously heavy with lust.

Your senses were so heightened, your whole body so tense you were acutely aware of everything you felt: his fingers on your boobs, his cock pressing against your feverishly hot core that couldn’t wait to finally take him, how his own skin started to warm up to your own body that was almost radiating heat from the intense lust you felt.

“I love how your tits look in my shirt, darling,” Astarion whispered breathlessly, mesmerised by the very thing he spoke about. He didn’t seem like he ever wanted to stop

You laughed softly at that. The way he said it sounded almost too innocent for what you were engaging in.

Then his eyes wandered to you, open and wide. As if he’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

“I love how you look in my shirt, Tav,” he mumbled softly, his face full of desire and yearning for you - and love. And somehow his honest, genuine words combined with how your name rolled off his tongue instead of one of his usual pet names, made you way more flushed and flustered than the fact that you were currently indulging in your most animalistic pleasures without restraint or shame like you’d never done before tonight.

Your own love for him was overflowing inside your chest as you watched him gaze at you with love and admiration in his red eyes. You moved to cup his face softly and leaned forward to press a soft kiss to his mouth.

Astarion welcomed you with open lips and a pleased sigh. You kissed him slowly and lovingly, letting your fingertips wander over his cheeks and then over his sensitive pointy ears. He sighed once more and deepened the kiss, letting go of your breasts for the time being to wrap his arms around you and pull you closer against him.

The kiss didn’t stay slow and innocent for long. Once his tongue slipped into your mouth and you were aware how your already teased boobs squished against his upper body, you bucked your hips once more with a moan, grinding against his cock again.

That seemed to remind Astarion of the unfinished business. The vampire hissed when he felt you shift against him again. There might not be much longer before the teasing would make him lose the rest of his sanity.

The mood had shifted again to something simmering and burning hot and bright. But you knew his honest love for you was burning just as hot as your desire for you.

“This shit has to fucking go”, the vampire growled as he tore away from the intense kiss. There he was again, the predator that existed under the thin veil of civility. And you loved how at times you saw it slip, experiencing Astarion letting go a bit off his own reins.

You trusted him fully that he knew exactly how far he could go.

Without further notice he wrapped one of his arms around you beneath your buttocks to lift you up. With his other arm he awkwardly tried to rid himself of the now pretty drenched sheets that were still partially covering him. His impatience made him lose some of his usual dexterity and he cursed under his breath when he couldn’t get rid of the godsdamned thing clinging wetly to his lower body.

You tried to help to kick it away with your feet and you both had to chuckle at your desperate and awkward tries to finally get it away from him in a small moment of hysteria caused by both of your emotions running high and the tension being as taught as a bow string between you.

This wasn’t one of the performances Astarion would have acted out months ago when you had started sleeping with and slowly falling for each other. This was nothing but honest, desperate need for each other and the just as desperate clambering to finally get there.

You threw each other an amused look, your face flustered from the stupid situation and Astarion shaking his head at his own uncommon clumsiness with a small grin.

Then he finally set you down again, his dick now firmly pressed between your bodies, finally free of restraints.

You moaned when you felt him hard against your naked stomach. With your one hand on Astarion’s arm again you let your other hand immediately wander to his hardness, the tip already glistening with wetness. You wrapped your hand around him as tightly as possible with your bodies so tightly pressed against each other already and gave his cock a few tentative strokes. Your thumb stroked over his soft tip and over the wet beads there, pressing down firmly and then spreading some of the slickness around, making the vampire almost whimper from how you handled this sensitive part of his body. His reaction was so visceral that even his balls tightened in response to your confident caress.

Astarion in the meantime pulled up his shirt on your body until he had bared your breasts, the cold air hitting them and their sensitive buds at their peaks making you gasp and shiver. His thumbs went to your nipples again, started teasing them, twisting them, similarly to how he had done before but now with newly found vigour. And the fact that there was full skin-on-skin contact now only amplified the rush you got from his playful caresses tenfold.

You arched your back for him, whispering his name like a psalm, zealously wanting to offer yourself up for him even more, wanting him to indulge in you. Your head rolled back in pleasure as you also rolled your hips and tried to grind against his hard cock, helping with your other hand to make it slide along your clit and your core. The tip diving into some of the wet heat, receiving a taste of what it could be like if only he finally sank into you.

You heard Astarion growl deep in his throat at the sight of you losing all shame for him, desperate to feel him and to be appreciated by him - his own personal succubus. His length kept jerking while you worked for every tiny piece of delicious friction you could get.

The vampire observed how you writhed on his lap, like you were his own personal siren. Every sweet moan that spilled from your lips another part of your irresistible siren song that beckoned him farther and farther still, wanting him to give and take everything. He watched as you flipped your hair back to ground against him even more eagerly, biting your lip, your hand not currently teasing his cock gripping his shoulder for more hold.

Astarion’s eyes glazed over from the pleasure becoming almost too much already, his lips curling up in a senseless smile of pure bliss as he was positively aching. He’d been so patient and enduring and his whole being yearned to be inside of you, to finally have you clench around him while he earned his well deserved release. But he was still urging you on, wondering if he could make you reach another peak before he did.

“Darling, hold my shirt up for me, would you?”, he pressed out breathlessly while you were still grinding yourself against him. You obeyed without even thinking about it, slowly letting go of Astarion’s hardness to do as he asked.

“Good girl,” he purred and praised you with a smirk and one eyebrow jumping up, while his hands slid over your spine: one stayed on the small of your back, the other wandered up further, over your neck until he could curl his fingers in your hair to get some good grip. And then the next time you rolled your hips up against him, he pulled your head back by your hair and with his hand on your back pulled you even closer so he had you arching your back almost painfully. Now your breasts were perfectly presented for him and were held immobile against his torso. You kept tugging his shirt up further.

“Do you want me to take your shirt off?”, you asked breathlessly and felt your whole body flush just from the way your lover held you - fully at his mercy now. Your legs were already shivering from the impossible pose: held and hovering, falling but somehow secure.

“Gods, no,” Astarion groaned with an edge of desperation in his tone and loosened the hold on your hair a little so you could look into his eyes. “I want to smell you on it after I’m done fucking you”, he explained, his voice breathy from lust, eyes half-lidded.

And then without further warning he tugged on your hair again, hard, and went down on one of your offered up breasts. He sucked on its peak, his sharp teeth grazing the delicate skin around it. You whimpered helplessly, your hand on his shoulder gripping even harder, probably leaving marks by now.

While he was sucking and now even biting, drawing just enough blood so he could taste you, he lifted you up enough until his dick could slide along your wet folds and easily slid to your entrance. Your legs were trembling as you felt the tip of him teasingly sink into you just the barest bit.

The pain of Astarion dragging on your hair and biting and sucking on your tits while you felt the head of his cock agonisingly slowly sink into you, finally, had your eyes roll into the back of your skull. A moan of yours slowly became something between a plea and a scream while ever so slowly he let you sink down onto him until he was buried to the hilt within you.

You bit your lip in a desperate attempt to keep some control over your body but after the long and slow buildup just the feeling of Astarion finally inside of you made your core clench around him forcefully.

The vampire kept suckling on your breasts and the dribble of blood he had going there, just a few drops already being enough to make his cock inside you twitch from how exquisite you tasted on his tongue. It only made you clench harder around him.

You whimpered in desperation and let go of the fabric you had still been holding up to have both of your hands claw at Astarion’s back now. In response your lover lifted his face from where he had been latched onto your sensitive skin to laugh softly and haughtily. You felt it lightly but deeply shake through his and your own body.

“I have barely done anything, my love, and you’re almost already coming for me again,” Astarion whispered and clicked his tongue - the fucking bastard.

Then he licked up a single drop of blood from your breasts. It made his cock twitch again in response to that while Astarion hummed in arrogant satisfaction. It made you think of something.

While his hands had you almost immobile you couldn’t resist spurring him on a little more. He had you captive, his prey. But you felt you could tease out the hunter, the predator a little more.

“Well, how about you do some more then, love?”, you asked with an edge of passive-aggressiveness, knowing that your tone already would get the better of him.

You both knew that he was a massive tease and that he delighted way too much in riling you up whenever and wherever possible, no matter the circumstances. Only when it was the most appropriate time to get going did he take his precious time to get to the point. So you would just try and coax him until his already dwindling patience would snap.

Already, Astarion was grumbling at you and he yanked on your hair harder again - how pleasant.

But you also had an ace up your sleeve. Using the little space you had for moving, you willingly clenched down around his cock again while you lifted your hips just a little before letting them slam down again. That earned you a disgruntled groan but you felt how he instinctively had started moving his hips with yours when you did it again. He couldn’t resist you anymore - not with how desperately he was craving you.

And now for your trump card. You moved your head just a little, bringing his attention to your neck that was already conveniently bared and ready for him, just like the rest of your body. And then there was your thundering pulse that had been making you feel dizzy for a while now but sped up even more as you anticipated what was about to happen.

You heard him grunt, obviously immediately understanding what you offered him. He wouldn’t let the opportunity pass, of course he wouldn’t. Not if the pretty morsel was presenting itself so beautifully and enchantingly on a silver platter.

With your hair still in his grip he leaned closer. He deeply inhaled your intoxicating scent that was intensified by the blood pumping through you amplified by your desire. His other hand moved to your butt now and began to squeeze, giving you more room to move and helping you lift up your hips a little with every roll of your body as you began riding him slowly.

Just a moment later you felt his lips on your throat, kissing it open-mouthed, caressing it with his tongue pressing flatly against it, directly over where your pulse was fluttering even faster now, knowing what was about to happen. Merely an instance later you felt the sharp sting of his fangs breaking your skin and then the cold, but titillating sensation of Astarion taking your blood. His hand slid from your hair to the back of your neck, holding it steady for him while the whole sensation brought newly known waves of lust over your body.

You heard his pleased and feral groans as he drank your blood in generous gulps while he gripped your ass harder and you slowly sped up the pace of you grinding onto him.

And then you felt another pleasant sensation while you slowly lost your breath and mind moving on your lover: you could feel his dick inside you physically grow harder as he drank from you and jerk viciously in rhythm with every gulp he took. Your blood giving the vampire a surprising amount of vigour while it also made him noticeably more feral.

The sounds that spilled from your lips became lewder by the second as you felt all of it once: him hitting deep and hard inside of you, his hands gripping you, your breasts jigging with every slam of your hips and the dizzying cold slowly and pleasantly spreading from your neck through your body while your fingers dug into the vampire’s shoulders until you almost felt like you were drifting out of your own body from the pleasure.

With a jerk and some obvious internal struggle Astarion ripped himself away from your neck, his fingers at its back digging into your skin. He slowly released their grip on you, joining his other hand on your butt, so you could take a look at his face. His gaze on you was intense, a few curls had fallen onto his forehead.

All while he kept fucking you relentlessly: now with both hands on your behind it was him dictating the pace, lifting your hips up again while slamming into you with rolling of his own hips.

His eyes were impossibly wide, pupils dilated as much as possible. Some of your blood was dripping down his chin but he didn’t even care, he had only eyes for you and how you almost had lost all your senses already, being taken by him like this and with newly found energy and vitality from your delicious, nurturing blood. And he realised your ploy.

“And here I thought you were only offering out of the goodness of your heart, you little vixen,” Astarion mumbled while he watched your eyes roll back again as he picked up the pace. You were in no state to even answer anymore, the only things leaving your lips were heavy breaths and senseless moans.

But Astarion wasn’t having it. He slowed down until he was thrusting frustratingly slowly.

“Tell me what you want, love,” the vampire demanded, slowly lifting your hips up until he had almost fully withdrawn from you. You only whimpered in desperation in response. Astarion stilled fully, holding you there, in suspense, his gaze boring into you.

“Darling, speak to me,” he said, his voice teasing as he smirked at you. How he was even capable of doing that while he could have just been buried deep down inside of you was fully beyond you. You only groaned in frustration at him, clawed at his back as if mad, needing him to just keep going.

He snorted, still letting you hover right above his cock now - and didn’t move an inch: “Don’t make this harder on you than it has to be, sweetheart.”

That made you break. “As if that was even a possibility, Astarion,” you chuckled breathlessly, feeling hysteria bubbling up inside you

The vampire just answered with a chuckle and then let you pounce down on his dick again, immediately having you claw at him and moan again from the sensation of being filled completely by him within an inch of your life from one moment to the next.

“So she does speak after all,” he teased you with a low laugh vibrating through both of your bodies. Thankfully he kept up a steady rhythm now.

“Now, - tell me - what you - want!”, the vampire pressed out between each thrust. Obviously he massively overestimated your ability to form even simple sentences when he fucked you like that.

“Harder,” you simply uttered breathlessly. Astarion hummed in approval while a grin split his lips, baring his fangs to you once more.

“So it obviously is a possibility,” he replied smugly. You groaned angrily and bucked your hips while clenching around him, making him moan in return. As much as you loved to hear him talk, you would have liked for him to pour that energy into how he was thrusting into you.

But you quickly regretted your insolent behaviour when he suddenly grabbed you and threw you onto the mattress, shortly being withdrawn from you. You gasped and caught yourself with your elbows, but the bedding was soft enough anyway.

Astarion prowled closer to you, his gaze that of a predator closing in on his prey once more. Then as he moved your legs up with his hands he eyed your throbbing core that was desperate to welcome him again. He positioned his hips and his glistening hard length between your legs.

You thought he was just about to make your wish happen with how he pressed up your thighs to spread you for him. But as you looked at his face you found him gazing at you, his messy white curls falling into his face, crimson eyes glinting in awe at the sight of you while his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your legs.

“Look at you, my darling,” he whispered as if to himself. But when he continued his eyes locked with yours: “Look how beautiful you are.” He emphasised his words by squeezing your thighs with his splayed fingers.

He practically moaned the words as he pushed your thighs a little further and finally began to sink into you again.

His mouth was agape as he leaned forward over you, making your legs bend towards your head as far as your exquisite body allowed. His eyes were glazing over with lust and a sound you could only describe as a purr rumbled through his chest as he slowly buried himself into you again until he had bottomed out.

“Look how well you take me, love. My good, good girl.”

You gasped at his praise, eyes wide as he spelled out exactly his thoughts for you. He leaned further over you and grabbed your wrists to pin them down beside each side of your head. Instinctively your legs wrapped around his hips then, your ankles crossed, trying to hold him deep inside you.

It earned you a loving smile, an approving hum. But then Astarion withdrew from you slowly again.

“You’re so good for me,” he mumbled and then slammed into you so hard again it made you yelp. “And so ready.”

“My beautiful darling”, Astarion continued, eyes fixed on you while he thrust again, making your breath almost catch in your throat as you kept staring at him with eyes wide, mouth open as he kept telling you just how much he adored you.

His eyes were soft as he slammed into you unyieldingly, nothing but praise leaving his full lips while he sped up the pace and you felt it wouldn’t take long anymore. Not with how he had kept teasing you, how he had made you work for every inch gained.

You lost all ability to do anything but let your body arch towards his more and clenching around him in eager desperation while he kept going: both with the praise and the thrusts.

“You’re so perfect, Tav, my darling.”

“Can you take me a little harder still?”

“Yes, my good little pup.”

“Look how eager you are, you little fox.”

“You’re a goddess, my love. My goddess.”

You felt yourself lose yourself, your legs already starting to tremble with how tense they were as you felt the orgasm creep up onto you. Meanwhile Astarion’s eyes didn’t leave yours for a second while he hovered above you. Every detail of his perfect face imprinted permanently into your memory: the soft laugh lines and around his eyes and crinkles around his crimson eyes, the perfect aristocratic nose, the soft, full lips he occasionally bit down on as he too kept losing himself in you, showing his pronounced canines. You could have gone forever with tiny details you would never forget in this lifetime - or the next.

All while he kept fucking you unrelentingly and unapologetically.

And neither would you forget how it felt, how with every deep hit within you you partially lost yourself and how you let yourself be taken willingly.

Then he let go of one of your wrists to let a hand wander between your bodies, the pad of his thumb easily finding your clit despite how closely your bodies were pressed together already. And it gave you the opportunity to lift one of your hands to his face and cup it - while he kept going. His head fell a little lower and some of his soft, white curls were tickling your face lightly.

The way he fucked you so hard while he looked at you with those loving eyes was such a stark contrast but it just felt right like that. It made for the perfect mixture. It assured you that now matter how deep and long you’d fall, he’d make sure you find your way back again. And that you’d do the same for him.

Then, when he sloppily started to swipe over the tender bud between your legs, you knew this was about to become your end.

Just for a few moments his gaze strayed from yours, looking at how you were still in his shirt, a sign of how you belonged to him. How you were his and his alone. He’d never forget this image: you coming undone beneath him while his old, dusty shirt was bunched up over your bared breasts, being drenched with the sheen of sweat that by now covered your whole body.

There was nothing on his mind but you and how you made him feel. Becoming almost too much, it was almost as if he could feel his undead heart start beating again.

And he didn’t stop, locking eyes with you again. His words became more incoherent slowly and you noticed from how his pace became a little unsteady that he was about to lose himself completely as well. The muscles in your legs and lower body were tensed so much that it started to hurt but just added to the tension building up inside you. You were ready to snap at a moment’s notice.

“I love you, Tav,” were his lasts words of praise as he slammed into you a final time and you felt his cock twitch violently inside of you announcing his savage orgasm.

“I love you,” you moaned back as - in time with him - you felt how you lost the last of yourself as well. A long wailing moan, exclaiming his name once more towards the heavens left your lips as you felt yourself dissipate into the aether.

He kept fucking you through waves of pleasure making both of you shake while he spilled himself inside of you, his head falling to the crook of your neck where he moaned your name again and again - a continued credo of his devotion to you and only you.

And when nothing of it was left but shaking, trembling bodies and heavy, gasping breathing Astarion slowly lifted his head from your neck and withdrew from you. With a groan he rolled off you and he sighed deeply. One of his hands reassuringly remaining on your body at all times.

None of you were able to formulate a complete sentence again but with still softly shaking hands he pulled down his shirt over your trembling body and then pulled you to his naked chest.

You were thankful for the opportunity to snuggle up against him, legs already tangling with his. Pleasant exhaustion and deep, unyielding love was all you felt as you were lying in his arms. And Astarion felt very much the same as he began to slowly stroke your back.

A whole eternity later it felt like, he spoke again: “I guess you should wear my clothes more often, my love. What comes of it has proven beneficial for the both of us, don’t you think, sweetheart?”

You simply hummed in approval, still way too worn out from how “beneficial” this all had been for you.

“You’re forgetting to use your words again, darling. You should try it sometime, it gets you far in life,” Astarion replied sassily when you offered nothing more in response.

You growled in annoyance and grabbed a nearby pillow. When Astarion was about to keep teasing you, you whacked him straight in the face with the plush thing, causing him to hiss and curse at you.

“I love you, Astarion. And now shut up, you noisy vampire!” you scolded him and tiredly let the pillow drop off the side of the mattress.

Astarion huffed at you.

But then he pulled you in closer to him, pressing his cheek to the top of your head as he closed his eyes.

“I love you too, my little rascal.”

The smile on your lips stayed there when you slowly drifted off to your dreams - and even until you woke up again.

Taglist (DM if you want to be added please): @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @darlingxdragon @hereliesblackdragon @ayselluna @ajokeformur-ray @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @rikuyrk06 @marina-and-the-memes

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #fanfiction #astarion x tav #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate #astarion x mc #astarion x oc #astarion x you #astarion x reader #bg3

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marvel-redemption-omega · 7 months

Text

Adam x Bratty!fem!reader

Reader is afab/female, explicitly used

Established relationship; you're Adam's wife

Summary: Y/n has started popping off to everyone lately, but mostly to Lute and Adam, which has caused a few scenes. Sera warned them to get their act together before she has to intervene. Adam thinks he knows just the thing to reel Y/n back in.

Minors DO NOT INTERACT! 18+ ONLY

Explicit content under the cut!

Warnings: Adam, lots of cursing, brief Dom!Lute, mentions of guitarspear if you squint, vague mentions of Lute x reader if you squint, Dom!Adam, Brat!reader, soft!Adam, BDSM/bondage, wing kink, thigh riding, edging, orgasm denial, slight praise kink?, you get used, idk what else you want me to say, there's some fluff in the midst; Adam fucks you senselessly into submission for being a brat, idk if there's more warnings. It's over 10k, I've lost track now.

Word count: 10,792

Make Me

(Not my gif, pulled from Google. If it's yours please lmk and I'll edit to credit!)

“The fuck you looking at, Saint Peter? Do I need to get Adam? Move,” you growl, shoving past the poor angel as you head towards the training grounds for the exterminators. Saint Peter looks after you, rubbing his wing where your own clipped his, sending a worried look after you before flying off to who knows where.

You slam open the doors, spreading your wings and launching yourself at the first exorcist you see. She is coming up to greet you, hand out for a handshake, when you grab it and fly up. Ignoring the startled scream from her, you try to keep steady as you twist, somersaulting a couple of times, and sling her towards a group of other exorcists headed right for you. They try to stop the one you sent flying at them, their wings tangling. You watch as they all plummet, hitting the ground with a harsh thud.

“Y/n!” Lute's voice has you turning to face your lieutenant. You smirk and bow your head slightly, wings twitching just the slightest as you hover and land before her.

“Lieutenant,” you grin, walking around her, wings partially folding behind you as you circle her. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your attention?” Sarcasm drips from your words. You rest your hands on your hips and watch as she turns with you, her eyes never leaving you.

“This isn't your normal behavior. What's gotten into you? Have you forgotten that we're all a team? We work together as one, and when you break that uniformity, it creates chaos,” Lute glares, voice cold as she approaches, her own wings stretching out. You know you're her subordinate, but you can't help taking the bait she's dropping. Her wings fully spread and you take the opportunity to taunt her.

“What's the matter? Don't like the fact I'm more brazen? I thought you said I needed to be more like you,” you snip, fully extending your wings as a show of defiance to her dominant display. Her eyes narrow and you both move quickly, flying towards each other. However, in your senseless agitation, you forget that Lute is your superior, in both ability and technicality. She easily gets the upper hand and wrestles you onto the ground, pinning your wings to your sides and you to the ground.

“You seem to be forgetting your place,” Lute warns, her tone sharp and hinting at something else you don't quite catch. The group of angels you sent in a heap arrive, all talking over one another to try and tell Lute what happened. She silences them with a look, not moving from atop her perch on you. “Hush! I saw what she did. Don't worry, Adam and I will be dealing with her,” she dismisses the group with a wave of her hand. Only once they're gone does she let you up, one hand gripping the base of one of your wings tightly, forcing you to back up to the side of the building as she extends her wings, making herself look bigger. You bite your tongue at the feel of her hand in your feathers, walking back until she has you pinned, your own wings shrinking and folding as best they can with a hand in the way.

“What now? You've got me alone? Why don't you just beat me and be done?” You snap, glaring at her boots. She steps into your space, forcing you to look at her. You press yourself back to the wall, irritation written on your face.

“You've got some nerve! You're lucky that you're one of the best I've trained. And you're even more lucky that Adam has a soft spot for you, otherwise I'd leave you broken on this fucking ground,” the lieutenant growls, twisting the hand she's got on your wing ever so slightly. Something crossed between a yelp and a moan escapes you as she pushes against you. “Since you think you can just barrel over anyone, you're going to be waking up extra early with me to do drills. We start tomorrow.” With that, she releases the hold on your wing, keeping hers flared behind her, before taking off. You hear her call for the ones training today. With a mocking snort, you take flight and leave the training grounds, deciding to be anywhere else but near Lute.

“Stupid Lute yelling at me. I didn't do anything. Why's she gotta take her anger out on me,” you grumble, landing back on the promenade. You know that's a lie, you're being a brat, but it's not your fault, you reason. You fold your wings, tucking them under your arms as a habit you adopted from Adam. “Fucking tell me I've gotta do early morning shit. Fuck her, she's not the boss of me,” you continue to rant to yourself, completely missing the golden winged angel. His eyes widen as he watches you storm by, none the wiser to his presence. He glowers before white wings cover his face, momentarily confusing him and turning him around.

“Whoa! Sera! I thought we agreed you wouldn't fucking sneak up on me again!” Adam says, looking up at the seraphim. She crosses her arms as she meets his eye.

“Adam, get your subordinate back in line. She is being rude to the other angels and if this behavior of hers continues, I will be forced to intervene. Saint Peter is not the first to have a complaint with Y/n and her behavior,” Sera warns, watching as Adam turns to watch you. Sure enough, you're shoving others aside, using your wings to try and create more space around you as you walk.

“Yeah yeah! I'll go get her! No need to jump down my throat, that's my job!” Adam dismisses Sera, crouching lightly as he spreads his wings. Sera grabs his wrist, stopping him.

“I'm serious, Adam. Reign Y/n back in or I will have to pull her from the extermination team and move her elsewhere. And if she doesn't calm down there, well, let's not let it get that far,” Sera releases him, turning to greet Emily who is flying up with two ice cream cones. Adam, unfortunately, loses sight of you in the time Sera is talking to him. He groans and heads to find Lute.

Lute is sparring with five exorcists at once, pointing out their flaws as she takes each one down. Adam, not particularly keen on getting a sprained wing again, waits out of the way until she notices him and dismisses them to work without her.

“Sir?” his lieutenant questions, wings folding behind her as she walks up to him.

“Have you seen Y/n? Sera's bitching ‘bout her. Something ‘bout she's being mean or some fucking shit. I wasn't really paying attention,” he admits, shrugging as they walk back out the training facility. Lute smirks at his typical behavior.

“Yeah. She came here earlier and assaulted some of the others. Sera is right though. Y/n was deliberately being disobedient,” she reluctantly agrees with the seraphim about you. To be fair, normally you'd go straight to Lute for a good, challenging spar, so to go after some of the younger and less experienced exorcists was a dick move on your part. Adam sighs and groans, glancing down at his lieutenant.

“Hey, Lute~”

“No.”

“What the hell, you don't even know what I was gonna fucking ask!”

“I know you. I don't need to know what you were going to ask.” Adam just stares at her for a moment, his mask switching to a deadpan expression. It quickly switches back to his usual, cocky smirk.

“Oh yeah? If you're so smart, what was it along the lines of then, Dangertits?”

“You were thinking of having me deal with Y/n instead of you, Sir.”

“Don't say it with such confidence. Bitch,” he throws in the last word as an afterthought, realizing she pegged him pretty well. She stopped and turned to face him, brow raised in question.

“So am I wrong?”

“Shut up. No. Let's just fucking go,” he grumbles, spreading his wings and flapping twice to get into the air. Lute smirks and follows silently. She might be his subordinate, but they both know she's right more often than not.

They finally find you at the local barbecue pit, in the reserved section. Reserved for him, Lute, and you. Lute looks up at Adam, wings folding behind her as she waits for his orders. “C'mon, Dangertits,” he mutters, making his way to you. You don't bother looking up when you're sandwiched between two bodies. The familiar touching of wings against yours immediately tells you it's Adam and Lute. You flip them off and continue eating your plate of ribs.

“Umm excuse the fuck outta you, Sugartits. You have some damn nerve acting like you're so fucking high and mighty all of a sudden. The fuck's got your panties in a twist?” Adam reaches over you and takes a rib, expertly dodging the fork you try to stab him with. Lute remains quiet, eyeing you as you glare at Adam, dropping the fork.

“None of your fucking business. And get your own damn plate of ribs, asshole,” you bite out, wings shifting in annoyance. Adam grins and reaches for another rib, holding your gaze while he does so.

“Fucking make me,” he retorts, grabbing the rib you start to reach for. Your eyes narrow, wings fluffing up fully behind you.

“You fucking absolute prick. What the hell is wrong with you?! I said to leave me the fuck alone. I was eating alone just fine until you two showed up,” you yell, drawing unwanted attention and eyes towards the three of you. You let your wings lift you from between your superiors, glaring down at them. “Stop fucking following me!” You leave the duo with your half eaten plate as well as the bill, hands clenched at your sides as you fly out the doors.

Emily finds you on a cloud, well away from everyone. She flies into your vision, giving you a warm smile. You can't help but return it. No matter how mad you were, Emily always seemed to make you want to smile and try to be happy for her sake. She was like a little sister to you after all. You gesture to another cloud beside the one you're on, letting your wings fluff out in contentment. Emily accepts your silent invitation. Heaven's sun warms your wings as you sit in peaceful silence with the young seraphim. It doesn't last long though. You feel Emily's eyes on you and you know she has something she wants to say.

“Everyone's worried about you, you know. Sera's worried that you're going to fall. Adam and Lute….they're worried something is wrong. Something like you don't want to be here, in Heaven, anymore. Saint Peter also said to let you know he wants to see you when you get the chance,” the seraphim rambles, one of her hands finding yours. You allow her to link your fingers, listening to her. Yeah, you have been a little shit lately, you know that. There was only one person who could help and he was still as clueless as ever. Adam. Well, that's not true. Lute could most definitely help too, you just preferred if it were Adam.

“I promise I'm fine, Em. You can tell Sera that I'll be okay. I'm just….going through something,” you grin, swinging your joined hands. “But, for you, I'll try and not cause any more trouble.” You mean every word. You don't want to give Sera a reason to cast you out. You actually like it here in Heaven. Hell, you even like your misogynistic, egotistical, dumbass husband. Why, you don't know, but there's just something about him that draws you in and keeps you coming back for more. He'd definitely say it was because he's the Original Dick.

“Eee! I know she'll be happy to hear that! I'm gonna go tell her you're okay! Okay? Bye!” Emily lurches forward to give you a hug before racing off to find her older sister. You let out a chuckle at the young seraphim's antics. For someone at least a millennia old, she still had a childish air about her. It was refreshing, a nice change of pace from her older sister, Sera.

Your peaceful mood doesn't last too long. You remember Lute telling you that you have to be up early for extra training due to your outburst earlier. Honestly, you know you can't blame anyone but yourself, but that doesn't mean that you like it. With a defeated sigh, you make your way back to your house.

You slam the door to your home, grumbling and cursing Lute and several other angels. In your anger, you completely miss two angels in your kitchen. Adam and Lute watch you pace in your living room, wings fluttering about. They have a silent conversation before Adam's smiling and Lute is trying her best not to, shaking her head. Finally, the light from your kitchen catches your eye.

“What the hell? I can't go out without running into you and now I can't even be in my own fucking place?!” You groan, feathers floating around you as your wings puff up in your annoyance. Adam smirks, lacing his fingers and folding his hands, resting his chin on them as he watches you.

“Babes, this is our house, not just yours,” he corrects you without hesitation, watching as you shake your feathers and fold your wings. Lute watches you both, only here to act as the middleman if needed to separate a fight. You turn your back to them and head back to the couch, falling face first onto it.

“Fuck off. I'm so sick of seeing your ugly mug,” you snarl, head turned to the side so they can hear you. Adam turns to Lute, nodding to the door. She gives him a look, but he shoos her as he gets up, making his way to you.

“Adam, I don't think-”

“Lute, just go. I can fucking handle this. I think I know just the fucking thing to correct her attitude,” a grin appears on Adam's mask, a ripple running through his wings as he pushes his chair back. You fluff your wings, letting them sprawl, one hanging off the back of the couch and the other dangling on the floor. Lute doesn't offer any further complaints, just opens the door and gives him a look before shutting it behind her.

“Go away, Adam,” you huff, feeling his presence hovering over you. You crack an eye open to see his face inches from your own, mask discarded somewhere. You yelp in surprise at the proximity, your wings flapping frantically to help you pull back and away from him. His grin widens as he slowly stalks towards you, his golden wings unfurling and shaking out behind him.

“You've been rather busy the last couple weeks huh? Been fucking with me and Lute and raising hell up here. Care to enlighten me as to why?” His gold eyes narrow as you search for a way around Adam or out of reach of him and his wings. You know he will use his wings to pull you close if you get too close.

“N-no. I haven't,” you lie poorly, slowly crawling backwards on the couch, and off the far side over the arm. You both stare at each other as your feet land on the cool hardwood flooring. A subtle flutter of his wings has you turning and darting down the hall, wings helping as you try to keep out of Adam's reach, hoping to get to the bedroom before he reaches you.

“You're such a shit liar,” he snorts at you, catching up to you quickly. You don't stop to see how close he is, you don't need to. You can feel his feathers brush against yours just before they fully envelope you.

“Adam!” You squeak out as his arms wrap you in a tight hug, face burying in the crook of your neck. Trying to steel your resolve and not break from such a small interaction, you use your wings to push against his, earning a chuckle from him.

“S'matter, Babe~? Need something?” His sharp teeth nip at your neck and it takes all of your willpower to not cave and moan at the sensation. The feel of his chin stubble combined with his teeth make your knees weak. Thankfully you have wings that help keep you balanced.

“Not from you,” you manage to scoff, still trying to get out of his grip, though your attempts are more feeble with each bite to your shoulders. In the small power scuffle, Adam has managed to walk you to your bedroom, nudging the door open fully with his wing.

“Mm, don't fucking be like that. I came all the way here from work just to help you,” he growls in your ear, voice dropping as he talks. You pause in your escape attempts, a chill running up your spine and through your wings. Adam doesn't miss the shaking of your feathers at his words, gold eyes glinting in the setting light filtering in through the window. He quickly takes advantage of your lack of fight, easily hefting you into his arms bridal style, letting your wings free of his hold. You blink up at him, arms instinctively going around his neck.

“Bullshit. Your head is too far up your own ass to care about me,” you sneer at him, grabbing his collar and pulling it tight so it comes close to choking him. He grins and leans his face closer to you, nuzzling his forehead against yours.

“I'm gonna make you eat your fucking words, Babe,” he mutters. He tosses you onto the bed after breaking your hold on his collar. His wings stay spread, displaying his dominance to and over you.

You turn to him, on your knees, and spread your own wings in defiance. You grin smugly at him, crossing your arms as he makes no moves to change your mind. When he does move, you don't see him. He turns you around faster than you expect. It's easy to pin you, and when he moves to grab something from under the bed, he keeps you down with his wings. You struggle under him until you feel cold metal on your wings. A gasp escapes you as Adam moves to secure your wings so they stay flared out, the metal frame locking as he puts the spines of your wings into each arm. You try to pull away, only for the metal brace to force them to stay.

“A-Adam!” You whine, realizing what kind of hole you dug for yourself. He ignores you, making sure your wings are secure before rolling you onto your back.

“You want to show disrespect to your superiors? Don't worry, I'm going to remind you of your place,” he chuckles, moving to grab something from the nightstand.

You whimper. You know you're fucked. You pushed your luck, especially with Adam, and went overboard with your bratty attitude. But fuck if this isn't what you wanted. Adam had been ignoring you after all. He was always ‘too busy’ with work. Maybe you were jealous of the time he spent with Lute, not like you should be, you knew their relationship, but it did bug you sometimes. Especially when you're his wife. You're aware and more than ok with the swing style relationship you both share with Lute. It was something you accepted readily when you met her after a date with Adam. There was hardly ever one without the other, no matter which way you looked at it.

“You're going to be begging me to stop before I'm through with you. I'm going to make sure you don't forget where you belong for a long time,” Adam's voice brings you back to the present. You look up at him, not daring to move from where he rolled you. He's sitting beside you, hand on one of your knees, hiding something in his other hand. You prop yourself up on your elbows, meeting his gaze.

“Big talk coming from someone who's locked up my wings. What's the matter, Dickmaster? Can't put me in my place with my wings in the way?” You taunt, though there's no real bite to your words anymore. You know you're at his mercy now, but you still can't help yourself since he hasn't touched you aside from the love bites he gave you on the way to the bedroom. You watch as his hand freezes the small thumb circling on your knee. His head tilts and he pulls out a massage wand, twirling it a couple of times.

“Sounds like you need more than just this. On my knee, now!” He orders, setting the massager on the floor for now. You raise a brow at him and bat your lashes at him.

“Make. Me.”

A feral noise escapes your husband. You're dragged into his lap and stripped of your boots and pants with a snap of his fingers. His robe is also discarded from his snap, leaving him in dark jeans and a band tee shirt. Your wings try to move, but the bar keeps them locked in place. The most you're able to do is shift the feathers slightly.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

The sting from Adam's hand connecting with your ass pulls a startled yelp from you. Your body shivers and goosebumps appear on your arms and legs. You try to kick and get out of his lap, but his hold on you tightens.

“Want to try that again, Bitch?”

“Y-yes… Make me, Dickmaster.”

Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

You try to stifle your moan by biting your fist, not wanting to give him the satisfaction just yet. You hear him tsk and see his shadow shaking his head at you.

“Nu-uh, that's not a good little bitch. What do we say?” He teases, grabbing your free hand and clicking something around it. You recognize the feel of the metal cuffs, even if it's been a few months since they've been used. He grabs the hand you're biting, and you willingly let him pull it above your head. He holds your hand there, your other being held in place by the chain connecting the cuffs.

“Fuck.”

“Getting warmer,” he chuckles, shifting so you're sitting on his lap. “You're going to ride my thigh until you tell me, but if you cum before I say so, I'll make sure you don't get to cum for the rest of the night. Understand, Bitch?” Your heartbeat feels like it's in your ears as you nod your head, wiggling your free hand to grab his shoulder. He lets you readjust yourself, the hand holding the empty cuff taps your free hand. “Gimme.” You immediately move your hand to his, letting him fix the cuff and click it around your wrist. He moves your hands so your arms are locked around his neck, hands resting on his shoulders with the lengthy chain. His own hands roam your body, pausing at your chest to grope your breasts through your top, one continuing south to rest on your hip after he gropes your ass. “Move,” he commands.

You tense slightly before realizing what he means. You lean forward, burying your face in his neck as you begin slowly grinding on his thigh. Still feeling a bit bratty, not having your fire extinguished just yet, you gently nip at Adam's neck before biting down hard at the junction between his collarbone and neck.

“Fuck!”

You smile as best you can with your teeth clamped against his neck, sucking on the skin until you're sure it's bruising. You feel Adam's wings curl around you, radiating warmth. Your wings block his from fully enveloping you, but you feel the warmth in your wings where they touch his own. Feeling proud about your mission to mark your husband, you let go of his neck with a loud pop. Adam's hands grip your hips tightly, fingers digging into your skin as he forces you to move faster on his thigh.

“You have some damn nerve being such a brat, yanno that?” He doesn't give you time to answer. He's sucking and biting a trail of hickeys along both sides of your neck, to hell with what anyone says. Once satisfied with the number he's left on you, he lets your hips go, hands trailing up your back to your wings. Your breath hitches as his hands curl tightly into the small feathers closest to your back. “Gonna have to show you where you belong. Make you understand just what happens to a brat who doesn't behave.”

“Sounds fun,” you breathe, leaning your head on your arm to look up at him, grin on your face as your halo shifts to right itself. He tilts his head down at you, gold eyes alight with something you can't quite pinpoint.

“Always gotta have the last damn word, don't cha?” He grunts, grabbing the chain connecting the cuffs and yanking it over the back of his head, holding it above him to pull you close. He drops the chain as his hand moves to grip the back of your neck, tangling in the hair there. You open your mouth to say something else smart, but he quickly covers your mouth with his own, silencing you before you can get anything out. You try to refuse when he licks your lips in an attempt to get you to open your mouth to him. He growls and tugs the hand in your hair, earning a moan from you and giving him access. He massages your wings as you kiss, only pulling away when you gently tap his shoulder, your signal you need air.

You can't process anything. From Adam's hand in your feathers, you riding his thigh, and that kiss? You feel a bit tipsy. Wanting to keep riding the high that is Adam, you lean back in for another kiss, your hands finding their way into his hair. Sensing your keen interest, he obliges you as you pull him down for another sloppy kiss, teeth clacking and tongues dancing.

“Adam, please… Don't want to ride your thigh,” you manage to squeak out, head resting on his shoulders, hands gripping his hair tightly as you grind down on his thigh.

“What's that? You don't want to?” He repeats, letting his hand untangle from your hair and trail up and down your back. He grins, and you swear his face matches his mask. “Too bad. Brats don't get what they want,” he answers, gripping your hip to keep you moving. He rocks his leg, shifting it with you so it hits just right, causing you to squirm. You whine and try to pull away with no fire in your heart, stopped by his grip, wings, and the handcuff chain. You can feel how excited he is, but you know he'd hold off just to prove a point. With another whine, you push your forehead into his collarbone. He doesn't want me to cum but wants me to ride his thigh? Fine, I'll at least follow one rule, you think, gripping his shoulders to pick up your pace on his thigh. If he wants you to ride his thigh, fine, you can do that, but you're doing it on your terms, not his. “Whoa. Ok, Sugartits, now we're talking,” Adam murmurs above you. You try to ignore him, ignore the feel of his hands on you. You don't care about him right now. He's been so mean to you! He's been too busy for you. Fuck him! You're gonna use him. Yes, you love him, but fuck him, literally and figuratively.

So focused on your own pleasure, you don't hear Adam calling for you. You're shaking your head, ears filled with the sound of your own panting. You feel the way Adam moves his leg under you, the way your wings tug against the warming metal brace, the warmth of Adam and his wings, the way you're moving in and out of sync with Adam's leg, it makes your brain fuzzy. A whine is pulled from your lips as you feel that familiar spring coiling tightly in your stomach. When did it coil like that? Surely you're not already about to come undone? Your fingers dig into his shoulders and you bite on his shoulder as your body shakes slightly uncontrollably as you reach your orgasm. You feel a rumble from Adam's chest, his hands tightening harshly on your hips as he works you through your bliss, slowing you down as your body settles from the aftershocks of your release.

“Still disobedient, I see,” you hear his voice and give a faint nod as you release his neck. You smirk at the mark before leaning back to meet his eye, eyes half lidded in ecstasy.

“Fuck you,” you manage to grumble, using the chain against the back of his neck to pull him closer. He chuckles, denying you the kiss you desperately want, he holds you still on his lap, wings unfurling from around you both and folding to his sides. The cool air sends a shiver up your spine, the chill creeping over your bare lower half. You glare then pout at him as he laughs at your expression, hands running over your legs to bring some heat back.

“I told you already, brats don't get what they want,” he reiterates, bringing one hand down hard on your rear end, making you jump. He smiles mischievously and snaps, eyeing your now nude body on display for him, your wings still held firm in their restraint, giving him a complete view of you. You whine and rock against his leg, your first orgasm barely scratching the surface of your need. “Ah ah ah,” he chides, lifting you just enough to prevent you from achieving the friction you just tried to make. He holds you like it's effortless, and honestly, for him it probably is. Man's like eight feet tall, if not more. You whimper, leaning your forehead into his neck at the loss of all contact except where he's holding your thighs. Your hands pull together and you realize Adam is pulling the chain over his head so you aren't locking him in place.

“On your hands and knees.” You're deposited on the bed, the remaining warmth leaving you as Adam shuffles off the bed and waits for you, gold eyes glowing in the dark. You shift your weight, grumbling, until you're on your hands and knees as ordered. “You know better. Arch your back.”

The sound of buzzing piques your interest enough to listen, turning your head so your left ear is pressed to the soft sheets on the mattress. You feel your feathers ripple and a few smaller ones fall as they poof up against your will. Heat creeps up your face and you quickly bury it against the sheets with a groan. Adam's chuckle is faint, but you hear it as he shuffles around behind you. The bed dips under his weight, forcing you to shift and recover your position for any sliver of hope that he won't keep his word of denying you more orgasms.

“Aww s'matter, Babes? Embarrassed your wings are giving away how aroused you really are? Afraid I'm going to do exactly as I said?” His voice drops lower as he leans over you. You feel his scruff on the back of your neck, his breath hot as he places a few sloppy kisses there. You can't help the moan that slips, and he doesn't miss that you ball your hands into the sheets either. He shifts again and you yelp, the vibration setting not what you were expecting as he holds the massage wand to your inner thigh.

“Fuck,” you bite the sheets to try and mute yourself, still not wanting to give Adam the satisfaction of hearing your voice. He tuts, moving the massage wand closer where you want it.

“Hold this,” he mutters. He smacks your hand away and gives you a knowing look. “Not with your hands.” You roll your head to the side, pulling your shoulders closer as you shift to bring your arms back under you.

“You can't be serious, Adam!” You whine, glancing over your shoulder where he's patiently waiting for you to take the wand. His grin never wavers as you lock eyes, gold piercing through you. “Fuck, Adam, please!” You attempt to bargain, hands clawing at the bed when he shakes his head no. Your resolve is slowly breaking at his slow torture. You'd prefer his break-neck pace instead at this point. When he doesn't budge, you curse him out, eyes never leaving his own as you move your thighs together to hold the wand where he wants you to.

“Good girl,” he praises as he moves from the bed, humming to himself. You try to watch him to the best of your ability, but lose sight of him when he moves to your shared closet. You can hear him pushing clothes aside until he lets out an excited ‘aha’. You can only imagine what he found, considering that's where you kept the more sinful sex toys and equipment. The familiar feeling of leather being wrapped about your ankle startles you from your momentary bliss of the wand. You hum as you feel Adam's fingers easily pulling the restraint tight. He slips a finger between your ankle and the leather. “Too tight?” The question makes you shake your head. “Can't hear you, Angel,” he teases, looking over the curve of your ass, down your lovely arched back.

“No, not too tight,” you bite out, legs slightly numb from the high intensity of the toy he demanded you hold. You jump and let out a small yelp as his hand makes contact with your rear. You quickly squeeze your thighs back together to keep the massager from falling, knowing that would earn you more discipline. Without another word, he's moving to get the second leather brace around your other ankle. Now knowing what he's doing, you quickly answer when he asks if the second is too tight. Once you agree that you're ok and the leather is really not too tight, he nudges your knees apart, clicking a small metal rod onto both ankle braces. The wand lands on the bed with a soft thump.

“On your knees,” he orders. He grabs the wand and turns it off for the moment, setting it on the side of the bed. You push up onto your forearms before using them to propel yourself fully upright to your knees. A soft gasp escapes you as Adam wraps his hand around the front of your throat. You never felt him crawl onto the bed behind you, but you feel his warm chest and stomach pressing against your back, feel his breath against your neck. You try to swallow and calm yourself of the anticipation. He trails kisses from behind your ear down to your shoulders, his hand staying firmly around your neck, holding you against him. The cold clasp of metal doesn't startle you this time, but it does send a warmth spreading through your chest and to your core like wildfire. You feel Adam loop the leather band through the clasp, pulling the collar to rest snug against your throat. He checks once, twice, three times with his finger that the collar isn't choking you before turning you in his arms, maneuvering you so you can see him.

“Safeword?”

“Oh, uhh…kumquat!” You snicker as his grin falters at your words before returning as he throws his head back, howling with laughter. He nods, wiping a nonexistent tear away from his eye.

“Perfect. If I cross a line, you say cumquat, and I'll stop, understand?” You giggle a bit at his words, but nod along so he knows you understand. He fingers the d-ring on the collar before using it to pull you close to him. “I couldn't hear you, Pet, what was that?”

“Yessir!” You squeak, a bit baffled by the new nickname. He licks his lips, nodding and muttering something you don't quite catch. He doesn't give you an opportunity to ask what he plans to do before he kisses you roughly, forcing his tongue into your mouth. Not like you're complaining. You try to move with him, but he has you stuck with your collar, his fingers still tangled in the ring on the front. You groan against him as he presses his lips harshly to your own. He nips at your bottom lip as he pulls away, panting slightly. You notice his hair is tousled more than usual.

While you're busy staring, you don't notice him undoing your handcuffs. He rubs the indents on your wrists before bringing them to his lips, leaving small kisses. Your heartbeat quickens slightly at the sight, loving Adam's sweet tendencies, you don't even know if he's aware of them. He drops your hands and meets your gaze, his eyes narrowing at you. You shy away slightly and drop your eyes to anywhere but his face, choosing the bed by his knee to be particularly interesting as heat floods your face.

“C'mere. Lay on your back and hang your head over the edge of the bed here. You're going to be a good little bitch and suck Daddy's cock,” he croons to you, one hand cradling your cheek. Your eyes widen a bit at his bold claim, but you nod along, nipping at his hand when he pulls it away. He quirks a brow but you just shrug and do as he told you, doing your best with both your legs and wings restrained. Once situated as comfortably as you can, you tip your head back to look at the shadow looming over you. He's got the wand in his hand again and you hum, hands reaching for Adam's clothed length. He's still in his shirt and jeans, so you tug at the belt loops, looking up at him expectantly. He rolls his eyes playfully and snaps, leaving himself bare to you. You, maybe a bit too eagerly, reach out for him, grabbing the back of his thighs and tugging him towards you. You hear his laughter, but you try to tune him out, desperate to start on him in hopes that he'd return the favor with his hands or the magic wand he has.

“Can I touch you?” You ask as he stands above you. The low glow from his wings and halo give you a small glimpse of his expression, a hesitant pause as he thinks over his words.

“Yes, I'll allow you to touch me. But, if you take your hands off me, there'll be consequences,” he grants you permission. You hum with a small smile, one hand going to the back of one of his thighs while the other grips his length. You give him a couple of strokes before opening your mouth and gently tugging his thigh to urge him forward. He doesn't need you to tell him twice, and moves so his shins hit the bed while you move to make sure you can take as much of his cock as possible.

The angle is a bit awkward for you, but you make the best of your situation as you feel Adam move and hear curses ring out. You hollow your cheeks, allowing him to fit farther down your throat as he pumps his hips. You hum, swirling your tongue around him, the metal barbell on your tongue adding a cooling sensation to Adam's heat. He groans at the feeling of it, dropping above you so he's leaning on his elbows on either side of you. You reach up to mess with his feathers, your other hand moving to fondle his balls. He curses and moans as you bob your head in sync with his movements. You let your hand fall from his sack, moving it to join in his wings. You bring your knees up and dig your heels into the bed, shifting yourself closer to the edge. Your gag reflex reacts at the sudden change, your throat constricting around Adam's cock, but you force yourself to choke through it, keeping yourself from gagging again.

“Ahh-fuck!” He curses, hips stuttering before he pushes himself up, pulling out of your mouth. “Up, on your front.” You whine as you're forced to let his wings go, but quickly do as he says, mimicking your first position with your back arched. He fists your hair, pulling you back to him. You lick your lips as he watches you take him back into your mouth. He grunts at the feel of your tongue running over him before he sets a brutish pace, hand so tightly wound in your hair you feel the subtle oncoming of a headache. You reach up and rest a hand on his hip for stability, the other going back to the base of his wings. You relax your throat and jaw as best you can, tears pricking your eyes and drool dripping down your face.

You squeeze your eyes shut tight when you feel a gentle vibration at your core. Adam has the wand pressed to you on a low setting, his other hand firmly locked in your hair. He runs the toy along your folds, resting it on your clit before circling it a few times. You moan around him when you feel him up the setting, circling the toy again. You try to lean back into it, but a tug on your hair makes you stop and turn your gaze up to look at Adam. He's got his head tipped back, mouth slightly open as he pistons his hips, roughly slamming his cock down your throat. You whine as you feel the wand turn off, before hearing it hit the floor. Adam's nowhere near close, but the way you're whining around him does make his dick twitch. You lurch forward, choking slightly, as he inserts a finger into you. You try to rock back into his hand in time with his hips, earning a hum of approval from your husband. He slips in a second finger, twisting and curling them as you rock between his hand and his own rhythm. The coil from earlier winds faster now, having already had one orgasm spurs on a second more quickly. As you start to move out of sync with him, hellbent on chasing your own release again, he withdraws his hand from you. He smirks at your pathetic whine against him, sticking his fingers in his mouth, sucking on them, never letting pausing or slowing in fucking your face.

“Fuck. Taste so good, Sugartits,” he praises, watching you squirm under his gaze. You narrow your eyes at him, tugging on his feathers. His body jerks and he groans as his hips falter in their pace, before stopping. You feel his release hit the back of your throat and you swallow, running your tongue along the underside of his shaft, pulling off of him with a grin.

“Mm, right back at ya, Dickmaster,” you antagonize, sitting up on your knees to get closer to him. He growls, his smile twisting into a sneer.

“You just don't fucking learn, do you, Brat?” He yanks you to your feet by your hair, preening at the yelp he pulls from you. “That's ok. We have all fucking night and you're going to be fucking wrecked by the time I'm done with you.” You instinctively let go of his wing and hip as he pulls you into his chest, eyes holding you in place. You give him a lopsided grin as you pull your hands up to his chest, pressing your fingers into his skin.

“Of course not. It's gonna take more than a little bit to make up for ignoring me all month,” you snip back at him. He lets go of your hair and grips your cheeks between his fingers, squeezing lightly. You just smile as he holds your face close to his, his other snaking between you two to stroke his already half hard cock.

“Hmm. I'll have you in tears in a matter of minutes,” he finally replies, releasing your cheeks, and pressing a kiss to the side of your mouth. You pout slightly but quickly try to hide it from him. You might have gotten lucky for back talking so far, but you knew you were going to eventually run out of luck if you hadn't already. Adam snaps, pointing to the bed. “On your back, now.” You scrunch your nose at his odd request, unable to read his expression. It takes some maneuvering as your ankles are still in the spreader bar and your wings are still in their own spreader arms, that Adam notices how difficult of a time you're having. He taps your hip, motioning for you to stop. You do so, watching him intently as he removes the bar holding your legs apart. He steps back once he's got it undone, allowing you to move freely. You murmur a soft thank you to him, a hand on his shoulder as you lower yourself onto your back much easier now. He pulls you closer to the edge of the bed once you're settled, making you lift your head at him. He doesn't acknowledge you, simply replaces the bar and uses it to lift your legs over his head as he kneels at the foot of the bed.

Your face flushes as you realize Adam is about to eat you out, a rarity from him for sure. He flashes you a grin before kissing up your legs to your thighs. He nips and kisses your inner thigh before biting harshly. You let out a small whine, reacting to the pain by trying to yank your leg back. Of course the bar and Adam stop you from getting anywhere, and your leg twitches while you whimper, balling the sheet into your fists at your sides. Your muscle shakes, pain and ecstasy flooding you, quickly turning you into a panting mess. Adam presses a kiss to the bruise he's left, moving to your other thigh to leave a matching mark there. Your toes curl as his teeth sink into your flesh, a long whine pulled from you as your muscle tenses before relaxing under Adam's tongue.

“Adam, please! Don't tease,” you cry, reaching down to bury your fingers in his messy hair. He hums as he nips at your thigh, sucking another, smaller hickey.

“Don't tell me what to do,” he rumbles, breath tickling your leg. You can't help the small laugh that finds its way out as he hovers over your mound, staring at you intently. How can he be so calm right now, you think.

You lift your head, breath hitching as you watch as your husband slowly licks straight up your folds, never breaking eye contact. You feel your face heat up, and you drop your head back onto the bed, tugging gently on his hair. He lets out a chuckle, nuzzling your thighs before pulling you closer, arms wrapped under your thighs and on your back. He laps at you slowly, humming in contentment as you squirm under him, trying to grind down on his face. He dips his tongue inside, finally, and you arch your back, chancing a glance down at him again. His eyes are closed as he draws random patterns with his tongue. After a few minutes, he pulls back, sucking your clit into his mouth. You suck in a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he hums against you, the vibrations sending a shiver up your spine.

He wiggles one hand out from under you, snapping his fingers. The spreader bar, keeping your legs apart, disappears, and you feel his wings gently move your legs out to rest over his shoulders. You stretch one leg out, hooking the other around his neck. He presses a kiss to one of your hickeys, looking up at you. He covers your clit again, sucking harshly as he slips a finger in you, moving it slowly. A gasp leaves you, feeling your stomach tighten at the sudden intrusion. He wastes no time in adding a second finger, pumping and twisting them at just the right angle to make you squeak out his name. He slows his ministrations as he feels your pussy clench around his fingers. He picks up speed again before slowing down, repeating the cycle each time you squeeze his fingers.

“Adam, please, I'm so close,” you pant, hands loose in his hair. You gently stroke through the messy brown strands, eyes shut tight as you try to hold onto the edge of bliss.

His eyes glint with mirth and mischief. He pulls away fully, smiling softly at your cry of protest. “I know I said earlier that if you came before I told you, you wouldn't get to the rest of the night…but now, I'm thinking that was a bit harsh.” There's something in the way he says it that makes you not believe him. You don't know why, and you quirk your brow up at him in silent question, moving your stretched leg to cross the other so you lock Adam in place. He definitely just edged you, you've been on the receiving end of that trick one too many times, but something is different. He's up to something. “So, how about I let you cum,” he starts and you nod quickly, squirming to try and grind on him. He laughs and holds your hips down with practiced ease. His wings lightly trail on either side of your face, down your neck, to your hips softly. “You want to cum for me, Babe?” He asks, dipping his head to lick you teasingly. You don't answer, your brain fuzzy at what he's just offered you. When he nips at your stomach do you snap your eyes to his, nodding in response. “Can't hear you, Sweets.”

“Fuck me… God, yes! Adam, please, please, let me cum,” you beg, using your legs to pull your husband closer to where you want him. His eyes narrow, tongue delving back into your folds. He swirls his tongue, constantly changing his rhythm, licking, nipping, sucking, and lapping at you fervently. You squeeze your thighs, pulling Adam closer as a result. “Adam, please, please, please!” You beg, tears threatening to spill as you feel your stomach contract as you're brought closer and closer to your second orgasm of the night.

“That's right, Sugartits. Cum for me. Cum on Dickmaster's tongue,” Adam praises, watching you as he turns his focus back to sucking on your clit, slipping two fingers in and curling them. With a shout of his name, you feel a wave of bliss wash over you. Adam hums as he works you through your release, your legs squeezing his head with the aftershocks. Your gaze snaps down to his, eyes wide in realization. He's not had a change of heart, he's just twisting what he said before. You feel your stomach drop as he pulls back a little, giving your slightly over-stimulated clit a break. His tongue darts out, licking his chin. His smug grin tells you he's about to say something smart, like usual. “Damn, Babe, if I'd known all it would take to rile you up and make you this wet for me is to ignore you, I'd have done it sooner.” You want to hate him and his stupidly perfect face, but dammit if he isn't your idiot. You try to glare at him, but your heartbeat and panting leaves little room for anything other than flustered to show.

“Fuck you, Adam,” you manage to grumble, leaning your head back into the sheets, massaging his scalp. Honestly, you don't know which is the worse of two evils; being edged all night or being over-stimulated to the point of tears.

“In a bit, Babes,” he replies, scissoring his fingers in an attempt to bring you back to the edge. “Be a good girl and keep cuming for me.” He snaps with his free hand, watching as a sash ties your wrists together with a bow knot. You roll your eyes at him, shaking your head at his silly antics.

You've lost count how many orgasms Adam has pulled from you now. All you know is if he keeps the wand on you, you're not going to last much longer. You tug at the satin sashes holding your wrists together above your head, whining as you feel another orgasm wash over you. Your nose burns as the threat of tears forms behind your closed eyelids. “Adam,” your voice is hoarse as you call out to your husband, eyes opening to find him hovering above you, wand nowhere in sight. As a matter of fact, you don't even hear it anymore.

“Shh,” Adam cooes to you, pulling one of the loose ends of the sash, untying the bow and releasing your wrists from their binds. “Think you can do something for me? I know you've already done so much, been such a good girl,” he praises, pressing light kisses along your jaw. You whimper, not trusting yourself to speak just yet. You feel him shift above you, his wings curling around you both as he fists his cock. “Think you can take one more orgasm, Sweets?” He murmurs against your neck, rubbing the head of himself against your folds. You whine, tilting your head to give him more access.

“I-I don't know. ‘M sore,” you whisper back, letting one hand rest on his shoulder. Instinctively you intertwine your fingers with his as he moves his free hand to your own.

“Come on, just one more, Pretty Girl? One more for me?” He urges, gently squeezing your hand. When you squeeze his hand in reply, he quickly sinks down until your hips meet. You shift your hips, nearly purring with the stretch of him.

“Fuck, feel so full, so good, Dickmaster,” you return the praise, turning your head to look at your husband. His face flushes lightly and he glances away, a quiet ‘shut up’ coming from him. You smile at his reaction, moving your hand from his shoulder to his cheek, cradling it gently. He turns his head to press a soft kiss to your wrist, nuzzling your hand. “I love you, Adam, but for fuck's sake, please fucking move,” you groan, bucking your hips up into him. He chuckles at your renewed enthusiasm and pushes your intertwined hands into the mattress as he shifts his weight so he's evenly over you.

He obliges your demand, slowly pulling out before sinking fully back into you, finding a slow, methodical rhythm. You sigh in contentment as you roll your hips in time to meet his, a shudder running down your spine as he fills you over and over again. It's such a drastic change from the intensity of the last couple of hours. Adam's shift from Dominant to soft-Dominant is so fast that you swear you should have whiplash. His wings brush against your shoulders, your wings, your sides, and they're so warm! You shiver in pleasure under Adam, throwing yourself off rhythm. You feel his chest rumble with laughter as you try to match his pace again, eyes closed, brows knit in focus. You gasp when he angles just right, hitting deeper in you. You grip his hand tightly, moving the other to his shoulder again in an attempt to pull him closer.

“Shh. There's my good girl. Do you feel good? Like when I hit right there,” he emphasizes his words with a particular hard thrust, hitting your g-spot. You yelp, bucking against him as a result. “Yeah? There?” He slips his wings under you, leaning back and pulling you with him as he sits up. He takes care not to shift too much, keeping himself buried in you as he adjusts you in his lap. He gently pulls his hand out of your grasp, moving to hold your hips as he helps support you, helping rock you back and forth on him. You wrap your arms around him, burying your face in the crook of his neck while you bounce on him. You feel his hands under your thighs, lightly cupping your ass as he helps hold your weight when your legs start to give out. “Can my baby girl give me one more? Think you got one more for me?” He whispers into your hair, leaning his head against yours, bucking up into you as you still, leg muscles too abused to continue your movements. You nod against him, panting as you try to focus on the feeling of him; his smell, his warmth, his familiarity, it all invades your senses and fills you with peace.

Adam holds you steady in his lap as he starts to quicken his pace, losing his rhythm from before. He slips one hand between you both, thumb quickly finding your clit again. You shudder and cry at how sensitive you are, shaking your head against his neck, babbling nonsense. He mumbles soft reassurances in your ear, pulling you down as he thrusts up.

“C'mon, Sugar, cum for Dickmaster. Cum on the Original Dick,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your temple, fingers digging into your skin. You whimper as Adam hits your g-spot as he talks, giving you that final push over the edge. You cling to him, legs shaking as your body tries to calm while he's still pistoning into you. You feel his other hand move back to under you, helping support you. You dig your hands into the base of his wings, gently tugging and nipping at his ear. He lets out a strangled gasp as his pace falters, getting sloppy. “Gonna fill you up, Babe. Gonna fill you so fucking full,” he growls, biting down on a bruise from earlier, eliciting a mixed cry of pain and pleasure from you. You clench around him as he pulls you down hard, hips stuttering as he groans.

It's quiet, save for the panting coming from you both as you slowly come down from your highs. Adam rubs your hips, kissing the bruises on your neck as you slump on him, hand gently brushing his feathers from where you were gripping them. His wings unfurl from around you, taking their warmth, and causing goosebumps to once again overtake your skin.

“Such a good girl,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your lips as he lays you down, pulling out with a grunt of dismay. You chuckle softly, eyes closing when he lays your head on your pillow. You feel him messing with the collar, can hear the clasp as he undoes it, but you can't be bothered to make a move to assist him. You hear him laugh as he pulls the clasp end, the leather warming your neck as it pulls across your bare skin. You feel the bed dip as he shifts down towards the foot, repeating the motions for both ankle braces that once held the spreader bar.

When he looks back at you, he notices the gentle rise and fall of your chest, signaling you're asleep. He sighs, heading to the bathroom to clean himself and get you a warm washcloth. He steps into the bathroom and grabs the gold washcloth, turning on the tap, waiting for it to warm up. Once he's satisfied with the temperature, he lets the cloth fully soak before wringing it out and returning to you after shutting off the tap. He tries to ask you if you'd be ok with him gently cleaning you. When you don't answer, he snorts out a laugh and gently nudges your legs apart, trying to be as gentle as possible. He tosses the rag into the hamper against the wall, climbing into bed beside you. He tugs you close, slightly surprised when you roll onto his chest. He hums and cradles your head, pressing a kiss to your crown and snapping a blanket over you both.

“Goodnight, sleep well, my Angel,” he says, wings spreading wide and curling them around you.

___________________________________________

(Oh, did you think it was done? Oh no, Sweetheart, there's more. 😘)

The sound of knocking rouses you from your slumber. You groan and nuzzle into the warmth below you, trying to ignore the sound, hoping if you don't answer, whoever it is will go away. The door opening has your eyes snapping open. You move to push yourself up, but two arms wrap around you, keeping you in place. You feel the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. With your back to the door and being trapped under Adam's arms, you won't be able to fight back. A familiar shadow pushes open the cracked door, letting out a sigh at the sight of you. Lute pinches the bridge of her nose as she steps over to the bed, prying Adam's arms off you. She glances at you without a word, eyes trailing from your neck to your back. She crawls onto the bed, fingers quickly unlocking the brace holding your wings.

A gasp escapes you, eyes squeezing shut as you are finally able to move your wings. They're stiff as can be and they kind of hurt from being forced straight for the night. Lute sighs, holding out a hand for you. You take it hesitantly, but curiosity gets the better of you. You trust her, even if you're at your most vulnerable, and nude, in front of your lieutenant. She pulls you off the bed, towards the bathroom where she quickly starts a bath, getting the water set to the perfect temperature.

“Get in,” she orders quietly, sitting on the side of the tub. You blink, tilting your head as you obey her without question, the fire of the last month extinguished with last night's much needed treatment.

“Join me?” you ask, stepping over the side and sitting in the water with her help, wings folding close to your sides. She stares at you before nodding subtly. You watch as she strips and sets her clothes on the counter, grabbing two towels, resting them on the side of the tub.

“Turn around, I'll help you preen,” she offers, stepping into the large tub, sitting behind you. You turn your back to her, head slumping forward as she deftly runs her fingers through your feathers, straightening those that are crooked or twisted. You shudder as her hands work your feathers, and you can't help the whimper that you let out as she continues preening your wings for you. If she heard you, she doesn't say, so you don't mention it, trying to focus on anything else besides the feeling of your feathers being messed with. You grip the side of the tub when you feel her hands massaging the spines of your wings. The warmth from the water and the massage help make them feel a bit better.

“Thank you.” You know you don't have to say it, but you also know it's appreciated. “And, I'm sorry. For being a brat and for taking out my frustration on the other exorcists,” you start to ramble, eyes blurry as tears threatening to fall. Lute spins you around, gently cradling your chin in her hand, forcing you to look her in the eye.

“You're good now? Not going to be trying to harm our exorcists?” When you nod in agreement, she gives you a small smile, a rare gesture she keeps reserved for those close to her. “Good. Once you're done here, meet me at the compound,” she continues, stepping out and wrapping one of the towels around herself. You deadpan.

“You mean I still gotta meet you for those morning trainings?” You whine, eyes following your superior. She sends you a wink, leaning over the side of the tub so she's at eye level.

“Absolutely. Just because you got off the hook easily with Adam, doesn't mean I'm not going to punish you too,” she chides playfully, pressing a swift peck to your lips as she slips her clothes back on. “I'll see you at the compound in twenty minutes.”

She's gone before you can protest. You drop your hands into the water, groaning as you realize just how much of a mess you've made with being a brat.

Fuck! I still have to go apologize to Saint Peter too, you sink into the water, not looking forward to your day.

Taglist: @miss-menhera @fizzy-fuzz @atttwoood

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celenawrites · 1 year

Text

You apologize to Simon.

AO3 Version

Three days.

Three days of silence since you and Simon had a fight over something insignificant enough for you to even forget about it after a night’s sleep. Three days of silence and avoidance due to an argument that could’ve ended in less than an hour had you been more amenable. You can make excuses all you want (and you’d like to, it’s easier than acknowledging you’re the one at fault for a change - easier to ignore the lump in your throat and your shortened breath, or how warm your ears are from shame) - talk about how shitty this week had been, how much of a right cunt your boss was, or how things just don’t seem to go your way no matter what you do; despite your best efforts, life seemed to be holding a mean grudge against you and punishing all your efforts for it lately.

Paired with all the shitty things in your life at the moment, and one of these days when Simon ends up saying something to you in a tone that you couldn’t seem to take kindly to (you try your best to understand people and what they say to you, you really do; yet your past has never been as kind to you, and sometimes your patience runs thin despite your best efforts) - which ultimately resulted in you screaming your head off at him. Simon has the patience of a saint on most days - years of war, trauma, and abuse had motivated him to be much kinder than his family ever was, urging him to do everything in his power to never end up as the man who sired him.

But you forget sometimes that he’s a Lieutenant and he has the tenacity and the rage needed to put the rowdy recruits at the base into place just fine. So when his anger snaps and it does when you decide that he doesn’t get a chance to defend himself (you’re judge, jury, and executioner and you have condemned him for a transgression not his own), he matches your cruel word for cruel word - dark eyes sizing you up as he raises his voice at you in a way that makes your lip quiver and your eyes burn with tears of shame and burning anger as you throw him a mean glance before locking yourself up in the bedroom.

Simon sleeps on the couch that night.

You feel guilty the moment you wake up and notice the cold, empty space beside you - the lack of his warm body lying beside you is a sight that will possibly haunt you for the rest of your days. You note the time and you go out of the room, hoping to find your boyfriend sitting on the sofa after his morning run as he wipes his damp forehead with a micro-fiber towel, his brown pupils tracking the time just as you hear the kettle on the gas give out a loud whistle, evident of the fact that Simon had made both of your tea to share in the morning before you both part ways. Instead, you find the empty apartment greets you. You expected as much.

He’s angry - at you and at himself, and if he was here, you’d have told him you share the same sentiments. But he’s nowhere to be found in your shared apartment. So you whip up a quick English breakfast, put out all the things he’d need for him to brew his beloved Earl Grey when if he decides to come back and then you leave for work in a hurry. Your mind is preoccupied with worry - about work, about your mess of a life, about Simon and if he has eaten yet. The day passes you by in a blur, and you find yourself finally free from the dissociation you have been plagued with since morning, when you hear the sounds of your footsteps on the concrete sidewalk, taking the long route back home despite the setting sun painting the sky a blood orange, bleeding into the soft clouds and reflecting off of the shiny glass windows adorning the buildings around you. You prolong the commute for some reason - not in a rush to head back home just yet, afraid that this fight might have broken the camel’s back; that you’d return home and find him just gone.

Like a ghost.

Your fears are unfounded, luckily - you open the door to your house and find him sitting near the dining table with his arms neatly crossed up on the mahogany table, his face covered by a black surgical mask, and his eyes are unfocused as if he’s meditating deep in thought. You’re almost surprised that your entrance didn’t break him out of his thoughts, out of his own head. Your head feels heavy just by looking at him, and the way your throat constricts forces you to skip dinner altogether as you quickly grab a granola bar (or two) and decide to leave for the bedroom just as quickly, dumping your office attire in the wicker laundry basket near your bed. You leave the door to the bedroom unlocked.

Just in case, you tell yourself.

Your night mainly consists of tossing and turning haphazardly - you’re free to move due to the absence of those strong, scarred arms that hold you still and provide you the tether you need in order to actually fall asleep; but your restlessness eventually tires you out enough for you to catch at most a measly two-to-three hours of rest that leaves your eyes aching for more respite when the sunlight invades the softness of your room uninvited, blinding you for a solid minute as you try to gather your wits about you.

When you turn around in your bed, you’re surprised to find it all messy (as if someone had slept in it while you were knocked out) and it smells of him. Him and his pine body wash and the little smoke that clings to him whenever he decides to go out and hang out with his military friends in a seedy pub and drink cheap beer and half-assed whiskey (he wouldn’t dare touch their Bourbon unless it was Kentucky). He slept here.

It has been over a day since you last spoke to each other, but the idea of Simon still sleeping near you gives you a sense of comfort you weren’t aware you needed.

You spend the day in and out of the house since it’s the weekend - bringing in fresh groceries from the farmer’s market and laying down all the vibrant fruits in a glass bowl at the center of the dinner table. You find Simon standing near the kitchen with a brush as he oils the hinges of the creaky door. You both acknowledge each other with a soft nod of your heads as you go about your day tackling chores that the busy week has allowed you to neglect till now.

Then, you place the new succulents you couldn’t resist buying (couldn’t resist as they reminded you of Simon), and you adjust the window curtains so that they get ample sunlight. You turn around to see if Simon’s here; if he’d noticed the new plant pots and manure packets you had picked up - you wonder if he’d shake his head, almost amused as he joins you to tend to the little succulent pots. Instead, you hear the whirring of the lawn mower to indicate that your partner is outside, getting rid of the tall grass that invades the grounds surrounding your little home.

Then you notice that it is already noon, and decide to brew yourself some ginger tea and plate some oatmeal cookies on a saucer plate as you snuggle into the weary green couch with your current read (a book you had heard people rave about on social media, which made you buy it the moment the local bookstore had it in stock) and drape the cozy baby pink blanket over your shoulders. Simon is still outside, still working on the sparse vegetation of your lawn. You’d like him here right now, with you - drinking the tea from your cup and stealing one of your cookies as he pinches your cheek while you whine to him about it; his soft hands playing with the stray strands of your hair and pulling you into him till your head rests on his chest and his soft heartbeat lulls you to sleep with a lullaby of his worn heart.

Instead, you sit alone on the sofa, and you almost call out to him and your lead tongue weighs heavy in your jaw (makes it tick an awful lot) and you reason with yourself that the whirring of the loud mower would make it near impossible for him to hear you anyway, so there’s really no merit in screaming your head off as you try to call out to him over the noise.

You excuse your hesitation with technicalities - it has been a lifelong habit.

Reading with a warm cup of tea has made you drowsy (almost compliant) and you don’t remember when you had allowed yourself to close your eyes, your hands loosen their grip on the book as it fell onto the plush cushion beside you. You wake up an hour or so later, to the afternoon sun blinding your eyes momentarily, and you rub them lightly with your fingers as you try to rub the sleep away. You find the house awfully quiet, an anomaly from what it usually used to be - the background noise of the television playing a repeat of an old season of the baking show you and Simon would watch while holding each other close, the rhythmic ‘thump thump thump!’ of the hammer as Simon works on whatever passion project you have on your mind (you remember when he made you a dresser from scratch, and when you showed him the Pinterest post that inspired you to request his services, he squinted at the small device screen as he probably wondered how he had ended up being your personal handyman), or the sound of scrawling of ball-point pens as he tries to solve the daily sudoku puzzle in the newspaper. You can hear none of it.

And there is no whirring of the lawn mower in the backyard anymore.

You look into the bedroom, and kitchen en route to find it empty - the bed is still well made and there is no 6 '4 behemoth of a man hunched over the gas stove as he brews himself another cup of Earl Grey for the day. You decide to climb the stairs, hoping to find your boyfriend holed up in the spare bedroom that you both had renovated into a study room - something Simon can use whenever he’s forced to bring work to home, and when you need to hole yourself up as you try to finish an impromptu project the night before a very important meeting (that never worked out for you) or work on your work reports that truly embodies ‘brevity is the wit of the soul’ with how empty the Word document looks despite you staring at your laptop screen for hours on end, urging yourself to just write something.

You open the door lightly, cringing as the hinges squeak at the minute movement. Guess he only oiled the kitchen door today. You peer into the room, apprehensive of facing your partner head-on, stealing a glance into the usually empty room with your heels off the floor, ready to take flight at the slightest hint of confrontation. God knows your heart cannot take it.

Simon is hunched over the mahogany desk, his head is cushioned by his crossed arms (you can admire his tattoo sleeve with the black t-shirt he had decided to wear, despite the sweltering heat) and he seems to be fast asleep. Christ, he’s gorgeous.

The sunlight makes his hair light up, and his relaxed face along with scars and healing bruises remind you of the vibrancy and lightness that Monet’s paintings possess. You never thought a person could be like art. And then you met Simon Riley.

He’s snoring out loud, his blonde hair is a mess - strands of hair pointing in all directions (you still need to cut his hair right; his last haircut had ended up with him having uneven layers all over his head - you’d have much preferred that he should’ve just taken a trimmer and given himself a buzz so at least he can regrow his blonde hair right) and he’s sweating buckets while sleeping on the wooden table. And while you still hold some anger in your heart for how your last argument went, and yet all you can think about is how much you love him. You don’t blame him entirely for how you both are now - skittish and walking on eggshells, the wounds of your previous fight still fresh and stinging and oozing with crimson.

You know you're in the wrong as well, but it's hard to make amends with your dear boyfriend because whenever you try to speak to him you feel a lump in your throat that stops you from speaking your true feelings out loud to him. Shame creeps up on you like the weight of the world is on your shoulders alone (is this how Atlas felt?), and the humiliation chokes you off - your tongue heavy with unsaid things and your empty arms aching to forego all niceties and hold him where he truly belongs.

So you decide to break the silence between the both of you in the best way you know how, because you love Simon. Because you love him more than you love your bruised ego.

You make him his favorite tea (‘Was it his third or fourth cup of Earl Grey?’, you mused while pouring the hot beverage into a clean mug.) and cleanly cut open a clementine from the groceries you had brought in earlier (your hands are sticky with its juices as you try to separate each piece from its leathery peel), fanning out all the pieces over the flowered ceramic plate, something you had convinced Simon to buy for the house when you first decided to visit a flea market together to stock up on necessary things after your lover finally asked you to move in with him. That was over a year ago.

Words may be failing you right now, but you hope your actions can convey your remorse and love for him.

You walk back into the room to see Simon awake, his hands rubbing all over his face as he tries to get rid of the fatigue. You freeze, unsure of how to handle your current predicament. You have been hoping that he’d be still sleeping so that you could quietly place the tray near the table and leave without disturbing him. But he’s awake, and as he glances back at you, you wonder if you look like a deer caught in the headlights - your little detour interrupted by his alert as he takes all sensibilities away from your being.

“You brought me fruit”, he said dumbly.

“Yeah. And tea”, you reply back dumbly.

You stare for a beat too long and then abruptly cross the room, quietly placing the plastic tray with the fruits and his tea mug on the study table. You notice the manila folders scattered around, some pages strewn around his working space but you avert your eyes to avoid reading anything written on them - you’d rather not read all that he has to deal with on almost a daily basis as a man of the military. In such moments, you truly do not envy Simon.

“Uh, I’ll leave you to it then”, you whisper to him, all soft as you swallow the words you truly wish to say. I love you so much. I’m so sorry. I wish I could hold you. I cannot lose you. Please be angry, be mad at me, yell as much as you want. Hold me, I miss you.

You wish you could at least choke on them to save face.

You leave the room instead.

You clean up the living room - you fold the blanket and fluff the pillows and you ignore how your back burned with his gaze on you as you left the study room. You put the flowery bookmark where you had last stopped reading and you go to the kitchen to prepare something light and easy for lunch (pasta in white sauce and toasted garlic bread) and you ignore the urge to drop everything and rush upstairs and spill all the apologies you have wished to communicate but have failed to since the day of the fight.

Your ego has always reared its ugly head in moments like these. What was borne as a means to protect yourself with the wounds your loved ones had inflicted on you has now made it impossible for you to make amends with the only man that matters to you on God’s green Earth. But ego is nothing compared to the love you have for Simon. So when you’re done with the cooking, you take your sweet time cleaning up the island of the kitchen and you go upstairs to invite him for lunch - you hope the food will soften him up enough to accept the apology you will offer him as a white flag later on.

You peek inside the room, standing behind the half-closed room and you see him sitting in the black ergonomic office chair (you had bought it after you couldn’t listen to his back crack every time he got up from bed, or from the plastic chair that he used to sit in while staying at his desk for hours on end, only agonizing his fucked-up back further). He’s leaning back on the chair and it creaks under his weight slightly, and he stays motionless, eyes closed and shoulders tense. It’s even better since you won’t have to be weighed down by his intense eyes.

You walk on your toes, socked feet muted and nimble as they walk across the hardwood floor and you note that he had finished up all the clementine pieces you had laid out for him on the floral plate, and the orange mug is mostly empty - save for remains of sugar residue sticking at the very bottom of the utensil. (You had been surprised to know that the scary, big man you call your boyfriend had a sweet tooth. Luckily, it gave you the perfect excuse to visit the bakery two blocks down on your way back home from work with a paper box of dessert or two.)

You know how hard it really is for him to be at ease, and his tensed shoulders serve as the testimony to that harsh truth. You know sneaking up on him like this will only make him lash out - all in the name of pure self-preservation. And you won’t ever blame him for it. He hasn’t told you all of it, but between shared silences and a post-coital cigarette on his behalf, he’d open up - the endorphins would make him talk sometimes, and he’d talk of his Ma. Of Tommy. Never his dad. He hasn’t laid down the entirety of his scarred soul bare for you, but you know enough to not hurt him like that ever again. So you gently allow yourself to take note of his uneven hair and say, “I keep forgetting to cut your hair”.

Your hand creeps up on his neck, eager palm gently running through the golden tufts as they coil around the tips of your fingers. Your attention is on the way his shoulder tenses when you announce your presence in the room. (You’re certain he knew you had come here before, and he knew you were here before you even came this close. He’d never leave himself this vulnerable if he knew there was a threat abound.)

His shoulders stay the same, but you can hear the audible exhale he lets out, and you slowly use your other hand to gently massage the area where his neck meets his shoulder - aware of the stiffness that has been ailing him there for a while now. He groans in relief, and he blinks his eyes open to greet you with brown pupils and a solemn look you fail to decipher.

He looks at you with his head tilted back against the chair, and you focus on the lightning-like scars that cover half of his face, traveling from his temple all the way to the left corner of his chapped lips. “Thank you for the snacks”, he mutters, his eyes trailing all over your face.

You hum a little, not providing him with a response.

“Would’ve been nicer if you were here to eat them with me…”, he trails off, hoping you’d catch the bait.

“Yeah. Would’ve been even better if we talked too, no?” You smile down at him, and you gently scratch his scalp as you kiss his temple, murmuring your apology against his skin like a forgotten prayer to an old deity. I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorry.

“I’m so sorry for being a cunt. You know that right, Simon?” you ask him, and you can already feel your chest cave in on itself and your eyes burn with tears of remorse.

“Wasn’t like I was any better, lovie”, he mumbles, and you feel his shoulders sag in relief under your touch. You tell yourself that’s a good sign.

“Still…”, your fingers gently mess with his hair, “Should’ve swallowed my damn ego, and apologized to you soon”. It’s a learning process. For both of you.

“Would’ve been easier if you didn’t scamper about whenever you saw me”, there’s amusement in his eyes, and you chuckle at him fondly as you invite him to join you for lunch. He turns the chair around until he’s facing you, and then he pulls your wrist in his hand as he reverently lays down a gentle peck against your knuckles. (You know your skin carries the taste of dish soap on it, and you hope it doesn’t taste too bitter when Simon kisses your hands as if they were God.)

“Missed you”, he speaks against your skin, mimicking your prayer as he looks up at you, and your breath hitches - just a little as you stare down at Simon. Your dear Simon.

The silence was maddening.

“I missed you too, Simon”.

Note -

I got my first apology from a now-close friend of mine when I was 18 years old, and God did it change how I looked at love and people completely. So I guess this piece is dedicated to that friend. Thank you, Voltie. <3

Also, I mainly show my love for people through gift-giving and acts of service and I think Simon is a big 'acts of service' guy…..so here it is - Simon dealing with a girlie who is just as emotionally constipated and can only show her love by doing things for him

totally not inspired by my Asian/Desi upbringing lol

Divider by @/firefly-graphics

#call of duty #cod #cod:mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #call of duty angst #simon ghost riley angst #simon riley #ghost x you #ghost x reader #cod ghost angst #char.simon ghost riley

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muntitled · 1 year

Text

𝙎𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙨 𝘿𝙞𝙨𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮 𝙊𝙛 𝘼𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣

Song Mingi x Fem!reader

Summary: Your relationship isn't as vanilla as you initially thought

Warnings: ft. Hongjoong, Language, Established Relationship, Honjoong as his own warning, Teasing, Mentions of Bruises, Possessiveness, Slight!Humor, Fluff, Smut (+18) Minors DNI, Marking, Rough Sex, Praise Kink, DUB/CON, Massive Degradation Kink, Rough Sex, No Aftercare, Breeding Kink, Dom!Mingi, Sub!reader, fingering, PIV, Unprotected Sex, Slight!Exhibition Kink

HE MAKES ME SO DELULU

Hongjoong's voice is loud and frankly hyperbolic when he decides to disrupt the serenity in the dorms by screaming, "What the hell is that?!"

Your head jerks upwards from Mingi's hard chest, effectively ruining your once blissful rest under candle scented clouds as you stare wide-eyed at your boyfriend's friend. Hongjoong had promised to make himself and the rest of the group scarce on this bustling Friday night, leaving you and Mingi alone in the dorms while they partied up the peroration of the weekend.

But he is still here.

Blocking the view of the TV with his blinding Saint Lairent sequence and attire.

Your downtime, your only time, which was meticulously carved out of both you and your boyfriend's busy schedule is suddenly being hijacked by a crazily grinning Hongjoong, cupping the front of his mouth in apparent shock.

"Aren't you supposed to be gone?" Mingi mutters, refusing to spare Hongjoong a single glance as he swipes through his phone.

Your boyfriend continues in his duties as the big spoon on the wide sectional. His other hand, in its callousness and recklessness, is draped over your hip. Throughout his doom scrolling, Mingi's hand has slipped under your camisole and has taken to rubbing, slow circles along your soft tummy, gradually exposing the dark, purple splotches which caught Hongjoong's attention, just as he was about to leave.

"Aren't you supposed to be a human?" Hongjoong replies smoothly before gesturing vaguely towards your exposed abdomen, "When were you going to tell us you're an undercover vampire? I always had a suspicion, but now I know -"

"Jeez-" You stammer, fighting to force out Mingi's hand and pull down your camisole before Hongjoong could get a closer look. Mingi's hand is an iron glove as he pushes you down by your abdomen, effectively securing you against him.

Without looking up from his phone, he says, "He's in our business,"

"Damn right, I'm in your business!" Exclaims Hongjoong, "Did you see the state of those marks, man?! Honestly, I applaud you-"

Sensing Mingi's already glacial patience waning, by the firm grip across your abdomen, you attempt to salvage the conversation. Mingi very rarely felt like speaking at the best of times, even more apparent was his abhorrence for explaining himself and so you do it for him.

"They're just love bites," You attempt to salvage, but to no avail. "And anyway, I think you better get going, now!"

"'Love bites!'" Hongjoong mocks in slight acquiescence as he begins to make his way to the front door.

Despite the flurry of teasing that he had been attacked with, Mingi is still indifferent as he finally places his phone down. In fact, his hand returns to its designated spot underneath your camisole, resting along your tummy, with his blunt fingernails skimming the softness of the skin under your breasts "You love everything I do to you," He murmurs in your ear loud enough for Hongjoong to hear who finally disappears behind the closed door with another loud cackle. Mingi continues rubbing along your skin as he buries his head in between your neck.

"Show them too me," He says, "I like seeing them."

There is no reality in which you could possibly explain to anyone that the marks you sported underneath your clothes are a product of your desires. One glance at your body, riddled with bruises and love bites, would have anybody sick. To you, however, they were a prize.

"I wanna see them," Mingi says, having suddenly found his deep, fiery, sandalwood voice, echoing throughout the living room.

He begins to paw at anything and everything to get to one of his many marks he left on you and once he peeks over your side, and sees what Hongjoong saw, the flurry of blue and purple bruises meshing into the depths of your skin - it has his resolve snapping in earnest as he pushes you easily onto your back, while he moves to hover above you.

He had not always been this handsy or demanding, and you're unable to stop yourself from thinking back to when things had been different...

You remember the softness of Mingi's hands your first night spent together. How he hovered behind your bent over frame, clenching his jaw as he eased his leaking cock inside of you at snail pace,

"I don’t have anywhere to be, Babe, take your time," you had joked with a lazy smile while Mingi's jaw ticked.

"Carry on with your little jokes and I might not be so forgiving," If only you knew that the further your pussy swallowed his dick, the more his patience was waning. His limbs ached with the need to wrap around you. Adrenaline from the earlier performance was still running through his arteries, heightening his senses. He needed to go quicker. He longed to fuck you harder. This gentleness was going against everything in his very nature. His body burened for him to make a mess inside you, clamp his hand around your mouth and fuck you in front of the greenroom mirror until you begged him to stop… until you would have the marks to prove it.

But he liked you too much

And he had never felt this way before.

And as his hand dug into your soft sides, he promised that he would never let his recklessness steal this away from him.

But you felt him twitch inside you, and you peered up at his brown eyes now squeezed shut,

"What are you thinking about," you had asked him softly, as Mingi began a slow rhythm with his hips- the tip of his cock barely grazing that plush bundle of need inside you.

"Don't worry about what I'm thinking about," He blew out a hot and heavy breath, "what the fuck are you think about? You're gripping me like a vice, you fucking slut," He did not mean to say that. He did not mean for the words to slip out.

Or maybe he did.

There is an immense burst of pleasure spanning inside him, having him rut just a little quicker inside you - inside his beautiful fucking slut.

"Fuck,"

"Holy shit"

A dam had been broken. A holy grail was discovered as you watched Mingi and his slightly parted lips through the mirror. His eyes had snapped shut and a pained, completely fucked out expression overtook him. It had Mingi's cock seeking further, more violent entry, while your thighs framing his hips only locked tighter. The noise of post-perfomance celebration outside was no match for the bass in Mingi's voice that night.

"What are you thinking about?" All thoughts lead back to the present with Mingi presently stationed between your thighs on the big, open couch. Your breath is shallow as you reply, "Guess,"

A slow, almost proud smirk lightly pierces the end of his lips as he sits back on his haunches to splay a kiss against your steepled knee. Your eyes flutter shut as his plush, pillowy lips make contact with your skin, "Osaka?" He asks, voice as husky as it was in that deserted green room, where he forced you to take everything he had to offer while still wanting more.

"Osaka." You nod with finality, allowing your eyes to flutter shut as Mingi's kisses grew slightly more frazzled along your legs. Soon, you're gasping into the air as you feel his sneaky hand drift further and further along your inner thigh, like a serpent on a mission. He remains cool and collected on the outside but his bulge is raging against his sweatpants. It's the lack of immediate gratification on both ends that has your wetness seeping onto your underwear while you begin to paw helplessly at your breasts.

"You know…" Mingi's fingers lock onto your underwear, which he gradually pulls down. His kisses cease, and you frown at the skin-to-skin disconnection as your eyes flutter open, "Your skin is looking a little too boring down here. Not a single mark in sight," He peers up at you from between your rattling thighs with unmistakable innocent eyes.

You arch your back off the couch, already triggered by a deep wave of arousal as you bring your cunt to meet his hand while you reply through clenched teeth, "You can't… on my legs- They'll see,"

"You think I care if any of them see?" It is a question asked in darkened curiosity. You moan with ferocity as Mingi's fingers spear your aching cunt as his head tilts to the side, "You think I care if anyone sees how pretty you look when you're covered in my bruises like this?" He's completely sunken into his wayward domspace as his fingers drift in and out of you with complete focus and determination. You're a mewling, moaning mess as your fingers dig into his choppy dyed hair and you lift your hips to meet each and every obscenely cruel thrust.

"Another finger, Mingi, Please. I need m-more," he was wrecking you with middle finger alone, savouring the way your cunt gripped around him, imagining it was his cock. "Such a cute little slut," He mutters, almost to himself as he obliges and slowly sinks his index fingers inside your soaking walls. Your cunt is eager to pull his fingers in before pushing him out and pulling him in again. Mingi is utterly transfixed, watching you fuck yourself silly on his fingers until they're glistening.

"Lift your top," he says, "I wanna see you." You comply without fail, scrambling to lift your camisole until the cool air flows freely across your hardened nipples. Mingi's breathing becomes ragged when he lays eyes on your exposed breasts, and the dozens of little marks splattered across your torso. Some faded, some blending into the depth of your skin. It is the unevenness of it, the irregularities and discoloration that he put there, that completely blows the lid on his composure.

"Fuck, open your legs," you could not find it in you to tell him your legs were already open. All you do is moan from the loss of his fingers as Mingi crawls up against you. He palms his hardened cock through his sweats as he watches you play with your tits in the most lewd, most lascivious fashion.

"You like acting like such a little slut?" The depth of his voice, had you absolutely weak to the core, like the foundations of earth itself was being enchanted to speak. He knew how wrecked he could get you by simply speaking and it is his most coveted weapon. Mingi's eyes are hooded and glassy as he hovers over you, simultaneously forcing his cock through your wet folds while he looked down at you with fierce conviction.

You're already teetering on the edge as he begins to fuck you hard and rough while his 3 silver chains dangle from his neck, kissing the very tips of your nose.

"Oh- fuck, you're taking me so well," Mingi's voice is absolutely delirious as he pounds into you, his jewelery moving in tandem with his violent thrusts as he brings a hand down on your breasts.

"So, good, you feel so good," He repeats, rutting into you with the same urgency of that very first night you let him get this rough with you. His thrusts are sloppy and erratic as he splays a wayward hand on your inner thigh, prying your legs open to allow his cock to plunge even deeper. Mingi's left arm is beside your head, keeping him afloat while he experimentally brings a calloused hand around the base of your throat, testing. Your back once again peels off the couch as you bring a hand up to his wrist. "Fuck, oh my god-"

"Fuck, Mingi" He corrects, huffing and puffing above you as he urges you to nod along with him, "I want you to say my name, baby,"

"F-Fuck, Mingi," The words escape through pursed lips, accompanied by a whorish moan from you and a deep, rumbling groan from Mingi who begins to hump your cunt with urgency.

For the umpteenth time since you began, you are utterly breathless.

"My dumb little slut is taking his cock so well," Mingi's voice is hoarse as it cracks into a million pieces, "So fucking good,"

He watches with shallow breathing as another moan climbs up and out of your throat... He sends another mindless rut into your pussy, spurred by the knowledge that you are slipping into subspace right in front of him. "You like it when I call you my little slut?"

"Oh fuck-" Your own hips are restless as you lift them to meet his sloppy thrusts.

"That's not an answer," He says before squeezing the base of your throat in warning.

"Yes!" You say, once You're given the gift of breathing, "Yes, I like it when you call me a slut!" Unimaginable pleasure only multiplies as Mingi buries his head in the crook of your neck and bites. He is relentless on your skin- sinking his teeth and rutting his hips until the tip of his cock bruises your cervix. You're completely incoherent and so is he.

"Fuck…I love seeing- love seeing my marks on you baby," Mingi's eyes are half lidded as his lips hangs open, "Fucking love marking my slut and fucking her tight little pussy."

"Oh, fuck-"

"I can't stop," He says, with utter desperation in his tone, enough to have your legs shaking, ready to accommodate your oncoming orgasm, "I can't fucking stop so don't ask me to, okay? P-Please don't ask me to stop," Mingi's words bleed into one another and he feels free. Free to say what he needs to in order to build that well of lust necessary to push him over the edge.

He is so grateful to have found you.

"Fuck, I'm gonna fill your pussy with my cum-" that is the only announcement needed before Mingi completely releases inside you. His words have you slipping into your own orgasm, screaming and clawing at the hand around your neck as your hips lift to milk everything out of him.

The air that settles is still profoundly charged and Mingi finds himself unable to leave the confines of your pussy, so he doesn't.

"I want you to show everyone these marks for me tomorrow," He whispers with his cock still inside you, "Can you do that for me?"

Welp!

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 2 months

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Otherverse

Summary: After stepping through the rift, Dean and the reader find themselves in an entirely different universe altogether. Monsters don’t exist, everyone they’ve ever lost is alive and there is some strange dynamic going on with everyone. Luckily they’ve run into themselves to help them out...

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!reader

Word Count: 4,700ish

Warnings: language, mentions of sex

A/N: This fic is such a hot mess and has been hiding in my drafts for oh, five years? Time for it to see the light of day! Please enjoy!

_______________

Dean was shrugging his shoulders at you from the other side of the kitchen table. The fact his twin was setting a cup of coffee down in front of him wasn’t the strangest thing you’d ever ran into but it was certainly up there.

“So...this is fucking weird,” said the other Dean, a few less bags under his eyes than yours.

“Yeah, you’re telling us,” said your Dean, the other one nodding his head.

“Well, Y/N should be home from the store soon,” said the other Dean, chuckling when he saw you shake your head. “You can call me something else if it makes it easier for you to keep it all straight.”

“We could call him Red,” said Dean, smirking over at you.

“Oh come on,” you said, blushing as you looked at your lap. “Not in front of...”

“Red shirt of sex?” asked the other Dean, Red you figured you were going with.

“Yours does it too!” said Dean, the pair laughing to themselves. “Some things even time and space can’t contain.”

“It is a pretty lucky shirt,” said Red with a smile, grabbing your cup of coffee when the machine buzzed off. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” you said, Red taking a deep breath. “What?”

“You guys smell weird is all,” he said, both your and Dean’s heads cocking. “I’ll uh, explain once Y/N gets home. She’s better at words and crap.”

“So...” said Dean, tapping his fingers on the nice kitchen table. “Nice house.”

“Built it myself,” said Red, stretching in his seat. “Took nearly a year. Y/N has the patience of a saint. I mean, it helped I had my crew of guys working on it but still, a track home would have been much easier to go with. You don’t get character when you go that route though.”

Dean just hummed, sipping from his cup as he gave you a look. You and Dean had never once thought about building a house or living in the suburbs or anything remotely close to that. Two childhoods worth of motel rooms were what you had, the bunker your home but even that was nothing like the place you were sat in.

“Thanks again for not shooting us when we popped up in your backyard,” you said with a smile, Red nodding.

“I really didn’t want to mow the lawn today anyways,” he said, eyes drawn to the back window where the rift had been. Something screwed up though. It shut almost immediately, trapping you and Dean in this other world until you could figure out how to hitch a ride back home. “What’s your guys world like again?”

“Looks just like this,” you said.

“Except we hunt monsters,” said Dean. Red raised an eyebrow but only took a long sip of coffee. “You’re not freaking out over that?”

“The freak out moment has passed for me,” he said. “Monsters...that’s intense.”

“Yup,” you and Dean said, thankful when you heard a sound come from the next room over.

“Excuse me,” said Red, standing up quickly, returning a moment later with a baby on his hip. “Hey pup, this is me and your mom from another universe. They hunt monsters...this is so totally going to sound insane to her when she gets back.”

“He’s so cute,” you said, standing up and taking a look at him.

“They have kids,” said Dean, running a hand through his hair.

“You guys don’t?” asked Red.

“Our lives aren’t what I’d call safe,” said Dean, Red nodding his head.

“I get you,” said Red, the front door opening somewhere else in the house.

“Alpha, I’m home! Can you get the heavy stuff out of the trunk?” you heard a voice eerily similar to your own shout.

“Coming Omega,” said Red, putting the baby in your arms. “Could you watch the pup for a minute?”

“Is it just me or do these guys have some weird names for stuff?” you asked, holding the smiling baby on your hip.

“He keeps calling his kid a pup. Like a puppy?” asked Dean, his eyes wide when you heard the floor creak behind you.

“Well, he did say there was some epically weird shit happening in the kitchen,” said another you, scratching her head with her free hand.

“Hi,” you said, the other you reaching for her baby. “I’m Y/N.”

“Yeah. Me too but I’m guessing you already knew that,” she said. “Is handsome over there, Dean?”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” said Dean.

“Oh, good,” she said, setting a bag on the counter. “This is completely normal.”

An hour later you were sat in the Winchester’s living room, Red and Lila, at least that was the name you’d decided on calling the other you for now, sitting down on another couch.

“Okay, so I have a question,” said Lila, Red tsking her. “We can’t smell you guys. What are you?”

“Huh?” you and Dean said, looking at one another.

“Well if you’re like us, Dean should be Alpha and Y/N Omega but you two smell flat, like nothing. It’s weird,” said Lila.

“I don’t think our dynamic exists where they come from, Omega,” said Red. Lila stared at you for a good long while before she stood up and threw her hair up in a bun, revealing a bite mark on her neck.

“This...” she said, pointing at the spot, “Is a claiming bite. Dean, er Red, gave it to me when we mated and he claimed me. You guys are saying you have none of that?”

“Dude, I know she likes a little nibble but don’t actually bite her,” said Dean, scrunching up his face at Red. “Don’t tell me you’re some kind of asshole.”

“Red’s being very patient with you right now so I’d back off,” said Lila.

“Relax,” said Red, wrapping his arms around Lila’s shoulders. “She’s getting close to heat. She gets a little protective during that time.”

“You should see this one on her period,” said Dean, pointing at you.

“Speaking of which, if we don’t get out of here soon, I’m going to need to borrow some stuff,” you said, Lila glancing up at Red. “Supplies?”

“Well...we might need to run to the store for you. I think...you guys are like Beta’s right now, even if you don’t smell like it. We can get you whatever you need,” said Red, Dean cocking his head.

“Explain this dynamic thing to us again cause right now, you two sound like a basket full of crazy,” said Dean.

“Says the guy that came through an inter-dimensional rift in my backyard?” asked Lila.

“Dammit, she really is like you,” muttered Dean, Lila smiling to herself.

“It’s pretty simple. We have six genders. A male and female version of the three dynamics, Alpha, Beta and Omega. Beta’s normally pair off together, leaving the Alpha’s and Omega’s to get together,” said Red.

“Yeah but...you bit her,” said Dean.

“Things are a bit more...animalistic here,” said Red, Dean’s face scrunching up. “Come here dude.”

Red got up from the couch, waving Dean to follow. They ducked around the corner, Dean back with wide eyes about ten seconds later.

“Okay, animalistic, got it,” said Dean, staring at his lap. “You’ve got a...fuck.”

“It’s a knot,” said Lila. “A lot of mammals have them actually.”

“Oh, that’s why the baby’s a pup,” you said, Lila smiling that it was starting to make sense to you...in a way.

“It used to be different and it’s still possible for life to be very dangerous for unclaimed Omega’s but Red’s an amazing Alpha to me,” said Lila.

“The Alpha protects it’s pack members or in this case, it’s family?” you asked, Red giving you a thumbs up.

“See? You got a smart one too. It’s not that difficult. The only truly dangerous part is when you’re unmated. But even then they have stuff to hide your scent and very few Alphas are actually bad. Our world is probably safer than yours from what you’ve told us,” said Red.

“I don’t understand the biting thing though,” you said, Dean nodding beside you.

“It’s a bond,” said Lila. “A permanent one. It’s like getting married but you can’t get divorced.”

“That seems...unethical,” you said, both Red and Lila scrunching up their faces.

“If you grew up in this world, you would understand it’s completely natural and safe. We’re partners, no matter what,” said Red. “Like how she was scared when she saw you two in the kitchen but because I knew it was safe, she knew it was safe. It’s a physiological bond down to your core.”

“You love her,” said Dean.

“Yes,” said Red. “She loves me and we’re very happy.”

“We should go,” you said, Dean already on his feet.

“You guys don’t-”

“Lila,” you said with a smile. “Our problem isn’t yours. We’ll find a way back to where we belong without interfering with your lives anymore. Thank you for explaining things to us but we’ll get out of your hair. It’s safer that way.”

“You guys know where we live if you change your mind,” said Red.

“Thanks,” said Dean, spinning back around. “Where do we get those supplies again?”

“A pharmacy, big box store, anywhere really,” said Red.

“Last question...do they have pie here?” asked Dean.

“Dude, the diner on Main...best pie ever,” said Red, already licking his lips.

“We’ll be sure to check it out. Thanks again.”

You and Dean got a few strange looks around the store, Dean standing closer than normal.

“What is wrong with you? Personal space, Dean,” you said, grabbing a box of tampons and pads, tossing them in a basket along with the few other things you’d picked out. You were used to living on the road so this wasn’t that big of a deal...if only Dean would back off of you.

“I don’t know, I just want to be close,” said Dean, snatching the basket from you and quickly paying.

You were halfway down the block to the diner Red had mentioned when Dean put a hand on his forehead.

“Dean? What’s wrong?” you asked, grabbing the bag as he leaned up against the wall. “Dean.”

“Talk about a late bloomer,” said a passerbyer, your glare making him shrug. “He’s starting to present. I never heard of someone that old going through it though.”

“Go away,” you said, Dean throwing his arm over your shoulders, half walking with you as you made your way out of town and back to the Winchesters place.

“Well I didn’t expect...” said Red, scrunching up his nose. “Oh shit. Y/N! We got a problem!”

Red grabbed Dean and started to drag him upstairs, tossing him on a bed as Dean groaned.

“Y/N, you need to go to the pharmacy. I need you to get a first time Alpha pack and Rut medicine. Tell the pharmacist and they will get it for you. Understand?” said Red, shoving his wallet in your hands. “My Y/N, can you get up here please?”

“First time Alpha pack and Rut medicine,” you said, eyes wide as Lila brushed past you and into Dean’s room. “What’s wrong with him?”

“His body is taking on a dynamic. It’s puberty for us basically. I didn’t think...just go and we’ll figure the rest out later,” he said. “Get the medicine and he’ll be okay.”

“Okay,” you said, Red tossing you his car keys.

“Make it fast.”

“Here,” you said twenty minutes later, Dean shouting into a pillow when you got back, Red standing by the door.

“Dean, Y/N got your medicine so...” said Red, Dean huffing and puffing when he saw you. “Dean...”

“She’s gonna turn too isn’t she,” said Dean, clutching at the pillow before it tore in half. “What the fuck?”

“You’re getting stronger, even stronger than you were. It’s an Alpha thing. Y/N, go down the street, dark green house. My Y/N and the pup are there,” said Red.

“I want to stay with Dean,” you said, an arm instantly slapped over the doorway.

“He’s going into his first rut with no idea how to control any of this. If he’s right and you start turning too, he’s gonna claim you without even thinking about it,” said Red. “Go now.”

“I don’t wanna go,” you growled, Dean shaking his head.

“Y/N,” said Dean, wrapping his arms around himself. “Do what he said. I can’t...I’m scared I’ll hurt you. Just go someplace safe for now.”

“He is trying his best not to come over here and take you so leave, now,” said Red.

“You better take care of him,” you said, heading down the stairs.

“I’ll get him through it. Trust me,” said Red.

You jogged outside and spotted a dark green house about a quarter mile down the road, a very pretty ranch with a front porch and two expensive cars in the driveway.

“Hey, Y/N,” said Lila, opening the front door for you. “Red called, he’s going to be dealing with Dean for a while so we’re going to keep an eye on you just in case.”

“Thanks,” you said, stepping inside the warm house, smelling fresh cookies in the air.

“Prepare yourselves for the weirdness,” said Lila, trotting along ahead of you.

“Oh it can’t be that weird,” said Sam as you turned the corner, watching him try to steal a cookie off the sheet, a woman you’d only ever seen in pictures swatting his hand away. “Jess, come on.”

“Wait until they’ve cooled off,” she chided, Sam rolling his eyes as he glanced in your direction.

“Wow. You weren’t kidding with the weird,” he said, walking over with a smile. “I’m-”

“Hi Sammy,” you said, wrapping your arms around him in a way too hard hug but not caring in the slightest.

“Hello other Y/N,” he teased, trying to break free, taking a breath when you finally pulled away. “You alright?”

“Yes. No,” you said, looking him up and down. “You look good, Sam. Sorry, I know you’re not...it’s just been a really hard few months.”

“Okay...” said Sam, Jess pouting beside him when she caught your face.

“Your Sam...” she said. “Oh shit. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, Lila sighing.

“Her Sam’s gone, Sam,” she said, Sam making an odd noise.

“I’m sorry. This is probably pretty traumatizing then,” he said.

“I’ve seen weirder,” you said. “Dean and I...like I said, it’s been hard. We’ve lost a lot of friends and family recently. But Jess is alive so that’s awesome and did you seriously buy a house down the street from your brother?”

“Uh, he’s sort of pack leader,” said Sam.

“Oldest child is normally the pack leader,” said Lila. “We have our own houses but it’s normal for the family to live close to each other. Plus these guys have a pool.”

“How you feeling, hun?” asked Jess, putting a hand on your forehead. “She’s a little warm.”

“When was your period supposed to start?” asked Lila.

“Tomorrow,” you said, all three sharing a look. “Why...”

“I think Y/N’s going to start presenting soon,” said Jess. “Sammy, go help your brother with our new Alpha. It might take two of you to keep him there.”

“Keep him there? What the hell is Red doing to Dean?” you asked.

“He’s sort of stuck in that room until his rut passes. But if he’s in rut and you’re in heat, he’ll do anything he can to get here and claim you,” said Lila. “It’s best to keep you separated for the moment.”

“Lovely.”

It was close to midnight, Lila poking her head in the room you were staying in with a cranky baby in her arms.

“How you feeling?” she asked.

“Spectacular,” you groaned, Lila taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “I’m changing. I can feel it. I can smell it. I can smell you and that little guy and Jess and...I can even smell Dean down the street.”

“You’re Omega,” said Lila, patting your leg. “You and Dean need to be careful not to mate. I don’t know if whatever’s happening to you will become permanent.”

“Let me ask you a question,” you said, sitting up in bed, the pup turning his head towards you.

“You’re confused, aren’t you Drew? Mommy’s got a twin apparently,” she said, Drew tilting his head and reaching for you.

“How’d you convince your Dean to have one?” you asked, the baby grabbing a piece of your hair and pulling it in his mouth.

“He’s always wanted them,” she said with a smile. “Yours doesn’t?”

“We do but we can’t, not with our lives. We work in a high fatality industry if you want to call it that,” you said. “We wouldn’t do that to them.”

“Well you’re out of a job until we can get you back,” she said, taking Drew off of you. “Take the medicine I gave you again in the morning. It’ll help.”

“Why are you guys helping us?” you asked.

“We might not kick monsters asses on the regular but we do help people out when we can,” said Lila. “Get some rest. You need it, especially during your first heat.”

Three Days Later

“Hey,” you said, following Lila into her house, Dean sitting with Red and Sam in their family room.

“Damn, you smell good,” said Dean, taking a deep breath. “They said you turned too.”

“Yeah. Nothing’s too much different,” you said, Dean nodding his head. “You?”

“Plumbing’s got a new feature,” said Red with a smirk, Lila slapping him on the arm. “He’s an Alpha. He’s got a knot now.”

“What’s that like?” you said, Dean shifting in his seat. You could feel how nervous he was, trying to cover his lap with his hands. “You think I’ll reject you.”

“What the...” said Dean, your own eyes blinking fast at saying that aloud. “How could she...”

“It’s a mate thing,” said Red. “Y/N, Sammy’s been doing some research with Jess and they have a kind of crazy idea.”

“Crazy’s in our wheelhouse,” you said, walking over to sit next to Dean, taking one of his hands in yours.

You felt warmth spread throughout you, filling you up, nostrils inhaling what had been explained to you as Dean’s scent. Only he smelled like the best thing on earth and all you wanted were his teeth sinking into your neck. Sam picked you up and pulled you over to the other couch, Dean swallowing hard as you moved away.

“No touching,” said Sam in your ear, relaxing his hold on you as you realized you’d been squirming to get free. “The research we found was odd but we’re pretty sure that your rift thing will pop back open again. It’s been four days. You guys just need to last another three and then hopefully when you go home, you go back to normal.”

“I looked it over and it’s not exactly what I’d call reliable,” said Dean, crossing his arms. “As far as I can tell, magic, monsters, it doesn’t exist here. It’s an old wives tale Sam’s reading from about what’s probably not the rift.”

“But if magic doesn’t exist here, we can’t get back home,” you said.

“I know. I guess we have to wait and see if it was true.”

Three Days Later

“I can’t believe we’re back again,” you said, glancing around at the quiet bunker, Dean sighing beside you. “What?”

“I’m never going to see Sam again,” he said. “That wasn’t Sam back in there but it was and him and everyone else is gone again. Meanwhile, it’s me and you here, scraping by, giving up everything for nothing.”

“We hunt Dean. It’s what we do,” you said, wrapping your hand around his.

“I want to have a family with you. I want to have kids and a house and we will never, ever have those things here. We’re gonna sit in this bunker, working cases until one of us dies and that’s it. I know I will do this job until the day I die but I wanted a choice dammit and we will never get one,” said Dean. “Never.”

“I think we do have a choice, Dean,” you said, glancing back over your shoulder at the rift. “But we can’t undo it once we make it.”

“Go live there?” asked Dean, nodding behind himself. “What, we gonna play house? Pretend we aren’t screwed up?”

“Beats one of us dying and the other one drinking themselves to death,” you said. “We have saved so many people Dean. The world. This family has given up everything. I don’t want to leave either but we barely have anything left to fight in this place. A monster here or there. Other hunters can handle it. All of our friends and family are in that world and they aren’t ours but think of how they treated us the past week.”

“Like we were family,” said Dean quietly, rubbing his hands over his face.

“I think our friends, our family, they’d want us to be happy again,” you said.

“Say we go back though, I’m stuck as an Alpha and you’re Omega,” said Dean.

“Even in this world, you smell amazing,” you said. “We don’t know if we’ll go back to normal.”

“I still feel like an Alpha,” said Dean, taking a deep breath. “All I want to do is be somewhere safe with you.”

“What do you want to do then?” you asked.

“I say we pack our bags.”

You were blinking furiously a few hours later, Dean panting hard as his hands gripped the steering wheel.

“Fuck!” you heard outside the car, your head whipping to the right to see Red dropping a hose and storming over.

“Hi Red,” you said, slipping out of the car, Red shaking his head.

“Did you bring a freaking car through your magic rift thingy? Why are you even back here? I thought we fixed it,” said Red.

“We uh,” said Dean, looking over to watch the rift close up once and for all. “We sort of moved universes.”

“Okay...” said Red, Dean climbing back in to pull the Impala around to the front of the house and in the street. “You realize saying both Y/N and I had long lost identical twins we never knew about is never going to fly, right?”

“Just say we were out of town, traveling the world,” you said. “Dean and I just wanted to stop by and say hi before we take off. We can find our own quiet corner to hide away in.”

“As pack members, you’re supposed to live close by,” said Red, crossing his arms.

“But we’re not in your pack,” you said.

“Not yet. You will be though,” said Red, kicking at the ground. “Unless you think we’re too weird for you guys with the dynamic thing.”

“I’m pretty sure Dean and I are the freaks around here,” you said, Red nodding his head.

“Well, come inside. We should go over the dynamic crap in a bit more detail now that you’ll be living it.”

“You know what,” said Dean, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck later that night. Red and Lila had taken Drew over to his parent’s house to spend the night, having their own date night and saying they’d catch up in the morning.

“What,” you sighed, running your hand up and down his back, his new scent coming off his bare back in strong waves, making you warm and calm.

“I’d like to claim you if that’s alright with you,” said Dean.

“You can,” you said, turning your head so Dean lifted his own to look at you.

“Are you sure? Brand new universe, plenty of Alphas in the sea,” he teased.

“I want this one,” you said, putting a hand on his chest. “Red explained it to you?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s pretty much sex up until the claiming part and instinct will take over,” said Dean. “If you’re ready for that.”

“I’m ready for it. Alpha,” you said, Dean taking a deep breath. “Why doesn’t that sound as corny as it did a week ago?”

“I don’t know, Omega,” said Dean, a smile spreading across your face. “But it damn sure feels right.”

“Oh,” you said, a blush on your cheeks at the sudden wetness between your legs. “Lila mentioned that might happen.”

“Get out of those underwear, Omega. We’re doing this.”

Two Months Later

“You didn’t tell me your Dean was a handyman,” said Lila, sitting on a lawn chair, watching Drew play on his mat in the grass as the boys walked around the freshly dried foundation of your new house.

“He’s good at a lot of things. He knows more about cars than houses but he’ll put in as much manual labor as he can,” you said, Drew crawling over to tug on your leg. “It’s Aunt Y/N, handsome. Here’s your mommy.”

“I think the twins want you,” said Lila, laughing as Dean and Red cocked their heads over at you. At a quick glance, most people assumed they were twins but it was easy for you to spot the differences. Red wasn’t quite as bowlegged and had no tattoo on his chest. Dean had more freckles and his shoulders looked broader, at least to you.

“Boys,” you said, Dean walking on the subfloor to somewhere around the middle of the house. “Yes?”

“We have a disagreement on the layout,” said Red. “Dean wants a little library room which is cool and Lila will be super jealous that I didn’t think of one for her but why’s it got to go in the middle? Wouldn’t you prefer it to be on the edge of the house with a window seat? Or a nice big cubby to put a day bed in?”

“Library, huh?” you asked, Dean smirking to himself. “Make it a large hall way, double sided bookcases on each side, maybe some big comfy chairs in the middle, a coffee table. It’s more of a pass through that way and you’ll still get the light from the back windows.”

“That’s actually a really good idea,” said Red. “Any other tidbits of wisdom you want to spout off?”

“Make it feel like home,” you said, Dean smiling.

“We will. We definitely will.”

_____________

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honeydazai · 1 year

Text

୨୧·࣭࣪̇˖ 𝆬 ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ᴄᴜʀᴠʏ ɢɪʀʟꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ 𝆬 𓏸

feat.: Dazai, Chūya, Fukuzawa, Kunikida, Fyodor, Nikolai, Poe, Mushitarō, Jōno

warnings: nsfw content, f!reader, some brief mentions of insecurity related to appearance/weight, breeding kink, pregnancy mentions, thigh fucking, body worship,

DAZAI is touchy on a good day and outright clingy on a bad one; really, it's only natural that he can't — won't — keep his hands to himself, spindly fingers caressing your every curve, no matter where you are or who else is there. Still, his obvious attraction to you only proves that, to him, you're drop-dead gorgeous, right? You can't be mad at him for being enamoured with his own girlfriend, yes? (You can and, in fact, you should be mad when he keeps on groping you or pulling you into the Agency's storage room for some quick dry humping, completely unashamed.)

In case you ever worry about not being worthy of being with him — which, really, isn't a reasonable concern, given how, according to Kunikida, you're a saint for even putting up with Dazai for that long —, he's quick to cut your concerns down with a gentle chuckle. He's fond of all women, he's said so before, and he doesn't get why you'd ever compare yourself to any other woman and think of yourself as less worthy, less gorgeous, when, obviously, you're this breathtaking.

“But why, dear, you're being awfully cruel today, slapping my hands away like that. It's merely because you're so awfully pretty that I cannot keep my hands off you. At least let me kiss you, yes, love?”

It doesn't come as a surprise that CHŪYA literally worships you; to him, you're perfect in every way imaginable. He's able to pick you up and carry you around easily, even without activating For The Tainted Sorrow; when you worry about being too heavy, he merely scoffs, immediately shaking his head in response.

He's just shy of insulted when you ask, voice trembling, whether your stretch marks, thick thighs or round hips bother him; really, who do you take him for? He's not twelve — and even if he was, he'd still think of you as breathtaking, appearance- and personality-wise. If you don't seem to believe him, he'll gladly spend an hour or three between your legs, pressing soft kisses to your skin, not forgetting about even one stretch mark, scar or beauty mark you might be insecure about. If, by the end of him all but worshipping your body, you finally do believe him, he'll gladly make you come on his tongue, too.

“Hm? You still don't look quite convinced, baby. 'm afraid I'll have to continue, then. Gotta make sure you know just how pretty I think you are by the end of this, so I'll need you to be patient.”

FUKUZAWA is not the most expressive man, and yet he somehow manages to make sure that you never feel unloved. His adoration for you is obvious in the way his hands gently rest on your upper arm, on the small of your back or on your hip sometimes; in the way he occasionally leans down to gently press his lips to your forehead; in the way he somehow manages to pick up on each of your moods without you having to say something.

His brows furrow into a frown when you first mention your insecurities, and yet his expression softens oh so much when he cups your cheek with one hand, calloused thumb smoothing over your jaw in a soothing gesture. He's so very factual about immediately naming everything that, in his eyes, makes you beautiful, that you really have no choice but to believe him. To get you to smile once more, he adds but a few unexpectedly lewd comments, too, such as how you're absolutely ethereal looking when undressed and on his lap, too.

“My dearest, I assure you, your beauty, inside and out, has captured my heart completely. I adore the way your hair shines, I love the sparkle in your eye when you spot a dessert you're aching to eat. I love each curve of your body and how beautiful and feminine it makes you look; truly, there is nothing about you that is not breathtaking to me.”

Despite KUNIKIDA's rather strict ideals, his note book never held even a single word about your appearance; your personality is what matters most to him, your opinions and what you think is right and what is wrong, not whether your stomach shows in the dress you just bought. You're the most beautiful woman on the planet in his eyes and, even though he's just a bit irritated when you doubt the truthfulness of his words, his frown melts when his gaze meets yours.

He'll gladly tell you just how much he's in love with everything about you, in great detail, even — how gorgeous your hair is, how he's feeling nothing but utmost adoration for your thighs, how your stomach and arms are pure perfection —, and his voice is so utterly earnest that you have no choice but to trust that he's more than one hundred percent serious about it.

“I promise you with complete honesty that you have nothing to be worried about. Please, my love — you're the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on. You're perfect in every way imaginable. Please trust me when I say that I adore everything about you.”

FYODOR is rather enamoured with your curves; how could he not be? Your softer figure contrasts nicely to his own thin body, gentle roundness compared to his sharp angles, and, whenever his fingers gently graze over your skin, he doesn't have to worry about meeting hard bone — everything about you is soft and plush. Admittedly, he is fond of pretty people, which is why he's quick to raise an eyebrow if you ever mention any insecurity related to your appearance, not hesitating to tell you that, in his eyes, you look ethereal at all times, and some stretch marks or anything you could possibly worry about won't change that.

He appreciates your hips most of all; the pleasant roundness of them ties into his breeding kink and, really, you can't possibly blame him for thinking of starting a family with you when you're this enticing, now can you? Short blunt nails dig into said curves when he thrusts into you, his narrow hips flush against your plush ones, your knees nearly brushing against your shoulders with the mating press he's positioned you in and, yes, he'll make sure to fill you up at least two times tonight while soft praise falls from pale lips, something about how pretty you are, how very gorgeous.

“My, my, how lucky I am to have such a pretty woman by my side, hm? Your moans are so very sweet, dear. Do me a favour and do not try to hide yourself from me, darling; you are most beautiful — always, yet especially right now.”

NIKOLAI, as always, is a menace when it comes to showing his affection for you. Really, he refuses to be blamed for the way his hands wander on your pretty body, exploring each inch of it, no matter whether you're in public or in private. He's not one to be shy, after all, and you shouldn't be either — though, well, if you do get flustered by him outright groping you all the time, he'll certainly tease you for it. You're just so soft and pleasant to touch, honestly, he has no choice but to!

He most enjoys resting his hand on your hip or your butt, laying his head down onto your chest or grabbing the soft flesh of your thighs. Speaking of thighs — surely you'll indulge him when he aches to fuck them, yes? The feeling of your inner thighs squeezing his dick is as close to heaven as he's ever going to get. He doesn't get why you'd ever be insecure about your appearance; you're the prettiest little thing he's ever laid eyes on, don't you know? Luckily, he doesn't hesitate to all but overload you with compliments, albeit some of them eventually go back into lewd territory with how he's swooning about your tight little cunt—

“You're so very sweet, doll—, to think you yourself don't see just how adorable you are, hah! How could you be anything but perfect when you're mewling so cutely underneath me? Ah—, my, my, perhaps I should tell you this later when you're not aching to come, hm? Bet you can hardly understand a word of what I'm saying right now.”

First and foremost, POE has fallen for you mainly because of your personality — it's merely what matters most to him. That, however, doesn't mean that he is not appreciative of your body; really, it's quite the opposite. Even though the compliments falling from his lips sound oh so eloquent, he honestly struggles to focus on anything but your curves, on the way the fabric of your clothes hugs your body just right, on the way he just aches to touch you, even though the mere thought gets him flustered.

Pink quickly rises to his face, flushing his cheeks with heat when he gets too caught up in fantasies, whether they're sweet and domestic or of more lewd nature. Even though you're in a relationship, he can't help but scold himself internally for the way his brain stutters to a complete halt just at the sight of your plush thighs. If you ever doubt yourself, he's awfully understanding, his tone soft while he reassures you that you're perfect in every way imaginable — he's not unfamiliar with self-doubt himself, and he wants to make sure you're aware that his love for you is absolutely unconditional.

“Trust me, my dear, I know how you feel, and it pains me to see you unhappy. Please—, you're gorgeous in every way. Each time I look at you I fall in love all over again. Please, trust my words, yes? If there's anything I can do to help raise your confidence, please tell me. Would you enjoy going shopping, perhaps?”

Your mere existence causes MUSHITARŌ suffering. Really, how is he supposed to concentrate on some surely awfully important task when you, his sweet sweet girlfriend, are next to him, forcing all his attention onto you just by being present? You're just so pretty today — today and every day —, he's able to feel his cheeks flush with heat just from glancing at you for too long, and he's really unsure just how much longer he's able to fight the urge to kiss you.

If you ever mention anything about feeling insecure about your appearance or weight, he's honestly caught off-guard. For some reason, he didn't expect you to worry about anything like that; not when, in his eyes, there's nothing for you to worry about. His first instinct, when you mention how, occasionally, you feel like you're too round and soft and your arms and stomach might be too big, is to scoff, though he's quick to apologise for his rather rude reaction. He's never been good at comforting people, and yet he tries, a little awkwardly, that he has never seen anyone quite as angelic as you before.

“Now—, love, please, quit looking all sad, will you? My apologies for my terrible reaction. This was merely a topic I did not expect — truly, whenever I look at you, I could swear an angel has descended from Heaven just for me, and yet you doubt yourself. I really don't understand it, but I assure you there is nothing you must feel insecure about.”

While JŌNO, on a purely logical level, understands why you might occasionally be insecure about your body, he, in all honesty, also does not get it. To him, you're nothing short of gorgeous; your skin is soft and smooth underneath his calloused hands whenever he touches you, your hips are plush when he holds you by them, and he might just instinctively chuckle the first time you meekly ask whether something as unimportant as stretch marks on your skin bothers him. Really, who do you think he is? Some prepubescent boy? Honestly, now; your concerns are ridiculous enough to make him huff out a laugh.

Your body is the perfect contrast to his own taut muscle and, even though he doesn't openly admit it, he quite enjoys how soft you are, how gentle, and how he's able to lay his head onto your thighs or chest to relax, hair falling into his eyes while you run your fingers through white and red strands. Being this close to you is the most comforting thing he's ever known; it feels like — you feel like — coming home.

“Haven't I already told you you're perfectly fine the way you are? I wouldn't have fallen for you otherwise. Besides, my opinion is the only one that has to matter to you, right? There's no reason for you to keep worrying about it, then.”

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