#bone deep fucking tired of having to be calm about everything

[luvrxbunny]

gone too long

Pairing: Steven Grant x F!Reader

Prompt: Masturbation

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, some angst (im sorry), masturbation, pillow humping, panty sniffing, piv, unprotected sex (lmk if I forgot anything)

WC: 3.2k

A/N: probably too long and emotional for kinktober but its my first time so bear with me please

You’ve been away for almost a week now. Steven tried to be good, he tried but it’s been so hard without you. He goes to bed alone, hard, surrounded by your scent and wakes up the same way.

He spends hours in the night writhing around in bed. He can’t sleep anymore, you always used to get him off after he came home from work and again before bed to help him sleep but now he just spends his time missing you, squeezing his throbbing cock, and crying for you as he palms himself to the edge of orgasm, unallowed to get himself over the edge.

He wakes up in more pain than when he went to sleep. His dreams are all about you, some sexual, some domestic, but they all make him hard. He cries for you some more before starting a painfully cold shower and setting off for the day. 

 If you were coming home tomorrow it’d be a different story. Steven would’ve stayed good, he would’ve waited for you, but he’s had a particularly hard day today, and amid all the commotion he forgot that you wouldn’t be there to comfort him. He’s thinking about you the entire bus ride home but it never clicks. He thinks about how he’ll stop you from cooking and order takeout, he’ll ask you to ride him as you guys wait, he’ll make sure you take it slow, savoring the way you guys feel together, how your bodies mold into one another perfectly. 

He fattens up in his pants as he unlocks the front door, he swears he can hear the TV on inside. He thinks about how you’ll tell him all about whatever new show you’ve found while he undresses you. 

He’s met with the most hollow feeling when he opens his door and reality stabs straight into his heart. 

Tears well in his eyes as he takes deep breaths, trying to calm himself. He keeps breathing slowly as he takes his shoes off, and as he puts his coat up. He starts breathing out through his mouth when the hollow feeling doesn’t leave, he keeps it up as he unpacks his bag, setting everything back in its proper place for the weekend, and he starts up a pot of tea. It’s all futile though, because his tears come pouring out the moment he sits on the bed, your faint scent gets pushed out of the cushioning and the hollow feeling becomes part of his bones. 

He can’t even function for the rest of the night, he turns the stove off through his watery gaze and buries himself in the blankets. Surrounding himself in your scent as he cries himself to sleep. 

He’s soft and sensitive when he wakes up, a state you know how to handle perfectly. But you’re not home. He has his usual morning delirium as he reaches out for you, reality slapping him as he feels your cold side of the bed. 

He rolls over onto his stomach, burying his face in your pillow- the only thing on the bed that still smells like you. 

Three more days. 

His cock is already twitching against the mattress as he huffs your scent, he whines at the stimulation. He wants to be a good boy. You asked him to wait for you, you said he could touch himself but you wanted his balls full for you. But you must not have understood how hard this would be for him. His hips are already grinding into the mattress. 

She won’t find out. Can’t. She’s not here.

He reaches out blindly for your side dresser, knowing you keep spare underwear in there. He feels something a bit hard and his head raises quickly to see what it is. His cock spasms at the sight. 

His mind flashes back to two weeks ago. One night, you and Marc were a little too drunk and way too needy. He pulled your panties to the side, fucked you, and let you soak it in your juices as he came over your stomach. He was too tired to clean you up so Steven took over after Marc fell asleep. You were sleeping so in an attempt to cause less of a commotion he just threw your panties in this drawer. He must’ve forgotten to get rid of it. 

Fuck. 

His hand is shaking as he brings it up to his face. There are dried white streaks of your arousal running all over the crotch, a small circle of it from where your pussy cried for him. He can’t help but moan at the sight and brings the fabric to his nose. It still smells like you, like her. His tongue is darting out to taste it before his brain has even finished processing your smell. His cock spurts out loads of pre-cum into his briefs as he starts to thrust against the bed again. He pushes your pillow down to his crotch with one hand as the other holds your old, dried panties to his face.

He feels so dirty as he does this, almost disgusted with himself but pleasure clouds his mind over as he feels the softness of your pillow on his pulsing dick. It’s comparable to how your pussy feels to him, not as warm and nowhere near as wet but just as soft.

He’s face first on the bed, your panties directly over his face the way your pussy would be, his tongue prodding at where your pretty little hole should be. He’s groaning out your name in half sobs, wishing you were here, wishing you were the one touching him because as good as this all feels… you still feel so much better. 

He feels the molten pleasure work its way up his spine, he feels his balls begin to throb with the load they’ve prepared. He feels it coming, he can feel how much there’ll be and a pang of guilt that he’s not saving it for you. He knows how much you love when he fills you up, how whiny you get when you’re packed full of his load, how you mutter his name on repeat, begging him to fill you up. 

But the thought just works him further to the edge, he can feel his muscles tighten as his dick starts to pulse, he feels relief just out of reach, and a small guilty smile spreads over his face at how good this is going to feel. His mind races through scenes of you, unable to choose one to cum to, your name rests on the tip of his tongue as his hips stutter into the pillow one last time before

nothing happens.

He can feel his orgasm at the tip of his cock, right there and he wants you. He forms scene after scene in his head of how many different ways you’ll touch him when you get back. He thinks about how many times you’ll make him cum, how you’ll coo over his overfilled, swollen balls, how you’ll apologize to him as you fuck him into oblivion but nothing gets close to how he feels when your hands are on him. He needs you.

The realization is accompanied by a teary whimper of your name into the pillow.

The teary whimper is followed by an angelic sound of “Steven?”

His head snaps up and he’s scrambling out of bed before he can rationalize the fact that you’re not supposed to be home for another four days. 

But you’re actually here. 

You’re smiling at him as you place your coat on the rack, your boots already off and eyebrows raised as you wait for him to make his way over to you. He’s standing in the doorway frozen. He thinks he’s lost it, that he was right, all these days without you did drive him insane. 

I told her this would happen. 

His eyes well with tears as he tries to will himself to see the truth. His fists are bunching at his sides, angry at the hope he felt when he thought he heard you calling his name, having already been riled up at his futile attempt at relief. 

You’re growing concerned under his indecipherable stare. “Steven?” He gasps and his eyes widen. You approach him slowly and cautiously, worried at this odd reaction. He takes a hesitant step toward you and gasps at the small amused smile that blooms on your lips. 

“Are you okay, Stevie? I wanted to surprise you but you seem-” You pause to look him up and down, finally taking him all in and noticing the bulge and wet patch in his pants. Your expression changes from shock to sultry disappointment. “You seem like you’ve been bad.”

His eyes are still wide and watery. “Are you really here?”

Your mask drops with a sad smile. “Of course I am, baby. Did you miss me that much?” He envelopes you in a hug, burying his face in your neck, inhaling your scent with a shaky groan. 

“I m-missed you so much. I’ve been good.” He’s already got that distant, airy, aroused tone as he speaks. “I didn’t cum. I- ” He’s started to grind against you already, his bulge pressing itself into your thigh over and over as he grips your shoulders. He’s moved to the top of your head, inhaling the scent of your conditioner. “I wanted to- I tried.” 

His voice breaks at the end and you can’t stand it anymore. You grab the hair on the back of his head and roughly work him to your lips, relishing in the loud moan that breaks from his throat as your lips meet his. He’s trying to lick into your mouth immediately and you let him, you’ve missed the way he tastes. Only, when his tongue presses into yours, he tastes different… something familiar but it’s not him. You pull away confused and Steven’s lips chase yours with a whine. You have to hold his face away from yours to get his attention. 

“Steven, what is that?” He’s too delirious to understand what you’re asking, he just tilts his head like a puppy. You try not to let your endearment show through, attempting to be stern. “What’s that taste?” You can see his recognition flash over his face as he realizes what you’re asking but he starts shaking his head slowly and pulling you back in. “It’s just you, darling.”

You let him kiss you as you process, his words paired with the vaguely familiar taste let it click. You’re moaning into his mouth and pressing your thigh back into his weeping cock, earning a grateful moan from him. 

You walk him back to the bedroom desperately. You’ve been yearning for him as much as he has for you. You spent nights rolling around in bed, clit pulsing for him, unsatisfied with your ministrations. You tried fingering yourself but your fingers were nowhere near as long or as thick as his, you couldn’t hit the same spots he could. You tried. You push him onto the bed with a grunt and notice a pair of undies where your pillow should be. Confusion flies over your face before you look back at Steven, noticing his red face.

‘I tried’ 

The memory of what Steven said earlier finally makes sense to you. It also explained his desperate, disheveled state, why he was leaking and yearning for you. 

Arousal shoots between your legs like a jolt of electricity as you picture the scene; Steven grinding against- your pillow it seems- as he sniffed and licked at your panties. 

That’s why my taste was on his tongue…

Steven’s face is still burning red, looking anywhere but at you, as his hips uncontrollably twitch up for you, it brings a fond smile to your face. You take off your pants, matching him in your bottoms, and place yourself on his clothed bulge with a moan. You meant to tease him but it was already affecting you more than you anticipated. His hips are already thrusting into yours, his hands on your hips to hold you- press you down into him. He’s moaning out for you, whining about how good you feel but still trying to hide his face in his shoulder.

You give in and swivel your hips against him, earning a whole new level of volume from Steven. His hands aren’t just resting on your hips, they’re running all over your body wildly, grabbing and groping anything he comes across. You lean down to his ear and begin your questioning.

“So what are m- shit. What are my panties d-doing over here, S-Steven?” His name accidentally comes out as a moan as he drags your clit right over the tip of his dick. He’s not even looking at you, his eyes are fixed on where he’s rubbing you against himself, the way his tip dips into your soft skin and leaves streaks of his pre all along the fabric. His jaw is dropped open and little pants make their way past his wet lips. 

You can see this feral look in his eyes that you’ve never witnessed. He’s told you drunkenly how badly he craves you but you’ve never actually seen it, you’ve never really believed him. Like this, though? You can see what he was talking about. You can tell that he’s zeroed in on how good you’re making him feel, you don’t think he even heard you, too entranced with how he’s moving you along his cock. 

Your pussy clenches at the thought and he can feel it. He falls back against the bed with a groan before propping himself up on his elbows to pull you both back against the headboard. He whimpers at the momentary loss of friction but smiles once he can collapse onto the board while still staring at you. His hands come back to grip your hips, upset that you’ve stopped moving your hips without his help but you stop him. You lean forward on him, pressing most of your weight on his tip, he gasps and grips your arms with a moan. “Please! Oh Gods-”

You silence him with a short kiss, pulling away before he’s satisfied. He starts to mumble pleas to you again but your finger is pressed into his lips, he licks them, tasting your finger in the process and moaning at the taste of your skin. “Stevie…” You pause and he sighs at the sound of his name on your lips. “Did you use my underwear to get off?”

His eyes widen and dart to where they lay, exposed on the bed. You feel his cock twitch under you and you have to bite your lip to hold in a whine at the way it rubbed over your clit. He’s embarrased but turned on at the fact that he thought you’d never find out but you still did. The way that he could never hide anything from you, the way you don’t seem upset at the fact you caught him.

“I needed you so b- bad an’ you- an’ everything smells like you. I- I’m sorry.” He drops his head onto your shoulder as his hips slowly grind into you. “ ‘M sorry, alrigh’?” His accent gets heavier as he grinds into you more deliberately. “I just- I jus’ -oh I needed you so b-bad.” He whimpers into your neck, trying to muffle himself in there. You’re lost in the feeling, in his words as he humps his cock into you. He’s kissing along your neck, sometimes just licking at your sweat and moaning at the taste. His hips were starting to twitch and stutter into yours, his moans pitched up and his hands began to bruise into your skin. “I’m-”

You lift off of him. “No- Wh-y? P-please.” You ignore his plea and pull your shirt and underwear off as he scrambles to do the same. “Are we gonna-?” You smile at him softly and prepare for your confession. 

“I couldn’t get off without you, Steven.” You shift your weight nervously as he just stares at you. “I- My fingers aren’t enough anymore.” You whine at him and his cock jumps, leaking onto the sheets as he reaches out for you. He pulls you into a kiss and fumbles to take your bra off. He lets you climb over him again and moans into your mouth as you line him up with your soaked hole. “Put it in. Put it in- shit. P- put- ” He’s cut off by both your moans as you sink onto him. 

“Fuck I can t-tell your- fuck.” He whines out as you as you squeeze around him. “Your little fingers aren’t enough t’properly stretch you f’me hm?” His eyes roll back and his eyebrows draw inward as you grind onto his cock. You try to keep a steady pace but his tip is slamming right into your G-Spot, pressing into it no matter what he does, no matter how you move. Your legs give out halfway through a thrust and your body slams down onto him. He groans your name and hugs your body close, planting his feet on the mattress and fucking into you slowly.

“S’it too much?” You moan his name into his ear and his cock jumps inside you. “Fuck I’m-mm” His words get drawn into a whine as his thrusts slowly lose rhythm. Your pussy begins to clench on him, arousal coiling in your stomach at the telltale signs that he’s gonna cum. Steven’s hand comes to cradle your head into his neck, stoking your hair softly and whispering soft assurances and begs for you to cum around him. 

“‘M right here. I’ll take care of ‘ye, keep you nice an’ safe. C’mon. Give it t-to me.” Your orgasm explodes inside you like a solar flare. It bursts in your stomach and ripples throughout your whole body, moans are shoved from your mouth, almost deafening Steven with their volume and pitch but they only push him over the edge. His cock twitches violently inside you before releasing a torrent of cum. He tries to stay semi-calm as his orgasm crashes over him, his stomach won’t stop tensing under you and his mouth can’t shut. He can’t hold any of his moans in as his balls empty themselves inside you. 

He feels like it’ll never end, he’s at his peak for what feels like years. He can hear you distantly whining about how full you feel, about how much he’s filling you up. His hips have a mind of their own as he ruts into you pathetically, doing anything he can to prolong his euphoric high. He feels tears spring to his eyes, unable to believe that you could make him feel so good. He feels your lips over his mouth that’s propped open on a silent moan. He’s panting out whines down your throat as you whisper praises to him.

“W- It won’t stop. It- f-feels so go-od” He’s gasping at you as he speaks, his entire body shaking as his cock spurts out more ropes into you. You’re leaking all over his thighs, unable to hold all the cum he’s pumping into you. He moans out your name one last time before his body goes limp, and his cock finally stops spitting into you. He’s incoherent for quite some time, fading in and out of consciousness. 

He always whines out for you when he wakes up, sniffing and huffing until some part of you comes in contact with him. Once it does he’s pulling you into a crushing hug and doesn’t let go for at least another hour.

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it, here's the rest of my Kinktober Works, and be sure to check out my Main Masterlist!!

[jellys-compendium]

Comforting Monster Stories for the Weary Heart

Part 2 - The Werewolf

Pairing: Werewolf x/& GN!Reader Cw: hurt/comfort, depictions of stress/burnout, gentle werewolf cuddles Word Count:~1.7K A/n: I went into a little more detail this time with shaping this werewolf character and I really like how he came out. He's such a sweet wolfie. <3

As you cross the threshold to your apartment, the exhaustion that you had fought so hard to hide finally seeps deep into the marrow of your bones. Your body sags, legs trembling slightly from exertion as you lean your weight against the nearest wall.

It had been a long and grueling day at work, one that was spent running from office to office, rushing to finalize last minute alterations, and having to answer to an outrageously demanding client while simultaneously dealing with a panicked boss who hardly gave you a second to breathe, let alone take a lunch break. 

To top it all off, your mother had decided that today was the perfect day to blow up your phone with urgent “requests” for your help in organizing an upcoming family event.

Amidst those heated meetings and sprints between cubicles, you had tried to convey to your mother in the kindest but firmest way possible that you were very tied up and couldn’t agree to take anything else on. 

That’s when the guilt trip started. How could you brush her off like this, after everything she’s done for you? Paying for your college, helping you buy your car. Didn’t you realize how much she had sacrificed for you? The least you could do is help her plan this event. 

And like a thin sheet of ice pulverized by the heavy footsteps of every single person who had decided to step on you that day, you cracked. By noon, you found yourself agreeing to every single one of your mother’s demands. It was only on your way home in the dark of night that it truly dawned on you how blatantly she had emotionally manipulated you.

But then again…she had always manipulated you like this hadn’t she?

“I’m home.”

The sigh that leaves the deepest recesses of your lungs is wispy and weary, utterly incapable of masking your paper thin state. You know that your perceptive roommate will pick up on it right away, so you do your best to adjust your expression, donning a mask of simple tiredness instead of one that reveals just how close to the edge you really are.

“Fen?” You call, shutting the apartment door behind you. “Did you hear me? I’m home.” 

You are so exhausted and so out of touch with your surroundings that it takes you a moment to realize that your apartment is completely dark and silent. Of course Fen isn’t responding, he isn’t home. 

Cold and heavy fingers squeeze around your chest and snuff out the last little flicker of hope inside you. After a day like today, you had longed to spend some time with your roommate. 

Fen has a talent for calming you even after the toughest of days. The two of you don’t always necessarily talk, but you’ve found that even just sitting quietly beside him on the couch and listening to the sound of his deep rolling breaths is a comfort. He’s the person you feel safest around most in the whole world, and you feel utterly gutted that he’s not here right now.

Fighting back tears, you force your body into autopilot. Shrug off coat, hang coat, kick off pinchy shoes, tell yourself for the millionth time to replace the worn WELCOME mat, hang apartment keys on hook, walk down hallway, grab dinner…

But you ignore the gurgling of your stomach that accompanies your footsteps and bypass the kitchen altogether. You’re too tired to even think about food. Frankly, all you want to do is just lie down and pass out. You want to forget about today. You want to tell all those awful people in your life where they can stick it. But like always, things are more complicated than that.

If you get yourself fired, who’s going to help pay the rent? If you tell your mother to fuck off, how will that impact your younger siblings that are still under her care? 

Actions after all have consequences, and like many you’re just an insignificant little fly caught in the neverending spider’s web of cause and effect.

The daunting feeling of helplessness weighs you down and your vision blurs as you enter your bedroom. You ignore the warm drops that run down your burning cheeks as you slip out of your clothing.

You wish Fen was here.

Fen is…one of a kind. He may be a lone wolf by nature but he’s also your rock, your best friend and your partner in crime. When you first met in childhood, the two of you had been stuck to one another like glue. Back then, Fen was a lonely kid who needed a friend, whereas you were the popular kid surrounded by people pretending to be your friends. The day you’d caught Fen alone and crying behind the school was the day the two of you became inseparable.

Except when the moon is full of course.

As the weight of your work clothing is fully removed from your frame, a sweet relief washes over you. It gives you just the right amount of energy you need to wriggle into your oversized t-shirt and snuggle on top of the fluffy duvet that covers your bed. Reaching down, you pull up the fuzzy throw and knitted blanket that normally decorate the foot of your mattress and completely engulf yourself in your makeshift burrow of blankets.

Then, you close your eyes and it all comes crashing down.

The first sob is silent. Then a second one comes, and then a third, forth, fifth…

Before you know it you’re openly weeping rivers onto the blankets. There’s no reason to hide anymore. No one is here to see you cry.

It’s a cathartically painful release, one that consumes your every thought and sense. The sobs ransack throughout your entire body and your head pounds in tandem with your rapid pulse as you hold on desperately to yourself. You’re so caught up in the release of your stress and misery that you don’t notice the faint scratching and whining at your window. 

It’s only when you hear your squeaky window open that you realize that you’re no longer alone. A stranger has entered your bedroom.

Alarmed, you stop crying, but the involuntary trembling from the aftermath of your tears persist. You hold yourself tighter, biting your lip as you try to stifle the shaking and whimpering.

But then, a voice calls out to you. Rough and distorted.

“Hey, now. It’s okay, don’t cry.”

Fen.

Your body dips and the mattress groans in protest as a massive weight joins you on the bed. You lay still, relieved and dizzy from exhaustion as Fen scoops your blanket covered body close, pulling your flush against him. 

Being under the covers you can’t see Fen, but you can tell from the gentle way that he’s maneuvering you, as well as how utterly huge he feels all around you, that he has fully transformed. 

“Why are you here?” 

God, the sound of your hoarse voice is awful. It’s too vulnerable. Too raw.

 “It’s a full moon tonight. Shouldn’t you be out there, hunting with your pack?”

Fen’s rumbling sigh sends tremors down your spine. You can feel his soft snout press against you through the barrier of the blankets. He inhales deeply and pulls you closer.

“I’ve told you many times. You are my pack.” 

A dry swallow constricts your throat. You hold yourself tighter as your fingers dig nervously into the flesh of your arms. He’s being sincere, you know that. But still, you can’t help but feel like you’re robbing him of something. Fen had finally found his kind after years of searching, and here you are taking him away from the precious little time he gets to spend with them. 

“You should go. I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

Stillness is his response. Fen is completely motionless beside you. Even his breathing has stopped. 

Instinctively, the image of a wolf silently stalking its prey in the wilderness flashes in your mind’s eye. But no sooner does that image come do you then witness the real thing. Fen gently grabs the blankets with his teeth and claws and then slowly pulls them off you, exposing you like a frightened little rabbit in its den.

Once free from the confines you had constructed, your gaze immediately finds Fen’s. His eyes are sharp–predatory—and as gold as a nourished field of wheat. But as Fen silently studies your moonlit face in the private darkness of your bedroom, his gaze gradually softens. Then, he leans down and nuzzles your cheek with his wet nose before giving the side of your face a big, fat, slobbery kiss.

“Ugh! Fen!” You snap, pushing his snout away. “That’s gross!”

Fen’s wolfish laugh sparks a joyous little thrill in your chest. One that’s sent right down to your toes.

“Not as gross as the thought of leaving you when you need me.”

Fen allows you to push him away, his powerful jaws in your hand as he pegs you with another serious look. You can feel his hot breath moistening and billowing against your palm as he speaks his next words carefully.

“Listen. You don’t gotta talk about it or anything, just let me be here for you, okay? It doesn’t matter what else is going on. I care about you, I always have.”

I care about you.

Those four simple words bring fresh tears to your eyes. Fen’s wolfish face softens as you hiccup another pathetic little sob.

Wanting to console you, the huge werewolf carefully nudges your palm from his face, giving him the freedom to lean down and rub his huge, fluffy head against yours. Your eyes close as you bask in the feeling. He’s so soft and warm. 

Your hands reach up to caress his head, gently lingering over his big pointy ears. Fen’s content hum rumbles deep in his chest, helping to soothe your nerves and slow your heart beat down into a relaxed pace. At this moment he’s almost like…a big, cuddly therapy dog.

A tiny smile forms on your lips at the thought and Fen doesn’t miss it. His eyes light up and his big, bushy tail starts to wag happily.

“Go to sleep, okay?” Fen says softly. “You’ll feel better in the morning. I won’t leave you, I promise.”

You exhale a deep sigh and nod as Fen cuddles you closer, pampering you with the tenderest of hugs and little muzzle kisses.

“Thank you, Fen. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

You return his hug, clinging onto him for dear life.

“Likewise.” He whispers.

dividers by @/saradika

[anavilante]

Age difference modern AU, part 2

20 year old student John and 30 year old professor Gale (top John, bottom Gale, no vers)

Part 1

Gale is changed after a couple of months of meetings with John, his eyes sparkle, a small satisfied smile on his lips, and a light blush on his cheeks. Now he is happy to choose his clothes, and his old boring, tatty professorial suits are thrown far into the closet, now he is not embarrassed to choose trousers that emphasize the narrowness of his waist, on which John loves to hold his huge hands, and the length of his legs, which John explored up and down with his lips, and if we are talking about clothes not for teaching at a college, then Gale can afford something that will emphasize the roundness of his butt. Gale is no longer self-conscious about the slender wrists that John likes to hold above his head with one hand as Gale gives himself to him with all his bold sincerity; nor the narrow feet with which Gale caresses John’s dick when they casually sit in a cafe and wait for hamburgers, making him almost cum in his pants and beg for continued caressing at home. John taught Gale to love his body through his own love for Gale's body.

When the sexual fever of the first months of the relationship subsides a little, Gale is surprised to discover that they enjoy spending time together, even if it's not sex. This feeling is new to him, he didn’t know it before, before he always had to choose one of two things - sex or comfortable time together.

It's not that uncommon these days to have some non-sexual time for them. John watches TV on the couch, absentmindedly stroking Gale's feet, who is reading a newly acquired book next to him, throwing his shins over his lap and tucking a pillow under his back. They are both completely absorbed in their activities and the silence between them does not oppress them.

John likes Gale's feet, he never thought it was a part of the body that he might particularly like. But it’s always like this with Gale, he has to admit it, something unknown and new is always revealed to him.

He loves the way Gale presses his feet into his chest, lying on his back and slightly squeezing his knees as John fucks him deep and slow, he likes to run his tongue along the skin of his foot, tickling Gale and making him twitch and laugh, covering his face in embarrassment with his hands and squeezing deliciously on John's dick. He likes to just hold them in his hands, slowly massaging and stroking them, letting the blood drain a little from his tired legs after a long day. (Although John is 100% sure that the best position for blood flow from the lower extremities is when Gale's legs are on his shoulders during sex, but if their session lasts for quite a long time, Gale complains that his legs are numb and he can't walk and John calls him "an old man" and Gale charmingly sulks at him all evening.)

When John somehow presses his fingers on the heel in a special way and with emphasis runs along the arch of his foot, Gale emits an uncontrollable guttural groan, feeling the bones moving in the foot that never seemed to move before, and it... damn it, it’s so nice, he’s never knew that it could be so good and he leans back on the couch and drops an interesting book. “God...Bucky...that's...what is this even? How do you…? Jesus…"

John smiles, looking at the TV screen and does it again and Gale just arches on the couch, forgetting about reading, wanting to get this pleasant feeling again and again.

“God, I’m ready to trade half of my orgasms for this,” Gale moans.

“Well, thank you, of course, for humiliating my sexual efforts,” John mutters.

“Okay, not half, but a quarter,” Gale softens. ”How do you even know how to do this?“

“My grandma used to do this when I was a kid and couldn't sleep after an intense day of play. It calmed and relaxed me. Adults seem to like it too,” John says simply.

And this is such an explosive mixture of everything... An incredibly pleasant physical sensation from John’s warm, skillful hands and how simply and artlessly he shares a piece of his childhood, and in Gale’s imagination he pictures an eccentric, curly little boy with missing baby teeth, but with an equally mischievous smile, who carefreely falls asleep in the arms of his grandmother and, in contrast, the current John, big, huge even, impudent guy, which is like vowing to fuck all the brains out of Gale, absentmindedly and without thinking, giving him a simple caress so that he feels a little better, without implying anything sexual subtext in what he's doing.

“Your grandma is an angel,” Gale hums.

And John immediately answers him with a laugh “No, thank God, but she is still alive. Now she really thinks that I’m a huge dunce, not her good boy, but nevertheless...”

Quite suddenly, Gale finds himself on John's lap, looking intently into his eyes.

“I want you to kiss me,” he says seriously.

“Okay,” John answers and reaches out to him with his lips, but immediately receives Gale’s palm on his lips like a full stop.

“Not like during sex. Not like you're trying to stick your tongue further than my tonsils. In another way."

John nods. He understands what Gale wants. He wants it slower. Softer.

Seeing the understanding in John's eyes, he touches his lips with his own, easily, innocently, parting them, allowing John to explore himself, not his sexual hunger as before, but his warmth and tenderness, the need to be taken care of and take care of someone in response and... Damn, John had never felt anything more mind-blowing in his life than those light kisses from his Gale, even though they weren’t about sex at all.

These kisses are light, soft and short. They are gentle. And Gale in his arms is exactly the same - not an excited hungry boy trying to reach more pleasure, but a calm, slightly shy sensual guy, ready to love. And for some reason it's a hundred times hotter.

Despite John's eccentricity and overdose of testosterone, which forces him to fuck everything that breathes and moves, fight and get involved in all sorts of shit, he is actually a fairly mature guy, he is a responsible brother for his sisters and a dutiful son, he is kind and fair, he a reliable and loyal friend to his friends. And Gale never had many people in his life who would give him a feeling of reliability and trust, one of these people was Marge, which is why he preferred to marry her rather than wandering lonely forever between men’s beds in search of the unattainable.

And Gale feels guilty towards Marge for deceiving her, but damn he's been deceiving her his whole life, pretending to be something he's not. Over the years of their marriage, Marge more than once caught him masturbating on their shared bed, saw how one of his hands frantically squeezes the base of his dick, and the another one moves further, down, past his balls, caressing himself where a man’s hand should not caress, fingers ready to plunge inside his greedy hole and stroke himself there, in that place, without touch on which no orgasm seems sufficient. Gale held himself back then, but it wasn't because of Marge, or out of shame or guilt, no, he did it out of the knowledge that he couldn't stop and couldn't continue because it would only cause him more pain. It was a damn sense of self-preservation.

A sense of self-preservation that had completely abandoned him now. Gale clearly realized that he would drink this relationship with John to the dregs, no matter how bitter the muddy sediment at the bottom is. He will spread his legs as many times as John wants, he will run to meet him as many times as John wants to see him. And even though part of his brain screams furiously that he shouldn't be so vulnerable, to show his addiction so openly, Gale doesn't care, he's too tired. He was too tired of pretending that he didn't need John, that he wasn't willing to spend every second of time that John was willing to share with him.

Because Gale knows that all this is temporary, this is not forever. Sooner or later John will leave him. He was abandoned by everyone, everyone who meant anything to him and those who should have taken care of him. Only Marge always stays with him, no matter what, and he will always be in debt to her.

Sooner or later, young and inquisitive John will get enough of Gale and move forward towards new acquaintances, no matter how hard Gale tries to avoid wrinkles on his handsome face or how good, loving and understanding he will be to John. This outcome is inevitable, because youth is drawn forward not by beauty and kindness, but by novelty, and here Gale will have absolutely nothing to offer John.

Everything changes when, during another sex, John suddenly says that he loves Gale.

Part 3.1

[decks-writing-blog]

Whatever the Fuck Benrey is: Chapter Four: Didn't Matter

Chapter One

Previous Chapter

~

Benrey wasn’t tired but Gordon clearly expected him to go to bed. Normally he wouldn’t have but there wasn’t much else he could do. He wasn’t allowed to play on the Game Cube anymore because Gordon needed to sleep and apparently couldn’t with it on. And so, with a sigh, Benrey lay down on his side of the bed to stare up at the ceiling.

It was the perfect time to think. One of Benrey’s least favorite activities but maybe he could figure out a way to fix Gordon’s hand. The security officer uniform had been thrown out along with everyone else’s old clothes – excluding the HEV suit, that Gordon cleaned and put in a cardboard box – so getting that role back wasn’t likely to be an option anymore. But even outside of his having given it up at Gordon’s order because of the hand thing, he would still feel better if he could fix said hand thing.

And so he lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, mentally going over everything he knew about human anatomy. Which beyond the physical layout of their bones that he copied for his own form and when creating his skeleton dudes, wasn’t much. There had to be something he could do though, right?

The answer came to him upon accidentally dozing off when his brain kindly replayed part of the first conversation he’d had with Gordon about his hand never growing back. In the dream they’d had the talk while in Xen and had been playing poker for some reason but it was close enough. Human limbs didn’t grow back but they could be reattached once lost.

Shaking himself the rest of the way awake, Benrey sat up and turned to look at Gordon. He’d rolled over to be facing Benrey. His face wasn’t calm as it should’ve been but instead scrunched up, his whole body tense and twitchy. Not a peaceful sleep then. Lucky him, Benrey was here to wake him from it.

He reached out to shake Gordon’s shoulder. “Wake up, buddy. ”

Gordon jolted awake with a loud gasp. He scrambled backwards, lifting his gun hand. Before it was all the way up though, he fell off the bed, landing on the floor with a thump and dragging the blankets with him. Benrey crawled over to look down at him. The fall hadn’t seem to bring him out of his post nightmare panic as he was still breathing heavy and his eyes roving around wildly.

Benrey took a deep breath and let out a stream of blue sweet voice. As always, Gordon calmed down immediately. Not many people responded to it as strongly as he did, making it another reason to like him.

By the time Benrey’s note ended, Gordon was starting to catch his breath. “That’s… very pretty.”

Him saying it was pretty was nothing new but not many people had nice things to say about it so Benrey was allowed to bask in that a little, right? “Eh, yeah, it is.”

With a groan, Gordon shifted before finally sitting up. Using the bed, he pulled himself to his feet and scrambled at the nightstand until the found his glasses. “Ugh, what happened?”

“You were having a nightmare so I woke you.” Benrey grabbed the blankets and pulled them back up onto the bed. “Also, I got good news. I know how fix your hand.”

Gordon raised and eyebrow but didn’t say anything as he sat on the edge of bed. Probably an invitation to continue, right? So pushing the pile of blankets on his lap to the side, Benrey shifted to sit next to Gordon, his legs hanging of the edge.

“You said, uh, that your hand can’t grow back but it can be reattached, right? So all we gotta do is go back to Black Mesa and find it, right?”

“Well, thanks for waking me and for the thought I guess. That won’t work though. It’s gotta be reattached like within a couple hours, I think. It’s been days, it’s probably rotted by now if something hasn’t eaten it.”

“Oh.” That was fine though because if reattachment was an option with one’s own hand why wouldn’t it work with someone else’s? “Just take my hand then.” He held up his right hand. “Chop off your gun hand and then put mine there instead. My hand grows back so it’s… uh, not a problem. If you want I can even do this.” He shifted his right hand to be about the same size and shade of brown as Gordon’s, even doing his best to mimic the nails and way the palm lightened. He did a pretty damn good job too even if the didn’t get all the little lines on the palm and fingertips quite right. In his defense those were impossible, there were too damn many. What purpose did they even serve?

Gordon stared at it in silence for a few seconds. “That’s a pretty cool trick and I appreciate the offer but I don’t… it doesn’t work like that. I don’t think hand transplants are a thing.”

“What? Why not?”

“I’m pretty sure they’re just not a thing people do.”

“Well, why don’t we try it and see what happens. I got, uh… magic healing powers or whatever so maybe it’ll work for us. You got a… a hatchet or something somewhere? Probably need towels too because it’ll get messy.” Benrey stood to start looking for one. “Or I could use my teeth. I can make them pretty sharp. Never bit through bone before though so that might…”

“Nope, absolutely fucking not! You’re not chopping or worse biting any part of me off. Don’t even fucking try it.”

Benrey turned to look at him to see he’d stood too. “Why so mad, bro? I’m trying to help.”

“I’m not mad.” True to his word, the emotion in his voice had settled down some. “I’m just… a bit freaked out because you just casually offered to bite my arm off.” He held his gun hand close to his chest as he turned his body away slightly. Did he think Benrey would try to bite it off without permission? “That’s a scary fucking thought, dude. Don’t bring that kind of thing up like it’s no big deal.”

“How else am I suppose to stick my severed hand to yours though? I don’t think it’ll attach to skin or… or your gun. So I gotta like… give it something to attach to.”

“Maybe drop the idea or at least it put on hold until we find a surgeon willing to try it so I don’t have to live through my hand getting cut off again. That shit hurts, man, like a lot. I know you probably don’t feel pain or whatever but… I’d rather keep the gun hand for forever then go through that again, all right?”

“So you can’t uh… just choose to stop feeling pain then?” Probably it was Benrey’s own fault for never paying attention before now. In his defense though, how was he supposed to guess humans were so fragile and pathetic? Maybe he should be disgusted with them for being so weak but… he didn’t really care. He disliked most humans anyway and Gordon had always been one of the few he did like, knowing he was soft and fragile didn’t change that. If anything, it made him like him more in a way because now he wanted to protect him.

“No, no I can’t. So, again, thanks for the offer but right now, it’s a big fucking no thank you.”

“Damn, okay.” And so Benrey would continue to feel bad and not be allowed to put the security officer uniform back on even if he ever did find a new one. He took something way from Gordon and couldn’t fix it, so it was only fair Gordon be allowed to continue to take that away from him.

“Good, glad we’re on the same page, finally. Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’m gonna play the Game Cube for a bit. I’ll keep the volume low so you can sleep if you want but I just… don’t wanna go back to bed right now.”

They’d played all their multiplayer games earlier and neither had had the chance to start the single player games. So instead of asking to play with him on one of those, Benrey pulled both chairs over so he’d be able to sit next to Gordon while he played. It wasn’t often he got a chance to watch someone else play something.

After choosing a game and inserting it into the Game Cube, Gordon settled into the chair Benrey had brought for him with a mumbled, “Thanks.”

***

“Mr. Freeman, are you sure you wanna go back to Black Mesa? I mean, uh… I mean we just got out and it wasn’t very fun when we were there. Especially for you, I think… right? You lost your arm and, and almost died like… a lot of times. Why would you wanna go back?”

Tommy was right, Gordon didn’t particularly want to go back, especially not after only maybe like four hours of sleep last night. If he was planning on suggesting this today he should’ve gone back to bed. But he’d already had one nightmare about losing his hand, adding the idea of Benrey biting it off to his mind could’ve far too easily resulted in returning to an even worse version of that dream. So instead he’d been stupid and played games for the rest of the night while Benrey watched and now he was regretting it because the only thing he’d done today was eat breakfast and step outside the hotel and he was already tired. The dessert heat that was starting to properly set in wasn’t helping. But alas, the longer they put off this reconnaissance trip, the harder it would be to get themselves to do it and so…

“No, I don’t particularly want to go back but we have to. We’re still trying to get in touch with someone who can give us some kind of compensation and to let us know what are jobs are if we still have any. We also should look for survivors and actually fucking help them if we can.” He looked pointedly at Benrey who didn’t even seem to be paying attention but whatever. Gordon had checked again with him before stepping out of their room and made sure he still didn’t have a gun. Not that that made him not dangerous, just less so. Though to be fair, he’d been far from the only one causing problems in that realm. Granted most of the people they’d killed had been clones so… it wasn’t as bad it as could’ve been. “I mean we know Darnold is probably still alive, right? So we should retrieve him even if he is the only one.”

Maybe Darnold would be able to do something about Gordon’s gun hand too since he was the cause of it. Probably not but in addition to being a living person and thus worth saving, it was more than enough reason to go back for him.

“I guess you’re right, huh? We got teleported out but not everyone’s so lucky.”

“Exactly.”

And so they went back to quietly waiting for Bubby and Dr. Coomer to return with the promised car. Hopefully they weren’t stealing it but Gordon wouldn’t put it past them. If so they would at least hopefully have the decency to do it in such a way that Gordon wouldn’t know for sure that it was stolen and thus he wouldn’t be considered complicit in the theft should they be caught.

It wasn’t a long wait as not even a full minute passed before a car rolled out of the hotel’s parking lot and made it way over to stop in front of them. Bubby was driving and Dr. Coomer sat in the passenger seat. The car was the same bright blue sedan that Gordon had somehow forgotten about seeing on Xen. His brain had been so shot at that point he’d likely have chalked it up to an hallucination if he wasn’t seeing it again here. He wasn’t going to ask though because digging Bubby’s secrets out of him wasn’t an adventure he was ready to embark on yet.

“Hello Gordon!” Dr. Coomer said as Bubby rolled down the window at Gordon’s gesture for him to do so.

“Yes, hello to you too, Dr. Coomer. Now Bubby, could you move to the back? I would like to drive.” It should help keep him awake and give him something to focus on that wasn’t bad thoughts.

“Hell no. It’s my car, I’m driving. Get in the back.” Without seemingly any button press from him, the back door clicked and swung open as if motorized. “I can’t believe you made me roll down my window for that.”

Gordon took a breath to insist he at least be allowed a turn at driving sometime during this trip but… let out it with a sigh instead. Arguing with Bubby was like arguing with a cat over dinnertime; useless, but unlike a cat, Bubby had the means to enforce his will. Besides, he was already rolling his window back up, again seemingly without any button press or crank. Did he control the car with him mind? That’d be pretty cool.

Tommy was already climbing in, sliding all the way to the far side. Very much not wanting to sit in the middle, Gordon turned to Benrey, gesturing him to go in. “You next. We, or you and Tommy if he volunteers instead, can swap for the window seat on the way back if you want.” It was only fair since the middle was always the worst seat. “As long you don’t put any glue in my seat this time anyway. If you do that, all bets are off and you’re getting shoved in the trunk for the return trip.” Not a threat Gordon could ever hope to enforce but it was the thought that counted.

“I’m outta glue. Used it all last time ‘cause I didn’t think I’d get another opportunity. What a waste.”

“Nope, not a waste. You got your laugh and now we don’t gotta worry about that anymore, a win-win. Now hop in the car.” Gordon gestured again.

Surprisingly Benrey obeyed without any further prompting. Gordon slid in after him, pulling the door shut behind him. Inside was pleasantly cool, yay for good air conditioning, and the seats were about as comfy as car seats could get. Which wasn’t very but it would help make the long trip there and back a bit less awful even if he did have to sit shoulder to shoulder with Benrey the whole time.

***

Tommy’s road games were fun for maybe a grand total of five minutes after they left the bounds of Tuefort. Not that Benrey had been able to participate much anyway being stuck in the middle back seat. He should’ve insisted they get a Game Boy or PS Vita before setting out on this road trip. Except he hadn’t even been given time to think about it. The others had all decided they were going without consulting him and then had just assumed he’d come with. A correct assumption because even if he didn’t want to go personally, if the rest of them were, he might as well too since he had nothing else to do, but it still would’ve been nice if they’d included him in the conversation.

Another reason he’d have liked to be consulted was, despite their intended destination, Gordon hadn’t put he HEV suit back on, nor had he even bothered to bring it. Benrey hadn’t thought much about his safety before but that was before he knew exactly how weak humans were. It was a miracle he’d survived and the fact that he did was probably due solely to the HEV suit because unlike the rest of them, he was just a normal human. So Benrey would’ve told him to put it back on if he’d been given the chance because him dying and staying that way would be a bummer. Too late now though, he should’ve paid better attention to their breakfast conversation.

About an hour into the ride, Gordon fell asleep. At first just slightly slumped towards Benrey. But then the bouncing of the car over the less than perfectly maintained road brought him closer and closer until he was leaning into Benrey. His height meant that his head rested against the side of Benrey’s instead of on his shoulder as was supposedly supposed to happen when one person fell asleep on another. Benrey didn’t care though, he was just sitting here doing nothing anyway.

He cared a bit more though when Gordon stole his arm. Hugging it, he pulled it to his chest. Gently trying to pull his arm out failed. Meaning if Benrey wanted freedom, he’d probably end up waking Gordon. Which… he couldn’t do, right? Because that was one of the rules for having a pet; when it fell asleep on one’s self, moving enough to wake it was wasn’t allowed. That’s what everyone who had pets always said anyway. Benrey had never understood why but he’d also never had a pet before. And he still didn’t quite get the point of such a law but Gordon was his pet now, right?

He’d taken responsibility for making sure Gordon didn’t steal anything during their journey through Black Mesa. And now because of how weak and fragile he knew Gordon was, especially without the HEV suit, Benrey was taking responsibility for helping keep him alive. Which, as far as he knew was how having a pet worked – unless the pet was immortal, like Sunkist but she was a special case – which made Gordon his pet and thus he wasn’t allowed to move enough to wake him. Meaning he was stuck like this for the rest of the trip.

Not necessarily a the worst thing though. Gordon was warm, soft and… so much touching was a lot but not an unpleasant ‘a lot’. Benrey had never been touched this much before. It was new and thus he was content with it continuing for a little while.

~

“We’ve made it black to Back Mesa!” Coomer said, jerking Benrey out back to the present. “Again!” He climbed out and slammed the door behind him.

Gordon stirred, hugging Benrey’s arm a little tighter but somehow didn’t wake.

“Oh, I hope my Beyblades aren’t too covered in zombie goo.” Once out, Tommy closed his door much more softly.

Benrey wanted out too but… Gordon. What was he supposed to do? Could he pick Gordon up without waking him? If so, that wouldn’t count as breaking the law, right?

“Wake him up or push him out,” Bubby said, making no move to get out himself.

“I can’t. He’s asleep. You’re not allowed to wake your pets up when they fall asleep on you. It’s illegal.” Benrey even kept his voice low because he was a good pet owner.

Bubby cackled. “That’s real cute but we got stuff to do.” He pressed down on the steering wheel’s horn, making seemingly the whole car vibrate with a blaring beep louder than any horn in any of the car games Benrey had ever played.

Gordon jerked awake with a loud gasp, shooting up and finally letting go of Benrey’s arm so he could raise his gun hand. That was fine though because Benrey wasn’t the one who’d woken him so no laws had been broken. “What the fuck man?” His gun hand remained up but he seemed aware enough to know there was nothing to fire it at.

Bubby let go of the horn. “We’ve arrived so stop cuddling your boyfriend and get out of the car.”

“What? Boyfriend? I don’t have…” He cut off as he looked Benrey. “Oh, you mean… No. We weren’t. … Wait, we weren’t cuddling right?”

“Nah, not cuddling. You were just sleeping on me and uh… stealing my arm.” Which now felt awfully cold.

Gordon grimaced before quickly turning away and scrambling out of the car. Benrey followed. The door closed automatically behind him.

“Hello Gordon! I hope you had a nice nap,” Coomer said. “As you can see we’ve arrived at our destination. Where do you suggest we begin looking for survivors?”

“Oh, um… actually yeah, I did a have a nice nap, thanks. I feel much better now. First, I think we should…” Gordon cut off as he turned around. “Where’s the car?”

Benrey turned to look too. Where the car had just been, Bubby stood alone between the tire tracks. “We don’t have time for this. Let’s go.” He set a quick pace as he started for Black Mesa’s entrance. To keep the place secret, the building wasn’t much but it was intact. Meaning the secret elevator in its basement would probably safely take them to the living area.

As the rest of them set in to following Bubby, Gordon fell into step with Benrey. “You wouldn’t happen to know what’s up with Bubby and that car, would you?”

“Nope. Got no idea.”

“It’s just, assuming you were made in the lab like he was, I thought you might like… I don’t know, have the same powers or something. I guess that’s stupid though, huh? Why would they make two beings with the same exact powers? Obviously they’d want to change things in their next unethical experiment.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty stupid. It’s kinda rude to assume we’re the same just ‘cause I might’ve come from a tube too.”

“It’s not… you know what? Sure, that was a rude assumption. I’m sorry I made it.” At the building now, Gordon pulled them to a halt before entering, grabbing Benrey lightly by the elbow to stop him from continuing in. “But, uh, before we go in, you really know nothing about where you came from? Like you have no idea at all if they kidnapped you as a baby or an egg or whatever or if they literally made you in a tube? No one ever mentioned it to you or around you? Really?”

“Uh… if they did I don’t remember it.” Benrey had already told Gordon he wasn’t sure if he was made in the lab or not yesterday. Why was he bringing it up again? Benrey had certainly found himself a pet who was bad at listening, huh? Maybe he should try to train him better. How did one train a human though? “Do you remember when you were born?” It was ‘born’, right? Or did humans hatch from eggs like birds? What did it even mean to be ‘born’? How did it differ from hatching from an egg?

“No but I know what I am and I know who birthed me and on what date and in which state and city. Heck I even know the hospital. Where you came from and what you literally fucking are, are like… important things to know, man.”

“Well… I don’t know any of that stuff ‘bout me.” Nor did he really care. “What’cha gonna do ‘bout it?”

Gordon stared at him in silence for a few seconds, his face unreadable. “Nothing, ‘cause I can’t do anything. But we’re gonna talk about this more later.”

Before Benrey could ask what more there was to talk about, Gordon turned and headed into the building. It was nice that he was paying more attention to Benrey without Benrey even needing to do anything but why’d he have to be so weird about it? Why did he care about what Benrey was or where he came from? Those things didn’t matter… did they?

Next Chapter

[papyrusxii]

casual - jeon jungkook

synopsis : never could you imagine falling so quickly for someone without his intentions being clear

pairing : jeon jungkook x reader

genre : casual relationship, pining, relationship development

warnings : explicit material, drug and alcohol use, tobacco use, angst

cross posted on ao3 : papyrusxii

one

2.2k words

masterlist

The crisp air and mid-November rain blew completely through you. Standing there soaked, you witnessed the steam rolling off your engulfed apartment building. That apartment building that you worked so hard to afford, that you decorated meticulously, and that held so many of your young adulthood memories. 

Four firetrucks and a hoard of firemen surrounded the building as you and the other tenants watched the flames roar. You sat on the curb of the sidewalk perpendicular to your apartment, swaddled in a thin blanket one of the paramedics gave you. 

Luckily, you hadn’t been in the building when it caught fire; you were just pulling into the parking lot. You tried to pull the wet hair away from your heavy-laden eyes to pull out your phone. 

Not mom. She can’t do anything in another country. 

Ugh… not my brother; he's on vacation.

Oh! Hoseok!

You quickly dialed your best friend, hoping he would be awake. 

“Hello?” He groaned over the phone. “Everything alright? It’s 2 a.m.”

Oh, thank God. “Bless you, beautiful boy." You sighed in relief. “We have a slight issue.” 

You heard him shuffling around in bed. “What’s wrong?” His once-tired voice was now filled with worry. 

“My apartment is in flames.” You giggled as you reflected on the absurdity of the situation. Silence filled the call before Hoseok screamed as the realization set in. “In flames? What the fuck? Are you safe?”

“I appreciate your concern, but I’m okay—just soaked, cold, and mourning my material possessions.” 

He sighed. “I’m glad you’re okay and sorry about all that. How can I help you, love?” 

It was in times like these that you couldn’t be more grateful for Jung Hoseok. He should win an award for every time he saved your ass and gave you a dependable shoulder to lean upon. Why he wasn’t your first thought on who to call was honestly absurd. He was your personal Superman. 

“The cops and firefighters told us all to find a place to stay while they investigate and work out the insurance logistics with the landlord. Now I know you just moved in not even a week ago, but do you think I could stay with you until the dust settles? I’ll pay rent too, and even grocery shopping—I know you hate it.” You smiled, even though he couldn’t see it. 

“Y/n, it’s no problem at all. You are more than welcome here, and don’t even think about paying me. Now get out of the rain and come over immediately.” Hoseok reassured you beyond belief, and suddenly a sense of calmness coaxed you into the middle of the madness. 

“Thank you, Hobi. I’m feeling a bit calmer.” You sighed in relief. 

“Good. Now hurry over. I love you.” 

----

Not even twenty minutes had passed, and you were at Hoseok’s door. You had only ever been over the day he moved in, a week ago, to help him unpack. You had barely been acclimated to the new space, adding another wave of nervousness. 

At this hour, the hallway was calm, and you weren’t used to how spotless it was. The hallway of your apartment always had a tinge of grime or business, juxtaposed to the beautiful, almost regal nature of your best friend’s. 

You knocked on the deep blue door gently and readjusted the sack on your back. 

The door cracked slowly, and you grew with anticipation to bask in the comfort of your best friend, only to be greeted by an unfamiliar face. 

Stepping back slightly, you observed the stranger in front of you. A man you had never seen pierced your gaze. His lousy position and bare-bones attire led you to believe he had just woken up. His black hair reached just past the nape of his neck, led askew by the imprints of sleep upon it. He adjusted his oversize white t-shirt and rubbed his eyes before greeting you. 

Your once relaxed manner was replaced with a timid stance. How could you forget he had a freaking roommate? Hoseok informed you before he moved in that his friend had a buddy that was new to the area and also needed an apartment and a roommate to share costs. Your best friend’s and the stranger’s mutual needs led them to room together. You hadn’t met him when you first visited the apartment because he was due to move in later in the week. From what Hoseok told you of the man who stood in front of you, he was tidy, charming, and chill as hell, yet in his presence, you couldn’t help the rising anxiety. 

His eyes trailed down your body, still clothed in your work attire and dirty from the gross fluids that spewed from the hundreds of patients you had seen in the last 12 hours. His face slightly cringed as he eyed the stain on your abdomen: vomit. “Hey.” You broke the odd tension with the stranger. 

“I’m Y/N; I’m not sure if Hoseok told you, but I-” He interrupted, quickly changing his posture to straighten. "Yeah, he told me you’d be staying with us. I’m sorry to hear about your apartment; that’s awful.” He shook his head.

His voice calmed you instantaneously. It’s smooth tone coated you like warm honey and caught your breath. His words chipped away at the unease that plagued your thoughts of the initial meeting, leaving you with more ease to enter the apartment. 

He stepped away from the door and motioned you in. “J is in the bathroom; he’ll be out in a second. You can set your bags on the couch for the time being, and I’ll get you a drink.” His tone remained deep and crunchy in the late hours of the night but lifted when he smiled at you. 

You nodded and sunk into the couch you helped build last week. Good taste, Hobi. 

Your eyes scanned the apartment slowly until your friend’s roommate returned with a bottle of iced tea. “He told me you liked tea.” You looked up at his extended hand and dipped your head in thanks. You didn’t even know his name, and he already knew one of the smallest details about you. 

He sat in the large chair next to the couch and glanced at you as you drank from the bottle. “This is good.” You smiled toward him. He nodded with a small smile in return. “I don’t think I introduced myself properly; I’m Jeon Jungkook.” His name…. 

As he said his name, you recalled Hoseok mentioning it once while he was unpacking, and you felt stupid for forgetting. “That’s right, nice to meet you, Jungkook. Sorry for interrupting your peaceful sleep.” You let out a small chuckle. 

He leaned back in the chair and said, “Don’t worry about it; I wasn’t getting much of it anyway." You raised your eyebrows at his statement but left it alone with an awkward nod. After a moment of silence, Jungkook spoke again: “You work at the hospital, right?” He leaned forward, keeping eye contact. 

“Yeah.” You gulped. “Sorry about these awful scrubs; it was a rough night.” You dipped your head. 

“Stop apologizing.” He laughed. “You had a long and stressful night; I couldn’t even imagine. You’re more than welcome here, and I’m sure you need a second to even catch your breath.” 

Wow. How could a stranger’s words be so comforting? 

Maybe it was the stress of the situation that allowed you to cling so easily to his kind words, but you appreciated them more than he could understand. “Thank you. Yeah, I could really use a moment of peace.” You laughed. 

“You deserve it.” You smiled at his words as he leaned back, closing his eyelids. 

You heard a door open from behind you, and you turned your head over the back of the couch to see your best friend. He was shirtless and wearing a pair of pajama pants. He decided to jump over the back of the couch and on top of you. He pinned your body to the gray cushions and tightened his grip. Your breath compressed as he squeezed. 

You saw Jungkook stifle a laugh out of the corner of your eye upon you and your best friend’s exchange. 

He finally lifted himself from you and pulled you across his chest. “Hey, Y/n.” You smiled in the safety of his arms. Oh, you loved him. Your best friend was yet again raising your comfort level with his gesture of affection. 

“Thank you for letting her in.” He directed it to his roommate. 

“No problem.” He opened his eyes and winked. You didn’t like how that wink made your breath catch again in his presence. “She’s been keeping me company.” He smiled. 

Hoseok nodded. “She’s amazing, isn’t she?” You rolled your eyes and smacked his bare chest. 

“Stop, Hobi. The “amazing title” should go to you both for waking up at 3 a.m. to welcome me.” You sighed again as you reflected on your situation. You really couldn’t believe your apartment was gone. It was the first big thing you had purchased on your own, and it showed your hard work was paying off. Now it was all gone. 

Jungkook realized the shift in your demeanor as you lost yourself in worry. “Hey, why don’t you grab a shower? I’ll get you a towel.” He lifted himself from the chair and disappeared into the hallway. You gave your friend one squeeze and then went to meet Jungkook by the linen closet. 

He pulled a small chain, and the small closet was illuminated. He leaned down to grab you a towel and a washcloth. He arose with them in hand and led you to their bathroom. As you entered the space, you looked over the simple decor. The marble countertop was adorned with two small bags, which you assumed held the toiletries for each of the men. The shower was a tempered glass box that added to the modern simplicity of the room. 

He slid open the shower door, which revealed the different soaps and shampoos on a metal shelf in the corner. “Here are all of our soaps and stuff. Mine are on the top shelf, and Hoseok’s are on the bottom. Feel free to use either, but I will say mine are better quality; you know, Hoseok just buys whatever catches his eye first.” You chuckled as you recall shopping with him once and seeing him pull a kid Spider-Man body wash, claiming “the bubbles made him feel like a kid again.”. 

“Thank you, Jungkook. I really appreciate your kindness.” You smiled at him. 

If you weren’t looking for it, you wouldn’t have caught his ears turning red after you smiled. “No problem; I don’t want my ambiguity to deter you from being at home here.” 

“Don’t worry, you seem pretty cool from what I’ve gathered.” 

“I hope to maintain that impression, Y/n.” He let the biggest grin you’d seen from him thus far grace his lips. His two lip rings caught between his lips, and you noticed his prominent cheeks. “I’ll get you something to wear and then have at it.” He exited. 

Twenty minutes later, you felt beyond refreshed. Jungkook’s lavender shampoo and aloe body wash coaxed you into a feeling of relaxation; you commended the male’s choices. He had fetched a pair of his clothes, which you thanked him for: a pair of basketball shorts and a very large t-shirt that adorned the logo for the Korean national football team. 

You exited the bathroom to see your best friend knocked out on the couch and Jungkook scrolling on his phone in the same spot he was earlier. The man heard you enter the room and looked to see you. “Thank you again for letting me borrow your clothes; you could have just given me Hoseok’s.” You began. 

“He would have slaughtered me if I picked out something he wanted to wear at any point this week.” He chuckled. “That color looks good on you anyway." He nodded to the red shirt that lay over you. You bit your lip and looked to the ceiling, “Thank you.” 

He stood up, “I’m sure you’re tired, and I don’t know what sleeping arrangement you and J discussed, but feel free to sleep in his bed as he’s hogging up the whole couch.” You laughed quietly as you observed the position your friend was in—one leg off the side of the couch and the other nearly to his chest—and using his hands as a pillow. 

“Of course.” You smiled. “Again, thank you for everything; it means the world.”

He put his hand in the pockets of his pants and rocked back, “No problem, get some sleep. It was nice to meet you; I can see why he admires you so much.” 

Jungkook’s compliment just added to your growing impression of the stranger. He offered up a drink, his shower products, and his clothing to someone he’d never met before and who interrupted his night. You couldn’t help but already admire him and his seemingly selfless attributes. “Thank you; sleep well!” 

You disappeared into Hobi’s room and melted into his sheets, no longer reflecting on how awful the events of today had been but now reminiscing on the warm impressions you felt from Jeon Jungkook.

[effervescentdragon]

Any charles pairing & plane rides ✈️

They travel feom Germany to Hungary on the Ferrari jet together.

Sebastian didn't want to do it. He wanted to get into his own car and drive to Hungary and calm down. Truthfully, it didn't even have to be his own car, and it couldn't be something Italian because he would've crashed it, and it couldn't be something German because he would've driven it into a tree in Schwartzwald, and it couldn't be British because he didn't want to think about Brits right now so all that was left as an option was French, and that made him not push as hard against the idea of flying in a fucking Ferrari jet.

He just didn't know Leclerc would be there too.

Kimi was already asleep after getting into a fight with someone over the phone. Maurizio was already gone, as was the mkst of the team. Ericsson had something or other to take care of, so he wasn't with them. The rest of the team was either sleeping or working, heads bowed over their laptops and data.

Sebastian was tired, and annoyed, and many other things he didn't dare even think unless he wanted to be fucking hospitalised, and now he had Charles Leclerc sitting across from him and very pointedly avoiding looking at Sebastian and pretending he didn't.

He's so beautiful, Sebastian thought out of nowhere, because it was the truth and he was bone-deep exhausted and Charles' eyelashes touched his cheeks when he lowered them in slow blinks. He's as beautiful as he is talented, and I am so fucked. It's all so fucked, and I'm fucked, and the Championship is about to be fucked, and Ferrari is fucked, and I would let myself be fucked by this boy, if only he knew how to ask.

Charles took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "Seb, uh," Charles finally spoke, in a soft tone that emphasised his sleepy French - Monegasque - accent, "I just wnmanted to say - congratulations on breaking the track record."

Sebastian blinked. What the fuck is wrong with you, kid, he almost blurted out. I crashed out of the race that may well cost me the Championship by my own stupid fault, you finished dead last, you're going to take Kimi's place in Ferrari and I know I will have to fight you and the whole fuckery of Ferrari both, alongside godforsaken Mercedes and whatever "LH and VB" throw at me, and you're congratulating me on a stupid track record?

Charles swallowed when Seb said nothing, and very obviously made himself continue. "I watched your lap, and - and they gave me some of the data for the sim, and - it was wonderful. It was so clean, and so instinctive, when you pushed on the straight, it was - like art." He swallowed. Sebastian couldn't look away from the way his throat bobbed. He could imagine touching it with his palm as he filled it with his -

"So I just wanted to say that. You're a - a great driver, and I think I can learn a lot from you. So," he shrugged, and he looked so young and so naive and so uncomfortable and like it was costing him everything to say these things because his eyes couldn't conceal that they were the truth.

When was the last time I spoke the truth and wasn't punished for it, Sebastian thought, but didn't need to think about the answer. His favourite colour always was blue.

When will they kill the sincerity in you, kid, he thought, and realised, uncomfortably, that he didn't really want to find out.

The silence held for a moment more. "Thank you," Sebastian finally made himself say. "It was - it was special. To do something like that home - or as close to home as possible."

Charles nodded, and the gentle, understanding smile on his face made Sebastian want to bite his lip until it bled, because Charles didn't - couldn't understand.

"I hope I do the same in Monaco one day," he said, like he was telling a secret. Everybody knows, Sebastian almost said. Everybody can see it in your eyes, how desperate you are to win there. To have her love you like you love her. Idiot boy.

He remembered his own words in Monaco. If anyone should be praised, it's Charles. I don't know who should be praised, if not Charles.

"You did good," Sebastian said, because he remembered Charles' parted lips and flushed cheeks in that press conference too. "With what you had, what you were given, you did good." He paused, not sure if he should. If he should dare.

Fuck it, he though, and leaned in and put his hand over Charles'. It's all going to hell anyway. I may as well enjoy at least this one ride.

"You'll do even better next year."

Charles' genuine smile made his eyes shine and deepen in colour. Sebastian wasn't sure if they were the green of the forest, or the brown of the mud, or the gold of the trophies he was once used to. He didn't think it really mattered.

He knew he was going to get close enough to find out some day, because Charles' eyes held many, many emotions, but the one Sebastian recognized the easiest, used to seeing it in the mirror in the past, was hope.

Monza is for the dreamers, he thought nonsensically. Let's see what happens after Hungary, and Spa. Let's see what you're made of, Charles Leclerc.

"I hate the jet," he said, and Charles chuckled. "We have to flu everywhere and I hate it." He oretended to get an idea. "You know what we should do? We should take a drive, from - from Spa to Monza. Blow them all away and just drive."

Charles laughed, cheeks rosy and ripe to be bitten. Seb grinned.

"I think I'd like that," Charles said, and Seb didn't say I know you do. "I think that would be fun, and funny."

Sebastian squeezed Charles' hand. "Yes. It will." He let his smile soften. "Maybe we'll make it happen."

"Monza is for the dreamers," Charles said nonchalantly. Sebastian's heart skipped a beat, but he kept his breathing steady. "So anything can happen."

An engineer coughed behind them as she approached with a tablet filled with data, her face apologetic as she made a beeline for Charles. "Charles, I'm sorry, but if you could-"

Sebastian stopped listening. He'll get the data anyway. What he couldn't get rid of was the feelimg that somewhere, somehow, he'd made a terrible, detrimental miscalculation in regards to Charles.

He tried not to worry. He had all the time in the world to figure it out, though. So long as he didn't get too distracted by that dimple in Charles' cheek, he'd be fine.

He's Sebastian Vettel, a four-time World Champion and a Ferrari driver. He's always fine.

[juiceicicles]

Mean and Scary | Chapter 2: Ghosts in the Pool

Pts: 1, 2, 3

=======

He had never really intended to tell anyone about the nightmares. The sleepless nights, the tossing and turning interrupted by the absolute worst headaches and the bloodstained pillows thanks to the newly developed nose bleed problem. It made him feel weak. Nobody else was having these problems. Maybe it was karma from his attempt to just forget Barb this first go-around, maybe the numerous head injuries had aligned to create a new way of making him miserable. But Max just looked so tired, and if anyone could relate in their little Party, maybe Steve could.

And apparently, Steve understood almost perfectly. Max had opened up to him too, and confessed that she only really felt sane when she was listening to music. She’d given him her old walkman, the one she used before she realized she needed an upgrade if it was going to become a constant in her life. It was bulky, and the headphones were small and uncomfortable, but the reprieve from his own thoughts was better than any drug.

Well, any drug Steve had tried. Hence the standing in the Munson trailer, waiting to expand his horrisions. It still felt weird to be here. Not the trailer park, or even the trailer itself, he’d seen it from the outside countless times to pick and drop Max off. But here, in Eddie Munson’s living room. Waiting for drugs. After the russians Steve was almost entirely sure he’d never be able to even get drunk again. It felt too similar, felt like he was back in that cold room surrounded by needles and bone-saws. But he needed something or else he’d never fall asleep again, and the two days he’d gone without were already kicking his ass.

Was it smart to go to Dustins newest brother figure in search of illicit substances? No. Was he going to do it anyways? Yes. He just needed some fucking sleep, just this once. (He knew that he couldn’t guarantee that. That if this worked, he’d probably be coming back time and time again. But he was never the sharpest bulb in the shed, and he’s choosing to blame his remarkable lack of decision making on the sleep deprivation.)

There were dozens of baseball caps and mugs covering the walls around him. From sports teams, to shitty diners, to T.V. memorobila, there was everything. He idly wondered if any of the items were ever used, considering they were high enough on the wall that he would need a ladder to access them, and Eddie was about his height.

“Sorry for the mess, maid took the week off.” Eddie was digging around the trailer, looking for whatever it was Steve had agreed to purchase and later on actually take (was he really doing this? Should he be doing this? God, Robin was gonna be so pissed if she ever found out)

“You um,” Steve swallowed, he honestly couldn’t tell you why he was so nervous. He felt like there were livewires where his blood vessels should be, “you live here alone?”

“With my uncle. But, uh, he works nights at the plant. Bringing home the big bucks.” There were various clunking and clicking sounds from where Eddie was opening up what was presumably any container he found in his junk drawer mixed in with the sounds of singing softly crooning from the tinny speakers in Steve’s headphones. His favorite song was playing, and he turned the volume up a little more.

“How long does it take?”

“Sorry?”

Steve took a deep breath to calm his nerves, seriously why was he so anxious? “The- the, uh, Special K? How long to kick in?”

“Oh, uh, well, it depends on if you snort it or not.” Christ, this was so dumb, “Uh, if you do, then, yeah. It'll kick in pretty quick.” This was so, so, dumb. “Ohhh…shit.”

“You’re sure you have it?” the part of Steve that had been desperately begging him to just go the fuck home was silently hoping that Munson just didn’t have any. The other part, the part that hadn’t slept in two days and had been getting pretty shit sleep for the last week and a half, was desperately begging that he did.

“No, no, I got it. Um, somewhere.” Eddie turned around and went into his room, most likely to continue his part in the hide and seek game he was playing with this illegal drug. Seriously, why wouldn’t you keep that somewhere safe?

Tick tock. Tick tock.

Steve whipped around to stare at the window, as the music played in the background to the sound of a clock chiming in the distance.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

Steve really hoped he wasn’t going crazy. That some total whackjob decided to put a grandfather clock in the backyard of their trailer for some reason. But he knew he was kidding himself, it was so clear. Like it was coming from down a long hallway. Except the only hallway in the trailer was to Eddie’s room, and the sound was coming from the opposite direction. All those knocks to the head were finally getting to him. He was officially going insane.

As he scanned the darkness outside the window, the ticking and the chiming just got louder, and louder, and louder, until it felt like it was coming from inside his head. He frantically closed the curtains.

“Eddie?” Steve called over his shoulder, “Did you find it? Eddie?”

Silence. Gone were the sounds of hollow metal opening and closing, or Eddie’s weird ramblings to nobody, or the sounds of another person’s footsteps on the carpet. Steve slowly started to walk down the hallway. Eddie probably wouldn’t want him to see his room, but after years of monsters and possession and all things Upside-Down, Steve would rather take the chance of upsetting him over the chance of anything else. Granted the Upside-Down and the beasts that came with it were not usually quiet, at least from this end of things, but Steve was paranoid. He thinks he’s earned that much for all the brain trauma he’s most definitely had over time.

“Eddie?” He entered the room, only to find that Eddie wasn’t there. In fact, this wasn’t even Eddie’s room. It couldn’t be. This was Steve’s porch. The pool shone a light-blue glow over the surroundings, steam misting off the surface of the water in lazy swirls. The air felt cool, but not cold. Like it always did right before it became too cold to swim even in heated water, right before the Harringtons had to close the pool up. There were empty beer cans littered in a small pile, each with a small jagged hole punched into the bottom, next to some pool chairs with an ashtray situated between them on a small table.

And there, sitting on the diving board of the pool, was Barbara Holland. Her back was facing Steve, but he would have to be blind not to recognize her. Her curly red hair made a dark brown in the low light but discernible all the same, the dark blue denim jacket she had been wearing that night, color swallowed up by the black night around her. Resting her hands on her legs, one cradling the other with blood running down her fingers. Dripping slowly into the water below, the dark red quickly fading into the surrounding blue with each new droplet.

“B-Barb?”

This couldn’t possibly be real. Barb was dead. Barb had died here, on this night, in his pool. She was the ghost over his shoulder, never remembered quite right, and not always at the forefront of his mind, but never really forgotten. She was a scar that would never heal, a guilt that would never fade. Even if he hadn’t ever really admitted it, he agreed with Nancy. What she had said that halloween. He killed Barb, he just didn’t really let himself think about it.

“Still pretending, Steve?” She said, still not looking back. Still swaying her legs casually, sitting at the foot of her grave.

“Still bullshit?” The word reverberated through the air. And even though there were no walls, it felt like it was closing in on him. She finally turned around, and where her brown eyes had once been were milky white pupils, surrounded by black. Water dribbled from her mouth as she spoke. Her face was rotting, water logged and bloated. She didn’t look like a ghost, she looked like a corpse. Slugs crawled out of holes in her skin, and vines wrapped around her legs and propelled her forwards, her muscles too decayed to stand without assistance

Steve turned around and booked it. He slammed the door to the pool closed, drawing the blinds over the panes of glass. Holding his back to the door, he turned around to see that where the Munson trailer had once been, the viney Upside-Down tunnels had replaced it.

The vines slithered over eachother, covering the door to the pool and creating a solid wall of plant matter. Chittering and screeching echoed down pathways, the smell of kerosine and the distinct iron-copper of blood filled the air and choked Steve’s lungs.

“You killed me!” The distorted voice of Barbara Holland filled his head, so loud it was deafening. Steve covered his ears. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d be alive! My parents wouldn’t had to bury an empty casket! It’s your fault Steve!”

Steve ran, trying desperately to get away from the voice, but it wasn’t coming from behind him. It was coming from around him, like a bubble of loathing and blame.

“Nancy lied to you Steve! There was no ‘we’. It was all you!” Barb laughed, empty and hollow, “you’ll never make up for it, murderer! One day, they’ll realize! One day, they’ll all know! And when that day comes, nobody will want to see your pathetic face ever. Again.”

There in the diverging pathways of the tunnels stood Dustin, and then Robin, then Max, and Lucas, and Mike, and Joyce, and it just went on, and on, and on. Their sneers, their disgust, their backs turned as they walked away from him.

“If you had just focused on someone other than yourself for one fucking second, I’d be alive. Nancy would be happy! Thank god Jonathan was there for her, to be what she really needed.”

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Barb kept going. She’d finally gotten her chance to say everything she didn’t when she was alive, and she seemed to be making the most of it. “Needed to win over perfect prissy Nancy Wheeler? Needed to prove to your douchebag friends that you could conquer any woman? That nobody could say no to King Steve!”

Steve would protest if he could breathe at all. He felt like he’d been running for days, and he was panting heavily from the strain.

“You’ll never be enough to make up for what the world lost when you took me from it.” Barb's voice sounded farther away, until finally it faded entirely.

Steve slumped down the wall, creepy vines and shit be damned. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe, he just needed a second to get his bearings together and then he’d start looking for a way out.

“Steve”

==

@bowl-o-queerios is me, I just can’t comment on this blog

[sevlawless]

how do i tell you?

pairing: nate sewell x f!detective (felicity langford)

word count: 1.9k

warnings: some swearing? and felicity overthinking so much like it’s her job

tagging: @masonscig @blainehayes

notes: so this has been a wip for... a year at least LMFAO but i'm in twc hell so i dusted her off and she's here! i will never get tired of examining felicity under a microscope like she's an ant so <3 this takes place sometime during book 3 (we're ignoring that her apartment is ruined) AND this fic is loosely based on how do i tell you? by lizzy mcalpine

[read on ao3]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

felicity watches as the fan on her bedroom ceiling grows faster with each spin, the yellow blades losing their rectangular shape in seconds and morphing into a blur right in front of her eyes. she's probably spent a thousand nights doing exactly this, hoping that if she stares up at it long enough it'll put her to sleep.

but how can the thought of sleeping even cross her mind when all she can think about is him?

all felicity sees when she closes her eyes is nate; the way he looks at her when they're together, his deep brown eyes staring into her own and leaving her breathless, the intensity making her look away, how he concentrates when he's pouring over a book in the library, the way his ring covered hands turn each page so delicately.

she also sees the way his smile strains when she turns him away yet again, reassuring her that it's okay, how he reaches out to comfort her but quickly puts his hands back in his pockets as if touching her would burn them both.

it's not that she doesn't like him. she adores him. she knows being with him would make her happier than she's ever been in entire life, even a sliver of what could be when they're together makes her smile a little brighter and stand a little taller.

if only she could get over herself.

to say she's been hurt badly in the past would be an understatement. she's never anyone's priority, at least not in the way that they were to her. whether it was with bobby, or the handful of other relationships she's had, they always end up leaving her in the dust, struggling to understand where it went wrong, as if it was all her fault.

she knows nate would never do that, at least she thinks he wouldn't. she's just so tired of having to pick up the pieces of her broken heart that it seems pointless to attempt a romantic relationship with anyone ever again, despite how much she might want to.

and she desperately wants to.

this can't go on forever, she knows that. she needs time, but she's tired of feeling down on herself and fuck if she does it any longer. nate deserves to know how she feels.

before she can stop herself, her phone is unplugged and off her nightstand and into her hand. she's calling nate before it even registers in her brain what she's doing.

it rings four times (not that she was counting), when she suddenly hears some shuffling on the other end. her heart sinks as she realizes he was probably asleep and feels guilty for calling him so out of the blue, and she hates to admit it but she wanted - no needed, to hear his voice and maybe just talking it out would help and god, what the fuck is she doing-

"felicity? is everything alright?" his voice is urgent, but calm and she rolls her eyes at how quickly it soothes the storm of overdramatic thoughts swirling around in her head.

"i just had a hard time sleeping," she smacks her hand against her forehead. that is not why you called him. why are you prolonging this?

"i'm sorry to hear that," he says and her heart swells at his words. she's known him for six months now and still, every time he says something to her that feels so genuine - because it's nate, and he doesn't have a insincere bone in his body - she can't help but gape in disbelief that anyone could be so… unabashedly kind to her. is she really that starved for affection that someone being polite to her feels like such a big deal?

'any normal person would be sorry that you couldn't sleep,' she thinks. 'don't get ahead of yourself.'

she shakes her head as if to clear that thought out of her brain.

"do you want to talk about it?" nate asks.

her mind immediately starts to backtrack. she couldn't possibly tell him how she feels. it's too soon. she can't do this.

"no, it's really dumb and i shouldn't have called you. it's so late," she lets out a nervous laugh, "and i know you hate talking on the phone."

"i was awake anyways," she swears she can hear his smile through the screen as he continues, "and you know i enjoy talking to you, no matter the circumstance."

i would fight through any form of technology if i knew you were on the other end.

the memory of him saying those words to her outside of the warehouse makes her head spin. her skin flushes as she mumbles an okay.

"if you don't want to talk about it, i understand, but i hope you know i'm here for you, felicity. always."

always.

after a beat of silence, she mumbles, "what if you leave?"

"felicity, i-"

"leave wayhaven," she says quickly, "things could calm down and unit bravo isn't needed here anymore and you get assigned somewhere else. what then?"

"i can assure you if we got assigned to a different place, i wouldn't lose contact with you." he declares it with such confidence it makes her brain foggy.

she smiles in spite of herself. "what, would you write to me?"

"absolutely."

she giggles. "maybe farah could teach you how to text."

she expects him to join in on the laughter but he's quiet. "or, you could teach me."

"i could."

there's a moment of silence before nate speaks again.

"is me leaving something you think about frequently?"

she almost forgot she let that slip and her bedroom suddenly feels a lot smaller and constricting.

"not really. i mean, i guess so, since i brought it up," she rambles and exhales a deep breath. i just…"

"i don't think that i ever mean that much to anyone," she blurts out, eyes widening at what she's saying. "i know that sounds dumb, but when things get tough with anyone, no one has ever stuck around and seen it through. i want to mean enough to someone to where they want to make it work when things are hard. and i'm terrified of that happening with you."

there, she said it. the worst that could happen is that he doesn't feel the same. but he does feel the same.

right?

her thoughts come to a halt when she realizes he hasn't said anything.

"nate? hello?" she pulls the phone from her ear to see that the call has been disconnected.

did he hang up on me?

maybe he accidentally hung up. he'll call back any minute.

one minute turns into five. five minutes turn into ten.

she can't stop the tears from forming in her eyes.

he doesn't feel the same way. of course. why would he? why the fuck did i say all that? he probably thinks i'm crazy. god, why am i such an-

the knocking on her front door stops her overthinking completely. she's probably so tired that she's hearing things, until she hears a knock again.

she rubs her eyes and slips out of bed, adjusting her pajamas and treading sleepily to the door.

she looks through the peephole and her heart is in her stomach.

it's nate.

she immediately yanks the door open. he's stood there, wearing his green satin pajamas with his usual jacket hastily thrown on. his hair looks like he hasn't brushed it in days, and he has sweat dripping from his brow. she'd find it attractive if she wasn't so anxious and confused about why he was here.

"may i come in?" he asks, eyes pleading and she lets him in. she notices he's also wearing his bedroom slippers which have tracked mud into her apartment. nate notices this too.

"i apologize for the mess, i'll clean it-"

"why do you look so-"

"disheveled?" he chuckles, running a hand through his hair.

"yeah. not that i don't like the look but-" it hits her. "nate, did you run here?"

he looks uncharacteristically nervous, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

"i did."

"why?"

"because i wanted to finish our conversation in person."

her face grows hot in embarrassment.

"about what i said, nate, i-"

he takes both of her hands in his, the touch taking her by surprise. she forgets whatever excuse she was going to say about baring her feelings instantly.

"i know we haven't known each other that long, felicity, but i do care about you. more than i've cared about anyone in a long time. your happiness is of the utmost importance to me, and to hear you say you feel like you don't mean that much to anyone-

"you mean everything to me. i need you to know that. i'm sorry people in your life have been so unkind to where you feel this way, but i want you to know i would never dare to make you feel any less special than you are.

"i know you need time. i completely understand. but please know that i would never do anything to hurt you, felicity. doing so, i think would hurt me."

tears are welling up in her eyes again and nate's hands move from her own to cradle her face, thumbs at the ready in case any should fall. he's giving her that look that he always gives her, the look that tells her that he means everything he said. his brown eyes are staring into her own, and for once she doesn't look away.

"i… i don't know what to say," she mentally scolds herself, but how would anyone respond to the man of your dreams telling you he wants you and would never harm you?

"you don't have to say anything. i just wanted to tell you how i feel." he's smiling, but she knows she needs to buck up and let him know that - whatever this is between them - isn't one sided.

"i know," she sighs. "nate, i'm crazy about you. i care about you a lot, and i'm really sorry i haven't done a very good job at showing it. you deserve more-"

"no," he assures her, rubbing her cheek with his thumb. "i deserve you, and you deserve to be happy."

it all clicks into place for felicity at that moment.

"you're right."

she has to stand on her tiptoes but luckily nate meets her halfway as their lips meet in a searing kiss, her arms wrapping around his neck. his hands move to the small of her back, bunching up the fabric of her nightgown in his fists. kissing him is better than she ever could have imagined, his lips molding to hers as if they've always belonged there.

he pulls away too quickly for her liking and his eyes widen in concern, his hands snapping away to hover over her waist.

"felicity, are you sure?"

she smiles, blush rising in her cheeks. "i've never been more sure of anything in my life."

she kisses him again, and again, and again, until eventually, she has to pull away so she can breathe, and is met with nate's adoring gaze.

"i could get used to this view," she jokes, moving her hand to his hair to brush a strand out of his face.

he catches her wrist after, hand sliding down to entwine their fingers together.

"me too," he admits, smiling down at her. "and i am not going anywhere, so you'll be sure to see it often."

and she believes him.

[cognitosclowns]

I'm not sure how it would happen, but how do you think Alphabeta would deal with getting his consciousness moved over to a human body? What would he like? What would he hate? (No pressure to respond of course!)

OHOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOO THIS IS GONNA BE SO FUN.

all sfw!! references to eating + nausea

Miscellaneous sci-fi fuckery? Miscellaneous sci-fi fuckery

Accidentally transferred into the body of a clone? Some last ditch effort to save his life? The Specifics aren't really important, what matters is he hates it.

He's absolutely gonna have a Last Unicorn Amalthea 'I-Can-Feel-This-Body-Dying-All-Around-Me' moment that isn't gonna be good for anyone involved. Bone-deep nausea when he realises just how fragile he is.

It's probably the most distressed anyone's ever seen him? Lots of pure fight-or-flight reactions, if anyone tries to touch him they're getting decked (sorry Brett). It takes a solid couple hours to get him calm enough to Process Information And Start Working Out A Plan With Them.

There's definitely some stuff he deals with. better than others.

Breathing is surprisingly easy? I mean the process is automated, but also he was already able to breath before.

Granted this all feels a bit more Fleshy and Loose, but it's one of the very few things he actually finds. kinda comforting about having a body?

Eating is,, weird?? but also he doesn't hate it?? Entirely?? He definitely hates elements of it, but the actual process of eating is kinda. Soothing? He definitely likes that slight dopamine kick. He likes that his body provides Little Rewards For Taking Care Of It.

It takes a while, again, to get used to how eating feels as a human versus as a machine.

Sleep! Sleep is perhaps the only thing that feels the same. That soft feeling of slipping into unconsciousness is really comforting.

Dreaming however is weird as FUCK and nothing like it was as an AI. usually his 'dreams' were just vague colours and sensations, maybe some memories, as his servers filtered through the events of the day.

BUT ACTUAL HUMAN DREAMING?? OH THAT'S SO DIFFERENT THAN WHAT HE WAS EXPECTING. he didn't expect it all to feel so. Real.

Not,, necessarily bad, but definitely weird?

he hates having a heartbeat he hates having a heartbeat he hates having a heartbeat he hates

A solid 2 hrs post-humanification is just spent rubbing his chest with the hard part of his palm, as if he's trying to rub the heart right outta his chest alskdflsdakrlds.

It's incomparable to anything else he's experienced. There's something thumping in his chest. He can feel the blood rushing from the tips of his fingers back to his hear, and down again. He can hear it, like water rushing past his ears.

Ofc the Extreme Awareness does go away after a few days of acclimating, but whenever his heart-rate spikes up. Expect Him To Be Unwell.

Another thing he can't stand is how,, limited he is. Dear God this man is so under-stimulated he's gonna rip his teeth out KAJFKSJDAS

usually he's seeing through several wavelength of light, hearing things humans couldn't hope to hear, layering sounds and images within his own mind to keep himself stimulated.

now everything's,, quiet. really quiet. eerily quiet. He hates that he isn't as aware of his surroundings as he used to be.

He definitely has A Bit Of A Moment (tm) when he puts on several different shows at once, and realises that This Body Can't Process All That. he can't listen to music and watch a show and read a book all at once his Fleshy Human Brain can't make all those make sense.

Also the limits of his strength?? He used to be able to like,, lift tables with ease. Now he gets tired when he walks up too many flights of stairs. Experiencing Being An Old Man.

The limits of his memory ohhhh that freaks him out like nothing else

The fact that he's able to forget things is so eerie. He's never had that problem before. Reagan asks him how his day was, and when he realises he can't remember what he had for breakfast, or what colour his slippers were? Oh Boy.

He does need a. well I don't wanna say babysitter. Chaperone?

After Reagan realises that this man is 100% gonna forget to fulfil most bodily functions necessary to keep him alive along enough to transfer him back into his body,,,, yeah she makes sure there's ppl keeping track of him.

not up his ass or anything, he's allowed to go about his day as normal,, just,, around. to make sure he doesn't accidentally give himself a kidney infection or starve to death.

He won't admit it, but it's kinda?? nice?? having somebody around?? who understands what the fuck is going on??

'Why do my joints hurt?'

'You're old.'

'Mm. Don't like that.'

Generally? Worst experience of his life never make him do that again

Alright, there were some upsides - hindsight is 20/20, and once he's actually back in His Body,, he has,,, maybe,, just a slight,, appreciation for human resilience?

Because Dear Fuck he had to experience it for a month and barely came out of it with his sanity intact he has no idea how these freaks exist day to day managing all of that. How does anyone manage to get anything done.

The robot went through a Bad Experience and gained a little more empathy. Look At Him Go.

ABWBABW THIS WAS SO EXTREMELY FUN <3 lmk if you had something else in mind, and as always feel free to add your own ideas, I love hearing other ppls thoughts <3

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

WIP Wednesday

I was tagged by @winterandwords to uh... talk about a WIP I guess? :D

I'll pass on this tag toooo... @starlit-hopes-and-dreams (as always <3) but I'm not sure who else, so if you feel like talking about a WIP, consider this an open tag.

Oh boy, which to pick. There are currently only 2 projects where the P in WIP actually stands for "progress" (for the others it stands for "procrastination".)

I think I'm gonna pick Till Death. It is the one I am currently obsessed with, and the only one I am writing, not editing.

Here's the blurb:

Finnian is a wandering healer down on his luck. When one of his patients dies, the village turns against him, beating him half to death and leaving him for thirst and scavengers to finish what they started.

Eilis lives deep in the forest, hiding from the world. When she finds him, impaled on a tree and barely alive, she can‘t leave him to his fate, even if it means upending the peaceful life she has built for herself.

As Finnian slowly recovers, days filled with quiet companionship make the prospect of him staying less daunting than either of them had expected. But he carries too many scars, and Eilis too many secrets, threatening to destroy their fragile relationship as the shadows of the past draw closer. When everything falls apart, will they save each other, or will the price be too high?

You see, in April I finished the last chapter of all my ongoing stories, which left me in a very weird mood. For 1,5 years I always had something to work on, and suddenly, there was nothing started. Sure, I had a few outlines, but nothing really called to me, with the added problem that for those, I have to figure out bullshit like politics. I needed something new. New chars I didn't know yet, a fresh story - and 🌟violence🌟 :)

I've been talking about wanting more gore with happy end, but sadly, existing OCs are so fragile, I can't even break all their bones without them dying 🙄 So it was time to fuck up another healer.

For a few weeks, I threw concepts against a wall like cooked spaghetti, grabbed whatever stuck, and then I just started. It's the first time in a year that I actually write a story without posting as I go. I can leave a little note "this sounds weird, fix later" or remember "shit, I forgot this injury" or change a name halfway in. I know. That's how a draft is supposed to work 😅

I'm at over 60k words, and it's looking good. There's a few 'first times' for me, a lot of things I love and a lot of things I am excited about. I have a rough outline of events still to happen that leaves me enough freedom to go wild. And wild I go; half of the scenes are gratuitous pain and suffering, and there will be more - but it's also a story of love and finding a place to belong. Which brings me to the next point:

I'm tired. Tired of feeling like I don't belong anywhere. Of having no genre and being "just whump" because it fits nowhere else. Of being "not enough whump" while still finding myself on every squick list.

So this one's written for a target audience of some very close friends - a target audience for which I don't have to write CWs at the top of each chapter, a target audience who doesn't grow bored at the first calm moment, a target audience who will call me a bitch while asking for more pain.

I love you, pocket friends 💜

Here's the start of the book (unedited, rip):

Finnian hated dealing with sick people.

Considering the fact that he earned his money with healing, that was rather unfortunate. If he didn’t want to starve to death, he had to grit his teeth and ignore the stench of sweat and blood while taking care of coughs and aches and fever.

Sometimes, he wished he had learned something else after it had become clear that this wasn’t the right profession for him. Then he wouldn’t be sitting here, explaining to a grown ass woman that when he had told her to keep the wound clean, that included keeping the bandages away from dirty water. And that yes, it fucking hurt, because now it was infected, and if she didn’t plan on losing a finger or two, she’d better keep her hand dry and clean this time. And that perhaps, just perhaps, that was a bit more important than cleaning the windows.

Unfortunately, he had not learned anything else, so he left the house half an hour later with barely enough coins in his pocket to make up for the supplies he had used. Most roots and herbs he could gather himself, but bandages and tinctures didn’t grow on trees.

[mrmaybank]

FEM ALLEGED DNI

Fandom: IT

Title: It was so real

Character(s): Bill Denbrough and Georgie Denbrough

Request: No

Genre: Angst and fluff

TW: None

Masterlist

Losers club had defeated IT three days and in those three days no one had seen Bill. They had bounced theories off of each other like oh what if he’s sick or on vacation. Eventually they decided that someone should go check on him. Now that us brings to where (M/N) was now. Slowly inching his way towards Bill’s window on the branch which was connected to the big oak tree next to said Brunette’s window.

Once the (H/C) boy was close enough he knocked on the window, the shades were drawn so he couldn’t look in. About dozen knocks later the shades were drawn and the window was open to reveal Bill. He looked terrible to say the least, he wore a wrinkle black Nirvana t-shirt and pair of green boxers.

His chocolate eyes were puffy and red and he looked so tried. “Hey Bill,” (M/N) greeted.

“G-g-go a-away,” Bill told him. He moved to shut the window but (M/N) quickly stuck his foot in the way of the glass doors stopping it from closing. “(M/N), I s-s-said g-g-go away,” Bill exclaimed.

(M/N) shook his head, “somethings clearly got you fucked up and we can’t have that can we?” the (H/C) boy asked.

Bill sighed and moved out of the way letting (M/N) enter the room. He walked over to Bill’s bed sitting down on it, Bill doing the same. The two boys sat silence, which brought Bill back down that hole. He tried everything to fight but here he was back in the moment.

He found himself staring at his little brother, at Georgie. The boy looked the same from the last time Bill had seen him expect where left arm should be there was bone. Bill should have been ecstatic he found his brother but something told him that this wasn’t his brother.

And he knew that, “He said I could have my boat back, Billy,” His brother said.

Bill let out breath he didn’t know he was holding, “Was she fast?” He asked.

“I couldn’t keep up with it,”

“She, Georgie,” He took a deep breathe, “we call boats she,” he told his brother.

“Take me home, Billy,” Georgie told him. Bill could hear the losers club behind but that didn’t matter to him all that matter was Georgie. “I wanna go home,” His brother cried.

He felt tears poor into his eyes, “I miss you!” Georgie exclaimed, “I wanna be with mom and dad,”

Bill shook his head, “I want for then anything for you to be home,” he told his brother, “with mom and dad, I miss you so much,” he began slowly walking towards his brother.

“I love you Billy,” Georgie told him.

“I love you too,” Billy told him, “but your not Georgie,” he pulled the gun and shot him. His breathing started to become on uneven until he was hyperventilating, he looked around quickly. He was in his room, he wasn’t there he told himself over and over again.

(M/N) quickly placed his hand’s on either sides of Bill’s face, “Billy, hey, I need you to breathe for me,” He told him, “okay? Ready breathe in, now out,” they did that for awhile until Bill finally calmed down.

“I-i-it w-was so-so r-real,” Bill told (M/N), “He l-looked j-j-just l-l-like him,” he cried and at that moment it all clicked in (M/N)’s mind.

“Oh Billy,” he said, “I can’t imagine what your going through, but no matter how real it felt or how much he really looked like Georgie. That wasn’t Georgie,” (M/N) told him.

Billy shook his head, “I k-know,” he replied.

“Okay,” (M/N) replied, he moved his hands from Bill’s face, “You look so tired, why don’t you get some sleep,” he told him. Bill didn’t reply what did what he was told, getting under the blankets and getting into a comfortable position.

(M/N) smiled at him then got up to leave but stopped when Bill grabbed his sleeve, “St-Stay, pl-please,”

(M/N) sighed before talking off his shoes and joining Bill. A comfortable silence fell upon the two boys, (M/N) went to say something but was cut off by soft snores filling the room. He turned to Bill and his smile only grew, “If only you knew how special you were,” (M/N) told the sleeping boy. He placed a kiss on his forehead and then attempted to fall asleep as well.

[brunette-barbie4562]

Uncharted (Duff McKagan X OC)

Summary: Unsure of her next steps in life, Carreen Joy "CJ" Thompson finds herself taking a job working under the Guns N' Roses bassist Duff McKagan during the Not in the Lifetime... Tour. She faces the fast-paced and foreign world of rock n' roll, touring, and groupies, as well as blossoming taboo feelings for her boss.

-

4

February 2018

On I-5 headed south to Redding, CA

CJ sat in the passenger seat of her aunt’s SUV, looking out the window at the passing snowy landscape. Her expression was blank, and she was silent, but inside she was having a meltdown and trying to not let it leak out onto her face.

“You ok?” She wanted to turn and snap at her aunt in panic induced frustration but held her tongue.

“Ya, just tired and sore. I want to get home and go to bed.” She winced in pain as she shifted her broken wrist which was now in a cast and sling. Thankfully, her hip was just badly bruised. However, her broken bone and bruises were the least of her concerns. Her initial shock had worn off and now her mind was racing. Three months pregnant and she had no fucking clue. There was a whole ass person in there. The doctor had given her an ultrasound picture to take, and she was shocked at how formed and human-like the fetus looked. The size of a peach, is what the doctor had said. There had been no indications. Her stomach was still flat, she hadn’t been sick, and nothing felt different. She had been fatigued, but with the depression she had been in for the past couple of months, that wasn’t abnormal.

What was she going to do? She was still having a hard time believing it. She had not been on birth control during the time she and Duff had been together. She had decided against it when he had told her he had a vasectomy. Another poor choice.

CJ had always been unsure about children. She enjoyed spending time with kids, but the idea of being a mother had frightened her for most of her life, and she could not completely articulate why. Deep down, she knew a part of her had always been irrationally afraid that she would be a bad mother, much like her own. She was still unsure. She knew she had options, but her mind was reeling too rapidly for her to think straight about it. She was just focused on keeping her breathing calm and not appearing outwardly distressed to her aunt.

She could not call him. She would not. Fuck him. This was none of his business. He wanted nothing to do with her, that had been clear. At the thought, tears welled up in her eyes. She discreetly wiped them away.

“I can clean and put up your gear if you wanna go in and rest.” CJ surfaced from her own thoughts to the sound of Mindy’s voice and realized they were home.

“Thanks,” she said, managing a small smile of gratitude towards her aunt before hopping out of the car. Her own car, an older model black Jeep Wrangler, pulled up with Michelle sitting in the driver’s seat. CJ stiffly made her way to the front door and unlocked it. The house was warm and inviting. She went to set her discharge paperwork down on the kitchen table and then thought better of it. She did not need her aunt or Michelle looking through it. She hobbled to her room and quickly shut the door behind her. She needed solitude to think clearly. With her good hand, she slowly pulled all of her clothes off and made her way over to the dresser to grab a pair of comfortable sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt. On the way, she passed by the full-length mirror on the wall. She looked pitiful. Her face was marred with exhaustion and her dark black and purple bruised hip looked gross. She cringed at her own appearance but took a closer look at herself. She tried to see some sign of pregnancy on her body, turning to the side. She ran her hand down her breasts and stomach. Everything looked and felt the same, there was not even a hint of a bump. She wanted to believe that the doctor was wrong. Doctors get things wrong sometimes. That’s what she was going to tell herself so she could lay down and get some much-needed sleep. She’d go get a second opinion later this week. She tried not to think about the ultrasound picture still in her pants pocket on the floor with the clear, undisputable proof.

CJ managed to dress herself and crawled into her bed. Any concerns about being unable to sleep melted away as her exhaustion took over and she drifted into slumber.

-

May 2017

Conrad Dublin Hotel / Dublin, Ireland

CJ woke up with a start. For a moment she was confused as to where she was. Her memory came rushing back to her and she glanced over at the bedside clock to see it was 10:00 A.M. She lay there for a moment in the darkness and solitude of her room. The soft white noise of the air system made her want to roll back into the soft blankets and fall back asleep. She had expected to have some trouble falling asleep last night due to jet lag, but she had been so exhausted it hadn’t mattered. She must have fallen asleep soon after her head hit the pillow.

She slowly sat up and looked at her phone. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the brightness of the screen to see no notifications. She thought about texting Axl to let him know she was awake but figured it would be better to wait. She needed to make herself look presentable if she’d be meeting people today. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and got up to rummage through her bag for her makeup.

-

Duff knocked on the door of Axl’s suite, looking around the empty hallway as he waited for him to answer. The door opened and revealed Beta. She smiled up at him and said,

“Morning Duff, come on in.”

“How are you today, Beta,” he said as he walked through the doorway.

“I’m well.” He spotted Axl sitting at his desk, working on his laptop. There was a spread of fruit and pastries on the nearby counter. He swiped a chocolate glazed croissant before taking a seat on the couch next to Axl, who had yet to look away from the screen. Duff took a bite of his croissant and said,

“So, where’s this assistant?” Axl stopped what he was doing and looked over at him.

“Sleeping still, I think.” Duff thought back again to the days and nights they spent on Sunset and Mindy Thompson’s frequent glares of annoyance at him.

“I’m surprised Mindy allowed him to come out here to work for me. She never did like me much.”

“Her, it’s a her. And I didn’t tell Mindy it was for you.” Duff almost choked on his croissant.

“A her?!” Axl gave him a look of annoyance.

“Ya it’s her niece.” Duff had heard the name CJ and assumed it was a man.

“You didn’t tell me you got me a female personal assistant.”

“I didn’t think it mattered.” Wide-eyed Duff said,

“It absolutely does matter, Axl.”

“It’ll be fine.” Duff took a deep breath to calm his flare of anger at Axl’s dismissiveness. He found himself again wishing he had just taken the task of finding an assistant into his own hands.

“It will not be fine. You know what people will say if I have a young woman trailing me all over the place on tour.” He could see the tabloid and online forum headlines now. Headlines his family would see. Headlines Mindy would see about her precious niece and undoubtedly call to chew him out over. Axl’s phone lit up and he opened it to look.

“Oh good, she’s awake, I’ll tell her to come over so you two can meet and you can show her the ropes.” He opened his mouth as if to respond, but he couldn’t say anything, in disbelief over the entire situation. Axl saw the frustration in his face and said, “It’ll be great.” Duff couldn’t help but slightly raise his voice.

“I’ll look like a fucking creep. Like I’ve hired a personal bang maid to follow me around on tour.”

“Oh please, you’re overthinking it.” Duff was starting to see red.

“I’m not over-” A knock on the door cut him off. Instead of waiting for Beta, Axl jumped up and went to the door to open it.

“Hey CJ,” he spoke warmly as he appeared to hug the figure in the doorway, “come on in.” Axl shifted out of the way and in walked the brunette he had seen in the hallway the night before. The voice of the devil on his shoulder entered his head. She’d make a good little bang maid. He pushed his dark thoughts to the back of his mind as she approached him with a shy smile. She stood tall for a woman and her brown leather heeled boots boosted her up enough so that she nearly met his gaze head on. She wore a pair of black tight pants that hugged her curves and a loose-fitting white long-sleeved V-neck blouse. Her face appeared as beautiful as the night before, framed by her thick hip-length hair, and accented with light makeup. The sheen of her glossed plump lips caught his eye.  God damn he was in trouble.

-

“CJ meet Duff, Duff meet CJ.” Axl sounded pleased with himself as he moved to sit back down at his computer with a smirk. CJ recognized the tall blonde immediately from the hallway the night before. When she met his green gaze, she felt her heart quicken and a wave of butterflies rise in her stomach. It was a feeling almost completely unfamiliar to her in a context that wasn’t due to fear-induced adrenaline. CJ had a few boyfriends in high school and college, but none of them had induced such a strong physical response. She may have turned and run from him if he didn’t exude such a strong feeling of safety. He held his hand out to her and said,

“It’s nice to meet you CJ.” She took his hand to shake it and felt the rough texture of his fingers. She looked back up at his face and there was a roguish glint in his eyes that intensified the butterflies in her stomach.

“It’s nice to meet you too.” She suddenly felt shy. Axl spoke up and saved her as she tried to think of what to say next. He spoke more directly to her, rather than Duff.

“You two take some time to get acquainted. We have a group dinner planned for tonight in the restaurant downstairs at 6:00. You’ll get to meet most of the others there.” Duff moved past her towards the door and said,

“We’ll see you then,” He smiled at her and said, “C’mon kiddo, I’ll show you the ropes.” CJ shot one last smile of gratitude back at Axl before turning and following. They left the room, with CJ trailing behind Duff.

“So, did you have any trouble getting here?” She caught up so she was walking beside him.

“No, no trouble. I flew out of Sacramento, so there was a layover, but it wasn’t bad.” He approached a suite door and swiped his card. The door clicked open. His room was similar to Axl’s, and she was yet again impressed with the luxury. Duff tossed his key card down on the marble counter of the mini bar and went to open the curtains. The room was neat and looked barely lived in. It was set up be a living room area. There were a few sofas, a flat screen, and a small office space in the corner. As Duff pulled back the curtains, the sun spilled in, temporarily blinding her until her eyesight adjusted.

“Sacramento? Is that where Mindy ended up?” With his question about her aunt, CJ snapped out of her wonderment at the size of the hotel room.

“Redding.” Duff turned to look at her with a slight smirk.

“I never thought Mindy would end up in a place like Redding.” CJ didn’t know whether he was being offensive or not.

“What do you mean by that?” Duff heard the slight defensiveness in her tone and turned to look at her with a smile.

“Nothing, I just meant someplace so rural.” CJ did not want to elaborate as to why her aunt had left the busy city life of the Sunset Strip for a quiet life in the backwoods.

“It’s beautiful there, a lot of places to hike and explore.”

“It is,” he said, opening the fridge and grabbing a soda. “Want one?”

“I’ll take a water, thanks.” He grabbed a bottle out and got up to hand it to her. As he entered her space again, she felt the butterflies re-ignite inside of her. He sat down on the couch and opened a laptop sitting on the coffee table. She stood there, feeling awkward, unsure if he wanted her to sit with him. He looked up at her from underneath a tuft of blonde hair with amusement.

“You can sit, I won’t bite.”

“That’s not what my aunt says.” The words had playfully left her mouth before she had even thought about it. Now she was mortified with herself. To her relief, he began to laugh and did not appear offended.

“Mindy would say that. Now come sit.” CJ set her bag down on the side table and sat down on the couch next to him, hyper aware of her closeness to him. She needed to get over whatever it was she was feeling and focus. She was here to do a job. As the computer booted up, Duff said,

“Did you grow up there?” She realized he was talking about Redding and didn’t know how to answer the question, not wanting to get into her childhood with someone who was basically a stranger.

“Yes, well sort of. From the time I was about 7.” She was saved from any potential follow-up questions when the desktop flashed on, a picture of what appeared to be a much younger Duff, with two small girls, one blonde and one brunette, hanging off of him. All three had grins on their faces.

“Those are my daughters, Grace and Mae.” CJ smiled and said,

“They’re so cute!”

“They’re 19 and 16 now, hopefully you’ll be able to meet them at some point. They have all their own activities going on and things with their mom, it’s hard to find a time they can both come out.” His mind appeared to be elsewhere for a brief moment before he snapped out of it and re-focused on the computer. “I’ll give you a run down of everything my old assistant used to do. I don’t think you should have any trouble, it’s pretty simple stuff.” He opened his email. “He’d usually start the day by checking and answering emails or making phone calls if it is needed. Some of them might be interview or partnership requests. Before you answer those, you can run them by me.”

“Seems like what I’d do at my aunt’s office. A lot of emails and phone calls.”

“It is,” he said, “Most of what you’ll do is during shows. I do a few wardrobe and guitar changes. So before shows you’ll get everything together that I need to bring to the venue and help me change and swap out guitars during the show.” The prospect of helping him change his clothing made CJ’s face redden. “I’ll give you a list of the things I’ll need before the show, so you’ll know. It’s most of the same stuff every time.” He appeared to think for a moment before continuing. “Other than that, there’s not much else. Sometimes I need someone to run small errands, like to get coffee, but that’s usually only on show days.”

“Sounds good to me. Whatever you need from me.” He flashed her a handsome smile that re-awoke the butterflies.

“Just don’t be afraid to ask questions.” Duff turned off his laptop before closing it. “Oh! There is one more thing.” He pulled out his phone and opened Instagram. “I do tend to make my own posts on social media, but sometimes I would have my assistant do it. I’ll take any advice or suggestions you have; social media is not my strong suit. You probably know more about it than I do, seeing as you’re a millennial.” There was a slightly teasing tone to his voice. She laughed and said,

“You’ll be disappointed to know that I barely spend time on social media.”

“Well, you’re still probably quicker at it than I am,” he said with a smirk.

“Ok boomer,” she shot back at him.

“Are you assuming my age right now?”

“Maybe I am.” Pleased with herself for matching his playful banter, CJ was quickly feeling any anxiety or awkwardness left inside of her melt away.

“I’ll email you the login info for all my accounts so you can access them from your laptop and phone. How about starting officially tomorrow?”

“Ya, when should I be up?”

“11:00 is fine. There’s no real rush. But on show days, things are a bit busier. I’ll let you know the day before what the schedule will be.” CJ smiled, relieved that things seemed so laidback. Working for Duff seemed like it was going to be relatively easy and fun. She wasn’t sure what issues her aunt had had with him.

“This is a lot better than working at my aunt’s office.”

“What did you aunt have you doing?”

“A lot of the same things, you know, minus the concerts and traveling. But she can be pretty particular about stuff.” CJ enjoyed working for her aunt, but Mindy could micromanage things when she became anxious or overwhelmed. It was an issue that CJ occasionally had to remind her about so she would back off a bit.

The sound of CJ’s phone ringing in her pocket made her jump. She pulled it out to see Mindy calling. She turned to Duff and said,

“I better take this, or she’ll think I’ve been kidnapped.” CJ answered and put the phone to her ear. “Hey, I was just talking about you.”

“Oh?”

“I’m here with Duff, going over things.” Mindy’s tone changed and she said,

“Not being any trouble, is he?” Before she could answer she felt Duff gently slip the phone from her ear and press it to his own with a mischievous grin, having heard their conversation.

“Mindy, I’m crushed that you think I would cause any trouble for your lovely niece,” he said in a playful tone, side-eying her as he spoke. There was silence on the other end for a moment before CJ heard her aunt speak.

“It’s nice to talk to you again Duff. What has it been? 25, 30 years?”

“27 or 28, I think. God we are old now, aren’t we? Your niece pointed it out to me earlier.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Listen, CJ won’t have any trouble here. She will be taken care of with us, you don’t need to worry.”

“She better McKagan, or it’ll be you I come for.” Instead of continuing to tease her aunt, Duff appeared to shift into speaking in a more serious tone, the playful edge gone.

“I will keep a close eye on her Mindy. Nothing will happen to her. I give you my word. She’s my responsibility.” There was silence on the other end. “I have two of my own, I know how you feel.” That seemed to satisfy her aunt, at least for the time being.

“Thank you,” said Mindy. “Now can I go back to talking to my kid?” He handed the phone back to CJ, the tension broken. As much as CJ appreciated the care for her wellbeing, she suddenly felt like a child. Her aunt tended to baby her and be overprotective, forgetting that she was a 28-year-old woman. It had always been a mild annoyance to CJ, but now it was painfully obvious, and she felt embarrassed. She pressed the phone back to her ear and said,

“Hey, we are finishing up, I’ll call you back when I get to my room.”

-

CJ did not immediately call Mindy back and instead hit the gym to relieve her embarrassment and anger. Her aunt’s overprotectiveness had never been a major issue. She had slowly come to realize that she had led a relatively sheltered life under her care, minus her time in college. It made sense, given her situation with her mother and all the time her aunt had spent worrying about her as a child. She tried to tell herself this as she finished up her workout.

After getting back from the gym she called Mindy, and they had a short conversation about her mini vacation with Michelle. When she got off the phone she considered going and exploring Dublin, but she decided to instead shower and do some afternoon reading before she had to get ready for dinner.

-

It was 5:45 P.M., Duff sat on his bed, dressed and ready for dinner, staring at the contacts list on his phone, debating on whether or not he should text CJ and ask her if she wanted to walk downstairs with him to the restaurant. Although he had acted calmly on the call with Mindy, he had internalized her words, as well as his own. CJ was his responsibility. And he didn’t doubt for a second that Mindy would have his balls if anything actually did happen to her while on tour. But he also didn’t want to seem like he was being a controlling boss or watching her every move. Just act how you would with Grace. As his daughters had grown, he had learned when to back off. But this was not his kid. Definitely not your kid. He quickly stopped his mind from wandering back to his initial attraction to CJ. Going over the job description with her had helped him get on a more professional mindset. Additionally, his conversation with Mindy had forced any dirty thoughts he had to the far back corner of his mind. She’s just a kid. She’s your employee. Treat her as such.

Duff stood up and slipped his phone into his back pocket before grabbing his wallet and leaving the room. The time he had spent debating whether to text CJ became irrelevant when he saw her already standing by the elevator, waiting to go downstairs. She had changed into a long black strapless jumpsuit with a gold chain belt cinched around her waist. She had to have been wearing heels underneath the jumpsuit because she stood almost as tall as him. He took a deep breath. She’s just a kid. She’s your employee. Treat her as such.

CJ had noticed him before he had said anything. She smiled at him and said, “Oh good, I was hoping I’d see someone.” The elevator doors opened, and they stepped in. He turned to her and asked,

“Are you nervous?”

“A little,” she admitted, “I didn’t know how big of a crowd it would be.”

“It shouldn’t be a lot, just the band members, some of their family members, and some crew members.”

“That sounds like a lot,” she said with a laugh.

“Well don’t worry, you can stick with me, and I’ll introduce you to everyone.” She appeared to visibly relax with that. When the elevator doors opened, Duff was pleased to see the lobby was vacant. The restaurant was across the lobby, and he approached the podium. The hostess must have recognized him and did not ask for identification or name and took them back to the private room Axl had reserved.

Axl was already there with Beta, seated in a lounge chair, drink in hand. He had seen them enter and got up to greet them.

“I’m glad to see you two here,” he turned to CJ speaking more directly to her. “How was your afternoon?”

“It was nice, I just relaxed and did some reading.” Duff made a mental note to ask her at some point about her reading preferences. As CJ continued to chat with Axl, Duff scanned the room. Slash and Meegan were not there yet, but someone else was. He could feel her gaze burning into him. Seated in the corner with a few other crew members was a middle-aged red-headed woman. She had been watching him darkly with her blue gaze, but had also zeroed in on CJ standing next to him. She stood up out of her seat, straightening her champagne-colored dress before striding over towards them. Fuck. As CJ finished her conversation with Axl, she turned back to him. As she opened her mouth to speak to him, she was interrupted by the red head approaching them.

“Hello Duff and….?”

“Hey Vanessa,” he said, forcing a small smile. “This is CJ, my new personal assistant. CJ, this is Vanessa, one of the band photographers.”

“New assistant?” said Vanessa in an overly sweet voice. “What happened to the old one?”

“He had a family emergency,” he said, “Couldn’t make it on this leg of the tour.”

“And where’d you find this one?” Vanessa spoke as if CJ was not standing there. To his surprise, CJ chimed in.

“I’m one of Axl’s friends. It’s nice to meet you.” CJ held out her hand to Vanessa, who paused for a moment before reaching up and stiffly shaking it with a tight smile. Wanting out of the situation, Duff said,

“Well, we’ll go find our seats. It was nice seeing you, Vanessa.” He lightly put his arm around CJ and gently guided her over towards the table where Axl had set his things down and Slash had just arrived at. CJ laughed nervously and said,

“She was um-, nice.” Duff had not thought about having to see Vanessa. They had spent a few nights in bed together on the last leg of the tour, but it had not gone beyond that. She had wanted more from him and become somewhat possessive towards the end of the last leg. He thought maybe with the break things would cool down, but it clearly hadn’t. Having CJ with him almost constantly would just add fuel to the fire. But Duff could not explain this to CJ.

“She’s just, slow to warm up to people.”

Duff took a seat next to CJ at the table, across from Slash and Meegan. Meegan looked up from her menu and said,

“You must be CJ, it’s so nice to meet you, I’m Meegan.” Duff was surprised that Meegan already knew CJ’s name, but she usually seemed to know what was going on, sometimes quicker than he did.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” said CJ.

“CJ, this is Slash, the band’s lead guitarist, and his girlfriend, Meegan Hodges,” said Duff. Slash reached over to shake her hand and said,

“It’s nice to meet you CJ.” He leaned back in his seat with a small smile and said, “Man, I could tell you some stories about your aunt.” Meegan gave him a light playful tap in the ribs and said,

“Leave the girl alone, she doesn’t need to hear about that right now.” Duff met Slash’s gaze and smirked with mutual knowledge. Meegan had spotted the bartender walk behind the counter, ready to take more drink orders. She turned to CJ and said,

“Wanna come get a drink with me?” CJ smiled and nodded. Duff was relieved that she hadn’t been flustered by Vanessa and had found someone to connect with besides himself or Axl. The two women got up and walked towards the bar. Once they were out of earshot, Slash turned to him with a devilish expression.

“You fucking lucky bastard.” Duff knew this was coming with Slash.

“Stop.”

“You cannot tell me that you wouldn’t-”

“Stop.” Slash scoffed at him.

“Oh, come on. If this was 30 years ago, you’d-”

“Stop.”

“I can’t believe that’s Mindy’s kid.”

“Niece, she’s her niece.”

“What’s the situation there?” Duff had wondered that himself. It was not appropriate to ask CJ such a blatant question, but he couldn’t help but wonder how she had ended up in the custody of her aunt as a kid.

“I don’t know.” Slash appeared to resign to the fact that Duff was not going to answer any of his questions. He picked up his menu and opened it with a flourish, eyeing him playfully over the top of it and said,

“Well, you just let me know if anything happens with her.” Duff opened his own menu and looked down at it while saying,

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit, you don’t know what I’m talking about.” CJ and Meegan returned to the table, each holding a glass of wine, officially ending the conversation. But it didn’t stop Slash from glancing fiendishly at him across the table for the rest of the night.

[fanficwriter284]

Because Kenz is one annoying neighbor....

It was 4:30 am all the Rays had been vast asleep, snoring till the sun began to peak over neighborhood. There had been no intension of anyone waking up anytime soon, because it was a Saturday, the day where no one gets out of bed early. Unless you were Chucky. He had been abruptly awakened by knocking at the front door, he of course was the only one to wake up since he was the lightest sleeper in the household. He grumbled his way down the steps nearly falling down due to his vision being hazed.

"Fuck my life...who the fuck is at the door....Oh....McKenzie"

"Charles"

"Told ya to quit calling me that"

"There's something off about you and your family...ever since I moved here..."

"You're point?"

"There's something you are hiding...and I'm going to figure it out"

"Oh really good luck with that...is THAT why you woke me up at 4 in the morning....for your senseless bullshit"

"Did you just curse at ME"

"Yes...I fucking did...frankly it's too early and I'm honestly too tired to deal with your shit...so just leaaaavvveeeee"

"And one other thing Charles"

"Ugh what?"

"Your mutt keeps finding my way into my garden and destroying my plants if he does it again, I'm calling the animal control am I clear and the school about your children?"

"Beau? Wait wait...was that a threat?"

"No...it's a promise"

Chucky felt his left eye twitch, he was getting that tick of his of desperately wanting to tear that never closing mouth of hers off, but he fought the urge off trying to keep his cool. His fantasy would jeopardize everything he's worked for, and he's not allowed to harm a single person in their neighborhood. In order for him to have a fun spree he had to make a long drive to another city, town, or neighborhood.

".......Listen very closely...you McKenzie have been a pain in the ass to deal with on the daily since you got here, and you constantly coming over here and complaining can pretty much be filed as harassment. So don't you fucking dare come off to my house and threaten me and my family...or I swear to God...I will make your life a living hell....am I clear?"

The women felt intimidated but Chucky's sudden change in expression, it no longer seemed fake and rehearsed, his threat sounded genuine and with his tone of voice...sinister. She just backed away giving him hateful glares with he returned with a deep scowl as he watched head back from the hold she crawled out of.

Chucky made sure she was gone and inside her house before he shut his door. Once safe in his own home he let out a sigh and climbed up the stairs once more. He slumped into the covers, resting his head against the bedframe looking at the ceiling, hoping the spinning fan would help him fall back asleep with its hypnotic spiraling. He raised a brow feeling an arm snuggle around him and gave a small smirk to the possessor of the arm.

"Morning Sweetface"

"Morning"

"Who was at the door?"

"The bitch next door"

"Again?"

"Yup....Tiff... I don't know how long I can keep the whole "good guy" routine up...Like....I almost lost it down there...the bitch threatened me...well the kids..."

"Wait what"

"The audacity of that bitch like god damn..."

Tiffany saw her husband sag his face a little, his face exhausted and a bit perplexed, with tension in his bones.

"Hey...I'm proud of you Sweetface"

"...hehe...why? I haven't done anything"

"Oh Chucky...but you have I'm proud that you've been trying to cut back...ya know for the kids....for their normal life and managing to stay calm"

Chucky snickered pulled her tighter to his chest feeling the warmth of his skin against hers.

"Thanks Tiff"

[cowandcalf]

NaNoWriMo 2022: 21 days done, 42′500 word written. I feel the strain, guys. This year’s NaNo is tough, relentless and there’s not freakig time for a breather. My friend and I have a buddy-system. Never letting the other down, no matter how late, or how tired we are, we get the damn word count done. And we comment on each other’s story. I write about 5k a day with the comments and all the crazy thoughts we exchange. I feel it. Seven more day. We got this.

McDanno WIP, I ended up writing again a longer story. What’s new? (laughs hystercially). Be Your Very Best In The Darkest Time - snipet from today’s writing (Soul Swap AU - Spirit Shifter) - In this scene Steve has merged with Danny’s soul, he’s inside Danny’s inner space.

"Do you, really, Danny? Have you ever had a sister, kidnapped by the worst, most brutal men on Earth? Huh, they treat women like animals and my baby sister is in their hands and I need – " "No, I haven't, Steve and I'm very sorry you have to go through this terrible experience and I'm so sorry for Mary, too." Danny senses the bone-deep fear Steve tries to keep under wraps. Instead, he stokes the inner fire to change the fear into rage and the flames are burning high and hot. Danny lets him but tries with the soft vibration of water and earth to calm Steve's inner havoc and to keep the flames at a minimum level. "We will get her back, Steve. I do whatever I can to get her back with your team. I'll promise, I'll give all I've got and that's a lot. You're with me but I can't let out, not like this. You have never trained to be inside someone else's body and you have no idea what you're doing. How to move and adapt. You're using more the Godzilla-style, to be honest, and I can tell you it's not pleasant to feel that." Now, Steve gets even angrier. "Then show me! We have enough time until we need to get ready." "No, Steve, it's not something I can teach you in a few hours. It's so much more than that . . . and there's no need to get angry. And stop jerking around so hard. It's not a boxing bag you can hit whenever you feel like it. I know you always aim for being the best but I have my hands full to make it as pleasant for you as possible, okay? I can't just give you a crash course. I'm not doing it. And you can't make me. I'll take care of everything and – " For the first time since they merged Steve wants to retreat, and create some distance between them. "Don't give me the damn speech about how everything will be okay, Danny. Don't insult me. I know what we're getting into and I know that Mary will need a fuck-ton of treatment, physically and psychologically once we'll get her out. And we will get her out. There's no other possibility. Okay? I need her to be okay." Steve's fear gushes hot into Danny’s inner space and Danny hopes he just can catch him enough to make it bearable. "I know, Steve, I'm here for you."

[majesticwren]

The Wolf and The Snake

Lambert!The Witcher Game x OC!She-Witcher

Words: 11k

Trigger Warnings: Mention of Sex, Smut, Lots of Offensive Language and Swearing, Lambert is His Own Trigger Warning but Calanthe is Worse. A/N: it's now canon in this universe that the Witchers of The School of the Viper have a forked tongue. I was struck by the idea and I added the detail randomly in the chapter.

Divider by: @firefly-graphics .

Tags: @errruvande @uwuttaja

Masterpost Playlist

Chapter 4 - Under My Skin.

Calanthe was violently spinning out of control and there was nothing she could do to find any peace.

After she stormed off, leaving Lambert, her anger, pride, arousal, and dissatisfaction grew, leaving her unfulfilled. Dark, stormy clouds developed inside of her, mixing with the already raging feelings she had about the entire situation she found herself in.

So, she did the only thing she thought could be a solution: she went to a brothel.

It was the perfect place to hide, guards wouldn’t have looked for a woman in there.

Plus, in all honesty, her aim wasn’t hiding, she had needs to satisfy. Calanthe truly hoped to find release paying for some anonymous, no-strings-attached, harmless sex.

Initially, she thought she wanted the company of a woman, only because the idea of being touched by a man reminded her of Lambert too much, making her even more upset. But then her attention got caught by a strong-looking man with dark hair. And there was not much reasoning she could have done after that. She already wasn’t thinking straight, and she was too feral and dominated by her own emotions to know then that she would have cursed herself for her choices later.

She paid for her mistake soon enough.

Besides the man’s best efforts – and there was lots of effort from both sides – there was nothing that would bring her satisfaction.

She found herself to be constantly distracted by intrusive thoughts she didn’t want. Every time she found herself coming close to any kind of release, her mind would immediately be polluted by thoughts about Lambert. She was aware that the man she was fucking wasn’t him. And not just because of his looks. It was a primal, sensory connection she was missing. She knew his skin didn’t smell like his, nor his hands were quite as big, or as strong. His lips tasted of honey mead instead of blood and Berbercane fruit.

Nothing freed her from being tormented by the constant, unprompted, unwanted curiosity to know what Lambert’s naked body would feel like under her palms. She wondered what kind of lover he would be. Was he skilled and caring, or was he cockier and more selfish? Or again, would he welcome his pleasure with loud moans, or would he quietly breathe his lover’s name?

She wanted to know what it would feel like, what it would smell and sound like.

She decided to put a stop to that entire ordeal when the man tried to pleasure her with his mouth. It wasn’t that he wasn’t skilled – he was worth his coin. It was that as soon as the pleasure started to mount inside her stomach, she made the mistake to look down at him. Her mind was quicker than her common sense, gifting her with the vision of deep, dark, electric yellow eyes looking back up at her from between her legs.

It was enough to shake her deeply. But then, as for everything else, as soon as she realised that it was only a fantasy, the warmth of her pleasure got ripped off her body by the cold hands of frustration.

So, now, Calanthe sat in the deep, round, wooden bathtub, trying her best to find any form of comfort for her tired bones and uncovered nerves.

She was far from enjoying her longed-for bath, though. Even if the water was hot and infused with soothing oils aimed to cleanse her dirty skin, calm her tensed muscles and help clear her tired mind. Instead, her thoughts were loud and pressing. She was still fidgety and jumpy, worse than before, as an unsettling, unknown feeling clutched around her already too-exposed nerves.

The bathhouse section of the brothel was quieter. The air was made thick by the steam of the baths and the smoke of the incense. Its smell was so strong that could easily cloud thoughts and judgement.

Of course, anyone’s but hers, because that sounded like a pretty sweet idea if only she was allowed to find any kind of relaxation.

For a moment Calanthe wondered if drinking would have helped. Could she drown in so much booze to render her unable to think and feel anything? That sounded pretty sweet as a possibility. But then she had to remind herself that she needed to remain vigilant and sane.

Calanthe punched the water out of frustration, releasing a deep, tired sigh. The noise of water suddenly moving echoed in the empty room. “Damn.” She hissed, leaning her back onto the tub resting her head on its edge.

She never asked for any of it. She didn’t want to be there. She didn’t want to be between so many people. Especially she didn’t like the idea that the news of her presence in Valen could become more than rumours. And it would have, since the mess they unleashed at the garrisons.

Her only hope, at that point, since how war tended to go, was that the city guards had too much to do and not enough resources to start a manhunt.

She needed to get out of Oxenfurt fast.

The Quartermaster paid for his mistakes. It didn’t mean he was the only man thinking similarly.

She had big shoulders, she wasn’t scared of taking a beating and, if it needed to be, she could endure more harsh torture in order to protect someone she loved – that wasn’t her problem. Her problem was that people were onto her.

How long would have taken them to start tracking her trying to pursue Letho?

She didn’t even know if he was alive. She could hope, but she did not know. And regardless, the possibility was grim either way.

She had no intention to have to deal with hounds, which was the main reason why she wanted to be left alone and always remain hidden in the shadow.

If he were alive, she didn’t want to be responsible to create a trace straight to him. At the same time, it was unthinkable for her to proceed in any other direction, letting it be.

And if he were dead, she knew that dealing with the loss and the grief would have made her insane with pain. She would have massacred people who were trying to get a piece of the Kingslayer for themselves. Risking her own life to protect his memory.

Calanthe slid her arms around her chest, hugging herself tightly as her mind was swallowed by all those thoughts.

She didn’t want to think about either of those possibilities.

As much as she couldn’t imagine having to lose more time waiting. If only Lambert didn’t lie to her, if only he stuck to his part of the deal, she wouldn’t be in that situation. If he had simply brought her to Geralt, she could have been on her way already, with no burden, a clear answer, and a direction.

But no. He had to do what he thought was right, acting his own way. And now she had more problems than before.

Besides the fact that she was losing time, not being any closer to Letho than before, and besides the fact that she spent her evening being beaten up, now, there was also that attraction she had to deal with.

It was a feeling that pulled her like a magnet closer to a man she did not trust or like much. And yet, it was there loud and clear. So primal and instilled in the deeper layers of her being that she wasn’t able to recognise it as a good thing. For some reason, it sent her feral, but it also left her feeling like she was in a fight-or-flight situation at all times.

It wasn’t the arousal. She could deal with raw desire. It wasn’t the fact that they kissed either. It was the way it had happened. It was the way she melted between his arms, lowering her defences without even realising it. It was the way she craved being moulded by his hands. It was that she was drawn towards Lambert specifically.

How did it happen? When did she start developing such desire? To what point she registered Lambert’s scent as something that could turn her on?

“How could you be so stupid?” She muttered to herself, releasing another deep sigh. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to find a moment of peace that simply wouldn’t come.

She was only left with that nerve-wracking, bones-gnawing, skin-shivering feeling to torture her.

Calanthe opened her eyes. Something shifted inside of her. Her yellow irises burned with the determination a warrior would have looking into a fight.

She was not a coward. She did not hide. She fought, always.

Fear had been washed off her genes a long time ago. And being a slave of her own emotions was not her. The solution to her problems was quite simple. Running from it clearly proved to be the wrong course of action.

So, why run when she could turn and get straight into it? Maybe she would have gotten dirty, but at least she would have also found a way to get rid of the problem entirely.

Calanthe returned to The Alchemy Inn hiding under her thick, dark cloak. For a couple of coins, she bought a deep bag from a random guy at the brothel that she used to hide her armour. The chest piece was formed by flexible plates able to easily bend so it was easy for her to slide in and out of it without any help, but also it was very easy to store away. 

Handy when she needed to move unnoticed.

If the guards were looking for her, she knew they were looking for a She-Witcher in a gold and black armour with double swords on her back, which was the main reason why she also carried her swords wrapped together by hand, and hid in the bag the daggers she would carry crossed on her stomach.

She stood by the door for a moment, looking around.

The ground floor main room of the Inn was crowded, but not as much as before. Now, it was mostly populated by drunken men and prostitutes trying to make a coin. The room was lit by many torches and candles, the air smelled of smoke, roasted meat and wine.

It was welcoming.

She exchanged a quick look with the Innkeeper, still standing behind the counter.

She wondered if she was safe there. Truth was, she didn’t believe to be, but she didn’t have many alternatives. Not for the time being. But she couldn’t hide away, the Innkeeper knew exactly who she was, or Lambert for what it mattered, so she imagined if he wanted to sell them off, he would have done so already.

But the fact that there were no guards waiting for her there gave her a spark of trust in the Innkeeper's intentions.

Calanthe turned, aiming towards what she was looking for. It was as if her nerves and skin knew Lambert was close even before she saw him.

She found him sitting on the table in the corner. His dark frame was unmissable, especially since her sixth sense guided her attention to him even before her sight or any other sense could.

The table was covered in dishes filled with food discards and mugs. It looked like he had a feast. A random guy slept on the bench opposite his; his chalice of wine was spilt on his shirt. Another collapsed by his plate.

But that wasn't what made her brow lift and her lips pout.

A woman was sitting on Lambert's lap.

By how revealing her clothes were, Calanthe imagined she was a working girl.

Though, it appeared she really liked her job right now.

Upon closer inspection, Calanthe realised she was straddling him, which was something that, possibly, annoyed her even more than the fact that they were busy unashamedly making out.

He sat with his knees departed and held her tight against his crotch solidly grabbing her ass with both hands.

Calanthe’s throat was suddenly as dry as if she had swallowed sand.

Calanthe studied how the slim body of the woman fell perfectly between his arms. She was small and lean, her pale skin was smooth, unmarked by scars. For only a moment she wondered if that was the kind of taste Lambert had for women. Soft, warm and delicate.

Her jealousy and pride raged loud as she forgot everything about common sense and the fact that he was effectively paying for sex. It didn’t have any meaning. And she forgot how biased her line of thoughts was since she herself just paid someone to fuck her.

Lowering her hood, she moved closer to the table, glaring at Lambert like a predator would with their prey.

She grabbed an empty wooden flask of wine and smacked it against the surface of the table to get their attention. As both were startled, Lambert immediately shot her a glare. He didn’t appear surprised, as if he was only waiting for her.

Calanthe narrowed her eyes, ready to say something, but was distracted by the woman gasping as she looked at her face. The woman’s arousal soaked the air around them, making Cala draw her teeth, but worse was the sudden disgust the woman directed towards her while studying the scars that carved her features.

The woman turned towards Lambert. Her cheeks were reddened and her lips tumid and wetted by kisses, as her gaze lingered on his mouth. She slid a hand on his jawline and then down his neck, as she hung on his figure solidly holding his shoulder. “Who’s this?” She wondered, leaning her head so as to uncover her pale, long neck.

Lambert wasn’t looking at her though. He was looking at Calanthe.

As their eyes met, her yellow irises glimmered with a dangerous light. Calanthe was precariously hanging on an edge, feeling as if she needed to act to mark what was hers. Even if she had no right to do so.

He was waiting for her with a cocky smile printed on his reddened lips. His yellow eyes were bright and vigilant as he looked at her. He didn't appear inclined to lower his pride as he kept holding the other woman. It was as if he was challenging her. "How can I help you this time?" His sarcastic, slightly annoyed tone was betrayed by the look he gave her.

"Come with me." She ordered signalling upstairs with a nod.

Lambert welcomed her words with a prickly burst of laughter, shaking his head. "What, are you done fucking around and now expect something from me?"

His reaction betrayed his annoyance and Calanthe suspected it wasn’t because she distracted him now, but because she left him hanging earlier.

The woman still straddling him tried to get his attention sliding a hand on his chest through his loosened shirt.

Calanthe damned herself as her eyes followed that movement. Seeing the woman’s pale, thin fingers sliding on his skin, right under his collarbone, made her hands twitch with the sudden, homicidal desire to break and dislocate every one of the twenty-seven bones that woman had in her hand. Worse though, was the fact that her mouth watered as she had a glimpse of the curly, dark hair that covered his chest.

She had to push herself to remember any sort of control, as she looked up at the ceiling, trying her best to remind herself she was not an animal and Lambert was no one to make such a mess out of her.

“I didn’t know you had a companion.” The woman on Lambert’s lap purred, and her words brought both Witchers to look right at her. Calanthe didn’t realise how his pupils had changed while looking at her until he looked back at the woman on his lap. As the yellow of his irises swallowed his pupils back into thin slits a shiver crossed her.

“Is she your wife? She sure sounds like an angry, controlling one.”

The promiscuous, seducing tone she was giving off, accompanied by a smile that would have melted through ice, was made to be effective. Calanthe would bet she was not interested in the answer, but only in getting Lambert’s attention back on her.

Calanthe knew that for the woman it wasn’t a matter of sentiment, but business. Losing Lambert’s attention meant losing coin to possibly eat. But at the same time, Calanthe was too lost in her own emotions to react with brains.

“Witchers don’t wed.” It was the only thing Lambert said to her. It wasn’t an answer to her question. He then turned back towards Calanthe, offering a sharp, cutting-throat smile. “What do you want from me, darling?”

Calanthe rolled her eyes, loudly grumbling out of pure irritation. He was so annoying, to the point it was something that easily slid under her skin. And for that specific reason, she couldn’t understand why she also desired him that much.

When she looked back at him, her intentions appeared so clear through the hungry look she gave him that she thought there was no place for misunderstandings. Yet, she wasn’t satisfied, and neither was Lambert. His thirst for chaos clearly glimmered through his yellow eyes, and the musky smell of his desire filled her nose.

She placed her hands on the table, leaning closer. She looked down at him, making sure her eyes crossed every feature of his face, down across his neck and chest. Then, looking back up, she focused on his lips. She felt the air around him shift as he quivered.

“I need you to come upstairs and fuck me. I need you to do me so well I won’t remember my name. Get me?” Calanthe looked back into his eyes, loosing herself into their bright gold light. His pupils were dilatated like the ones of a cat rolling in catnip. “Can you do that, darling?” She mocked him on purpose and loved to see that her words visibly brought him on edge.

He was looking at her with such intensity to make her tremble. She could not read his mind, though something suggested to her that his thoughts were to satisfy her desire there and then.

Lambert inhaled a deep sigh and as he closed his eyes, collecting his thoughts, Calanthe backed off, leaving him space. She didn’t even need an answer from him, his reaction was more than enough.

The wave of confidence that washed off her was enough to make her feel as powerful and as gorgeous as the most desirable woman on that Earth.

Remembering about the working girl third-wheeling them, Calanthe turned towards her, offering a satisfied smirk, thinking to herself that’s how is done.

He looked back at the woman who still sat in his lap and offered her a polite smile. “Sorry, love.” He shrugged and shoved her to the side, getting her off himself. She was speechless, looking at him with utter annoyance as her lips departed in a dismayed pout. Lambert squeezed himself between his shoulders. “You heard the woman, I have duties. There are high expectations on my shoulders-”

At that point, Calanthe didn’t even care that he was such a cocky ass. She had no time or energy to roll her eyes. She was only interested in the fact that she obtained what she wanted.

She liked to feel larger, stronger and as desirable as she felt right now. She always liked to have control, not easily bending under others’ will. She was used to being the hunter, the predator. She was the charmer. When her attention was fixed on something or someone, she was used to doing anything in her power to get the object of her desire.

And she was in charge. She was in control, she led, always. She was the one who did the charming as much as she was the one who did the fucking.

Yet, as Lambert’s attention moved on her, a shiver crossed her back.

He walked towards her and moved around her figure. It appeared to be a cliché analogy, but he did feel like a hungry wolf, as he circled her figure so closely his chest caressed her shoulders. He pushed his face in her hair, inhaling her smell. “The real question is,” he pushed his face closer to her ear, “do you think you can take it, darling?”

Part of her was deeply shaken by his whisper. She knew he was smirking and her mind was suddenly crossed by her desperate need to see such a cocky smirk printed on his face as he pushed himself inside of her.

Her thoughts became turbid and confused as her lust took over.

She could not quite put her finger on what she specifically wanted from him. She desired to have him, but differently from any other man or woman she accepted as a lover, she didn’t want to prevail over him. The idea he could be a match for her. Imagining him dominating her, bending her to his will, doing to her what he pleased, made her mind lose clarity and her knees become as soft as jelly.

Calanthe moved quickly and turned towards him. Grabbing his shirt she pushed him against the table edge, following him so as to remain as close as possible. She uncovered her teeth as a dangerous light shined through her eyes. “You better make up to such a promise.”

Lambert chuckled, letting his head fall backwards. Calanthe was distracted by the column of his neck, for a moment, but then she pushed herself back to focus. She let him go and gathered her stuff off the ground. “Let’s go.” She was done talking, now.

As they both moved towards the stairs, Lambert stopped to throw a couple of coins on the table, sending the woman he left hanging a nod. “For your endeavours.”

“Fuck you.” She barked at him, every trace of seducing promise to erotism had left her by then.

He giggled like a teenager, finding her words extremely funny.

Turning towards Lambert, Calanthe just remembered that he had his tongue shoved in another woman’s mouth up to a few minutes ago. She wasn’t smiling. Only thinking about that still filled her with possessive anger, even if she was literally leading him to share the bed. So, as he did to walk away, she stopped him pressing a hand on his chest.

Lambert lowered his eyes to her. The yellow energy of his eyes surrounded her with the softest of looks, it was as if every reason to be upset at her left him. Now there was only hot desire in his gaze.

“Drink something.” She ordered, lifting her chin. Lambert frowned but still offered her a smile, shaking his head slowly. “I am not thirsty-” his eyes swallowed her, “not for cheap beer anyway.”

She didn’t need to read his mind to know his thoughts were dirty. And she gasped for air. Gods, one day she knew she would have found embarrassing the idea that a man like him brought her to her knees with absolutely no effort. By mistake almost.

She shook her head, trying to find some focus. “No. Wash your mouth.”

The quick look she sent just over his shoulder was enough to underline what she meant. She had no intention to taste another woman on his lips. Only thinking about the possibility made her thoughts storm into violent desires.

Lambert obeyed. He didn’t take his eyes off her for one second, as he reached for a random cup from the table and drank it. His ego was enlarged as he welcomed her approval of his move with a confident smile.

She knew he could smell her satisfaction.

After that, they finally got upstairs.

Entering Lambert’s room, Calanthe gave a good look around, studying every detail of it, both out of curiosity and to assess how safe it was.

He didn’t lie before, that room was almost double the size of hers. It was warmed by a crackling fire next to a huge bathtub and it was lit by torches and candles. It even had a window with a lovely view of the market square. The furniture appeared in good shape, and the room was clean. Besides the clear marks of fresh mud Lambert’s boots spread around the floor.

It was extremely luxurious for people like them, who were used to sleeping under the stars or, when things went well, in the warm corner of a tavern.

His stuff was gathered in a corner. Next to the saddlebags left dangling on the side of a comfy-looking armchair, there were his armour pieces and weapons.

She couldn’t keep herself from walking closer, chanted by his swords. She softly caressed the hilt of his silver sword, studying its round pommel and long wooden grip.

Calanthe left her stuff next to his, stripping off her cloak, bags and weapons. Then, she turned over, finding Lambert leaning against the door, his arms crossed in a restful position, as he gazed upon her with his yellow eyes. A smile crossed his full lips. “What made you come back to me?” He wondered. His tone was now not only cocky but also soft, making her skin feel warm.

She really wanted to point out that she didn’t go back to him as one would do to an intimate lover. But it appeared unimportant and incoherent since she did, in fact, go look for him specifically.

“I went to a brothel,” she began explaining as she raised her hands to her hair, starting to loosen the still dump braids, “I’ve got frustrated. So, I came back.”

He gave himself a push with his shoulder and moved closer to her. “But why?” His stride was slow and attentive, but there was no fear or doubt in his behaviour. He wasn’t acting that way because he was being cautious. He genuinely wanted to hear her voice her thoughts.

She waited for him and as he raised his hands to her face, gently caressing her jawline, she raised her chin. Her eyes glimmered as determination shined through them. Lambert’s smile sharpened underlining his hunger. “Tell me.” He leaned closer, enough so she could taste the warmth of his breath on the tip of her tongue, giving her a shiver, making her mouth water, but not enough to kiss her. That distance was enough to drive her insane.

She wasn’t thinking straight to that point, her desires were blinding her.

Calanthe pushed herself closer to him and, without having any patience to wait any longer, she pushed a hand on his crotch. As her fingers caressed the bulge of his erection constricted inside his trousers, she purred. “I am done talking, Lambert.”

Besides the fact that she had no intention to bond with him and get personal, she was truly running out of patience, to the point she didn’t even care to appear desperate and needy.

He nodded as if her words were an order he accepted. Then he wrapped his hands around her neck, pulling her closer. It was a soft grab. One of his palms surrounded her throat as his thumb and fingers clutched to either side of her face, as the other he pushed between her hair, grabbing on the nape of her neck, much like he did before. And like before, it was enough for her to melt between his hands.

He kissed her in a way that made her think he was trying to bring them to continue from where they left off. Now, that wasn’t soft. His lips were hungry and demanding. He gave them no time to get used to each other mouths.

That was the kind of desire she wanted. She wanted to be hit and ravaged by it. She wanted to be consumed in it. She wanted to become it and then get lost in the deep waters of lust, forgetting about herself, her thoughts and everything else.

She welcomed Lambert’s famished but soft lips with equal craving. Letting a small moan leave her chest, she filled her lungs up with his scent that fogged up her mind and travelled across her, firing up her nerves.

Her skin became hot and sensitive, ready to be touched, kissed and bitten. Her stomach was violently rumbling with the warm vibration that took over her emotions when he was close. And she could feel the pressure of the painful longing growing around her groin as her need to be fulfilled was pushing her closer to being an animal in heat than anything else. She could so clearly feel how dripping wet and ready her core was and the fact they were still wearing clothes was enough to drive her mad.

She rolled her hands around his figure, studying his edges, feeling the need to know what he felt like. She pushed her palms around his hips and then down, around his ass, which she squeezed with a happy purr leaving her chest. Then she followed his spine, testing his solid muscles under her fingers, as she bent her arms enough to grab his shoulders in a tight embrace.

Lambert pulled her hair just enough to break their kiss. He didn’t distance himself from her though. He pushed his face on her neck, assaulting her skin and bringing her to bend between his arms. She didn’t even care that if it wasn’t for him holding her up, by then she would have struggled to find balance.

Their arms untangled and as she rolled hers around his shoulders, Lambert surrounded her body with his. Now he was the one testing her body with open palms, crossing her back and hips.

As he sucked on the sensitive skin under her ear, she pushed one of her hands through his short hair, pressing him against her, while releasing a heavier sigh. The weight of her desire was now unbearable.

Calanthe pushed him away and slid from his arms, only to move back towards the bed.

Even though Lambert appeared to be slightly bothered by her move, still hunched over, lips half-closed and laboured breath, the way his eyes followed her betrayed the fact that he was now ready to follow her in the darkest of pits.

She kicked off her boots and pulled her shirt off the edge of her trousers. Without breaking eye contact with him, she started to loosen the strings that kept her shirt done up on her chest. She saw him tremble, as his eyes got briefly distracted by the movements of her fingers. It didn’t take him long to join her.

Lambert moved closer and imitated her, starting to remove his clothes. When he slipped out of his cottony black shirt, taking it off in a singular, fluid movement, Calanthe lost focus. Her mouth watered as her eyes crossed his naked torso. She gazed upon the edges of his muscles and followed the trail of thick, dark hair that from his chest faded to his abdomen, disappearing under his trousers in a thinner, delicious-looking line.

She absorbed as much as she could of his pale skin marked by dozens of scars, some deeper than others, as the primal need to trace all of them with her tongue became as important as breathing and knowing the story of each one was suddenly as important as drinking water.

He moved closer again, pushing himself against her, but before he could cage her between his arms, Calanthe pushed her hands on his chest, softly guiding him to sit on the edge of the bed and just spectate as she undressed in front of him.

Part of her was surprised that he didn’t object her. Even more, she was surprised by the undeniable chemistry tying them to each other. For some reason, she still hoped she had imagined it all. She thought, sooner or later, she would have shaken that feeling off her, gaining her faculties. But she was clearly wrong, as her only desire right now was to touch him and be as close and as in contact with his skin as possible.

It was, maybe, the longest time they spent without arguing about something and she liked to have him quiet.

Calanthe pushed her index under his chin, making sure to have him look at her as she removed her shirt and then, undoing her belt, she let her trousers fall into a pool around her feet.

The room was welcoming and warm and she felt extremely hot, yet the air on her naked skin felt cold, but that wasn’t what made her shiver and gave her goosebumps. It was the way Lambert’s eyes crossed her body. A low, rumbling noise came from his chest, as his yellow travelled over her entire figure, from head to toe.

He looked at her as if he was looking to an appetising, sweet treat.

And she liked it. She liked it so much that she stood in front of him only to bathe in the desire that rippled off his eyes.

She was capable to charm men and women alike. She had been with many lovers. But rarely she was looked at the way Lambert looked at her now.

Regardless of her being strong and tall, with a muscular body covered in scars and more edges than curves, he still welcomed the sight of her nakedness as if she was the softest, purest woman he had ever seen.

She looked at his eyes crossing her chest, studying her breasts, sliding down on her abdomen, curiously looking at the shape of her hips. He had no shame in looking over her belly button, directly into the nest between her legs. Then over, following her thighs. She felt his gaze upon her body with the same intensity she would have felt a caress of his hands.

The confident feeling that desired made her head spin, it was like a powerful drug.

“Do you like what you see?” She wondered; her voice sounded like a charming hiss that brought Lambert to look back into her eyes.

“Oh, darling-” he choked on his own breath.

Calanthe moved closer and slid on his lap, and Lambert was more than happy to help her straddle him. As soon as he could, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her figure as close to him as possible. He clutched a hand around her knee socket, guiding her, and held her in place surrounding her waist with the other arm, solidly pulling her to welcome his hips between her legs.

She pressed her chest against his and welcomed his warmth as something soothing. For the first time, something felt good against her skin. Even if he was still wearing trousers and their material chafed her skin, Calanthe still rolled her hips, willingly rubbing herself indecently against him.

She rolled an arm around his solid shoulders, and with her other hand, she traced the line of his jaw, caressing his beard. “I like you breathless.”

He didn’t reply, understanding perfectly where her words went, letting her touch him. A smirk crossed her lips as she pressed a thumb on his lower lip. His eyes were so bright, and his cheeks reddened, as his breath appeared to be quickened. “Is the great Lambert of the School of the Wolf flustered?” She wondered sliding a hand through his dark hair, ruffling them.

He welcomed her words with a chuckle and then he pushed her onto the mattress, rolling on top of her.

Calanthe welcomed him between her thighs as he grabbed her arms, locking her wrists in the solid hold of his hands, pushing them over her head. She let him take control.

Lambert pushed his face on her chest and then he traced a trail with his hooked nose all the way up to her ear deeply inhaling her scent. “I can smell your arousal. I feel the taste of your sex on my tongue from here. You were the one who came begging. It seems to me you are the flustered one-”

Calanthe raised her head, facing him, they were both challenging each other now. “I ordered you. I do not beg.”

The wicked smile Lambert offered her was both sweet and scary, full of the promise of beautiful and terrible things. “We’ll see.”

Only the thought made her whimper. Even if she was theoretically against the idea, there was something new and twisted inside of her, now. A sort of desire she never had before. The idea he could have the power to bring her so on edge to bend her will that much gave her a shiver.

He dug his knees into the mattress and rolled his hips against hers. Rubbing himself against her he brought them both to gasp. Feeling his trapped erection pressing against her thigh sent her feral. He was big, hot, and heavy and now, she partially justified his unapologetic, sarcastic cockiness because of that.

“I thought we came up here for some action.” She whispered sardonically, biting her bottom lip, sending him a clear glare hinting she was done playing around.

Lambert chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, sorry - what of my fat, hard cock doesn’t compliment you, darling?” He pushed his hips against her to underline his words.

“You aren’t ploughing me, it seems.”

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“I’ll suck your dick with it, given the chance.”

All she received as an answer was a heartfelt burst of laughter that resonated from his chest all the way through her, leaving Cala feeling even emptier afterwards.

Before she could say anything more, he dawned on her, sealing her lips with another famished kiss, shutting her up. Shortly after he left her lips only to assault her neck again. Though as soon as he started to trace the brutal scars that crossed her neck with the tip of his tongue, Calanthe froze and tried to distance himself from him. “Stop being so soft and fuck me already.” She hissed. This time it was a warning.

That was enough of a command to shake him.

Lambert bolted up, sitting back on his knees. Leaving his hold on her wrists, he grabbed her hips instead, pulling her rudely to slide into the correct position underneath him. Then, he gave her a good look from above.

The sudden distance that divided them left her gasping as the cold air surrounding her gave her a shiver. Or maybe it was seeing him kneeling between her opened, welcoming thighs. She had to admit, he looked so well there. It was a view that made her want to purr.

Lambert’s yellow irises caressed her entire body focusing from time to time on some features she knew, by now, he liked to look at. As he stopped looking at her departed, reddened lips she made sure to pass her forked tongue on them, only to play with him, as much as she lifted her chest, arching her back, pushing her breasts up as Lambert looked at the pearls of her nipples.

She knew his eyes traced the edges of all the scars he could see. He even softly caressed the healed-up edges of claw marks that crossed her belly. Though, this time, it was as if he caught himself. He proceeded to undo his belt, as his eyes shot back into hers. “So, is this what you want,” he removed his belt off his trousers with a single, hard pull that, for some reason, worked, leaving her quivering, “to be fucked raw?”

She nodded, only whimpering at the beginning, and then she imposed herself to speak. “Yes.” She had to bite her tongue not to beg him.

“Yes? Yes, what?” He finally lowered his trousers.

Even if he was finally naked as much as Calanthe had been craving to see him for a while now, he was still too far. The distance between them was unbearably painful. Yet, she found the time and patience to shamelessly looked down. Her eyes followed the line of dark hair under his belly button to his erection and a hungry smile appeared on her lips as she filled her eyes with the sight of his proud manhood.

“Yes, what, woman?” He closed his fist around his own erection, slowly stroking himself all the while looking down at her like a hungry predator. And just like that, Lambert gave her something she wanted, without her even knowing she could have ever desired to be blessed by such sight. 

She gasped for air, unable to think straight, passing her forked tongue on her lips, hissing and purring, bending underneath him. She even departed her legs even more, knowing well she was dripping wet as she felt her core painfully pulse pressured under her need for him.

Calanthe raised her hands to him, unable to stay away. There was, now, an unbearable need that made her palms vibrate to feel his skin under her hands. She wanted his masculinity; she wanted his raw power. Gods she was on the verge to lose every drop of pride she held dear only to give him the begging he wanted to hear.

Though a moment before her fingers reached to touch his abdomen, Lambert grabbed both her hands and pinned them on top of her head, just like he did before, stretching upon her figure.

“Tsk, tsk. You are not allowed.” He breathed close to her face, brushing his lips on her chin.

Calanthe trembled, squeezing his hips between her knees, trying to rub herself against him to the best of her abilities. Lambert pinned her down more, pushing her hips on the mattress with his other hand, making her grumble out of frustration. “Why are you tormenting me so?”

“This is no torment.” His cocky smile was not promising. Keeping her in place, Lambert pushed his free hand between her legs. Calanthe let her head fall backwards, welcoming the brush of his fingers on her wet sex with a heavy breath.

“Fuck-” Lambert breathed open mouth against her neck as he pushed his fingers between her folds, welcoming her desire with great pride and satisfaction,

The promise of release and spark of pleasure that his touch brought to her longing and tired loins wasn’t remotely enough to satisfy her, which was the main reason why she lifted her head almost immediately, looking for his eyes, ready to confront him. She sucked the air into her lungs and tried to wiggle out of his hold, but before she could say anything, Lambert shut her up again.

He slapped his cock against her core and then brushed it on her folds, leaving her breathless. “Just say it,” he offered a cocky, warm smile as he kept rubbing himself against her but without aiming to give her what she desperately needed. He appeared to enjoy seeing her on such an edge, “be a good girl and ask for it.”

Calanthe growled at him, showing her teeth. “I did ask for it. What part of fuck me you do not understand?”

Lambert chuckled but shook his head. “You must,” he brushed the tip of his erection along her slit and then found her entrance, “ask nicely.” He pushed himself on her, but he was only teasing her, waiting for her words.

She knew what he was doing. He wanted to hear her begging him. And at that point, her mind was so fogged up that every drop of common sense had left her. The only thing Calanthe could think about was how desperately she needed him to fill her up and satisfy her.

She rolled her eyes as a deep sigh, in between pleasure and frustration, crossed her chest.

“Please,” she finally said, feeling her tongue unravel from the last shade of pride she had left, “please, Lambert.” It was a plea and a cry out; in the desperate hope he would listen to her.

“See?” His lips bent into a huge, victorious smile. “Wasn’t that difficult, now, was it?”

Calanthe really wanted to pull that sarcastic cockiness off his face with her bare hands. Although, he seemed to be smart enough to finally give her what she wanted before she had the time to get so annoyed to become violent.

Lambert pushed himself back up, letting go of her arms. Looking at her from above, he offered another sardonic smile as he pulled her hips up, sliding inside of her. Both gasped.

Calanthe welcomed his size with a moan, trying to hide a satisfied smile biting her lower lip. She let her head fall backwards, rolling her eyes, this time out of pleasure.

He felt hot inside of her, filling her up and stretching her walls exactly like she wanted it to be. His strong thighs nesting around her, his hips being caged by her legs, his fingers hooked around her solid hips. It was a moment of perfect balance.

Everything disappeared. The energy that was flowing between them in that moment of deep, intimate contact became the only thing that mattered. And Calanthe knew he felt it too, as they both looked into each other’s eyes.

She smelled his arousal shift as pleasure bent his breath. His quickened heartbeat – still to be considered slow to the common, human standards – filled her ears.

Lambert gave her a moment and slowly moved his hips in a circular way, letting her adjust to his size. Then he began to thrust into her at a steady pace.

Every hit of his hips against hers sent Calanthe to another world. Every inch of him sliding in and out of her took her sanity away, washing her from every thought and duty. Only pleasure remained. Every one of his deep and heavy hits inside of her brushed her weak flesh in the right spot and was followed by his pleasureful gasps, met by her moans.

She liked the sound of his pleasure. She liked to hear the obscene noise of her wetness welcoming his erection. And part of her desired he would raffle her more. She hated having to beg him – but, at the same time, a twisted side of her, one new, never discovered before, secretly liked it so much to destabilise her.

And none mattered. It did not matter how much she was enjoying it and it did not matter that it was Lambert specifically giving her such pleasure and looking so good, between her legs, doing it. To that point, her only concern was the orgasm mounting inside of her, as pleasure shook her muscles and nerves, having her stretching and writhing desperately looking for a release.

Lambert followed her physical response and the quickening of her whimpering with his thrusts, harmonically syncing their pleasures.

When she finally felt the orgasm building up in her abdomen, Calanthe looked up at him, lifting her head. Lambert’s glare was waiting for her. He didn’t take his eyes off her for one second, clearly enjoying the view. Even if she wanted to melt into a joyful smile, she only managed to draw her teeth in a quiet threat.

As they exchanged a look, Calanthe nodded, encouraging him to continue. Lambert leaned down, getting closer to her. The shift in his position, rolling his hips, made her gasp for fresh air. She gripped on his forearms, digging her nails deep into his skin. “Do not dare to stop.”

He didn’t answer her with words but only with one of his wicked smirks, which didn’t appear to be reassuring. And Calanthe had run out of patience by then. She was too exhausted and too famished to accept to play.

She quickly wrapped her hands around his neck, again digging her nails into his skin. This time, she made sure to leave marks. “Lambert-” he broke her breath with a deeper thrust, not even trying to fight her hold off even if he clearly wasn’t happy about it. His eyes were so bright that she felt like she was staring directly into sunlight.

Calanthe had to push herself to remain sane and, to that point, she wasn’t grabbing on his neck to dominate him. She was holding onto him because she was afraid if she didn’t she would have gotten lost in her own lust. “Please,” she whimpered, her ego was too far for her to remember that she hated the power her begging gave him, “please, make me cum.” She was so desperate to find release she wanted to cry.

Lambert hooked an arm under her knee and made her bend her leg, all the while pinning himself up, pushing his palms into the mattress around her. That change of angle gave him more access and his pounding inside of her became even deeper.

“Then, cum for me, darling.” He whispered to her ear a moment before sealing her lips into a famished kiss.

Calanthe was caged by him. His skin brushing against hers was hot and soft, his scent filled her lungs and his flavour burst into her mouth. His energy slid inside of her flesh, under her skin, making her fingers tremble to have more. She wanted to bite his soft flesh, she wanted to dig her nails so deeply into his skin to draw blood. She wanted to mark him with the scent of her sex for everyone to know he had been hers. Those thoughts only filled her up with the dark and twisted desire to taste his sweat, seed and blood as he filled her up completely, body and soul.

She suffocated a moan inside his mouth as her hands slid from around his neck to his back. She grasped onto his shoulders, holding onto him as he finally pushed over the edge.

Calanthe unravelled underneath him as the waves of a powerful orgasm shook her from head to toe, making her spin out of control, this time welcomely. Her sight blurred as her breath was cut brutally short, all the while her body twitched uncontrollably, tightened around his. Lambert guided her through the pinnacle of her pleasure and as the walls of her sex squeezed his erection, he too lost focus. He bit her lower lip and then pushed his face into the socked of her neck, suffocating a loud moan against her throat, as he followed her into the deep waters of pleasure.

The heavy, dark curtains of the late hour covered Oxenfurt. The Inn was silent as all his inhabitants succumbed to their deep slumber. All except two occupants.

Calanthe and Lambert laid next to each other, naked and cosy, whispering and giggling like young teenagers, forgetting they, in fact, were grown up, full-fletched Witchers with duties often bigger than their shoulders. Even though it appeared to be a soft moment, most of their current conversation was focused on their numerous scars, as both finally decided to give in to their curiosity. So, plenty of their chattering included gory descriptions of violent fights and monsters or beasts.

Calanthe willingly decided to forget her deeds and all the reasons why she had previously decided to not like Lambert, at least until later. There was no need for that, and she had no energy left for it. Not after Lambert did satisfy her deeper desires almost four times.

“What about this one?” Calanthe leaned her head, comfortably laying in her nest of pillows. She gently pressed her finger on the small scar that crossed his upper lip.

She liked how the soft light of the candles danced on his skin. She took a moment to observe his relaxed features, enjoying being the centre point of focus of his golden eyes. She wouldn’t have admitted it, but he appeared to be more handsome, somehow, with his ruffled hair falling on his forehead.

“I tried to kiss a Water Hag.”

“What?” Calanthe gave him a soft push on the chin as they both giggled. “Then you are as stupid as you look.”

“It was a curse! And it worked, thank you very much. The woman is now free.”

“Oh, well. You probably still deserve what you got.”

Lambert rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Thanks. That is exactly what she told me, followed by a slap. No pity for my bloody face”

“That’s what generally happens when you kiss people without consent. And,” Calanthe tapped his chin, offering a smirk, “no one should have pity for your bloody face.”

“Now, now, play nice. No need to be so prickly.”

“Me?! Have you met yourself?” She chuckled, truly amused, as Lambert just looked at her.

He then pinned himself up, pushing his elbow into the pillow, so to look down at her. His gaze was soft and pleased as it traced around her features. He smiled. “I think I remember you liking my face. Particularly while you sat on it.”

“I liked your cock. It is different.”

“Is it?” He smirked looking down at her. She rolled on her side, facing him and offered him a soft smile, purring. “You know? I have to say, if your career as a Witcher fails you definitely have a future as a whore.”

He gave her a push and rolled on top of her, caging her between his arms. “Well, well, look who is back in shape after a good fuck.”

Cala lifted her face closer to his, offering a sardonic grin. “Don’t get too full of yourself, shit might start coming out of your holes.”

Lambert exploded in a loud burst of laughter and then he leaned closer for a kiss, hesitating only a moment before their lips touched, only to see if she would reject him. She didn’t. Even if for a second she thought to bite his upper lip, only to mess with him.

As he rolled back on the mattress, this time it was Calanthe who moved following his movement, getting on her side again and pinning herself up on her elbow, so she could look at him. Weirdly enough, she liked to be close to him and she still was lost in her bubble of relaxation and satisfaction not to reject that feeling.

Lambert raised a hand to her face, softly caressing the line of her jaw, and then tucking her hair behind her ear. “Do you still don’t trust me?”

And that moment was gone as her bubble burst.

Calanthe froze as her body stiffened. She was ready to get away, to put distance between herself and him, but Lambert grabbed her arm in a gentle hold, keeping her close. “Why? Do you think I am a threat to you?”

Calanthe raised her eyes to the ceiling, as a heavy sigh left her chest. “It’s a difficult time we live in.” She shook his hand off herself and sat up on the bed, sliding towards the edge, ready to leave.

“What are you running from?” Lambert followed, keeping her from getting away.

“Have you already forgotten?” She turned towards him shooting him a killer glare. Her yellow eyes were now glimmering dangerously and as a snake trying to dissuade a predator from getting too close, she was now hissing at him. “I am running from whatever the fuck bad luck follows me and make me stumble in situations like the one at the garrisons.”

“Yes. About that,” Lambert moved closer and kneeled next to her. She knew he was trying to calm her down with closeness and body language, but she was, by then, a ball of uncovered nerves, “feel like sharing why I had to risk my life to save your sorry ass from that mess without even the trace of an apology?”

“Thought letting you fuck me was enough.”

“We both know what we just did had nothing to do with that.”

“No, no, pretty boy,” Calanthe shook her finger in front of his face, “do not make the mistake to think we had a moment or something.”

“I do not think anything. And I wasn’t even talking about that, you brought us having sex into the conversation, darling.”

Calanthe kissed her teeth and then she loudly grumbled, hoping that was enough of an answer to expose her annoyance at him without having to reply, but Lambert wasn’t done. Not even close. “Why have you been captured? Why do you have guards breathing on your neck?”

Calanthe felt her breath leave her lungs as her muscles tensed. Her eyes quickly shot to the window, the weapons and the door, as three different scenarios for an escape from that conversation formed in her mind.

Fight or flight.

She could have run out the window or the door. Butt naked. Wearing clothes wasn’t as important as getting away from Lambert’s questions. Or she could have ducked into her weapons to fight him. He was unarmed. She was sure she could have struck him, even to wound him only superficially, even only to distract him.

But before she could do anything, Lambert read through her mind and grabbed her, pushing her onto the mattress, rolling on top of her. He pinned her down with his body weight, stopping her from hitting him in the face, or anywhere available to her, blocking her arms above her head. That time, there was nothing sexual between them. “Please, stop resisting.”

“Why? So, you can fuck me some more only to get some information out of me?” To that point, she wasn’t even thinking straight. She only wanted to get away from him and find some loneliness and quiet, somewhere she could feel safe.

“For fuck’s sake-” Lambert huffed, shaking his head vigorously, “I didn’t shag you because I expected something. That happened and we are all very satisfied with it. Let’s move on, shall we?”

Calanthe raised her head, not inclined in submitting to him. “Bring me to Geralt of Rivia and we’ll talk.”

“You are so fucking stubborn it’s exhausting.”

“Me?!”

Lambert’s attention shifted and before she knew it, they were kissing. It was an angry clashing of lips as they both seemed to have a point to prove. She didn’t even know how and couldn’t justify to herself why he was able to draw her with such force towards him. There was nothing she could do to avoid it. Especially since they were that close, with no clothes on, and their bodies were marked by the traces of the intercourse they had just shared.

Feeling his warm skin rubbing against hers, or the weight of his body pressing on her, or his scent filling her nose, or again his tongue caressing hers, was enough for her to lose her mind and as it already happened before, she forgot about common sense and duty.

She didn’t even realise Lambert had left his hold on her wrists. Her hands moved to his shoulders without her giving them the command. As if she was placed under a spell, she slid her fingers through his hair, unable to resist the need to pull him close.

Lambert gave himself a push and pressed his forehead on hers, inhaling a deep breath. “I can’t bring you to Geralt, or bring him to you if I don’t have the guarantee he will be safe.”

She hated the fact that his words reached right into her chest. Knowing he was trying to look out for someone he cared for didn’t help her stay cold and unattached to him. It only helped her to want to know more about his story. And she sympathized, knowing well she was doing the same thing to someone else.

“And you need to give me some trust.” The softness of his voice and movements as he brushed his skin against hers, made it even more difficult for her to maintain her defences up.

Calanthe sighed as one of her hands crossed Lambert’s neck in a caress that, again, she didn’t order her body to do. She wanted to be furious. She wanted to kick and punch, but she didn’t. In all honesty, she was exhausted.

She stopped opposing him, both physically and emotionally, dropping her arms on the mattress. A movement that encouraged him to move slightly, giving her space.

That was the moment she decided to take advantage. She pushed him up, pressing her hands on his chest, so he would roll off her, only to follow him, so to straddle his hips. Lambert let her do as she pleased, waiting for her to speak, to give him something, anything.

She wasn’t fighting. But at least she had the upper hand, now, if she needed to run. “I am looking for one of my brothers.” She finally said, brushing her hands across his chest and over his medallion. Her eyes remained low as she was unable to face Lambert’s look, knowing he was studying her.

“The Kingslayer.” He sucked the air into his lungs.

“His name is Letho.” She hissed, tired of hearing him being called in such a derogatory way.

There was no reason to try and lie; she bet he had been thinking about it, trying to decipher her behaviour. Plus, if he had some brains in his big head, it wouldn’t have taken long to connect the dots: she was a Witcher, a Viper, she had two medallions in her possession, and she was recently almost imprisoned by Radovid’s men. And Letho had allegedly died in those lands. All that mix of coincidences made it hard to believe it was all happening out of chance.

Lifting himself up on his elbows, he tried to get closer to her. “I thought he was dead.” He then sat up, sliding his hands around her face, bringing her to look up. Calanthe shrugged, raising her eyes into his. “Geralt of Rivia is the last person who saw him alive.”

Suddenly, Lambert was doubtful. “Are you looking for revenge?” He withdrew his hands, distancing himself slightly. And as if she was unable to be too far away from him, this time it was Calanthe the one who followed him, raising her hands to his face. “I only need to know what happened. I know the White Wolf is not responsible. But I need to know where to find him.”

“You hope he is alive.” Calanthe felt like her chest had been just ripped open, and Lambert had, now, the privilege to look right through her. And he wasn’t done understanding things about her. “You care about him.”

Calanthe shook all of her feelings off and imposing herself to go back into her hard shell, she raised her chin, her lip trembling slightly as the last trace of the feelings she was repudiating.

She caressed Lambert’s face and as he pressed his scarred cheek into her palm, she slid her other hand across his temple and forehead. Then, her fingers moved quickly and a halo of white light surrounded his head. “You are tired. Go to sleep now.”

She chanted to him, kissing his forehead, as an Axii spell did its job.

[naamahdarling]

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