#and the wind movement I’m pissing on a he floor

[deanwritings]

Safe Now

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: After a tough hunt, Dean is upset that the reader put her life in danger to save him.

Warnings: Smut (surprise!)

Word Count: 2,251

Gif:

A/N: Wow! First fic in 5 years. I’m definitely a little rusty but ready to get back into the swing of writing. Hope this was worth the wait. 

Dean slams the door behind you as you both walk into the motel room, you a few steps ahead of him as you drop your battle duffle onto the floor with a thud. 

The room is completely silent and you wince as you try to roll your jacket over your bruised shoulder. You were lucky it wasn’t dislocated, and you were even luckier you weren’t dead, but that didn’t stop Dean from giving you the silent treatment as he moved around you to unpack his weapons’ duffle, no doubt looking for a gun he could take apart and fiddle with while he continued to ignore you.

The ride back from the hunt was excruciating, and not just from the cuts and bruises you earned during this hunt. It was Dean’s seething silence that hurt the most.

It was a werewolf hunt that was suppose to be easy, and for all purposes except the slight hiccup at the end, it was. You didn’t normally accompany the brothers to the fights, your skills being much more useful on a laptop or when it came to interrogating the locals, but Sam was home with the flu, and even with your limited hunting skills, you figured taking you as backup was still safer than Dean going into battle alone. 

For the most part, you stayed out of Dean’s way while he took on the pack of three alone, managing to fire off a few rounds of silver bullets to distract them if they were overwhelming Dean. But the problem arose when a fourth wolf that you hadn’t accounted for emerged from the shadows and lunged for Dean. You didn’t have time to think, let alone alert Dean to the surprise danger, so you did the only thing you could -- you tackled Dean out of the way, getting yourself thrown across the room and into a window in the process.

Your deflection gave Dean enough time to realize what happen and he was able to take out the final monster before running over to you as you struggled to push yourself up. You weren’t use to getting hit, let alone thrown through a window, and it had definitely knocked the wind out of you while also cutting you up in the process. Thankfully, none of the injuries required stitches or other medical attention, and with Dean’s help, you picked yourself up and you left the bloodied scene behind you.

You turn to face Dean who is sitting at the table, wiping down his machete, eyes completely focused on the blade.

“We gonna talk about this?” You cross your arms, wincing at the tight pull behind your shoulder blade.

Your boyfriend’s eyes glance up at you for just a moment before flicking back to the weapon in his hand and you take a deep breath.

“This is ridiculous.” You huff. “You’re pissed because I saved you? Really?” You ask incredulously. “Would you rather I let the werewolf blindside you?” Your eyebrows raise as you stare down Dean.

A beat of silence passes through the room before Dean finally sets the machete onto the table and adjusts in his seat, giving you his full attention. You see the scratches around his eye and dried blood on his forehead. There’s a cut across his cheek that looks fairly deep and could probably use some butterfly stitches and a deep clean once you two had a chance to talk. 

“That’s exactly what you should have done.” His voice is low, his gaze finally meeting yours.

You laugh, thinking you’ve heard him wrong. But of course you didn’t hear him wrong. This was Dean Winchester, the most self-deprecating man on Earth. Chuck forbid someone looked out for him for once. 

“I’m sorry, but you want me to just sit on the sidelines and watch you die?” Your voice suddenly raises, a mix of panic and anger rising like bile in your throat.

“I’d rather that then you get hurt because of me!” Dean suddenly stands, the chair he was sitting in teetering from the sudden movement. “I’d rather you didn’t die because of me,  Y/N!” He takes a few steps towards you and you keep your shoulders square. He was loud, but you were stubborn, and you weren’t about to back down just because Dean was louder and bigger than you. 

“Because I have no idea what the hell I’d do if I had to watch you die.” His voice lowers as he gets closer to you, and your chin begins to quiver at his confession. 

It’s the same thing you fear every time he leaves the bunker for a hunt, or returns to a motel room torn up from the monster of the week. If Dean ever died, you’d have no idea what you’d do without him. And you couldn’t even bare the thought of having to watch him die. That would be a fate worse than death itself. 

“And how come you get to die for me and I can’t die for you?” You whisper as he stops right in front of you. “Because let’s be real here Dean, if one of us had to survive, it has to be you.” A flash of pain shimmers in his green eyes as your words sink in. “You’re the one who saves people, you’re the one who stops apocalypses, I’m just along for the ride.” You swallow the lump in your throat.

It was a truth you had realized long ago, before you had even started dating Dean, and it was something you thought about every time you hopped in the Impala with the boys to take on the next case; that if it ever had to come down to you or Dean, Dean would have to be the one, every time. Same with Sam. The boys protected our world, and you’d be damned if you stood around and let them die just because you were scared. In the grand scheme of things, you were just a girlfriend, a gloried sidekick--not that the Winchesters would ever call you that--but you knew that when it came to the bigger picture, you were just a speck and the Winchesters were the sun and the stars.

“Don’t say that.” He whispered, his green eyes glossy. You know Dean’s self-loathing nature would never let him fully understand just how important he was, or how important his survival was. It broke your heart, but he needed to understand his importance, no matter the cost. 

“Dean,” you take a deep breath, your voice soft but strong as you smile sadly up at him. “It’s true, whether you see it that way or not. It has to be you. Every time.” You swallow and take his hand in yours.

“Well that’s too damn bad because I won’t let you,” his voice cracks slightly as he takes in your words, his hands squeezing yours.

You laugh, humorless.

“Dean, I’m not planning on going anywhere. I’m actively trying not to die.” This earns you a green-eyed glance. “But if I do, you are not allowed to do anything to bring me back.” You shake your head, your voice lighter but the truth strong. “If you give your life to bring me back I will literally find the nearest bridge and will jump off of it just to spite you in the afterlife. So don’t even think about it.” That earns a silent chuckle from Dean as he looks away from you, shaking his head. Yes, your voice was light, but it was the truth. He was the world’s guardian, and you couldn’t let him do anything stupid just because he would be grieving.

He takes a deep breath and looks back to you before pulling you into his chest, his chin resting on your head as you relax into him.

“Besides, I’m safe now, so there’s nothing for you to worry about. I’ll be back behind my laptop screen soon enough.” His chest vibrates as he laughs and you smile against him.

A moment passes before he pushes you away slightly, just enough so he can look down at you with a soft smile on his face. You reach up on your toes and bring your lips to his, gentle at first until his hands reach up to cup your chin, deepening the kiss.

If there’s one thing you knew about Dean Winchester, he wasn’t a man of many words. But actions, that was his language, and you knew he needed to show you his relief and love now that you were both safe and your conversation behind you.

Dean’s tongue brushes against yours, your body pressing into his as you start to walk you backwards. With a practiced movement, you jump up and wrap your legs around Dean’s waist as his hands cup your ass. You lean your chest against him as your arms wrap around his neck, your kisses getting faster, needier.

Without breaking the kiss, Dean lowers you onto the bed and you release your legs from his waist, but keep your arms around his neck as you pull him down with you. Dean lowers his body over you, not putting his weight on you just yet as you break the kiss and start trailing your lips up and down his neck, stopping to suck on the skin under his ear as you feel his hips roll above you. You can’t help but smirk that even after all this time, you still have this effect on him with just a few lingering kisses.

He pulls away to look down at you, relief and lust in his eyes as he looks you over.

You raise your hands over your head, swallowing down the pain in your back, knowing if Dean sees you wince, he would stop the both of you, and you didn’t want that. You needed this as much as he did.

Dean immediately recognizes your action as your silent signal to start undressing you, and he carefully reaches down, his fingers brushing under your top and tickling your torso as he lifts your shirt up and pulls it over your head. His eyes shimmer as he stares at the sight your breasts, and you arch your back as he lowers himself over you, his hands reaching behind you before he starts fiddling with your bra hook as your lips find his neck again now that he’s so close.

The hook finally pops and you shimmy the straps down your shoulders as Dean pulls the fabric away, your breath hitching as the cool air hits your bare breasts. Dean smirks, a glint in his eye as he stares you down while his mouth wraps up around your right breast, your body buckling as his hand travels up your thigh before cupping your middle. You let out a groan, your body arching as his teeth graze your nipple, causing you to gasp suddenly as his hand tightens on your crouch in response. Your core clenches between the different pressures and you whine, “Dean” as you wiggle your hips, needing him to get your pants off so he can get closer.

His lips leave your breast and he chuckles as his hands come to your waist before he pops the button of your jeans. Without missing a beat, you lift your hips as he starts to tug the fabric down your legs until you’re left in nothing but your underwear. At the edge of the bed, Dean tears off his shirt and undoes the buckle to his pants, before stepping out of them, his erection obvious against his boxers. You smile at the sight, and your legs clench together with the anticipation of what’s to come.

“You just gonna stand there or what?” You tease as his eyes continue to roam over you. But with your words, he strides over to the bed and is suddenly hovering over you. He smirks down at you as his hands find the waist of your panties, and you moan as two of his fingers dip inside you.

Breathless sighs escape your lips as he continues to move within you, the pressure building. His mouth is suddenly on your left breast, his teeth biting down and rolling across your nipple as his fingers dance in a maddeningly uneven beat. Your body bucks as his speed picks up until suddenly your whole body is shuddering against Dean’s as your core tightens and implodes inside you. 

You’re panting as your body begins to relax back into the bed, and when you open your eyes, Dean is smiling down at you, eyes shining as he admires his work. 

“Jesus Christ, Dean,” your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath. 

“We’re not done yet, sweetheart,” Dean smirks and leans down to capture your lips. His fingers leave your panties, and this time, he pulls them down completely and tosses them across the room. 

In a quick motion, he discards his boxers, his erection popping free and standing proudly in front of you. 

“Ready, sweetheart?”

“Always, Dean.”

Dean lowers himself back to you slowly, lining himself up before pushing into you. You sigh in relief as he fills you, the aching pressure in your core replaced fully by him. 

He begins to move in you slowly and purposefully. Back and forth, back and forth, hitting deep inside you as a slow burn resonates from within as you moan from the friction. You hear Dean’s voice catch in his throat, but you’re too lost in the feeling of him to fully notice.

His hand finds yours and you lock your fingers around his as he hits into you deliberately and deep, a welcomed change to your usually fast and dirty. But this isn’t about pleasure, not entirely. This is about love, about relief, about safety. 

The knot inside you continues to grow as he hits as far back as he can go, your other hand digging into his back, needing a way to release some of the ache that builds inside of you. 

You moan aloud, the burn becoming too much as your thighs tighten around his waist, holding him in place as you explode around him. Your walls are pulsating,  your eyes rolling back, and he starts up his motion again, a feral sound leaving your lips as he continues to pump inside of you until you hear the sound of his pleasure as his body shudders and he releases inside of you.

Your heart is pounding against your chest, your hair stuck to your slick forehead as Dean’s weight collapses on top of you, his own body rising and falling as he attempts to catch his breath. You love the feeling of him on you after he cums. The weight of his world off of his shoulders, even just for a few minutes as he relaxes into you.

You place a hand on his cheek, under his cut that will need attention once you’re both ready to get up. 

“I love you,” you whisper, the silence of the room now a welcomed friend among both of your heavy breathes. 

Dean leans into your touch and places a kiss on your palm, everything that needed to be said laid out on the bed. 

“Always gonna keep you safe, sweetheart.” 

[luvring]

FIRST SNOW

aki + gn!reader | established relationship, just fluff

oh i dislike this a lot actually but keeping it in my drafts makes me want to piss my pants so you know. choose the lesser evil

winter with me masterlist

the forecast says it'll snow tomorrow.

seriously? it's that time of year again?

mm, it could be wrong?

but the next morning you wake up, and frost tinted windows greet you instead of the sun. the apartments across from yours are already coated in white, and you watch a gust of wind shake the trees below you. it’s cold, is your first thought. you almost expect to see your breath when you exhale—maybe you should turn the heater up.

taking a deep breath, you move to get out of bed when an unexpected arm wraps around your waist. it pulls you back into the body beside you where you’re met with a warm kiss to your shoulder, and an accompanying honey-like murmur. "guess it wasn't wrong."

the both of you decide to stay in bed a little longer—aki had the day off, thankfully, and says so as he nuzzles into you, pulling the blanket to make sure it covered your feet. the earth seems to breathe with the wind, its exhales rhythmic frozen blasts of air. you turn to face your boyfriend; he paid little attention to the world outside, eyes closed, more focused on gently rubbing circles on your back and staying warm.

you look down at him. “i’m glad we got matching pajamas.”

“yeah?”

“you look cute. you and your little snowmen.” aki opens an eye to look down at himself, a smiling snowman, top hat and all, staring back. he could hear the amusement in your voice and he huffs. sneaking his hand around, aki pinches your waist and you yelp before smacking his hand away. this time he laughs, kissing your collar and muttering a half-hearted “sorry.”

you take the fabric of his shirt in your fingers, squishing two of the snowmen together as if they were hugging. he had given you a confused stare when you held the pajama set in front of him for the first time.

do you want me to buy it for you?

no, i have my own right here.

…you’re messing with me.

please? we could match.

it hasn’t even snowed yet.

yeah, but when it does we’ll be ready.

you waited on the couch, turning when you heard his slippers against the wooden floor. there was something silly (the most accurate term you could think of) about your boyfriend in a christmas pajama set. he kept fiddling with the fabric and scratching behind his ear, eyes darting down at the both of you every couple of minutes.

you look cute.

yeah, yeah. you look cuter.

the both of you, at some point, started to name all the snowmen out of boredom. you didn’t make it very far, thinking of maybe 7 names before giving up.

you poke each one, pausing when you reached the one that sat on his forearm. "do you remember this one's name?"

aki stops his movements, but doesn’t move from his position against your neck. "which one?"

"this one. with the red toque and scarf."

he looks at the snowman you poke for a second. "you named her pow-pow because the toque reminded you of power's horns."

"oh, so you do care about them," you reply dramatically. aki says nothing, but his exhaled breath is warm as he lightly pinches you again. you laugh, and he seems to melt further into you at the sound.

"aki?"

"hm?"

"do you think we could actually go build a snowman? on the balcony?"

"i don't know if the snow would be sticky enough for that."

"…do you wanna try?"

this time he moves to look at you, resting his cheek against his palm. his lips twitch into a smile. "i think we should make breakfast first."

“but then we have to get out of bed.”

aki hums, leaning into you again and asking against your skin, “and making snowmen wouldn’t need that step?”

“...touché.”

despite your words, neither of you move to get up. you shuffle a little only because your arm starts to fall asleep underneath your boyfriend, who moves to take some weight off of you when he notices. your voice is soft, as if speaking any louder would take this moment away. “did you wanna stay in bed for a while?”

there’s a beat of silence where aki mulls over his answer. he’d be spending the day with you either way, and maybe getting up now would let the both of you do more later. but he can feel your breaths on the top of his head, and your fingers are tracing little hearts and stars on his back.

he can’t remember the last time you were doing it instead of him—most days he found himself the only one up, softly kissing your forehead before leaving for the day. so he takes a breath and pulls the comforter a little higher. the wind rushes past the window again, and he closes his eyes to the brightness outside before mumbling, “mhm, goodnight.”

🏷️ | @lilithlunas @todorokiskitten @anime-ships-gay @patheticliesblog

[soleilceirinen]

Wind in my hair | Oh Sehun x fem!Reader AU

Summary: you're trying to study for your last exam but Sehun has other ideas. He uses his powers to distract you.

A/N: this is an EXO AU where Sehun has powers, as if he's some sort of alien. This is completely fictional, not based in real life.

Warning: nothing.

Also, English isn't my first language, sorry if there are mistakes and thanks for reading!

EXO Masterlist

The soft wind moved the curtain in front of you, delicately brushing your arm in a tender caress. Without taking your eyes off your notes, you moved your arm and slapped the fabric away as you tried not to lose track of what you were studying. Only one more exam and you would be free, that’s what you repeated in your mind to keep yourself motivated. 

Suddenly, the curtain hit you in the face, blinding you for a moment, all the previous tenderness of its movements gone. With a sigh, you pushed it aside and stared at the window to check if it was open. But no, it was still closed, just like you had left it before starting with your study session. 

Then, you turned around in your chair and faced your boyfriend Sehun. He was lying on your bed, smiling at you. Clearly, he was having a great time as he messed with your patience. 

“Stop it, Sehun. You’re not letting me study,” you complained. 

He put a hand over his chest and feigned surprise. “Me?” he asked innocently, although he seemed to be fighting a smile back. “I’m not letting you study?”

You nodded. 

It was him who had been moving the curtain all along, thanks to his wind controlling powers, whatever they were. You still didn’t fully understand the nature of his powers or his own existence, he came from another planet. So, technically, Sehun wasn’t human, and he wasn’t the only one. 

You didn’t care about him being an alien, as you liked to call it. What worried you was the fact that he and the others were the good guys, at least in theory, but there were also bad ones. Sehun refused to talk about them and you tried not to think about it most of the time. More than once he had promised you that he would keep you safe and you trusted him, you knew that he could be really powerful. 

It was a pity that right now he was using his power to piss you off. 

“Sehun, I need to pass this exam.”

“And? What am I supposed to be doing?” 

His faked innocence was starting to be replaced by a mischievous smile. It made you roll your eyes. Without any more words, you turned back to the desk and focused again on your notes. 

“You know exactly what you’re doing,” you murmured after a while. “Just leave me alone for a couple hours, I’m not asking for anything more than that,” you said, resting your face on one hand. 

He seemed to accept it, little did you know that he wasn’t going to stop that easily. 

-

You had lost count of how many deep breaths you had been taking in order to stay calm. It was impossible to tell by now. You were quite proud of yourself though, considering that you hadn’t stabbed him with a pencil yet, with the constant wind ruffling your hair, blowing it into your face and moving your notes around, of course not allowing you to study.

With a deep sigh, you took the elastic band that you always wore on your wrist and tied your hair up in a messy bun. It didn’t solve the problem because then, the wind increased, causing your notes to fall all over the floor. 

Sehun’s laugh could be heard behind you. 

Since you were so fed up already, you grabbed the first pen that you could find and turned around fast, throwing it at Sehun’s head. The pen hit him in the face. Under normal circumstances, he would have been able to avoid it without any difficulty, he was an alien after all, but he was so distracted laughing at you that he didn’t move away in time. Well deserved, you thought. 

He covered his face with his hands as he let out a soft cry. “Ouch,” he said, rolling onto his side.

After a few seconds, you got up and approached him. It wasn’t your intention to hurt him, you were just tired and frustrated. 

“Sehun, let me see,” you murmured softly, sitting next to him on the bed. You placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to make him turn so you could see his face. “I didn’t mean to hit you hard but I have a really good aim, what can I do?” you joked. 

He didn’t seem to find the joke funny. Instead, he made a sound that sounded like a hurt little puppy. This made you frown, what if you had hurt him for real?

"Sehun, take your hands away, let me see."

He removed his hands slowly but you couldn’t see anything because suddenly he moved so fast. Before you could realize, you were lying on the bed, with Sehun on top of you. A big smile was present on his face as his hands pressed your wrists against the mattress.

"You're an idiot, you know that? I was really worried."

Sehun laughed and brought his face closer to yours to kiss you but in the last moment you turned your face to the side, so his lips connected to your jaw instead of your mouth. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked in a low voice, nuzzling your neck with the tip of his nose before starting to leave a trail of small kisses that made you shiver under him.

"Oh really? What’s wrong?" You asked back, mocking his words and raising an eyebrow as you looked at him. As much as you wanted him right now, you had other priorities. "Now is not the time. Let me finish studying and then we can do whatever we want, or continue this. Alright?”

He released your wrists but didn’t let you go, still laying on top of you, now resting his head on your chest where he could feel your heart beating fast. After a few minutes in which your breathing became one, you started stroking his hair. It felt very soft between your fingers and smelled like your favourite shampoo from the last time he showered at your place. 

“You’ve been studying all day, I’m bored of waiting. You don’t let me talk, or make the slightest noise, or play video games, or listen to music…” he listed, mumbling.

You could feel the vibrations of his vocal chords against your chest, it was kind of calming.

“This exam is important to me, Sehun. Also, you can do all those things out of here, you don’t have to stay in the same room as me.”

He raised his head and looked at you with a frown. “But I want to be with you,” he confessed. 

This time, when he leaned in searching for your mouth, you didn’t turn your face away. The kiss was long and slow, without rushing. When your lips parted, you took the opportunity to take Sehun’s face in your hands, stroking his cheekbones with your thumbs. He stared at you, mesmerised. 

"An hour," you said. "That's all I need. Stop acting like a brat for an hour and when I'm done we'll do something together."

He seemed to hesitate, but finally he dropped to his side, freeing you from his weight. “Fine, an hour.”

You stood up from the bed, feeling cold without his warmth, and stared at the mess of notes scattered all over the floor with your hands on your hips. From the corner of your eye, you saw Sehun lying back on the bed with his hands behind his head and his legs crossed at the ankles. He looked as relaxed as always.

A gust of air made the papers move until they were arranged in a small pile at your feet. You bent down to pick them up and smiled at him. Sehun winked at you. He could be a pain in the ass sometimes but you couldn’t deny that since he came into your life nothing had been the same. 

You loved him like no one else, and couldn’t help but dread the day he’d be gone. After all, he didn’t belong on this Earth.

[catreginae]

The morning came much too quickly, as most of the group was too tired to crawl out of bed despite needing to. Time was already awake, having not slept a wink as he sat by Twilight's bed. Warriors were sort of asleep, but he was still aware of the slight movements and breathing from the others.

It was a hectic night, but they all had a lingering feeling that this morning would be no better.

By Wars’ guess, it was at least 10 o’clock by now. He could’ve asked Time since the older seems to have an odd ability to always know the exact second, but he was much too focused on watching Twilight.

“You need sleep, Sprite. He’ll be fine when you wake up.”

If they were lucky, Twi would be out cold for a few days, allowing his body to get used to the changes. But, it would most likely be only today if he were to be honest.

“No.”

Time said coldly, not even turning to look at him as he did. Wars let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair as he walked over to Time.

“He’ll be okay, but you won’t be if you don’t at least take a nap.”

“I refuse to leave his side again.”

“You could sleep at the end of the bed, in the chair, or on the floor, and still not leave Twi. Besides, I can watch over him.”

“And how did that turn out? With Twi almost dead again, and him suffering in pain.”

That made Wars flinch, if he were to be honest. Time’s voice was so harsh, and it made him feel a little uneasy. He knew that he had every right to be pissed off at him for what had happened, Legend surely was a few hours ago, but he didn’t expect it to be so jarring to hear.

“I’m sorry, but I had no other choice. He would’ve died if I hadn’t turned him. Would you rather him be dead?”

“I’d rather him be mortal.”

Wars could only sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew that Time wasn’t thinking rationally. How could he, when this was his descendant who had nearly died in front of him twice?

“We’ll find a way to revert it. I don’t know how, but he’ll be human again soon.”

“I highly doubt it.”

“You are thinking too negatively, Link. He isn’t some monster now, and you have to stop acting as if he was.”

“He mauled Sky. If he wasn’t as strong as he was, his arm would’ve been torn to shreds. And, what’s worse, Twi was going after Wind initially, so imagine the aftermath if Wind was snatched up instead.”

The sounds of shuffling feet stopped the argument between the two, and Time turned back to looking at Twilight.

“Go check on the others for me. We need to set up a plan for when we leave this hotel.”

Sure enough, the voices of Legend and Wild echoed from beyond the door, yet they left quickly after. They were probably heading to the kitchen to begin breakfast.

Or lunch, if Wars was wrong about the time. But that was beside the point right now.

“You sure you want me to leave? What if Twi wakes up again and needs to feed?”

“I can handle myself, Captain. If he needs blood, he may have mine.”

The trouble of arguing wouldn’t be worth it at this point. Time was dead set on not leaving Twi’s side, and while Wars would like to avoid talking to Legend after their little spat last night, he knew he had to check on them eventually.

“Fine. Just yell for me if anything happens.”

“Will do.”

And he left without another word, taking a deep breath as he shut the door and walked towards where the others most likely were.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Wild couldn’t really focus on the task at hand. His hands shook slightly as he cut one of the palm fruits he had pulled out of his Shiekah slate, the knife in his hand cutting in a wonky line due to that. He was thankful that the others were talking to themselves, leaving him to his thoughts in peace.

He kept repeating the same mantra over and over in his head, all in an attempt to soothe himself. That everything was okay, and that he was just stressing over nothing.

With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the cubed fruit into the bowl beside him with the others, and made a silent prayer to Hylia for some strength. Or perhaps Zelda’s grace would be more useful in times such as this. She was always level-headed, even in the most stressful of situations.

He could hear the small whispers between Sky and Legend, the latter having a slightly scolding tone. He was confused about how Sky’s stitching had come undone throughout the night, but it could’ve been possible that Hyrule caused them to come loose due to his own nerves and worries when he did them.

He would sooner die before telling Rulie that’s what he thought, but it made the most sense.

After a few more minutes, he gave everybody a small bowl of fresh fruits and bread, which Wind began to scarf down and the others took theirs to the other room. His went untouched on the counter. He didn’t have much of an appetite if he were to be honest.

“You with us there, Cook?”

Warriors’ voice caused Wild to jump slightly, his head snapping to his left where the other stood. He hadn’t even noticed he had come into the kitchen, and from the looks of it, the others had yet to as well. He gave Wars a small nod, forcing himself to eat one of the chunks of fruit in an attempt to act normal. He knew that not eating was something that always gave away his nerves and stress, and he didn’t need anybody worrying over him at the moment.

“Peachy. Why? Did something happen while we were asleep?”

Wild had asked, trying to deter any worry from himself.

“No, but our Rancher will be out of it for at least today if not a few days. Other than that, he should be fine.”

“And his sight? Will it return?”

“I don’t know, but we can only hope it will.”

Only a hum of acknowledgment left Wild’s throat as he ate another piece of fruit, the usually sweet wildberry tasting oddly sour on his tongue this morning.

“The others need to talk to you as well, Sky mostly. Legend’ll probably be in the room with him, so heads up in case he’s still hostile around you.”

Not once did Wild look Wars in the eyes this entire time. He hated to admit it, but he felt like he just couldn’t. Guilt ate away at his core as that small part of him blamed Wars for what had happened. He wanted to be angry too, to yell at him just like Legend had.

But he couldn’t.

Either it be his love for his brother, or the fact that he knew Wars did what had to be done, he couldn’t bring himself to be angry at anybody but himself.

“I’ll be fine. What’s the worst he can do to me, bite my ankles?”

The attempt at a joke fell flat, and the silence that followed made the room all the more awkward. Wars cleared his throat, continuing.

“I suggest you steer clear of the room where Twi and Time are. Time is on edge and will probably drag you out by the scruff of your shirt.”

With that, he left the kitchen, leaving Wild and a now confused Wind behind.

He had also forgotten Wind was there.

Perhaps he needs to sleep off this stressed haze over his mind.

“So… I guess I’m sticking with Four and Hyrule today.”

Wind said as he finished his bread, now eyeing Wild’s untouched one in his bowl.

He simply slid the bowl his way, and Wind beamed.

(It's fun writing how everybody feels in this situation so far, but I'm kinda stumped on how Four, Hyrule and wind would react. But it's really fun to write and be able to share with you! You better be taking care of yourself)

-❄ anon

Everybody needs to be nice to Warriors. :( He's doing his best.

[wishitweresummer]

Stop Touching My Stuff!!! (Dream x GeorgeNotFound x Quackity)

Word Count: 1550

“Guys fuck off!!”, George yelled towards the two idiots rummaging through his stuff.

“Just talk to your stream!”, Quackity waved him off with a little smirk, picking up George’s ukelele and strumming it for Dream. George groaned and put his face in his hands for a moment before taking a breath and talking to chat.

“They literaly haven’t stopped touching my things. They’re not even over here talking to you guys with me, just over there going THROUGH MY STUFF!”, his voice ramped up near the end as he turned and shouted at them again, causing them both to giggle gleefully, only being egged on.

Quackity was over visiting the Dream Team and this was his first time getting to see George’s room. They had all kinds of fun content planned for the weekend, but now it was nearing the end of Thursday and this was the last stream of the night. Dream and Quackity were finding it harder and harder to stay focused on the stream when it was so much more fun to watch George seethe by them just poking around his room.

“You just moved in less than a month ago, right? How is there so much stuff in here?”, Quackity teased. George didn’t look over at his voice, but his attention was grabbed when he heard a basketball bounce against his floor.

“You’re going to break something!”, he yelled, the two giggled, delighted at how easy it was to wind him up.

“You wanna live with that?”, Quackity asked to Dream, making him wheeze. George gave a little eye roll and smiled despite himself, looking away.

“Idiots. Absolute idiots.”, he told the stream. “I think I’m going to head off and deal with these two before they destroy my room. We’re doing a bunch of fun stuff this weekend with the Quack-meister, so look out for that.”. Quackity left the basketball where he found it and ran back to the stream. George flinched at him approaching so fast and Quackity grabbed his shoulders.

“And I’m moving in! Me and George are getting bunk-beds! Tune in tomorrow for the vlog where we go bunk-bed shop—AYEE!”, Quackity jumped away when George whipped around and grabbed his sides.

“You’re being so crazy!”, George hollered. Quackity shrunk away giggling, rubbing at his sides.

“What, you don’t want me to move in?”, he recovered quickly, pouting now. George just narrows his eyes and stares back until Quackity gets uncomfortable with the eye-contact and starts giggling again.

George jumped violently in his chair when two big hands suddenly gripped his shoulders. The hands released him when he startled and he sunk back with a little groan.

“Dream.”, he whined. The other two were in hysterics over the reaction. Dream doubled over clutching his stomach and Quackity grabbed onto George’s chair and was banging and shaking it crazily, both being incredibly loud.

George cringed preemptively at the clips he’s sure chat just caught of him nearly pissing himself at Dream just touching him. He had to clutch the arms of the chair as to not be thrown off by Quackity.

“Why did…ahhh…you…you jumped…ahh”, Dream struggles to get any words out, wheezing through his laughter.

“My stomach!”, Quackity cried as he wrapped his arm around said body part. George couldn’t help but smile dumbly at how goofy his friends were. He decided then and there they needed to be punished. The new playful energy started to buzz through him and he clapped his hands together.

“Bye guys!”, George waved and quickly ended the stream. The suddenness grabbed the other two’s attention a little, but George moved too fast. In one movement, he stood and wrapped his arms around Dream, easily pulling him to the ground in his weakened state. He yelped.

“Hey! What did I-“, Dream cut off his own protest with a shriek, curling up as George started tickling his sides. “No please!”. He burst into laughter.

Quackity quickly sobered up and dropped to his knees, wanting to get closer to the scene.

“Get him!”, he cheered.

Dream gasped and grabbed both of George’s wrists firmly, much stronger than the smaller boy. He let his head drop back against George’s chest as he collected himself steadily. There wasn’t much George could do besides watch him.

“George I promise you, I will fuck you up.”, Dream looked up and threatened him with a smile.

Shivers crawled down George’s spine. He knew from experience that Dream was very capable of backing up that threat and embarrassing him horribly in front of Quackity. He pledged silently in his head to get his revenge on Dream another way and switched his focus to the other boy.

Quackity. Quackity who’s even smaller than him. Only 5’7”. George sized him up, obviously. He squirmed under the gaze.

“What’s happening?”, he asked. He was pretty sure what was going on, but didn’t want to over-react incase that just gave George ideas. Dream’s threat had rattled him a bit and it wasn’t even directed at him. Something inside him was screaming ‘Run run run!’. Quackity started to get to his feet right as George scrambled out from under Dream. He froze at the action, which was the wrong move.

“No!”, Quackity cried out shrilly as George tackled him down. George burst into giggles at the cry and wrestled him into the position he wanted. “Don’t!”, he yelled. Once Quackity knew for a fact he was about to be tickled he started fighting for his life. It was all in vain, though. His strength was dwarfed by George’s. Dream scooted over for a front row seat to the show and they were both delighted at the how red Quackity’s face had turned.

“Get him!”, Dream teased, an echo of Quackity from a minute ago.

George managed to get one of the hands wrangled and pressed it to the squirmy boy’s chest. He started tickling roughly at his ribcage. Quackity twisted and screamed bloody murder.

“Oh my god!”, George laughed, looking over at Dream in shock. Dream’s mouth dropped open at the sound. Quackity broke down quickly into his usual cackling as George started to poke and squeeze around his sides and tummy.

“Fuck OFF!”, he threw his head back and kicked at the floor behind George, hiccups breaking through his ear-piercing laughter already. Dream and George were amazed at how much it truly looked like Quackity was dying. He must have been already worked up from all the excitement of being around his friends again, and all the high-energy streaming.

George eased back a bit as he tried to recall Quackity’s worst spot. ‘His back, I think?’’, he wondered. Good thing Quackity can’t read minds because that would have floored him. He pinched experimentally at his hips and giggled as Quackity cried out dramatically.

“Now say you’re sorry for rummaging through my stuff!”, George used just one finger to knuckle into Quackity’s rib cage.

“NOOO!”, he threw his head back and wailed with crazy laughter, thrashing and kicking at the ground.

“No?!”, George echoed, really playing it up. “Noooooo?”, he let go of Quackity’s wrist and dug into his sides with both hands.

“Pffft!!”, he sputtered and cackled, sounding crazed. He fought with George’s hands, but lost every time. He started to shake Quackity by his sides and grinned at the noises the move produced.

"God, Quackity your laugh is fucking insane actually.", George gasps out at the volume, shaking his head, giggling at the absolute scene he was making. Dream wheezed loudly next to him, making him jump again and he can’t help but laugh along with them. This event probably being the loudest thing to ever happen in the Dream Team House. The walls practically shook with Quackity's desperate screaming cackles, Dream’s painful-sounding choppy wheezing and George’s chaotic laughter.

Eventually George shows mercy after successfully tickling some apologies out of the smaller boy.

The three flopped on George’s bed, Quackity a lot floppy-ier than the other two. Although George had tickled him to the brink of insanity, he didn’t show any signs of retaliation or anger. Though, is cheeks were tinted pink and didn’t seem to be calming any time soon. He slipped right back into the antics, stealing George’s phone out of his hand and pretending like he was about to tweet something. Clearly unfazed by the torture his last antic had brought upon him. The two broke out into a screaming match right away.

Dream leaned his back against the wall and watched them with a grin, tuning out of their fight and just enjoying the show. Having George move in was the best decision he’s ever made. Now the house was filled with this amazing chaos every single day. Concepts like “loneliness” and “boredom” were impossibilities in his mind. He probably should ask Quackity to move in.

George and Quackity seemed to stop arguing about whatever they were going on about. He watched as they both went quiet and looked at him. Evil smiles playing at their lips. Dream’s back straightened.

“Huh?”.

In a flash they both had a hold on one of his arms and dragged him down into the chaos with them. His screams rang throughout the house.

(Art by @kazenomegaminowanpisu )

[theycallme-thejackal]

Lenny throws his arms around midge and cries or something. Idk Jackal I’m in mood today… even if you want to ignore the prompt completely I just love when you write shit bc it’s ALWAYS amazing❤️

Pairing: Lenny Bruce & Midge Maisel Rated T

He rushes into the building.

All he heard from Abe on the phone was Miriam and hospital, and he raced out of his apartment and jumped in a cab. Now he’s here, in a place he didn’t expect to be in unless he pissed someone off at a show or one of his many vices finally caught up with him.

He rushes down the halls, frantically searching for someone he recognizes.

She has to be fine. She has to be.

He turns a corner and spots Abe, gesturing frantically to his wife. He knows she’s named for a flower...Lily or Petunia or -

“Rose!”

Right, Rose.

Lenny strides down the hallway toward the couple, and then Abe spots him. “Lenny!” He greets, continuing with his frenetic gestures. “Thank you for coming. You’re the only one who can talk sense into her - ”

“I am perfectly capable of taking care of my daughter, thank you very much,” Rose interrupts.

“Yes, but Rose, if it were two years ago, we would have called Joel. Lenny is obviously the best person to talk some sense into her in the present.”

Lenny’s head is spinning. He’s not too keen on being compared to Midge’s ex, but if it means he gets a call when she winds up in the hospital then he’s not going to think too hard about it. “What happened?” He asks.

Rose huffs out a sigh. “She fainted. At one of her comedy shows.” Lenny doesn’t miss the disdain in her voice “She apparently finished her act, and as soon as she stepped off stage, she collapsed into Susie’s arms.”

“Is she okay?” He asks, still panicked.

“She’s resting, but the doctors say she’s dehydrated and exhausted,” Abe explains. “We’ve seen less and less of her in the last couple of months. She’s only ever home to spend time with the children. She has been working nonstop, and I thought - ”

Lenny doesn’t let him finish the thought before he strides into Midge’s room.

She’s lying there, asleep, various tubes hooked up to her, and Susie is sitting on the other side of the bed, face planted next to Midge’s hip as she snores viciously. Well that isn’t a surprise, he thinks as he moves toward the bed.

She’s thinner than the last time he saw her - a feat since she’s already tiny - and he starts to put the pieces together. Midge is an all-or-nothing kind of broad. She gets hyper focused on the goal. That’s why she stopped taking opening acts. It’s why she’s a constant flurry of energy. Abe said she’s been working constantly.

Lenny feels a twisting in his gut that this is his fault.

He sits gently next to her hip on the opposite side from Susie and takes Midge’s hand in his. Her hands are cold, but that’s not out of the ordinary. That night in his hotel room, he’d twitched the first time her hand found his skin, and he’d teased her about it for a minute before she finally landed on the bed.

Her eyes start to flutter open, and he holds his breath, worried that the slightest movement will stop her from waking up. She finally does, though. Blue eyes open, and she’s looking at him in confusion (and what he hopes is a little joy). “Lenny?”

He huffs a sigh, squeezing her hand. “Abe called,” he explains. “Shit, Midge, what happened?”

“I - ” She swallows as she looks up at him, and her mind is clearly still foggy. “I was doing my set,” she recalls. “And it went great. I went backstage, and...”

“You passed out,” he finishes, stroking her hand with his thumb. “Your mother said Susie stopped you from making out with the floor.”

She laughs a little before pressing the palm of her free hand to her forehead. “I, um...I’ve been working.”

“Yeah, that’s what I hear,” he replies. “Maybe working a little too much?”

Her brows furrow in complete confusion. “You’re the one who told me I needed to work.”

“I know,” he sighs. “But...for fuck’s sake, Midge, when was the last time you ate?”

She averts her gaze. “I had a salad at lunch.”

“And water? When was the last time you hydrated?”

“This...well I think yester - um...” He watches as she tries to remember but comes up empty.

“You’re working too hard, sweetheart,” he tells her gently.

“You’re the one who told me to work,” she repeats, a little angrily this time.

“Yeah, but you’ve still gotta take care of yourself, Midge. Christ, you can’t work from a hospital bed!”

Susie stirs then, grumbling a little as she sits up, “Oh, good. You’re awake.” Then she sees Lenny. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Abe called me,” he answers. “So here I am.”

“I’m okay, Susie,” Midge promises. “Why don’t you go get some coffee?”

“You’re not gonna fuck him while I’m gone, are you?”

Midge’s face turns beet red, and she averts her eyes downward, tugging her hand from Lenny’s grasp so she can fold her arms over her chest, but she hisses as one of her IVs pinches. She folds her hands in her lap instead. “No,” she huffs. “Considering I’m hooked up to a bunch of tubes and my parents are sitting outside and also he doesn’t want to - ”

“I don’t?” He sputters before he can stop himself.

“No, you don’t,” she replies pointedly.

Susie looks between them awkwardly. “Uh...yeah I’m gonna go get some coffee,” she mutters before leaving. Lenny hears her add “And a lobotomy” as she exits the room.

“So...you told Susie,” he comments.

“I told Susie,” she confirms without looking at him.

“Okay...um...”

“Where have you been, Lenny?” She breathes, and he looks at her in surprise. “I’ve been working constantly. I’ve been doing really well. And I’ve heard nothing from you.”

“I...was giving you space,” he tells her.

“Why?” She asks, her brow furrowed.

“Well...I yelled at you,” he replies. “I thought - ”

“You gave me a kick in the ass I desperately needed and then ignored me for two months.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, whinier than he means to. “I fucked up.”

She sighs, her anger deflating a little at his apology. It’s amazing to him that a simple apology seems to melt her so easily, and it makes him think that there haven’t been many people in her life willing to apologize to her. “Yes, you did,” she says softly. Then she surprises him by taking his hand in hers again. “I missed you,” she whispers.

He squeezes her hand gently. “I missed you too, Midge.”

She smiles at him a little weakly, clearly still exhausted. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He nods. “Midge, what you said earlier...about me not wanting to - ” He swallows thickly. “You know that’s not true, right?”

She averts her gaze toward her lap, and he continues his voice low, “If you weren’t severely dehydrated and on the verge of falling asleep any second now, I’d strip down right now.”

She giggles quietly, her eyelids drooping. “Maybe...when I’m back to normal, we could...date?” She asks.

He grins softly and leans in, kissing her forehead sweetly. “I’d like that.”

[ajlovesbuck]

Mini fic time because I’m tired and the autism is autisming

(Gaz/alex)

~If Gaz and Alex were included in the countdown mission~

“Soap! It’s not gonna hold you need to jump down to the other shaft!” Gazs voice echoed, going down to soap. He watched as Soap jumped down the the other elevator shaft, falling through and stunning himself. He was facing Hassan now, with no weapon, just the missile controls.

“Fuck!” He yelled down, turning around to Alex. “He’s all alone down there, with Hassan.” He spoke, slightly panicked.

“Shit..” he watched Alex reach for his radio and call for Price. “Alex to Price- Soap has got the missile controls but is stuck 3 floors below us with no weapon and multiple armoured AQ guards.”

Just as price was about to talk into his radio, Soap spoke up. “I’ve got the missile controls, I’m hiding currently. What do i do?” He asked Laswell.

“This is watcher-1…” Gaz blocked out the rest and started thinking of ways he could assist Soap, pacing while also staying alert for any incoming AQ guards. Alex was listening intently, wishing on a star that Soap would make it out alive and with a detonated missile.

Gaz then heard some rummaging by the door and his head snapped up, his firearm close by his chest. “Alex- movement outside the door.” He said in a hushed tone, approaching the door slowly. He could hear men speaking in Arabic, barking orders at each other. “Copy.” The American confirmed.

They both waiting in cover outside the door until the weak piece of wood was knocked off its hinges. There’s was 5 armoured AQ guards which would probably take a lot of ammo and effort to take down. “Contact!” Gaz yelled, opening fire and aiming for the guards helmets. With an entire mag, he managed to take out one of them and weaken another. Alex was also shooting at them, but he had to be careful with the amount of ammo he was using because he was on his last mag. “Last mag!” Gaz yelled, finishing off his bullets before pulling out his knife.

The guards kept on shooting, but Gaz and Alex moved swiftly, taking out each guard.

The last two them took on Gaz and Alex. Alex was having a hand to hand combat fight while Gaz was fighting a knife away from his throat. “Piss off you bastard..” he said after dodging the knife for a fifth time. He kept on dodging until he was hit over the head, dazed slightly. “Fuck!” He yelled out, his vision blurring slightly and his head throbbing.

He felt a whoosh of wind pass by him, holding up his arms in Defense. He was pinned to the ground, wishing he could die any other way but this. He could imagine Alex winning his fight and looking over to see Gaz, with blood pooling around him and oozing out of his neck. And Gaz would never had told him how he felt.

He readied himself before feeling the weight pinning him down be tackled off, by alex. Gaz then slumped, letting out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding. Alex quickly took out the soldier before looking over at Gaz. “Hey, you good?” He said, his soft American accent ringing out. Gaz rubbed his head, feeling blood from being hit drip down his face slightly. “I’m good, you?” He asked, turning to Alex.

“Solid.”

Gaz then rolled over, kneeling. He then heard a loud bang come from outside the building and in the middle of the air. He looked up to see a mix of oranges and yellows hanging in the air beautifully. He did it. Soap did it.

A big smile spread across Gazs face, showing his natural small sharp fangs. He laughed out, relieved as he stared up at the sight.

Alex stared at gazs face, enamoured by his sheer beauty. The way the lights of the fire mixed perfectly with his skin and eyes, and lit up the best parts of his features. “It’s beautiful..” Gaz said, not taking his eyes off of the imploded missile. “Yeah, it is..” Alex spoke softly, looking at Gaz and not sparing a glance at the fire.

They stayed like that until they were broken from their trance, Gaz turning to see Alex already looking at him, his cheeks slightly red. They both were smiling, happy that this war was finally over. “I love you.. you know that?” Alex said, still with a small smile on his face.

Gaz pulled him into a strong hug, nuzzling his face into his neck. “Yeah..” He pulled away, meeting eyes with Alex again. “We did it. It’s over.” Relief melting from his face, a goofy grin plastered over it.

Alex then pulled him into a short, but meaningful kiss.

“It’s over.” Alex parroted.

[mystical-blaise]

Azriel Week 2022: Scars Run Deep

@azrielweek2022

This fic was inspired by this beautiful work of art.

For Free Day. Gwyn forces Azriel to confront his scars. Read here on Ao3

“Azriel?”

He didn’t stop, his emotions keeping his brisk pace even as her voice called after him as he made his way into the house. Even as the shadows told him to stop and listen. To answer the female calling for him.

Still, he ran.

Down the stairs into the House proper. Then trudging down into the living area, his boots silent even as his steps were hard. Harder than the footfalls following him from behind. The ones he pointedly ignored.

“Azriel, wait!”

Once he strode into his room, he had every intention of slamming the door—but he couldn’t when the nosy, indignant priestess had her hand on the jamb. Her booted foot blocked his attempt without hurting her. And there was certainly no way in hell when the shadows held the door open like her own personal cohorts. 

Her face was flushed from the exertion of her sparring and then her jog down the hall, the freckles a smattering of copper across her face. Those teal orbs of hers pierced him as well as any weapon. 

He narrowed his right back. 

“May I enter your humble abode, oh broody one?” she asked, sketching a bow. 

He snorted and jerked his chin. The door closed softly behind them with a wind of inky mist. This wasn’t the first time the priestess had been in his quarters. Long, sleepless nights had burgeoned into a friendship. And on nights they weren’t sparring or playing chess or reading in companionable silence? They talked. 

And somehow, one night, the conversation had turned to feelings… and his of Elain. Even if he was not quite sure what those feelings were. 

“Do you think she feels something for you?” Gwyn had questioned him, sitting cross-legged across from him on the floor, the opened book in her lap forgotten as she had given him her undivided attention.

He had answered her question truthfully. “I don’t know, but… I hope she does.”

He begged for her to. Prayed to the Mother that somehow she did. Maybe, just maybe, if she felt something for him that…

“So, why don’t you ask her?”

“That’s not how it works, Berdara,” he scoffed.

“How would you know? Was it not you three minutes ago admitting you were limited in this experience?”

Point for the priestess, his shadows tittered. The shadowsinger rolled his eyes. Traitors. They were always taking Gwyn’s side, whether or not she was right. 

Closing her book, the bluish-green eyes glittering in the firelight fell on him. “If you want to see where it may lead? Go tell Elain your feelings. Speak with her, Azriel.”

Azriel’s voice was muffled as he drew his bare hands down his face as he muttered, “I hate this relationship shit.”

Thud. There was a book thrown between them. “Females really are not that complicated, Shadowsinger. In fact, read that book. There’s nary a girl alive who hasn’t fallen for that hero. Consider it a how-to relationship guide. Just ignore the kidnapping bit and you’ll be golden.”

So, here he was after taking his friend’s unsolicited advice. Well, nearly taken.

“I’m assuming you went to her?” Her arms crossed over her chest, the battle leathers creaking in the movement. His chin dipped in a nod. “And I assume from your piss-poor attitude you had when you ignored everyone who was worried about you that it didn’t go well?” 

His eyes fell to his hands. Even wrapped with clean muslin and covered by his bracer, the uneven grips on his fingertips stood out like unintentional knicks in marble. Unfixable. An eyesore. Ruined. 

“Azriel.” Her voice was softer now, with no irritation. He heard her swallow. “I’m sorry. Did she not—”

“I didn’t speak with Elain.”

“Oh. Was she not available?”

With a derisive snicker, he tucked his hands behind his back, moving over to the mantle. Where he could focus on things other than his heart. His hands. 

His fucking hideous hands. 

Soft, tentative footsteps whispered on the floor behind him. Silence and waiting for him to continue. He’d spent enough time with the spitfire to know without turning around. Right now, she was twirling a piece of her hair while biting her lip. A nervous habit of hers, whether she knew it or not. She did that whenever she fought the swell of words down. Just as he knew she tucked it back behind her ear when she was shy or was faced with an uncomfortable situation. Which, he knew, was what was happening as her voice said, “I will not push you, friend. I’ll… I’ll leave you be. But, whatever happened, I am sorry—”

Friend. The word struck the center of his chest. Hell. Gwyn was his friend. A good one. A great one. Besides Cassian, perhaps his closest. And she was there for him, waiting to hear what was wrong. Until she wasn’t, and those retreating steps were heading away. 

“I turned around,” he said, his voice edged with panic. 

Her steps ceased.” Pardon?”

“I came back. I am not sure if Elain is at the river estate or the townhouse. Before I could land at either, I returned home.”

“I—I.” Gwyn stammered. She never stammered. Not like this. Though it worried him, he didn’t dare look. His stance didn’t last long because he was suddenly spun around with a hand wrapped around his biceps, forced to face her. To stop himself from spinning off balance, his hands fell to her shoulders, steadying himself with a grip. “You… you didn’t… but you were… why?”

“I just can’t.”

“And I say you don’t lack the courage to do anything you do not want to do, Azriel. And you wanted to know, so, again, I ask, why?”

“I simply cannot.”

“Is it the fear of rejection?”

“I do not fear anything, Gwyneth ,” his lie flew out, her name laced with venom at the end. 

“Liar,” Gwyn immediately refuted. “We are all afraid of something. It is not a failing. It is, in fact, a healthy response.”

His eyes slammed shut before snapping back open. Why couldn’t she just let this go?

Anger fanned his words as he spat, “A healthy response?” And as her mouth moved to speak, he said, “I’m not finished, Priestess. Is it healthy , I wonder, to cower when a hand is raised, wondering if you are going to be hit? Or is it not better to block before a blow? Is it healthy to flinch when someone reaches for you? Is it healthy to wonder if someone will step away from your touch? Is it—” 

It took him a moment for his own words to sink in. At what he just admitted. His eyes found his hands, his touch, still on the priestess’s leathered, trembling shoulders. His grip sure, poised—while touching her.

His eyes went wide, jerking his hands off of her as if fire had touched him again. Stumbling back until he felt bare under her watery gaze. Felt more stripped and naked than if he had shed his leather before her. He couldn’t take the way she looked at her with those unshed tears threatening to spill. The quiver of her full lower lip. 

He’d caused that. By his words. His admittance. His touch . Fuck. He’d grabbed her—Gwyn. The priestess who had been through so much and—

Go, run, he told himself, as he shoved past her. He threw open the door and hurried down the hall. Up those stairs two at a time. Until he was once again on the roof. 

He ignored his shadows, pleading to stop, to wait. He also ignored the boots slamming against the floor as she followed. 

Fly. Go. Retreat.

The only thing he heard was his instinct—so much so that he didn’t notice the Priestess in front of him now, her dainty fingernails pressing crescents into the leather over his forearms. Her hold was as strong and determined as a mountain. 

He was stronger. Physically, anyway. He could toss her aside if he wanted. But want and need were two different beasts of burden. 

“Azriel,” she pleaded, the gentleness in his name full of question. For an explanation as to why. 

His silence remained, a wall between them. But Gwyneth Berdara was a conqueror, removing that wall brick by brick as she guided his rapid breaths back down. And peeking through that hole in the wall, she waited. For him.

“I’m sorry I ran. You’re right, Gwyn. I am afraid,” he said, throat bobbing and wings shifting uncomfortably.

She stepped into him, her grip loosening enough for her to slide her hands up his arms. “What are you afraid of?”

A loaded question, to be sure. And still, he whispered, his voice cracking, “More things than you know. But the worst is being alone—because no one will ever willingly accept my touch. Nor should they.”

Gwyn’s gasp was full of emotion, his shadows swelling with the same shock. Better for her to know who her friend really is. 

"Elain… Elain didn’t say that to you… did she?”

“No. I just know these things. It’s been my entire life, Berdara. The gawking. The outright disgust. Parents pulling their kids away, protecting them from a disfigured monster. And when I picture my hands against her skin—Elain’s beautiful, unmarred skin. These hands, my touch on her…” Rippled and bumpy, uneven and coarse upon smooth perfection. “I think I’ve finally figured out the reason the Cauldron and the Mother have forsaken me a mate.” A beat of silence, a deep, painful exhale. “Monsters are not blessed with one.”

In fact, he should probably just exile himself to The Middle for good measure.

“Azriel, look at me.” He didn’t. He couldn’t. Fingers gripped onto his chin, pressuring him. “Azriel. You stubborn ass, look at me.”

Why should he when he knew what he’d see?

“Open your damn eyes, Shadowsinger, and look at me… please.” 

Her please felt like a cosmic command, unsealing them nearly beyond his control. The shadows hummed.

Stormy aqua raged back at him. Lowering her hands, she only offered them again, palm up, beckoning for him. “Your hands, good sir.”

“And if I decline?”

“Then you can wallow and I’ll leave you up here in your self-imposed pity party.”

Despite the warring emotions, he snorted at her irreverence. The sass of this female. 

He set his palms on hers in challenge. She did not flinch or balk, didn’t look as she began to unlace his gauntlets from atop his hands.

“What are you doing?” 

“Trust me,” she said, her eyes never leaving his as she undid one and then the other, gingerly setting them on the balustrade beside them. His heart raced and jumped as her hands unwound each hand, removing the wrappings, the unspun parts flowing in the wind like the white ribbon upon the Valkyrie’s brow. 

With each precise turn, his hands shook, and with each pass, the linen bindings loosened until they were stripped from his hands.

Grabbing onto his wrists, she held up his hands at eye-level between them.

“Now tell me, what do you see when you look at your hands, Azriel?”

His pulse ratcheted. His throat tightened. No one had ever asked him this before and yet the words came out in a rush, “I see the hands of someone cursed. Someone unwanted, and marked so.” Her thumbs stroked the inside skin of his wrist. Gentle, her hold was so fucking gentle that instinct told him it was a trap. And yet… “I see the lives they have taken.”

“Many have killed. I have killed.”

“Not like me! You killed because you had to. When I look at my hands? All I can see is the river of blood that runs between each valley of this stained skin. I see the hands of a creature, not a male. A monster who is truly unworthy to touch anyone. For my touch brings nothing but pain.”

“And do you know what I see?” Gods, he didn’t want to know. Not now. “I see hands that have had to do unimaginable tasks in the name of his sovereign. Ordered him to protect his court. His friends. His family.” He made to pull away, but she held on. Her grip loosened up for her hand to move up his, her fingertip skating across the craggy base of his palm. “I see the remains of abuse, of hatred imposed upon him when he could not fight back. I see the hands the High Lord trusts to be his Spymaster. I see the hands of a male the General of the Illyrian army clasps as his dearest friend. The ones that offer comfort to his friends and family in his own way. The ones his brother trusts holding onto his son, the heir of the Night Court. The ones Nyx trusts to hold him and not let him fall.” 

Up and up, her hands skimmed over his, a whisper of a touch, until their fingers interlocked and curled. Palm to palm. Pulse to pulse, his own hammering away as he felt tears burning in the back of his eyes. 

“I see the hands that taught sword techniques to priestesses who needed a teacher.” Her voice quavered, a tear slipping down her freckled cheek as she whispered, “I see the hands I trusted to lay a cloak on me at my weakest and most vulnerable.”

Fuck. His breath shuddered, his hand trembled on its own. And not once had she turned from his touch. And not once had he hidden his hands from her. The realization struck him like a killing blow from a Siphon. 

No, he’d only ever thought of helping her, never once concerned about his hands…

“I’m going to be blunt?” Gwyn said.

His laughter was wet, and he barely managed to speak without breaking into a sob. “You haven't been already?”

She shrugged, a smug little smile tugging at her lips even as her eyes glittered with tears. “You have scars, Shadowsinger. Deep ones. Ones given to you, not ones earned. Scars are part of experience. They mark time and memories, both good and bad. Mine may not all be visible, though I do have a good one on my arm from falling out of the tree… and that damnable mark from the arrow during the Blood Rite. The others I wear are below the skin, unseen by the naked eye. And I know you bear those, too.”

She did. His hands squeezed hers. And hers squeezed right back. 

“Priestess—”

“I’m not done.”

The shadows laughed and twirled a dance. Azriel snorted, sniffling. “Of course.” He dipped his chin. “Please go on.”

“What I see when I look at your hands doesn’t matter.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“No, it’s actually not. Just because people can’t see my scars outright does not mean they do not judge me for others. The first time you saw me across the training ring, and then on Solstice, there were moments I thought you saw them.” Fuck. “The only thing that matters is how you feel, Az. You play cards, so you know that sometimes the ones dealt are terrible. We were both dealt some cruel hands. And yet, here we stand.” The back of his hand, still joined with hers, skimmed across her cheek. “Your scars are reminders of your past. That you survived and prevailed despite all that had been inflicted upon you. They do not have to define your future. But only you can decide that, Shadowsinger. And any female who would make you feel uncomfortable because of your scars, both inside and out? She’s not worth it.”

He choked on a wet laugh, shaking his head. Gods, how did this young priestess become so worldly and brilliant? This priestess who now held his hand without fear, her thumbs tracing the ridges on the back of his hand like a map leading to…

Something in his chest sparked . 

“Promise me, Azriel. That you won’t settle for someone. That you will find someone, mate or not, who loves and respects you for all you are. Every scarred part.”

“As long as you do the same—and that you find someone, mate or not, who treats you like a godsdamn queen.”

Her smile gave away her rolling eyes. Pulling one hand away, she offered him her pinky. “Fine. I promise, but you have to promise the queen part, too. It’s only fair.”

“Fine. I’ll find someone who treats me like a queen. I promise, Gwyn,” he laughed, his marbled pinky twining around hers.

Magic flickered around them, pinching their wrists as a black tattoo curled in an infinity around their wrists almost like a black ribbon. Fuck.  

His eyes shot up to hers as her pinky slipped from his. “Well, my friend, it seems we have unintentionally struck a bargain.”

Not looking away from the copper-headed female, striding over to the weapons wrack, he said, “It would appear so.”

Gwyn peered at him over his shoulder. “So, Azriel, now that we’ve had that talk, are you going to go speak with Elain?” She grabbed the hilt of a sword and tugged.

“Gwyn, be care—”

Clanging steel resounded off the rock walls and railings into the night sky. 

“Mother bless it all!” Gwyn whisper-yelled. 

Wings drawing tight, he strode forward, already reaching for her. “Show me your hands. Are you hurt?”

“Just my pride.”

Azriel’s playful snort answered with her scowl.

The shadowsinger didn’t need a moment to think about getting down to help her clean up, their hands occasionally brushing as he helped the Valkyrie right the fallen blades. 

And as they worked, she asked him again, nudging him regarding the middle Archeron. But he didn’t have an answer right now. He and Cassian may have designed those obstacle courses, but it had been this young priestess who had thrown down the emotional gauntlet. There was much to consider. Much to resolve. 

And, as for right now? 

“Maybe tomorrow,” he stated as she went to place the last sword in its place. He stayed her hand and took the weapon from her, spinning it in one hand as he walked toward the center of the training circle. “Tonight, I think we need to work on your swordsmanship. Clearly.”

[qissu]

Shinmon x F!Reader "Baby it's cold outside"

Genre: Fluff with plot

Words: 1038

Summary: You come back home to visit you father Konro, only ending up with you waking up to shinmon in your bed and being trapped in by the snow.

Winter was approaching hastily, and the strong winds of the forthcoming season awoke you from your sleep as you slept with your bedroom window slightly open.

 As you force yourself awake, you shiver in response. You paused in place as you brushed your skin in response to the wind.

Looking down and noticing your breasts were exposed, your eyes remained fixed on the arms that were snugly wrapped around your waist as you looked from right to left.

There was a strange man in your bed, which you instantly covered your mouth as you grasped. Fortunately, he was still sleeping when you lifted the covers. 

"S- shinmon?"  You couldn't help but shriek in disbelief.

As you attempted to get out of bed, his hold tightened with the slightest movement. You grab the window curtains and pull yourself up, thinking that would be a brilliant idea.

It worked until it didn't; the curtains gave way, and his grip on your waist completely loosened.

You threw yourself off the bed, taking all of the covers and even the curtains with you.

"Please don't wake up, please don't wake up." You whispered out in hopes that your clumsiness didn't awaken him. You waited on the floor, looking up at the bed, but there was no movement.

You breathed a sigh of relief till you heard Konro, your father's voice from down the hall. In the mornings, he frequently comes in to see how you're doing.

You jumped up, gripping the bed sheets as you crept onto the bed like a demon escaping hell, not wanting him to see Shinmon sleeping in your bed.

"He's on his way! Work your way under the bed!" You force Shinmon to wake up by climbing on top of him.

His gaze falls on yours, and he appears displeased with the current situation. "Why aren't you getting up? Make your way under the bed! My father is on his way!"

"But, for someone who had just awoken, that's a lot of effort." He pulled you down onto his chest and buried his head in your neck as he dozed off again.

How could he be so relaxed in this situation?!

When you hear a knock at the door, you grow panicked.

"Please, Dad, don't come in! I'm not feeling well!"

"Then I should come in and check your fever."   He reached for the doorknob.

"I just threw up outside the door! You don't want to step in it, do you?"

He came to a halt as the door cracked open slightly.

"Just come in Konro." Shinmon spoke up. raising his head, his gaze directed toward the door.

When your father saw the two of you in bed, he seemed unfazed. "  I came at a poor time, anyways, y/n I'm afraid you'll have to wait till next week to see your mother, the snow is falling quicker than I expected, and no transportation services will be able to transport you, even if you paid a lot of money."

"While the people of Asakusa light off fireworks for the coming season, me and the twins will be making hot coco."

He left the two of you alone once more, and Shinmon bent over you, pulling the covers from the floor and covering you both.

"There's nothing to be concerned about, as you can see. Let us go to sleep."

"Wait, this isn't right...I'll be right back." You leap to your feet and dress before exiting the room.

"Looks like someone had a fun night." As they pass you in the hallway, Hinata and Hikage snicker.

You catch up to your father by ignoring them.

"I wasn't expecting you to leave the room in such a hurry." As he made the coco, he continued.

"I don't understand, your okay with me and waka being together?"

"Yeah."

"Why"

"I trust him."

"But when I dated overseas you would be pissed off! that's not fair!"

He turned around and caressed your head. "You'll understand when you're a parent."

He returned his attention to the coco.

You return to your room, still unsatisfied with his response. Shinmon was up and about, getting ready for the day.

"I guess you were right, there's no need to be worried."

"I was already aware of that."

"Well, you did a fantastic job of reassuring me." As you prepared your bed, you gave him the side eye.

As the night grew darker, Shinmon joined the other towns people in setting the fireworks, while you assisted your father and the twins in passing out hot coco.

Shinmon returned once he finished, grabbing two cups of hot cocoa and pulling you away from everyone to sit on top of Company 7's building.

"Are you upset that you weren't able to return home on time?"

"I used to spend this time with my mother, but it's a wonderful change of pace. Nothing can compare to Asakusa and its amazing hot coco."

 When you look up from your warm cup of coco, you notice Shinmon gazing at you.

"Is there something wrong with my face?" As he smirked, you wiped your face.

"You were always someone who was beautiful from afar, and I assumed that if I got closer, I'd lose the same beauty I cherished so much, but I was mistaken."

His lips move closer to your ear. "Being beside you makes me want you even more, no matter what the consequences are."

Your cheeks flushed with blood, and as you turned to face him, you were greeted by his lips.

He deepens the kiss, savoring you with all of his affection and tenderness. Only breaking away as the sky is lit up by fireworks. As it went on, he stood up and took your hands in his, pulling you back inside.

You snuggle once you're both undressed and back in bed, and it quickly turns into kissing.

"What if my father shows up again?"

"It doesn't make a difference."

"What if you came home to find your daughter naked in bed with a man?"

"I'm going to kill him." As you both giggle, he lifts the covers over both of you.

During that winter night, you both embraced each other, and the night was filled with love.

[wroteclassicaly]

May I Taste Your Sin

(Michael Langdon x Female Reader)

Pairings : Michael Langdon x Female Reader

Warnings : Language, smut, blood, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, blood play, & period sex.

A/N : This fic has been a loooong time coming! I’m sorry it’s taken me this long, but now that I have inspo I wanted get this out for y’all! The warnings are obviously self-explanatory, so skip this if you don’t like the contents it’s gonna contain! Michael Langdon eats human hearts, and he’s a demon, before anyone starts to fuss over this, lol. I’m sure menstrual cycles with his partner would be a dessert to him!

Enjoy! This one is pretty intense, so I’m nervous about it! I also have more installments with different characters coming in the next few days! :)

Check out where I first posted the teaser for this fic, and check out these period sex headcanons I wrote for Michael!

~*~

He keeps staring at you. You try to move about, do your tasks, even attempt conversation with people you’d tried so hard to avoid these past several years. Your abilities to function like the human being that you are, seemingly vanish whenever the tall honey blond is within your exhausted proximities. You aren’t sure if you’d like to let out the loudest echoing scream and see where it ends up in this place, or let your wildest carnal urges guide your hormones into a literal sticky situation. Or, at the very least, let yourself fantasize about seducing him in your own self-created version of reality.

You’ll have to settle on the latter, unfortunately. Pocketing the cream colored dish rag, you place the last row of finely printed novels on the book shelve. Your fingertips linger, attempting to find a portal through their leather cover tops. Your tongue slicks your parched lips, neck stretching to crack out the tension. You aren’t trying to do anything but stealing some relaxation, when a largely hot hand is pressing a knot-out in a knead on your shoulder - clasping, settling a risky purchase.

You don’t have to make an educated guess to know whose hand that belongs to. He practically spews out his control and ownership of this place every chance that he gets. Biting down a venomous sigh, you coerce yourself into a turn around - gathering an eyeful of Langdon’s fancy black vest. That’s not good enough for the King, apparently, as he fits his pointer finger underneath your chin in a tuck, thumb pressing against your jaw to tilt your gaze to his own.

“Did you forget your manners, Miss Y/L/N?”

The way his shining eyes are sizing your attention, captivating your unwillingness to comply to how Langdon makes you feel - it can’t be humanly possible, can it? There’s that possessive ache that begs you to launch ownership over him and his entire body. Why is everything so widely dramatic whenever he’s around? Is he just full of himself or is it something way more than you’re aware? A crackling parch winds its pathway around your throat, sealing your breath in.

Nothing comes from between your lips. You’re frozen solid, legs a weightless press. Each touch this... man brings upon your body is like a bass thump - pumping you towards his secretive rhythm. All you can do is sway with the beat. Langdon smirks coyly, his other hand resting behind his back in an idle grace.

Neither of you dare utter a word. However, Langdon is seemingly content in making you squirm and you try to focus on everything but his perfectly crafted jawline, and how eagerly you’d suck on it if asked. You swear you can hear your heartbeat galloping off, so strong that it can tear your heart right out of your chest along with it. His colorful eyes glance over you in a brief stamping sweep, lingering at your sore breasts and your waistline.

What is he even doing...?

“Excuse me, but Ms. Venable did not authorize any private conferences with the help.” A cold and steel - grasped voice chills your bones down, dusting your cheeks with a reddening humiliation.

You haven’t even so much as spoken to Langdon, yet it feels like you two have been clawing and scratching at each other all over this fucking outpost, riding one another until you can’t fathom walking upright. You still can’t speak, but Langdon takes care of that for you.

“Interesting, and did Ms. Venable give you permission to waltz in here when you weren’t requested or required, just to give a meaningless order?” Langdon is mildly amused in his question, his hand still paused on your chin, thumb now swiping in a tickling drop with his fingertip - along your jaw.

Ms. Mead looks comical in her brief attempt at forming a snappy comeback, only to go silent in defeat. You take this tension as your escape line - quickly edging from the sacred confines Langdon has built for you two, and you all but run out the door. You’re clutching your shirt collar, punching a two pounce path up the staircase and to the help’s quarters.

Chores now, panic later.

~*~

Five minutes. Five fucking minutes in this place that you’ve served without question, complaint, for nearly two years - is all you want. But as the heavy handed rasps of Mead’s knuckle bones beat on your bathroom door, you know that is a simple pipe dream. Her low voice is harsh with you, making your headache unfold into a full blown migraine. You shift uncomfortably, knees knocking together, thighs sore against the cool porcelain seat below you.

Langdon must’ve massively pissed her off... Good.

Your palms collect purchase to your cradle your face, your eyes glistening with tears, throat burning with frustration. It hurts too much to stand upright this time. Normally women would lose this in stressful situations. Add the apocalypse and barely eating, you’d peg it normal to receive nothing. However, your predicament is much worse, fucking you over once more.

Your body welcomes Mother Nature each month. Unpredictable, yet there. Heavy, excruciating. You could list on and on reasons that don’t amount to much. You’re stuck with a part of you that won’t ever come to fruition.

Not in your former life, especially not in this one. Another reminder that carries an award winning irony. Sighing, you peer down at the red dish rag you were given. Literally on the rag, what a joyous harmony. The elites of course, are given the tampons and pads.

You have to use scraps of fabric you’re forced to wash in the bathtub if you move too fast or sneeze. And on your heavy days when you haven’t the time to stop your duties to wash and air out the towels, things are much harder. At least before the apocalypse you had chocolate, feminine products, a warm shower to take your time in, movies to curl up with, and a place of your own to cry where no one could hear you. You sniffle, hormones locking down your heart.

Most recently the outpost had welcomed the cooperative leader Langdon. He had interviewed everyone but you, uninterested, only flustering you a few times. Him being here just makes your period a more unwelcome storm. This morning as you were passing him on the landing of the staircase, delivering the bath towels to elite rooms, he stared at you. Right into you, nostrils flaring, tongue rolling out to slick his plump lips, blue eyes darkening.

Then there was this afternoon. How could I forget...?

The encounters were over quicker than they took place. Still, his acknowledgment of you didn’t bring your interview, nor did it promise your application for the sanctuary he preaches about. Forcing your tears to bank, you stand with your dress skirt and apron held up, staring at the stained rag in your panties. You turn and flush the toilet, eating back around to the shock of your fucking life. There, just feet in the from the doorway, is Langdon in all his glory.

It makes you swallow harshly, stomach drawing off the butterflies that have grown claws. You feel winded. His ring covered fingers bring an object to your sights. A thinly wrapped stick. You don’t answer, you don’t move, you don’t protest him approaching until he’s directly in front of you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You try, a mere whisper betraying your bravery.

“Helping you,” He answers simply, a heated slide crossing his mouth. You can practically taste him, damn near swaying forward.

You start to snap back into your senses, ready to cover your remembered modesty back up. He grasps your wrist, a hungry look soft in his features. “Will you let me?”

You’re shaking, body on fire at him touching you, you try to keep your legs from clenching, that want. You know what will occur if you let yourself. He is gentle with you, admiration clear. Why? You don’t understand this.

“You’re bleeding, I know.”

Jaw unhinged, you stand upright, his fingers still ghosting your skin. An unlucky movement on your part, the warmth spills from you and you look down between your thighs in horror at the red lines running down your legs, pattering against the floor. Langdon is breathing heavily, practically panting, stunning you once more. His other hand grips your cheek, thumb swiping your lip, eyes not breaking contact from yours.

“Do you know how good your cunt smells? Every pathetic person in this outpost is starving and you have the best meal between your fucking legs.”

When your silence stretches on, Michael nudges forward, careful with you. “May I feast?”

It’s all too much to handle. Having him talk to you, you speaking to him. And now this? How? You begin to grow dizzy, hands trembling as you try to pull your clothing back up. Langdon’s hands grip your wrists.

“Please don’t do that.”

You want to stun him incredulously, backhand him. None of that is happening, not even the urge. Instead, your want for him is magnifying beyond any feigned ignorance. Your tongue slides out across your lips, teeth biting down on your bottom lip in a brisk chew. Langdon hooks his middle finger between your teeth, releasing your lip and combing the blood across in a coppery gloss.

Your chest is startled, rising and falling in quivering quakes, ears hearing a static rush. Everything inside of you is alive and crying out in need to be sated. Langdon grips you around the waist, lowering his forehead to rest atop your own, his middle finger - still doused in your blood - slithers past his own lips, which close in a sticky suckle. A vibrating moan pummels his throat, causing a constricting swallow that showcases his Adam’s apple.

If I could only just lick that...

Langdon is sly and devilishly cunning to a fault - fast in his next movements. He presses a designer boot down over your skirts, successfully preventing them from being made up. “Leave them here for someone else.”

“I... I can’t. This is too much, Langdon —“ He chuckles at the formality.

“Since I can see your womanhood running from between your legs, I suppose it’s only fair that we skip some formalities, don’t you agree, Y/N?” Your eyes are probably wider than necessary - a cartoon like sight. He’s used your full name in an authoritative command, leaving no room for question. “And you may call me Michael.”

It’s all a little more frantic from this point. He gives the slightest of information, and you see your skirts and panties gliding across the floor in a winded push. Michael brings that wrapped item back into your eye-line. “We won’t be needing this for a while.”

“I didn’t say yes.” You try, swallowing a weak, whimpering stifle.

“But you didn’t say no, did you?” That shit eating grin. He has you and he is all too aware - elated to the brimming brimstone of hellfire you’re about to bestow upon yourself.

Your insides melt into the trenches of red hot, raw ravishment. Michael drops his left arm down, hand palming his hardening cock through black slacks, eyes encouraging you in a chained bind. “Let’s go and make a mess in my room.”

Now or never. No more of this, back to reality, maybe some place better. You’re spinning in a foiling encasement, precipice wide and open - hungry to pull you under. And you dive in, you let it all go. Michael looks satisfied, sharing something with himself that you don’t know... yet.

Taking Michael Langdon’s hand, you’re led into the unknown.

~*~

Langdon leads you down his own separate corridor, your free hand scolded for trying to hold yourself over your uniform.

“I want you to make a mess.” Michael says.

You hope that you’re not the one who will be paying the cost for your own said mess, or cleaning it up. If it’s up to Venable - you’ll be licking it, all the way to her high heeled boots.

Once inside the confines of Michael Langdon’s bedroom, you take the time to look around, enjoying the perks this situation is bringing. The room isn’t any different than what the purple elites get here, it is bordering on a more... lived in feel, which is ironic when you consider that Langdon hasn’t been here like everyone else has for the past three years.

Guess he’s just more comfortable? He does look like an English vampire half the time..

On that note, a particularly harsh cramp antagonizes your uterus, causing you to clench your abdomen, choking out a acidic slice. “Fucking demonic cramps.”

Michael - now clad in his all black ensemble, minus the overcoat - chortles, knotting his fingers together behind his back and strolls forward, wetting his lips as the firelight crackles a sparking soundtrack. “It’s ironic how you refer to it as “demonic”, when Satan really has nothing to do with this. I mean, it’s not on him that humanity failed their pitiful guidelines for sobering temptation. Wasn’t it your lord and savior that bestowed this curse upon you?” He finishes, giving a head tilt to your unhinged stun.

“Are you religious?” Is all you can come up with.

Michael sneers, looking slightly offended. It fades seconds later. “Depends on your definition of religious, and then there is what one believes in. But I guess you can say that I’m devoted to... a certain cause.”

“Were you this mysterious before the apocalypse, or is that why the cooperative gave you the job?” You try, a discomfort crackling at your inner thighs.

They’re probably smeared... And not just with blood.

“I bet you’re uncomfortable.” Michael teases, snapping his fingers at the fireplace. Did your eyes betray you, or did the flames flicker?

You want to give a snappy comeback, but it feels unwise. You nod like the sap that you are, nails biting your palms. Your heartbeat has begun to accelerate, a visible sight beneath your apron. Langdon guides himself to step in front of you, leather shoes drumming across the floor beneath. Every sound in this forsaken room is flowing through your eardrums - Michael’s scent on the tip of your tongue.

You need him. More than your body has to have the air that filters underneath this mausoleum. You’re so unsteady, eyes brimming with the smoking arousal, blocking common sense. Michael catches you as you collide with his chest, wrapping your fists into his vest. His blue irises are disappearing to a canyon of night sky - lavish black so sinful that it steals the breath from your lungs.

Drizzling off your tongue is a hesitation. “Won’t we get into trouble...? Venable -“ Those rough fingertips hold a softness that hushes your lips, denting.

“Can watch me with my face buried into your cunt. The humiliation will arouse her.” Michael answers in his own finish.

You aren’t sure why, but that grates your mouth into a sneaky grin, shared with Michael’s, sensing that slapping throb at his phrases. He pinches your chin, nuzzling your head to the side, his lips sloping a map across your neck. His towering physique backs you by knocking his knees into your thighs, delivering you to the edge of his bed. You drop like wild weights, looking towards the ceiling, trying to take a deep inhalation. Langdon crouches, pants rustling as they tighten around his temptingly thick thighs.

He tuts in a scold, chiding you furthermore. “You will watch what I’m getting ready to do to you! Is that clear, Y/N?”

You don’t answer fast enough, Michael’s hand wrapping around your throat, eyes burning hellfire through you - dusting your bones to ash. Your throat is wet with the clingy, unshed tears. Fuck, you have to be filled up until you’re hollowed out. Michael is languid in grace, hand toppling into your lap, joining his other.

“Take down your hair, Y/N.”

Like a puppet, you obey your new owner. Unwrapping the pointed bun, you shake your locks free, sighing in an eased tickle.

“What a good and obedient girl that you are. Those who obey, shall reap the riches.”

“Why are you doing this?” An ignorant question on your part.

“Because,” As if it’s the most simple answer in this broken world, Michael let’s his hands start to unbutton his vest, carelessly sending it, his attention not wavering off you in the slightest. “I’m hungry.”

A literal moan comes from you, making Langdon hiss through his through his milky white teeth. He resumes his former position, hovering.

“Spread.” Michael says, a quaint wonder adorning him, his palms sliding up and down your legs to feel you part them. The blood is mixing some fucked out potion with your creamy arousal for him, and he knows it, has it right into your tremble from the exposure.

Your skin is steaming in scrapes, responding so vulgarly to Michael, that he is hooking his wrists under your knees, bouncing the flesh into his awaiting hands, and claiming. He hoists your legs over his shoulders to arch you to his idea of perfection. You should be protesting, in a shambled shyness. That is gone, no place here. Michael let’s his nose rest in the crease of your thigh, crudely sniffing like some beast.

His sopping tongue finds a striking stroke along your ruby red, damp thigh.

Closer... He’s getting closer...

When you can’t feel that warm and snide air he possesses, you lock to load a question. Michael is shedding himself of his remaining clothing in a cocky crawl. His hair curtains his face as he sees you seek out his cock - thick and heavy, weighted and wet with pre-cum.

“Finish taking off your clothing.” You’ve never done something so fast in your years alive.

You have to admit, being so vulnerable like this - naked and bleeding, it has you buzzing.

Michael outstretches a veined forearm, the back of his rings swirling in desiring dances across your breasts. “Do these hurt?”

Your lashes are slicked in perspiring tears, the tired soreness harassing your chest. He has his truth. His trim form bows to you once more, placing your legs back where they belong. He knuckles a pressing push into your abdomen. “Bear down.”

It isn’t an accident this time, it’s not a discreet secrecy. Michael wants you this way. All of you. Finding a confidence, you give yourself a high and sink your fingers into his hair, toes tickling his shoulder blades in a forwarding nudge, doubling down on your muscles. That warmth spills out of you and Langdon takes you, tongue parting your swollen folds. He regulates his tongue in wet paints, licking and sucking everything you give him.

“Please—“ You’re already begging. It’s so fucking intense and intimate that you can’t formulate your own damned name.

“Are you really going to ask, or would you just like to feel good?” Michael vibrates, his mouth visible and shining crimson as he seeks you out between your slippery thighs.

It’s outright feral. His irises are coal black, blue lost in some combing canyon that’s crumbled around sin. His digits prod at your sensitive opening, being accepted moments later. His lips close over your clit, tongue slithering back and forth to assist his beckoning fingers. He gathers more from you - his purpose.

That quenched fold starts to seize you early on, your pattering breaths signaling the orgasm that is about to tear the screams from your fucking diaphragm. Michael’s hand smacks and rolls your swollen breast - permission granted. That’s all it takes and you’re falling back onto the mattress, back arching in a lined drag, pussy flattening against his mouth. He jerks you impossibly closer, your vision whiting out into dark spots. You tangle your fingers further into his luscious strands, holding, pulling.

In the midst of close recovery, Michael is plowing you with a short lived let down, his mouth leaving your pussy. You can’t complain, no time available, as his hips slot in a frazzled fit between your legs. His pelvis is tense, sheathed in sweat. His chest smashes your breasts, his hand reaching down to guide his cock inside you. You can’t speak, but cling tightly to his back. He growls a sound that you’ll never forget, the fire bursting behind him, flames licking the rocked cove that houses them.

His mouth is covered in your essence, your cunt bathing his dick with each violent thrust. It’s pouring in drenches, salty perspiration, pooling blood - both of you losing yourselves in the mess. Michael props himself up, digging into a dipping slam, meeting your mouth in an ending kiss. His hair tickles your shoulders, nose nudges your now blood caked mouth, and he gives the warning.

“Spill your fucking curse all over me!” And you come undone, glued to him in puzzled entrapment.

Your thighs are wrecked, his bedsheets useless, and then there’s Michael, who forces you to look at him and really see him. There’s only black in his eyes. You sputter a disbelief, bracing. His mouth parts, tongue flicks across to gather more, leveling off into his jagged movements. He swells inside your cunt, dousing your walls in his warm cum.

He doesn’t leave you, not even when it’s over. He simply takes you with him. You aren’t sure where you get the courage to speak - body shaking and shivering.

“What... Michael, who are you?”

He cups a hand over your cunt, rolling onto his side, keeping you held to him. He lightly blows away a pesky lock of your hair, then maneuvers another behind your ear.

“I’m the man who’s going to save your wretched existence.”

Tag list : @littledemondani @dark-mei-rose @fckinsupreme @angelicmichael @icylangdon @ritualmichael @sojournmichael @celestialrequiem @instinctsxbaby @infernwetrust @ferndolan @9layerdevilfoodcake @bloodcoatedeclipse @wormycircumstance @antichristsxbox @xavierplympton @xavierplymptons @ramona-thorns @lovelylangdonx @langdxn @codyarchives @dailylangdon @codyfernuk @langdonsjoyy @7-wonders @blakescoven @holylangdon @bitchchatter @suspiriva @taskmastter @kitty4860 @ladynuwanda @langdonsexual @sammythankyou

[mara-xx217]

Pokes head

May I request Michael being a possessive daddy and fighting a killer who hurt his girlfriend ? It can be anyway you like 💙

Why of course you can~ This isn’t based in Dbd, but the normal world. Hope you don’t mind!

Possessive, Protective Mikey

You were like some sort of disease to Michael. Or, perhaps, a parasite was a better descriptor of how you affected him. You wormed your way into him, deep into his chest, right beside his cold, soulless heart. You made him… feel, regardless of what that actually meant, it was beyond unacceptable in his eyes. That warm, painful throbbing in his chest was more than distracting, it was nauseating, disturbing. Terrifying… In a sick, twisted, wrong way, you terrified the Shape of Haddonfield. Michael fucking Myers was absolutely terrified of a small, defenseless creature that was completely helpless against the evil and cruelty he wielded against the world. He should kill you a hundred thousand times over for this transgression! But… it wouldn’t make him feel any better. He only… feels more empty every time your cheeks are stained with tears. Cold. Dead. Michael would feel dead without you…

This isn’t the first time he’s caught someone hurting you. It’s happened many, many times over, and his reaction has ranged from blinded rage to searing hatred. Not just for the one harming you, but towards you, yourself. It was that lack of control that drove Michael insane. He couldn’t watch you 24/7, couldn’t always follow you around or know where you were at any given moment… It drove him fucking crazy, and he took that frustration out on not just the asshole unfortunate enough to have crossed paths with you, but onto you, as well.

But, even that was quickly losing its luster to him. Michael had thought that hurting you would bring him some sort of fulfillment, like it has always done in the past when he had hurt others. It never has, though. Sure, he’s lied to himself, trying desperately to convince himself that seeing you all small, all scared and teary-eyed brought him a measure of enjoyment, to have your blood on his hands, to have you groveling in terror before him- but it didn’t. It- He- Michael felt… not good, when that happened. You made him… stop to consider how his actions would affect you, and he hated that.

Michael despises that you’re a magnet for trouble. That you just can’t seem to stay the hell away from people that want to do you harm. Sure, he doesn’t mind killing them. Quite the opposite, in fact, he rather enjoys seeing them covered in their own blood, begging for their pathetic lives before he mercilessly snuffs them out. No, Michael hates that you get hurt in the first place. The only one that should ever have the right to put their hands on you was him! Him, and him alone. Anyone else would be destroyed.

Some wannabe serial killer punk had set his eyes on you. Luckily for you, Michael knew better than to leave you to your own devices, anymore. He caught the little bastard scoping out your home before you had any idea of the danger you were in. He’d make sure that, this time, he’d be in complete control of the situation. You won’t be hurt, but that idiot thinking that he can do as he pleases? He’s going to regret the day he was born…

Sitting in your kitchen, you drank what must be your fifth coffee of the night. Strange things were happening, and it left you unable and unwilling to sleep at night. Rustling outside your windows, the sound of someone possibly jimmying your doors and windows, looking for a possible way in… Muddy footprints on your porch and small, dead animals left on your door mat… It was becoming too much. You’re… pretty sure it wasn’t Michael. He did love to torment you, but this wasn't really his thing. He was much more… direct, with his approach to you. This… this was someone else…

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you rub your eyes, feeling them water involuntarily from how dry they were. Anxiously, you tap your fingers on the top of the counter, before sighing heavily and grabbing your coffee mug. You decided to make your way to the living room, thinking that some TV would help calm your nerves and get your mind off of things. Fuck, I’m exhausted… You thought bitterly as you crashed onto the couch, nearly spilling lukewarm coffee all over yourself.

Picking up the remote, you absentmindedly flipped through channels, not really wanting to watch anything. It was just something else to focus on, rather than the impending sense of dread that was washing over you. This feeling was one that you were well acquainted with: the feeling of being watched. Your heart was pounding in your chest and your palms were slick with sweat. Slowly, you sit up, clumsily placing your mug on the table in front of you. The hairs on your entire body stood on end. Something’s not right here…

As you begin to rise off the couch, a firm hand pushes you back down into a sitting position. Your heart jumped up into your throat. You’re very familiar with Michael’s hands, and the one still gripping your shoulder was much, much smaller than his… Short, shaky breaths escaped through your clenched teeth. Fuck..! Oh shit- Oh my God no no no-! You don’t dare to move, only stare straight ahead at nothing as your mind runs wild with possibilities. Who the hell is it?! How did they get in?! Why me?! Where the fuck is Michael when I fucking need him?!?

The intruder sucks in a deep breath, as though he’s about to say something, but instead yelps in surprise as he’s ripped away from you suddenly and violently. You gasp, shooting up and scrambling across the room, back peddling into an opposing corner. Curling in on yourself, you crumple onto the floor, watching the brutality unfolding before you through the cracks of your fingers.

Michael had thrown the intruder back, sending him crashing into a mostly bare bookshelf, breaking most of the shelves along with it. You cringe and jump, feeling your insides twist and revolt against you. Michael drops to the floor, straddling the winded, smaller man as he desperately tries to fight back. Vainly. It was laughable, really. The idiot didn’t stand a chance against the human incarnation of evil, itself.

Michael briefly debated on playing with his food. There was something about seeing them crawl and beg that really set him off, but when he glanced at you over his shoulder, in the fetal position and hyperventilating, he actually decided against it. It was getting under his skin seeing you like this, and the quicker this is… inconvenience is dealt with, the quicker things will be back to normal. Well, to Michael’s fucked up definition of the word “normal”, that is.

With a quick stab to the back of his neck, the intruder was killed. Normally, Michael would have painted the walls with this creep’s blood, but he decided that it would be too much of a pain in the ass to clean up. With a flick of his wrist, Michael twists and pulls out the blade, wiping the excess blood onto the back of his victim’s shirt. He looks back over to you, and sees you stiffen. His… Huh. His chest actually hurts…

With a heavy sigh, he stands, stepping over the dead body as he makes his way over to you. A major part of you was beyond terrified. Is he gonna hurt me..? Oh- Oh God..! I’m gonna- I’m- I’m gonna..! You were trembling, shaking so hard that your teeth were actually chattering audibly. Michael’s eye twitched. He was conflicted: one part of him loved that you were this scared of him, as you should be, but the other… the other hated it. He- Well, he wanted… something, but he just didn’t know what. Fingers twitching, he reached out to you, struggling to ignore how you froze as he slowly approached you.

You really thought that he was going to grab you by the hair and drag you off to the bedroom, so when his fingertips just barely brushed the top of your head, moving the hair from your face, you were, well… at a bit of a loss. Michael has never, ever been that gentle while touching you. Ever. You raise your head slightly, just enough so that you could see him. He still had that damn mask on, of course, and his body language hardly betrayed what he was thinking or feeling, but- You couldn’t deny that his fingers were trembling ever so slightly.

He slowly crouches in front of you, treating you as though you're some kind of animal that will either bolt at the slightest movement or go for his jugular, or something like that. You don’t move or speak, unsure of what he was doing. When he placed his hand where that stalker touched you, gently- carefully squeezing your shoulder as though you were made of glass, you… you relaxed.

You could tell that he was struggling to be gentle, with how his fingers twitched uncontrollably and the pressure of his fingertips varied. You looked up to him, then down at his chest as an odd warmth spread through your cheeks. Michael was extremely possessive over you. He hated it when you interacted with anyone else, especially other men. But, right now, even though another man had touched you, he wasn’t flying off the handle like he usually did. He was still extraordinarily pissed off that he had given the bastard just enough time to physically touch you, but it was remedied.

He was fucking dead, and you were still here. You were his and his alone. That wasn’t called into question. There was no dispute. Michael Myers is the only person that is ever allowed to touch you. You’ve come to accept this, and slowly but surely, you’re even beginning to enjoy his touch. As sick and messed up as it was, you’ve started to develop feelings for him, despite the fact that he made your life a living hell. If anything, you knew that no one would hurt you ever again. No one, except for him.

[benditlikepress]

one good movie kiss

here for @sunforgrace 's thesis statement: give dean one good movie kiss and he WILL be alright

“Are you avoiding me?”

Dean’s hand stills in the air above his cup of coffee as the voice cuts through the kitchen.

Cas is standing in the middle of the room in an ill-fitting sweater and his hair is dishevelled as though he’s been tossing and turning. He looks so unremarkable, so human, it makes Dean’s breath catch in his throat at the reminder.

It’s been three days since Cas got back and it occurs to Dean when he speaks that it’s the first time they’ve been alone together. Awake, that is: Dean realised early on that difficult conversations couldn’t happen if you’re asleep. Thank god for Cas’ Empty-rescue hangover.

“No. I’m not avoiding you.”

“OK. Good. I was worried that after what happened things might be weird between us, but I suppose that’s unavoidable.” Cas pulls a face that’s a little self-deprecating.

I’m fighting the urge to run the hell away from you, Dean thinks. To stay the hell away from you before I do anything else to hurt you. Before you make a reckless decision to save me, again, or say something so brutal and true that my legs give out from under me and I’m left sitting alone on the floor wondering how the hell I’m supposed to do this on my own.

I’m fighting the urge to wrap you in my arms and never let go.

“I’m not avoiding you, Cas. I just.. I’m trying to figure out the stuff I have to say to you.”

“I understand. I know everything that’s happened recently is a lot to contend with.”

“Yeah, that’s an understatement.” Dean coughs and stands up, tapping his hands against his legs for something to do. Cas is looking at him expectantly and Dean knows he deserves answers but how is he supposed to do that? How do you even begin to explain to someone that their mere presence in the room has your breath hitching? “But it’s not.. you. It’s not you I’m avoiding. It’s just. Y’know. The stuff you said before you..” He doesn’t say it. He can’t. Cas blinks.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. That’s – god, that’s the last thing I want. I’m just.. trying to get my head around it.”

“I meant it.”

“I know you did. I know that. I just.. I believe you, and nobody’s ever really said that stuff to me and meant it before. So I don’t really know how to talk to you about it. But I.. so long as you know I appreciate it.” The words are too fast and Dean doesn’t know if that’s more or less embarrassing than the way he’s stumbling, pathetic half-words forcing their way out of his mouth.

“OK.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

And it’s that simple to him, apparently. He doesn’t ask Dean for anything else. It pisses Dean off, actually – he wants Cas to ask him. Maybe if he’s forced to confront it the words might come out a little easier.

“I mean, you know that I.” Dean stops again abruptly and jesus christ why is there a lump in his throat? “It means something. To me. It means a whole lot, actually. Maybe if it didn’t it’d be easier to talk about. There’s stuff that I wanna.. stuff I need for you to hear. That you deserve to hear, when I get my head out of my ass. Because I don’t feel like I deserve any of that crap you said to me, but you deserve to hear things back.”

It feels like a monumental admission but it’s clearly not the thing on Cas’ mind as he frowns.

“You think you don’t deserve that? You really believe that?”

“Honestly? I’ve never believed it. I don’t know why you give me the time of day half the time, man. And you don’t have to.. argue about it, or anything. I know you want to. It’s just how I see it.”

Cas thinks about that for a couple of seconds, eyes boring into Dean so deeply he half-wonders if he can’t still see his soul. He walks further into the room but doesn’t approach Dean – not really. Just takes a couple of steps between the distance.

“I won’t argue. Not now. But I hope I can make you understand that you deserve it. Happiness, peace.. love-” The word has Dean’s mind reeling, flashbacks and heat rushing “– I spent a long time believing I couldn’t accept them for myself. I thought too much had happened, or that I wasn’t built to be capable. You allowed me to think differently. I want you to do the same.” Cas looks down and taps his hand on the edge of the table as though he hasn’t got Dean’s heart in the palm of it. He looks up again and his expression is breath-takingly earnest. “Dean, the things I said barely touch the sides. I don’t know if I could ever put into words the impact you’ve had on me since we met. I just wanted you to understand. I needed you to understand how other people see you, even if you can’t see it for yourself.”

“Message received.” Dean responds like a fucking asshole but Cas smiles all the same, warm and knowing and in a way that fills Dean with the relief of being understood.

“I can give you space to think about things if that’s what you want. I know I’ve put you in a difficult position.”

“It’s not difficult. Probably not for anyone else except me.”

Dean smiles in derision and Cas returns it but it’s pity and sadness and love and Dean’s mouth closes. “It was difficult. I threw things at you that’d been on my mind for a long time and didn’t give you any time to process it.”

“I’ve had weeks. Weeks and weeks, and I still can’t.. I think until I saw you again I had no idea how to understand it. Looking you in the eye and thinking about it-” Dean closes his eyes and pushes away black ooze and secrets and everything else that threatens to flow over the things he wants to remember. Tears in Cas’ eyes and his smile so bright, brighter than Dean even thought him capable.

He’s looking at him now like he might break.

“I’m sorry, Cas. I know I’m not-”

“I know exactly what you are, Dean.” The words are clear and sincere and Dean wonders if there’s anyone else in the universe capable of arresting him so simply. “I’ll leave you to it.” Cas eventually nods at Dean’s breakfast and smiles, dipping his head as he starts to leave.

“We’ll talk. We will.”

“I know we will.” He smiles a little as he turns to walk away and suddenly Dean’s heart is in his mouth at the sight of the back of his head.

Say something. Say something.

“Cas.” Dean calls too quickly, too desperately, and when he turns to look at him with naked expectation all of the wind is knocked right back out of his sails. “I… fuck, Cas. I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

He smiles with complete and utter sincerity, and god he has to stop doing that. Stop accepting Dean’s bullshit as though it’s nothing. Shout, argue, anything.

He’s leaving. He’s still leaving, he’s turning away and suddenly Dean’s legs are propelling him through the kitchen of their own accord.

Dean grabs his arm and yanks him around, the force of it making Cas briefly stumble a little before he straightens his feet and looks at Dean with a wide-eyed confusion that makes Dean’s heart hammer in his chest.

Dean brings his hands up to cup Cas’ face around his ears on his neck and jaw, in a way he has before and convinced himself wasn’t ever possible when they weren’t battling life or death. Cas’ stubble is a little longer than usual and he strokes the line of it with his thumb, watching as Cas’ mouth falls open just a touch in the echoing silence.

Dean takes his time, registering every mini-movement of expression in Cas’ face as he understands what’s happening. His hand comes up to Dean’s wrist but doesn’t push it away, rather grips it for dear life as though he’s afraid it’s going to disappear. When Cas’ eyes travel down his face Dean takes it as invitation and closes the gap between them, pressing his lips lightly but surely against Cas’.

At first Cas’ are stunned frozen against his and Dean starts to panic that he’s made some kind of earth-shattering error in judgement before the hand on his wrist relaxes and he feels a pressure against his mouth. Cas’ lips are a little chapped, like always, and Dean feels his eyelashes flutter.

He opens his eyes reluctantly as he pulls away, not sure what he’s expecting to see (rejection? Lucifer? nothing at all?) and almost slams them shut again when he finds Cas peering at him with such utter arresting devotion he thinks his knees might buckle.

Dean’s hands drop to his sides of their own accord, suddenly absolutely terrified, but Cas doesn’t move away in return. In fact, he brings his hand to Dean’s cheek and Dean’s sure he must look like a fish opening and closing his mouth in stunned silence before suddenly Cas moves in to kiss him again, other hand coming up to grab his face and hold him in place as his lips are ferocious and impassioned against his own.

And this, this is more like it, Dean’s barely able to think as Cas’ mouth opens and his tongue plays along the line of Dean’s own lips, his heart hammering in his chest as he hears a noise in Cas’ throat as he allows him entrance.

Cas kisses like he’s never going to get another chance: like Dean has granted him a once-in-a-lifetime wish that’s going to get taken away at any moment. He’s hungry and sharp and warm and Dean feels breathless as he lowers his hands from his face to his neck and then to his hip, pulling Dean sharply against him as Dean’s own hands cup his jaw and try desperately to gain a semblance of control.

There’s stubble scratching his face and he tries fleetingly to explain away the flushing burn on his skin as a by-product of it, but then there’s a hand riding up his shirt onto on the bare skin at the small of his back and it’s on fire.

Where the hell did Cas learn to kiss like this? His head is spinning before he can ponder the question and fingers on his back are steady and grounding even as Cas’ tongue and lips and breath have him practically able to feel the earth spinning beneath him.  

The kiss slows steadily and then all at once as Cas’ lips lighten against his, and he feels him exhale against his skin in a release that Dean himself is desperate for. He knows it’ll come, eventually: in every moment he allows himself to open like this, touch on his skin making him feel alive.

Cas pulls away and Dean feels a longing form deeply and harshly in his throat that barely stops him from yanking him straight back in again. He forces himself to open his eyes, wondering if Cas can see water pricking in the corners of them.

“Don’t give me space, Cas. I don’t want it.” He manages to say though his voice sounds foreign and weird to his own ears, like it’s formed by someone else. There’s that smile on Cas’ lips again and he feels a desperation to say something, anything, that’ll keep it frozen in time. “Just stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“I know.” Cas’ own voice is quiet now and Dean’s fingers somehow find themselves reaching out towards Cas’ hand, pulling it a little.

“You wanna do something today?” He says, just for something to say. Anything to prolong the moment.

“OK.”

“Sweet.” Dean nods and tips his head away, running a hand through his hair to try to gain some composure as Cas smiles at him as though nothing’s happened.

Dean has to pinch himself to check that it has.

[fruitcoops]

hi eve! i was wondering if you would be interested in writing a coops shower fic, nothing smutty, just really soft and sensual and maybe comforting. i’m going through a tough time right now and your writing always cheers me up. thanks <3

Yes! This was combined with an ask for Coops' first day/ night living together--I hope you enjoy! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove

TW for showering together (nothing smutty, just fluff)

They tumbled through the front door in a mess of laughter and rainwater—Remus’ soaked sneakers slipped on the floor and he skidded into Sirius, who was still blinded by the damp hair hanging in his eyes. “Shit!” Remus spluttered around his breathless grin as they struggled to keep their balance. “Baby, baby, grab the door—”

The front door slammed shut and steadied them just as another bolt of lightning cracked overhead; they stood in the entrance, panting and drenched, before Sirius’ chest began to shake beneath Remus’ cheek once more. “Mon dieu,” he snickered, leaning his head back against the heavy wood. “Which god did we piss off?”

“I’m taking this as a good sign.” Remus shivered as he shook his raincoat out on the welcome mat. “A fresh start, and all that symbolism.”

“Okay, college boy.”

He peeled one wet sock off and snapped it at Sirius’ hip, but the extra water weight made him miss by a mile and Sirius just shot him a teasing grin while he wriggled out of his tshirt. “I told you to bring a jacket,” Remus said wryly as his head got stuck. “But oh no, sweetheart, it’s totally not going to rain today. The weatherman is always wrong, it’s been sunny all week—”

“Alright, alright,” Sirius grumbled from the depths of wet fabric, waving one hand in his general direction. “You’re very smart.”

“Do you want first shower?”

Sirius’ cheeks were pink when he finally freed himself, both from his efforts and their mad five-block dash home. His brows furrowed in confusion. “Aren’t we showering together?”

Remus shrugged. “Hey, it’s your house.”

“Our house,” he corrected, taking the hem of Remus’ shirt and helping him pull it over his head.

A little flurry of joy ran through Remus’ gut at his words; goosebumps broke out over his freezing skin, and he could feel a dopey smile spread over his face. Ours. Most of his stuff had been living at Sirius’ for a couple days, but he had only brought the last of it over and dropped his key off with his landlord that morning. The last six hours had been filled with delirious happiness every time he remembered. “Then lead the way, captain.”

Sirius kissed his chilly nose and took him by the hand—both their palms were clammy and half-numb from the rain, and Remus didn’t care one bit. Stripping down was significantly more difficult when every article of clothing seemed dead-set on becoming a second skin, but after a handful of minor mishaps and more than one muffled curse, they were finally standing under warm water.

Remus closed his eyes with a sigh, letting the steam wrap around every inch of him. His apartment may have been comfortable, but it was severely lacking in water pressure and heat compared to Sirius’ house.

Our house.

He hummed to himself and stepped back until his shoulder blades were pressed to Sirius’ chest; there was a low laugh, then callused fingers running through his hair. “What are you thinking about?”

“Our house,” he answered, turning to stand on his toes and place a kiss to Sirius’ lips. It was chaste and unhurried; there was no time constraint on how long they could spend there. Remus didn’t have to worry about getting home too late, or whether he had brought enough stuff to stay the night. Everything he wanted was within reach.

Sirius smiled against his lips and draped his arms over Remus’ shoulders, tugging playfully on the wet curls at the base of his neck. “Good thoughts?”

“Always,” he said immediately. “This is…it’s so good, Sirius. So good. I am so happy.”

Their next kiss was deeper, but there was no real heat behind it, even as Remus curled his hands around the sharp peaks of Sirius’ hips. “I love you,” Sirius murmured when they pulled back for air. He bumped their noses together. “And I can’t wait to have you here all the time.”

“You don’t have to wait at all.”

His grin widened and he kissed Remus again. “I know.”

Remus nuzzled into the side of his neck and relaxed into the soapy slide of Sirius’ hand down his spine. He hadn’t realized how cold he was until the hot water started pouring over him, and sudden sleepiness trickled into the edges of his thoughts like rain through a gutter. The steam turned minty fresh as Sirius washed the expanse of his shoulders, then his neck, then all the way down each arm; he dropped a teasing pinch to Remus’ ass, but moved right back up to rub his thumb in the crook of one elbow.

“Do you want me to wash your hair?” he asked quietly against Remus’ temple.

“Mmm, please,” was all Remus could muster in response.

He had never really understood the hype about physical affection before he met Sirius. Sure, hugs from his parents and Jules were amazing, and fist bumps from the guys always made him feel included, but the gravitational pull Sirius had was like nothing he had ever felt. It was impossible to be uncomfortable if Remus was within five feet of him—impossible to feel unsafe when he fit so neatly in the dip of one shoulder.

“Love you,” he said around a slow exhale as Sirius began combing the conditioner through his hair. It was almost long enough to flop into his eyes, something that seemed to delight Sirius any time he saw it.

Warm lips brushed the shell of his ear for a moment. “You smell like la lavande.”

“Lavender?” Sirius hummed his approval and Remus raised his head just enough to kiss the water off his collarbone. “Do you like it?”

“Love it.” Sirius glanced down at him with a sideways smile, making one dimple pop. “Love you. Where did you get this?”

“Walgreens.”

That startled a laugh from him, which set Remus off as well. “Walgreens? Really?”

“I ran out one day at, like, midnight and it was the closest place. It smelled nice, so I just kept on buying it.”

Sirius shook his head with the same awed look on his face. “The secret to illegally soft hair is Walgreens conditioner. Amazing. My hair would riot.”

Remus frowned. “Your hair looks incredible even after you swim in salt water all day.”

“And then it tangles, and frizzes, and—” He paused. “Comment dit-on une colère? Like a toddler?”

“A tantrum?”

“Ouais.” Remus tilted his chin back obediently to let him wash the conditioner out. “It throws a tantrum. See, this is why I need you around all the time.”

“I have never seen your hair throw a tantrum before.” Sirius’ cheeks flushed and he bit his lip around a smile; Remus poked him lightly in the chest. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s an awfully big smile for nothing.”

His silver eyes shone as he placed yet another gentle kiss to Remus’ lips through the water running down both their faces. “You get to see it all the time now. No more going back to your apartment after we go places.”

“You’ll be subjected to my bedhead every morning,” Remus teased, resting their foreheads together as he reached for the soap.

“I love your bedhead.”

“I’m counting on it.” He took the bar of soap and ran it along the planes of Sirius’ chest, then around his back to trace every muscle. He could feel Sirius’ gaze on him with each movement and warmed from the inside out at the attention. Every bit of rainy cold that had snuck under his skin vanished in the minutes of comfortable quiet.

Thunder rolled through the sky when they finally turned the shower off and wrapped up in Sirius’ fluffiest towels—Remus’ own were significantly less fancy, but they remained in the linen closet on equal standing. It was silent things like that that made him love Sirius just a little bit more.

“Wait, wait, hang on,” he said as Sirius started pulling his sweatpants on.

“Hey!” Sirius protested when Remus took both the pants and his soft tshirt right out of his hands, winding the towel back around his waist with an awkward hop. “I’m going to get cold!”

“Five minutes!” Remus called over his shoulder as he hurried down the stairs with their clothes. “I promise it’s worth it!”

It would be a drizzly night; grand plans of takeout and a movie ran through his head and he did a small happy dance in the laundry room as he tossed their clothes in the dryer. His dryer. Their dryer. “Mine,” he murmured, running a hand over the top of the machine. It was a wild thought, and one he would have to get used to. He still instinctively checked the clock from time to time before remembering that he would be staying for—

Forever.

The thought came before Remus could really process it and he leaned against the dryer with an unsteady breath. It was only his first real day in the house, and already he was thinking about…that. About staying forever. It wasn’t as scary as he had imagined.

“Mon loup?” Sirius peeked around the doorjamb in confusion, still fiddling with the tucked side of his towel. “What are you doing?”

“It’s a trick that I learned from my mom,” Remus said rather than getting into the specific train of thought that probably left him looking like he had been whacked with a frying pan. “Do you want to do takeout for dinner?”

“I…kind of wanted to get dressed.”

Remus patted his hip as he passed. “Five minutes, baby. Where should we eat?”

“You pick.”

--

Forty minutes later, Remus found himself tucked under the blanket his mother had given him when he went away for college with his boyfriend and a box of takeout Thai food. Their clothes were still warm from the dryer—he would never forget the pure bliss on Sirius’ face when he got dressed and was instantly cocooned in heat—and Sirius’ hair was still half-damp from their shower, curling in little wings over his ears. It felt like worlds colliding. Somehow, Remus was just fine with that.

“Hey,” he said quietly as the exposition continued on screen. Sirius glanced over with his fork halfway to his mouth. “This is perfect.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He looked around the living room—their living room—that had seemed so empty the first time he saw it. They could put pictures on the wall by the back door, and one box of his books still laid unopened by the shelves. He could bring out his grandmother’s quilt in the winter. A month from then, two months, ten months. “I’m happy here.”

Sirius’ breath caught for a moment before a hoodie-clad arm slid between Remus’ back and the couch and guided him over to rest his head on Sirius’ chest. His lips were slightly spicy from the curry when he kissed him. “I’m happy when you’re here,” Sirius said, hardly above a whisper. “I miss you when you’re not.”

Remus breathed in the smell of his—their—laundry detergent and felt his heart give a hard thump. “You don’t have to miss me anymore.”

“C’mere.” There was a shuffle as Sirius set both their food boxes on the coffee table and paused the movie, then shifted around so Remus was laying on his chest. He pulled the blanket all the way up to their shoulders and slipped one warm hand up Remus’ shirt to rest on the small of his back; his eyes were bright in the semi-darkness. “Stay with me.”

Remus didn’t hesitate. “Always.”

[arvinsescape]

Jealous Tom.

A/N: This is based off a request i recieved about Jealous Tom! I hope you enjoy and I hope the person that sent me the request enjoys! Sorry it took a while to write but here it is!

Summary: I think the title says enough. Porn with very little plot and slight fluff but not much.

Warnings: Swearing, smut (minors do not engage), fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it up, please practise safe sex for multiple reasons), slight orgasm denial and slight degredation(?) i guess. (Just to point out this is happening in an established relationship).

W/C: 1.8K

Requests are currently closed.

Tom was jealous, you could feel it in the stare that was directed your way as you spoke to your manager. Tom had never been a fan of him, said he had a crush on you and that he constantly stared at your boobs and your arse, you said he was being ridiculous, he was your manager, there’s no way he’d see you like that. Not that you cared, you loved Tom and that was that.

You were at a works party and although you didn’t really want to be here you kind of had to be and you were chatting with your manager because you had to play nice, you wanted a promotion and he would have to recommend you so you had to keep being nice even if you did find him dull. You felt as two arms snaked around your waist and Tom’s chin suddenly appeared on your shoulder.

“I’m really sorry darling but we need to go, family emergency.” He said as he kissed your cheek, all whilst eyeing your manager. You turned in his grasp as you looked at him.

“Not a problem, I’ll see you on Monday Y/N.” Your manager said as he made his way elsewhere. You furrowed your brows in worry.

“What’s happened?” You asked.

“Nothing, wanted to get rid of him, he’s just pissing me off, looking at your boobs every two seconds.” Tom said, if he had you hadn’t noticed, again you didn’t care, you loved Tom and your mind didn’t wander elsewhere. You huffed out a slight laugh as you wound your arms around his shoulders, playing with the curls at the base of his neck.

“Jealous?”

“You’re fucking right I am, looking at what’s mine.” Tom huffed.

“Yours? They are attached to my body.” You teased.

“They’re still mine. You’re mine.” He said confidently as he pulled you into a kiss, teeth grazing your bottom lip as he pulled away. You loved jealous Tom, he made for much fun in the bedroom and an absolute railing that would leave you with a wobbly walk for a day.

“I don’t think it works like that.” You teased as you slightly hummed.

“Do you need reminding who you belong to?” He smirked and you smirked, you were definitely going to wind him up.

“Myself?” You asked innocently battering your eyelashes at him.

“We’re going home.” He stated as he practically dragged you from the party. The taxi ride home was full of heated kisses and wandering hands and as soon as the front door to your home shut Tom had you pinned against it, kissing you feverishly.

Your hands where about to travel to his hair before he grabbed your wrists in both of his hands and pinned them to the door.

“Now then princess, I think I need to remind you who exactly it is you belong to.” He whispered huskily into your ear and you shivered. He moved his hands around your waist and picked you up carrying you to the bedroom. He threw you onto the bed with a soft thud as he crawled on top of you.

“Who did you say these belonged to again?” He asked as he cupped your breast.

“Me.” You stuttered out as he bit your collarbone.

“But I look after them so well princess, give them all the attention they need.” He said as he moved the straps of your dress down your shoulders before rolling it down enough to expose your breasts. “No bra? No wonder he was looking so much.”

“It didn’t work with my outfit.” You breathed out and he hummed as he moved his head down to encase your nipple into his mouth. He slowly and somewhat awkwardly removed your dress and it hit the floor as you kicked your shoes off. His hand trailed up your thigh as he touched you over your underwear.

“This is all for me?” He asked referring to the wet patch that had pooled in your underwear and you moaned.

“Maybe.” You said with a smirk and he cupped your heat as he slowly moved his palm to create friction against your clit.

“Don’t be a brat. We both know only I can make you this wet, that your pretty little pussy belongs to me, aches for me.” He whispered into your ear and you moaned again. “Say it princess.” He urged and you couldn’t stop yourself, the slow torturous movements of his palm wasn’t enough, you wanted to feel his fingers deep in your walls.

“It’s all for you Tom.” You panted out and he chuckled as he licked a hot strip from the base of your neck to your ear.

“Good girl.” He said as he moved your underwear to the side and collected your arousal on his fingers before shoving them into your heat. “This what you want princess? Want me to fuck you with my fingers in the way only I know how? You respond so well to me.” He spoke as you clenched around his fingers, only adding to his point as you furiously nodded.

He moved his thumb to circle your clit as you cried out and he picked up the pace with his fingers. It felt so good as he continued his assault as he reminded you just how fucking good at this he is, not that you needed much reminding, his tongue had been lapping at your clit that same morning. You felt the coil in your abdomen tighten and as a consequence you tightened around his fingers and he slowed the movements of his thumb.

“I don’t know if you deserve to come princess. Winding me up on purpose, being a little brat.” He smirked and you whimpered you were so close but his thumb was moving torturingly slow and it wasn’t enough to push you over the edge, just enough to keep you teetering.

“I’m sorry Tommy.” You panted out and he hummed again as he bit at your neck.

“I’m not so sure you are.” He said and you moaned as he curled his finger towards your g spot.

“I’m all yours Tommy, no one else’s, all yours.” You were a moaning mess as you got your words out. “Please, let me come, I promise I won’t be a brat again.” You said and he chuckled.

“Now that I don’t believe, you like being a brat so I fuck you harder don’t you?” He said and you moaned in response, you were so unbelievably turned on in a way only Tom could make you.

“Yes.” You admitted and he licked at your sweet spot.

“Well I suppose for your honesty I should let you come.” He said as he rubbed your clit faster with his thumb and you cried out again as his fingers continuously hit your g spot. You felt the coil snap and pull you into an orgasm as he fucked you through it with his fingers. Once you’d recovered from your earth shattering orgasm he brought his fingers up to your mouth. “Open.” He said and you did as he stuck his fingers into your mouth and you moaned as you tasted yourself on his fingers, cleaning them up, licking and sucking. “Good girl.”

He stood as he removed your underwear and his clothes before climbing back on top of you. You were so ready for him again as you breathed heard in anticipation for what you knew was coming next. You hadn’t noticed he’d kept hold of his tie until he was gripping your wrists in one hand and tying your hands to the headboard.

“Now I’m gonna fuck you princess and remind you just who you belong to.” He spoke and it travelled straight down to your core making you wet all over again. You loved this side of Tom, you really did. You nodded as he thrust harshly into you and you moaned out at the feeling, he always felt amazing. He gave you a minute to adjust before he started to fuck you. His thrusts were slow, deep and hard as he caught your g spot every time and it left you moaning his name in response.

“So tight for me, no one else fills you up like I do.” He groaned and you cried out as he gave you a particularly hard thrust. You were completely at his mercy and you loved every fucking second of it.

“No one else fills me like you do Tommy. No one makes me feel as good as you do.” You moaned out as you went to move your hands around his back to pull him closer but of course you couldn’t your hands tied to the headboard. He chuckled slightly as he watched your attempt and sped up his thrusts, still keeping up the same depth and hardness. You were moaning so loud that you wondered if the neighbours could hear you. You were sure they’d be able to hear the bed knocking against the wall.

“That’s it princess, tell everyone who makes you feel this good.” He said as you moaned his name, you were close again and you clenched around him for the second time. “Such a needy little pussy, always wanting to come around me.” He spoke and you cried out as his thumb made contact with your clit. “Now be a good girl and come for me.” He spoke as he pounded into you whilst furiously rubbing your clit. You felt his movements grow sloppier and knew he was close too.

“Tell everyone who’s gonna make you come.” He moaned out and you fell over the edge at that with a loud moan of his name as you felt him follow, he rode you both threw your highs and collapsed on top of you both of you breathing hard and sweating. He kissed at your shoulder a few times before reaching up and untying you, your hands instantly finding his hair as you ran them through it.

He was still inside you as you both tried to calm your breathing after a mind blowing orgasms. He continued to press kisses into your shoulder as his hands ran softly up and down your sides.

“I love you, you know that.” Tom spoke after a minute.

“I love you too Tommy.”

“You know I don’t mean it like that?” He was referring to the possessive nature in which he spoke about you. He never wanted you to think he saw you as an object or a possession and no matter how many times you’d had sex like this he always wanted to remind you of that fact. He didn’t want you to believe that he genuinely thought you were his and not your own person.

“I know Tommy. I fucking love jealous Tom anyway.” You smirked and he laughed as he propped himself up to look at you as he smirked.

“Oh I know you do baby.”