#but further up where I was originally you can see the screens it’s so close idky anyone pays to be in that mess

[mer-se]

Cute 🖤

[prentissluvr]

something about being close — sam winchester

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“no, you’re weird,” you fire back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“no.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“fbi?”

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

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

“way to jinx it,” he grunts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i’m upset with you,” you state.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i can’t lose you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“but i love you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the only word you can catch is “finally.”

[eroselless]

───────────────────somebody else // 3

series summary: you just work in hospitality for McLaren and he’s their star driver. what happens when your paths cross and you find yourself questioning your feelings for each other? [3.1k]

[lando norris x reader]

masterlist | previously

warnings: angst, insecure reader, unprotected smut (don’t be silly, wrap that willy!)

note: Magui is mentioned in this chapter and will be mentioned going forward and I know there’s lots of conversations on the internet about her. I honestly just used her in this story to avoid having to come with an original character. I don’t like to comment or get into driver’s actual personal lives so please if there’s any comments y’all want to make of her that doesn’t have to do with this story, please take it elsewhere. 

The morning inevitably comes, the early light filtering through the blinds, gently pulling you from your slumber. You blink slowly, discarding sleep from your eyes. Taking a deep breath, you suddenly remember where you are. Lando's arm tightens around your waist, and his face burrows deeper into your back, still deeply asleep. Carefully, you try to slip out from under his arm without disturbing him. His hold loosens reluctantly as you rise, and you begin gathering your things in silence. 

You catch a glance of yourself in the full length mirror he has sitting in the corner of the room. What you see is almost something pulled straight from a dream. Your hair is disheveled but in a way that only shows how deeply you had slept the night before. Lando’s shirt clings to your body, falling to the tops of your thighs. As you stand there, you can see him breathing deeply behind you. His arm is outstretched, reaching over your now empty spot on the bed. He’s almost lost in the clouds that are the blankets of his bed. 

You swell with emotion, the domestically of this moment proving to weigh too much on your chest. You swiftly pull the shirt off, fold it and leave it on a chair before putting on your clothes from last night. Moving towards the door, you feel your foot nudge something hard on the floor. Your eyes flicker down, seeing what you only assume is Lando’s phone resting there, almost dead. Picking it up, instinctively, you plug it into the charger by the bedside table, eyes catching a 12 hour's old message illuminating the screen. 

Your stomach twists when you see the name on the message. Magui. You’d see her linked to him, seeing him around Monaco with her things, driving her around in his cars. You peer over the phone, eyes reading over the words on the phone. 

The knot in your chest tightens as you read the text:

already missing you, when are you coming over again? last night was fun ;)

Every letter seems to twist in your chest like a knife. The implication was clear-–whatever happened last night, before your tryst under the dancefloor lights, was anything but friendly. Your breath hitches, and you set the phone down carefully, it feels too hot in your hand now. It's almost as if it’s trying to mock you with the memory of last night’s events. It was too good to be true, you think, the thrill of last night fading into the cruel light of reality. Maybe you happened to just be in the right place at the right time, a convenient substitute for something he had been craving. 

Your footsteps are light as you make your way out, taking one last glance at Lando’s sleeping form before closing the door behind you.

:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The sun is already high in the sky by the time you arrive at the track. The same excited buzz that lingers in the air feels different today, it causes your stomach to turn and every step you take feels heavier the further in you go. Your heart pounds as you step into the paddock, nerves running high as you anticipate Lando’s visit, a pavlovian reaction you’ve developed. But you’re assigned to the Ferrari garage for today, something about the overwhelming influx of guests and reporters.  

You’re grateful for the distractions, being away from the McLaren suite is a welcome relief–-you don’t think you could handle facing Lando just yet. You keep reminding yourself that it was a drunken kiss, a mess of touches that happened in the heat of the moment, a memory Lando might not even remember. The glow of the text message on his phone only reinforces that idea. It might as well be left off as a memory, you think. After all, it seemed to imply that he already had someone to occupy his time. You were just … there. 

You’re pouring a drink when you hear a familiar voice greet you from behind. Turning, you find Carlos leaning casually against a table, an easy smile hanging from his lips as you hand him a bottle of water.

“Looks like you’ve been promoted, working for the red team today,” he teased lightly.

You chuckled, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I guess they needed someone with my impressive drink-carting skills,” you joked, catching his eye.

Carlos grins, taking a long sip before lowering the bottle. “Well, at least you’re making this garage look better,” he adds, giving you a playful once-over.

You laugh again, this time a little more naturally, but as your eyes meet his, you see something shift in Carlos’s expression—his gaze briefly darting past you.

You turn just in time to see Lando making his way over, his strides purposeful. Carlos straightens, the easygoing look still on his face but a hint of something else lurking beneath it. The tension between the three of you is almost palpable. There’s that twist in your gut, the face you’d been dreading to see again. There was that voice that lingers in the back of your mind, once again reminding you that it told you so. 

“Hey, you,” Lando greets casually, his voice steady but lower than usual. He doesn’t hesitate pulling you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you in a way that feels almost possessive. His lips brush your cheek in a fleeting kiss, the scent of his cologne enveloping you. It’s warm, familiar, but it only makes the tension inside you grow. It makes your head spin. 

“Hi,” you manage to say, feeling breathless as you return the hug. Your voice feels quiet, fragile. Almost like if you spoke too loudly, it would shatter in your voicebox. You try your best to keep up the smile that had been painted on your face just a minute later. You can feel Carlos’s eyes still on you, watching the interaction closely. You can’t place Lando’s expression, unsure of what could be going on in his head. 

As you step back from Lando’s embrace, you give Carlos an apologetic smile before excusing yourself to attend to the guests nearby. With a quick smile, you excuse yourself, leaving Lando standing there, watching as you disappear into the crowd. The moment you’re out of earshot, the air between the two drivers shifts. 

Carlos arches an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. “You don’t waste time, do you?”

Lando narrows his eyes slightly. “Just making sure everything’s in check.”

Carlos smirks, clearly picking up on the unspoken tension. “Yeah? Everything in check, huh?” He pauses, and then with a more pointed tone, he adds, “Including Magui?”

Lando stiffens slightly, but doesn’t take the bait. “That’s got nothing to do with this.”

“Hasn’t it?” Carlos tilts his head. “You know, mate, maybe it’s time you figure out what you actually want before someone else makes that decision for you.”

Lando frowns, not answering immediately. His gaze flickers to where you’re standing, deep in conversation with a group of guests. There’s a carefree look on your face as you interact with them, a genuine smile he can’t help but adore. Carlos, seeing the hesitation, claps a hand on Lando’s shoulder.

“Look, if you’re serious, don’t just sit around waiting for it to blow over,” Carlos says, his tone shifting from teasing to genuine. “Otherwise, someone else might step in. And who knows,” he adds with a smirk, “maybe I will.”

Lando gives him a look, but Carlos just laughs it off, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, man. You’ve got enough to deal with, but you’re playing with fire.”

Before Lando can respond, a team member calls him away, and with a final look between them, Carlos steps back, watching Lando go with a knowing smile.

:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The day passes in a haze, the roar of the engines filling the air and drowning the chatter in your head. You do your best to focus on your duties in the Ferrari garage, but the weight of Lando’s gaze bears heavy on you whenever you catch a glimpse of his car zooming past you on the track. It's like a tether—one that pulls tighter and tighter with every passing moment. 

The race finally comes to a close, the sun having fallen through the sky, dipping below the horizon. The energy in the paddock becomes electric as he comes in second, right on Carlos’s tail. The cheers and celebrations blur around you as the drivers finish their interviews, spraying champagne and basking in the excitement. You can feel Lando’s eyes on you, even as he stands among the flashing cameras and jubilant crowds of journalists. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as move around the paddock, eventually returning to the equally bustling McLaren suite. 

As the crowd thins, you don’t get far before you feel a hand wrap around your wrist that tugs you away from the crowd. It weaves you through the paddock, past the media, past the throngs of people, until you find yourselves alone in the privacy of his driver’s room. 

The door clicks behind you, the noise now muffled by the walls around you. The tension between you hangs heavy in the air as you stand nervously at the door, it's thick and suffocating. 

“Lando–”

He doesn’t let you finish. In one swift motion, he pulls you against him, mouth encapsulating yours with a fervor that catches you off guard. It's not unlike how he kissed you at the club but this time you have the reassurance that you’re both stone cold sober.

His kiss is heated, desperate, as if he’s trying to pour every ounce of feeling into that moment. The taste of champagne lingers on his lips, and you feel the raw energy coursing through him, a mixture of adrenaline and something deeper—something possessive.

Your body betrays you as you respond to his kiss, the want, the need of him too strong to resist. His hands roam your body, pulling a whine from your lips as he presses his hips to yours. He anchors you to him but it’s more than just a physical desire now. There’s something else in the way he touches you, as though he’s afraid to let go. 

It's dizzying, the way he holds you, his fingers digging into your skin. You respond just as eagerly, hands tangling in his curls, feeling the way his hair slips through your fingers, unruly and messy after being trapped under his helmet. He deeps the kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips. Just like he did in the dimly lit bathroom, he seems to take your breath away, setting a fire in your chest.

You feel his body against yours, solid and warm, heat radiating from him like a furnace. His hands slide down your sides, gripping your hips firmly as he walks you backward toward the small bed. Your legs hit the edge, and you stumble slightly, but Lando doesn’t break the kiss, his mouth still moving with fervor against yours as he lowers you onto the bed.

He hovers over you, not yet ready to press his full body weight on top of yours. You whimper as his lips trail down your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there. It makes you arch your back into him, hands taking purchase of the thick muscle of his back. 

“Lando…” you breathe, the sound barely audible over the pounding of your heart. He responds with a low, guttural hum, his lips moving lower, his teeth grazing along your collarbone before his hands begin to tug at the hem of your shirt. You help him, lifting your arms as he pulls it over your head in one swift motion, leaving you exposed beneath him.

His eyes darken as he looks down at you, his breathing heavy. There’s something primal in the way he stares, as if he’s trying to commit every inch of you to memory. His hands find your skin again, exploring, caressing, his touch both gentle and possessive as his fingers trace patterns across your stomach, your sides, your breasts.

You feel your pulse quickening with every sleight of his hand, every kiss he places along your exposed chest. He takes his time moving over the vast plains of your skin, counting every freckle, every mole. He’s savoring you, trying engrave in his mind the way you taste, the way you feel against him, the way your whines echo through the room. You bite your lip to stifle a moan as his lips wrap around your nipple, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud, sending shivers down your spine.

His hands are everywhere, stroking teasing, setting your skin aflame as he worships every inch of you. His lips trail lower, leaving a hot trail behind them as he moves closer to waistband.

Your lustful trans in interupted as you see his phone light up silently where it's thrown carelessly on the table nearby. He doesn’t notice it as he moves to unbutton your pants. You want to pull away, tell him to stop. Tell him you don’t want this, that you don’t crave this—the closeness, the intensity of his touch. But you don’t. 

It’s the same part that wanted him back in the club, under those neon lights. But now, even with him so close, the doubt lingers in the back of your mind. Magui’s name feels like a ghost between you, hovering in the room, even though you don’t dare utter it aloud.

You reach for him again, the feeling of his lips on the tops of your thighs bringing you back. You pull him up, pressing your lips to his once again. You tug at his fireproofs, pulling it over his head, revealing the toned lines of his body, muscles softly rippling beneath his skin. The rush of the moment stills for a second and now it's your turn to try to memorize what he looks like. 

Your fingers dance delicately over the taut skin, dragging them down his sternum, counting every mole and feeling each valley you come across. Your eyes flicker up briefly, catching a glint in his eyes you hadn’t quite seen before. But before you can mull over it too much, his lips find yours in a kiss that’s just as intense as before. 

His hands slide into the waistband of your underwear, pulling them down, leaving you bare beneath him. The cool air hits your skin and you suck in a breath, the coolness being replaced by his warmth. His body is pressed against yours and hard as you might try, you can’t bring yourself to stop the sinking feeling you begin to feel in your chest. 

His kisses grow more frantic, more needy, and you can feel his desire for you in every movement, every touch. You respond in kind, your own need for him matching his as your hands roam his back, his chest, pulling him closer. The world outside the room fades away, and for a brief moment, it’s just you and him, tangled together in a mess of limbs, breathless kisses, and heated skin.

When he finally moves between your legs, you gasp, your body arching into him, craving the contact, the connection. His eyes lock with yours, and there’s a moment of stillness as he hovers over you, the weight of everything unspoken between you pressing down on your chest.

Each touch, each breath shared between you only makes that nagging voice in the back of your mind grow louder. Does he feel this way with her too? Is this just another moment, another temporary high, easily forgotten once the race weekend is over? Will he be quick to forget you as he’s forgetting her—quickly falling into her embrace as he is falling into yours?

The questions fail to reach your lips, dissolving on your tongue as he licks into your mouth. He pushes into you with a groan, his forehead resting against yours, and you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders as the sensation overwhelms you.

The rhythm between starts off slow, tender, as if he’s trying to say a million words with every thrust, every kiss, every movement. But it’s not enough. Doubt still lingers in the forefront of your mind and even though your body responds to his ministrations, your heart remains guarded, wary. 

His pace quickens, his breathing ragged as he moves faster, deeper, and you cling to him, your own breath coming in short gasps as the pleasure builds. He cries your name, lips finding yours in a desperate, hungry kiss. It’s overwhelming, the feeling of him inside you, the way his hands grip your hips, the way he looms over you. 

Your body reaches its peak, but as the waves of pleasure crash over you, the doubt remains. You can almost imagine her in this same position, writhing beneath him as he gives himself to you. Her face haunts you, the image of them together, his hands over her, holding her just as tight. 

But you don't bring it up, you don’t ask the questions that repeat over and over in your mind. You're afraid of what the answer will be. Afraid that this moment will merely be a chapter in the novel of time, lost in the frayed pages of a book long hidden away. 

When it's over, he lies on your chest. It's terribly domestic as he draws circles on your exposed belly and chest, lips tracing over the skin tenderly. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do you. The words are there, waiting to be spoken—questions, doubts, confessions—but neither of you has the courage to break the silence. Maybe it’s easier this way, not confronting whatever this is. Maybe it’s safer to pretend it’s just the high from his victory, that this moment will pass, leaving no lasting trace.

His phone lights up again and you see his eyes flicker to it briefly before you both begin to rise from your temporary bliss. That's when you realize it. You don’t have the heart to keep doing this. The uncertainty, the doubt, that cry in the back of your mind. It’s all too much. You can’t be part of something where the lines are so blurred, where neither of you is willing to admit the truth.

So, you walk away.

tags: @sltwins @sarx164 @f1fantasys @obxstiles @moonvr @spideylovin @lipstickstateofmind

a/n: hi everyone, thank you much if you've gotten to this point! i was honestly so excited and surprisingly had lots of fun while writing this rather emotional chapter. let me know what you guys think of it, i always love to see what you guys have to say!

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Audrey Hepburn (My Fair Lady, Sabrina, Roman Holiday)—Growing up, Audrey Hepburn desperately wanting to be a professional ballerina, but she was starved during WWII and couldn't pursue her dream due to the effects of malnourishment. After she was cast in Roman Holiday, she skyrocketed to fame, and appeared in classics like My Fair Lady and Breakfast at Tiffany's. She's gorgeous, and mixes humor and class in all of her performances. After the majority of her acting career came to close, she became a UNICEF ambassador.

Jean Seberg (Breathless, Saint Joan)— Some of us watched À bout de souffle as a lil French undergrad and had the trajectory of our lives changed by Jean Seberg. She IS French new wave!! She is the moment!! She sadly had to work with a lot of shitty directors in her career but even so, she has this magnetic energy whenever she’s on screen. In her personal life, she was also very supportive of civil rights causes, and was even targeted/harassed by the FBI for financially supporting the Black Panther Party.

This is round 4 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Jean Seberg:

anyone who plays Joan of Arc is kind of hot by default tbh

she's gorgeous, she's cool, she has the original blond pixie cut

She donated a lot of her money to civil rights organizations such as the NAACP and the black panther party as well as Native American school groups, as a result of this the fbi ran a smear campaign against her and a surveillance campaign which is thought to have led to her suicide tragically.

idk if this is propaganda but the COINTELPRO and the FBI are widely blamed for her death. If the FBI was after her for supporting the Black Panther Party you know she was good

Audrey Hepburn:

"She may be a wispy, thin little thing, but when you see that girl, you know you're really in the presence of something. In that league there's only ever been Garbo, and the other Hepburn, and maybe Bergman. It's a rare quality, but boy, do you know when you've found it." - Billy Wilder

Raised money for the resistance in nazi occupied Hungary. Became a humanitarian after retiring. Two very sexy things to do!

where to begin......... i wont her so bad. i literally dont know what to say.

My dude. The big doe eyes, the cheekbones, the voice. The flawless way she carried herself. She was never in a movie where she wasn't drop dead gorgeous. Oh, also the fact she raised funds against the Nazis doing BALLET and she won the Presidential Medal of Freedom for her humanitarian work.

"It’s as if she dropped out of the sky into the ’50s, half wood-nymph, half princess, and then disappeared in her golden coach, wearing her glass slippers and leaving no footprints." - Molly Haskell

"All I want for Christmas is to make another movie with Audrey Hepburn." - Cary Grant

I know people nowadays are probably sick of seeing her with all the beauty and fashion merch around that depicts her and/or Marilyn Monroe but she is considered a classic Hollywood beauty for a reason. Ironically in her day she was more of the alternative beauty when compared to many of her contemporaries. She always came off with such elegance and grace, and she was so charming. Apparently she was a delight to work with considering how many of her co-stars had wonderful things to say about her. Outside of her beauty and acting ability she was immensely kind. She helped raise funds for the Dutch resistance during WWII by putting on underground dance performances as well as volunteering at hospitals and other small things to help the resistance. During her Hollywood career and later years she worked with UNICEF a lot. Just an all around beautiful person both inside and out.

No one could wear clothes in this era like she could. She was every major designer's favorite star and as such her films are time capsules of high fashion at the time. But beyond that, she had such an elegance in her screen presence that belied a broad range of ability. From a naive princess, to a confused widow, to a loving and mischievous daughter, she could play it all.

Look at that woman's neck. Don't you want to bite it?

[goodgirlfaith1]

Gimme a Kiss

Pairing: Austin Butler x Fem!reader

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Summary: Due to your best friend Emily staying with you for the night, it’s the first night you and your boyfriend Austin Butler are spending apart since you moved in together six months ago. But neither of you can fall asleep without being beside each other. Austin calls you drunk from his best friend’s house - where he’s supposed to be staying for the night - and shows up at your shared penthouse.

Warnings: SMUT. Unprotected sex, fingering, pressing down on stomach during sex, intoxication, swearing, pet names, praise kink, hair pulling kink.

Word Count: 3.6k

A/n: Hi! You might know me from Wattpad, where I have posted a series of Austin Butler/Elvis Presley imagines. This is a rewritten version of the original ‘Gimme a Kiss’ imagine which I published on Wattpad six months ago. I’m aiming to rewrite all of these imagines and post them on here, as I feel my writing has improved since I first started writing these.

Please let me know if you have any new requests and I’ll give them a go!

                        ---------------------------

You lay on your side, your gaze fixed on the alarm clock on your nightstand. You feel like you're going square-eyed as you continue to stare at the clock, which now reads 3a.m. You've been desperately trying to fall asleep for the past two hours, but if your best friend Emily's snoring wasn't enough to keep you awake, the lack of your boyfriend's arms wrapped around you certainly was. This is the first night you and Austin have ever spent apart since you moved in together six months ago. Even though Austin has been busy filming Elvis, his upcoming movie, for the past few months, he's come home to you every single night.

Austin is spending the night at his best friend's apartment tonight to give you some quality time with Emily. You don't get to see her very often because she lives in Los Angeles, and you and Austin live in New York. You two had a girls night in watching Breakfast at Tiffany's, drinking white wine and doing face masks. You've enjoyed your night and being able to spend time with your best friend, but you can't seem to get Austin out of your head. You miss him so much it hurts, even though you saw him this morning. It doesn't matter, you still miss him more than ever - especially now that you've discovered you can't fall asleep without him beside you.

You turn your back to the alarm clock, feeling extremely jealous of Emily, who is sound asleep beside you. You close your eyes, trying to rid of your thoughts of Austin. But as your head sinks further into the pillow, you find yourself wishing your head was resting on Austin's chest instead. You sigh dramatically, deciding to give up on trying to sleep. You put your hand under your pillow and grab your phone, clicking on the screen to turn on the flashlight as you stand up from the bed. You tip toe your way out of the bedroom, being careful not to wake your sleeping best friend.

You make your way into the living room, which is in almost complete darkness. The only light filling the room comes from the moon, and the thousands of lights across the city which flood into the room through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The second you sit down on the huge, black leather corner couch, you feel your phone vibrate in your hand. A text notification from Austin appears on the screen.

Aus<3: Baby are yiu awske

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, but the realisation soon hits. Austin only ever misspells a text message when he's drunk.

You: Huh

You: Are you drunk Aus?

The second you hit send, the word read appears underneath your text message. A call from Austin soon appears on the screen and you smile as you press the green answer button. "Hello?" You hold the phone to your ear.

"Baby," Austin says through the phone, his voice slightly deeper than usual. A sense of relief washes over you at the sound of his voice, and you smile, feeling an immediate sense of comfort.

"Hi," you say softly, sounding like a giddy teenager talking to their crush.

"Why're you up so late? Are you okay?" Concern is laced in Austin's voice. He knows it's not like you to be awake this late.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"You're a terrible liar, sweet girl."

You roll your eyes. How does he always manage to read me so well? You wonder.

"Tell me what's wrong, baby," he says softly.

"I can't sleep without you," you sigh.

"Mm," Austin hums. You're not entirely sure why, but the sound sends butterflies erupting indoor stomach. "Me neither, sweetheart. But, you know, I can help with that," he says, and you sense a hint of mischief in his tone.

You're startled when you hear a knock on your apartment door. _Are you hearing things, or did someone really just knock on your door at 3 o'clock in the morning? 

You sit up straight, feeling your palm sweating as you hold your phone to your ear. "Aus?"

"What's wrong, baby?" Austin senses the worry in your tone.

"Someone's at the door."

"Answer it," Austin says, slurring his words slightly.

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. "You want me to answer the door?" you repeat, not entirely sure you heard him right. Why would your over-protective boyfriend ever want you to answer the door to someone - alone - at 3a.m. It must be the alcohol.

"Mhm."

Why is he being so relaxed about this?

"Aus, it's 3am. What if it's a serial killer or something?" You walk into the kitchen to grab a knife. You're not completely sure what you'll do with it if you actually need to use it. You're sure you'd freeze and go into panic mode, but having the knife somehow brings you some sort of comfort.

"Just answer it, baby. Trust me."

You take a deep breath in, clutching the knife tightly in your clammy hand as you walk through the living room, heading towards the front door. "Aus, I'm scared," you whisper into the phone as you near the door.

"Don't be scared, baby. I'm right here," he says reassuringly. You take a deep breath, your sweaty grip around the knife tightening as you twist the door handle, holding the knife up as you pull the door open to reveal...

You breathe out a sigh in relief when you're met with your boyfriend on the other side of the door. Austin stands there, gazing down at you with a boyish smirk on his face. A strand of black hair hangs over his forehead as he hangs up the phone call and puts his phone into the pocket of his jeans. The first few buttons of his black shirt are left unbuttoned, showing off his defined, sun-kissed chest as he leans against the door frame. "I hope you're not planning on usin' that knife on me now, sweetheart," he says with a smile. You don't miss the Southern accent which very subtly creeps into his words - a result of his role as Elvis Presley.

You shake your head, fighting off the smile pulling on your lips as Austin pulls the knife out of your hand. "You asshole!" You scold him, but he just gazes down at you with stars in his eyes, a soft smile pulling on his lips. "You scared me."

"I'm sorry, baby." Austin steps into the apartment, setting the knife down on the table with your keys on it. He keeps his gaze trained on yours as he takes your phone from your hand and sets it down next to the knife, a smile pulling on his lips. He wraps his free hand around your jaw to pull your head slightly closer towards his, leaning down to kiss you.

But when you feel how cold his hand is against your cheek, you pull your head back before your lips can meet his. "Jesus," you take his hand off your face, holding it with both of your hands in attempt to warm it up a little. "You're freezing, baby." You intertwine your fingers with his and lead him further into the apartment, shutting the door behind you.

"I like that," Austin says softly from behind you as you lead him into the living room.

"Like what?" you lead him towards the couch. You figure you'll get him to lay down on the couch with a blanket while you make him a hot chocolate to warm him up. But before you can do that, Austin plops himself down on the couch and pulls you down on top of him so you're straddling him.

"When you call me baby," he smirks. He places his free hand on your lower back as he leans back against the couch, his other hand resting on your upper thigh. His thumb draws gently back and forth over the skin of your thigh, which has become accessible thanks to Austin's T-shirt you're wearing, which has ridden up your legs. You're not sure if it's the moonlight or the city lights casting a soft light over Austin's face as he gazes up at you, in awe of your beauty. Whatever the source of light is, it captures his face perfectly, illuminating his bright blue eyes, which are a complete contrast with his dark hair. You're still getting used to the black hair.

You lean your head slightly closer towards his as you gently toy with the hair at the nape of his neck, "mm, do you?"

"Mhm," he hums lowly, your faces only inches apart. "Very much." You can smell liquor on his breath.

"So you are drunk," you confirm, smiling softly.

A boyish smile pulls on Austin's lips. "Just a little bit."

You smile, breathing out a laugh through your nose. "Come on, you should get some sleep. We'll sleep in the guest bedroom."

"Oh, no you don't," Austin says when you  place your hands on his shoulders to push yourself off him. His hands quickly find your waist and he holds you down on his lap to stop you from standing up. He gazes up at you with a glimmer in his eye, and his gaze falls down to your lips. He doesn't say anything, he just gazes up at you like you're the most extraordinary thing he's ever laid his eyes upon.

"What?" A smile pulls on your lips. "Why're you looking at me like that?"

"'Cause you're beautiful." You smile softly, feeling giddy. "Gimme a kiss," Austin wraps his fingers around your jaw and pulls your head down towards his. This time, you don't pull away, and your lips mould together in a gentle, loving kiss. You let out a breath through your nose, feeling a sense of relief washing over you at the feeling of Austin's soft lips against yours, his large hand keeping hold of your jaw. You place your hands on his firm shoulders, feeling his muscles beneath your fingertips as he smiles against your lips.

"What're you smiling at?" you ask against his lips.

"Just missed you," he says softly, a smile pulling on his lips as his eyes wander over your face. He pulls your head towards his with his grip around your jaw, your lips meeting again.

"I missed you too, baby," you whisper in between kisses. Austin's smile grows wider, and your teeth almost clash as you both smile like idiots into the kiss. Your lips mould together like they were made for one another, and a kiss that began sweet and gentle soon turns urgent when Austin tilts his head back, deepening the kiss. You meet his pace, getting lost in the feeling of his lips. You soon feel Austin's tongue on your bottom lip, and without a thought about where it might lead, you open your mouth for him.

You taste whiskey on Austin's tongue as his moves with yours in a deep, passionate kiss which turns more sensual with every second that passes. You don't realise just how lost in his kisses you are until you shift your hips ever so slightly, feeling how hard he is beneath you. Austin moans into the kiss, and you swallow the sound, smiling against his lips.

"Alright," it takes everything in you to pull back, tearing your lips from Austin's, but you figure you should quit while you're ahead. His expression drops as he gazes up at you with parted lips, his eyes flicking between yours rapidly. "You're drunk, baby, let's just go to sleep." You place your hand on Austin's shoulders in attempt to stand up, but once again, his tight grip around your waist stops you from doing so.

Austin swallows hard, his throat bobbing as he gazes up at you like a lost puppy. "Please, baby," he begs, blue eyes flicking between yours. "I'll make you feel good." He pecks your lips. "So good, I promise." He pecks your lips _again, _looking up at you desperately. "Need you so bad," he whispers against your lips before he closes any space left in between his mouth and yours. This time, his kiss lingers, and you don't pull away. You can't resist him.

Austin's hands run up your thighs, and he tugs on your T-shirt - well, his T-shirt, which you've practically claimed as yours. "Off," he says desperately against your lips, neediness evident in his tone. "I need this off." He breaks the kiss to pull the T-shirt over your head, leaving you in only your underwear. He tosses the T-shirt onto the floor and crashes his lips against yours in an urgent kiss. Your hands snake around the back of his neck as he slips his tongue into your mouth. You can feel yourself getting wetter and wetter for him with every second that passes.

Feeling yourself aching for him, you pull Austin's head back with your fingers in his hair to deepen the kiss. He smiles against your lips at your eagerness as his large hands roam your body. They run from your breasts - which he caresses - before you feel his fingertips run down your back, then onto your thighs, nearing higher and higher until they reach your ass. He gives your ass a squeeze and you grind against his erection in response, causing him to groan into the kiss. The sound sends butterflies erupting in your stomach, and your need to feel him only intensifies.

Without breaking the kiss, you rip open Austin's shirt, your tongue moving with his, urgently, as you hear the buttons of his shirt fall from the couch and onto the wooden floor. Austin slips a finger beneath the waist band of your underwear and pulls hard, causing the fabric to rip, leaving you completely naked on top of him. Usually, you would cuss him out for tearing your underwear, but you're too needy for him right now to care.

A small stinging sensation lingers on the skin of your hip, but your attention is drawn back to Austin when his finger makes contact with your soaked folds. You take a sharp breath in through your nose, doing your best to kiss him back as he works his finger up and down your folds. "So wet for me, baby," Austin breathes against your lips.

"All for you," you whisper.

A lazy smile pulls on Austin's lips as he gazes up at you through heavy breaths, your faces close together. You shudder when his finger brushes over your clit, your lips parting.

Austin gazes up at you through lust filled eyes. "All for me," he repeats, crashing his lips against yours. He pushes a finger into your core and you breathe out a moan into the kiss. You lean forward and Austin tilts his head back to accommodate this as you deepen the kiss. You breathe heavily against Austin's lips as he pumps his finger in and out of your core. And while the feeling of Austin's finger inside of you is nothing short of pleasurable, you find yourself yearning for more.

Austin reads your body like he always does, adding another finger into your core. You grind your hips against him, pushing his fingers further inside you. You moan into the kiss, struggling to meet the pace of his kisses as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, curling them in a 'come here' motion which nearly sends you over the edge already.

"Fuck, baby," Austin breathes against your lips. "Got me soaked to the knuckle."

You breathe heavily, and you break the kiss when your jaw goes slack."Fuck, Austin," you breathe out in a moan.

"Fuckin' love it when you say my name, baby." He gazes up at you, studying your features as pleasure graces them. "Say it again." He orders.

"Austin," you whine through heavy breaths.

"Again."

"Austin," you breathe out, your nails digging into the skin on the back of his neck. Suddenly, Austin pulls his fingers out of your core, causing your eyebrows to knit together. "Why'd you stop?"

Austin's fingers fumble to unbuckle his belt. "I need you," he lifts his hips off the couch to pull his jeans down. "Need you_ now."_ Austin crashes his lips into yours, his tongue dominating yours. You meet his pace, your tongue moving with his, and he whimpers into your mouth as you take hold of his rock hard length, and line it up with your entrance. Without breaking the kiss, you slowly lower yourself down onto Austin's length, taking a sharp breath in through your nose at the way he stretches you out. You swear you'll never get used to his size.

You both let out a sigh of relief as your hips meet Austin's, and you cry out, feeling how deep he is. The feeling sends a shiver up your spine. You feel Austin's fingertips digging into the skin of your waist, and the sensation only turns you on even more. A part of you hopes he'll leave marks behind. You drop your forehead against Austin's, the sound of both of your breathing filling the dark room. Slowly, you draw your hips backward before rolling them forward, soon feeling Austin's large hands on your hips to help adopt a rhythm.

"Fuck, baby," Austin breathes out. You can feel his heavy breaths fanning over your face, your foreheads pressed together. "Feels so good. Always so good for me. " He crashes his lips against yours as you ride him, and you moan into the kiss. "You're fuckin' perfect, you know that?" he breathes against your lips.

"Aus," you cry out breathlessly. "Baby, fuck." You throw your head back, your lips parted. "You're so deep."

"Yeah?" You turn your gaze down to meet Austin's at the sound of his voice. He gazes up at you, the moonlight hitting off his blue eyes. The strand of hair hanging over his forehead casts a small shadow over his face. He breathes heavily through his mouth as he looks up at you. He places his hand on your lower stomach and presses down, eliciting a moan from the back of your throat. "Can you feel it, baby?" He takes hold of your hand from the back of his neck and places it on your lower stomach, the spot where his hand was pressed down a few seconds ago. He presses his hand on top of yours, intensifying the feeling of him inside of you. "Feel me here, deep in your tummy? Takin' up all that room?"

Your free hand snakes up from the back of Austin's neck to the back of his head, and your fingers find themselves in his air, pulling on it as you continue to ride him. The pleasure coursing through your body is almost enough to push you over the edge already.

"Austin," you moan his name in pleasure. "Feels so good."

"I know, baby," he says from beneath you, studying your face as your eyes fall closed, your jaw going slack. "That's it, sweetheart." He encourages you as you roll your hips forward with a little more force. "Taking me so well."

You feel Austin intertwining his fingers with yours, removing yours, and his hand from your lower stomach. You open your eyes to meet his gaze as he leads your hand to the back of his head. You know what he wants without him having to say it. Now using both hands, you pull on Austin's hair, studying his face as a deep, guttural groan escapes from the back of his throat. His head falls back against the couch and he gazes up at you through clouded eyes as he breathes heavily through parted lips, some breaths coming out sounding more like moans. You love seeing him like this.

"You're an angel, sweet girl. You're heaven fuckin' sent, I swear it," Austin breathes out.

Your fingers remain threaded in his hair, tugging gently as you lean down to connect your lips with his in a sloppy, needy kiss. You can feel your orgasm building deep in your stomach, and you know you won't be able to last much longer.

"Aus," you drop your forehead against his.

"Yeah, baby?"

"I'm not gonna last much longer."

Next thing you know, Austin takes hold of your hips and flips you over so you're laying down on your back, him on top of you. He holds his weight with his forearms on the couch at either side of your head, thrusting his hips forward into you. You breathe out a moan as his hips meet yours, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck, your other squeezing his bicep as you feel your orgasm approaching fast.

"I want you to cum for me, baby," he breathes out as he thrusts into you, each thrust becoming a little harder than the last.

Your eyes squeeze shut as your orgasm begins to wash over you, and you cry out Austin's name as you let it all go. Austin's hand quickly snaps over your mouth at the loud volume of your voice, and you moan into the palm of his hand, feeling pure euphoria.

"Shhh," he coos."That's it, baby. Such a good girl for me."

You feel Austin's thrusts becoming sloppier and his orgasm soon hits him at the feeling of you clenching around him. He breathes heavily, dropping his head against your shoulder as he rides you both through your highs. Your fingers release their tight grip around his locks as he moans against the skin of your shoulder, but you keep a hand on the back of his head, holding him close as he cries out for you.

"Fuck, baby," he breathes out. "So fuckin' good. You're always so good for me." You both breathe heavily as you come down from your highs, and as he stills inside of you, Austin's arms give out. You don't mind his weight on top of you, though. You've always found it comforting. He nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, pressing a gentle kiss onto your skin.

Austin's breathing slowly, but surely becomes less heavy as he lays on top of you. "I love you so much, darling."

You softly run your fingers through his hair, pressing a kid onto the top of his head, smiling softly. "I love you too, baby."

"I hope Emily didn't hear any of that," he says, and your eyes widen.

"Shit!"

//

Thanks for reading<3 If you have any requests, please let me know!

[i-only-ever-asked-questions]

Map of Soho Good Omens Season 2 - Part 3 (the intersecting street)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 Update: Map and pictures further down now have Lucky Snake, and the description of both the Lucky Snake and The Chinese Buffet Restaurant have been updated too.

We don't know the name of the street that crosses Whickber Street. It starts between the market and the furniture store, and after a crooked crossing of Whickber St., it continues between the bookshop and the Dirty Donkey Pub until it ends on Wardour Street. On that upper block we have: -A. Z. Fell & Co. The bookshop has a backdoor that leads to this street. -Bilton Scaggs Hats and Caps This shop has been here for centuries. Originally Bilton and Scaggs was a publishing firm that printed among other things "The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, witch." Neil believes they went out of business in the late 19th century and the hat makers took over. Their shop was called Bilton and Scaggs Milliner & Haberdasher for a while and eventually they changed to Bilton Scaggs Hats and Caps. But honestly, only Aziraphale knows the whole story.

On the other side of the street we have: -The Dirty Donkey We don't know how long this pub has been in business, but we know that it was already there in the 40's when the zombies used it to hide and spy on the heroes. And then in 1967 Crowley used a private room to set up the caper to steal holy water from a church. The set was also used to set up two of the pubs where Gabriel and Beelzebub met. Both scenes were filmed on the same day! After the tour, the first episode of Season 2 was screened inside the pub for those lucky enough to win spots. The Dirty Donkey Pub has also appeared in Neil's "We Can Get Them for You Wholesale" and "Sandman: Overture." In the show, one of the elevators to Heaven and Hell opens inside the Dirty Donkey, maybe this supernatural ability allows it to show up in many different Neilverses ;) -"Model" This is Mrs. Sandwich mysterious establishment. Nobody really knows what happens there. We know the upper floor has lovely pink curtains, presumably for her girls who also love coffee. -Will Goldstone's Magic Shop Named after Will Goldston (not sure why an extra "e"), a stage magician who wrote many books on magic. The store existed in 1941 when it was run by Pat (who met a gruesome end at the hands of zombie nazis). Will Goldston himself died in 1948. So, was he the owner of the store and Pat just an employee? Did someone use his name? Or is that the reason behind the additional "e", to claim it wasn't him? We don't know. In current times it is operated by Mutt.

This street ends on Waldour Street and because we don't see much of it, I included those shops in this post: -Chinese Buffet Restaurant (updated) The English sign just says "Chinese Restaurant", Google translate gave me "Chinese Buffet Restaurant" for the sign on either side (if you look closely both sides say the same thing). There is no other writing that I could see so I would say that we don't know if it has another name or where is it written (inside maybe?). @embracing-the-ineffable raised the question of how do we know Mr. and Ms. Cheng own the restaurant. The truth is that we don't know for sure. We have assumed it probably because Aziraphale and Ms. Cheng are in front of the restaurant when he invites her to the meeting, but for all we know she was just walking on the street when they met. The Chengs could easily own the Herbal Pharmacy or the Grocery Store. We just don't know for sure -Lucky Snake (updated) To the right of the restaurant (our left) there is another store with yellow walls and red lanterns. It was brought to my attention (thank you!) that this is the infamous Lucky Snake we see in Aziraphale's typed list of shops. In Season 1 it was called "Oriental Delights" but this season it is a grocery store. -Herbal Medicine and Pharmacy - Traditional Chinese medicine appointments To the left of the restaurant (our right) we have the herbalist/pharmacy. This is written in English while "traditional medicine appointments" is written in Chinese. There is no other name outside either.

Turning around and looking towards Whickber Street, we can get a peek all the way to Great Windmill Street, between the news agency and the market. -Windmill Theatre Today it is called Windmill Soho but the name Windmill Theatre is equally recognizable. In 1941 it was owned by Mrs. Laura Henderson. The theatre was famous for 1)not closing at all, even during the heaviest of bombings and 2)its motionless nude girls (tableaux vivants) called the "Windmill Girls". Because of this, it used the motto "We Never Closed" (although people modified to "We Never Clothed"). In the set, the doors are not props, they are the real doors to the internal docks of the studio, which honestly it is very clever.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

[aprocessionofthoughts]

Investigations are attempted

whumptober2023 day 12- red fandom- Danny phantom x batman TW- none summary- Bruce and his kids continue to look into Daniel Nightingale.

ao3 whumptober23 materlist Part 4 of ITR

Bruce stared at the file again.

Name: Daniel Nightingale Family: Unknown Previous employment: Nasty Burger cashier Magical ability: can sense spirits and magical artifacts, can see some mid-level spirits

He frowned. He’d already tried looking up Nasty Burger but no results had come up. He’d tried looking more into Daniel but everything seemed to be in place. Everything was almost too perfect.

It felt like a cover up, like a fake identity. But it was done so well, he was having trouble finding anything else. He’d already had Tim and Barbara try, but Tim didn’t get much further, only discovering that Daniel was his real name but Nightingale had been what was changed. Barbara had agreed and added that she recognized the signature of the hacker who had done the job, but that she had no idea who the hacker was except that they were on her level of talent.

Bruce closed that file and pulled up his search for Manson.

He turned aside to take a drink of his coffee, and when he turned back there was a message displayed on the Batcomputer.

Bruce stared at it before reaching up to his comm. “Oracle.”

“What’s up, B?” he could hear the clicking of keys in the background.

 “I need you to run a check on the Batcomputer.”

“I’m kind of busy at the moment, is this something that can wait?”

“I think we may have found the Manson we’re looking for.”

“Okay?”

“But I only know because the name started blinking across the screen.”

Oracle was silent for a moment before he heard her curse, then the clicking of keys continued at a much more frantic pace.

Bruce waited, the message had disappeared already and so he started looking up Samantha Manson. From what he found she reminded him of Ivy, and he could only hope she wasn’t some kind of villain as well. Manson was an avid protester against meat farms and deforestation along with several other environmental issues. She was also heir to the Manson company and fortune. When he looked into her background he found that she came from Amity Park, Illinois. But when Bruce looked the town up, he came up blank. He wanted to bang his head agaisnt his desk in frustration.

“B.”

“What did you find?”

“I don’t know where exactly the message originated from, but it has the same signature as whoever made Nightingale’s files.”

Bruce grunted in acknowledgement and frustration.

“I’ll keep looking but I've never been able to find this hacker before and I’m not sure I’ll be able to unless they let me.”

“Keep me updated.”

Bruce could practically feel her eye roll as she answered. “Of course, B.”

Bruce really hoped Samanthat Manson was the one they were looking for. But why would the hacker tell them? Regardless, it was worth looking into. It had been a month since Daniel had been taken and if this went on too long, Bruce wasn’t sure if Daniel would still be alive.

He looked up Manson’s whereabouts and his suspicions increased when he found that she had arrived in Gotham the day before.

He spoke over the comms again, “I need a volunteer to go with me to investigate Manson.”

“You finally found them? Who are they?” said Nightwing.

“Took you long enough, old man.”

“Did you or Oracle find them?” Tim asked.

“Neither. Someone hacked the Batcomputer to send the message.”

There was silence on the comms for less than a second before a flurry of overlapping voices made Bruce wince. 

“Quiet.” Thankfully they listened and Bruce was able to continue. “Oracle is looking into it, but I want one of you with me to approach Manson.”

“I need to wrap a case up in Bludhaven.”

“I’m busy.” Jason said.

“I’ll go.” Robin responded.

“Not you, Robin. Agent A informs me you have a project to work on.”

“But, Father–”

“Do you want to take it up with Agent A?”

Damien grumbled but didn’t say anything else.

“Red Robin?”

Tim sighed, “I guess I can go. Whoever this Manson is probably knows our hacker, and I’d really like to meet the person who can hack the Batcomputer. Who is it?”

“Samantha Manson.”

Tim spluttered. “What! Sam Manson, heir to the toothpick company!”

“You know her?”

“Do I know her? She’s the only reason I volunteer for the annual Baymont’s Gala, you know, the owners of that meat packaging plant. Her family always attends, and she always does something to make the gala more interesting. Last year she somehow put laxative in all the champagne. It was hilarious!”

He could hear Dick cackling over the comms.

“That’s ridiculous. Surely something like that would be in the news?” Damien said.

“I don’t think she’s ever been caught.”

“Then how do you know it was her?” Jason asked.

We’ve been going to that gala for years and she’s always very vocal about her opinions of the Baymonts and their company. And once I saw her slip a fake mouse into Avery Bellmonts dress.”

“I think I heard about that incident.” Dick said. “If she turns out to be good, we should invite her to the next Wayne gala; they are always so boring. No offense, B.”

“I agree, except full offense. And no names in the comms, Dickwing.” Jason said.

“Hypocrite.”

“It’s not my fault you–”

“Boys.” There was silence and Bruce sighed. “Red Robin, I’m sending you the address of her hotel. Meet me there in an hour.”

“Will do, B.”

Bruce silenced his comm and got up to get changed into the Batsuit. If Samantha was anything like Tim said, he was in for a long night.

[detailtilted]

Comic-Con 2008 - Enhanced Edition of Supernatural Panel

Direct link. Warning: Some of the special content I added has big spoilers for season 4 beyond the original videos.

This video features Jared, Jensen, Eric Kripke, Sera Gamble, and Ben Edlund. If you've already seen the original videos and you're wondering why you'd want to watch this, see the details about the enhancements below. For other enhanced videos, check my YouTube channel or my Tumblr index post.

Video Improvements - Upscaled, fixed bad aspect ratios, improved colors

I received a great deal of help from @sensitivehandsomeactionman on the color correcting. They gave me tips on how to achieve better colors and they even took a screen shot from my video and corrected the colors on it with their own software to provide me with an example of what was possible. Having that example to reference was invaluable for me, because I'm not good with colors.

Without that help, Jared and Jensen would have looked like they were in training to become the world's tallest Oompa Loompas. Any remaining color wonkiness (Wonka-iness?) is due to my own failure to apply what I was taught and my failure to see the colors properly. But look at that difference! I was pretty excited about this.

Combined Videos to Cover Entire Event

As with my other enhanced videos, I combined multiple videos to create as seamless a video of the event as possible, from beginning to end. For my earlier videos, that meant combining maybe 5 videos. For this one, I used a total of 19 videos from 3 different sources. A lot of those were used for the talking head bubbles, explained further below.

None of the videos are my own. My video description on YouTube has links to the original videos I used.

Good, Color-Coded Subtitles

As with my other enhanced videos, I attempted to provide accurate and as-complete-as-possible subtitles. They're color-coded to make it easier to tell who's speaking. This is especially helpful when people are speaking at the same time, or when the speaker is off camera.

Since there were so very many people talking in this video, I doubled up on a couple colors if I thought I could do so without it being too confusing. Here's the complete color key:

Red = Jared Blue = Jensen Brown = Eric Kripke Pink = Sera Gamble Purple = Ben Edlund Green = General audience Yellow = The person asking the questions. In the first half this is the moderator, Alynda Wheat. In the second half, this is the fan at the mic. White = Mostly the publicist (Holly Ollis), but a couple times it's used for people off camera who I believe were Comic-Con staff. Two shades of orange = surprise guests

Additional Clarifying Content

As with my other enhanced videos, I've added some images to help add clarity to the references used by the speakers. I added images of characters and scenes referenced from the show, images to explain various pop culture references, as well as some explanatory text to help add details or clarity when I thought it might be useful.

I mostly kept this extra content to the sides so that, if it doesn't interest you, you can hopefully ignore it and focus on the main part of the video. Unlike my previous videos, sometimes this is on the left side and sometimes it's on the right side. The margins shift depending on where the talking head bubbles are.

Talking Head Bubbles - Jared and Jensen front and center, but other speakers visible too

This "enhancement" isn't anywhere close to perfect, but it sure as heck isn't from a lack of effort. This represented at least half if not two-thirds of the time I spent working on this video.

I always find the Comic-Con videos frustrating to watch. When the camera moves to other people who are talking, I want to see Jared and Jensen instead. I like to see their reactions and sometimes they do funny things that get missed. But when the camera is steadfastly focused on Jared and Jensen, I also get frustrated because I can’t see the people who are talking. Nope, you can’t win with me! I want to see everything.

I attempted to mitigate this frustration by adding talking head bubbles. The main source videos I used were the ones with the most constant and stable focus on Jared and Jensen. However, if one of the other source videos had a decent focus on another guest, I inserted a small window into that other video as seen below. Eric shows up on the left, because that's where he was seated relative to Jared. Sera and Ben show up on the right, because they were on the other side of Jensen.

Like I said, it's not anywhere close to perfect. Trying to make the bubbles look stable was an enormous challenge for me. Behind the scenes the person in the bubble was bobbing and weaving all over the original video frame, so I had to constantly adjust the position of the secondary video to keep the subject centered in the bubble. They also aren't always bubbles. The people taking the videos often had the writers on the edge of the frame because they wanted to capture Jared or Jensen too, so the bubbles start to collapse when they get too close to the edge because there isn't enough video surrounding them to form a circle.

I haven't decided if the end result was worth how much effort I put into these darn "bubbles", so I'd welcome any feedback -- good or bad.

[poisonous-honey]

The Venti Parable

(This is a re-upload: originally posted on UniverseUchu on Feb 25, 2023)

Characters: Venti and The Narrator. The Reader and Stanley have very little presence

Warnings: None really. They enter the zending room if that upsets you, but they barely stay there for long. This is mostly in drabble form and lightly skimmed for errors

This is both the Narrator’s and Venti’s worst nightmare. An omnipotent, self-destructive perfectionist who strives to keep everything self-contained and the ever funky little god of freedom.

Venti is not impressed with this game of choice in the slightest. He had hoped his position in your heart would’ve saved him from the torture some of the others have been put through, but he was unfortunately not given this blessing. He didn’t feel like following this narrator’s every whim, he only wanted to do that with you. He was free to do as he pleases

As you’re talking to the Narrator to convince him, having someone else to narrate for just a few runs would help him with his story (“He can speak! You can get instant feedback!”) Venti sits in the office next to Stanley. 

“Alright, fine. I’ll let Venti play the game in Stanley’s place for a short while, only because you keep incessantly asking.”

“Hey! I am great company. Wouldn’t it at least be nice to have someone else to talk to for a little while?”

“This is the story of a man named Venti”

He sighs and gets up from his position next to Stanley before walking through the office

After what he feels was him being ignored, Venti reaches a fork in the road

“When Venti came to a set of two open doors, he entered the door on his left.”

He holds his chin with his hand and closes his eyes, acting as if he was deeply thinking about his next course of action. Of course, he already knew what he'd do as soon as the directions were spewed at him.

“No, I think I'd rather go right.”

Que sighing from above. Quelle Surprise

~~~

After getting told no one would ever love him and having the parable restart, though disoriented, his next objective is to try and see if he could leave the building

He was not a fan of the Narrator and vice versa

His first attempt is to see if he can jump out of any windows

Honestly surprised he managed to fall through one on his first try (or at all, really)

He had a bit of hope that he had escaped the Narrator, but after accidentally breaking the phone and still getting an ending, he highly doubted it.

And he sighed as he was unfortunately proven right, and the Narrator starts to monologue

“What do you think, are you sick of this gag yet?”

Venti didn’t think there was a correct answer, so he just hit yes while smiling cheekily up into the air. At this point he was just trying to be entertaining for his player, but so was the Narrator

“Now would be the time I go on about having ample amounts of opportunities to restart the game, but unfortunately for you, our player is in control of that. Since all I hear is laughter on their end, I'm going to try to make this as miserable as possible, before they reset to help you out.”

As the Narrator started to sing, Venti quickly looked towards the screen in hopes he could get you to reset immediately, but all you did was shrug

How very cruel of you

~~~

After a few more runs, the last of which had Venti falling flat on his face, he decided to see where listening to the narrator got him

The Narrator kept to the script as usual, he was a professional after all, but the light elation in his voice was obvious to the two of you

Venti couldn’t help but mess with him on the way though

The Narrator could feel his temper rising, watching Venti doing literally nothing. Letting out a sigh, he directs his next questions to you. “Did you put him up to this? Be honest with me here, I have— I am extremely skeptical of this entire ordeal.” You laugh as you hear The Narrator’s anger and Venti asking if he wasn’t allowed to simply relax, further upsetting The Narrator. “I’ve done no such thing. Informing either party beforehand would’ve made this far less entertaining.” “So you’re telling me that everyone, but me, is able to see what’s so fascinating about a broom closet? If that’s where you’re getting at, then it’s absolutely wonderful to have confirmation that I am, truly, the smartest person here.” “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Mr. Narrator Sir.” “... I refuse to acknowledge this behaviour.”

Finally making it to the end and turning off the mind control machine, every light turns off as The Narrator starts his freedom ending speech

The door slowly opens and Venti can just about feel the wind call to him

Daylight peaks through the opening and grows larger every second as it descends. He can barely wait for the door to fully open and finally be able to see the skies.

As the door comes to a stop on the floor and Venti takes in the view, he finally feels a sense of ease wash over him since he was brought here. The scenery was truly beautiful.

Venti takes his first steps forward onto the grass and as he continues to drown out The Narrator’s dialogue, he figures that maybe this was the reason you brought him here out of all games.

“...- And Venti was happy.”

The Narrator finishes speaking. Venti opens his mouth to actually throw him a genuine compliment - when-

It all fades to black

And within the blink of an eye, he wakes up in the office next to Stanley, who can do nothing but look at him with a reassuring gaze and wave.

Venti just about curls into a ball and cries while Stanley panics and silently frets over him

“That’s the ending you wanted to guide me to...”

“It’s called the ‘Freedom Ending!’ The one true ending for my story that Stanley refuses to cooperate with me on. Surely someone such as yourself understands and is able to appreciate what I’m trying to-”

“On every level of irony, you’ve managed to single-handedly rip away my own freedom with this horrific outcome.”

~~~

Walking through the red door after bamboozling The Narrator long enough, Venti reaches the platform and is quickly stunned at how pretty the light show is

“Right here, see! All I want is to show Stanley, our dear player, and now you, something remarkable. Now tell me. Can you really look at this space and say it’s not truly beautiful?”

Venti giggled before spinning and sitting down. “Why, this room is a poet's dream! The only thing I’d add is nature.”

He sat in the room for a bit longer, just staring at the stars and light show. This is the closest Venti’s gotten to a true place of rest in a while, so he’d like to treasure it a bit more before leaving.

Eventually tearing his eyes away from the sparkles, Venti looks around and realizes the only rooms here are the space room he’s currently in,  and a room with some stairs. Getting up and going over, the narrator panics.

“Hey Venti, what are you doing? Where are you going?”

“I’m just looking around. I haven’t seen an exit, so I want to know where the stairs lead.”

“But we haven’t even been here that long a-and there’s nothing over there but stairs, they don’t go anywhere.”

“... It seems I’m in a predicament. Oh, my dear player, where is the exit?”

“Don’t tell him! He’s done nothing but ruin my story time and time again, the least both of you could do is allow me this solace for a little while longer.”

“But I followed your every instruction just before this run!”

All you do is sigh. Maybe you should’ve told Venti not to come here. “... I’m going to begin the game again.”

“But my peace and tranquility!” “But don’t you want to see the proper ending?”

“No, I really don’t and trust me, you won’t want to take the intended ending either.”

~~~

“Player I have to admit, the only difference working with Venti is the constant sass I’ve been receiving in turn. This hasn’t been beneficial in the slightest.”

“Hey! I still gave you plenty of good input you can use!”

“I highly disagree.”

“I beg to differ!”

You had hoped meeting Venti would help The Narrator with some of his issues, but without informing Venti in advance, all they did was annoy each other. Oh well, it was still fun to witness.

“I hope we never meet again.”

“And I hope you learn to enjoy life's intricacies instead of obsessing over the same story over and over… Aaaand that I never have to go through this ever again.”

Venti trusts you with his entire being, he really does, but if you offer him a chance to participate in another game he's going to be asking a lot of questions beforehand

[lemonhemlock]

house of the dragon is sanitized because it doesn't want to offend anybody and receive the same (justifiable imo) criticisms that were lobbied at d&d for their treatment of women, poc, lgbtq+, etc. so, they turn a story that features morally dubious characters with themes that heavily criticize if not condemn monarchy, feudalism, and war in favor of serving a good vs. evil narrative that's straying further and further away from the original point.

You know, I'm starting to think if maybe I just don't resonate with this particular kind of storytelling anymore. I'm at an age where I've watched my fair share of shows and the devices that have been in use these past years have become cliche. Bad/mediocre shows certainly have their place in the ecosystem, but I'm not going to be impressed by such a straightforward attempt at tacking a simplified theme. What worked 10 years ago in movies and TV shows doesn't feel fresh now in 2024.

I am probably a little doomposting and I don't doubt the show can get better (I'm convinced there will be moments I enjoy), but this linear strategy of building Rhaenyra up as the "good monarch", only for them to tear her down when she enters her madness/vengeance arc is just not revolutionary at this moment. It's been done before many times, including with Daenerys. (At least that's what I presume they intend to do with Rhaenyra). But, perhaps to counteract the Daenerys criticism, Rhaenyra's fall from grace won't be so sudden, there will be more hints and more buildup to it and they'll pat themselves on the back for a job well done.

I just would personally have preferred to not have to wait until the second half of the show to encounter the criticism part. This particular technique of subversion feels a little stale at this point. You don't have to wait so long to insert commentary and it doesn't have to be overt or take up more than a few seconds of screen time. You can close up on someone turning their nose or raising their eyebrow when a character makes a fuckass reply, for example. I am just tired of seeing characters like Otto say shit like how Viserys was the salt of the earth and it going absolutely unchallenged.

This is why I love Succession so much, I suppose, because the commentary comes within the episode, with the way it's filmed and framed. It doesn't tell you what to think, but it gives narrative and visual clues that something is up and it doesn't wait until 120 episodes of whitewashing some character to reveal that they're actually quite villainous or wrong. And they really had the material to do something more experimental with this set-up.

[galadrieljones]

Daryl's Arrows: Symbolism, Pt. 1 (Green and White)

It has been a while since I've made a TD post. I'm hoping to make a comeback these days, and in my first attempt to do that, I'd like to talk about a topic I've been paying attention to for several years now: the symbolic nature of Daryl's arrows.

Daryl's arrows change color over the course of the series, as I'm sure you've noticed. In the past, we've seen colors and color combinations including red, yellow, green, white, and black. Sometimes they're dirty. Sometimes they're tattered. Sometimes they're pristine. Sometimes they're seen and not used. Colors in TWDU always mean something, and Daryl's arrows are no exception. In this series of posts, I want to look at how Daryl's arrows are used as foils for his psychological state, and how they often reflect his relationship and symbolic proximity to Beth. As one of the most visually compelling characters in the series, Daryl and his vast inventory bear many clues in terms of how he feels and where he's headed. With Daryl, who is a stoic character, what we see is often much more important than what we hear.

First, just for reference, in case you're unfamiliar with the anatomy of an arrow, I'll be referencing two key parts in these posts: the FLETCHING (or feathered "wings" around the back of the arrow), and the NOCK (the, often colored, slotted tip at the end of the arrow, opposite the arrow point, aka the arrow tip, or arrowhead).

The changing color of Daryl's arrows is not confined to just the fletching. His nocks change color as well and are equally important.

The Prison: Green

As is everything with Team Delusional, this analysis originates with Scott Gimple, and like so much else we are still striving to understand, episode 3.12 "Clear."

If you look closely at the shot from above, you'll see Daryl's *new* crossbow, leaning against the gun rack on the righthand side of the screen. Daryl begins the series with a much simpler design. The pictured more advanced compound crossbow is given to him by Michonne and Rick, after they bring it back from Morgan's cache, which is like Gimple's magical well full of hints and symbols. Beginning in the very next episode "Arrow on the Doorpost," Daryl trades his old crossbow for the new one, which he will use *almost* (more on that later) exclusively for the remainder of the series, and which he still uses now (or did up until recently, when he lost it in Portland, ME).

Daryl's *new* crossbow (pictured above) is special, because when it's given to him, it contains arrows with special, alternating green and white fletching, as well as green nocks. It's important that this crossbow and, more specifically, THESE arrows, are gifted to him, as opposed to being choices he made for himself, and I will talk more about choices soon.

"Clear" immediately follows the mini-arc in season 3 in which Daryl leaves the prison with Merle and then returns. The theme of coming "home" is pervasive in TWDU, particularly with Daryl, who, for much of his character arc, has seemingly been without one. Further, the act of making a decision to settle down, to stay in one place, to commit himself has unabashedly occurred to Daryl only two times over the course of the series: 1.) In the episode "Home," when he chooses to return to Rick and the prison, even if it means leaving Merle behind, and 2.) in the episode "Alone," when he chooses to stay and to "make it work" in the funeral home with Beth.

Every other time Daryl has decided to "settle down" or to "stay" somewhere, such as Alexandria, the Commonwealth, and the Nest in France, it's either been because of inertia, coercion, obligation, or some combination of the three.

Perhaps you can see by now that Daryl and decision-making are important factors to this character analysis. The truth is, Daryl is a passive character. He doesn't make many decisions that are driven by a strong internal motivation or code. He makes decisions because they're easy, because they're what he *should* do, or because they're what someone else told him or asked him to do. Very rarely does Daryl make a choice based on his own desires or his own code. He is reactive at times, ie: He makes emotional decisions driven by rage, revenge, annoyance, etc.. But these are not deliberate choices. They are passionate, in the heat of the moment, and he may even come to regret them or to change his mind.

We can see this clearly at the end of Daryl Dixon season 1, in which we really have no idea whether Daryl desires to stay in France or if he desires to go home. We don't know if he's going home simply because he thinks he should, or because he truly wants to, or because he just has some chip on his shoulder about staying. We don't even know if he considers the Commonwealth, or Alexandria for that matter, to be home, because he didn't choose either of those domains for himself. They were chosen for him, and he's just sort of been drifting in and out ever since. If anything, in the first season of DD, we learn that Daryl seems to be a man without a home, and a man without strong motivating factors to make choices, or to act.

We learn in Daryl Dixon that one very important potential motivational factor for Daryl that is entirely missing from his life is that of a family of his own. And no, I don't mean friends, or found brothers and sisters, or nieces and nephews. I mean a wife and children (his OWN children, not Rick's children).

SO what does this have to do with Daryl's new crossbow? Well, first of all, Daryl's crossbow is gifted to him, a bit of "supernatural aid" to help him along on his hero's journey. The arrows, as well, are a gift. In the second half of season 3 and the first half of season 4, we see Daryl display unprecedented feelings of happiness and a focused purpose. He is given this chance, but ONLY once he chooses to stay.

In 3.10 "Home," Daryl makes his first major choice, which is to return to the prison, aka to return home. Once he starts using his new crossbow, he will then use the green and white arrows exclusively for the rest of season 3, all of season 4, and some of season 5 (until the episode "Spend"). The one major common denominator to this run is his proximity to Beth.

The color combination in these arrows is green and white, which parallels clothing and jewelry worn by Beth in the first half of season: Beth's earrings and her outfit in 4.1 "30 Days Without an Accident," and Beth's outfit in 4.2 "Infected."

The "Beth lookalike" dead girl in "Infected" shows an interesting juxtaposition as well.

In 4.4 "Indifference," one of my favorite examples of foreshadowing for Daryl and Beth, in a scene in which Daryl's arrows look very green against the verdant landscape, Daryl finds a rare piece of green jasper on the ground. As he's cleaning it off, Michonne initially responds suggestively, smiling, as if she knows something we don't. She says, "It's a good color. Brings out your eyes."

Daryl responds quickly, correcting her to say that it's for Mrs. Richards, who has become ill. But this surprises Michonne. That's clearly not who she thought it was for.

The piece of green jasper that Daryl finds looks suspiciously like the stone Beth wears in her earrings. Toward the end of the episode, Daryl can be seen studying the jasper pensively in the car while the rest of the team gets ready to go. This moment is rarely discussed, but I believe he is actually thinking about Beth when he holds the jasper that day, ready to return home from a long, hard journey. I also think Michonne might have known that something was going on. Of course, we may never know the truth on that, but Michonne is a romantic character, and if anyone was going to notice Daryl's feelings for Beth, it might just be her.

Remember that green jasper is rare. It was chosen here for a reason. It is viewed as containing powers of protection and healing, as well as relief from obsessive behaviors and compulsions. You can read more about the properties and historical significance of green jasper here.

In any case, the color green is, of course, easily attributable to Beth, whose last name is green. This is specifically true when it's seen around Daryl. When it's seen around Rick, we might alternatively associate green with Hershel. But while Hershel might be Rick's "Greene," Beth is Daryl's "Greene." And when Daryl's arrows "trend" green, that means that her story and her relationship to him is creating psychological friction with his character on screen. It means, not only that she is "with" him, but that he accepts her there, and he is still the man he was trying to be at the time that he first chose the prison, and the time after the prison that he spent with her.

The connection between Daryl's arrows and Beth begins literally, but after "Coda," the connection becomes symbolic. We'll get there soon.

I also do want to point out that though this connection is somewhat subtle in season 3, once we get to season 4, with Gimple at the helm, the connection becomes much clearer and more overt. This supports the hypothesis that Beth and Daryl are Gimple's "pet" creation, something he always wanted to explore but never could, because they and their relationship are not a part of the comics. But via Daryl's arrows, he is able to keep their relationship alive in the background.

After the Prison: White

After the prison, when Daryl and Beth are physically together, and then we transition into Daryl's search for Beth in Atlanta, Daryl's arrows remain the same: alternating green/white; however, some unique shifts occur, in terms of emphasis.

Here's a shot from "Inmates," as Daryl pulls an arrow out of a walker's head near the train tracks.

This shot is from "Alone."

And here's one from "Consumed." This is one of my favorite shots of Daryl in the entire series.

In all of these shots, the arrows, which alternate green AND white for fletching, are specifically arranged in front of the camera so that the fletching looks entirely WHITE. White arrows are angelic in nature, protectors. They accompany Daryl and Beth’s discovery of the deceased innocents from the bus, imploring faith that not all hope is lost, as some of the children lived. They accompany Beth as she shoots Daryl’s crossbow near the cemetery, once again calling on us to "have a little faith," as even though Beth is caught in a trap, she is rescued by Daryl. And as you can see in the shot above from “Consumed,” the two white arrows literally resemble the wings of an angel, balanced delicately on Daryl's shoulder as he gazes out over the city, eventually seeing the Grady van in the distance, a major clue.

Note that per the "Consumed" shot, we see this same arrangement, double-white, from two separate angles, showing its purposeful nature. The first, just Daryl from the side (above), the second, both Carol and Daryl, head-on (below). Though they mirror one another in body language, Carol looks down, unsure of her fate. Daryl looks straight ahead, a man of conviction.

In "Consumed," Daryl is communicated as a hopeful, motivated man, helping Carol through her crisis of faith and disconnection from her purpose and identity as the two of them search Atlanta for signs of Beth. He finds and takes the book about overcoming child abuse, a clue that he is making conscious choices to get better, and he is entering a real path to renewal and self-improvemet, all thanks to his time with Beth. Note, too, that angels do not only flock to Daryl via his arrows. He is also protected in the falling van, by the crucifixes on the back windows, and the holy Mother Mary, watching over him from the dash. In the shot below (right), you can also see, once again, the duality of body language between Daryl and Carol. Daryl is braced, staring straight ahead, ready for anything, while Carol, in her crisis of faith, breathes heavily and cowers in fear.

Carol endures bad injuries from the crash, which are worsened when she is hit by a car. Daryl, however, emerges without a scratch. This theme of protection and indestructibility, for Daryl, will return in the future. In the episode, Carol tells Daryl that he has "become a man" now, and we see him perhaps as driven and committed to any cause as he will ever be. That cause is finding Beth. You can see this once more very clearly in the final shot of the episode, in which even Noah notices, looking at him like “WTF did I just walk into?” For the third time, too, we see Daryl noticeably squared up, facing straight ahead in the shot, showing commitment and determination, while Noah's expression is unsure.

Also, if you look closely at the shot above, you can see, one more time, a single white, angelic arrow, perched just above the dash.

Daryl shoots one more white arrow over the course of the series, but it's not for a very long time. In 6.15, "East," just before the group is ambushed by the Saviors, Daryl, angry about Denise, having had his crossbow stolen by Dwight in 6.6 "Always Accountable," goes out searching for Dwight to take his revenge. In the scene, Daryl wanders a clearing as the bright sun shines down upon him, directly reminiscent of the sun coming through the trees in "Them." So reminiscent, in fact, that it is the same exact shot, just inverted both horizontally and vertically and adjusted with a red filter. Quick aside: Below, you can see the original two shots, the lefthand shot from "East," the righthand shot from "Them."

Now, here are the shots again, with the shot from "East" on the left, inverted once, horizontally and vertically. You can also see the red in how it colors the light filtering through the trees. This communicates that since Beth's death, which he was directly morning underneath the tree in the shot on the right, Daryl's character has been "upside down." He's messed up. What was right is now wrong, and what was wrong is now right, and his descent lies ahead.

Michonne, Rosita, and Glenn come after him, to try and dissuade him. When they do, Daryl shoots an arrow right past Rosita's face and into a tree. That arrow, the last of the green/white arrows we will ever see, appears entirely white in his hand and foretells that in the confrontation to come, Daryl, unlike two of his brethren, will be spared.

In my next post, I'll move on to Daryl's red arrows, focusing on Noah's death, 5.15 "Try" and 5.16 "Conquer," as well as 6.6 "Always Accountable," Denise's death and what this all means. I believe that, over the seasons, Gimple has found small ways in which to show that Daryl has been continuously protected by Beth's presence, but that, in his darkest hours, he is not always eager to accept it. 💫

I'm going to tag some other TDers in these posts, just for reference. If you'd like me to tag you in future posts, please just comment here to let me know, and I will! ❤️

@wdway @twdmusicboxmystery @frangipanilove @angelthefirst1

[officialtrashbin]

Ok ok ok ok ok wrap-up thoughts on the season now that the finale is out:

First of all, DEATHBIT DEATHBIT DEATHBIT

2) ok the subplot with Rogue and Magneto actually grew on me. Like, she’s rejected him ultimately but they still mattered to each other and they still do, it’s just not romantic from her side anymore. I can’t blame magneto for not getting over her rejection I’d never be able to take the psychic damage of losing Rogue

also yeah the age gap was a little weird but I’m living for the drama and the potential for their platonic friendship. I want to make a comment about how their stint is an example of unidentified trauma becoming trauma bonding but then I have to like…write it.

3) I actually think Roberto and Jubilee were super cute and have elected to give their storylines a pass. Like they’re just kids coming into adulthood and have found comfort in each other, that’s good enough for me for now. (Though I’d like to see more of comic-accurate Sunspot being adapted but I digress. It’s only been 1 season.)

Also I think Sunspot awkwardly hanging around the Xmen slowly coming to terms with his speedran adoption is the funniest basis for an arc and have no further comments. Might write a fic later on his Struggles.

4) KURT JOINING THE MOTHERFUCKIN SQUAD BABYYYY and literally just everything about him. Being so supportive of Rogue and holding her and encouraging Gambit and just 😭😭😭😭

5) PHOENIX JEAN PHOENIX JEAN I LOVED JEAN

6) cyclops was one of my least favs in the original, this show put so much respect back on his name. I actually adore him now—plus the scenes with him doting on his grown ass man child is hysterical. Need more of it. I need this guy telling people this Hulk Hogan of a unit is his lil boy.

If Nathan isn’t seen later at a baseball game with Scott in a Summer 01 jersey and the cyborg arm badly painted over I’m committing crimes.

7) I think Storm needed way more screen time. I know there were scenes with her written out due to budget issues (and also them skipping her goodbye to Gambit made me annoyed) but like. The fact that her centric arc was put across two episodes shared with other episodes was irritating.

7.5) In this same vein I missed Bishop, I got so attached!!!! but here’s to hoping he’s kicking ass again in s2!

8) the rate in which I fell in love with these characters all over again is insane. Like harder than the original show in a fraction of the time.

9) Rogue did nothing wrong. 😭

10) Magneto definitely wasn’t right, but it’s interesting to witness how they justified his view point with Genosha and Bastion, and the ripple effect it had on people who didn’t even agree with him in the first place.

11) Cherik lmfao they were SO gay. I’m all for affectionate besties and dudes being shown as having close platonic bonds but this was Very Affectionate Besties with Seductive Grin Bedroom Eyes Charles Every Two Sentences.

12) honestly want a version of this show though where Charles stayed gone. I actually like him! I just think not having him around to help guide everyone made things so much spicier. Magneto was StrugglingTM for Real

13) Gambit’s death was so good, but I definitely figured he’d be coming back somehow because there was no way they were offing him thinking Rogue didn’t choose him.

14) speaking of, I was mostly joking in my shitposts about Death Gambit cause I had my money on a possible Sentinel Gambit with Bastion’s introduction, but the moment they went to Egypt I started clawing up all my old shit posts.

15) ROGUE DID NOTHING WRONG (lots of wrong but you know what? I love her. She can commit wrongs again.)

16) Beast was so good but I also low key wish he had a bit more screen time. His bitterness after Genosha was short-lived, I wish it had been explored more, like Charles talking it out of him or something and reminding him about their goals or…something.

17) Bastion was awesome no notes, hope he comes back as a horseman for the flex

18) hot Magneto no notes

19) hot Apocalypse no notes

20) crop top Gambit no notes

21) “His name was Gambit! Remember it!” Rogue was so beast in this season, it was cathartic watching her beat the shit out of Bastion. Her and Sunspot honestly make for a cool combat duo and I want to see them interact more.

22) DEATH GAMBIT AAAAAAHHHHHG

23) ey yo hold up does this mean Leech and the Morlochs and the perished Genosha mutants are permanently dead??? 💀

24) Logan and Morph were definitely something this season and I adored it, I adored Morph especially. Like Morph really said I Love You even if it was as Jean, I take what I can get

26) Magneto ripping Wolverine’s skeleton out like homie wouldn’t try to kill him with a wooden chair if given the opportunity. If anything now Logan has 0 weaknesses and a personal vendetta he can act upon. Rest in pieces Erik.

27) A goddess, a gravely injured Canadian, and a metaphor for gender identity walk into a bar and all 3 say “ouch” (bad joke. You’re welcome. Don’t worry guys, Storm is there so their arc will be wrapped up in about 12 minutes. Sorry can you tell I’m still mildly salty about her lack of screen time)

28) Rogue launching Cap’s shield is 11/10. Do it again do it again (woulda been top tier humor if the end credits showed him still looking for it frantically as the asteroid got closer)

Mostly that’s all I got. I have various other thoughts including how fucking HYPE seeing my fav duo Cloak and Dagger made me, but these were the key personal takeaways.

[odxrilove]

☆ 10:47PM

pairing: hoshi (kwon soonyoung) x reader

genre: fluff, comfort, established relationship

warnings: mentions about body, weight and losing weight, insecurities, insecure reader

wc: ~1k

a/n: wrote this at 1am 'cause i couldn't sleep! enjoy :D

the room was filled by screams and yells coming from the anime that was currently playing on the tv, a concentrated hoshi not diverting his eyes from the screen. he suddenly gasped in shock at a random scene, his breath hitting your bare skin as he was laying comfortably with his head in your lap, his cheek squished against your thigh.

while hoshi was still immersed in the show, you had long lost focus and instead had spent the last thirty minutes daydreaming, not paying attention to your boyfriend’s exaggerated reactions.

something had been bothering you for a while now and knowing hoshi, he was probably too invested in the story line to even realize hours had passed so you decided to attract his attention by passing your fingers through his hair, grazing his skin at the nape of his neck.

your boyfriend slowly leaned his head into your palm and wriggled on your shared bed until he was looking at you, his other cheek now being squished against your thigh. he looked up at you with stars in his eyes and a pout on his lips and you couldn’t help but shy away a bit.

when hoshi felt your hand leave his hair, he groaned slightly and slid further on the bed towards you, fully intending to force you to play with his hair. you could only blush and let out a short giggle, making hoshi smile in contentment in return.

a few more minutes passed by, comfortable silence filling the room beside the occasional dialogue of the still ongoing anime. your boyfriend soon turned around to continue watching the show, not without leaving a kiss on your clothed stomach to thank you for the attention.

biting your lip in frustration, you looked down at your lap. you didn’t know how to bring up what was bothering you without feeling like a complete loser. you knew hoshi would listen attentively but you were still quite scared of his reaction.

you hadn’t even realized the episode was over and that another one was starting, your boyfriend turning towards you with a big smile on his face at the first few notes of the catchy opening song, knowing you liked this specific opening. but his smile soon faded and his eyebrows furrowed when he saw you picking at your nails in a nervous manner, your eyes not leaving your lap.

a soft call of your name brought you back to earth and you came face to face with a worried hoshi. you reassured him quickly and pushed his head back down where it originally was. you knew your boyfriend wasn’t a hundred percent convinced so you just stroked his free cheek.

maybe it was the sudden boldness or the way hoshi’s eyes seemed to plead but you opened your mouth, the words leaving as fast as possible.

“do you think i could, maybe, accompany you and woozi to the gym next time?”

a smile took over his face and he immediately relaxed before nodding enthusiastically. “of course you can! it will be fun, you will see!” his body seemed to further bury itself into the covers as he closed his eyes peacefully.

your breath hitched in your throat. it was now or never.

“don’t you think i should lose a bit of weight?”

hoshi shot up from his comfortable position, eyes wide open. he muttered a small “what?” in disbelief. did he really just hear that?

“don’t you think i should lose some weight?” you repeated again, fingers trembling in nervousness.

hoshi was unable to even function correctly, his brain short-circuiting at your words. his mouth widened even more and he sat up straighter when your words started settling in. he inspected your face for any signs that might tell him you were currently joking but hoshi couldn’t find one, realizing you were indeed dead serious.

“what are you even talking about? “you look great!” he was at loss of words, he didn’t believe you just asked him that.

you nodded a bit, not convinced, “you're just saying that to make me happy.”

the look on hoshi’s face was comical, you surely would have laughed if your heart wasn’t threatening to run out of your chest right now. he rapidly turned his whole body towards you, sitting on his knees as a frown took over on his face. “how could you even think that?” he pouted, “i would never lie to you, especially not about this.”

you could feel his eyes burning holes into your skin and took a deep breath, lifting your head to look him in the eyes. hoshi was visibly upset. he thought he had made it very clear he loved the way looked.

when you didn’t reply, he placed a hand on your knee, his thumb running circles on your skin. “yn, baby, i think you look perfect. there’s nothing wrong with your weight, you’re healthy and that’s all that matters.”

he glared at you when a sigh left your mouth, “but i gained a bit of weight recently, doesn’t that bother you?”

you almost whimpered at his hard stare but his eyes soon softened. “it doesn’t matter if you gain or lose weight, i don’t care unless it affects your health. i just want you to feel and be okay, that’s all.” he tilted his head a bit, placing both his hands on your knees and leaning his chin on them. “plus, as long as you’re comfortable and huggable, i’m not complaining.”

the last sentence brought a smile to your face and you hit his arm lightly, hiding your blushing face, “phfff, dumbass.”

hoshi only leaned towards you, placing a wet kiss on your forehead before wrapping you in his arms and throwing a leg over yours, effectively trapping you against him and the covers.

“your dumbass.” he wiggled his eyebrows in a seductive manner and you snorted, hiding your face in his neck and rolling you both over until your head was on his chest.

you exhaled, gripping your boyfriend tighter.

but the calm didn’t last for long as he giggled under you, muttering a quick “attack of the tiger!” before his teeth were on your shoulder.

you could only fight back, screaming and yelling out pleas of help in between laughter as hoshi did his best to keep you trapped against him, wrapping his two legs around your waist and clinging onto you.

“we said no biting, babe!”

perm. taglist: @0x1lovebot @fairybinie @blaqpinksthetic @odetoyeonjun @pockyandme @soobin-chois @soobisms @junityy @kaimal @laylasbunbunny @jaeyunverse @bibinnieposts @raevyng @yoonzin0 @hoeforcheol @hykai

please do not copy, repost or steal any of my work. all content belongs to @odxrilove

[zagreuses-toast]

I come from a place of sheer curiousity and I just wanna ask genuinely- you say that you're a fan of 13s/ the chibnall era. Why? Doctor who is my favourite show and I've connected with every incarnation deeply and immediately, but have never been able to "click" with 13, despite my best efforts. What is it that you like about her? What is it that you like about chibnalls writing? I want to know and I want to like her/it too, but as of right now, I just... don't. Obviously you're not obligated to, but can you explain why?

Ok so this ended up being a Long Post, so I'm putting my response under the read more. Also I'm assuming you've actually watched the Chibnall era up to The Power of The Doctor, if you haven't then heads up for spoilers and stuff that might not make much sense without context.

Oh and I'm gonna @ @rearranging-deck-chairs and @ssaalexblake because I see their DW opinions all the time and they're really good and they can probably give more nuanced answers on some things. (Idk how well I did on explaining why I liked some of them, and it really is up to personal preference on some things)

Thirteen herself:

There are a lot of reasons I like Chibnalls era, but one of the biggest ones out the gate is definitely Jodie and her acting in the role of the Doctor. I think the way she balances bouncy gregariousness with the colder more angry and mean aspects of the Doctor is great. She does this thing where she can just make her eyes go dead and then smile like it's a threat, like she's gonna bite, especially when going up against villains. It's great. And Jodie herself is a delightful person.

Beyond just physical acting choices, I find the thirteenth Doctors struggle between her anger and secrecy, vs her desire to connect and her joy at life very very compelling. She keeps this distance that's really interesting I think, where she's genuinely attached to and trying to be a friend to the Fam, but still trying to keep her whole past out of the deal, which doesn't work that well, as we see in s12 and Flux. She's surrounded by death and haunted by the knowledge of how little time she has with her friends, (Grace, and she just came back from bill) but she still wants and needs that connection, and she learns to live in the present a bit. I made a whole post about her final regeneration speech here. I love her arc a lot even if it hurts. Also she's such a horrible hypocrite about so many things, which also makes her a fun character to rotate in my head and study like a bug. I do see it as being on purpose, some people seem to think it's just bad writing that she contradicts herself but imo that's a big part of her character.

Chibnalls writing:

I personally like the timeless child plot because :

There are a lot of stories and ideas in the Chibnall era I like, and a lot more I find very compelling. Whatever your opinions on the writing (and I definitely have had a lot of critique for some bits), there were a lot of ideas introduced that were fun and interesting. One of the weaker points of the era IMO is having so much fun stuff set up, but only shallowly or quickly exploring it, and then adding more stuff on top.

A lot of things didn't get the exploration/screen time I thought they deserved (especially characterization and interaction/dialogue wise). But that just gives my brain more to chew on at the end of the day, and I do love what was done during the seasons itself, not just all the potential stuff.

1) I can connect with it, I know Chibnall was coming at it from a place of being an adoptee, but as a native person the story of a kid taken and raised into an imperial/colonial society, who had their history stolen and their body exploited to further that societies ends, hits very close to home.

And 2) I have a "everything is true at once" approach to canon and I think the more origin stories we make for the Doctor the funnier it is.

This era had a lot of repeating themes, ideas that showed up and we're explored in a lot of different circumstances, often with a rule of 3 aspect to it. One is themes of Empire and Exploitation. Particularly through the stenza in s11 (empire using up planets, introduced to us basically doing foxhunts for clout, but with People instead of foxes), the dalek specials, the Cybermen in s12, and Division/the timelords in flux (as well as the sontarans &co).

Within that there's the repeating motif of how by exploiting people or their beliefs for power the imperial power/bad guys sew the seeds of their destruction. From Tzim Sha using the Ux and them turning against him, to the Division being destroyed by the Ravagers, who they tried to use to get rid of the Doctor/the old universe (and the doctor and even the master going rogue in the first place). Hell even Kerblam! (I know I know) Has a version, where the AI system being used to do terrible things is the one to call the doctor for help!

Another standout are themes of breaking cycles, Ryan is estranged from his dad and was distancing himself from Graham, but they both put in the work and grow extremely close over their two seasons. He also chooses to leave the TARDIS when he realizes he's absent from his friend's lives and wants to be present. And the Doctor gets to break the cycle of exploitation that Tecteun started, when she meets a vulnerable being with mysterious power (the energy being from TPOTD) she helps it free itself, on a way she wasn't helped.

Individual character stuff:

Going again into more individual character stuff I love, I've gotta give it to Sacha Dhawan for being a fucking superb Master. His acting is bonkers amazing and he does a great job portraying the sorta huge personal crisis the master is going through, and externalizing via evil schemes. At the end of Twelves run we saw Missy try to be like the doctor, to get her friend back (and even succeed a bit) but end up dying for it. Now we come back to a master who died trying to be like the person they see as their only equal, and has discovered (wrongly) that they were never equal to begin with, that the doctor is so much more than them. So he tries to make her like him instead, and If she won't become like him and kill them both along with the rest of gallifrey, then he will become her properly this time (by body snatching), ruin her legacy, and die with her eventually (overtaking her in the same way his whole existance has now been caused/overtaken by the doctor in his eyes, because of her being the source of regeneration)

Also can we talk about the Yaz?? I've been dying to talk about Yaz!!! I love her a lot and I find her fascinating, shes probably my favorite companion based on just sheer amount of time spent Thinking about her. Her doctorification/character arc is so good

Yaz is into the travelling and saving the day lifestyle the Doctor gives her for the responsibility of it all, for feeling useful and capable and good. Her early characterization Monet's include her complaining about not having more interesting jobs as a cop because she wants responsibility, she wanted to be important and helpful (that's the entire reason she became a cop, to help people like she was helped when she was in a dark place, and she finds a better way of doing that with the Doctor). And she GETS THERE, narratively and on a character level, she spends three years on earth with her own companions! She co-pilots the TARDIS and can fly her herself! She saves the day when the master steals the doctors body! And most of all SHES EXTREMELY SAD AT THE END BECAUSE THE PERSON SHE LOVES DIED BEFORE HER!! JUST LIKE THE DOCTOR !! (ugly crying) (I could write a whole other post about thasmin, good and bad, but a lot of people have put it better than me)

Also, I'm a big TARDIS girlie, she has somehow ended up being one of my favorite characters in doctor who, and the chinball era does so much fun stuff with the TARDIS!! Different writers take different approaches to the TARDIS, and how alive vs inanimate, or how active vs passive she is. I think the Chinball era had something special in terms of the way the TARDIS was depicted, and I loved it a lot. We never really get to see past the control room but it's a gorgeous control room! And throughout the era the TARDIS just feels so alive, it's always humming and beeping and chirping, I especially love the moments when the lights change color to match the doctors mood (mostly to blue, for sadness, sometimes red to yell at that dalek that one time). And speaking of the doctor, starting with ghost monument thirteen has a bunch of sweet moments of banter or just ~emotions~ with the TARDIS. I genuinely teared up a bit when she entrusted the timeless child memories to the TARDIS,and before her regeneration speech when she asked the TARDIS to look after her. Because who can she trust with her past AND her future except her oldest truest friend.

I could add a lot more of specific things from the era I love (solitract my beloved) but I think this is getting long enough as is lol.

[xticklemeemox]

The Love You Want: III, Part Twelve

Word count: 18,438

teehee fluff and smut and ANGST

Kinda dont like this but im insecure so!!!! <3

ALSO THIS FORE IS NOT ACTUALLY ONE OF THE FORE'S THE BAND HAS HAD. NEW ORIGINAL DUDE THAT IM CALLING FORE

Masterlist

AO3

Previous Part

Vessel and II are a quarter way into The Two Towers when III finally wakes, drooling on II's pillow as Elvira sleeps on it above his head.

"Mornin'" III slurs, rubbing one eye as they curl up into as small of a ball as possible, right up against II's side.

"Morning, sleepyhead. Rest well?" II says, receiving only a muffled hum in reply.

"When you're more awake, I'm going to need your and Ves' help maneuvering the mattress into the house. Carrying it in was no problem's all the tight corners and furniture I won't be able to navigate past. It's just sitting in the foyer right now, taking up space." II requests, and III nods into II's side.

"Coffee first." They mumble, eyes still shut as a thumb absent-mindedly traces a line back and forth on II's thigh.

"You seem more tired than usual." Vessel comments lightly, erring on the worried side, sitting up.

"Using my magic all day while Four was here was exhausting. Sleep said I would get used to it, though, and it wouldn't affect me so badly with time."

"Will you be able to healthily maintain your disguise on tour?" II questions, turning his phone screen off to properly pay attention to the conversation.

"I'll be fine. I'll have ample practice by the time touring comes around since Four's probably going to be coming over more often. Oh, speaking of, how do you feel about him? A bit blunt, but I can be as well." III finally sits up too, yawning into a closed fist.

"It's a bit early for me to say. He seems nice enough. What about you, Vessel?"

Vessel takes a moment to gather the words, not sure how to respond. Should he mention the man in his dreams? Vessel had wanted to wait until he'd spoken with Sleep, but... No. No, he'll wait to say anything.

Biting his lip nervously, Vessel says, "I do not feel drawn to him as I was to Three."

II takes that answer in, remembering the way he, too, was drawn to III, but not as strongly as Vessel had been. II himself didn't feel drawn to Nick, to Four, either.

"Well, has Sleep chosen our Fourth yet?" III says around another yawn, tears beading at the corner of their eyes.

"I am not certain. I will ask." Vessel moves to get up, but II stops him with an arm around his waist, pulling him back to II's side.

"Stay awhile, sweetheart. Ask later, once we finish our movie. I don't want you to leave my side just yet."

Vessel's face floods with a startlingly red blush, more shy about II blatantly admitting to wanting his company than he was about all of the dirty talk from that sinfully pretty mouth.

"What were you watching anyway?" III asks, hunching over to lean his head on II's shoulder.

"Lord of The Rings: The Two Towers." II replies, using his available hand to start carding gentle fingers through their hair, his usual blonde but now sporting black tips.

II's hand is warm where it has slid down to grip Vessel's hip tenderly, and Vessel is utterly lost in the gentleness of it.

"Oh, I've never actually seen those movies. A few scenes here and there from the first one, but that's it."

"We can- Um, I don't mind restarting from the first movie. If- If Two doesn't mind." Vessel speaks up, blushing further when II presses a kiss to his cheek.

"I don't mind. I've seen The Lord of The Rings a myriad of times along with The Hobbit trilogy-" II pauses, a frown appearing alongside a furrow between his brow, seeming to be thinking hard about something, "With my mothers. We would dedicate a whole weekend every once in a while to watching both trilogies. It got more difficult to plan once I moved out, but we managed."

"A nice memory then." III says delicately, "Seeing as you remember that."

"Yeah, it was nice..." II murmurs before brightening, "That settles it then, we'll take this downstairs to the living room. First, we need the mattress moved. I'll make your coffee afterwards if you'll just help me now, Three?" II aims to compromise, and III takes a moment to think it over, still a bit drowsy.

He nods once, and that is that.

Except Vessel speaks up next, "I can help."

"Don't think I didn't notice the fresh blood on your bandages, my love. You're not helping." II insists, leaving no room for argument.

Vessel startles a little, looking down at his arms. As II says, red and black blood has seeped through the layers of Vessel's bandages, notifying the others of fresh wounds. Guilt freezes his veins, and he looks down to the bed, hands clenching tightly in his lap, feeling as though he should pull away from the comfort the other two are providing just by being so close.

"I want to help, regardless of what I've done to myself. I can help move furniture, or some other task. I do not want to be useless as you both do all the work."

II frowns, a heavy thing that seems to weigh down his shoulders too. "I do not want to exacerbate your injuries, self-inflicted as they are. If I even so much as think you're straining your arms too much, I'm sending you to time out on the couch."

"I am not an ill-mannered child that needs to be put in time out." Vessel protests in a murmur, before looking up in a sudden panic, fearing his words were too bold.

II's smile is softer than Vessel expects, eyes just as kind with a blatantly playful gleam that Vessel does not miss, "You certainly worry me as though you were one."

The panic washes away once Vessel sees that II isn't upset with him for talking back, a wobbling, guilty smile replacing the thin line his lips had fallen into. It's the only answer he can muster, and II takes it as it is, moving on, "Up, up, if we want to finish all three movies in the trilogy today we have to start soon."

"A lazy day, then? We have so many of those." III rolls over onto their back as II gets out of bed and pulls Vessel to his feet beside him.

Elvira yowls lowly as III accidentally lays his head on her tail, wacking them on the forehead with a paw. III scowls as they sit up, a palm pressed to where her claws had lightly scratched along his forehead.

"I think we all deserve one after the last few days. I know I was stressed about meeting our manager and then needing to pick a guitarist. Vessel was a wreck- Don't you try to object, honey, I could feel it in the bond."

Vessel gnaws on his lower lip to refrain from protesting anyway. II kisses him, a sudden thing that sends Vessel's thoughts scattering pleasantly. When II pulls away, he explains to a speechless Vessel, "Good morning kiss. Also, your lip was starting to bleed. Can't have that pretty mouth damaged, now can we?"

Vessel opens his mouth to stutter out a flustered response, glad when III speaks up instead, oscillating fingers beckoning II closer, "I want my good morning kiss!"

II laughs, pulling away from Vessel to crawl onto the bed, leaning over III to place a soft kiss on his lips, one hand cupping their face lovingly. "There, honey. Now, up."

III groans in dismay but does as told. Vessel makes to step away from the bed so III has ample space to stretch, but careful fingers thread through the hair at the back of his head after they stand, III reaching forth to pull Vessel close enough to kiss him just as tenderly as II had kissed them.

II laughs when III pulls away, the sheer redness of Vessel's face now visible. "So easily flustered today, Ves." He comments, picking his phone back up from the bed and checking the time.

"Your compliments are so freely given, I am not used to them, even now." Vessel replies, somehow managing to turn a deeper shade of scarlet.

"I love seeing you blush. Its my favorite thing. Of course I'm going to compliment you until that pretty flush appears. You and Two deserve every compliment I give. Two is so cute, even when he looks so angry while drumming."

II gasps, affronted, "I'm not angry! I'm concentrating."

"You look angry." III says bluntly, smirking.

"I do not! Ves, Ves, tell them they're wrong!" II pleads, trying and failing to keep from laughing.

Vessel looks between the two, embarrassment forgotten, finding the words on the tip of his tongue. Should he say them? He wants to, but fears II's reaction. II has never gotten angry with Vessel over anything he's said...

"Its the furrow between the brow." Vessel confirms, watching II carefully.

III smiles at Vessel participating in the teasing, hesitant still, but... more relaxed. He's been a bit more open with his words ever since he'd woken up from his week long sleep, more open with his affections, though barely.

"You wound me, sweetheart. Three is our brat but for you to agree with him? Why, I never!" II keeps his tone playful, exaggerated perhaps a bit too much, but he wants to make sure Vessel knows they're both only joking around.

Vessel's self-satisfied, answering smile is small but sends zings of delight down the bond, glad that his teasing had not landed him in any trouble.

"Enough playing around, we're wasting daylight!" II commands, clapping his hands together softly so that it doesn't startle Vessel too badly.

He's pleased when Vessel barely flinches, squeezing II's hand when he offers it to hold.

With all three of them working together, they manage to get the mattress into the living room. Fitting it with the sheet they'd bought, II decides to see how it looks shoved up on one end against the wall they don't use. It makes the living room look a little cluttered, but it's not like it won't look the same when they set the mattress down to use.

"Right then, I'll be making our drinks. Go on ahead and start up the first movie again, Three." II brushes a hand along III's lower back, purposefully touching the mark he knows sits there.

III lets out a loud squeal, a sound neither of the other vessels are sure they've ever heard from him. Their face flushes red, arousal splintering through the otherwise joyful bond. II's bond is satisfied, a sense of victory thrumming down the tether. Payback for III's teasing, Vessel supposes.

III opens their mouth to speak but II is already gone, light chuckles still being heard from the direction of the kitchen.

"I can't believe he did that and just walked away." III grumbles, causing Vessel to let out a small laugh.

He watches III closely afterwards, eyeing them up as though they're going to grow angry with Vessel for the noise, but III only sighs around a smile.

"You laugh, pretty, but we've not touched your mark. Its pleasurable, and he just left without even doing anything about the tent in my jeans. What a tease, that one. Adore him, though." III pouts, plopping down onto the mattress, remote in hand.

Will III ask Vessel to do something about his aroused state? Vessel wouldn't mind, not since its III.

Despite Vessel's secret hopes, III doesn't ask for help with his... problem, choosing instead to do as II asked while readjusting their pants every once in a while.

It confuses Vessel. III was clearly aroused, and Vessel was right there for use. His past partners wouldn't have even given it a second thought.

"Do you... need help with that?" Vessel asks after III adjusts their crotch area again.

"Hm? Oh, no. I'm fine." III dismisses Vessel's offer with a half-smile as they scroll through some movie app, looking for the correct movie.

Vessel tilts his head to the side, not quite understanding why III is refusing the help if Vessel is offering.

"Do you want to help?" III asks once he notices Vessel's odd expression, having selected the first movie of the trilogy and queuing it up to watch.

Vessel's lips pinch, glancing away. He goes to reply but III speaking over him stops the words from being heard, "I don't want you offering unless you want to, Vessel. I have a hand I can use if I really need to get off. At the moment, I'm not worried about it. My hard on will go away in a minute, I'll live."

Though there had been heavy deliberation, instead of offering himself up again, Vessel merely asks, "Are you certain?"

III levels a soft look at Vessel, one arm held out invitingly. As Vessel takes it and lets III pull him down to rest his head on their shoulder, they speak again, "I'm quite certain, Sugar. As we've said, you're more than just your body. We love you, not for what your body can give us."

Unbidden, tears well up in Vessel's eyes, held back with an iron will. He nods, throat tight, as II finally comes back with a few mugs in hand, held with fingers in strange positions befitting guitar chords.

Vessel sends a small portion of his gratefulness down the bond to both II and III, for differing reasons. II, for not bringing attention to Vessel's tears, and III for being so blessedly kind to him. To both of them, for giving Vessel so much he does not deserve.

II sets both his and Vessel's mugs down on the coffee table they'd decided to leave at the mattress' side, crawling over the blankets they'd haphazardly tossed onto the makeshift bed. He reaches for Vessel, curling one hand into the soft mess of his hair, the other coming to hold his shoulder for balance as II hovers on his knees.

"Might I have a kiss sweetheart?"

"Always."

The kiss is short and sweet, just a simple sliding of lips against eachother, delving no deeper into more intimate territory. When II pulls away, Vessel feels better, tears dried and forgotten.

"I've got the movie pulled up whenever you're both ready." III says, eyes just as soft as his voice, when II pulls away from Vessel.

II makes himself comfortable beside Vessel, all three of them leaned with their backs against the piping of the couch cushions. He then hands each of them their respective mugs, warm to the touch. The movie is started without much preamble, and Vessel and III get to experience the story in full for the first time, II chiming in quietly during duller moments to reveal backstory from the books or the ways mishaps during filming added to the movies.

Vessel's six eyes track different parts of the screen easily, keeping up with anything going on in the background, the subtitles, and the main focus of the movie's scenes. Its made easier by the screen being bigger, Vessel thinks offhandedly, taking another sip of his coffee.

The day is well spent, relaxed and comfortable. It is past midnight by the time all three of the extended editions of the movie's are finished, II chattering sleepily but excitedly about his favorite parts as Vessel and III follow along to the best of their ability. Its rare to see II with so much energy when he isn't drumming, and its quite a welcome sight.

II and III head off to bed while Vessel finally goes to the altar room. He lights all of the candles, as usual leaving the red one for Sleep to light himself. He kneels on the ground, feeling his knees beginning to ache from the unforgiving hardness of the floor. After a moment, he stands back up.

Before Vessel properly kneels for worship, he first has something he wishes to do. Has wished to do for some time now, ever since he woke up.

He stares ahead of him, the symbol on the wall seeming to beckon him closer. He reaches out, trying to find the words and feeling a little silly for even thinking about doing something like this.

"Thank you." Vessel whispers, one hand hovering over the sigil on the wall.

Even now, the drumbeat of his heart pounds in his ears, all around him.

"You kept Three safe. You finally did something right. You've fallen for such good people. You don't deserve them, will never deserve them for as long as you live your second chance at life. Undeserved as it is, unwanted-" Vessel cuts himself off, not daring to speak it out loud.

A deep breath in, and Vessel continues, "So many failed attempts and when you finally, finally succeed, you take back your life just for the chance to be loved. So pathetic. But I can't find it in myself to regret the decision. Most days, at least."

He sets his hand down on the sigil, his whole body shivering with the feeling. His heart beats in his chest, pounding away at his ribcage violently. The vines on the walls shiver and shake in time like Vessel's own body has begun to. Claws dig in, applying pressure but not enough to bring pain. Vessel's breaths turn shallow, slowly applying more and more pressure-

'My first, what are you doing?'

Sleep's voices, startle Vessel, and he pulls his hand back to his chest as though burned. The red candle below him is burning brightly, golden flame casting glimmering shadows on Vessel's shirt.

"I have a question for you, my God, if you do not mind my asking."

'A question? You always have many and I am always happy to answer. What is it?'

"You once mentioned a possibility of a fourth and fifth vessel. Have you chosen the fourth yet?"

'I have not chosen a Fourth vessel, my First.There will be no Fifth, I have decided.' Sleep refutes, voices laced with heavy confusion.

Sleep hadn't-? Oh. Well, that is quite surprising.

Then, who was the man in Vessel's dream? He had been real, alive, Vessel knows without a doubt. Like with II and III, there was some invisible force binding Vessel to him. Thinking back on it, it didn't quite feel like anything under Sleep's control. Vessel knows whatever it was, though, was soul deep.

"I see. My mistake then." Vessel amends, feeling Sleep's curiosity brush against their bond.

'A penny for your thoughts, as you humans say?'

Sleep wishes to know what he is thinking?

A quietly surprised laugh leaves Vessel, a smile pulling at one corner of his lips, "Not so human anymore. Did one of the others teach you that phrase?"

'Yes, my Third has taken to questioning me on my thoughts at random throughout the day. A new development, and not unwelcome. He has yet to find the pennies I have left in their favorite jackets pocket.'

Vessel laughs again, a bit louder than the one before, smile still present. Sleep does not reprimand him for the sound. Neither had II or III. They've never thought him too loud, just as he has never once thought III too loud. Vessel had only needed to get used to III's louder personality, and he had, he'd worked hard to.

'I did not know you remembered how to laugh, my First.'

Vessel shrinks into himself at the words, but does not let his rising insecurities stop him from replying truthfully. "The others do not mind as my past partners did."

The wording of what Sleep had said would strike Vessel as odd, if he had not been focused entirely on making sure that Sleep knew it was thanks to II and III that Vessel had been able to laugh at all. Vessel hasn't laughed genuinely in many years, afraid of the loudness of the action, the stares he would get in public, the demands of silence from those who claimed to have loved him.

Vessel had not laughed like that long before Sleep ever came to him.

'I...' Sleep pauses, falling into a pensive silence, His unanswered question all but forgotten.

'I am glad, my First. They suit you well.'

Sleep's short response is carefully controlled, all emotion kept out of His voices.

"They are treating me better than I- than I feel I deserve." Vessel replies softly. "I truly adore them, far more than I will ever be able to articulate. They mean the world to me, and it is thanks to you that we were brought together. I thank you."

'I have only granted your wish, my Vessel.' Is all Sleep responds with, presence pressing into his back as though in a hug. 'You gave me your heart, it is only right I find you others to give you theirs.'

Vessel leans back into it, a small part of him wishing he could feel Sleep as though He were actually touching him, hugging him. Vessel will not allow the others to hug him, no matter how he longs to be held, so if... if Sleep could hug him... then- Alas, it is not to be. Not any time soon. The God cannot even conjure a physical form. Selfishly, it is why Vessel has been so keen on getting the band going, in his own way. In spite of his anxieties and fears. The more rituals they perform, the more worshippers they attain, the stronger Sleep will become. His anxieties will not stop him from doing as his God requires, not when it comes to gaining Him more strength.

"I do not want it offered up in the same way." Vessel whispers, almost afraid of what the admission means.

Vessel offered his heart up to the next living thing that offered to love him without a second thought. He was a man who had been ready to die for years before his attempts ever actually worked. He doesn't want those he loves to ever feel as he had, to suffer as he had.

'Do not fret, dear Vessel. Their hearts are yours, but the way yours is mine will never be the same.'

Vessel is glad Sleep did not press any further. Who was he to tell his God that he knew who their Fourth was, before Sleep himself knew?

II and III took the news of the Fourth's spot being unfulfilled for the foreseeable future well. Yet Vessel could not get the image of those striking eyes to leave his mind. He wanted to tell them what he saw but Sleep's indecision stays his hand, guilt beginning to fester somewhere deep in the heart that no longer belonged to him.

Nick starts coming over two days a week on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Their manager had set them up for a small stage at a festival in about a month's time. Vessel had nearly had a panic attack when they'd found out, overcome with anxiety at just how many people would be at the festival itself. Playing a tiny venue or shop was one thing, something Vessel had thought they'd be doing for a while yet, which would have been easier on his nerves... but a festival?

II had managed to help him calm down by rationalizing that their non-existent fan base would mean not many people would be there unless they drew a few curious onlookers. It did help, but by then Vessel's nerves were fried, and he couldn't even think about singing for the rest of the day without his body beginning to tremble.

"How are we supposed to play a show when our singer is too much of a nervous wreck to even sing with his band?" Nick had said curiously, offhanded as he was tuning his guitar.

Vessel had withered under the biting remark, said with a pleasant smile. II's reassurance in Vessel made Nick back off but it wasn't like Vessel could disagree with Nick's words. It really was pathetic that he couldn't even sing properly in front of his boyfriends, most days, and Vessel always withdrew into himself whenever Fore came over, even if he was all smiles and friendliness. No matter how nice he seemed, Vessel couldn't seem to even begin to trust him. Elvira seemed to be the same, always sticking close to Vessel or hiding away in one of their rooms. Vessel's nerves made it difficult to sing fully, but he managed, after hearing what Nick had said. Managed, even if he felt eyes watching him constantly when Nick was in their house, a sort of pleased gleam in his honey brown eyes as Vessel shrunk under his stare. Vessel was so much taller, and yet... he still felt unexplainably scared of Fore, small under his gaze in a way that reminds him of Before.

Vessel wasn't sure if it was a blessing or a curse that II and III merely chalked it up to Vessel being an introverted, pathetic mess (his own words.) They both got along with Fore well, with time, and Vessel desperately didn't want to ruin the budding friendship between the three, so he remained silent. It was better this way.

One day, III had cornered him in the music room after they'd finished practicing, II having left to see Nick out the door. He'd forced himself to sing again, at as normal of a volume as he could manage, and he really just wanted to go lay down. Maybe in one of the other vessels rooms, to seek comfort from them indirectly without bothering them by asking.

"You seem stressed, Sugar." III comments, placing a gentle kiss to the tip of Vessel's nose.

Vessel feels trapped, in the base sense of the word. Not unsafe, never unsafe, as III's long arms cage him in. The wall is hard against his back, digging into his shoulder blades uncomfortably, but Vessel doesn't notice, not when the only thing his mind can focus on is III in front of him. III, who is placing gentle kisses on Vessel's jaw, over one eyelid, his forehead, as they patiently wait for Vessel's reply. It works to begin calming him immediately.

"It's not easy for me to sing in front of others. I'm better with you and Two, now, but- Not with Nick. I'm- anxious about our show coming up."

"Nick's just worried about the festival. You sounded absolutely divine today, Ves. Sing so pretty-" III interrupts himself by stealing a deep, bruising kiss that leaves Vessel panting.

Vessel wants more. Wants to lose himself in III's overwhelming love so he can't think of the near future, can't think of eyes crawling along his skin. More than that, Vessel just wants III.

So, he gathers his miniscule courage and asks for more of III's lips on his. III positively lights up, kissing Vessel again and again and again, only stopping when III needs to take in deep breaths. Vessel's cock starts growing hard, III's knee just barely pressing against it between Vessel's legs.

III is utterly elated that Vessel had asked! Asked for kisses!

"Take this up to my room? Unless you don't want to, of course." III asks, finally, after an innumerable amount of kisses shared between them, every one of them deep and world ending.

Vessel stares at them, foreheads pressed together. He thinks of the aching hardness between his legs, the warmth of III's thigh pressed into him, how utterly safe he feels with III's arms caging him to the wall. III's chest, while close, rising and falling with every panting breath, does not get near Vessel's own. They've never broken his only rule.

He nods, and III grins, kissing him again. A hand slides down to clasp Vessel's own, squeezing it before III starts to lead them both out of the music room. They pass II in the hallway, who smiles, well aware of what they're heading off to do. His necklace is off, looking just as the Second of Sleep's vessels should, so Vessel slips his own necklace off while III lets their magic wash away.

"Have fun you two." Is all II says, heading in the direction of the living room.

He doesn't leave without first pressing a tender kiss to Vessel's lips, one hand cupping Vessel's jaw so gently, before doing the same to III.

Vessel almost wants to ask II to join them, but II is gone before Vessel can even properly entertain the thought of asking III if it was alright. Besides, Vessel has a... request to make, of III.

Maybe he should ask another time, or never. To not overstep the invisible boundaries Vessel knows exist. But... III seems to want him, and Vessel wants him, too.

"May I make you feel good to help you unwind?" III says, pushing their door open and shutting it behind Vessel once the other has entered.

Vessel nods in agreement without a thought, still lost in his own mind, before pausing halfway to III's bed. Vessel holds himself, biting down hard on his lower lip nervously. III waits patiently, sat on the bed, for Vessel to gather the words, always more patient than Vessel des- Feels he deserves.

"Actually... Can you teach me- Ah, how to give a blow job? I want to make it up to Two, eventually." Vessel states, trying to remain firm in his resolve despite his nerves.

"Is this about the last sexual encounter we had? He isn't upset with you, Sugar. You don't need to make it up to him unless you want to." III says with furrowed brows, worried over Vessel's reasoning for the request.

"I want to. I want to make him feel good, like you made me feel good. I did not know that's what a blow job was supposed to be, I had never been taught. My mouth was more a hole, a thing to be used just like the rest of me. I did not realize there was more to it. I want to learn."

III frowns, sad at what Vessel has just admitted, "Are you sure you want me to teach you? I'm sure II wouldn't mind if he's who you want to please."

"I want to please you, too. You, uh- I got ar-" Vessel tries to gather what he wants to say, "I would really like to continue what was going on in the music room. I- I only hope you don't mind that I am inexperienced with blow jobs. I... I will likely not be able to give you pleasure, initially."

III doesn't think Vessel could get his mouth on their cock without feeling pleasure, whether Vessel was good at blow jobs or not. III was just far too attracted to the other man. As it was, just the thought of it had III's already hard cock twitching in his pants.

"That's fine, my love. I'll teach you." III agrees with a forced smile to hide his displeasure at the new information, leaning forward to kiss Vessel's cheek.

"Would you like to start right now or another time?" III asks, stepping back so they can sit on their bed again.

"Right now, please? If that's alright." Vessel sinks a fang into his lower lip, nibbling on it before releasing.

"Of course it is, Sugar. I'd gotten myself worked up anyway, kissing you like that." III assures, beckoning Vessel closer.

They lean back and twist to grab a pillow from his bed, placing it on the ground in front of their spread legs. Vessel stands in front of it, not quite sure what III is doing.

"What... is that for?" Vessel asks quietly, staring down at the thick pillow in confusion.

"For your knees, so you don't hurt them. Or would you prefer us on the bed?"

"No... No, this is fine, it's just- I have never... This was never done for me." Vessel admits, almost sheepish as if it was his fault that those before II and III didn't have the decency-

Vessel startles slightly when III stands briefly enough to kiss him before plopping back down. Vessel barely stops himself from following them down, wants to press his lips to theirs again, and again, and again. Wants to inhale every breath III exhales like it will bring them closer together, to share oxygen even if Vessel doesn't need it.

"This will become normal for you, in time. Your past partners should have done this for you. Would you kneel for me?" III keeps his voice gentle, but firm.

Vessel nods, contemplative as he does as asked. The pillow is soft under his knees, keeping them and his shins from aching on the hard flooring. Is this all that would have been needed to keep his legs from bruising so badly? This... this is all they would have needed to do?

Vessel doesn't understand why his ex boyfriend couldn't have done this simple thing for him. He must not have been worthy of it.

III must think him worthy of the comfort, at least. Vessel feels warm at the thought, reaching out with his hands to nonverbally ask for III's own. Without an ounce of hesitation, III takes Vessel's hands in theirs and brings them up to plant a kiss on his knuckles.

"We can do this some other day, if you'd like." III offers, clocking in on Vessel's nervousness even without the bond broadcasting it so blatantly.

"... I want to do it now, but I'm... I'm afraid it will hurt." Vessel confides, the blatant trust in his eyes nearly sending III into an early (Late? Second?) grave.

Well, perhaps that metaphor is far from correct but the way their heart flutters in their chest with adoration certainly feels like it will kill them.

When III gets their hands on whoever did this to him, whoever treated him this way, fuck, they'll wish they were never born. They'll wish it was Sleep who had gotten His claws into them instead.

"It shouldn't, but I swear to you, if it does, let me know and we'll stop. Here, let's hold hands the entire time. Squeeze once for green, twice for yellow, three times for red." III lets one of Vessel's hands go, but keeps a tight hold on one still.

"I trust you." Vessel says, and means it.

"I'm glad." III murmurs, bringing Vessel's hand up again to kiss his knuckles.

It spreads warmth down to Vessel's toes, to have some part of him be kissed so gently, so reverently.

"Would you like me to get undressed by myself or would you like to help?"

Vessel thinks back to how... sensual it had been, for III to undress him last time, staring at him with a heated gaze as they slowly undressed him inch by inch, piece by piece.

"I want to help." Vessel murmurs, hesitantly placing his hands on III's hips.

The pajamas are familiar, just slightly too short at the ankles. He hadn't paid any attention to what anyone had been wearing today, too caught up in his own mind and his insecurities but Vessel recognizes them immediately, finally getting a proper look at them. He would not dare imagine-

"Are these... mine?" Vessel flushes bright red, and III turns about the same color.

"Yes. I... missed you while you were asleep so II and I stole a shirt of yours each and I shoved my non-existent ass into a pair of your jeans. Snaked this pair of pajama pants, too. Forgot to give them back. Should... we not have?"

"Wear whatever of my clothes you want. Both of you." Vessel says, then grows nervous as he decides whether or not to say the next sentence, "I- Is it alright- I- Can I wear some of your clothes, too?"

III's gaze intensifies, the deep depths of his ocean eyes darkening with stormy intent, "I would love nothing more than for you to wear my clothes. Would you let me fuck you in them?"

Nodding as his blush deepens, Vessel smiles. The idea does sound nice. Possessive, in a way. Like III will be claiming Vessel as his while he's in their clothes. If its them, Vessel wouldn't mind being a possession. Not when they treat him so kindly, let him decide things for himself. It does not feel like a restricting possession, like Vessel thought it might.

Perhaps Vessel will have the courage to ask if III could keep Vessel's clothes on, next time. If Vessel doesn't ruin any chance of III wanting a 'next time' after this.

Vessel takes his time sliding the pants over III's hips, down his thighs, his knees, then his calves, then finally over the ankle and off their feet. The entire time is spent nervously glancing up at III as though Vessel feared he was doing something wrong, but III only watched him with desire swirling in their irises. Despite what III thought Vessel might do, the other's hands linger on III's thigh, itching to trace the ink that signifies the end of Sleep's markings that have stained III's skin up to his knees pitch black. Even here, a small freckle has turned into an upside down question mark, just below their left knee on the right side, its coloring pale like the human parts of III's skin.

"You can touch me, if you want to." III says softly, keeping eye contact with Vessel when he looks back up at him hesitantly.

... this is something Vessel has wanted to do, on both II and III, since he'd first seen the markings.

He'd never allowed himself to think about it, his want to touch.

Slowly, Vessel starts to trace the inky markings on III's thighs that are visible below their boxers. The first cool touch sends pleasant shivers down III's spine, all throughout his body. It makes Vessel pause, but at III's breathless insistence to keep going, he continues tracing the marks. He moves gentle fingertips over every bit of ink that reaches up from III's thighs, tracing the tiny curves of question mark freckles on III's legs with the tip of a claw, so carefully as though III were fragile glass.

Soon enough, Vessel has traced all of them below III's waist that aren't covered by their boxers, and III is a mess above him, face flushed with half lidded eyes. A prominent bulge is tenting their boxers.

"Keep going." Its almost a demand, just tender enough, just breathless enough to soften it.

Vessel slowly reaches for his boxers next, thumbing at the waistline before beginning to pull those down, too. III shimmies so they'll slide down his hips and over his ass without any resistance, and those are discarded with his pajama pants. III's cock is hard and leaking pre-cum, standing at attention before him.

III is that hard just from Vessel touching him?

"You look so pretty below me, Sugar. Doing so well." III croons, breathless, watching in rapt attention as Vessel leans back on his haunches once III's boxers are fully removed.

Vessel's already flushed face deepens in color, mumbling in embarassment, "I've only taken off your clothes."

What's really getting to Vessel is he can feel just what his touch is doing to III. The bond is open wide as III hides absolutely nothing from Vessel. He is struggling to accept that his touch alone could cause such a strong reaction in his partner.

"And you looked so pretty doing it. You touch me so gently, make me feel so special, my love." III grins, but it falls a little when Vessel can't quite manage to meet their eyes, "Do you want to keep going?"

He must have taken Vessel's shy pause as apprehension. Vessel nods, reaching out again.

Vessel touches each point of the flames, less hesitantly this time, following the curve down III's pelvis. The shifting golden question marks are enrapturing, Vessel taking great care in tracing over each one as they shift to different spots. No matter where they shift, their dotted end is always pointed downwards, the questions marks angled to point at each hip bone.

Vessel does not limit himself to only III's markings, tracing swirling patterns into the pale skin of his hips, breaching the soft flesh of their stomach. Vessel leaves that area alone quickly enough, trailing gentle fingers down into the coarse hair leading down to III's red, leaking cock, enraptured by the flame-like markings even here.

One hand slides over III's bare thigh to find their hand, and it is III who clasps their fingers together. Vessel leans a little closer, offering a single lick to III's tip before opening his mouth, intending to swallow him in one go, the only way Vessel knows how.

"Not like that, Ves. You'll hurt yourself."

Vessel pulls away to speak, wetting his lips with a pink, split tongue, "I've had practice ignoring the pain."

"You'll be getting no more practice if I have any say in it." III tries to keep the dismayed hiss in their voice from being too obvious, "Let me guide you through the proper way to do it. If it hurts, stop, and pull away. Please."

Vessel nods his head in agreement, uncertain, mollified when III very gently boops his nose. It makes him go cross-eyed for a split second, pulling a smile back to Vessel's cheeks. "There's that beautiful smile, pretty. Let's continue."

Vessel leans forward again to hide the way his smile stretches into a grin, lukewarm breath ghosting against the leaking tip of III's dick, opening his mouth further and diving right in to trying to fit him inside Vessel's mouth.

"Slower, Ves, open your mouth a little wider. Yes, that's it, pretty, now flatten your tongue, and take me in slowly so your mouth, then throat, can get used to the stretch. Make sure you breathe through your nose." III orders, keeping their voice light and level even as the sensation of Vessel's mouth around his cock is quickly overwhelming their senses.

Vessel does as ordered, listening to the instructions and trying his best to do them. He finds that it doesn't hurt like he thought it would. Going slower really does make the stretch easier, allowing III's hard cock to sink further into the back of Vessel's throat. This would normally have hurt, Vessel knows.

"Go slow, Ves. Slow-. Don't try to take too much at once." III reprimands around a breathy whine of pleasure as Vessel tries to take in III's dick to the base too quickly.

Vessel goes even slower, knowing he can do this far faster than III is allowing. He doesn't quite understand why III insists he goes slowly, Vessel had already said he was used to the pain. Though, III did look upset at the admission. Perhaps it stems from the care they show him. He didn't need to give Vessel such a soft pillow to kneel on, either, but it really has helped his knees.

Eventually, Vessel feels the tip of III's cock hit the back of his throat, swallowing a little at the feeling, even if it doesn't trigger his gag reflex. That had been trained out of him long ago.

III sucks in a harsh breath, fingers flexing in Vessel's hold. The pleasure Vessel had caused echoes through his own body, the bond rife with their shared arousal.

"Good, that's good lovey. I'm going to start moving now, okay? Squeeze once for yes, twice for no."

Vessel squeezes once for yes without delay, having been ready for III to move since he'd taken the first quarter of their cock in his mouth. It wouldn't have been anything Vessel hadn't done before. III has far more patience than Vessel's ex boyfriend.

"May I cup your jaw?"

Vessel takes a moment to think about it. Does he think the touch will give him flashbacks? III has been nothing but considerate, and it was the words II had said coupled with touching his jaw that had set Vessel off. As long as III doesn't say anything similar, it should be alright. Hopefully, Vessel doesn't fuck this up again.

Vessel squeezes once, blush deepening as III grins down at him. They keep their movement slow, reaching down to cup his cheek, ever so gentle in his affections. They start up a shallow rhythm of thrusts as they speak, and Vessel takes it, easily, because it doesn't hurt and III isn't pulling his hair and Vessel feels safe-

"I'm proud of you for thinking it over and not just agreeing because I asked." III says, keeping a careful eye on the bond and glad to see that Vessel seems perfectly content.

Vessel's blush spreads to the tips of his pointed ears, flattening his tongue against III's cock and then separating the two split tips to lick up on either side of the shaft as best as he can, in answer.

III's grin falters into an airy moan at the sensation, "Holy fuck, Sugar. Do that again, please?"

Vessel stares up at III with wide eyes. He didn't realize it would affect him so greatly. Vessel does as asked, easily continuing to lick and lap with his split tongue even when III starts to buck into his mouth more and more. A particularly hard thrust follows Vessel swallowing around the tip of III's cock at the back of his throat, surprised at the zing of pleasure it sent racing down Vessel's spine. Pleasure that wasn't Vessel's own.

"Co- Shit, color, love?" III barely manages, head falling to rest their chin on their chest, panting as he forces themself to stop moving his hips to check in on Vessel.

His deep ocean eyes have misted over with a lust filled haze, and Vessel feels trapped in that electrifying gaze, unable to look away. Vessel squeezes III's hand once, and III starts thrusting into his mouth again.

It doesn't hurt, but the sensation brings tears to Vessel's eyes anyway. It doesn't matter to him, because it doesn't hurt. It doesn't hurt even with III fucking into his mouth a little rougher than Vessel thinks the other intends.

It feels so good to be giving III pleasure, to feel it bleeding into Vessel's own side of the bond and making his dick harder in turn. Vessel jerks his hips subconsciously again, in need of something, anything to touch him, an action he wishes he had more control over. Every time he does so, though, the sight seems to please III.

"You're doing so well. You asked me to teach you, but it seems you already picked up some things from when I sucked you off, hm? Such a fast learner, pretty."

III can't get enough of the sight of Vessel staring up at him with half-lidded eyes, all six glowing dimly with his pleasure even if Vessel hasn't cum yet. The wet heat of him around III's cock, the tightness of his throat, the muffled, nearly impossible to hear moan that III wishes they could catch with complete clarity only brings III closer to the edge.

Soon enough, III feels his release close, his hand sliding from Vessel's jaw, brushing his ear and cupping the nape of Vessel's neck to bring him closer, fucking into his mouth with vigor.

Vessel takes it, six eyes never straying from III's face, trying to memorize every minor change in expression as he interchanges between hollowing his mouth around III's cock and sucking, and swirling his tongue along the underside of their shaft as much as possible. It is more difficult than Vessel expected as the waves of III's orgasm crash over him as well, bringing him to the edge of release.

"Look so pretty-" III's breathy voice breaks around a moan, "with that perfect mouth around my cock. Could you suck a little more? Y-yeah, just like that, beautiful."

Vessel moans inaudibly around III's dick, rutting his hips into nothing, chasing friction he will not find. III's voice sounds so pretty, and his praise made Vessel feel like he was doing good.

III lets out an obscene keen at the way Vessel's throat vibrates around their cock, thrusting deeply into the back of Vessel's throat. For a second, III worries they might have hurt Vessel, but the other seems perfectly fine.

Not to be narcissistic, but III knows they aren't exactly an easy fit, and Vessel took him in so well, a little too well. Another piece of the puzzle to add alongside what Vessel had said earlier. Something to ask about later, when III knows it won't ruin the heady desire swimming through Vessel, through themself.

Vessel wants to see III cum, wants to watch them fall to pieces by use of Vessel's mouth alone. Wants to be the reason for their pleasure, Vessel wants to be good.

It isn't too much longer when III finally cums, the sight of his dear Vessel below him, taking him in so well, eyes half-lidded and glowing, staring up at III like he'd hung the moon and the stars in the sky-

Fuck, III wishes he could snap a photo of the exact moment they spilled their load into Vessel's mouth. Oversensitivity hits quickly, their cock softening. III guides Vessel off his cock gently, feeling satisfied and so completely and utterly in love. Vessel's head rests heavily on III's thigh, staring up at them with six shining eyes, golden tears gathered around the edges.

Vessel misses the heavy weight of III's hard cock in his mouth immediately. He was able to give III pleasure, and III did not hurt him in return. III had been so loving, even when he'd fucked into Vessel's mouth, roughly chasing relief at the end and yet never pulling Vessel's hair too harshly, never dragging him around by his jaw. He felt like more than just a hole to fuck into with the pillow under his knees, the soft caress of a thumb at his nape while III held his head still.

Vessel couldn't remember a time he ever felt this needy. It made his jaw ache with the need to bite, to sink his teeth into something, anything. Vessel makes a decision, worrying over it even as he enacts it. III was still catching their breath above him, harsh pants as his fingers stroke the hair at the nape of Vessel's neck. Their eyes were closed, faint echoes of their orgasm traveling down the bond as they come down from their high.

Vessel opens his mouth, fangs glinting in the low light. He does not do more than press his teeth to III's skin, he applies no pressure, does not bite down at all. He lets his mouth linger there, contemplating whether he can really bite III like they'd said he could. He wants to, but... Vessel doesn't feel ready to.

He feels as if that admission to himself is allowed. Maybe.

III does not hit him. He isn't shoved away. They only hum lowly, continuing to slowly stroke their large hand through Vessel's hair, petting him lovingly. III doesn't even open his eyes to see what Vessel is doing, just trusts that Vessel won't hurt him.

His teeth resting on III's skin coupled with the petting makes Vessel sleepy almost, taming the arousal swimming in his gut, pulling him down from the edge of cumming. Perhaps if he'd properly bite III, Vessel might cum. It is not something Vessel feels ready to allow himself... but he wants to. Wants to feel III's skin between his teeth. Wants, wants, wants.

Silence ensues, serene, and Vessel finds himself almost dozing off, eyes slipping shut, too. He isn't quite sure how long they sit there together, but Vessel would stay in this moment for the rest of his life if it were possible.

"You're like a cat, Ves." III muses, teasing lightly as he opens his eyes back up.

Vessel makes a noise in the back of his throat, something like a small protest, or maybe an agreement. He's trying to pull himself back to wakefulness but isn't finding the endeavor very successful. III lets out a short bark of a laugh, and it startles Vessel so badly his eyes fly open and he almost pulls away. He really is like a cat.

"Sorry, Ves. Your turn, though." III states, soft like a breeze, letting their hand rest at their side again.

III waits for Vessel to pull his teeth away to move, leaning back but still staring up at III and looking so pretty that the racing in his heart must be heart palpitations. III doesn't bother pulling their clothes back on, not even their underwear, climbing out of his bed.

"My turn?" Vessel tilts his head, hands fisted in his lap while his entire body tingles with arousal.

"Your turn." III confirms, taking Vessel's hands and pulling him up to sit on the bed. "Unless you don't want to, of course. I'd prefer to pleasure you, though, if you'll let me."

"I- I want to. I don't... I don't want to fuck up like last time."

"What happened last time was not your fault. It wasn't anybody else's either. None of us could've known you were going to react that way. You yourself were surprised by it, love. II and I know not to do that again."

"Are you sure you won't be mad if I mess up again?" Vessel asks, gripping III's hands just as tenderly as the other.

"You won't mess up, but no, lovey, I won't be mad. I swear it. Do you still want to continue or are we done for now?" III leans forward and kisses Vessel's cheek, nuzzling into his face lovingly.

Vessel leans into the affection, still unused to it during sexual scenarios, nodding shortly. Another tender kiss is placed on Vessel's lips before III is moving down to kneel where Vessel had been.

"Let's get you undressed, Sugar. Shirt on, as usual." III says offhandedly, more focused on Vessel's skin under theirs.

"Thank you." Vessel murmurs, lifting his hips so III can pull his jeans off with less difficulty.

"Of course. Your comfort is my top priority." III says, mouthing at Vessel's thigh, sending tingles of pleasure shooting down his spine, "Can I touch?"

Vessel tilts his head, confused and a little breathless. "As long as you follow my rule, I welcome any touch you offer me."

III doesn't waste any time putting his hands on Vessel's hips, for once free of any wounds. The scars are slightly raised under III's wandering fingers but he pays them no mind, intent on tracing the newer patterns that have made their home on Vessel's skin since his last bout of sickness. The fabric of Vessel's shirt hides some of it, so III pushes the cotton up a little to get a better view.

Vessel shudders under the featherlight touch that sends more tingles down his spine. His already hard cock is leaving an uncomfortable wet spot in his underwear, III granting him mercy by sliding those down his thighs and off his body entirely.

His hands are immediately, back on Vessel, tracing his Sleep given markings and the newer ones he's gained from his own magical misuse. Every gentle caress, every soft kiss that turns deeper as III nips at Vessel's thighs has Vessel growing nearer and nearer to cumming. It's almost embarrassing how easily being treated with care brings him close to the edge, without III's mouth ever wrapping around his cock.

Each nip leaves Vessel wanting more. He wants III to bite him like he means it, like they want to tear off chunks of Vessel's flesh. To be consumed by his lovers is a beautiful thought. He'd get his end, and at the pretty white jaws of those he cares for most in this world. Always so careful with him, Vessel almost wants to see where the delicate stops.

Vessel doesn't think even Sleep could bring him back without a body to revive.

Airy little sounds spill from Vessel's lips with every faint bite, his cock twitching with need, leaking pre-cum heavily.

III is tempted to see if they can get Vessel off by just continuing to nip and bite and caress, but refrains from testing it just yet. He's quite sure he could though, with how close to cumming Vessel seems to be through the bond.

Fingers trail up Vessel's stomach, causing the muscles there to clench at the slightly ticklish feeling as III lavishes his happy trail in attention. The unexpected feeling steals a short laugh from Vessel's mouth, cutting off into a half surprised, half pleasured huff of air as III sinks his teeth into the meat of Vessel's stomach, right beside his belly button.

III wishes he has Vessel's six eyes just so he could watch every part of Vessel he desperately wanted to. Their gaze kept flicking between his face, his cock, and the expanse of skin he was exploring under their hands.

He decides quickly that there is plenty of time to touch later, and that III needs to have Vessel's cock in his mouth within the next few minutes or he would go insane with desire. III lifts Vessel's legs over either of his shoulders, making it easier to close the distance between them. One hand comes to wrap around the base of Vessel's cock, the other wrapping under Vessel's thigh and around to lock the limb in place with a hand splayed over the stretch of skin right below its apex.

III dives in without preamble, starting off with short kitten licks at Vessel's tip to lap up the pre-cum spilling down the shaft. Vessel's cock twitches at the attention, sensitive already as his hips jerk towards where the stimulation is coming from though III's arm keeps him from moving too much.

Having previously been given permission to touch and not have been hurt afterwards, Vessel is a little less hesitant about reaching down and slipping a hand into III's hair. He does not pull at the lightly curled strands, only rests his fingers between the split colored mess (a soft lavender and his natural blonde) as a means of holding III while their hands are otherwise occupied. It makes him feel more secure in what is happening, helping to soothe the nerves he can feel beginning to rear their head.

Placing one last kiss to Vessel's tip, III speaks, staring up at Vessel with wide, begging eyes, "Want you to use me to get off. Fuck my throat, Sugar, its okay. I swear it."

III then opens their mouth and starts working to take the thick girth of him into their eager hole, his other hand still holding Vessel's dick lightly.

Vessel watches in aroused interest, the heat of III's mouth welcoming him in, his mind seeming to zero in on the sensations III is gifting him. He tries to think over III's words, tries to focus enough to imagine himself doing as III said.

III takes him slowly, staring up at Vessel deliberately as his tongue swipes along the underside of Vessel's cock. His deep ocean blue eyes implore Vessel to keep eye contact, to keep watching. A learning experience, just as Vessel had asked for, even as III works with eager abandon to take more and more of Vessel's cock into his mouth. His hand slides away once III is almost to the base, seeking out Vessel's available hand instead.

III bobs his head to work their mouth the rest of the way down, tears beading at the corners of his eyes. Embarrassed affection flits down the bond when Vessel watches III nuzzle into the coarse pubic hair around his cock, starting to suck and lave their tongue around his shaft.

III lets out a low humming sound every once in a while as airy pants, almost whines, escape Vessel at the feeling. III is doing everything he can to bring more and more noises out of Vessel, but nothing really seems to work. All III wants is to hear him, he knows Vessel would sound absolutely divine.

III knows how to suck cock and he knows how to do it well. He'll pluck a moan from Vessel's lips eventually, its only a matter of time. Then they can reassure Vessel that every sound is welcome and wanted as they make him positively sing. Whether its II or III that manages it first doesn't matter to III, not when it will clearly be a big step for Vessel himself.

Forever thankful that his fear of blood does not transfers to the crimson of Vessel's eyes, III watches in fascination as the others eyes all glow brighter and brighter with every passing moment as III brings Vessel closer to coming undone. Vessel gets so lost in the pleasure he starts rutting his cock into III's eager mouth, though they're only small, shallow thrusts. Too afraid to do anything more, Vessel's control over himself is well-maintained even when his lovers threaten to shatter it every time they fuck.

III's teeth just barely graze Vessel's cock with another thrust of Vessel's hips, the sensation overwhelming him with pleasure, sending lightning traveling down his spine and into his limbs, leaving them tingling. Overcome by the feeling, Vessel accidentally pulls on III's hair still held in his grasp.

Anxiety starts festering in Vessel's empty ribcage, like a million bats had made their home there in place of his heart. The sound III makes sends Vessel's racing mind into a grinding halt. A quiet moan Vessel couldn't have hoped to control rips from his throat as III moans around his cock, teeth scraping over Vessel's shaft again. It causes another cut off sound as Vessel scrambles to apologize around the pleasure clouding his brain.

"I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean-" Vessel's nervous gaze flits about the room, anywhere but down at III as both of them stop what they're doing.

He doesn't know if he's apologizing for pulling III's hair or making such a loud noise, for enjoying the slight pain III's teeth had caused.

There's a squeeze of III's hand in his own that Vessel doesn't notice at first, the second time gets his attention though, and his gaze flicks down. III is staring up at him with half-lidded eyes heady with desire, yet so caring.

Anxiety makes Vessel's hands begin to shake, fingers still interweaved between III's hair, still clasped so gently with III's own hand. He moves to let go but III squeezes tighter than any of the other times. III starts tracing something on Vessel's thigh, and it takes a moment for Vessel to figure it out.

G R E E N

Oh.

Oh, so... so Vessel isn't in trouble. That's what the squeezing of Vessel's hand was for. III was trying to tell him that he was okay, that Vessel didn't hurt or upset him. Embarrassment replaces the anxiety, having let the color system slip from his mind.

"I'm sorry. I forgot." Vessel admits, smile watery, and speaks the truth when he says, "You can, uh, continue now. Green for me, too."

Vessel had expected some pain, at least, for fucking up. Instead, III caresses the bond they share, sending down their love and pride in Vessel and while it makes him happy, bashful too, the praise mixed with III's wet mouth still around him reminds him of just how aroused he still is. Reminds him of how close he had been to cumming with III's teeth along his shaft and all the pleasure his pretty mouth had been giving Vessel up until that point.

III, given the green light to continue, starts sucking again, making sure to drag his teeth along Vessel's cock very, very gently. It sends fizzles of pain down the bond but heightens the pleasure Vessel is feeling, and III is a little sad that Vessel enjoys the pain this greatly. There are those into pain during sex though, even if they haven't had a past like Vessel's, III tries to reassure himself. They like their hair being pulled which causes some pain, so its not terribly different.

It takes a little work, but Vessel eventually starts thrusting shallowly into III's mouth again, and he is so proud of Vessel for it. III makes sure to send that pride down the bond, his desire, his love, and holds Vessel's hand tighter when Vessel's pleasure and shy adoration are returned.

Vessel may not declare his love for them verbally without them first saying so, but it's so clear to them that their devotion is reciprocated.

Vessel doesn't last as long as III did, already worked up and aching despite the pause they'd had. It takes mere minutes and III's skillful tongue working its wonders to unravel him completely. Well, that and some teeth, which is no true surprise to Vessel. Vessel pants, holding in a low moan as he comes undone, spilling so much white into III's waiting mouth that it leaks out the sides, dribbling in small droplets down their chin alongside drool. The swallowing sound III makes is audible, as Vessel swims in mild embarrassment at the sound.

He looks about as debauched as Vessel feels, staring up at Vessel adoringly as they pull their mouth off Vessel's cock.

"You fall apart so prettily above me. Fuck, I can't get enough of the sight of you, ruined by my mouth alone." III says, voice a little hoarse as he licks his lips clean of Vessel's cum.

"Want a picture so bad." He mutters, eyeing how Vessel's eyes are softly glowing, a single trail left by a golden tear having made its way down his face. He looks divine, shirt askew as a blush paints his cheeks.

"Pardon?" Vessel asks, trying to blink the stars from his vision.

Aftershocks of his orgasm still tingle down his spine when III nips a spot on his thigh again.

Vessel's cock twitches again with the low whine Vessel tries to muffle with his hand, wanting more than this, but he will not ask.

III stands, stretching. Something pops in their back and a sigh of relief is released. "Oh, nothing you need concern yourself with just yet, Sugar. I'll talk to you about it some other time. It's nothing bad, I swear it. I'm going to go get a wet dish towel to wipe us off, be right back."

Vessel accepted the answer nervously, watching in silence as III starts getting dressed again, only bothering with his boxers and tank top. Six eyes rake over III's tall, lanky body, taking in every detail possible and trying to memorize the shape of him, the way he moves, the shifting flame-like markings on his back.

III pauses on the way to his door when Vessel calls out to him, quiet and uncertain, "Can you.. stay? I'll take a proper shower later, I just..." Vessel trails off, looking away.

"You likely want to get clean, though. Go on ahead." Vessel rushes to correct himself, but III stops him with a smile, hating to see him look so hesitant. "Of course I'll stay, Sugar. All you have to do is ask."

Vessel even asking is answer enough for a suspicion III had had for a while now. He'd always been on the verge of asking something after they were intimate like this. Always leaned into every gentle touch, as if relishing in what he thought would be the last gentle caress he'd ever receive. It is clear now that Vessel is a cuddler after sex, wanting the closeness and the reassurance. III would never even think to deny him.

III makes his way back to the bed, smile widening into a grin at the way Vessel seems to light up with their return. He makes an aborted motion to reach out, and noticing it, III reaches out for him in his stead, always eager for them to touch.

"We could read together, pretty! I was going to loan you this series if you wanted, but since I've the idea in my head right now, might as well show you. Would you like that? You're free to decline."

"I'm interested. Would you... read to me?" Vessel asks shyly, letting III grab a book from his nightstand, a drawing of a primrose stuck between the pages falling out when he opens it.

III beams, leaning back on the pillows of their bed, "Of course, Sugar. Come, lay down, I'll start from the beginning. The series is called The Hunger Games."

III pats their stomach, and used to this by now, Vessel says his head down, laying his arms over III's waist to hold him loosely. Its one of the ways Vessel has worked up to more closeness between them while maintaining his rule, and III soaks up the affection given so freely. A blanket is spread out over Vessel's naked form as best as III is able, and once they're both ready, III starts to read aloud, making up their own voices for the characters as he goes.

Vessel listens with rapt attention while III reads, lulled into a sense of peace as the chapters pass by. Before III starts the next one, though, Vessel asks something that had been on his mind, letting III finish taking a sip of their water. He's so tired, but determined to stay awake for a while longer.

"Do you- Uh, do you think Two will even want me to pleasure him like that?" Vessel asks, breath cold where it exhales onto III's skin, looking up at them through his eyelashes.

For a moment he fears the repercussions of interrupting their reading, but III only reaches down to move some hair away from Vessel's face.

"Two will be so happy when you go to him, Sugar. He's been wanting to share an intimate moment with you for a while now." III reassures, running a hand through Vessel's loose hair to try to tame it.

He really does look so pretty like this, relaxed and rested, head laid on III's stomach. "Are you certain? I fear disappointing him, more than I would like to admit."

III puts the bookmark back in so they don't lose their spot while he and Vessel converse.

"Vessel, I won't lie and say you don't worry him. You do. You worry me, too. Your... your cutting disappoints him, because he hates to see you hurt. I hate it, too." III pauses, the words familiar on his tongue, when Vessel stiffens, but does not let the conversation end there, "What I mean is, nothing else you have done or will ever do would truly disappoint Two. Unless you kicked a puppy or something."

Vessel stares up at him, keeping eye contact longer than III has ever noticed him to do, seeming to be searching III's face for something. There's a careful prodding along the bond, too, that does not go unnoticed. III waits patiently for Vessel to gather his thoughts, thumbs stroking over Vessel's cheek with his face cupped in III's hand.

Vessel's mind is a mess. On one hand, he hates that him hurting himself is causing them so much pain. He's felt so guilty every time he's harmed himself, because all he can see is III's stricken expression when he took that blade to his arm right in front of them. II had tried to keep his own fear from Vessel, but he isn't as quick to hide things in the bond as he thinks he is. Vessel knows he is hurting them by hurting himself.

Aside from that, Vessel trusts III. If- If III says that II wants him, will not turn him away, then- Vessel should at least... try, right? II has never hurt him.

"If you're certain, I will ask him soon. To- To have sex. I want him, and can only hope you're right that he wants me too."

III smiles softly, leaning over to kiss the top of Vessel's head. "I'm proud of you, Sugar. Things will go well, I'm sure of it. Now, would you like to continue or are we done reading?"

Vessel nuzzles into III's hand before settling back in, comforted by III's warmth against his cheek, the very faint thumping of his heartbeat a comfort, too. "Can we continue? I'd like to see how Katniss handles this next situation."

"Sure, Sugar. We should read the whole series then watch the movies and lord over Two our superior knowledge by pointing out all the differences like he'd done with Lord of The Rings."

Vessel smiles around a small laugh, knowing now that II wouldn't get angry over something like that. Lighthearted teasing seems to always be taken for what it is, not as a bruise against his ego. It makes Vessel wonder if he could tease II, if he could dare make a joke himself instead of just tacking on his own playful comment to whatever jest III has made.

::

The festival was looming ever closer, the date they needed to pack up, then leave the following day was growing nearer. Vessel wanted to be with II before they left, needed to feel his skin under Vessel's, wanted to hold him, kiss him, love him, if II would allow it. Vessel knows just being near him would help his frayed nerves, but he can't help wanting more. Always so selfish in wanting all that they can give.

He'd spent time with III for the last week or so, learning what III had to teach. III always seemed insistent that Vessel didn't really need teaching, only needed to work past his expectation of pain. III always stayed with Vessel after, always insisted they service him, too. It made Vessel feel warm, like he was more than just his body. He had never felt this way before the other vessels came into his life.

Vessel is nervous when he leaves his room to find II. He is sure a trail has been worn into his flooring from how long he had been pacing in his indecision, trying to gather up the courage to just ask for what he wants. He fears being forward, even if II and III have expressly stated they want him to ask when he wants things. That he's allowed to want things.

Picking one last time at his half-healed scabbing, Vessel finally just wraps a new bandage around his arm to finish the task he had started before leaving his room.

II's door is closed, something out of the norm. Vessel nearly turns right around at the sight of it, not wanting to disturb the drummer during the clear request for alone time.

Vessel turns around, anxiety slipping away as his self-appointed task is put aside for a later time, or never. The sound of a door hinge creaking makes him pause, yet too scared to turn around again to see if it was II's door opening.

"Ves? Is something wrong?" II's voice makes Vessel's muscles relax instantly, but Vessel's overactive mind keeps him from turning to see him, nervous once more.

"No, nothing is wrong." Vessel replies, almost meek.

"Did you need something then?" II asks, voice coming closer as a warm hand reaches out and takes Vessel's colder one.

"Well, it's not really a need." Vessel starts, vehemently shoving down the arousal simmering through his veins.

He'd deliberated for a while if it was truly alright to go ask II for help with it, and it never faded away like Vessel was sure it would if given time.

"A-actually, I suppose it is. I- I would like to pleasure you, if- if you want me to, that is."

"You're coming to me? I figured you would prefer Three." II asks, voice gentle and questioning.

Vessel shakes his head side to side slowly, feeling guilty he had made II think that way, "It is you I want. I am certain of it."

"Okay then, sweetheart, come on in." II smiles, and Vessel's nerves fizzle at the edges as though they're going to disappear entirely as long as II keeps smiling at him like that.

II's room is the same as it always is, clean but not excessively so, and well-lit. The door is shut behind them, lock clicking into place as II walks up behind Vessel. It's a testament to how far he has come that Vessel doesn't jump out of his skin when II's hands settle carefully over his hips, a kiss pressing into his shoulder blade. "What would you like us to do today, sweetheart?"

Vessel knows his answer immediately. He'd been practicing with III for this, after all. Well, practicing and just enjoying III and the love they shower him with.

"I would like to give you a blow job. I have been practicing with Three." Vessel tries to speak plainly, but his nerves are clear as day in his expression.

"Is this something you truly want to do? You aren't forcing yourself?" II asks, and Vessel can feel him probing along the bond with concern.

"It is something I want, yes. Do not... Worry." Vessel has to force the word out of his mouth, still unused to the concern they show over sexual situations and Vessel's apparent physical and mental wellness, "I will admit it stemmed first from wanting to make up for messing up the last time we had a sexual encounter with all three of us, but I have... I have discovered I like the closeness of the act. Three has been helping me learn to give blow jobs the proper way, so that I do not hurt during or after."

The blue of II's eyes seem to freeze over at Vessel's last sentence, but it is thawed out before Vessel can truly take note of it. "You did not mess up last time, Ves. Things like that happen while we learn each other triggers and kinks. As long as you're sure this is what you want, then you can give me a blow job. I'm quite sure I'll enjoy it. After, we can discuss if you want to do anything else, okay?"

Vessel finds himself nodding, taking comfort in II's willingness to discuss their wants before taking things further, even if they were in the middle of sex.

Vessel hope that one day they won't need to discuss things, that his mind and body can trust them as his heart does to not hurt him. Vessel is perhaps more surprised than he should be when, like III, II reaches to grab a pillow from his bed for Vessel to kneel on. He doesn't voice his confusion this time, already understanding its purpose and silently grateful for the accommodation.

He kneels on the pillow, hands laid overtop each other in his lap, waiting patiently for II to get in front of him.

"Three seems to have taught you proper manners. I knew he was being a menace on purpose." II remarks lightly, stripping out of his pants and underwear, left in only his plain black socks.

After he sits on the bed in front of Vessel, he strips off his t-shirt, too. Fully unclothed, II spreads his legs in front of Vessel, gaze soft and inviting. Vessel is still nervous, but the more familiar situation helps him release some of the tension in his muscles.  

"Start whenever you're ready to, beautiful. Touch me however you want." II says, bending his index finger in a come hither motion.

Given permission to start, Vessel leans forward eagerly, wanting to taste II in this way he has yet to. His hands come to rest on the outsides of II's thighs, thumbs rubbing over the soft skin. He allows himself only a moment to hold II in this way before one hand reaches to II's half-hard cock to hold it still for Vessel to start giving it attention. His split tongue swipes at the tip while his fingers start up a short circular motion at the base. "Just like that, sweetheart." II hums, fingers twitching with his want to touch.

II is afraid to do so. Afraid of accidentally setting Vessel off again. 

His bond tells Vessel of his hesitation, so he takes his hand off II's thigh and grabs one of II's instead, threading their fingers together. II squeezes his hand once in gratitude, watching in blatant interest as Vessel's mouth opens wide to lick a stripe up the underside of II's cock, now hard and aching. 

It feels heavenly, and more so when Vessel begins taking II's thick girth into his mouth. Vessel knows to go slow, now, bobbing his head slightly to work more and more of II's cock into his mouth, careful of his fangs. He seems to be the only one who likes the pain of a sharp fang scraping his cock. III had jerked away at the barest hint of it and needed time to even want a mouth anywhere near his dick. Vessel had felt absolutely terrible, no matter how III had reassured him that pain in that area wasn't commonly enjoyed, but there were certainly those who did. Vessel felt better when III explained it was probably something kinky to Vessel's taste that didn't overlap with III's tastes. The explanation helped soothe Vessel's fears, which is what III had been hoping for.

He'd still been expecting to be hit for hurting III though. He never was.

Eager as II was for a moment like this to finally occur, Vessel's mouth on him already aroused him to the point of falling apart at the seams, starting up a shallow thrust. His split tongue added a new level of sensation as Vessel used it to lick up either side of II's shaft as he sucked. II can't hold in his groan of pleasure as Vessel's moans lowly, too lowly for the sound to be picked up by II's ears, but the vibrations were felt clear as day.  Vessel's mouth is teetering on the edge of being too cool, though there is some warmth there. His mouth still feels heavenly around II's dick nonetheless, tongue sliding along his shaft and shoving II closer and closer to the edge of release.

Vessel settles down to just let his throat be used as II's cock starts hitting the back of his throat. His eyes are glowing faintly, dark eyelashes casting shadows over the nigh unnoticeable crimson light shining from Vessel's eyes. Something II knew they did, but has never managed to see due to circumstances they didn't yet know how to avoid. II knows now, knows not to ask Vessel to look at him while grabbing his jaw, knows not to pull his hair, not to dig his nails into Vessel's face without caring if it would hurt. II would never, anyway, but it is not something he plans on letting slip his mind. 

II wants to ask Vessel to look at him, wants to see the scarlet glow as he spills into Vessel's pretty throat, but doesn't know how to ask. Fears triggering him. The bond is taut with their shared arousal, II feeling himself inching closer and closer to coming undone, and it is then a thought strikes him. 

He strokes an invisible finger along the bond he shares with Vessel, plucking at it carefully in question. Half-lidded eyes clouded over in desire open further to glance up at II in confusion before settling on II's happy trail again, and II can tell Vessel is swimming in their shared pleasure. II tugs again, more insistently, and Vessel finally meets his gaze and holds it, curiosity shining in all six eyes as II continues thrusting, growing more erratic in his movements as Vessel's eyes meet his. II is caught, tangled in that beautiful stare, loving the feeling of watching and being watched in return.

II isn't concerned with edging himself this time, too riled up by having Vessel below him, sucking his cock so well, looking so beautiful-

There is no time to give warning, II moaning loudly as he cums, spilling white into Vessel's waiting mouth, holding him close with a hand in his hair, bringing him ever closer so that Vessel's breath exhales onto the coarse hair around II's cock.

II continues thrusting into Vessel's mouth, chasing the lasting threads of his orgasm as it slowly peters out.

"That's enough, sweetheart. Did so well for me, I'm so proud of you." II murmurs, breathless and satisfied, letting his hand rest on top of Vessel's head, petting his messy hair.

Vessel isn't quite sure why they seem to like petting his head so much but he isn't going to complain, would rather cut his tongue out and never sing again than lose the serenity the gentle action evokes in him.

He rests his head on II's thigh when he pulls his mouth off his cock. A little more secure in himself, Vessel opens his mouth and lets his teeth rest on the skin of II's thigh. 

He does so expecting to be hit, but the blow never comes. Vessel should have known. II and III have never hurt him. Vessel has not worked up to properly biting III, but resting his teeth on their skin had never gotten him in trouble at any point during the few times they've been together. II seems to be the same, which should come as no surprise.

"Give me a minute, my love, and then I'll fuck you. If that's alright, that is?" II breathes, sensitive dick still hard. 

"You still want to fuck me?" Vessel asks, removing his teeth from II's skin.

He is pleased to see no marks left except for faint redness, despite the small, small part of him that wishes he could leave something more lasting. 

"Fuck, yes, please, if you're alright with it. Finally we have a moment with just the two of us and I want to savor every minute." 

"Three was right then." Vessel mutters in disbelief, licking his lips to gather the lingering taste of II's cum. 

"Right about what, my love?" II asks, staring down at Vessel with what he knows now is love, feeling it so strongly down the bond it is like Vessel will drown in it.

A happy death, to be sure.

Fuck, Vessel wants to crawl into the space between II's ribs and make himself a home there. He wants to be the air that II breathes, guiding him in to safety and blessed silence, breathing him out and back in, in a never ending cycle.

"That you- That you want me. Sexually."

"Of course I want you sexually, sweetheart, if you'll have me." II says gently, cupping Vessel's cheek, "Was there something I did that made you think I wouldn't?" 

"No, n-not exactly. I... I just- I messed up last time. I thought I'd ruined any chance of you ever..." Vessel trails off, uncertain.

"I have not slept with you because I did not want to push you into something you weren't ready for. Three and I have different approaches to sex with you, Ves. He is... bolder than I am. I'm afraid of hurting you, or pushing you too far."

"I'm afraid of disappointing you." Vessel admits in return, moving on before II can say anything, "If you had asked me... I may have been hesitant but- I- I..."

"Vessel, sweetheart, do you want to have sex with me? You can say no, and I won't be upset." II asks after a moment of Vessel not being able to find the words.

II is glad when Vessel takes the time to think it over, even if its only a split second before a decision is made.

"Yes. I want you to fuck me." Vessel replies, making a valiant effort to hide the anticipation swirling in his gut alongside the arousal.

II leans down, hands gripping Vessel's shoulders, pulling him up with ease. Vessel lets him, would let II do anything to him that he wanted if it meant Vessel could stay near him, remain loved by him. II pulls Vessel around by the bicep insistently, always so gentle, and tugs him towards the bed where he is shoved back onto it. "Crawl back for me, sweetheart." II orders, and Vessel does so, keeping eye contact as II crawls after him. 

Back meeting the pillows, Vessel sinks into them, staring up at II as the smaller man straddles Vessel's waist. He leans in close, hovering over Vessel as II's hands come to rest on Vessel's shoulders, keeping him balanced.

"I don't want to just fuck you, Vessel. I want to make love to you." II whispers, breath ghosting against Vessel's lips.

"Is there a difference?" Vessel whispers back, six eyes all glancing indecisively between II's striking icy blues and the plush pink of his lips.

Vessel isn't sure what he wants to focus on, caught between using different sets of eyes to watch the objects of his desire and merely letting his full attention rest on either II's eyes or his lips.

"Yes." II says, pressing their lips together.

It steals Vessel's unneeded breath, II's tongue slipping between Vessel's lips after they swipe against them for entrance. Vessel loses himself in II's taste, pleasure sliding along his veins alongside his inhuman blood, filling him up the brim.

II grinds his hips down into Vessel's, rubbing his naked cock against Vessel's trapped in his clothes  still. The friction is delicious, a slow sliding of their aching cocks against one another that sends liquid heat up Vessel's spine, warming him from the inside. 

Despite Vessel's assumptions, II does not go any further for a few minutes, content to simply kiss Vessel. To taste him and touch, a caress of careful fingers on Vessel's shoulders. It could be minutes or hours as II grinds their hips together, and eventually Vessel feels secure enough to grind his cock up into II's. It causes II to smile into their kiss, and sends happiness through Vessel's neurons.

"Undress yourself for me, Ves." II pulls away to speak, lips bruised and swollen as he reaches over to grab a bottle of lube out of the nightstand drawer.

Vessel is sure his lips must look the same as he moves to take off his boxers. He hesitates, gripping the hem of his shirt but moves to pull it off. "No, sweetheart, you can leave your shirt on. I know it helps you feel more comfortable."

Nodding, Vessel murmurs his thanks, leaning back into the pillows at II's firm command. Two of II's fingers trail down Vessel's stomach, past his dick, to meet his ass. His fingers are already slicked with the lube, one finger entering him easily. II thoroughly works that finger inside Vessel before moving on to insert a second, never going too fast. Once II can comfortably fit three fingers inside, he pulls them out and wipes his hand on the bed. "Ready, sweetheart?"

Vessel hums his agreement before remembering to speak his answer.

II's cock is thick as it slowly enters him, stretching him out slowly. Not for a single moment does it ever slide into pain, II taking great care in keeping Vessel as comfortable as possible. Quiet words of affection are spilled as II watches Vessel's slick hole take more and more of him until he is seated fully inside.  

Vessel is lost in a haze of ecstasy so strong its almost palpable, stifling a short, gasping moan into the pillow as best as he can. He's a little embarrassed to be so overwhelmed so quickly when II has only just started. II is warm inside him, letting him adjust to the thickness. Vessel hasn't taken a cock like this in a while, III never taking things further than the blow jobs, and Vessel never asking despite his desires.

Calloused fingers reach between them to grasp Vessel's leaking dick, slowly stroking it while II waits for Vessel to be ready for him to move. II could have started thrusting into him right away and Vessel wouldn't have minded, not with how loose he'd made sure Vessel was. 

II pulls out almost to the tip then slides back in, causing Vessel to gasp. Just that one thrust felt divine, and every slow, measured thrust after felt just as blissful. Unlike III, unlike any other sex Vessel has ever had, II does not get even a little bit rougher as time goes on. His strokes remain slow, his hand on Vessel's cock remains gentle. It is the slowest sex Vessel had ever had.

He didn't know sex could be slow at all. 

Is this what II meant when he said they'd make love instead of just fucking? It must be. Gasps of pleasure fall from parted lips, nothing louder than a whisper. II leans down every once in a while to press kisses to Vessel's mouth, his jaw, his cheeks, all the while words of praise are spoken reverently as though Vessel was his God and they were not mere servants themselves. 

The fields of elation are blooming around him, inside him. Flowers are filling the cavity of his chest where his heart should be; sunflowers, red roses, purple balloon flowers. Vessel is overwhelmed with his love, his devotion, and wants nothing more than for II to know. Wants to say it, tell him.

Vessel wants to bite. To sink his teeth into II's flesh. To leave a mark that he knows will bruise, will last longer than a day. Wants to lay claim to II by marking up his pale skin.

He wants to bite so badly his teeth ache with his need, grinding them together to try and relieve the desire within him. 

"You wanna bite me, sweetheart? I can see it in your eyes. I don't mind." II says, words stilted with every punctuated breath he releases, the slow thrusts jarring them both, the bed creaking lowly.

Every drag of II's cock in and out of Vessel seems to last forever, a steep climb up a hill where Vessel knows he will find his end. Vessel didn't know sex could be this gentle. He didn't know sex could be this, so different from anything he had ever experienced before. Perhaps it's because it is with II, and II makes everything feel okay when his world is splintering apart. 

II stops moving, continuing to stroke Vessel's cock slowly between them so that Vessel's pleasure doesn't abate like II wants his to. Vessel can't quite see the appeal in edging oneself, in not wanting to feel release as soon as possible when it feels like this.

Vessel really does want to bite II. Wants it so badly he feels as though he is going to combust if he doesn't get to taste II's skin between his teeth. A decision is made as II keeps fucking into him. Vessel feels safe. II- II wouldn't hurt him. Vessel was given permission. 

Vessel grabs II by his shoulders, II's hands coming to pull Vessel closer by his own shoulders, a hand sliding up his nape to rest in his hair at the back of his head. His teeth sink slowly into II's skin, slow enough that II can hurt him if he wishes, shove him away. Hit him like Vessel knows he would deserve, but II only pulls Vessel closer with a hand in his hair. He applies more pressure, laving his tongue against the pulse point in II's neck, feeling his heartbeat thrum against the wet appendage and tasting II, tasting the sweat that clings to his skin. 

"You can bite me harder." II murmurs, knowing Vessel will not ask, could not anyway, not with his teeth making indents into II's skin. 

Tears well up in Vessel's eyes. He does not let them fall, making a valiant effort to keep them at bay, as he applies more and more pressure. II huffs out a whine of pain, and Vessel immediately makes to jump away, an apology on the tip of his tongue, but II's hand keeps him rooted in place. 

"Keep going." II says, no louder than a whisper. "I like the pain, since its you." 

The tears slip over, streaking down his cheeks. II starts thrusting a little more insistently, but never leaving the slow, gentle pace he has set. "Doing so well, sweetheart. Being so good for me." II moans, feeling overwhelmed by Vessel being so close to him physically as he continues slowly thrusting into the tight heat of Vessel's ass. 

A moan vibrates the flesh trapped between Vessel's teeth, just as overwhelmed by II as he is by Vessel. Love bleeds from every open pore, the threat of a sob making Vessel's throat tight.

He feels so fucking good, so loved. Safer than ever before. 

Vessel is cumming for the first time that night, splattering his release onto II's stomach as he pauses fucking into Vessel to pull himself away from the edge again, and he finally lets his tears fall.

Gold splashes onto II's neck, dripping down into the dip of his collarbone as Vessel's fangs at long last break skin. Euphoria crashes into him, spurring on the cresting of his orgasm into a tidal wave of pleasure spilling over the tether of the bond to flood all three vessels. 

There's a faint flash of surprise from III's bond before everything is quickly overshadowed by the effects of the orgasm still tearing through Vessel's nervous system. II's hand moves from Vessel's sensitive cock to his hip, thumb tracing the curve of Vessel's hipbone, grinding into him as Vessel shudders and gasps, overstimulated but enjoying every single moment of it. 

Iron spills over Vessel's tongue, split tongue lapping at the blood seeping out between Vessel's fangs. Vessel panics, trying to pull away. II doesn't let him. Holds him there, his blood coating Vessel's tongue. Any moment now, Vessel expects pain to explode across his face, his head, any part of his body II can reach, but it never happens.

II never reaches out with ill intent to harm Vessel, only lovingly strokes the fabric covering Vessel's back. II still isn't letting him move, and after a moment, Vessel settles down, no longer trying to escape from pain he was so sure was coming. 

"Color, Ves?" II asks, as soft as his thrusts.

A sob tears through him, forcing him to unlatch his teeth from II's skin. Falling back into the pillows behind him, all of his eyes squeeze shut, golden tears obscuring his vision. He manages to choke out an answer on the tail end of a half-sob, still quiet even now, clutching his own shirt in his need to hold something. "Green."

The fabric tears underneath his claws, but Vessel doesn't notice, doesn't care, not when he feels like this.

Safe. Safe. Safe. So loved and cared for as II makes love to him, reaches over to wipe the tears from Vessel's cheeks as he keeps slowly fucking into him. 

Sweat drips down II's brow, his whole body warm with minor exertion, smiling down at Vessel with such love it sends Vessel reeling. He's overstimulated, overwhelmed, and so, so happy. 

"Gonna come soon, pretty. Think you can look at me while I do? Just know you'll look beautiful." 

Vessel smiles, relishing in the fact that the words didn't strike a panicked chord in him. He remains feeling euphoric and safe, managing to pull his six eyes up to meet II's as he continues crying. Vessel enjoys the overstimulation far more than he thinks he should, glowing crimson eyes never once straying from the icy blue of II's as he continues thrusting into him. The pillows are soft behind him, cocooning him in comfort.

II keeps thrusting into him, each slow drag of his cock seeming to take Vessel's unneeded breath with it. His face is creased with pleasure, the blue of his eyes sucking Vessel in. II cums with a moan into Vessel's mouth, a deep kiss shared between them while II's spend warm's Vessel from the inside. It sends Vessel into another orgasm as the pleasure floods the bond. Shallow thrusts send tingles of overstimulation all throughout Vessel's body, a welcome feeling.

II's lamp begins to rise from the nightstand, its chord keeping it from floating up to the ceiling. When Vessel notices, tearing his gaze away from II at the feeling of his magic working without him calling upon it, it sets itself back down with a faint thud. 

"Feel so good around me, sweetheart. I almost don't want to leave." II sighs, but begins pulling out anyway.

Vessel almost asks him to stay inside, high on elation. He wants II to stay close in a way Vessel can allow. 

"Three told me you like to cuddle, sweetheart." II says as he reaches for some tissues in a box he keeps at his bedside.

A bashful flush heats Vessel's cheeks, glowing eyes averting their gaze as II starts cleaning Vessel up. Vessel's short nod is answer enough, and II chuckles, leaning over Vessel to kiss him again.

Joy shoots through him, and before Vessel really knows what's going on, he's crying worse than before. He can't seem to stop himself, no matter how hard he tries. Vessel sobs, heaving breaths, lungs aching, and still so happy. Overwhelmed by the love II has shown him. Gold spills down his face, dripping into his hair as he curls up on his side, face pressed into II's ribs.

II is beside him in an instant, a blanket tossed over Vessel's shaking form as II holds him from behind, keeping well away from his chest and neck. He is warm behind him, soft nothings being whispered into the air, a gentle hand caressing his hip.

"That's it, sweetheart. Let it all out. I've got you, promise."

II's kind words only make Vessel cry harder, overwhelmed with emotion. He turns, burying his face into II's chest, clutching at the blanket between them and wishing the barrier wasn't there. II is stroking up an down Vessel's hip, over his side, jumping to his arm, his caresses featherlight. All is silent except for Vessel's harsh breaths as he sobs silently, and II's gentle words of affection.

Of course, the tranquility couldn't last.

"I wish you would stop." II says, tracing a gentle finger along the seam of the bandages around Vessel's arm. 

He freezes as soon as the words leave his lips, an apology already on the tip of his tongue. Vessel has gone still as the dead next to him, face tucked so far into II's chest that the drummer couldn't possibly hope to see what expression he's making.

"I do not want to." Vessel says quietly, a foreboding feeling filling the empty space between his ribs at the admission. 

The flowers inside are beginning to wilt, Vessel's good mood dying with them.

Then words just start spilling out of him, "Pain has been my only constant companion. I do not know how to live without it. I can't." 

II tries to keep the frown from pulling at his lips, but isn't quite sure he manages. 

"But... if- if you ask it of me-" Vessel takes in a steadying breath, long eyelashes fluttering gently as he looks up at II through them, all six eyes still glowing in the aftermath of his orgasms, "If you ask it of me, I will truly try to limit how often I mar my flesh." 

"You would... Do that for me? I- As much as I hate seeing you hurt, I know it must be hard to even think of- Of not hurting yourself, sweetheart."

"There is nothing in this world I would not do for you, if you'd only ask it of me."

Vessel means every word, no matter how the idea of... of even attempting to stop hurting himself is daunting, terrifying. Vessel wants to be brave for II, so he'll try. 

II's eyes are crinkled at the edges with the sheer enormity of his smile, gold flecks sticking to his cheeks as he cries crystal tears. "I love you. I love you so much. I know you don't understand that this is a good thing, for you to even try to lessen your pains like this, but it means the world to me. More than you'll ever know. I'm- I'm so proud of you."

"I do not feel as though it is something you should be proud of me for." Vessel admits, placing his head so it rests against II's chest.

His heartbeat is loud in Vessel's ear, a soothing sound that smoothes over Vessel's frayed nerves. It lulls him back into the contentment he'd felt mere moments prior. Vessel is glad it came back at all, worried their turn in conversation had ruined how happy he'd felt. 

"I will be proud of you regardless of whether you feel worthy of it. I love you, Vessel." II says, reaching up with a hand to stifle a yawn.

"I love you, bel- Two. I love you, Two." Vessel responds, stumbling over his words with a blush, "You can sleep. I do no mind. It's late anyway. I wish to stay up a little longer."

"Are you sure? I don't want to just... sleep, if you want to continue our conversation?"

Vessel shakes his head, "No, it is alright. I don't- I don't want to speak on it any longer. I want to bask in these emotions for a while longer."

"Okay, sweetheart." II agrees hesitantly, pressing a kiss to Vessel's hair. "Wake me if you need anything, alright?"

Vessel hums, pressing his ear closer to II's chest so he can listen to his heartbeat better. The sound brings Vessel peace, like layers and layers of comfort are being spread over him like a blanket with every thump against II's ribcage. Vessel can almost fool himself into thinking it's his own heart, too. Supposes that must be true, a little, since the other vessels had eaten the apple of Eden.

Vessel knows exactly what that was made of.

Once II falls asleep, Vessel carefully sits up, blanket still covering his nude form. He takes it with him to keep himself covered while he leaves II's room. It doesn't take long to grab his notebook, settling down beside II to write. There's a song stuck in his head, a loop of lyrics he absolutely must write down before they're lost to the void.

Vessel puts a pencil to the first fresh page of his notebook he finds. The words come to him easily as II lays asleep beside him, ethereal in his beauty. His snores aren't quite loud, but certainly noticeable. The sound is familiar and calming, lulling Vessel into a focused headspace.

It isn't long before there's a tugging on the bond, questioning in nature, and Vessel tugs back, accepting. 

Vessel doesn't pause in his writing as III shuffles into the room quietly. They press a kiss to the side of Vessel's head as he continues to work. "Writing something, Sugar?" III murmurs softly, carefully avoiding glancing down at the pages.

"Yes, for Two. I want to complete the song entirely before I show him." Vessel replies shyly, tilting the notebook so III can read the lines, "Do you think he'll like it?" 

III does not let their surprise show at how nonchalant Vessel is while showing him his notebook. Vessel always kept the lyrics of his songs under wraps until they were ready to be used. For the other to be showing III- No, that's not important right now, III can't miss this chance to see Vessel's writing process. 

There's only a couple of lines written, but they steal III's breath away as he takes in the words with rapt attention.

'And I know the angels tonight are as lost for words, As I am to merely behold you as we lie down together'

"I would like to think I know Two well enough to say that he's going to want to fuck you right after he cries from how beautiful these lyrics are. He's going to love it." 

"W-what-" Vessel stammers, pausing in the middle of writing down another line, eyes wide as he looks over at III. 

He watches III's smile, the curve of their eyelashes, the blatant adoration in his beautiful blue eyes, and blurts, "Is now a good time to tell you I have one I'm working on for you as well?"

III's smile turns sinfully wicked, "Oh? Don't show me until its completed then, and expect the best sex of your life afterwards."

Vessel cannot stop his gasp of surprise, nor the need that shoots through him at III's words. He finds himself murmuring his agreement, something like anticipation swirling in his gut. Vessel almost wants to finish the song faster, especially with the lascivious expression on III's pretty face. He can't remember a time when he'd been so willing to have sex, so desperate to be touched like that. Never, if he were to be honest. II and III have changed his views on many things, and his views on sex were not immune.

"Sleep, don't look at me like that, Sugar. You need to rest and if I don't stop us now, then you're definitely not going to be resting." III groans, hiding their flushed face behind their hands. 

"I wouldn't mind." Vessel protests lightly even as his mind wanders back to his previous train of thought, a lyric line beginning to circle through his head.

"You're busy, Sugar, and I want you resting. I had a hand and an imagination earlier, I'm not that desperate. If you still want me tomorrow then I'll gladly fuck you then, alright?" 

"I would like that." Vessel murmurs, hiding his face behind his notebook so III can't see his blush.

III laughs heartily, kissing Vessel's cheek before climbing into II's bed to rest at his other side, II in between the both of them. The smaller man continued snoring, completely unaware of anything going on around him. It makes Vessel feel so overwhelmingly fond, to have those two here with him.

III doesn't even bother trying to stay awake, curling around II. Vessel continues writing until his eyes burn and exhaustion threatens to take him away.

Vessel regrets ever closing his eyes to rest, what feels like hours later, when he opens them and finds himself being dragged to the bedroom in his first apartment away from his parents.

No.

Not, not again. Not after Vessel had just been the happiest he'd been in years. Please.

[mrfelixfischoeder]

METALOCALYPSE ORIGINAL CHARACTER WEEK 2024: DAY 4

day 4: flirty or friendly banter

Charles conducts a meeting with all the Brass Knuckles girls upon his return - to know what he's getting into. Calypso is first. Based on my fic GirlKlok

His office is what she expects. Cal gives the Klokateer holding the door for her a quick nod and looked out at the sky behind him – the glass is so clean she imagines Toki would try and walk right through it. He’s writing something on his laptop, and Cal wonders; personal report? Security? Police? It quickly occurs to her that maybe, anything to do with Dethklok would go far higher than the police.

They probably have their own FBI department.

The moment her thighs make contact with her chair, Offdensen lowers the screen so he can see her. His glasses shine, and she can just see the reflection of his screen. Red hair like hers, a lot of writing. He’s writing about her. Cal’s expression remains neutral, but maybe there’s a perk of an eyebrow she can’t stop.

“Nice of you to invite me in.” she starts, and Charles watches her. Only briefly does he refer back to whatever picture he has on her file. How different is it, she wonders.

(He thinks – it’s not often he comes across a picture that is so vividly disconnected from the truth)

Her fingers trace the old wood of the armchair.

“I thought I ought to get to know you girls personally.” Offdensen explains, and Cal tilts forward.

“Well, what does your file say about me.”

Charles maybe smirks, it’s hard to tell, and though he raises the screen again, he slides the laptop pointedly to the right so he can still see Calypso. To be polite, she’s sure. But her back straightens all the same.

“It says, Miss Texas Teen Runner Up – and further. And some odd jobs that don’t quite fit that aesthetic… That you’re a skilled woman.” He’s not malicious about the Miss Texas part, but is evidentally more interested in her further skills: the cage fighting, the wrestling, the never ending bouncer work. Skills that, really, a band manager should have no interest in. “You don’t actually have much – if any – musical experience.”

“I’m lucky they gave me a chance.” Cal remarks dryly. And while it’s true she’s lucky the original members of Brass Knuckles wanted her for name alone to draw in numbers, she also is aware that it means they couldn’t have gotten where they are (so fast) without her.

“I’m sorry about your injury. Changing job industry can be, ah, difficult.” He refers to the injury that got her knocked out of wrestling to begin with. The damaged leg in question tingles, and she crosses it over her other.

“It’s healed fine. Mostly. Hurts on cold days.”

“I have a similar injury – storms, too.” Charles agrees, and Cal doesn’t know what comes over her;

“Maybe we can compare them one day.”

The suggestion isn’t immediately shot down by a look or a word. He does glance at her from his screen, and their eyes meet for a little longer than he wants, but her gaze seems hard to look away from. She’s challenging. His hand over the mousepad flexes and curls up, “Medical isn’t usually my field. But familiar hands are usually better than sterile.” He truly believes that. Mostly. Part of him doesn’t even know what it means, but he sees her rest her chin on her hand, finger idly stroking her chin.

“Mhm.” She’s amused, and something in Charles is pleased. He looks back at the screen, “You’re not what I thought you’d be, Mr Offdensen.”

“I’m not made to be thought about, Miss Huggenkiss.”

“Don’t call me that.” She instinctively asks. And why not? Why can’t she wonder about him? Ponder? Charles wonders what there is to think about. What else she might think. And what she expected.

“Alright, Mary.”

When she sees him peek at her again, Cal smirks – unable to argue. He won’t call her that again for some time – but it’s nice not to get reprimanded. To gain her approval. Not that he’s seeking that out.

 As they discuss menial business, finally, Charles closes the laptop completely. He stands up and walks around his desk.

“I think we’ve discussed everything I wanted to.” He stands by her chair – empty handed and headed. Cal suddenly stands to barely meet his gaze.

“And what about what I want?” she watches him, and he’s very good at acting as if he’s looking at her face, as he subtly notices the scars that travel beneath her grey camisole top. Subconsciously imprinting them to memory.

“What do you want?” Charles’ voice is dangerously low, curious, and Cal stares at the scar on his cheek. Wonders what else she might find if he didn’t cover up 80% of his body. Her teeth grit and he can see her jaw clench. Every muscle on her body is defined, like a marble sculpture.

“I want a drink.”

Charles, again, smirks so slightly Cal thinks it’s a trick of the light. And there is just enough silence that indicates he’s considering it.

“I’ll send you a list of bars that come highly recommended.” He likes the face Cal makes; judgemental, accepting, suspicious. It’s a marvel she can do all at once. Walking past him, her arm pushes against his. Not hard enough to be rude, but pressing against him enough to be memorable.

“I don’t want the place the boys like to go to most.”

Charles follows her to the door, making sure to get to the handle first – even if it means leaning past her. Easy enough when he’s got a good few inches on her. “Ah, no, no. You’ll see plenty of those. This will come from my personal list.”

Cal tries not to look at him as he stands at attention with the door open fully. But it’s hard, especially when she knows she has no idea when she’ll get to talk to him again. Not that that would be a problem.

“Places I like.”

“Places you go?” Cal tries to prompt, smirking as she steps into the hall. Finally Charles’ lips curl upwards into the clearest smirk she’s received this whole time.

“Places I like.” He refuses to elaborate, “I’ll be seeing you, Calypso.”

“Catch you later, shug.”