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winnisome · 3 years

Text

i’m okay.

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: after spencer finds himself in a dangerous situation on a case, the reader is filled with anxiety and comforted by their dear boy.

song: moon song by phoebe bridgers

warnings: anxiety, brief mention of death, hostages, typical criminal minds content, they share a shower but there’s nothing sexual, ends in fluff :)))

a/n: my first spencer fic!!! i’m actually pretty proud of how this turned out so let me know if y’all like it :) also, this is just based on my personal experiences feeling anxious which can obviously be a different experience for everyone!

It was a split second, really.

A split second that felt like an hour. It was as if the gunshot had hit a clock or something and made time slow down for that second, if that were possible. At the bang, your heart had jumped into your throat, restricting your breath. You could only hear your heartbeat as you stared into the deli that the unsub had taken hostage. Spencer had volunteered, against your protests, to go into the deli and try to talk him down from his two day spree. The unsub had retreated into the back of the deli, prohibiting your team from being able to see what was going on. Minutes later, the gunshot rang through the doors and with no way to know who had fired the shot, your mind assumed the worst.

You were frozen, trying to decide whether to run in and see your dead boyfriend on the floor or stay back praying that he would walk out, perfectly fine. You weren’t breathing as the agents around you moved in slow motion towards the door. Before they got there, however, the deli door swung open and Spencer walked out, holding the hand of the young girl that the unsub had held hostage and yelling for a medic.

Your feet seemed incapable of moving. Your eyes were trained on Spencer as he walked the girl over to her parents and accepted their gratitude. You watched as he glanced around looking for someone until his eyes landed on you. He walked over to you and you reached out to him, almost like you were making sure he was real. Enveloping you in his arms, he embraced you, your neck finding its place in the crook of his neck, breathing him in. Your hands tangled in his hair, reassuring yourself that he was alive. He wasn’t even hurt. He was fine. As always, Spencer read your racing heart and desperate clutch at his curls and whispered into your ear.

“I’m okay, I’m okay.” You reluctantly pulled away from him, his hands lingering on your hips.

“I know.” You said, with a half smile. But your heart was still pounding and you couldn’t seem to focus. Spencer wove his fingers into yours, squeezing your hand as the two of you walked towards one of the SUVs.

The jet ride back to Quantico seemed to defy time the same way the second after the gunshot had. You sat in silence the whole time, not letting go of Spencer’s hand. He glanced over to you every once in a while, but you were staring either out the window or at your lap.

He was concerned and you were, honestly, confused. Spencer was fine. He had gotten out of the situation without so much as a scratch so why weren’t you flooded with relief? That’s what usually happened with anxiety like this. It was squashed after you were sure everyone was fine and relief washed over you like a nice blanket. And this had happened too many times for you to count. In fact, Spencer and you had been in much worse danger than this before. So why could you not look at him fully yet still not let go of his hand? Spencer knew not to pry. At least not yet.

The plane landed and the team disembarked, saying their goodbyes and heading to their respective cars. You were still in a haze and, of course, still holding Spencer’s hand.

Although the two of you didn’t officially live together, you spent every night in each other’s apartments. Usually based on who had more food in their house which was Spencer’s tonight. The drive home you were still silent, staring out the passenger window trying to squash the fluttering in your stomach like it was an annoying moth fluttering around your head. Spencer’s hand rest on your thigh, with your hand placed on top of it.

You entered his apartment and dropped your bags, standing by the couch, feeling the moth in your stomach start flying faster as your breathing sped up slightly. You were so confused. The fact that this feeling should have faded by now just made you more anxious. Spencer realized you hadn’t followed him into his bedroom and came back to see you stood still, the same as you had been outside the deli, staring into his living room.

“Y/n?” You turned at his voice. Your eyes were slightly glazed over and he walked towards you quickly, noticing that something was obviously wrong. “I’m okay, Y/n. What’s wrong?”

“I-uh...I don’t…” You tried to explain that you didn’t know what was wrong. You didn’t understand why you couldn’t accept that Spencer was actually okay. He felt so far away, so vulnerable, so easily taken away from you, and you just wanted to reach for him and grab onto whatever you could clutch. But you were frozen again not wanting to move, fearing that it wasn’t real and he would fall through your fingers like grains of sand. Spencer gently placed his hand on your back, applying pressure in an effort to move you to the bedroom. With Spencer’s guidance, you found your way into the bedroom and took a seat on the edge of the bed. Spencer knelt in front of you, his hands finding a place on your thighs and gazing up at you with his warm hazel eyes. He patiently waited for you to say something, rubbing circles in your legs. You tried to steady your breathing but were met with stinging in your eyes as tears formed in them.

“I’m sorry…” You muttered, not meeting his eyes. Spencer’s brows furrowed and his lips quirked up in a confused smile.

“What do you have to be sorry for?”

You blinked, releasing the teardrops down your cheeks. “You’re the one who was in danger. I should be comforting you.” You stuttered out.

“Y/n. Look at me.” When you didn’t comply, he brought his hand to your jaw, wiping away the tears that had accumulated there and tilting your chin ever so slightly so you would look at him. You had never understood how someone’s eyes alone could deliver such a strong feeling but in that moment you saw such love pouring from his golden orbs into yours. “I was inside the building. I knew what was going on and knew that I would be fine once I assessed the situation. You were stuck on the outside, with no way of knowing if I was hurt or not. I know how scary that is. Trust me, I do.”

Spencer brought his other hand up to your face, cupping your cheeks in his large palms, tracing your cheekbones with the pads of his thumbs. “I know the fear and anxiety can linger and that’s unsettling. But I will do anything you need me to do to remind you that I am here, I am okay, and I love you.” You reached a hand out between Spencer’s arms to brush his soft curls behind his ear.

“You’re okay.” You whispered, more to yourself than to him.

“I’m okay.” He repeated, giving you a soft smile that melted your heart. Standing up from his position on the floor, he stood in front of you, hands still cupping your cheeks, and said, “How about a shower, my love?”

You sniffled and nodded, his hands dropping to your waist as you stood up. He pressed his lips to your forehead as you wrapped your arms around his chest, squeezing him to remind yourself of the undeniable tangibility of his physical presence.

Minutes later and hot water ran over your body. The scalding temperature burned away the anxiety of the day making you sigh as you tilted your head back, letting the water hit your neck and run down your chest. Goosebumps spread across your stomach as you felt the large palms of Spencer’s hands wrap around you, his head finding its rightful place in the crook of your neck. He pressed his lips, wet with the water of the shower, to the muscle that connected your upper spine to your shoulder. You spun around in his arms and looked at his blissful face as he pulled back from your neck. With one arm wrapped around his neck, your other fingers traced his immaculately sculpted cheekbones which led you to his immaculately sculpted nose and down his face finally to those immaculately sculpted lips, where you dragged your finger over the bottom one, watching it spring back into place. You were once again overwhelmed with emotion, but this time the tears weren’t breaking a seal of anxiety like the popping of a water balloon. They were spilling out of the plastic water bottle of love that resided in your heart, which was overflowing as you stared at the boy you loved so wholeheartedly causing your salty tears to join the drops of water flowing down your body. Spencer rubbed his hands up and down the expanse of your back. Somehow, he understood that these were different tears because, just as you had been able to see his eyes filled with love earlier, he saw the same love reflected back in yours. Using your hands behind his neck, you pulled him down to meet you, wet lips sliding over wet lips in a tender kiss.

There was nothing sexual about the kiss. It was yet another moment of you basking in Spencer’s viability, his ability to kiss you back and the knowledge that he was alive and here. He was okay. You pulled away and nearly subconsciously whispered that fact out loud. Spencer let out a low chuckle, in no way mocking you, and whispered back the confirmation that he would never judge you for still needing. He was, indeed, okay. You rested your head against his chest, feeling the comforting lub dubs of his heart and the rise and fall of his lungs as they filled with air, yet another reminder of his livelihood.

The two of you stayed there for what felt like hours, moving only to lather each other in soap, nearly robotically. Once the water started to lose its heat the pair of bodies found their way out of the shower, drying each other off in a pattern of pure domesticity. The next several minutes were filled with comfortable silence as you both got ready for bed. You pulled on an old Star Trek tee shirt of Spencer's that had been deeply worn in as he put on his pajamas and the two of you found your way into your shared bed, as if all paths led back to here, where you could sit, wrapped in the long arms and large hands of your beautiful boy and watch the world pass by, perfectly content. Spencer ran his nimble fingers through your damp hair, inhaling the scent. Your eyes barely open, you tilted your head up at him from your place wrapped around his torso. He smiled down at you and pressed his lips to your forehead.

For the last time that night but certainly not the last time ever you whispered,

“You’re okay.”

He smiled against your forehead.

“I’m okay.”

With that, you drifted off to sleep, happy to know that, at least for this moment, he was okay.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fluff #mgg x reader #mgg #tw anxiety

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farfromparker · 4 years

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Just like this | t.h.

Pairing: Friends to Lovers!AU Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: You’re his best friend, and he’s been in love with you for the last 3 years. Harrison finally convinces Tom to do something about it.

Warnings: masturbation and some good soft smut!

A/N: I decided I want to write some softness so here it is! Clearly my mind is in the gutter more often than not considering how long I’ve been trying to finish this.

Word Count: 4.5k

Tom drums his fingers on the steering wheel, staring out the windshield. The snow is coming down heavy and with the wind, drifts are starting to form on the edge of the road. The blacktop is getting harder and harder to see and he’s doing his best to keep the vehicle in between the lines. He won’t voice his concern out loud though. You’ve already asked him six times if he feels comfortable to keep driving. He can hear your words over his head, We can stop for the night somewhere but no, that wasn’t part of the plan. You had to make it to the cabin tonight.

He smiles to himself as he hears you grumble under your breath. “It’s December 20th, how is no station playing Christmas music?”

He takes one hand off the wheel, reaching past you to open the glovebox, his knuckles skimming across your knee. “Here.” He says, digging through it and finding a classic Christmas cd.

You beam at him, “Oh perfect! But keep your hands on the wheel.”

He laughs but does as you command, turning his attention back to the road, hands on the steering wheel. You push the disk into the player, putting the case in the door pocket.

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas starts playing and you smile, humming along softly. Tom’s smiling as well, sneaking glances at you out of the side of his eyes. His heart starts to beat faster as he thinks about his plan, about the cabin, about having you to himself for two days.

“Just tell her.” Harrison says, annoyed to be having this conversation for the millionth time.

“She’s my best friend Haz! I can’t just -”

Harrison holds up his hand, “First off, ouch.” He says gesturing to himself. Tom rolls his eyes, “Second, yes you can just tell her. You can’t keep doing this yourself, pining after her. She’s finally single and you have to just grow some fucking balls and tell her. And if she doesn’t like you, which I’d bet my life she does, you fucking deal with it and move on.”

Tom sighs, rubbing at his eyes. He hates that Harrison is right. “Fine, okay, you’re right.”

Harrison smirks, basking in the fact that Tom finally admitted it.

“But how do I tell her?”

Harrison narrows his eyes, “With your mouth?”

“You fucking prick, you know what I mean. I want to do something special.”

Harrison groans, “Not everything has to be a fucking production Tom. You could just tell her flat out.”

“Not when I’ve been in love with her for three years!” And fuck, has it really been that long??

“Fine alright, just… take her to dinner.”

“No.”

Harrison glares at Tom, “If you don’t want my help...”

“I want your help if it’s actually gonna be useful, dinner isn’t special.”

“What? Do you want to rent a hot air balloon and bring expensive wine and dinner in a picnic basket and confess your love from 600 meters up?”

Harrison gapes when he sees Tom actually considering it. “No you fucking div, that’s way too much.”

“Then help me!” Tom whines.

“Christ, alright.” Harrison takes a deep breath and actually does some thinking. Clearly Tom can’t be left alone with this. “What about your parents cabin?”

Tom’s shoulders slump, “The one we’re all going to next week? Yeah I definitely want to do this in front of you lot.”

“Take her up there before us. Harry and I can come up with some excuse for all of us to not be there until Sunday or something. That gives you two nights alone with her to do it. Chop some wood for her, be manly and sweep her off her feet. Light the fireplace, say the heat doesn’t work so you have cuddle under some blankets.”

The gears start turning in Tom’s head, “Yeah... yeah! You’re goddamn genius, Haz.”

45 minutes later and he’s turning down the seclusive road leading to the cabin, relieved to have made it. The trees bend and twist above head as he drives and when the cabin comes into view, he can sense your excitement. He glances over and sees you smiling, you look at him, eyes sparkling and he’s grinning back at you.

“It’s like it’s from a movie.” You say dreamily as he cuts the engine. The moon is full and even though his headlights are off you can still see clearly. His shoes crunch under the snow as he steps out, popping the trunk to get your bags.

“I can’t believe I’ve never brought you here before.” He says throwing your duffle over his shoulder as he grabs his own.

“Yeah what the hell Holland, I thought you loved me?”

You have no idea.

“And let me carry my bag, I’m not helpless.” You say as you shut the trunk, catching up to him and bumping your hip with his as you walk towards the front porch.

He smiles, bumping you back, “I know, I’m being gentlemanly.”

“Well then let me get the door for you, sir.” You propose, reaching into the front pocket of his jeans to fish out the keys. He sucks in a breath as your fingers ghost along his thigh.

You work the lock and step inside. Tom follows, setting your bags inside as he closes the door. You flick on the lamps around the living room, the soft yellow lighting filling the room.

“Oh my god Tom, it’s just as cute inside as it is outside.”

He can’t stop smiling as he watches you flitter around the space, checking out the two bedrooms and then you notice the ladder, “There’s a loft! Tom, please tell me we’re sleeping in the loft?!”

He laughs, nodding, “Anything you want, y/n.”

And he’s so happy seeing you this happy. And he thinks about how tight the living space is up in the loft, how there’s only a single queen mattress up there, how the small fireplace in the living room is really the only heat you’ll have. It’ll be chilly up there and all he wants to do is pull you close and tell you how his heart races every time you touch him, smile at him, laugh at something he said, say his name, call him Tommy. He fucking melts.

“Tom?”

“Huh?”

You laugh, legs dangling off the ledge of the loft. “Throw me our bags.”

“Nah I got them.”

But it’s awkward, climbing up a ladder with a duffle bag thrown over each shoulder. And you haven’t moved, arms crossed over your chest, eyebrow cocked in I told you so sort of way. He grabs the railing on either side of you and stares you down. You purse your lips and he has to remind himself that he can’t just kiss that expression off your face.

Finally you laugh, moving out of the way so he can crawl up, “You’re so stubborn!”

He laughs too, throwing the duffles off to the side, “So are you.”

You smile, “Yeah, two peas.”

Tom finds a bottle of whiskey in the fridge later and you gag as soon as you see it.

“Nope, no way.”

“Ah come on! We’ll pour it in tumblers and drink by the fire and pretend we’re old snobbish white men.”

A small chuckle leaves your lips and he knows he has you. He tilts his head to the bottle while he digs out the glasses. Reluctantly, you grab it and follow him into the living room.

There’s enough wood left over from the last time he’d been up here to heat the cabin through the night. He grabs the matches and stacks a couple logs into the fireplace. You gather some pillows and blankets from the couch and toss them onto the floor.

The whiskey goes down easy for the both of you, faces red from laughing and the heat of the fire. The more he drinks the heavier everything feels, every touch, every time you say his name.

You’re between his legs, head in his lap, and he’s not really sure how you got there. You keep fumbling with the edge of his sweater drunkenly, smiling up at him as you tell him a story. His whole nervous system feels fried. Your fingertips keep brushing against his stomach and the skin feels torched under your touch.

Tom looks down, counting your lashes as they lay against your cheeks. Your eyes are getting heavy. He lifts his leg to get his arm underneath you, “C’mon love, time for bed.”

You sigh happily into his arm as you both stand, “Okay, love.” You return, teasing him for the overuse of the pet name. He blushes.

He puts the fireplace screen up and turns the lights off, hanging back nervously as he watches you climb the ladder, hands suspended in the air in case he has to catch you. When you get to the top you look back down at him and his hands drop.

“I’m not that drunk,” you say proudly considering the amount of whiskey you drank. “You know I can handle my alcohol Tom.”

He laughs, knowing you’re right and he climbs up to you. When he reaches the top, you’ve turned your back to him, stripping out of you shirt and he watches as you deftly squeeze the clasp on your bra. It falls from your arms and he feels the air leave his lungs.

He turns, feeling like a creep, blush heavy on his cheeks, he can feel it. He groans internally, you’ve changed in front of him before but it all feels different because he couldn’t do anything about it before. You always had a boyfriend and Tom would never. But now, he’s got so much he wants to say that could completely change the dynamic between the two of you, whether good or bad is yet to be determined.

He strips down to his boxers, annoyed with himself. And when he turns he knows what to expect but that doesn’t change the fact that his heart starts racing. You're wearing an old tshirt of his, one he gave you years ago, and no pants. And god he should sleep in more clothing but he never has before when you’ve shared a bed and he’s told you a million times how he always gets so hot when he sleeps and he doesn’t want to be weird about any of this… fuck.

You crawl into bed, completely oblivious to his inner turmoil and look back at him. “Gonna come to bed or just stand there all night?”

He tries to laugh but it’s tight, he feels like can’t fill his lungs properly.

He gets into bed and you immediately cuddle into his side, arm draped across his stomach, head buried in the crook of his neck. He can feel the hammering of his heart and he worries you can hear it too. God is it as fucking loud to you as it is to him?

He takes in a deep breath, hand rubbing along your back as he pulls you in closer.

“Y/n?”

You hum and he feels you shift, tilting your head up to him. His heart clenches then, what if you don’t want him, what if you don’t see him like that, what if…? The fear paralyzes him and can’t say it out loud, not yet. Because if you say no, if you say you don’t feel the same way… he doesn’t know what he’ll do. So he takes this moment for his own, selfishly, to feel you in his arms, legs tangled together because if you don’t want to be with him like this, he can at least have tonight.

“Goodnight, love” he musters out, voice soft.

You hug him closer, “Goodnight, Tommy.”

You grind against him, lips on his neck and he whines into your ear. He grips your hips tighter, angry that you’re still in your underwear but he’ll take anything he can get.

“I’m so wet for you Tommy.”

His cock aches and he wants your kiss, wants to feel what it’s like to be inside you, wants your moans against his lips. He wants, wants, wants.

“Gonna make cum just like this.” He groans. He doesn’t want it like this but your movements aren’t stopping and he has no self control to stop you himself.

“Yeah,” you purr in his ear, “cum for me Tom.”

He gasps, eyes snapping open as his heart hammers in his chest. You stir against him, fingers skidding across his stomach and he clenches. His cock twitches in his boxers and he can feel the wet spot he’s leaving on the fabric.

You’re tangled together still and he hears your breathing change. No, please no.

“Tom? Are you okay?”

He grunts, moving away from you and you untangle your limbs. “Yeah,” his voice is hoarse and he throws his legs over the side of the bed, trying to figure out how to make sure you don’t see his obvious erection as he calculates the distance from the bed to the ladder. “Just a weird dream.”

He feels your hand on his back and he jumps, “Sorry!” You pull your hand away, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No!” He shouts, glancing at you over his shoulder, “Fuck, sorry, no I just - um I’m gonna shower.”

He can feel your eyes on him and he can barely focus. He grabs his whole bag and throws it downstairs before awkwardly climbing down the ladder, doing his best to shield his crotch from your view.

He closes the bathroom door and locks it. Just to be safe. He squeezes his eyes shut and his dream replays behind his eyelids, “Fuck.”

He strips out of his boxers and turns the water on. He steps into the tub and turns the shower head on, the water hasn’t even fully warmed up yet but he has to touch himself. As soon as he wraps his hand around his cock he can feel you grinding down on him. His eyes slip shut and he can see you, he can hear you praising him, panting in his ear.

A small moan slips past his lips and immediately he presses them into a thin line. The cabin is small, he wouldn’t be able to look you in the eye if you were to hear him.

He strokes himself faster, dizzy with arousal from the dream. It felt so real, he could smell you, feel you under his fingers. He squeezes the head of his cock, the tightness in his groin building and he gasps when he cums, biting his tongue to stop himself from saying your name out loud.

He sags back against the shower wall, panting, haunted by the ghost of your touch across his skin.

You’re dressed when he gets out of the bathroom, touching up your makeup in the mirror by the front door. He watches you for moment, mouth popped open slightly as you apply mascara. He turns away, reminding himself he can’t just stare without it being weird. He misses the way you watch him through the mirror.

There’s a small town just a few minutes away and you head in to get more alcohol and some food. It’s cloudy but the storm has passed. Snow is piled high everywhere and you comment how it feels like you’ve been dropped into a cheesy Hallmark Christmas movie.

He bites his tongue.

It’s early afternoon when you get back to the cabin. You’re unloading the groceries when he clears his throat, “Wanna help me chop some wood for the fire?”

You smirk at him, “You mean do I wanna watch you chop some wood?”

He shrugs, smiling, “I mean I can put a show on for you if you want.”

You laugh, leaning against the kitchen counter, “I do always enjoy a show.”

He heads outside and you follow. The axe is in the shed behind the cabin and there’s an old stump, riddled with cuts and gashes, sitting in the middle of the backyard. There’s a stack of logs piled high close by, most with a circumference that would rival your wingspan.

“These logs are massive.” You say.

“Yeah, dad has a logging friend up this way so he always makes sure we’ve got enough to keep the place warm.”

He sets the axe down next to the old stump and grabs the first log. He positions it how he wants, acutely aware of your eyes on him. When he’s happy, he grabs the axe and goes through the motions of chopping the log in half, feeling the weight of the axe in his hands. He brings the axe around again, following through quickly and with the force it needs. The crack of the log echoes around the trees as it splits in two.

He hears you gasp, and he glances up at you as he arranges the two halves off to the side. Your eyes are wide, mouth parted slightly and pride swells in his chest.

“Holy shit, Tom.”

He smiles, “What? Did you think I was all talk?”

“No! I - yeah I don’t know. I just didn’t expect… you made that look so easy?”

He smiles wider, “Well, you know I don’t like brag but-”

You laugh, “Bullshit, you love to brag. Which again brings up the fact that I didn’t know you could chop wood.”

“There’s a dirty joke in there somewhere.”

“Oh fuck off, I’m complementing you, ya asshole.” But you’re laughing still and this part of the plan is definitely chalked up to as a success.

The rest of the afternoon passes by like a soft tune, easy and comfortable. You bring the halves of the log inside and stack them next to the fireplace. Cook pasta on the gas stove, spilling marinara sauce only twice. And soon you’re settled in on the pillows in front a fire burning logs Tom chopped up for you.

“Turns out Hollywood is actually kind of rugged.” You say, smiling over your glass.

Tom winks, flexing his biceps at you and you push his shoulder, laughing.

You move in closer, cuddling into his side, watching the fire crack. “I love spending time you Tom. You know that, right?”

His heart rate picks up and he wraps his arm around your waist. “I know. I do too. I -” he clears his throat, hands starting to feel a little clammy.

He just can’t bring himself to say out loud, not yet. He reaches for his drink and takes a large swig. Drunk Tom has way more confidence than sober Tom.

“You had a sex dream about me last night, didn’t you?”

He chokes on his drink, “I - what?”

You take another sip and put your drink aside. You look him in the eyes as you shift in his arm, pressing against him. He swallows thickly. “You were hard when you got up. And all that chopping wood today? Trying to be manly for me?”

“I - I didn’t - I was trying -” to be sexy? No, he can’t fucking say that out loud.

Your hand is on his thigh and you reach up to take his drink out of his hand, setting it out of the way. You crawl into his lap, straddling his hips and rake you fingers up through his scalp, rubbing at his head. His eyes slip shut at the sensation. “Are you ever gonna tell me how you feel?”

His eyes snap open. You’re staring back, he can see the challenge swimming in your irises. Just say it you fucking coward. His heart is pounding, and if he were to take his hands off your hips he knows they’d be shaking.

He takes in a deep breath, “Y/n, I - I love you.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, leaning in to brush your lips against his, “I know.”

Finally you kiss him, lips slipping together, and those knots and nerves melt away. You want him. You want him the way he wants you. But he has to know more, so he pulls away, eyes searching yours and he can’t stop smiling.

“Really?”

You smile back, eyes crinkling, “Yeah, really. And I love you too.”

You kiss him again, moving your hands to get up under his shirt, pushing it up and off his body. His lips find yours again, pulling you in closer. Your hands are on his stomach, fingers pressing along his skin and he’s trembling under your touch, overwhelmed with the idea of possibilities laid out in front of him.

You pull away to kiss along his jaw, “Wanna take me to bed?” You breath against his skin.

“Fuck yes.” He moans.

You stand, pulling him to his feet and you’re both giddy with anticipation. He watches you climb up the ladder and realizes he can finally put his hands on your ass. So he does, reaching up to squeeze one of your cheeks.

You stop and give him a look. He shrugs, “I can do that now so you’re probably gonna have to get used to my hands all over you.”

You bite your lip, sitting on the ledge of the loft as he climbs up. He braces his hands on either side of you when he reaches the top and you tilt your head up to him, “That’s a two way street, love.” You murmur, tracing the outline of his cock through his jeans.

He sucks in a harsh breath, “Fuck me.”

You smile, kissing him quickly, “Yeah,” before getting up and moving towards the bed.

You strip down to your underwear and he shucks out of his jeans. He’s reaching for you when, “Shit.”

“What?”

“I don’t have any condoms with me.”

“Oh, uh,” he blushes before walking over to his bag and digging out a box. He smiles at you, slightly embarrassed.

“So you had plans for us this weekend, huh?”

He laughs, “I’m nothing if not hopeful.”

He sets the box on the bed. You crawl onto the mattress and his hands find your body, settling on top of you as you lay down. Your hips slot together and you grind up against him, feeling how hard he is for you. He moans into your mouth, rocking back to meet your movements.

That overwhelming sensation returns and he feels himself twitch in his boxers. You open your legs wider to him, hooking a thigh around his waist.

You arch up into him to get your bra undone, tossing it aside before pushing him up for a moment so you can get your underwear off. “C’mon Tommy, want you inside me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he fumbles to get out of his boxers quickly, groping around to find the condoms. While he’s reaching for them, you wrap your hand around his cock and he squeezes his eyes shut.

“God, I’ve been dreaming about this cock for so long. I’d fuck myself with my dildo and pretend it was you.”

He presses his head into your shoulder, whining as you touch him. “You’re gonna fucking kill me.” He gasps, thrusting up into your hand.

Finally, he just rips the box open, condoms spilling across the bed. You laugh, hand stilling and he can think straight again for a moment.

He sits back, ripping into a packet and with shaky hands he rolls the rubber down his length. He feels your eyes on him and as he glances up he realizes this is the first time you’re both really seeing each other naked. His breathing is already labored but looking at you, naked, legs spread for him the world stops spinning for a moment.

“You’re fucking gorgeous.” He whispers. “Wanna explore your body with my mouth, then my hands, everywhere.”

He accentuates his point by running his hands up your body, squeezing your breasts, rubbing your nipples and marveling as you arch into his touch, sighing.

“We’ve got the rest of our lives, lover. No rush.”

Yes we do.

He pushes into you slowly, watching your expression change, the pleasure written across your face. His heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest, your pussy is so hot and tight and wet around him.

Your lips find his and he moans into your mouth as you start rocking up to meet his thrusts. Your fingernails dig into his back, scratching at his skin as his thrusts increase. He shivers at the feeling, thinking about how the marks will be there tomorrow, marks you left on him.

You break the kiss to breathe and he rests his forehead against yours, eyes locked on yours. He grabs at your arm, sliding down the length of it to intertwine your fingers. You squeeze his hand and you can see the emotion pooling in his eyes. The build up of three years pouring out of each of you in this moment.

“I love you.” He breaths.

“I love you, too.”

You cum with his name on your lips, squeezing his hand, and he’s done for. Burying his head in the crook of your neck, he moans into your skin as he pulses inside you, shaking from the intensity of it.

“Holy shit.” You laugh, out of breath.

He’s smiling, lifting his head so he can look at you, “Yeah, I’m gonna need to do that at least three more times tonight.”

You glance over at the condoms spilled out across the bed, “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

***

Harrison puts the key in the lock, opening the door and he’s surprised when it’s quiet inside. It’s close to 11am. He glances around the cabin, the fireplace is empty and he can see two half empty glasses of whiskey on the floor, along with Tom's shirt.

He narrows his eyes and that’s when he hears a moan of Tom’s name. His eyes go wide as he sputters, slamming the front door shut behind him to alert you two he’s here but also to stop all the Holland brothers from walking in on this.

“Hey! Yo! Like really happy for you guys but we’re here! Please don’t come downstairs naked!”

He can hear you cussing and there’s a loud thump that he’s sure was Tom falling off the bed. Tom peaks over the ledge of the loft, cheeks red, blanket wrapped around his waist.

“Hey mate. Uh, we’ll be right down!”

Harrison sees you peek around Tom’s shoulder and you wave at him, blush on your cheeks.

He smirks, “Hi y/n,”

“Hi Harrison.”

You both manage to make it downstairs and actually look presentable before the brothers come inside. Their voices boom around the cabin, stuffing their faces with snacks from the cabinets.

“So you guys are finally together huh?” Sam asks around the cookie in his mouth.

You nod, smiling as Tom reaches down to intertwine his fingers with yours.

Harry nods, “Cool.”

“Yeah whatever, I just wanna sleep in the loft!” Paddy says, moving towards the ladder.

Tom chokes on the crisp in his mouth, eyes going wide as he looks at you.

“No!”

Taglist:

@xximaweirdoxx @selfcarecapmain @billythebully09 @cyrusandhiscollaredahirts @honeymarvel @billieishottttttttt @lovinnholland @oh-annaa @little-miss-naill @holland-in-disguise @wordless08 @multifandomgirl-us @tiktok-spideyy @fangirlfree @theolwebshooter @headlights95

#tom holland #tom holland fic #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fluff #my writing

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talltalesandbedtimestories · 4 years

Text

A View To A Winchester (Part 8)

Series Page

Summary: Julie’s starting a new life after divorce in a home with a very nice view.

A Dean X OFC story. I got this idea staring out the view of my home office window and thinking how nice it would be to have Dean Winchester to ogle.

Section Word Count: 5,483

Section Content: fluff, flirting, arousing, kissing, R-rated language, drinking, more Spice Girls references

~~~~~

The doorbell chimed at 8:03 pm. Julie had been pacing in the entryway since 7:50 pm. Unsure as to which entrance Dean would choose, she’d closed the curtains to the sliding door. Mood lighting had been set to a somewhat romantic minimum. She still wanted to be able to ogle the man.

Every thought and decision that day had in one way or another circled back to Dean. She’d even dreamed about him that night. The mild annoyances of work texts and emails, when she made the mistake to check her inbox, did little to sidetrack her from the tasks leading up to this moment.

There’d been no calls, no texts from Mr. Winchester since the night before. And she’d made a point to avoid staring out her office window or back door every five minutes. A quick trip out to the backyard to toss some garbage found the Impala still in his driveway. Tingles of excitement rushed over her skin. There was a very real probability that Dean could be keeping an eye out for her. That he’d been doing it for weeks produced a grin on her face throughout the day.

Now, her gaze lingered at the imposing shadow outlined against the beveled glass of the front door. A check in the mirror produced a nod. She inhaled and took in the surrounding scents. The perfume was not overpowering. The other aroma filling the air had her the most anxious. She couldn’t wait to see his reaction.

Julie pulled on the door and braced herself, leaning against the edge for support. Thank goodness she had. Spotlighted in a golden wash of technicolor, Dean stood at the base of the step up in a radiant glory. The man was actually glowing.

He was still taller than her by a few inches, even with her temporary height advantage. It afforded her the opportunity to only tilt her head up in a slight nod to gaze at his face.

His mouth cocked up the side in a sassy grin. It fell away as he gave her a once over, top to bottom. Have at it, Mr. Winchester. I’m going to revel in the constant blushing you’ll be causing tonight. There it is, that damn lip licking. Good God. His gaze rode its way up her body back to her face. His grip on the neck of the wine bottle tightened. “Evenin’.”

“Hi.” Her mouth managed to spill out the one word greeting. She stepped aside to welcome him in.

Dean stepped up into the entryway, now towering beside her. He took the lead to close the door with one hand, offering the bottle with the other. “Wine.”

She grinned. “Thank you.” She grabbed the bottle at the base, intent on avoiding any skin. She might jump his bones right there if they made contact. “Have a seat if you’d like.” Her nod pointed to the living room.

His nose twitched. A deep inhale followed. His posture straightened, gaining inches of stature. Julie pursed her lips and squashed a grin. “What’d you make?” he asked, eyes wide and hopeful.

This man standing in front of her was so other level, so beyond reachable and enigmatic in terms of attractiveness and attitude. Top shelf and bottom of the barrel somehow all at once. A tailored three-piece suit mixed with a leather jacket worn out to perfection. But there was also something so approachable and knowing, as well, that made her willing to put herself out there.

Is this what they mean by chemistry? It’s been so long, I forgot what it felt like. She ripped the imaginary censor tape off her mouth. “You may have entered this house a single man, Dean, but, by the end of the night...” She trailed off.

A genuine, unadulterated smile lined his mouth. “Don’t tease, sweetheart.”

She laughed. “Why not? Can’t take what you so easily dish out?”

“Not where pie is concerned.”

“Sit. Please. Make yourself comfortable.”

He nodded and wandered toward the sofa. Those damn bowlegs and swagger getting all her attention and throwing her off her train of thought. Dark, midnight blue jeans and a deep forest green button up shirt, with sleeves rolled up to the elbow, hugged his figure. And the man was wearing cowboy boots. Fucking cowboy boots. Kill me now.

Before he could turn around to catch her staring, she ducked into the kitchen to catch her breath. The white wine went into the fridge. Cool air from the open door skirted over and bathed her already goose-pimpled skin. “Can I get you something to drink?” She called out.

“Sure.”

“Bourbon?”

“You’ve got bourbon and pie?!” She couldn’t quite make out the muttering that followed the quizzical exclamation. “That’d be great,” he said in a louder volume that carried clear into the kitchen.

Julie came back with two tumblers a minute later.

“You drink bourbon?” he asked. His fingers wrapped around hers as she passed the glass. His eyes lifted in what looked to be mild surprise with the touch.

She let the warmth of his rough hand permeate and wash under her skin. “No, actually. But, I figured you did.” She sat next to him on the couch, careful not to spill the small amount of liquor in her glass.

“Was it your goal to check off all my favorite things tonight?”

She shrugged and crossed her legs. “Wouldn’t say goal. Hope.”

Dean toasted in mid-air and took a sip. Brows rose. “Hm. Well done with the bourbon.” His gaze trailed over her floral print dress. The fabric had the right amount of flutter over her sleeves and flounce around her chest for Julie. The knee length skirt rested a tad high up her thigh, thanks to an intentional tug of her fingers when his eyes got to that destination. A lick of his lips, when the stare halted at the revealed skin, had been the hoped-for reaction. She sipped to hide the giddy grin. The liquid sliding down her throat was velvet fire. It forced her mind to concentrate on the sensory effect of something other than Dean Winchester.

His silent assessment resumed. But whether it had been seconds or minutes Julie could not be a reliable witness. He stopped again at her favorite nude-colored, closed-toe, strappy heels. She twirled her foot. Only one of Dean’s eyebrows rose that time.

The ensemble had been the easiest decision she’d made that day. It made her feel sassy, sexy, confident, and every ounce a woman.

An unexpected dart of his eyes shot back to hers. Held breath zapped out of her lungs like a popped balloon. She hoped the reaction didn’t look as ridiculous as it sounded. But there was no laugh or throat clearing from him. “You look really nice tonight.” He added, in that beguiling baritone, “But, I don’t think I’ve seen you not look nice.”

She smiled at how good he was at covering all bases. “Thank you.” Her fingers danced over the tumbler’s etched glass. “You mentioned asking me out on a proper date, but having no clue what that was.” She shrugged. “I’m a little rusty in that department. Thought this might ease us both into the idea.”

He smiled and thumbed the rim of his glass. “Rusty is not how I would describe it. So, why no dinner?”

She laughed. “Hey, I made dessert.” He returned her laugh with a chuckle. “I don’t know. Don’t tell Brigida I flat out refused to make you dinner. I’ll get my wooden spoon taken away as punishment.”

That produced an even deeper laugh out of Dean’s throat. Composure regained after another sip, he studied her through a side stare. “It’s almost like you had something else in mind that would be occupying our time.”

“Just talking.” She tried to flash him her most innocent smile.

“Riiight.” He dragged out the word. “Did your friends have a lot to talk about when I left last night?”

“So much… I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Hm. Catherine’s cute.”

Julie smiled. “She is.”

“So, I got the stamp of approval?”

“With some cautious reservations.”

“Sound like good friends.”

“They are. I don’t see them as often as I’d like to… you know, everyone always seems too busy to get together. But, Karen’s been checking up on me since she heard about Steve and...” She trailed off. Great, already mentioning the ex.

Dean nodded and cut her off, “Were you all in a sorority together? Did you have sexy sleepovers?” He raised his brows in a quick and comical gesture.

Julie laughed at his levity and the obvious attempt to bail her out with a topic change. “No sorority. We just all ended up in the same hall of our dorm. Bonded over Spice Girls and Sambuca one night. That was all she wrote.”

A frown. “Spice Girls?”

She shrugged. “I’m a Pop girl. But, I do appreciate classic rock.”

“Appreciate? Do you listen to it? Make a concerted effort to seek it out? Speak the truth, sweetheart.” His tone was serious, demanding, and kind of pushy. Damn. If he gets this worked up about music…

“Not really.”

He sighed. “Can you name me one Zeppelin song?”

She shook her head.

He clutched at his heart. “Confirms it. You aren’t the perfect woman.” Another sigh escaped those full lips, longer and drawn out this time. A heavy nod followed the resolved expression. “I should go.” Forlorn, puppy dog eyes met hers.

Jesus. Dramatic much? “If that’s really the deal breaker, then I guess you should go.” Julie played along.

He raised a finger. “How about this? You let me give you a crash course in classic rock one day. And, you promise never to subject me to the Spice Girls.”

Julie laughed. “I can’t promise that. But, I won’t intentionally play it in your presence, how about that?”

He produced a “Meh” and downturned his mouth.

“Are you quite the professor of rock and roll?”

“Oh yeah.” She found his eyes gazing with intent at her lips. “I could teach you a lot.”

The static charge was catapulting a frenzy of sexy into the room. Her body was drawn to his like a dowsing rod to water. Her ass shifted. Fingers rubbed over her neck, feeling the warmth. I’m probably beet red.

Dean’s hand that held the tumbler rose. One of the fingers popped free from the grip and did a swinging point at her face. “No glasses.”

“I went with contacts tonight.”

He grinned, “And, you wore your hair down again.”

“You said you liked it...”

He leaned in a few inches. Her thought cut off at the action. His visage turned to stone; eyes almost primal in their focus on her mouth. Again. “I like a lot of things.”

Holy shit. She froze in place. Could only stare at the beauty. Freckles. How did I not notice those before?

“This is dangerous, Julie.” He pulled himself back.

“W-why? What’s dangerous?”

“You are doing everything in your power to push all my buttons.” He shook his head. “It’s sexy as hell. But it’s only going to end one way.”

“What way is that?” Please say sex on this couch.

“Told you. Me turning into a jackass.”

Way to be a downer, Dean. Her lids narrowed. “Do you really believe that?”

He shrugged. “Decades of experience.”

“Can we just enjoy this?” Her plea was firm in its tone. “I’ve been through a crappy divorce from what turned out to be a turd of a husband hiding his yearlong shitty and adulterous behavior.” She closed her eyes. “I’d like to believe that we are two damaged adults that deserve some flirting and feel good times right now. I’m trying not to ‘what if’ you into the circling drain of catastrophic proportions.”

When she opened her eyes after the rant, she found him smiling.

She nodded. “Pie?”

His grin spread. “Pie.”

~~~~~

Three more glasses of bourbon on Dean’s end had loosened him into a comfortable heap on the sofa. He was on his third piece of pie, too. Julie had been mindful and stuck to the one glass. The pie, however, called out for a second slice to be cut. The conversation had shot into that wonderful galaxy of transitions and rabbit holes, where struggling to find the original thought only led to more discovery.

“Okay,” Dean shifted in his seat, “tell me one good thing about your ex.” He dusted some crust from the side of his mouth back onto the plate.

“Ugh,” she frowned.

“You just said you try to find one good thing about anyone and anything.”

“I didn’t think you were going to call me out on it.”

He smiled. “I’m sure you can. It was ten years, right?”

She eyerolled, turning pensive. “Steve always put the seat down.”

Dean laughed. “Gotta give him more than that.” He pointed at her. “Or, I blame you for staying that long.”

She sighed and plucked an apple with her fork. “He was a hard worker. He loved my mom, even though she always rode him for not being ‘the man’ she thought he should be. Not that my mom has a great grasp of a healthy male/female dynamic, mind you. He always tried to make her happy. And, by extension, me happy.” She went deeper. “He was romantic, even when I’d try to mess up his plans and be a grump. He was big on romance, for a long time.”

She caught Dean inspecting whatever reaction washed over her face. His gaze softened. “What happened?”

Julie shrugged. “Maybe I took him for granted. Maybe he took me for granted. Maybe a mid-life crisis turned his brain to mush and he thought he’d find happiness with a twenty something yoga instructor. I don’t know. He never offered an explanation. And, I didn’t want to hear one, anyway.”

“Yoga instructor?” Dean grinned.

Julie grinned at Dean’s grin. “You’re thinking about how bendy she is, aren’t you?”

He chuckled. “I dated a yoga instructor. I know how bendy they are.”

“Do tell.”

His eyebrows rose. “You want details?”

Her bare feet, having long kicked off the heels, slid onto the sofa cushion and nestled under her ass and skirt. “All the details.” Another bit of pie slid into her mouth.

“She was pretty amazing.” He grabbed at the glass on the floor beside his spot and took a gulp. His reminiscent stare into the liquor heated Julie up again. He grinned, not meeting her eyes. “She could get into these positions… well, it was… awesome.” He returned the glass to its spot and focused on the pie plate. “Lisa was great on lots of levels.”

There was a palpable warmth to his memory. How long will it take me to think of Steve with even an ounce of that fondness? Will I ever be able to again? “Were you with her long?”

“Little over a year.” He stretched a bit and brought his eyeline back up to meet hers. “When I tried the normal life thing.” His eyes rounded like saucers. “God, that was like... over a decade ago. Ben’s in his twenties now.”

“Ben?”

“Lisa’s son.”

“Do you keep in touch?”

“Nah. It was better to cut ties. Have them move on, like I’d never messed up their life to begin with.”

“I’m sure you didn’t…”

“I did.” Dean nodded with certainty. “But, it was better after me, I guarantee it. What about you, though? Ten years. I mean, how are you doing with that kind of change?”

“Does it sound bad if I say it wasn’t as hard as I’d thought it would be?”

Dean smiled.

“I mean, the betrayal, the dishonesty, the collapse of my marriage. Yeah, that was devastating and had me on the fast track to a pint of Ben and Jerry’s every night. I cried for weeks… tried to keep my work life together during the day just to come home, wrecked, to an empty, fucking huge house… because he was staying over at Chelsea’s apartment until he got a new place.”

His face deadpanned. “Her name was Chelsea?”

Another eyeroll. “Yeah. And, our ‘marriage’ friends hightailed it out of existence… probably because most of them had known and didn’t want me to know that I knew that they knew.” She watched Dean try to process her ramble. She laughed at how absurd she sounded. “It was tough. I started to go to therapy again.” She waved a hand in the air. “Then, I found this place.” She slowed her breathing. “I had something that was mine again. Just mine. I don’t know, it kind of centered me.”

His cocky grin returned. “I hear the view’s pretty great, too.”

“The view is awesome.” Julie giggled.

“Oh, man.” He let out a huge yawn and leaned into the crook of the sofa’s corner. He slid like a serpent on his back, molding into the cushions. His legs draped over the edge. The empty pie plate and fork rested on the center of his chest, teetering a bit. “I’m feeling really good right now.” A beefy, muscled arm raised over his head. He clutched the armrest. His eyes closed.

“I bet.” Julie mumbled, staring.

An eye shot open. “Open invitation to come on over and find out.” He teased and knocked a knee against one of hers.

The ping pong game of flirting had been ongoing, with neither one missing a return yet. “But, I might take advantage of you, in this drunken state of yours.”

“Take, woman, take.” He grumbled and shut his eyes again. “Seriously, though…”

“Hm?” Julie deposited her empty plate on the side table.

“Did your husband not eat? Did he hate sweets? Cause, just as an act of self-preservation and I don’t know… non-stupidity… to give up ever eating your mom’s food… or, taste your baked goods again…” The brows twitched suggestively above his closed eyes.

Dirty, cheesy jokes. He’s lucky he’s so damn good looking. “Maybe Chelsea’s a good cook?” Julie offered.

Dean’s eyes batted open in a lazy gesture. “Yeah, and I’ve won the Nobel friggin’ Peace Prize.” He wagged a finger. “Now, if he’s anything like my brother, I might understand the short sightedness on his part.”

“Is your brother an asshole?” Julie grinned.

He chuckled. “No. He’s very fond of kale, though. He could resist your food charms.” Dean licked his lips, his chin to his chest, eyeing her. “But, he’s not blind. And, if he wasn’t already in a committed relationship…”

Julie gave him her best sexy side eye. “What?”

“We’d probably have to rock paper scissors for it.”

She tilted her head. “For what?”

“The chance to try out our best moves on you.” Dean rose up in slow motion to a sitting position, mansplaying into her half of the couch. He slid the fork and plate onto the nearby coffee table.

You got this. Julie was keenly aware of how her entire body thrummed to her heartbeat. And how soaked her panties were. Just talking to him and being in close proximity is wrecking me… what would happen if... She readjusted her sitting position as well, crossed her legs, and clenched her thighs together. Got me slippery enough to slide off the damn couch. “Do I have a say in the matter? What’s your brother like?”

“Oh, he’s a total nerd. Living in San Jose, trying to finally get a law degree from Stanford.”

“Lawyer material, huh?” Julie gave him an impressed nod.

“Okay, calm down.” Dean raised a hand in jest. “Like I said, he’s taken. And, you wouldn’t like him.” Dean shook his head with certainty.

Julie giggled. “You don’t know that. I consider myself somewhat of a nerd. Maybe we’re kindred spirits. What’s he look like?”

Dean sighed and pulled his phone out of his back pocket. Julie marveled, realizing that neither one of them had glanced at a phone over the past hour. The television had remained off as well. His finger tapped and scrolled for some time before showing her his screen. “That’s him and his girlfriend, Eileen.”

Julie’s eyebrows rose. “Wow. Your family gene pool is quite impressive.”

“Well, thank you.” He smirked. “But, still, I think I’d have a better shot. I mean, look at his hair.”

“Very bouncy. Really cute.” She noted some slight agitation from him as she continued to stare at the picture. He pulled the phone away and slipped it back into his pocket. Pushing ALL of his buttons was turning out to be very entertaining. “My brother and his family live in San Francisco. Not too far from San Jose. Maybe I should pay him a visit the next time I find myself over there.”

“Yeah, well… he’s a bit high maintenance. Me, on the other hand… ready to go at a moment’s notice.”

“So, you’re easy going?”

His lips jutted out into an exaggerated pout. “I don’t know if I’d say ‘easy going’. Easy maybe.” He winked.

“Love ‘em and leave ‘em type then?”

“Pretty much. But, there was an underlying reason. It wasn’t all about me being an ass.” He took another swig of his drink. “That’s why…” his tongue smacked against the roof of his mouth, “I really shouldn’t be here. The family business I was in for so long... It put anyone my brother and I got close to in danger. It was better to stay unattached.” He tilted the glass in her direction. “And, you haven’t lubricated me with enough liquor, or dessert, to get more info outta me on that.” The gaze dropped into his glass.

You’ve got me lubricated enough, you full time fucking flirt. Julie screwed her lips together. She took some time to gather her thoughts. “Is that what happened with Lisa? She ended up in danger?”

He clenched his jaw. That was enough of a response.

“But, your brother has a girlfriend now.”

“Yeah. Goin’ on two years.”

“Something changed then, when you moved on from the family business?”

He nodded, a grin slow to form as he looked back up. “You could say the family business went out of business. Our services weren’t needed as much.”

“So, he isn’t worried about his girlfriend’s safety? Your brother?”

“She was in the same business for a long time. Can take care of herself. I don’t think she’s a Spice Girls fan.” A wicked smirk unfurled.

Julie took silent offence at the dig. She nodded, processing the information to continue her original line of questioning. “Danger still out there?”

He shrugged and dropped the glass. “No, not really. I mean, not like it was. Every so often there’s a blip. But, I’d say it’s been the quietest I’ve known in… well, forever.”

“You are only making me more curious, you know that, right?”

Dean leaned in. One hand dragged along her dangling calf. Those rough, calloused fingers lit her up like flint against a match. Her nose scrunched as she tried to maintain some composure. The smile on his face sparked up into his eyes. Those damn crinkles multiplied. “Are you getting frustrated?”

“No.”

“Cause I’ve seen you make that face when it looks like you were frustrated.”

She sighed. “Maybe a little frustrated.”

He slid along the seat, bending his leg like snipping scissors to get closer. The oh so warm calf wedging along her thigh. An arm snaked behind her on the couch. Nostrils flared, sniffing the air like a hungry bloodhound. “I can take care of that for you, Julie.” He whispered. “All you gotta do is ask.” He teased out a smile. “Tell me what you want.” He paused. “What you really…” Another long pause. “Really.” Even longer. “Want.” The word slipped out of his mouth, slow and tasty, with a click of his teeth at the end for even more dramatic effort.

Awareness of what he had just done made her grin.

His head tilted. “I may have come across ‘Spice World’ on cable a few times while channel surfing. Being in the middle of a Baby and Ginger sandwich might be fun.” He inhaled deep again and a quick dart of his gaze fell to her lap before coming back to scan her facial features.

Shit, can he smell how wet and excited he’s making me? “What do you want?” She held his stare, desperately trying to keep some control of her faculties. Even though every cell in her body was begging to give in to the temptation that was Dean Winchester. “Are you looking for a woman that knows this mysterious family business like your brother’s girlfriend?”

The focus of his hypnotic green, glassy eyes traced over different spots on her face. She admired his ridges and furrows and planes up close. The slope of his nose was a perfect angled dream. Evidence of a hard life lived was scattered all over amid the youthful, sin-full lips and speckling of freckles. There was earned wisdom in his eyes behind the golden flecked irises. She couldn’t remember the last time she was in the presence of anyone so very handsome and beautiful. And? There was something else she’d been trying to pinpoint since she chanced on him, in the dark, that first night. The words slammed into her mind. Tragic. But, not just that. Heroic.

He remained quiet, stoic. Not answering her questions. Only wrecking her with his inspection, intent on getting her to concede. She pushed through, answering her own query. “Cause, fun little fact, I’m probably not that kind of woman. I’m guessing that woman is badass.” His fingers traced the skin by her sleeve. She was melting, drowning. And it was heaven. Ah, fuck it. “Now, if you’re looking for a one and done type situation…?”

He shook his head. “No. Not with you. I’m pretty sure I want to have you all sorts of ways. Not just one and done.”

The vocal confirmation made her lips twitch up. “Don’t tell anyone, but I kind of like your chauvinistic, caveman style.”

“Oh, I’m telling everybody.” He whispered, even closer now. Bourbon and cinnamon-apple breath danced over her lips. “But, for clarification,” the tease was still stroking her calf, “what exactly is my chauvinistic, caveman style?” He gave her a little head tilt. “You know, when I tell everybody.”

“Hm, well, you walked me home that one night.”

“That’s just looking out for your safety. I’d say that’s the opposite of caveman. Otherwise, I’d just drag you back by your hair to my lair.” He urged for more details with a roll of his fingers on her shoulder.

“But thinking I can’t look out for myself could be considered…” She slammed her mouth shut. I really don’t want to get into a debate on feminism with this man right now. His stare was far away and centered all at once. One finger stroked the upward curve of her neck, just under her earlobe. The gaze broke from her eyes, now interested in the same spot as that finger. His entire body leaned into her right side. So fucking close. “Um,” she hesitated.

“Come on. You gotta give me more than that.” His nose nuzzled into the wavy curls against her neck. He inhaled. An almost imperceptible moan emerged from his throat on the exhale.

She sighed and leaned into the enticing action. “I guess it’s not a style exactly. More like an aura?”

His posture tipped back, enough to brush his cheek along her jawline. His scruff rubbing like fine grit sandpaper. And, goddamn, his lips were so close to hers for a fraction of a second. “Aura?” The one word released in a jagged, hot breath. He dipped back toward her neck.

“You’re very… male…”

He chuckled against tender flesh. Goosebumps formed. She twitched at the almost touch. “I hope so.”

“I don’t know. You seem so… strong… capable… take charge. I think you’d make a very lucky lady feel safe. If you gave yourself the chance to try.”

And then, she felt it. The pressure of his soft, full lips rested at the base of her neck. They sizzled, lit the fuse. His hands wrapped around her in an instant. He gripped her into a bear hug of the hottest proportions. Their chests melded together, his muscles pressing into her soft curves. Firm, unmoving. Even his lips remained still. His heartbeat, however, that pulsed through her own skin.

She jolted at the sensation of his tongue teasing out from his lips, tasting her. His smile seared into her skin. Then, light kisses ran up her jaw. She tilted her head up, providing him full access to whatever the fuck he wanted. He trailed the outline of her chin with his lips. She dared open her eyes when his mouth retreated.

She had not been prepared for the look of want. His fingers tangled into her hair and clutched the back of her scalp. He moaned, low and deep, a second before his lips crushed her mouth with a coveting force and ownership. He brushed into the red and raw underside of her own lips, producing a wet, slick heat and easy undulations. The sway of his mouth back and forth, slow and prodding, opened her to him. The introduction of his probing tongue had her gasp. She felt the sound travel down his throat.

She hooked arms under his massive biceps and latched onto sharp shoulder blades, holding on for the ride. The stronghold manipulated her like a ragdoll with every kiss and suck and lick. He broke from her mouth and rested his forehead against hers. “You OK?” She smiled at how out of breath he sounded. He leaned back and inspected her face. She nodded, noting how fast her heart was beating. “Cause, I can stop… like, right now. It’s probably better if I do that. And, maybe, we try that proper date… before things get too out of hand.”

“Is that what you want to do right now?” She tried to catch her breath.

“Hell, no.” He smiled. His fingers massaged her scalp and pressed into the small of her back. “But, maybe… I should give myself the chance to try.”

She groaned. “Don’t use my own words against me.” She bit her lip, then mumbled. “You feel really good.”

“So do you, sweetheart.” He brushed his lips along her forehead. “So do you.”

She unfurled her arms from his back. “Going to be all adultish.”

“I know. Adulting sucks.” He sighed. “When do we do this date thing?”

“Soon.”

A childish grin curled up his lips. “Sweet. Well,” he licked his lips, wiping away any innocence, and peeled his body from hers, frowning as he did so. “Let me take you out to dinner one night, maybe next weekend? No food or dessert prepared by you. And, I’m not going to even think about taking you to an Italian place.”

She smiled. “Good call.”

“Steak?” His eyebrows rose.

“Sounds good.”

“Awesome.” He stood up and grabbed his drink, finishing it, then picked up his dessert plate. “I’ll make a reservation and let you know when.”

“But, you might have to cancel if work…”

He raised a finger. “Then you have permission to slap me if I stand you up again.”

She laughed, then frowned realizing his current intention. “You’re leaving?”

“Too much temptation if I stay.” He stared down at her. “I mean, all I want to do right now…” He shook his head. “Going to go put these away.” He darted to the kitchen.

She stood up and adjusted her skirt. “I was going to give you a piece of pie.”

“Ohhh, I know you were.” He called from the other room and ran some water in the sink. When he rounded the doorway, he donned a wide, toothy grin. “Save me a slice for later?”

“Let me just...” She started to walk toward him and the front door.

He raised his hands. “Nope. Nope. Safer if you stay there.” He rubbed his hands along his thighs, drawing Julie’s attention to the rather impressive bulge in his jeans. “Cause I’ll want to give you a kiss goodnight…”

“And, it won’t end there?” She strolled over.

“Really, Julie.” He backed toward the front door. “I won’t be responsible for my actions if you keep it up.”

“I’m supposed to consider that a threat?”

He laughed. “Thank you. Good night.” The door opened from behind his back and he slid out with a wave and a wink.

Julie pressed her lips together. The phantom tingle of his mouth lingered. Her tongue ran over the top lip. Bourbon puckered her taste buds. She sighed and headed to the kitchen to clean up with her half-eaten pie slice. She could feel the stupid smile settling into her face for the rest of the night. “I’m in such delicious trouble.”

Part 9

Series Page

#dean winchester fanfiction #spn fanfic series #supernatural fanfiction #spnfanficpond #dean x ofc #dean winchester fluff #spn fanfiction

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ineffably-good · 5 years

Text

Have a Little Faith In Me (3/3)

Summary: In which Crowley finally puts a ring on it and is rewarded with... a magic trick?

Chapter 2 is here

For all his teasing about competing, Aziraphale knew that Crowley wanted to be the one to make the declaration and proposal, and that was fine with him. Crowley had waited for him all these years, he thought; the least he could do was wait back while Crowley figured out what to do and how to do it, to usher them into the next stage in their relationship.

That didn’t stop him, however, from making life as pleasant as possible for the demon. Over the next few weeks, he took care to spoil Crowley a little. Some actions were tiny, such as using a small miracle to leave his pajamas warmed up for him next to the bed in the mornings, or having his coffee perfectly prepared and steaming hot the moment he came down the stairs. Some were larger, like treating him to a variety of surprise trips out into the countryside and getting him fitted for a new suit to wear to Anathema and Newt’s wedding, which was coming up in a few weeks. All in all, he did his best to make the demon feel loved and appreciated as much as he was able – and when one was an angel, turning one’s full angelic power to such a mission carried quite a wallop.

Crowley, for his part, showed no outward signs of his plans, but inside his thoughts were racing. He ran through and eliminated a variety of ways of proposing as too predictable, too boring, too ordinary. He briefly considered the Ritz and popping the ring into a dessert – but honestly, it had been done a hundred thousand times, and with his luck Aziraphale would just swallow it, and the Heimlich would certainly cut into the romance. He considered a hot air balloon, writing it in the sky from an airplane, and shouting it from the top of a mountain. None of these felt quite correct. He needed something that was completely unique to his angel, the one being in all the universe that he could ever have fallen for, and who had somehow miraculously fallen for him too.

It wasn’t until one day when he was restlessly looking through some of his old boxes he’d never fully unpacked, that he remembered something he’d forgotten for several centuries.

And with that, a plan appeared. Now he just needed the right moment.

Read the rest on Ao3 or click below to keep reading!

It was on the drive back, late at night, from Anathema and Newt’s small, lovely, handfasting ceremony that the moment began to feel right. Crowley, resplendent in his new, slim cut, charcoal gray suit took a peek over at the angel beside him, who was looking ridiculously happy and content and just the slightest bit tipsy on leftover champagne, and began to think seriously about just asking him now.

Aziraphale, sensing his regard, smiled at him and reached over to lay a hand on his thigh.

“My dear, you looked absolutely gorgeous tonight,” the angel said. “You should wear that suit more often.”

Crowley smiled. “I could do that,” he said, “for you.”

No, Crowley thought, abandoning the plan to just pull over and spill the words out – please marry me -- and, with them, his heart, all over the front seat of the car. Back home first. Keep to the plan. He suddenly felt intensely nervous in a way he hadn’t expected, and he sucked in a breath more harshly and audibly than he’d intended.

Aziraphale glanced over at him in concern. “Are you feeling well? You look a little drawn around the edges.”

Crowley cleared his throat. “M’fine!” he mumbled. “Just concentrating. Dark out here.”

“It’s always dark at night,” Aziraphale said reasonably. “Your eyes are made for darkness.”

Crowley shrugged and leaned forward to stab on the radio, hoping for something to cover the sudden awkwardness. Luckily, they landed on some rather good music, and Aziraphale rolled down his window to enjoy the night air, and he never once mentioned the truly record-breaking level of speed they achieved on the way back to London.

“You sober?” Crowley asked as they made their way into the bookstore.

Aziraphale thought for a moment. “I think so,” he said, doubtful. “Or nearly so. Should we fix that with more alcohol?”

Crowley grinned. “We will,” he said. “In the meantime, just sit down on the couch and relax. I’m going to grab a bottle I’ve been saving.”

He heard the angel puttering around at the desk for a minute, and then he settled on the couch in happy anticipation. Crowley went to the kitchen and made just enough fumbling-around-in-cupboards noises to buy a few minutes of time to compose himself. Were his hands shaking? Demon hands weren’t supposed to shake.

Pull it together, he told himself. This is important. Do not fuck this up.

He took several deep breaths, despite having no true need for them, and set about gathering the things he required.

“Ah there you are!” Aziraphale said when he finally emerged, bearing a bottle and two of their nicer glasses. “I thought perhaps you’d gotten lost somewhere!”

Crowley set the bottle down on the table, the crystal goblets beside it, and gave Aziraphale a quelling look. “Sit tight. Need a couple more things.”

Aziraphale looked mystified, but he complied.

Crowley went into the back room and came back with a large paper envelope, which he put on the floor as he sat down close to the angel. Then, he looked around frowning, to see if the ambiance was right.

The ambiance, he thought, was not at all special enough. He snapped his fingers, putting soft music on the gramophone. He took one last look around and thought something was still missing. It came to him in a flash.

“This,” he said to the angel in a no-nonsense-will-be-brooked tone, “is absolutely a one-time-only event; don’t get any ideas.”

And with that he snapped and willed a handful of candles into existence around the shop, all lit. The shop lights dimmed a bit to allow the candlelight to be better appreciated.

Aziraphale gasped. “Candles? Oh, how lovely!” He peered more closely at Crowley. “Are you sure you’re all right? You made it quite clear I was never to light a candle in this shop again.”

Crowley ignored him and poured them each a nice glass of wine. “I’m fine,” he said firmly, “and they’re just for tonight.”

“Are we celebrating something?” the angel asked, rather shyly. He took a sip and murmured appreciatively at the fantastic Bordeaux the demon had produced.

“Perhaps,” Crowley said, leaving his own wine untouched. He could barely remember how to breathe at the moment, not to mention drink something. “Have a present for you, anyway.”

He opened the envelope at his feet and passed a battered-looking leather folio across the couch to Aziraphale.

Crowley had made a habit, over the centuries, of presenting Aziraphale on occasion with the crème de la crème of the rare book world – obscure scrolls, editions of old plays, original manuscripts, author’s notebooks. He had used them to wile his angel, delight him when he’s been sad, and, on at least one occasion, to offer an intense and heart-felt apology for a wrong he’d committed.

It had been, by his count, something like eighty years since the last time he did so. Long enough that it took Aziraphale a moment to process what he was seeing, before a look of delight broke out across his face. The angel knew from centuries of experience that whatever was in there would be thoughtful and intriguing. He ran a finger over the front edge of the cover.

“For me?” he asked, lashes fluttering. “Oh, you darling boy, what have you found for me this time?”

Crowley motioned that he should go ahead, and then lounged back on his end of the couch and waited with his hands in his suit pockets.

Aziraphale opened it carefully and found a single sheet of parchment inside, inscribed with looping handwriting in faded iron gall ink. He fidgeted around to hold it a little closer to the light, read the first line or two, and then looked up in utter shock.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said slowly. “What is this? I know this handwriting. This is – why, it can’t possibly be – is it – “

Crowley smiled at him like the cat who ate the canary. “Yes, it is.”

“This is Will’s handwriting!” Aziraphale breathed. “William Shakespeare! What on earth! Where did you get this?”

“Well, I got it from the man himself,” Crowley said, grinning. “Commissioned it, even. Long time ago. 1605, to be exact.”

Aziraphale stopped reading and pushed his glasses up to his forehead. He rubbed the bridge of his nose as if his brain might explode. He honestly didn’t know whether to be amazed or affronted on behalf of the literary community as a whole. “You – you’ve – you have had an unpublished, and if I’m not mistaken, completely unknown Shakespearean sonnet in your possession for four centuries? No one in the whole world knows of its existence?”

“Just you and me,” Crowley said happily, enjoying the sight of the angel’s complicated reaction: shock, happiness, outrage, joy, befuddlement, and intense, intense possessiveness of that little piece of paper. The angel was cradling it like a newborn babe, like it was the most precious piece of paper in the whole world.

At the moment, it just might be.

“But why?” Aziraphale said breathlessly. “Why would you keep something like this from the world? It’s a priceless literary treasure!”

“Because,” the demon said simply, “it was for you.”

Aziraphale blinked at him, struggling to understand. Then he blinked some more. His hand, holding the parchment, was shaking slightly.

“And you’ve had it all this time? Just, what, sitting in a drawer?”

“I didn’t need it until now,” Crowley said, gently. “Please, just stop with the interrogation and read it.”

Aziraphale took a deep and shaky breath and shifted his focus to the parchment in front of him. It took him a few tries to still his hands enough to be able to make out the words. When he finally succeeded, he read the first few lines aloud in a tremulous voice.

Since looking upon thee in the garden day Upon thy side against myself I’ll fight For life no longer than thy love will stay To steal sweet hours from thy love’s delight…

Aziraphale looked up, eyes full of tears, and his voice was hushed. “You commissioned a love sonnet for me, four hundred and fifteen years ago?”

Crowley tried to swallow the suddenly huge lump in his throat. “I did.”

Aziraphale, voice simply not working anymore, stared at him for a long moment, and then leaned down to read the rest quietly. He sat in stunned silence after, lost to everything around him, and then he read it again. And again a final time.

“It’s – it’s –” he faltered, his heartbeat pounding in his ears and drowning out all sound around him. For once, the angel was unable to find a single word.

When he looked up, dazed, Crowley had moved from his spot beside him, and was now kneeling on the floor in front of him, his golden eyes impossibly warm.

“Angel,” Crowley said, “I knew four hundred and fifteen years ago that I loved you. I knew six thousand years ago, to be honest. It’s the one thing I’ve known from the start. Took me a while to accept it, took you a while too, but here we are, together finally, on no one’s side but our own.”

Aziraphale watched, spellbound, as the demon reached into his pocket and pulled out something shiny and small.

“Would you please do me the immense honor,” Crowley said, looking suddenly very pale, “of marrying me and making me the happiest demon alive? Or possibly the only happy demon?”

In his hand was a small gold ring, with a smoky, ancient diamond in the center, cut in ways they didn’t cut them anymore, and with the faintest etching of a snake chased around the edges of the stone. It was old and simple and perfectly, utterly the best thing the angel had ever seen.

Aziraphale, unable to even speak, nodded helplessly, and Crowley slipped the ring onto his finger, where it fit perfectly because it knew better than to not do so. Aziraphale admired it for a moment, then leaned in to run a hand down Crowley’s face.

“I love you,” he whispered, and then pressed a kiss to his forehead, his temple, and finally his mouth.

Several minutes later, when they broke for a breath they didn’t need, Aziraphale took a moment to examine the ring more closely.

“Like it?” Crowley asked.

“I adore it,” Aziraphale said, still a little stunned. “It’s just… I was wondering…”

“Yes?”

“Oh, please just tell me it doesn’t actually light up, does it?”

Crowley laughed. “No, angel,” he said. “It doesn’t. You’ll just have to wave it around obnoxiously whenever you have an admirer.”

“I can do that,” Aziraphale said. He rather relished the idea, actually.

Crowley got up from his perch on the floor and sat next to him on the couch, as close as it was possible to be to his angel. Aziraphale sighed happily and leaned into his side.

“My dear,” he said, “that was lovely and perfect! But one thing is missing, I think.”

Crowley frowned. What had he missed? He had the music, the candles, the big and utterly unique romantic gesture, the candles, the ring, the bloody candles…

Aziraphale tutted a little at the demon’s obvious discomfort and turned to face Crowley a little more fully, tucking one knee under himself. He placed a hand on either side of Crowley’s face and pulled him in for a gentle kiss between the brows, then leaned back and snapped his fingers beside one of Crowley’s temples.

“What’s this?” he said theatrically, a soft but still mischievous smile on his lips. “Why, what do we have here?” He made a little flourish with his hands and pulled them back from Crowley’s head bearing something the demon couldn’t make out. “I do believe I found something in your ear, my dear.”

Crowley groaned. “I can’t believe you’re doing magic tricks during my proposal. If that’s a coin, I’m taking the ring back.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Our proposal,” he said, smiling his most radiant smile. “And anyways, you’re missing the point.”

The angel picked up one of Crowley’s hands and opened it carefully, laying something inside it and wrapping the demon’s fingers carefully around it.

“I picked this up for you,” the angel said, “because I want the world to know that you’re engaged to me, too. Would you please wear this for me, my love? I mean, if you like it…”

Crowley opened his hand carefully and looked down. It was a ring, cool and platinum, wider than Aziraphale’s, with black diamonds spaced around it at even intervals and light brushstrokes that looked a little like feathers between them. It was simple and modern and utterly the demon’s style.

“Ngk—” the demon said, then closed his mouth and tried again. “You… you got me a ring, too?”

“Yes of course I did,” Aziraphale said fondly. “Been carrying it with me for months, just in case. Didn’t want to not have it on hand when you finally asked me.”

The angel plucked it out of Crowley’s hand and slipped it on his ring finger. Crowley tried to admire it but he suddenly found he couldn’t see at all because of the immense amount of wetness in his eyes.

Abandoning all pretense of cool, he leaned into Aziraphale and wrapped his arms around his neck.

“There, there,” the angel said, petting his hair and shoulders. “I’ve got you, Crowley. I love you. I have you.” He hugged the demon tightly and thought about all of the straightforward routes and winding paths and wrong turns and backpedals and absolute roadblocks and immense leaps forward that had brought them here over six millennia’s time, about the love and the friendship and the shared experience and the slow march of time that had brought them closer and closer.

“I’ve always got you,” he repeated softly to the demon who even now could hardly accept being loved so deeply. “Always.” . . THE END

Read the whole story on Ao3

#good omens #good omens fics #ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #aziraphale x crowley #marriage proposal #put a ring on it #magic tricks #serpent and the seagull series #serpent and the seagull #lots of notes at the end on AO3

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storytaeme · 6 years

Text

my wish list – taegi

Taehyung received the perfect Christmas miracle when he won a giveaway from his favorite camboy, sugar_d, who was willing to fulfill his wish list.

taegi week 2017 – taehyung x yoongi

❅ Prompt: Wish List

❅ Elements: Smut | Camboy AU ↪ smut includes fingering, dildo, and camsex

❅ Word Count: 4,271 words

❅ A/N: Un-proofread lmao cause MERRY CHRISTMAS!!! it is still the 24th somewhere so i made it :’) anyway this is a quick smut, hope u like it!

Congratulations, kimchifriend! You have been selected as the winner of sugar_d’s holiday giveaway. Please respond promptly to this message if you are available next Thursday at 9PM KST for the appointment. Otherwise, I’ll be selecting a new winner. I hope you can make it, sugar!

Taehyung had never won a single thing in his entire life. All the shitty lotteries he’s joined in college, whether it be mini-mart scratch-offs or useful prizes during club events, all his raffle tickets seem to lead him to a dead end. Now, Taehyung might be a little reckless, but he only invested in things he truly, truly liked.

Like sugar_d’s regular show which costed him a good chunk of his paycheck but was worthwhile considering how relaxed he felt after every viewing. Sure, it included a fuck ton of wrist jerking on his side, but whatever it took to get him off, he would do it. Graduating college and being on a full-time job that paid generously yet took up a great portion of his daily life meant that he could barely find time to unwind and, you know, get his sex life back on track. Porn helped sometimes, but the huge dicks and forced moans had begun to wear out.

Hoseok was the one that led him to stumble upon this man’s show. It was sort of funny really. Taehyung had been cynical of the whole concept, had laughed at Hoseok for paying monthly to watch people get themselves off in front of a camera.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

While Hoseok subscribed to the standard plan of his favorite camgirl, Taehyung had unconsciously clicked the premium button in his moment of weakness with trembling knees. He hadn’t even considered dropping the subscription anytime soon.

So, every Wednesday after work and Sunday after doing the usual house chores, Taehyung would whip off his sweats, settle back comfortably on his bed, and prop open his laptop. Then he could beat himself off, slick sounds bouncing off the four walls without a care.

When sugar_d announced that he would be having a giveaway, Taehyung knew that the chances of him winning were slim to none. It was a charity thing—the more you donated to him, the higher the chances of winning. Taehyung had bought one balloon raffle on the site since he didn’t have the heart or rationality to purchase more. He had his own bills to pay after all. One balloon raffle against the millions of others. The odds smacked him in the face.

However, that was what startled him about the email. For so long, he stared at the words printed on the screen, scanning over every line and curve and wondering if this was some sort of prank. Did he really—

In his moment of crisis of deciding whether he should reply and risk his dignity, another message popped up.

sugar_d: hey there! i know the site sent you an automated message but figured i’d send you a personal one to wish you a congrats for winning my giveaway!

Holy shit.

Holy fucking shit.

Taehyung let out a holler which prompted Jeongguk just a few feet away from him to jump. “Fuck, Guk, I won something. I actually won something!”

“Uh, congrats?” Jeongguk looked at him, puzzled, and returned to his game.

With trembling, excited fingers, he typed in his response, mouthing the words to himself to make sure that it sounded right.

kimchifriend: hOLY SHIT!!!! thank you so much??? i’ve never won anything in my life but this is like the goddamn lottery ty @Jesus

The typing bubble appeared for a little while, disappearing, then reappearing. Taehyung wondered if that had been too much of a response for something as small as a camboy private show giveaway. While waiting, he quickly clicked the confirm button to accept his gift and the notification celebrated his win with confetti on his screen.

sugar_d: pffft, sorry, i was laughing too hard to type. but i’m glad you think so! i see that you’ve confirmed. i’ll send you a list of things i won’t do, and so please don’t request any of those. if you want me to prepare things ahead of time, do send me your list! it’ll be a two-hour long show so buckle up, big boy

Taehyung was going to nut so good.

When the day arrived, he had managed to kick Jeongguk out of the apartment for a good two hours so he could comfortably relax without the risk of Jeongguk walking in on him with his meat in his hand. Not that they hadn’t seen each other’s dicks before, it just seemed safer to avoid any strange possibility of sexual tension between roommates.

sugar_d, who usually went by Suga, had given him a Skype account to add days ago, throwing in a kiss emoji that shot an arrow right through his poor, little heart. Taehyung had worked on adding him, but despite all that he knew about the science of the body and nature (biology major problems), he wasn’t the best at handling technology. Thus, when the time came that Suga called him on the program, he clicked the accept button and—

Holy fuck, his poor dick.

As requested, the guy was all dressed up in the prettiest babydoll that Taehyung had purchased for him. It was white to complement his milky skin with pink lace trimming. The skirt fell halfway down his thighs to continue to the stretch of his thin legs. He was kneeling on the bed, hands placed elegantly over his creamy thighs. His hair was a little messy, looked fucked out before they even began. His lips—fuck, they were glistening tantalizingly.

“Holy shit,” he whispered to himself, pushing his face closer to his screen as if he could get a better look that way.

The chuckle that followed from the man on the other side had Taehyung’s dick twitching. “Hello, baby.” Taehyung wanted to cry. “I thought you wanted to be anonymous, but you’re pretty cute.”

His brows knitted in confusion at that until he searched the screen to find his face in a small corner of it. Oh shit, he forgot to turn off the camera. Taehyung fumbled around, flushing in embarrassment, “Sorry! Sorry! I didn’t mean to be a weirdo or anything, I know you don’t want to see faces. I’m new at this whole Skype thing.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Suga grinned, gummy teeth and crinkly eyes. Taehyung was in love. “I don’t think I’d mind watching you, if you don’t mind that is. I’ve never seen people react live to my shows so it would be a nice change.”

“Y-you want me to keep my cam on?”

Suga smiled, winking, “Only if you want to, baby.”

God, yeah, he definitely wanted to. A small part of him called him pathetic for imagining Suga to be some sort of boyfriend material that he was having camsex with. So sue him, he could let his imagination live if he wanted to. “Yeah,” Taehyung licked his lips, “but I can’t guarantee I won’t have, uh, a reaction.”

“Is it bad that I kind of want to see you play with yourself?” Suga’s pearly whites caught his bottom teeth, eyes looking up softly at the screen.

Taehyung felt all the blood rush south to press his hardening dick against the seam of his sweats. He wished he had put on something more attractive but he had on a ratty university tshirt and a pair of worn-out sweats. He hadn’t been expecting to be putting on a show for Suga in the first place. “I’m—shit, I’m really hard right now just from hearing you talk.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Suga laughed, “so just to confirm your small list here, which by the way, I was expecting to be longer and more extreme.” He dangled a sheet of paper in front of the camera that printed down everything Taehyung had asked for. Taehyung hadn’t gotten the chance to get down and dirty with anyone with full-blown kinks so he wasn’t quite sure what to throw into the list. “I’m kind of grateful you kept it simple.”

“Sorry,” Taehyung replied sheepishly, “I wasn’t expecting to win so I just… didn’t think this thoroughly.”

Suga grinned again, leaning forward to give a close up of his pretty face. God, Taehyung was so, so in love. “Don’t worry, baby, your list is perfect. It’s everything I can do so I can make sure that I give you the perfect show.”

“I think anything you decide to do will be perfect,” Taehyung blurted out then proceeded to blush. Why was he trying to do smooth pick up lines? Taehyung wasn’t smooth pick up lines. He was smooth and suave hidden in a full package of awkward and clumsy.

The man paused on screen, his face flattening to an expression akin to surprise. “That’s cute,” he finally said, amusement lacing his voice. “So, baby, are you going to play with me?”

Taehyung swallowed thickly and ignored the sudden throbbing in his pants. “C-can I?”

“Mhm,” Suga hummed and began to tease the thin strap of his little dress. “Show me what you got.” Taehyung inhaled sharply and nodded, pushing his laptop back a little and pulling down his pants. When Suga laughed, he looked up in alarm. “You’re not much of a tease, are you?”

“No, sorry,” he laughed, “more of a direct kill kind of guy.”

Suga grins, letting the straps drape around his arms. “I like it, it’s refreshing. Now come up, baby, let me see your cock.”

Taehyung nodded and sat back against the pillows, laptop in between his legs so his cock could be seen.

“Wow,” he let out a whistle, lips curling into a slow lazy smirk. “You’re so hung, God, bet you’d fill me up so good. Your cock is so thick.” The man licked his lips, which in turn had Taehyung squeezing his shaft to stop himself from jerking it hard and fast.

“Y-you think so?”

“One of the thickest I’ve seen, baby,” Suga drawls, slowly hiking the skirt up his thighs. Taehyung’s lips parted as his eyes focused on the tantalizing skin being exposed bit by bit. It was almost hypnotizing the way his small fingers drew the fabric upwards, higher and higher until Taehyung could see the hint of another layer of clothing covering his privates.

Taehyung wished that he could be there, catch that fabric between his teeth and tug it up himself. It was a tempting offer and Suga seemed very keen after seeing his dick—but then again, that was the way he worked. He teased, pulled and pushed, until all his viewers were tossing online money in his direction. Suga was one of the big pullers in the site, raking in thousands with one go that allowed him to purchase more toys and lingerie to please his audience. Other times, he survived on donations for pretty things that he could use during the show, like roleplay outfits and pretty panties.

He was the best crowd pleaser.

Even then as he let the hem fall over his thighs again, all Taehyung could do was miserably throw his head back and let out a pained moan. Suga giggled, a cute lilted tease, “Don’t you make the sexiest sound? You sound like this every time you get hot and bothered, baby?”

“Mmph,” Taehyung whined, “yeah, always like this.”

“Why don’t you boss me around? You know I like a man with authority.” Suga bit his plump bottom lip and coyly twirled his finger around the string of his dress. This was what Taehyung had placed on his list. Fuck.

Taehyung took a deep breath, fingers tightening around his dick, “Slip that thing off, doll. Take it off for me.”

Suga nodded and tugged the thin silk up. It looked so smooth and neat, sliding up his skin all too easily before finally lifting up to his stomach. His stomach was soft and pudgy, a cute thing that added to his innocence. However, that certainly wasn’t the aspect of him that caught Taehyung’s eye. His cock, hard and leaking, was peeking off the top of his panties. A pair of cotton white ones.

Holy shit. Taehyung could practically feel his eyes roll back as he uncapped his lube and drizzled it all over his cock.

“Sorry, baby,” Suga said, looking far from apologetic, “I played with myself a little earlier. Got myself a little messy.” As if to make his point, he pressed his index finger against the tip of his cock and raised it up, letting a string of precum that connected his digit to his length stretch. Even in the shitty connection, Taehyung could see the line. His lips parted almost instinctively, tongue practically salivating for it.

“I-I can help you with that,” Taehyung gulped, eyes still glued on how fucking fantastic Suga looked with with the panties pressing his cock up against his stomach. It was such a pretty little thing. Although he had never seen the man live, Suga’s cock looked much, much smaller compared to Taehyung’s. Not that it was a bad thing. Taehyung most definitely could work with it and might even have a thing for smaller cocks. There was something almost endearing, almost taboo about the size that had his mouth watering and throat drying.

The man looked up at him from his lashes as he nudged his hips forward a little. The action creating a friction that dragged his panties back slightly, tightening it around his hips. Fuck, what a sight. “Yeah? You think so, baby?”

“Yeah, sugar, I can try,” Taehyung rasped, gritting his teeth as he worked his cock slower. He couldn’t go too fast. If he came quickly, it would be so, so embarrassing. “How about you turn around and pull those panties up more, hm? Want to see it in your ass, doll.”

Suga squirmed and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. Turning around, he slowly bent over, taking his time to allow Taehyung the opportunity to appreciate that unblemished ass. Christ, if he were there, he would’ve wanted to imprint his handprint on that snowy skin, would’ve nibbled on the skin until the back of his thighs were littered with purples and blues. The pretty boy gave a small shudder when he tugged the fabric up between his cheeks, grazing it over his tight hole. He even went as far as to push it aside and give Taehyung a glimpse of that puckered opening.

Taehyung’s tongue absentmindedly poked out as if seeking out that opening. God, he wanted to eat that ass. “Y-you’re so gorgeous,” he stammered nervously, wrist still flicking to stroke his cock. “Get your lube, doll, I want to see you open yourself up for me. Can you do that?”

The man didn’t even blink before he quickly reached for his lube and drenched his fingers in it. He rubbed his fingers together before arching his back more, sticking his ass towards the screen. Fuck. Then his fingers ghosted over the entrance, his body shivering at the coolness of the gel as he teased the rim with a single finger. Taehyung moaned painfully and circled his fingers around his cock, stopping his level of libido that was climbing much too fast.

“D-do you think I’m pretty?” Suga asked, throwing a sultry, sweet look over his shoulder. It was both adorable and sexy, the combination lethal when Taehyung was already biting his knuckle to hold back his sounds of pleasure.

“You’re fucking beautiful, pretty,” Taehyung breathed, the oxygen barely making it into his lungs. The world seemed to crumble around him in this heavenly bliss when Suga finally pushed a finger in—one miserable finger. The hole tightened around his finger, sucking it in. Fuck, his ass must be so, so tight. Taehyung could imagine how his tongue would feel inside there. He could probably stroke every inch of his wall and swirl the muscle around and have the man writhing underneath him within minutes. It was torturous to see Suga dance a finger around the rim, dipping it every once in a while but never fully fingering himself. “Come on, doll, don’t tease me like this,” Taehyung protested weakly.

He’d be lying if it wasn’t doing wonders to his dick. Suga finally showed some semblance of mercy when he slipped a finger in and then added another. The blonde pressed his face deeper into the sheets, letting out a curse when he started to slide his digits in and out. Taehyung wished he could record this moment, how fucking incredible he looked. His fingers seemed to be swallowed in, vacuumed into the thick skin. It wasn’t long before Suga was shuddering, fingers stuttering in his ass. Taehyung watched him curl his fingers inside of himself, the tips of his fingers scraping his insides.

“Fuck, fuck, you look so good like that, sugar,” Taehyung choked, eyes slamming shut as he pushed away the urge to fucking come. He wasn’t even halfway done and Taehyung was already on the edge. “B-but I don’t want to come like this. Turn around for me again, on your knees.”

Suga whimpered but did as was told. And—fuck, Taehyung didn’t think it could get any better. However, the contrast between the purity of the pair of panties against the tip of his reddened cock, dripping with come rolling down and staining his underwear, might just be the death of him. What a wonderful death that would be.

“Holy shit,” Taehyung clenched his jaw, “how are you so beautiful, doll? God, you’re so fuckin’ pretty. So fuckin’ sexy and sweet. Whoever’s fucking you must be having the time of their life. Bet they get to enjoy that tight ass whenever they want.”

“N-nobody—” Suga’s breath hitched “—nobody’s fucking me right now. I just play with myself, it gets a little lonely.”

Taehyung’s lip quivered. Christ, this man really was going to end him. “Nobody, doll? God, you’re so pretty you deserve to be fucked good every night.”

“Wish I had that,” Suga moaned.

“Bounce on your fingers for me, doll. Fuck yourself like how you’d imagine me fucking you,” Taehyung instructed in a grunt. Suga followed his orders religiously, lifting his body up and dropping back down. His lips parted every time he sank down on his fingers, the long digits slipping inside and generating electricity that coursed through him. Taehyung drank in the sight, memorized every inch of Suga’s smooth skin coated with a sheen layer of sweat that was barely visible in the camera. It was pretty nonetheless to see him glisten from time to time underneath the lights.

“Hnng, fuck that feels so good, so tight—aah, I c-can feel it,” Suga whined, finding the rhythm to his movements and exerting enough source to build up the bubbling pleasure inside of him. Taehyung himself could feel flame lick up his skin, setting his entire body alight with thrill at the sight of the pretty boy. “Fuck, w-want your cock inside me instead,” he groaned, head lolling back as he relished in the utter deliciousness of the sensations.

Taehyung cooed, pupils dilating as his gaze traced over the man’s lithe frame, “You’re so pretty, doll. Look at your cock dripping so wet for me, what a good boy.” Suga let out a small, satisfied whimper at that. “God, what a gorgeous thing you are. I bet you’re always like this, hm? Always so wet for any guy who gives you a little attention?”

Suga’s body tensed up and an apology was already hanging on the tip of his tongue but the man was already releasing a loud moan from his lips. Whines that had fire igniting in every inch of his body escaped his throat, had Taehyung shifting himself and fucking his hand faster.

“Y-you have your toy, sugar?” Taehyung choked, eyes still wide to take in every bit of Suga. “Do you have a cock there with you to fill you up?”

The boy nodded quietly, face scrunched up as if he was deeply hurt. Taehyung was on the same boat, he supposed. The incessant throbbing of his cock was beginning to hurt and all he wanted was that sweet release. But he wanted to make the most of his time with Suga while he could, even if that meant he had t to endure a major case of temporary blue balls.

When Suga finally pulled out the object, Taehyung could already feel the come rising in his dick. Holy shit. The thing was thick and tan, might even rival Taehyung’s. It was the perfect size and, without being instructed to do so, Suga stuck the silicone into his mouth.

“F-fuck,” Taehyung cursed under his breath, moving forward to get stare at Suga better as he took the toy deep into his mouth. His tongue swirled around the tip, he spat on it so he could move his fingers along the length. His eyes squeezed shut as he shoved it deep into his throat, nearly gagging on it. It really was such a pretty sight. Suga sucked on the thing like his entire life depended on it, taking almost the whole thing into his mouth and stroking the rest. Taehyung’s cock twitch with his imagining that it was his own length that Suga was swallowing. “Baby, please,” he begged pitifully, “please just—shit, just fuck it. I can’t—I don’t think I’ll last any longer.”

While before Taehyung felt in complete control of the situation, able to tell Suga exactly what he wanted, he was left a pleading mess in his hands at that moment. It was everything he could ever picture and more. He’s seen Suga take things into his mouth before—popsicles, lollipops, dildos, you name it—but it was different when he was doing it in a one-on-one show with a toy that looked almost identical to his dick. It was intimate, a private moment shared between the two. It really wasn’t fair to his dick nor his heart.

Suga, fortunately enough for the sake of his aching member, grinned wickedly and agreed. “How do you want me, baby?”

“On your back, lie on your back,” Taehyung panted desperately, twisting his fingers around his tender length. The friction provided some relief but it wasn’t enough, it really wasn’t. He wanted to see Suga come undone before him, needed it to reach the full extent of his climax.

The blonde laid down and slid his panties off, flicking them aside carelessly. Taehyung could only watch as he slowly pushed the toy inside of him. Every inch that fit into him provoked a whine or a squeak. He observed not so quietly as moans of his own tumbled from his lips. He jerked his cock, tugged it, squeezed it. Suga pushed the makeshift cock inside of him, nudging his hips so he could move it in tempo with his hand.

He kept fucking himself over and over, the cock had him whimpering on the bed, cock dripping a mess all over his sheets. Taehyung couldn’t breath, his breath choking up in his chest at the sight. His brain was going all haywire as he tried to control what remained of his self-restraint.

“Fuck, just like that, doll,” Taehyung grunted, thrusting his hips up. He could practically taste sex in the air, painting the picture of his cock sliding into the pretty boy in his mind. “Fuck yourself all good for me. Make yourself feel good. You’re so fuckin’ pretty, holy fuck.”

“Mm, hnnng, just like t-that,” Suga stammered to himself, pushing his body down against the dildo. “F-feels so good, wish it was actually you—shit, aaah—wish it was you fucking into me right now.”

“Me too, doll, me too,” Taehyung breathed, “fuck, I’m gonna come. M’gonna come so hard for you.”

Suga’s lips parted as he adjusted his position so he could see Taehyung. “Do it, baby, wanna see you spill all over your fingers. I want to see you—”

Before he could even finish, Taehyung was already pouring all over his hands, his wrists that had grown tired slowly doing to milk the last of his orgasm. It was a deliriously incredible high, a peak that had him muffling his groans into his voice. Taehyung let his head hit the back of his bed with a thump. “A-are you going to come with me, doll? Why don’t you do it? I-I wanna see you all over your hands, over your sheets, wanna know how fucking good it feels to get fucked like that.”

With a few more strokes, Suga was coming all over his stomach, panties still pushed aside and ripped at that point. It was a gorgeous sight and Taehyung swore that he could hear angels singing in the background.

“T-that was a good session,” Suga muttered afterwards, crinkling his nose as he wiped off the remnants of his desire from his body.

“Yeah,” he agreed, clearing his throat. His hand was still sticky but he couldn’t be bothered to move to clean himself up. He was feeling thoroughly fucked out without even doing the fucking. “Happy holidays, I guess.”

Suga snorted, “Happy holidays.”

sugar_d: hey, I know this is kind of weird but you wanna do that again sometime? Free of charge

sugar_d: just that i had a good time last time

kimchifriend: um??? Dude yes???? I mean im gonna keep subscribing to ur shit but a private show with you im always down

sugar_d: great :)

sugar_d: the name’s yoongi btw

kimchifriend: nice to meet ya, im tae

#bts #taehyung #yoongi #taegi #taegi smut #bts smut #taegi scenarios #taegi fanfic #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #taegi17 #HAHAH I STILL HAVE TO WRITE VMIN BRB

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thethespacecoyote · 6 years

Note

10 or 23 rhack, please?

I’ll still try to do 10 but for now here’s 23! I actually had some fun making this.

Modern AU!

Rhys watched idly as the outside world blew past, scattered houses and trees blurring by against the shimmering backdrop of the ocean. He rested his temple against the window, feeling the vibrations. The train hummed smoothly along, carting day-trippers and businessmen alike south along the coastline.

Rhys was pleased. The train wasn’t packed, despite its late-afternoon stops, leaving the seat next to him happily empty. Because even if he didn’t get some nosy commuter wanting to ask about everything from where he wwas going to what he did for a living to what his favorite flavor if ice cream was, he would at least have to deal with another body bunching in uncomfortably close and run the risk of needing to maneuver over their knees if they fell asleep and he needed to go to the bathroom.

This way, he had space for his laptop bag, which freed up the legroom below so he could stretch out all the way and avoid the cramping that sometimes pinched in his muscles on those crowded train trips.

His mom had hinted several times she’d buy him a car or at least put up for the down payment to spare him the apparent iniquity of using public transit, but the allure of actually purchasing something as big as a car outright was too much so he was waiting and saving until he could get one for himself. In the mean time, the train was the best option, and the only one where you could nap for half of the trip without causing a major accident.

Rhys crossed his arms loosely over his chest, turning away from the window and sliding down in his seat, trying to get comfortable enough to take said nap. He had his laptop and his phone and the train had free Wi-Fi, but drowsiness tugged at his eyebrows and he wanted to be fully awake by the time Vaughn picked him up from the train station, so hunkering down and passing out for a couple hours now while he was bored and had the time just made sense.

He was just starting to drift off, dreams about all the fun he was going to get up to while visiting his bro swimming in his mind, when a sudden commotion jolted him awake. He rapidly blinked the sleep from his eyes, pushing himself up straight as the din continued. He made out one shouting voice needled by a couple muted ones, followed by the thumping of footsteps that grew louder and louder and closer. Rhys shifted to the other seat, leaning out into the aisle as he listened in. His heart beat quicker—there were signs all over the station and the train itself warning about potential dangers and how if you saw something you should say something, and just as Rhys was wondering if he should worry about being held hostage the door near the front of the carriage flew open.

Rhys was a little ashamed of the frightened yipe he let out when a man stormed through, the floor shuddering with each angry stomp and cutting murmur that spilled from him. Rhys’ arms threw up defensively about his body, but after a moment he realized this guy was a lot more indignant businessman than violent criminal. His charcoal suit, though rumpled, was obviously of high quality. Rhys had worked the summer after his freshman year selling and fitting suits in the mall by his parent’s house, and while he’d quit before he’d made much out of it, he ended up learning quite a bit. The lapel lifted sharply in a sleek Italian cut, and as he violently adjusted his dress collar Rhys caught a glimpse of cold cufflinks that matched the tie the man was in the process of loosening.

Rhys watched as the man thumped down the aisle, the rest of the passengers shrinking in their seats or blindly busying themselves in their books or laptops as to not catch the man’s attention. Rhys realized he was staring a moment too late, as the man’s sharp eyes suddenly lifted to fix upon him and he started to head in Rhys’ direction.

A broad hand thudded atop the plush head of the seat next to Rhys, making him flinch and rear back, staring up at the man like a frightened puppy. Tan fingers stroked angrily against the cloudy blue leather, expensive rings winking in the sun and confusing Rhys as to whether he should look at them or the piercing eyes glaring down on him.

“Move over, kiddo, I’m taking this spot.”

Rhys flattened himself against the window as the man dropped down into the seat, back thudding against the cushion with a frustrated huff that blew hair out of his eyes. He seemed to completely ignore Rhys after that, muttering to himself as he pulled out his phone and started to tap furiously at what Rhys first assumed was a message. However, as he peered curiously over he could see it to be some kind of mobile game involving popping colored balloons for points. Rhys stayed still, eyes alternating between the inside of his hoodie collar and the rapid movement of the man’s fingers and the angry concentration in his eyebrows. After a couple minutes and a new high score, the man shut off his phone with a huff, shoving it into his pocket.

“Frikkin’ bitch…” He moaned, dragging his hand down his face. His legs kicked out underneath the seat in front of him, the tense anger draining out of him and leaving what seemed to be just a simmering fury. Rhys watched tentatively, like he was dealing with a pissed-off lion that could maul him in a moment’s notice if he wasn’t careful.

Rhys figured he should probably just go back to staring out the window or trying to take his nap, but like the idiot he was he decided to prod his new seat mate. He untangled himself from the defensive posture he’d managed to bunch himself into, resting his hand on the armrest separating them.

“P-Penny for your thoughts?” Regretfully, his voice came out as a squeak.

He almost immediately wished he hadn’t spoken up, because the the other man’s neck snapped to him like it’d been broken, eyes angry and affronted as he glared at Rhys’ shirking expression.

“What was that?”

“U-Um, I mean, I just—“ Rhys faltered, unsure of what he’d been thinking to start this conversation. This guy had just barreled into his car, worked into a tizzy, and stolen the seat next to him. Obviously, he didn’t want to be bothered, and yet here Rhys was trying to start up a conversation—why was he trying to do that?

Because the guy wore a nice suit and had flawless bronzed skin and that kind of carelessly styled hair that drove Rhys absolutely wild. It was the kind of hair you expected to see in bed after sex and he wanted to run his hands through it and maybe give it a little tug.

The guy was hot. Basically.

“You…you’re just…um, who’s the bitch?”

The man narrowed his eyes, turning and leaning over the armrest right into Rhys’ space.

“Your momma ever teach you not to stick your nose in other people’s business?” He grumbled, and Rhys’ cheeks colored as he shrunk back, ready to call this a loss and sink into embarrassment, when the older man kept going.

“…It’s my frikkin girlfriend. She always gets bitchy on these long trips but then she doesn’t wanna take the car either, so what the hell am I suppose to do, y’know?” For the first time, Rhys notices the slight slur to the man’s words. This was a guy who could afford to get drunk on a train.

“What…what did she do exactly?” The man snorted, shifting so he sat slightly sideways in his seat, knee out into Rhys’ space and nearly touching his thigh.

“She orders the fish, see? And she always orders the fish. So I tell her if she doesn’t stop doing that I’m not gonna wanna go down on her anymore cause you know. Fish. Get it?” The man’s hands helped him tell the story, flopping around on well-oiled wrists. “Yeah, you get it, handsome lil’ thing like you, you probably get all the tail.”

Rhys was usually the tail being had, but he merely nodded along to the older man’s story as he carried on.

“Anyway she gets all mad at me making jokes about her junk in front of the guy taking the order but it’s just a joke and the attendant doesn’t care, he’s paid to listen to whatever I say but she doesn’t let it go, and then when I decide to order just…just a little bit of after-dinner whiskey, see?” He holds two fingers together for emphasis. “She goes all ballistic on me. ‘Bout how I’m always drinking whenever I’m with her and how if I really liked her I wouldn’t be ordering booze all hours of the day, and then I tell her if she wasn’t such a capital B bitch maybe I wouldn’t have to drink. But she’s upset, so I ask her what I should order like the gentleman I am, and she says to get a diet coke. Diet! Can you believe it? Says I’ve been packing on the pounds lately and well…” He snorted, eyes flitting to the front of the cabin. “Pretty sure you guys all heard the rest.”

“Um…yeah. Kind of did.” Rhys laughed nervously. “A-Actually, I kind of thought for a moment that something was up, like….people were trying to rob the car or something.”

“Heh, you did? What, like old-timey train bandits?” The man snickered, forming a gun with his hand and affecting a harsh accent as he nudged the barrel into Rhys’ side. “Hands up, kiddo, this ‘ere’s a stick-up!”

“Please don’t, I have a family to care for!” Rhys faux-cried as he stuck up his hands, eyes fluttering like he was about to faint across the seat. The man found this endlessly funny, because his chest heaved with laugher until his voice was practically soundless.

“Shucks kid, you’re a hell of a lot more fun than the ice queen in first class.” He patted Rhys’ shoulder and showed him his smile and oh. Oh. If Rhys didn’t already think he was handsome, that did him in. It was the kind of smile that bunched up in the cheekbones and reached the eyes with a flirtatious wink. It made fuzzy feelings dance in Rhys’ stomach.

“A-And you’re a lot better than the snoring businessmen who usually sit next to me, or the mom’s who just wanna tell me about their kids and ask where I’m going to school…”

“Should hope so. I’m a lot more fun than all that, trust me.”

Rhys didn’t know a thing about this guy but he did, almost immediately. He had a weird, hypnotic sort of charm that already had Rhys leaning back over the armrest to get closer.

Suddenly, as if responding to his creeping interest, the man slid his arm around Rhys’ shoulders like they were old friends. He jumped slightly at that, but the man just yanked him closer. The armrest pressed uncomfortably into Rhys’ ribs, but the sudden proximity and the man’s breath—slightly warm from the whiskey—ghosting over his face left him numb to it.

“Shoot, just remembered I didn’t ask your name yet…what do they call ya, pumpkin?”

Rhys momentarily forgot himself, dizzied by the sudden scent and warmth he’d been pulled into. This guy seemed to radiate warmth and blossomed with musky cologne that made Rhys think of black tie dinners and a cabin fireside all rolled up together.

“Rhys. Rhyyys. Rhysie.” Jack repeated his name like he was trying to figure out whether he liked how it felt in his mouth. “That’s one you don’t hear everyday.”

“Yeah, my mom had a friend with that name and really liked it…don’t bother asking me how it’s spelled though, it’s…” he laughed softly. “It’s a headache.”

“Well, lucky for you, I’ve got an easy one. J-A-C-K.”

“Jack?”

“Bingo, kiddo. Nice and simple. No B.S.”

“I like it.” Rhys wasn’t lying. A name like “Jack” just seemed to fit this guy like the way his suit did. Sharp and striking, but with a bit of a relaxed, casual touch. He seemed the type of person to dress to the nines and go to a chain restaurant, just to ensure he’d be the center of attention.

Jack’s lips curled at the edges, like a sticker peeling up. He rubbed Rhys’ upper arm, tugging him in closer, until he was practically resting against his shoulder. His brain continued shorting out, just allowing Jack to touch him and shift him around however he saw fit.

“And I like you, kiddo. Just what I needed after all that crap…” Rhys heart thumped against his hoodie as Jack petted him like a fussy kitten, looking wistfully out the window behind him. “Too bad this ride ain’t longer…”

Jack’s brows furrowed suddenly in thought, before bright realization beamed across his face. He roughly grabbed both of Rhys’ shoulders, turning the kid more towards him.

“Oh, wait, wait. I got it. I can take you out with me!”

Rhys gaped in startled confusion at the sudden grab and the way Jack’s smile grew, corners cutting into his cheeks.

“U-Uh, pardon?”

“You see, my girlfriend and I had reservations at this great place, steaks as big as your head and drinks that’ll put ya in a coma, but like hell I’m gonna go with her after that little scene.” Jack sneered, eyes narrowing towards the front of the compartment. He blew air rudely between his lips. “Whatever. She can have fun figuring out how to get home without my credit card.”

“U-Um, that’s not necessary, really,” Rhys faltered, hands resting on Jack’s wrists. “Besides, um, I kind of had plans with a friend, and I don’t really think I should—“

“Just tell ‘em other plans came up. Hell, to make up for it, they can meet us for breakfast in the morning. My treat.”

“In the…the morning?”

Jack winked at him, smile never hesitating.

“Well sure, pumpkin. You think I’d travel all this way for dinner and not have a room to sleep it off in?”

“H-Hold on—“ This was all going too fast for Rhys. One moment, he’d been joking along with Jack, and now he was openly flirting with him and ditching his girlfriend to invite him out to dinner and even insinuating they spend the night together.

As enticing as Jack was, this felt a little too much, too fast. Rhys wasn’t a prude, not by a long shot, but he wasn’t the type of guy to engage in random hookups on the fly. How old was Jack, anyway? The tasteful puff of grey hair springing from his crown put him at at least forty, unless he was just aging prematurely, but that felt like a stretch.

“What d’you mean ‘hold on,’ kiddo?”

Rhys thought he saw Jack’s smile falter, but it might just be the trees rushing behind them outside the train window, cutting off the amber glow of the sun setting over the ocean. It would be night soon enough, probably well into sunset by the time the train pulled into the station. Vaughn was probably already getting read to come drive and pick him up.

Rhys glanced about for a distraction as his mind scrabbled for some kind of an excuse, a reason he couldn’t spend the night with Jack aside from the reasons that had already been shut down, when his hand grabbed Rhys’ collar and yanked him closer until they were nose to nose.

“I’ll cut right to the chase, kiddo. I’m not the kind of guy who spends the night alone.” He breathed right into Rhys’ mouth, as if trying to give him a taste of what could be. “I could go up to any old chick or dude in that city and have them in my bed not ten minutes later. So here’s your chance to get in on the ground floor. You might not get another one.”

Rhys grasped frantically for his senses, trying to settle on a decision and get his tongue to force it out, but Jack’s proximity and ultimatum was sending his brain into a flurry. All he could see was Jack’s eyes this close, brows creased and irises still vibrant sea green, like a neon sign lit prematurely in the flagging sunset.

Rhys swallowed, the conscious movement helping him think things clearer.

He’d already planned on staying with Vaughn for almost a week. They’d still have plenty of nights to hang out and go to dinner and do all the things they’d been planning on doing. One night with a handsome stranger wasn’t going to change things that much.

“So?” Jack pulled back slightly, just enough so that Rhys could see his entire face again, in its full, charming glory. “What do you say, Rhysie?”

Jack’s arm was looped around Rhys’ waist, hand stuck in his hoodie pocket as the two of them left the train together. Rhys’ laptop bag bobbed awkwardly between them but Jack didn’t seem to mind. In just an hour’s time, the space between them had shrunk to just the little space between their hips, and Rhys’ cheeks heated as he imagined where how close they’d be in another hour, two hours’ time.

The sun had long died over the train behind them, its silvery paneling glowing with the faint remains of red and purple that still streaked over the sky. Rhys looked briefly over his shoulder at it, his ears full of Jack’s voice as he noticed someone was staring at them.

The short red dress and heels set her apart from the rest of the tired, disembarking passengers, as did the piercing green eyes that seemed to glow just the way Jack’s did. She was looking at Rhys’ like she’d expected him to be there all along—or at least someone like him. He felt uncomfortable, then, like he’d done something wrong but only one other person in the world knew it.

It was only for a moment, though, as Jack tugged him away from the main body of the departing crowd and towards the curb, where a smartly dressed driver opened the backseat door to a large, sleek black limousine. Any regrets Rhys might have felt were dashed as Jack slid into the leather seats effortlessly as oil, open arms and devilish smile welcoming Rhys into his evening promise, rich with the dark comforts of luxury.

#spacetext #long post #rhack #modern AU #fanfic #referenced jack/moxxi #tftbl #enjoy nessie!#nessiefromspace

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rezathevamp-blog · 7 years

Text

Fangtastic || Reza&Cole

Nothing more fun than running into an old friend at the cemetery where your ex was killed. Aren’t coincidences just the best?

Cole had actually found a way to miss Ashkent Creek while he was gone. He used to love the town, it had been where he was born and where he grew up. He had Luna and Vas and his parents. Then everything, for lack of a better term, had gone to hell. He couldn't get out of Ashkent Creek quick enough. Some time away had been good for him, he got to travel around with this group of hunters and forget about everything. But for whatever reason, here Cole was again, chasing down some criminal in the middle of the night just like he did after he was first killed. Tonight he was after something he saw attacking a girl leaving the bar. He wasn't sure who or what it was, but since the thing was able to outrun Cole it had to be supernatural in some way. He lost the trail at the graveyard, leaping over the gate and suddenly finding himself rather alone in the place. He could only sense one other heartbeat. He crouched down, pulling the hood from his black sweatshirt over his head and winding his way through the headstones until he came across a single guy alone in the cemetery. At night. "Uh hello? You're not like here to do anything sketchy right?"

Reza couldn't think of a sensible reason for coming here. It was stupid and reckless and unnecessary but here he was, lingering at Nate Blackthorne's grave. Izel would freak out if she knew. Crouching, Reza's fingers brushed the ground, damp with the night dew; no sign of any vampires having been killed here. With the apartment gone, as well as the remains and with no photos existing, Reza was finding it hard to remember that Heath actually had existed. The only thing reassuring him that the dangerous eretich hadn't been a figment of Reza's insane imagination were the scars that littered his arms, neck, thighs and the stray ones hiding all over his skin. Coming here was almost... soothing. Sitting crosslegged on the grass, Reza listened to the silence, enjoying it right up until the unwanted memory of red eyes and a mouth agape in death forced their way into his head. "Uh hello? You're not like here to do anything sketchy right?" Head snapping up, Reza quickly wiped the tears from his face, the familiarity of the voice scratching at the back of his mind. "Just visiting... someone," he replied back, voice hoarse and shaky. He quickly clambered to his feet, brushing off his pants as he turned to whoever had joined him in the cemetery. "You're the one wearing a hoodie in the middle of the night," he shot back suspiciously, trying to get a look at the face concealed by shadows. The figure was small, shorter than Reza but not as fragile and skinny. "So are you up to anything sketchy?"

"Well actually I'm-" Cole had unsurprisingly been asked similar questions before, he could practically instinctively recite his comeback word for word. But this time he paused from defending himself when he realized that the face that was now facing him was all too familiar. "Reza?" Cole asked, slightly concerned by just how... rough he looked. Before Cole had even left town Reza had been pretty messed up, months and months of psychological and physical abuse could do that to a person, but now he looked even worse. He looked beaten and tired and he had obviously just been crying. Cole glanced beside Reza to see Nate Blackthorne printed on the headstone, but the name didn't ring any bells for Cole. "It's me" Cole finally realized that in the darkness, Cole was probably pretty unrecognizable. Not to mention Cole had been gone so long, who knew if Reza even remembered who he was. "Cole." reaching up, Cole threw his head off and then lifted his hand in a wave, "Long time no see!"

Reza found his muscles stiffening in suspense when the explanation from the stranger came to an abrupt halt, sure that something bad was about to happen. Didn't it always? His muscles coiled further when his name was spoken, recognition crawling through his brain but not quite hitting the right spot. He was considering whether he should sprint away, but if this was someone who knew him through Heath, running would be pointless. Maybe it would just be nice, getting killed here in the same spot, the two of them. Poetic justice, in a way. Morbidly poetic, but still. "Cole." Reza's mind froze, eyes narrowing as the hood dropped, revealing Cole Wiley, waving. Not the same Cole Reza had previously known; no, this one had a different glint to his eyes and although he obviously hadn't aged, something about him looked... older. Matured. "What the fuck..." he muttered, shaking his head before a hand came up to rake through his mop of a hair. "You're back? Just like that? Where the fuck have you been?" He wasn't even sure if he cared about the answer but it seemed like the right question to ask.

Cole had grown up a religious kid. His parents had gone to church every Sunday and dragged Cole to each and every service. Until he died at least. But while Cole had never really been super religious himself, the idea of some kind of higher power had never really left his head. He was never sure who or what this higher power was, or if there were multiple of them, and honestly it had never really effected him. But he had obviously done something to piss them off if they really were up there and chose to have Cole run across Reza tonight, just days after he got back into town. Cole remembered the last time the two talked, and it hadn't been left on good terms. Reza pretty much hated Cole for a load of reasons. Some of those reasons Cole hadn't deserved, but others gave Reza every right to wish that Cole had just run off and been staked, and that was probably exactly what Reza had wished for. "I left town for awhile. I met this group of Vampire hunting vampires." Describing them still felt strange on his tongue, the oxymoron was bitter tasting in his throat. "It sounds weird I know. But I didn't really want to be here for awhile. Considering." He didn't mention the specifics, but Reza knew them. "You're out late."

This was surreal. What were the odds of Cole showing up here, exactly where Reza had been composing his thoughts - not very successfully- about Heath's death. And now Cole was hunting vampires with, presumably, the pack that had forced his soul back. Forced his soul back after Cole had killed a few of Heath's colleagues, people Reza had known, without blinking an eye. Vampire hunting was clearly the right job for him. "I am." His eyes narrowed, a thought striking him. "Are you following me?" He took a step closer, unafraid. Cole had never hurt him in the past, he wouldn't hurt him now. Or maybe he would, if his new friends had made him ruthless enough to kill his own species without hesitation. Grief, anger and confusion made any fear vanish. "Because if you're here to kill Heath then tough luck, someone beat you to it. And I'm obviously still human so unless the vampire hunting includes murdering humans too..." Reza trailed off, breathing harshly, not realizing that he'd raised his voice or that a few tears had managed to slip down his cheeks, completely unwanted.

Cole was instantly confused. "Follow you? Why would I follow you?" Cole asked, but Reza had apparently already moved on to the next topic. Heath. Cole had wanted Heath dead, very very badly. Even before Cole lost his soul. Cole remembered the feeling very clearly, watching Heath take advantage of Reza the way that he had. How angry Cole was at the time, how he had completely lost his cool and went after Heath. The way that Cole had felt afterwards, while being yelled at by Reza for something he had never even done. At the time it was the most painful thing that had ever happened to him, and he had stabbed himself with arrows multiple times by that point. "Heath is... dead?" Cole finally asked. He didn't know what to say to that. He wasn't sad. He wasn't empathetic. Cole was relieved that people like Reza couldn't be hurt by them anymore." Cole took a step back from Reza as he stepped forward. "I'm sorry." He hoped it sounded sincere, in a way it was. Cole wasn't sorry that Heath was dead, but he was sorry for Reza's loss. "They don't kill vampires just for fun. They didn't kill me when I deserved it."

Reza scoffed, but it was halfhearted. The indignation and anger was harder to suffer when his mind was still reeling with memories. One came to the forefront of his mind, crystal clear; Cole telling him that Heath had been cheating on him. Way before Reza had seen evidence of Zack and Heath's... yeah. "I know you're not but thanks for trying," he mumbled, deflating like a popped balloon. He wasn't even angry at Cole. Not really. He didn't care. Reza just wanted to remove all of the bad memories from his mind, wipe them out for the good stuff. Impossible, but he could wish. "I'm glad your killing has moral codes," he muttered, arms crossing over his chest, light breeze whipping his hair into his face. He took a breath, composed himself, wiped better at the tears on his face to remove them completely. Asked the question he hadn't known he wanted to ask. "When you said... the night you attacked Heath or... he attacked you or whatever. Was he really... was it true? What you told me about him?"

This was a dramatic turn around for Reza. Cole remembered trying to talk to Reza after his shoulder had finally healed from the piece of broken wood that Heath had jammed into it. Even after Cole could use his arm again it had been sore for months while little pieces of splinters still seemed to be stuck in it. Reza was so sure that Cole had made everything up. That he was blinded by jealousy caused by some stupid little crush that Cole must have had on Reza. Maybe Cole had been jealous that Reza was dating Heath, but whether he had been or not, Reza should have known that Cole would have never made up that story or lied to him. But then again, Reza had never been hesitant to inform Cole that the two weren't actually friends. "I didn't just make it up." Cole said, then bit his lip to stop himself from talking. Whether or not Reza had made a mistake ever trusting Heath, and whether he was still in mourning for whatever reason, the fact was that Reza was hurting. The hunters had taught Cole a thing or two about people that were hurting, whether or not they were at fault, try to speak gently. It was always better to go into things level headed and clear-minded. "It was true. But I did hit him first." Cole couldn't remember if he had mentioned that or not back when Reza and Cole first fought about it but it seemed important to mention now, for whatever reason.

Reza knew what the answer was going to be before Cole replied. It was written all over the young vampire's face, not to mention that with every unravelling of Heath's past, more shitty stuff seemed to come to light. It still didn't make the hole in his chest feel any smaller. The only thing that seemed to help fill it, if only a little bit, were Bridget and Izel, and most recently, Neven. So all the way back then, Heath had just been messing with Reza. Not even at the start had he been telling the truth -- about anything. Reza's stomach twisted back and forth, making him nauseous. Was he really going to throw up twice here in the cemetery? Instead of his stomach convulsing further, Reza was simply dragged to the ground by an invisible weight, his lungs constricted. Reza was here, mourning or whatever he'd been doing, in the middle of the night, and all the while Heath had been out and about, fucking random people. His eyes closed but that only made the grotesque head appear in his hands so his lids snapped back up. "I'm sorry," he gasped, breathing in in shallow bursts of air, head starting to feel light. Sure, a panic attack in front of Cole, of all people. Why the fuck not. "You... I'm... so sorry," he wheezed, burying his face in his hands. "Should've... I should... fuck..."

Cole felt bad for Reza, he really truly did. For as obvious as Cole thought Heath was in his general lack of interest for Reza and all the other crimes he was committing, Reza had obviously cared for him. A lot from the looks of it, seeing as how Reza was still seemingly mourning him after finally accepting how cruel Heath was. For all Cole knew, Heath had put up a good front when others weren't around and actually feigned caring for Reza. Maybe in a way Heath even did care about Reza, it seemed unlikely but not impossible. "Hey Reza-" Cole stepped forward but immediately stopped himself, remembering the last time Cole had tried to help Reza after an episode like this. The grocery store scene was all too fresh in his mind, the way Reza had flipped out. "It was a long time ago. I really don't care about it anymore." He reached out for Reza and tried just patting his shoulder. The touch was gentle and stiff, knowing how fragile Reza was, and still seemed to be. The last thing Cole wanted was another episode.

Reza hadn't realized that Cole was approaching until a barely there touch landed on his shoulder. Unlike so many months ago, Reza didn't recoil from the touch but almost leaned into it instead. It felt like an anchor where he was sinking into darkness, a shaky hand latching onto Cole's arm. Trying to dig up all the tricks he'd tried to assemble so he wouldn't hyperventilate himself into passing out, desperately focusing on his breathing. Still clutching onto Cole, praying the other boy wouldn't step away, Reza finally cleared his head enough to take a deep breath. "Sorry, sorry," he panted, uncurling his fingers from Cole's arm, swallowing thickly. "I'm sorry he hurt you. And I didn't believe you." He attempted to stand, still too lightheaded to keep his balance, so he sunk back to his knees, feeling rather pitiful. He hadn't been this bad since his birthday. "You can go, I'll be fine, just... need a moment."

Cole was probably the one that flinched this time around when Reza actually grabbed onto Cole's arm, simply because the touch was so foreign to him. Cole's parents had been very affectionate, and so had Luna. All of them were big into hugging and Cole had definitely taken after them. When Reza felt like he was in trouble, Cole just naturally reached for him or if he had been sad he tried for a hug. The hunters were not a very touchy-feely bunch. The closest thing to affection Cole got from them was a slap on the back after Cole woke up from having his soul returned to him. He had grown used to it, so when Cole tried to climb to his feet and fell back to his knees, Cole was surprised that he reflexively reached down and wrapped his arms under Reza and tried to pull him back up to his feet. "I don't really think I should be leaving you alone. Maybe I can help you back to... wherever you're staying." If Reza had moved back in with his dad, that's how Cole would know everything in this town had flipped upside down. "And I told you don't worry about it. He hurt me because he knew about my crush or whatever. He was good at-" pinpointing weaknesses was what Cole had started to say. But the wound still seemed too fresh. "It wasn't like I didn't hurt people."

Reza was easily pulled up to his feet, hanging shamelessly off Cole like a wet rag. With their size difference, Cole should have struggled carrying Reza but obviously, his supernatural strength allowed him to easily carry the older boy. "It's fine, I can probably... walk or... something..." His head was starting to clear a bit but his legs were still unsteady, shaky underneath him. "I'm just... it's just down the road to MLC, not that far." He wasn't really sure whether he was arguing for walking alone or convincing Cole to accompany him. Either way, the two of them just started to make their way out of the cemetery, Reza trying his best to lean some of his weight off Cole. "It was a slayer," he mumbled, speaking the random train of thought going through his head. "Cut his head off in the cemetery."

It took a moment for Cole to realize what MLC was, but eventually it all clicked together. "So you're living with Izel now?" Cole asked absent-mindedly as he supported Reza out of the cemetery and onto the streets. Izel had obviously cared about Reza a lot, and had found a way to get through to him that Cole had never really pinned down himself. So it was good to know that Izel was there for him when Reza needed it most. "Did you... were you there when it happened?" Cole wasn't necessarily a Slayer's mortal enemy. In many ways they performed the same job, although a lot of Slayer's would probably still try to rip Cole's head off whether or not they knew what was going on. "Sorry you really don't need to answer that."

Reza nodded in response to the question, wondering what Cole felt about that. Whether or not he thought that Reza deserved Izel's kindness. "I was," he cut Cole off, before he could finish his polite follow up, not caring that the other vampire knew. A pause. "I shot him. In the shoulder." The confession made Reza momentarily wonder where the hell his gun was, a foggy memory of Izel confiscating it floating to mind. "He was an eretich. And a killer." Saying these things out loud felt weird. Really weird. Especially since Cole, someone he hadn't talked to in forever and hadn't really shared much with before their falling out, was the one listening. The words were spoken with numb detachment, almost as if her were speaking about a different Heath and Reza and not his own past.

"Oh" was all Cole could really think to say to Reza. Cole remembered thinking that Heath was different from Cole, but at the time didn't know much about vampires in general, let alone Eretich's. Slowly, the hunters were teaching Cole about all the types of vampires that they had gone up against and what they had learned. Cole knew just enough about Eretich's to know that they couldn't just be killed by any wooden stake. But he supposed beheading was just as effective. "He was. But that still must have been hard for you." Cole had always kept a strict no killing policy, something that soulless Cole had abandoned. It took a lot for the hunters to finally convince Cole that sometimes killing was absolutely necessary, and it took even longer for him to actually kill something himself. Shooting Heath must have been tough for Reza. "I'm sorry. Again."

"Oh, stop being so nice," Reza snapped quietly, voice harsh yet submissive. "Don't have to pretend that you're sorry... You didn't really do anything and I was a piece of shit to you so just don't... apologize anymore." Finally trusting himself to carry his own weight, Reza leaned off Cole, but the two still walked side by side.

Cole just grinned to himself when Reza chastised him for feeling bad for him. There was the Reza that Cole remembered. Eventually, Reza picked himself back up and was able to walk on his own, and Cole crossed his arms, slightly relieved. "I'm not pretending. I know that must have been hard for you." But Cole shrugged, "But whatever. No more apologizing. Promise."

Reza nodded, frowning, his slightly damp cheeks stinging from the cold. "Good," he muttered, letting out a heavy breath, hands stuffing into his pockets. "And it was. Hard, I mean. Is hard. You probably think I'm... crazy or something but you've thought that all along so..." Cole grinning was weird, making it feel like everything was fine but the lump in his throat and stomach told him that everything wasn't. More weirdly, Reza found his eyes lingering a second too long on the white teeth, trying to remember what the boy looked like with the fangs visible.

Cole rolled his eyes at Reza. "I don't think you're crazy. I think you're mourning. It makes people do stupid stuff, I know." Cole knew all too well about the stupid things people could do when they were hurting. Reza probably wished that he could get rid of all of the emotions he was feeling, to not feel the pain. Cole felt the same way after his parents were killed, but he tried to take the easy way out. Which hadn't gone well for anybody involved. "I never thought you were crazy. I mean maybe just a little bit. You were very confusing I'll say that." he tried laughing, hoping that the mood hadn't been soured too much. It was strange, walking towards Mystery Loves Company with Reza at night. It sounded so odd, and yet it was probably the first normal thing he had done in months. Cole had been staring up at the stars, but glanced back over at Reza to catch his eyes trained on Cole. "You're staring."

Reza's head filled with the memory of soulless Cole -- not a very pleasant encounter -- and wondered for a moment if he'd have done the same after Heath's death, had something like that been possible. Honestly, he probably would have. "That's a nice way to put it," he scoffed but his voice held no menace, the smallest of smiles even making its way to his face. Cole's attention shifted and Reza couldn't even find it in him to be embarrassed, simply continuing to stare. "So?" With the almost casual response, Reza's gaze moved to the street ahead, chastising himself for what he'd been staring at.

Reza seemed to be doing fine on his own now, so maybe Cole should have left him to make it back by himself. The Reza that Cole used to know had always scoffed at the idea of needing the smaller vampire's protection anyways. Cole had a killer to hunt down, which had probably long since escaped now. Cole would probably be in trouble with the hunters for letting a murderer go just because some connection to his past had popped back up. Yet despite all of these things, Cole was still following next to Reza. "Well I'm a nice kid. Or well I used to be. Not so much anymore I guess. You certainly had some choice words to call me." Cole shrugged it off, knowing that everything Reza had called him had been well deserved. "So it's weird. What are you staring at?" Cole hated himself for still feeling like he could blush at the question, realistically it wasn't possible. But sometimes he still felt flush, like he could remember what it felt like before he had died.

Reza shrugged, mildly amused at the statement. "Being a nice kid is overrated. Or impossible. Little bit of both." He knew they weren't too far away from MLC, conflicted about how he felt, just leaving Cole again, not knowing whether he'd see the guy again for the next months or so. "Like you said, I am weird," he shot back, kicking a stray pebble down the street. "But I wasn't staring at anything special. Just... thinking." No way was he going to admit to Cole, or anyone, that among all the other things he was missing, the sharp pierce of fangs was still on the list. "No need to make it all... awkward. Wasn't staring at your lips or anything, promise."

Cole thought he could see Mystery Loves Company from here. Which meant that soon he could get back on the hunt, by now it was mostly just a lost cause. He would have to accept the loss and whatever punishment the hunters chose for him. Maybe the next night he would have more luck. "Okay. I wasn't accusing you of staring at my lips." But he had been staring, and Cole was just a bit curious as to what he was staring at. Getting information out of Reza was never that easy though. "So what were you thinking about?" Cole asked, speaking in almost a mumble. Because he didn't know if Reza would even give him a straight answer, old Reza probably wouldn't have. Just how much had he changed since Cole left town?

"Good," Reza replied, still keeping a casual tone, even though part of his composure was slipping. Cole was suspicious, even if he didn't know just what to be suspicious about. "You probably don't want to know," came the answer, after some silence, and Reza refused to look down towards Cole now. "Just some messed up stuff, you know how it is." Shaking his head, something like a chuckle following his words, he absentmindedly scratched at his throat, most of it hidden by the lapels of his jacket. "You going to disappear again after this?"

"Actually now I'm really curious to know" Cole laughed. Cole closed his eyes as he walked alongside Reza, letting his ears do the work to figure out if it was just the two of them around. Because no one could really be sure in Ashkent Creek. But nothing. He could hear faint heartbeats, probably people sleeping in the apartments above shops. But no real signs of activity except for the sound of Cole and Reza's footsteps, then the sound of Reza's nails scratching at his neck. Cole could practically hear his blood flowing through his neck as Reza pressed up against it. Maybe all that time in complete isolation really had helped Cole's senses like the hunters claimed it would. They had promised to fix his blood lust, and had done a pretty good job considering. Maybe he should stop doubting them. "But I know better than to pry I guess." That was about the only thing that Cole really knew about Reza. "I'm sticking around for awhile. A few months at least." Cole had asked to come back here, and was able to convince the hunters because there was always some kind of threat here in Ashkent Creek. But Cole didn't really have a long term plan in mind."

Forcing a smile, Reza glanced back over at Cole. "Ask me about it sometime later, then." He didn't have any interest in talking about this later but he hoped this would kill the topic completely. "So that means your hunter friends are around, too?" The words held a bit of distaste, he couldn't help it. Before an answer came, they had arrived outside MLC, the light outside illuminating their faces. Cole looked... good. In good shape. Maybe these guys he was hanging out with were doing something positive for him but still... Aware that he probably looked a mess, Reza averted his eyes to the door, once again moving a hand to his neck, rubbing it awkward this time. "Well... thanks. Didn't expect you to, y'know... want to help me."

Cole knew that was basically an attempt to drop the subject entirely, but Cole had a fantastic memory. If Cole and Reza ran into each other again sometime, Cole might just ask him. Maybe then Reza would be more open to talking about it. Or maybe Cole just needed to realize that this was probably just what Reza did to get rid of him. "I wouldn't say friends were the right word." The hunters were not terrible by any means, Cole believed in the work that they did and while they might have some ulterior motives they still meant the best. Their methods were a bit... dramatic, but Cole had learned to adapt. "More like teachers. Or maybe even coworkers. I don't know." It felt weird talking about them to someone that wasn't actually a hunter with him. It felt... wrong almost. Like Cole was betraying their trust. "Well you know, old habits die hard I guess." Would it be too much to quote that stupid line from that Cowboy movie? Brokeback Mountain? Yeah, probably, so Cole left his mouth shut. "You should tell Izel I said hi for me. I'll try to stop in sometime when I'm not worried about turning to dust in the sunlight."

"They do," Reza replied solemnly, shaking the expression of his face just as quickly as it had appeared. "I'm sure she'll be happy to hear you're back. Or... probably. I mean, you are still a vampire but..." Shrugging, fingers now numb from the cold, Reza still stuck out a hand after some thought. It felt slightly forced but he didn't want to just say goodbye and disappear inside.

Cole could remember how helpful Izel had been right after Heath had almost killed Cole. Of course Heath had no real intentions of actually killing him, Heath just liked to play with his food. But Izel had never once treated Cole like he was a monster or that he was any different just because he was a vampire. Then she showed him the basement of Mystery Loves Company where Cole actually started to get some real answers about Vampires that didn't come from Twilight or the Vampire Diaries. But if Izel had heard about what Cole had done while he didn't have a soul maybe she would take everything back. Cole just stared at Reza's hand for a long moment. "Like.. a handshake?" Cole asked out loud, his hands still stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. Cole didn't know if it was the teenager in him or just how odd it felt to be in this specific situation with Reza. Instead, Cole took a step backwards and pulled a hand free to wave at Reza goodbye. "Not really my thing." Cole laughed. "But I'll catch you some other time I'm sure. See ya."

Reza cocked an eyebrow, hand wavering slightly. "For real?" Watching the wave in disbelief, Reza scoffed and looked towards the door of MLC before returning his gaze to Cole's retreating form. "Fine. Fuck you too, then," he called after the vanished vampire, no real menace in his words, more joking than not. Weird. Really weird evening. Wiping the grass off his pants, Reza unlocked the door to the apartment and slipped inside, immediately greeted by a purring cat rubbing himself against his leg. "Yeah, I don't know what the fuck just happened either," he sighed to the feline, picking it up as he headed for his room.

Had Reza turned into a fifty year old man since Cole had left Ashkent Creek? Cole couldn't imagine Reza shaking Cole's hand before, not even before Heath, when Cole and Reza had actually been on the verge of potential friendship. It could have partly been Cole's fault. He had been way too awkward. Awkward around everyone, but especially Reza. "Good to know your vocabulary is about the same." Cole called out to Reza as he pulled the hood up over his face and started jogging off down the street. He could hear Reza's door unlocking and opening, then the sound of a cat purring. But he shook his head to free himself of those distractions. If Cole was lucky, he could find who he had been chasing, or maybe catch someone else in the act. If not... well it wouldn't be the first time Cole had slipped up and let someone get away. He ran his hand across his arm reflexively, thinking about what would happen if he came back empty handed, especially after telling them that he was following someone. He shivered, though it wasn't because of the cold, and then took off in a sprint.

#touchofchatzy #p:cole #heath

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