#dipping my toe back in with a polished repost

[angelcent]

ABOUT A GIRL・❥・S. GOJO

from an old ask: how do we feel about tattoist!gojo?! and your first tattoo being done by him. contains. tattoo artist gojo, tattoo virgin reader, grungepunk!gojo, fluff

lıllılı.ıllı.ılılıı — about a girl / nirvana

✧˚ · . tattoist!gojo is constantly recommended by people because he's known for several things: his pure attention to detail, his versatility in tattoo styles, how light his hand is, and how comfortable he makes his clients feel. he can be a little overwhelming and intimidating, though.

✧˚ · . unlike suguru who can be a bit pretentious and internally judgmental about his clients choices, tattoist!gojo really doesn't care as long as it's not something too offensive.

✧˚ · . his studio is decorated with an assortment of movie & concert prints, as well as pictures he's taken with suguru and shoko or their other friends. at the front desk is his ugly clay coffee mug that megumi made for him as a child that he now uses to store pens. it has a lot of personality and makes you feel at ease when you walk through the doors and fill out your paper work.

✧˚ · . when you first meet satoru, he doesn't take much notice of you because he doesn't want you to feel leered at; it's a common occurance for male tattooists to make others uncomfortable; and you're trusting him with such a vulnerable process, so satoru keeps his distance. keeps it professional.

✧˚ · . as it's your first time, he gives you a rundown of the entire process and is honest—blunt—about the pain you'll experience, but also reassures you that you'll be okay. "anyway, don't give that much though," he grins, absently twirling his pen. as if he hadn't just almost frightened you out of the door. "I'll take good care of you, hm? leave it to me." and he says it with such self assured confidence, that it completely eases your nerves.

✧˚ · . tattoist!gojo texts you a checklist in order to prepare for your appointment—what clothing is best, possible snacks to bring (water is provided), an on-call friend in case you want to be picked up, and oddly, what music you like?

✧˚ · . whatever is your music type is, you walk into his space on the day of your first session with it softly playing inside the shop. tattoist!gojo is talkative; walking you through his entire sanitation process and the tools he'll be using. unbeknownst to you, satoru is observant in his daily life and in his profession. he quickly caught the way your shoulders were drawn up with nerves, how you wiped the palm of your hand over your thigh. and the more you hear him talk, the more relaxed your body language becomes. it's why he does it.

✧˚ · . tattoist!gojo in an old washed out band shirt again. it's what he always wears, and most belong to suguru. his best friend has given up on his clothes being stolen after so many years.

✧˚ · . tattoist!gojo just as talkative when he's finally putting ink on your skin, and it surprisingly keeps your mind off the pain. sometimes you tune him out, but the rumble of his attractive voice keeps you grounded. satoru will talk about anything and everything. he tells you about his first tattoo—three eyes behind his ears on each side. six in total. and how he got them done at this small punk show when he was sixteen and egged on by his best friend.

✧˚ · . tattoist!gojo has ink all over his visible skin— arms, neck, you even catch a peek of more inked skin below the collar of his t-shirt when he leans down. what's cute is all the small doodles in the empty spaces between the bigger pieces, and he tells you how he did most of them himself whenever he's bored. some are done by friends, like a small happy face near his knuckle from haibara.

✧˚ · . as much as he tries to keep this professional though, satoru slowly becomes attracted to you over the course of your session. he rarely hits it off with someone so well, and he finds himself listening intently to every piece of information you give him about yourself.

✧˚ · . he can be a bit of an asshole sometimes, but you either call him out on it or bite back. he loves that.

✧˚ · . tattoist!gojo is great at calling to check up on your healing, giving you reminders on how to maintain it until the next session. he can't help but want to hear your voice, so he calls instead of texting or emailing like he usually does. you don't know any better, though. works in his favor.

✧˚ · . on your last session, tattoist!gojo is filled with the pride that never gets old at seeing the piece almost finished. what was once a mere idea is now brought to life and forever inked on your pretty skin. and you seem excited about it as well.

"see, not so bad now, was it?" he hums, wiping at the final touches. he doesn't bother to fight back the smirk. "told you I'm the best." "hm, you're alright. I guess." you tease, chuckling when he immediately looks up at you looking like a kicked puppy. "I'm kidding. thank you, satoru. really. I'm already thinking of what to get next, actually." if he were a dog, his ears would be perked up. tail wagging. he almost wants to barf.

"yeah? you sure you're not just saying that cause you'll miss seeing me?" he jokes, but deep down he's hoping you'll want him to remain as your future artist. even if that's the only way he'll keep seeing you, he'll take it. he's enjoyed far too much the way you make him feel wanted. "maybe I am." you murmur. swallowing your pride, you let the words spill out of your mouth. "but what if I wanted to see you sooner? you said I should go to your friends show this weekend. it'll be my first time, so it'd help to have you there." as soon as the words come out of your mouth, you're already regretting being so bold. satoru is just a friendly guy, he obviously just wanted his friend to get support and probably says that to everyone. so you backtrack immediately. "b-but if you can't or don't want to it's okay! sorry I just—" "'course I want to, buttercup. heh, I said I'll take good care of you, remember?" he laughs a little too loudly, quickly looking down at your finished piece. he wipes at the clean skin, pretending like he's working but he's just hiding his reddened cheeks. he hopes the crack in his voice was only audible to him. doesn't want you to see what a loser he is and how much you affect him.

[leondickrider]

anniversary ౨ৎ leon s kennedy x f!reader

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 || repost from my old account 🐇 updated a lot bc last one was a mess, i also added another round to the smut !

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 || you surprise your husband on your anniversary after he returns from a mission || wc. 2.5k

𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 || smut, pwp, read by betas, not proofread, maybe ooc but idrc, established marriage ♡

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 || unprotected sex, it's really vanilla, cunilingus, fingering, lots of pet names, teasing, leon being a good husband in bed 😊

it was around eleven p.m. when your husband, leon finally got home from his latest mission. "[name]... sono a casa amore mio..." he muttered; his voice embedded with exhaustion. you smiled as you heard him removing his boots and jacket and quickly made your way to the door.

"hello baby... welcome back!" you smiled and hugged him tightly. he rubbed your waist with his rough hand, leaning his head to your shoulder and inhaling the sweet scent of your shampoo. "strawberry?" he chuckled, continuing his tight grip on your waist. he looked down, eyeing up your body and the cute pink nightgown you had on, that barely covered your ass from the short length.

you nodded and pulled away, kissing his lips softly. "happy anniversary..." you quietly whisper as you take his hand. his rugged hand, covered in callous and scars, fit so perfectly with your soft, smaller hands. "it's already been a year?" he exhaled and cupped your face, a small grin present.

"yeah, can you believe it? i’ve been mrs. kennedy for a year already." you giggle, and he radiates pride. you cover his eyes with your hands and whisper, "i got you a surprise."

you began leading him into the bedroom, however he seemed to go straight into the wall. "ow." he said, monotone. "sorry." you giggled at the man. you continued leading him through the house. after making your man stub his toe a couple times and run into a couple walls, you reached the bedroom. “remind me to never allow you to lead me places when i can't see." he teased. you rolled your [color] eyes. and smacked his shoulder playfully.

"keep your eyes closed." you said as you removed your hands. he heard you moving around the room and noticed the lights dimming. he heard the mattress yet kept his eyes closed. "you can open them now..." you mumble. he slowly opened his blue eyes and smiled from the domestic sight.

you posed in a sexy way on the comfortable bed, wearing a white see-thru baby doll. it had off-white lace around the cups. the matching panties had cute lace bows of the same off-white color. you even slipped on some matching stocking and a garter. there was a couple rose petals spread around the bed and you lit a couple of candles

"hmm..." leon took a mental photograph of the sight. and took notice of your shyness. "i know you're probably tired from your mission... so i understand if you-" you paused when you felt the bed dip under his weight. he kissed your cheek and silently admired you.

"nono, you put in all this effort for me lovie... i don’t deserve it but you still did this for me, no way ’m leaving you hanging. " leon whispered in your ear, caressing your body. he kissed along your neck, to your jaw and to your plump lips. he pulled away, "bellissima..." your face was flushed, turning a light shade of rose.

your polished fingers found their way to the hem of his shirt, and you began lifting it up. he chuckled, "bisognoso" he muttered. you made quick work of removing his tight shirt and threw it somewhere on the floor behind you. "you're so hot..." you mumbled timidly, tracing over the lines of his abs.

he stared at your adorable expression, enjoying how shy you got in this intimate situation. "I love you leon," you whispered, unbuttoning his pants. he suddenly grabbed your hands and flipped you onto your back, pinning you down beneath him. "lee..."

he made quick work of removing the baby doll top, throwing it off to the side and smiling at the sight of your chest. he released one of your hands, which quickly found purchase on his broad shoulders. he gently squeezed your breast, playing with your perky nipple.

you gasped from the feeling and your free hand immediately went to cover your mouth. “lee…” you repeated, which made him smile. his head ducked down, and you felt his mouth wrap around one of the sensitive buds as he continued tweaking the other one with his fingers. you whined from the pleasure and your hand landed on his scalp, tangling in his golden locks.

he removed his hand as he continued sucking on your sensitive parts, slipping it down your body and finding its way to the sexy thong you wore. he pulled away from your chest and rasped, “cuore mio…” your thighs spread slightly as he gently tugged your panties off, leaving you with stocking and a garter. he also let go of your other hand, freeing the other hand up.

“it’s not fair that you still get pants on while i’m naked.” you whined, hiding your chest from his hungry vision. he smirked and removed his pants, keeping his boxers on. “we’ll take these off in a moment, i just can’t wait anymore.” he purred, positing himself to eat you out. you look down at his face timidly, biting your fingernail.

he flicked his tongue against your sensitive bundle of nerves, keeping his eye trained on your face. you shut your eyes from the bliss and mewled. he pressed a few kisses to your inner thighs, getting painfully close to where you wanted him badly. “leon…” you pathetically pleaded for him to kiss you. he quickly checked your face again. “fuck… barely even done anything an’ you’re already makin’ that cute lil’ face for me? you flatter me.”

you had no idea where this teasing dominance came from, usually leon was less into teasing and was eager to start eating you out. so why is he suddenly wanting to tease you? whatever, you could care less. whatever this was, it was sexy, and it got you riled up.

he placed a soft kiss on your inner thigh again and situated your thighs on his biceps and reached over them to hold you still (i can’t explain it so just cope) before licking a long stripe up your core. you gasped from the feeling, your breath getting caught in your throat. you could feel the smirk against your private areas as he continued licking your lips. his tongue teased your entrance as he released one of your thighs to rub circles on your clit. you moaned quietly, your hands tangling in his blonde hair once again. you gently rubbed his scalp as he lapped up your juices, savoring all of it.

he pressed a chaste kiss to your clit, teasing your soddened hole with his fingers before slowly sliding a finger inside. you cried out, your thighs clamped around his head. his pretty eyes met your glassy eyes and held contact as you began squirming. he tightened his grin and pulled away, spitting on your pussy before going back in. you felt your orgasm building up and your moans slowly got louder and louder when he started thrusting his finger.

your head felt fuzzy as he continued licking your cunt. your climax was rapidly approaching, and he knew this. your heavy breathing and the way your velvety walls clamped around his finger. you jerked your hips towards his face. “leon.” you whined loudly as he slipped another finger in. he repositioned himself to hold your hips down. and drew his face away to adore the blissful look on your face.

“baby?” he called out, and suddenly your orgasm washed over you from the sound of his deep voice. you cried out loudly, wrapping your legs around his neck, breathing heavily. you laid back for a moment, recollecting your senses and catching your breath. “missed me that much?” he joked, catching your attention. you sat up and hid your face when you noticed the mess you made.

his jaw was covered in your juices, and the sheets were totally soaked. “it’s fine princess, we have other sheets…” he climbed back over your and leaned down to kiss you, his tongue making it’s way into your mouth and easily taking dominance. your nimble fingers met the hem of his boxers and slipped them down. he laid on his back and kicked them off the rest of the way.

he was painfully hard, and quickly spit on his hands, stroking his length a couple times to get it semi-lubricated. “you wanna ride?” he asked, chuckling. you giggled shyly before replying, “i don’t know… if you do all the work for me then yes.” you were very straightforward. he sighed and accepted his fate, throwing the pillows on the floor and moved to sit with his back against the headboard.

you crawled over his lap and hovered above his dick as he lined himself up with your entrance. “think you need lube?” he asks, noticing your slight hesitation. you shook your head frantically, “nono it’s not that… just… well maybe i’ll need it, it’s been a little while, but i want you to feel good but what if i get tired?” he breathed out a laugh.

“baby, i am here. if you get tired let me know amore mio, ‘m not gonna get mad at you for getting tired.” leon breathed, cupping your chin and smiling. you sighed and nodded, you sunk down on his cock and inhaled sharply. He tenderly rubbed your hips, taking in your face of pure bliss. after a couple seconds, you exhaled and started to lazily bounce on his length. your moans got louder and louder, filling leon with a sense of pride.

“leon, feels so good…” you keened, your left hand resting on his shoulder as your opposite hand stroked his hair. he smirked and moved one of his hands to rub your clit with his middle and ring finger. “my sweet girl, always so sensitive.” he leaned his head down, nipping at your shoulders.

at some point, you started grinding rather than bouncing. he could tell you were running out of steam, but he felt like teasing a little bit. he wanted you to beg him for his help. “lee… ‘m tired… can you help?” you begged him quietly. he licked his lips as he pulled his head up, removing his hand from your hip. “beg for my help.” he said, grinning cheekily.

“lee… please help me…” you whimpered, looking at him with a pitiful frown. “lee…” you frowned and whined from the feeling of him pulling out, he continued stroking his cock. “come on, you have more in you than that.” he teased, pushing you onto your back and kneeling between your thighs.

you frowned and hid your face, “please…” he scoffed and pinned your wrists above you with one of his hands. you take a deep breath and glare at him. “please fuck me leon, i want your cock so bad leon.” you beg, he clicked his tongue in approval and lined up with your slit, pushing himself inside.

he roughly thrusted in and out, picking up on speed with each thrust. “fuck, [name] you’re so perfect. so tight.” leon breathes, hooking your legs over his shoulder. you moaned loudly, barely able to form sentences. “lee… so good…” you cried out.

you whimpered as he continued his assault on your cunt. he released your hands, which immediately returned to his shoulders. his hand slid back down, thumb rubbing over your bundle of nerves. his free hand supported him as he continued the rough pace. “baby, ‘m close…” he whimpered, making your eyes roll back. something about his whimpers just melted your brain.

his thrusts got sloppier as he continued rutting into your hole, occasionally you heard him whimper. “lee, baby… ‘m so close honey…” you sobbed, a tear escaping your eye from the pleasure. he dipped his head down into a kiss, biting your bottom lip softly. his slightly chapped lips locked with yours as your tongues danced together as be swallowed all your moans. he pulled away, a long string of saliva connecting between your lips.

“i know princess, i know… fuck, you take me so well.” he pants into your ear. your mind went blank as you reached your peak, screaming leon’s name so loudly the whole neighborhood probably heard. you were seeing stars. he sat back up, looking down at the white ring around the base of his cock. “i love you so much [name]…” he trusted a few more times before stilling, his dick twitched inside of you as he released inside of you.

you knew he still wanted more as he pulled out, his cock still semi-hard and clearly getting hard again. “again?” you said mischievously, a smirk on your face. you smiled as he flipped you onto your stomach and grabbed your hips, lifting your ass up. he hummed in response to your question as he lined himself up with your soaked entrance once again.

he easily pushed himself inside of your throbbing hole, the remnants of your past releases and your natural lubricant (???) assisting him. “i love you s’fucking much.” he growled as he began thrusting in and out of your harshly. you cried out his name repeatedly as tears began flowing down your face from overstimulation. “you’re so good for me… such a good girl.” he muttered as he leaned down to your ear and nibbled on your earlobe. you felt his abs tensing against your back as he thrusted. You felt his tip repeatedly hit your sweet spot “lee-! sososo good!” your dumbly whimpered, your brain going fuzzy from the pleasure.

“that’s right baby, tell me how good i make you feel.” he demanded, smiling as his arm made its way beneath you to cup your breast. you moaned loudly as his fingers pinched your nipple. “you make me feel so good leon i- fuck… you’re the only person who could ever make me feel this good!” he breathed at a laugh at your words and kissed your cheek gently as his thrusts became sloppy once again. he felt your walls clenching around him and knew you were about to cum again without needing words. “that’s right princess, cum around my cock.”

with a few rough thrusts, he spilled out inside of you once again, his tip kissing your cervix as you shivered. you chanted his name repeatedly as he thrusted a couple times, fucking you through your own orgasm. “I love you so much [name].” leon whispered in your ear, kissing your shoulder before pulling away from your back.

he took a deep breath, pulling out and flopping next to you on the bed. you breathed heavily, trying to catch your breath. “you okay my love?” leon asked you as he turned onto his side to admire you. he rubbed your waist as you turned to face him, basking in the afterglow. “i’m okay sweetheart… could use a bath, maybe some hot chocolate, maybe you'll get in the bath with me.” you say quietly, smiling.

he smiled and kissed your forehead, “happy anniversary my angel…” leon said, climbing out of bed to draw you both a bath.

he’s a keeper.

this was the first smut i ever wrote so like, so please no judgement thanks 🎀🍓꒰ ๑ơ ₃ ơ꒱ @luvrfaries

leon s. kennedy masterlist ౨ৎ | if you enjoyed please reblog and if you actually do reblog then i love you and you deserve nothing but happiness and good fortune in life 😭🙏🩷

[saxxxology]

Freedom | oneshot

PAIRING: Sam Winchester x Reader WORD COUNT: 2,446 WARNINGS: spoilers for “Inherit the Earth,” character death, drinking to cope, minor trauma processing, smut, post-sex feels, stress/anxiety NOTE: This fic is set post 15x19 - “Inherit the Earth.” Do not save or repost my work without my consent. This work is 18+ only.

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“So we’re free.”

Sam glances up, casting his eyes over the rim of his beer bottle to where you’re perched on the edge of the counter. Legs slightly parted under the hem of your knee-length nightshirt, back slouched, eyes boring into him like you can see right through his skin and into his soul.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Chuck’s gone, Jack’s… doin’ his thing, I guess. There’s nobody calling the shots for us anymore.”

You hum, tipping back your bottle of vodka to take a long swallow. The clear alcohol burns your throat, and you let out a sigh that turns warm in your chest. “Where’s Dean?”

“Holed up in his room.” Sam swipes his tongue over his teeth. “He hasn’t really been able to process Cas, I figured we could give him a few days.”

“Yeah.” You swallow thickly and raise the bottle to your lips again. “Fuckin’ Cas, man.”

“I know.” Sam chuckles. “He was one of the good ones.”

You nod in agreement. “I’ll second that.”

There’s a long silence, interrupted only by the dull clink of glass on metal, the swish of liquid in an almost-empty glass, and a repetitive shuffle of paper as Sam flips absentmindedly through a two-day-old newspaper.

“How are you?” you ask, eager to break the quiet. Sam’s eyes flicker up to you once again, and you shift a little on the counter. “I’m just asking because you haven’t said much since we got back.”

Sam tightens his lips and takes a deep breath. “I don’t know, really. I feel numb. Like, I don’t know if it just hasn’t hit yet, but… yeah, I feel numb.” He rolls his shoulders back and downs the rest of his beer in a single swallow.

“Same here.” You sniff, screwing the cap back onto the tall vodka bottle and setting it aside. “I’m so tired of it. Dean said Cas died and I felt nothing.”

“You’re in shock,” Sam excuses, “and we’ve been dealing with so much shit, we can’t process all of it at once. Cas deserves to be… he deserves for us to grieve for him, without thinking about anything else.”

You chew on your lower lip, surveying him as he rubs his forehead with one hand. He’s tense, the relief of having Chuck gone only half-there. All three of you are used to things being too good to be true, only for shit to hit the fan right after you’ve booked a beach vacation or a weekend in Vegas.

But hell, you deserve to take a little bit of this newfound freedom for granted. Besides, it’s been a while since you had the time or energy to get laid. Sam’s hot, you’re needy… one night of not considering fallout from anything might be nice.

“Sam?”

“Hmm?”

You take a quick breath, leaning back to brace one hand just behind your hip. “If I asked you to fuck me, would you?”

He stiffens, unable to keep his gaze from drifting over to you. He looks beat; tired and lost and just a little scared of the world. For a second you regret asking, thinking he might just say no and get to blame it all on the alcohol.

“I…” he blows air through his lips as pink stains his cheeks. “Are you drunk?”

“Not really.” You speak a little too soon, as your focus begins to drift and you blink twice to clear your vision. “Well, maybe not enough.”

“No, don’t drink any more.” Sam stands up, abandoning his empty bottle on the table as he shuffles over to you. The toes of his boots drag on the polished concrete floor; he’s so cautious about it, like he’s scared to indulge in something other than people prying him for answers or questions. He hates selfishness, and taking this, taking you… it’ll be the ultimate self-indulgence that he may or may not come out of feeling like he deserved it.

“You scared of me?” you tease, tipping your head back as he leans a hip against the side of the counter.

“Never.” He chuckles softly. “You really okay? You want this?”

You lick your lower lip. “Am I ever okay?”

“That’s true.” He sighs heavily, raking his eyes down the column of your neck, over your nipples pressing through the dark blue fabric of your shirt, your stomach, the rise of your thighs, and then right back up to yours…

It’s like he’s a virgin all over again, you think to yourself. He needs a little help getting into it.

You reach for his hand. He lets you take it, guiding his fingers under the hem of your nightshirt. The tips of his fingers are still cold, chilly from his beer, and you shiver a little when he guides them against the inside of your thigh, creeping closer and closer to your core.

He inhales sharply through his nose when his fingers slip against the smooth, warm lips of your pussy. Your thighs part a little more, and you let out a little sigh when he takes the lead, nudging the tip of his index finger down into wet heat.

“Why are you not wearin’ any panties?” he asks.

You arch an eyebrow. “Why are you questioning it?”

He chuckles, bracing his free hand on the metal countertop next to your hip, and slips his fingers a little farther into your folds. You shimmy a little to encourage him, and he lowers his head, the tip of his nose pressing against your cheek to nudge your head back.

He kisses you hungrily, humming against your lips as you reciprocate eagerly. You can taste the beer on his lower lip, and he deepens the kiss, licking into your mouth as his fingers explore deeper between your legs. He finds your clit, targeting smooth, gentle rolls over it as your hand wanders over the front of his jeans.

“Fuck me,” you whisper, “please, Sam, I need you.”

He growls, stepping quickly between your thighs. “Not here.”

He scoops you up, striding towards the steps and feeling his way into the hall. You wrap your legs around his waist. The door to his bedroom is open, and you giggle when he kicks it shut, lips still glued to yours. He lowers you to the ground, waiting for you to stand still before running his hands under the fabric of your nightshirt.

“Get this off,” he murmurs, stripping it roughly over your head and tossing it to the floor. He palms your tits, thumbs rubbing over your nipples, and you arch into the sensation, pulling at the buttons of his flannel, popping each metal clasp until he can shrug it off. He cups your face with both hands, pushing his hips closer as you tug at his belt. His jeans fall to the ground with a dull thud, leaving him in just a pair of navy blue boxers.

He pulls back when you slide a hand into the waistband of his boxers, wrapping your fingers around the hard length of his dick. His pelvis jerks into your touch, and you grin up at him, stretching up onto your toes to claim his mouth in a deep, dirty kiss.

“Condom,” he whispers, “in the nightstand—”

“No,” you reply breathlessly, “I’m on the pill.”

Sam smirks, his hands sliding down to grope your ass. “That works, too.”

He kisses you hard, lifting you up just enough to dump you on the bed. He crawls over you eagerly, reaching down to stroke himself, and you whimper when the thick tip drags through your folds.

He sinks inside with a loud sigh, fisting his cock to push deeper as you squirm underneath him. Your knees fall open, giving him as much room as possible, and his hand falls beside your waist to brace when he gets himself deep enough to thrust comfortably.

Your nails dig into his hips on the first deep, desperate grind. He hisses at the sting and presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips, panting hard as he thrusts into a rhythm that has the frame of his bed shuddering under the force.

He feels like heaven. Thick and hot and hard as his belly slides against yours, skin already dotted with sweat. His hand comes up to cup your face, fingers curling against your hair as his lips dot a line down your throat, over your chest, and then wrap around a swollen nipple. Your head falls back against a pillow, and you plant your toes firmly against the mattress for leverage. He grunts when you push up against him, allowing him to move even deeper inside until he bottoms out.

“Stay right there,” he mutters. He heaves himself up in one smooth motion, eyes locking on your face as he drops his entire weight into his thrusts. The loud slap of flesh on flesh echoes through the room, and you’re unable to stop your gasps and moans when you feel the ache of it. He grabs your wrists when you try and touch him, pinning them down on either side of your head, and you let out a long sigh of his name that earns a feral growl in reply. The roll of his hips changes when you squeeze around him, deep scoops that have your belly clenching.

“Oh my God, don’t stop,” you breathe, “make me cum, baby, please…”

“That’s the fuckin’ plan.” Sam dips his head to kiss you, and you wiggle playfully in his grip, the tease only making his fingers curl tighter. “You need to touch yourself?”

“No.” You catch a breath when he pauses, lips feather light against yours. “Just keep movin’ like that.”

He chuckles, shifting his weight for balance before resuming the same delicious, expert strokes. His eyes drift down your body until they land between your legs, and he groans at the sight of his cock plunging in and out of your cunt, shiny with your slick.

“Yeah, that’s it, honey,” he murmurs, “c’mon and cum for me.”

You push up against his thrusts, mouth falling open as the hot skin above his dick rubs against your clit. You’re almost there, you can feel it brimming in the pit of your belly, and when Sam’s thrusts turn into hard, bestial shoves, you spiral into bliss, convulsing between Sam’s body and the mattress as he fucks you through it. His grip on your wrists loosens, and you wrap your arms tight around his shoulders, dragging him down on top of you. He slows, then stops, lifting his head from the crook of your neck to press a lazy kiss to your cheek.

“Good?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you reply breathlessly, “you didn’t—”

He stops you with a kiss. “I will. C’mere.”

He rolls onto his back, keeping you close with an arm looped around your waist. You situate yourself on top of him, eyes falling closed as your head spins.

“Whoa, there,” he chuckles, “here, baby, put your hands right here.”

“I know how to ride a dick, dummy.” You arch your back, leaning forward far enough to brace your palms over his shoulders, tits just inches away from his kiss-swollen lips. He huffs, fingers splaying out on your hips as you begin to ride him, rolling your hips and bouncing down on his cock. He grunts, mouth opening in a soft O, and you moan when he gives an instinctive little push of his hips, meeting you halfway as you find your own rhythm.

“Fuck,” he moans, craning his neck to lap his tongue against one nipple. You pull back before he can get a real taste, scraping your nails over his chest as you work him harder, faster, until his soft pants and grunts turn into full-fledged moans.

He cums with a strangled groan, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. You keep moving, giggling when he arches and bucks underneath you, breathing high in his throat as he crosses the brink from pleasure to overstimulation. Unable to take any more, he pushes you off with a hoarse laugh, and you collapse beside him, giggling with your lower lip between your teeth.

“Fuck, I needed that,” you sigh, turning your head to gaze at him.

“Me too.” He stretches one arm under your head, allowing you to scoot close into his side and rest your cheek against his chest. His heart is a steady beat, thumping slower and slower as his body calms, and you tip your head back to kiss under his jaw. He smiles, allowing his eyes to flutter closed, and skims his thumb over your shoulder.

You lie together in silence for a long time, calming down with soft kisses and touches. You’re the one to break the silence, running a hand over a small scar on his opposite shoulder.

“I don’t know why we never did this before,” you comment.

“Me either.” Sam kisses you tenderly. “It was good.”

You sigh against his lips, gazing up into his eyes as an ache suddenly builds in your throat. “Cas died.”

He nods slowly, exhaling long and slow through his nose. “Yeah. You wanna talk?”

You shrug. “I guess.”

“Tell you what.” Sam props himself on one elbow, leaning down to nuzzle your shoulder. “How about we take a shower, put something on the TV, we can take our time.”

“Uh… yeah,” you sigh, trying to keep your voice steady. “You go ahead.”

Sam gives you a soft, sad smile. “Don’t take too long, ‘kay?”

“I won’t.” You let your head roll back onto a pillow and close your eyes. “I just… I need to cry for a few minutes and I wanna be alone.”

He clicks his tongue and grazes his fingers over your cheek. “All right. I’ll save some hot water for you.”

“Don’t steal it all.”

“I won’t.” He kisses your cheek. “It’s gonna be okay.”

You sigh deeply. “I know. Go on, I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay.” He slides out of bed, and you watch him tread slowly to the door and disappear into the hallway. Rolling onto your side, you bury your face against his pillow, sucking in a deep, shuddering breath and holding it.

Your strokes of luck lately have been too good to be true, and there’s a weight in your stomach that usually only means one thing. All the big, heavy-hitting players are gone. It’s just you, Sam, and Dean now, left alone to form your own little path in the world for the first time ever. It’s terrifying.

Shit’s going to hit the fan, and when it does, this time, it’ll be the worst thing to happen to you.

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[ddullahan]

hadestown au 1

HI SO My anxiety has been through the fuckin roof for the past few weeks and in a fit of stress I deleted the first look of the bees hadestown au that I posted a few weeks ago. I’m feeling much better now and I wanted to repost it because I really am super excited about it >< Anyway, second verse, maybe same as the first, here we go! ---------------- it’s an old song As all tales begin, there comes a moment of question. The precipice we all stand at, toes hanging over the edge, eager to take the plunge. The question, different for every eye and ear turned to the story, starts as a feeling. It buoys us through the long swathes of paragraphs ahead. It seeps into our minds, and pushes us off the edge. We have that moment of freefall. Of realisation. We have to trust in something to catch us. Like most fairy tales, it begins with once upon a time. There laid a railroad track.   If you've ever heard the rails sing on a good, windy day, you'd know the sound sticks to the back of your mind. There to stay until the dark of night, when it creeps up to whisper wanderlust into your bones. The song of the rails is a low and resonant thing, humming into the willows scattered along the railroad sides. They used to say the rails were the Fates groaning in your ears. Urging you along. Waiting in anticipation for the train to come to call. Waiting for the story to start its freefall. The metal likes to wail beneath blackened wheels on hot, summer days. Days much like the one in which our story begins. Once upon a time - Metal chatters under the weight of an ancient, scorch-marked train. Decorated with blacked out windows. Panes of glass soot-stained, like they’d been brushed with fire one too many times. Coal smoke bursts from its chimney with a grudge, flooding the gray skies in the type of black smog that you can taste in the back of your mouth, long after the train’s disappeared. It was painted white once, a long, long time ago. A gift from the boss man down below for his flowering wife; but it’s one of those gifts you shove in the back of your drawer. One of those things that you spend your nights lying awake in bed, thinking in guilty chords. The train still runs, but the old white sides are now black and cold. Like the panting of dogs on the skin of your heels, the wind still blows hot behind it. The only thing it tows are souls to their final destination, but it won't take you if you ain't got the gold to board. It’s a fact almost everyone knows. ‘Cause the old legends say the road to hell could lead you out of poverty, but you gotta pay the toll to get that good money. The wind cracks and snaps after the train; sends the short ribbons of inky black hair whipping. Snapping into the brown-skinned face of a hungry young woman.   Blake Belladonna’s eyes glint like knives with a debt to pay, and her steps are sure footed against the rolling rocks under her boots. She wears a weathered bag slung over her shoulder, and a once-warm leather duster now worn to shit and hole-y. She seems small among the billowing willows and smoggy skies. She doesn't know where she's going or how she got to the railroad at all - but she knows how to turn her collar against the wind. And she knows how to run.   Metal shrieks, pulling her eyes up like a hand to the chin. She’s left to watch as the ruined, black omen of a train screams past a small, dilapidated station. It’s the only structure for miles. The cicadas are screaming along to the wailing of the tracks in a symphony, until the locomotive vanishes over the curve of a distant hill. The station's dry, mud-caked windows send silt drifting to cracked, rotting floorboards. The coke-bottle thick panes rattle angrily in their fragile frames, and then come to find their peace once more. Damn this is a dump, the young woman thinks, approaching the station. But it'll have to do. The sun's rays sink into her skull and turn her warm brown skin hot to the touch. It's far too hot for April. Stepping into the shade is an immediate relief, until the hot wind kicks up again. It blasts in her face as if to remind her it's there. As if she could ever forget. She's used to the way it whispers starvation in her ears. She throws the door open and escapes from the wind; stumbles her way into the empty station. Small and dusty like it’d been forgotten, filled with only two benches facing each other and a single door hiding behind them in the gloom. There's a sign on the door that reads "End o  th  line Caf ". Faintly, she can hear music behind it. Blake doesn't hesitate, and heads for the door. The knob breaks off in her hand, but it feels familiar and solid so she pockets it and heads inside. Follows the hallway and the pull of her feet to the music. The walls grow darker and thicker with polished wood. Her steps don't seem to echo and the music has since paused. The quiet starts to make her anxious. She doesn't like dark hallways. She's dreamt of them enough for a lifetime. The further she goes, the more her unease starts to grow and the more she starts to wonder if she's been here before. It's ridiculous, really. This is the farthest south she'd ever gone. Or was she in the east? Her anxious heart speeds up for a reason she can't see, and it's like her feet already know where to go. The hallway turns suddenly and she finds herself standing at the rim of an amphitheater of sorts. The music fades back in. There's a band jamming to soft jazz in the stands, people crowded and conversing at tiny tables scattered about the flat floor at the bottom. There's a man at a piano playing a diddy, there's a flicker of gold in the kitchen beyond. It's alive in a way that she hadn't seen in a long time, and she finds her feet eager to join the dancing 'round the tables below. She takes a step and nearly runs into another woman, decked out in a crisp white and red suit. She’s older, maybe late thirties or mid forties - has this eternally kind, yet melancholy smile. Her features are fair, but tired. Her black hair is pulled back like Blake’s, but tipped with red like the ends had been dipped in paint. Blake apologises immediately - "E-excuse me, sorry," and starts picking her way down to the tables. "No worries dear," She hears faintly behind her, the older woman's face already blurred from her memory. She blinks and suddenly she’s on the bottom floor, with the movers and shakers rattling cups with their stomping jive. She wants to move with them, but she's already reaching for an empty chair, like her hand was following its own storyline. The flash of gold catches her attention again. Her feet slip into a shallow groove in the floor, and she is rooted. Something crashes, and her eyes follow the clattering sharp shards of porcelain. One piece with purple trim bounces off a brown boot. She notices a hole near the big toe. Blake looks up, and her heart decides to freefall.   All the way across the floor stands a young woman in an apron. A bucket of newly broken dishes lay at her feet.   Her eyes are so pale and pretty they have their own orbit amidst the aging lights above. Her blonde hair ripples into liquid gold, twisted messily into a bun. Broad shoulders are cinched into position with suspenders and there's an off-white shirt rolled up to her elbows, the hem tucked into a pair of trousers. The skin of her strong forearms are tanned and riddled with freckles, spreading constellations all the way up her neck and across the gradual slope of her nose.   Oh, there's something familiar about all of this. Blake feels it in her bones. There’s something familiar in the ‘o’ of her startled mouth. Something about the empty hands she hovers, still holding an imaginary bucket of plates. She's got those sharp lilac eyes pinned on something in front of her.   It's a jolt to realise she's staring right at Blake. Though suddenly, that older woman in the white and red suit sweeps by that freckled face, and it's with a smile and a wave that their staring contest ends. No one claims the victory as the spell breaks. The older woman asks something that Blake can't hear, but she knows her voice is soft and sweet. Her feet move like she’s skating on air, and Blake decides to focus on that. She focuses on that instead of the heartbeat in her chest. She doesn’t think about how her pulse no longer feels like it belongs to herself. The golden woman nods stiffly and turns. Follows the gliding woman to the back of the house, and Blake is left with a heart migrating into her throat. The hungry young woman quickly tears her gaze away, uproots her feet from the grooves in the floor, and sits at the table she'd claimed. Her skin feels clammy. Her body is buzzing. She shrugs off her bag and coat, then pulls her bag into her lap. As if there was anything in there worth protecting. It could be minutes, it could be hours. She's really not sure, when a shadow falls over her table, and the sight aches like an old friend. A bottle of some fizzy drink is set gently before her, the bottle cap rattling towards her side of the table. Sunflower Pop, it reads. She looks up. The poor young woman, with her liquid gold locks wrapped in a messy topknot, stares right back. They're both struck speechless.   If there was ever a moment where destiny fills the lungs, it was then. Anticipation strings itself between their ribs, the cords like telephone wires humming their universal tune. I found you. I found you. I found you. But neither of them say a word to each other. The anticipation feels closer to a noose than a cup-and-string, the longer they spend breathing in the other's presence. The hungry young woman with hair black as night, just couldn't look away. Couldn't make her voice work right. The gold haired woman's jaw seems to work, but there was still no sound to be heard. Eventually the woman just turns around and walks away, toddling and tripping like her knees were unsteady. Blake sits where she left her, feeling much more than sympathy. She feels like her chair would collapse with her if she tried to follow. And again, there are voices whispering in the back of her mind. The wind already found her inside this place, its voices groaning and hollow. It always finds her, and she knows. She knows it always will. But as her slender fingers wrap around the neck of the bottle left on her table, Blake tastes the fizz and hums. Feels the crackle of carbonation all across her skin as she tracks the tall blonde with her eyes. The wind doesn’t feel like a whip in this vibrant, lively place. That has to count for something. Maybe she should stick around, just for one day. Maybe she would stick around and wait for the band to play.

[thatmultifandomhoe]

A Missed Stop

Word Count: 1,402

Pairing: Taehyung and Reader

Genre: Idol AU - Angst

Warning/Rating: None - G

Master List

A/N: This is the long awaited Part 2 to Late Night Bus Rides!

Late Night Bus Rides - A Missed Stop

©thatmultifandomhoe 2019.  Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without permission.

Giggling stole your attention for the tenth time since you came home. Kasey and Ali had been sitting at the kitchen table painting their nails when you first walked in, their conversation immediately dying out. The room reeked of the acidic nail polish remover and tomato sauced cooking on the stove leaving your stomach rolling at the combined smells.

“Okay, what gives?” You asked, hurrying to open one of the windows.

Ali raised an eyebrow, glancing at Kasey.

It wasn’t that you disliked your roommates, they were the best friends you could have ever asked for, even if you sometimes wondered if they had been dropped on their heads as children. You loved them and worried for society when they graduated in two years.

“I found something the other day of yours,” Ali casually answered, dipping the brush into a teal color.

“Well, I do live here.” Standing on your toes, you stretched to see if the sauce was boiling. When it was clear it wasn’t, you joined them at the table and picked up a pack of nail art stickers. This one had silver stars of all sizes.

Kasey shook her head, not even looking up as she painted Ali’s nails. “Yes, but we’ve never seen this before. It looks old too.”

Frowning, you held onto the star pack, inspecting the pile for any other interesting stickers. “I need more information than that.”

“We wanna know who gave you the stuffed panda bear!” Ali blurted out, her baby blue eyes widening as she smacked her free hand over her mouth.

Her words hung in your mind and all it took was a second for you to know exactly what they were talking about. There was only one stuffed panda bear that you ever owned and even though it had been years, you just hadn’t been able to part with it.

“Oh,” you softly spoke, dropping the heart nail stickers you had found. Leaning against your chair, you chewed on your bottom lip while staring at the stars. For a moment you remembered staring up at another set of stars except you had been outside, sitting on a bus bench with Taehyung by your side, waiting for the bus.

Clearing your throat, you ignored the worried looks they were sharing with each other. “It’s just something from an old friend.”

It had been years since you last saw Taehyung, at least, in person. All you had to do was search his name on any form of social media and he popped up. Thousands of results came up actually, and while you were so proud of him, it saddened you. You always wanted him to follow his dreams and be successful, but you never realized that you’d lose him along the way.

“An old friend,” Kasey gently asked, resting her hand on yours. “Or an old flame?”

You laughed but the humor was gone from it. How could you possibly explain to them that the person who had given you the panda was one of the most famous people in the world? They loved you yes, but the three of you were quick to call each other out on bullshit when you saw it.

Then there was the million-dollar question. Was Taehyung an old friend, or an old lover?

You had loved him greatly as a best friend and then you were in love with him, and the night he had given you the panda bear you had wanted to tell him so badly, but you were so scared that he never felt the same. So, you chickened out and when arriving at the Dorms that night, you immediately went to sleep and took a taxi to go home the next morning.

He had sent texts and called you to see where you had gone, worried something happened to you, but you had lied and said you weren’t feeling good. Like you had expected, he believed every word because why wouldn’t he? When it came to you, he always trusted you to tell the truth. He never thought you’d outright lie to him.

Not long after that Taehyung had gone on tour, they kept putting out albums and music videos and at first, the two of you were able to keep in touch. Video chats and phone calls were common, along with the promise that once he was back that he’d be taking you on another adventure.

“Where are we going Tae?”

“To see the world!” He exclaimed.

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “I’m serious Tae. Where are we going?”

You softly smiled at the memory, remembering how easier it had been back then. But as his group grew more popular and in addition to their music, they put out a YouTube Red series, a documentary of their lives, several games, the video chats became quick texts. Then the texting slowly puttered out until one day you realized you hadn’t heard from Tae in three months.

Three months turned to six, and then a whole year had passed.

It had hurt that you lost your best friend but you had accepted that life had changed the two of you. He was busy with his own life and you with yours. There had been a period where it felt impossible to get out of bed knowing that your friendship had died, but then one morning you got out of bed, showered, made some coffee and drank it while sitting on the kitchen counter looking out the window.

The windchime hanging in the tree closest to your apartment hand been gently swinging in the breeze. Opening the window, the smell of fresh rain had entered the kitchen, surprising you because you hadn’t realized it rained. You couldn’t even recall hearing it rain.

A few days after that, you bought a wooden box with a lid that had flowers carved into the wood and carefully filled it with the things that Taehyung had given you over the years. Small tokens and pins that he had given you, letters he had written, little drawings he did, a few rings and necklaces, and pictures of the two of you. It had been a trip down memory lane filled with hours sitting on the floor as you reread each letter, laughing and crying when a certain piece sparked up a memory. Being friends with Taehyung had been its own type of adventure.

When you finally closed the lid of the box, you put it on a shelf in your closet. The only thing that hadn’t been able to fit inside was the stuffed panda bear, so you had set it on top of the box and closed the door to your closet.

It wasn’t that you wanted to pretend your friendship with Taehyung never happened – you wanted to tell your best friends about him and things you did – but it simply wasn’t possible. Especially when they were avid fans of the group and made inhumane sounds when Dispatch released new pictures.

Even if you showed them the pictures, you knew that’d want to hear all about Tae and would be filled with endless questions about him, his life, if the two of you still talked. You just…weren’t ready yet. One day you would be, but just not yet. Not when it still hurt, and your heart still longed for him.

Lifting your head, you smiled at Kasey and Ali, seeing their worried expressions. It wasn’t something to worry about, it was a stuffed panda bear filled with memories.

A part of you still regretted never telling Taehyung that you loved him. Maybe if you had, things could have gone differently. Maybe there’d be a chance of still being in contact with hm. All thoughts and possibilities that you had considered a thousand times before, but there was nothing left for you to do. It was too late.

“He is from an old friend,” you softly spoke, licking your lips. “Who never knew, because I never told him. And last I knew; he’s living his best life possible and is happy.”

That’s what you hoped at least. That at the end of the day, he was happy and doing what he loved most in the world. The two of you may have taken the same bus together, but you were both destined to get off at different stops.

Taehyung had simply gotten off the bus earlier than you had expected.

[ck90]

That Thing He Does

So I saw the @shieldshockfanfic repost about the price for fortune telling being a cute #shieldshock and this happened. I’m sure it’s been done a gazillion times before but what can I say, it was a thorn on my side until I wrote it.

I haven’t done a full edit but did do a pretty so go figure. This is also my first ShieldShock so [insert neurotic, caffeine-addled, feelings of panic].

EDIT: You all are so awesome, feelings of panic subsided enough to put this on 

AO3 

“Dammit.” Darcy grabbed the bottle of Zoya and removed the polish from her toe for like the twelfth time. Okay, it was only the third, but it felt like a baker’s dozen.

“How in hell did they do that?” She swiped at the various images of the most amazing, beautiful, marvelous painted toes she’d ever seen in her life. And she couldn’t do any of them.

She’d tried. There were instructions and videos, but it quickly became apparent that her artistic skills were limited to stick figures with crooked lines.

What she really needed was a pedicure, but as much as the thought of one was amazing, the idea of some stranger touching her feet just gave her the willies. Not to mention throwing money she could ill-afford to spend on an indulgent luxury was out of the question.

So she was on some floor of the Stark Tower, there were so many she couldn’t keep track and didn’t bother to, on a couch that was more comfortable than her own bed and undoubtedly cost more than her whole wardrobe combined painting or attempting to paint her toenails.

“Unreal.” She enlarged an image. “Dark sorcery, that’s what it is and mere mortals can just suck it.”

“Problem?”

Darcy looked up and just, Dayummm, that man. Super Soldier. All-American yumminess that made the butterflies in her stomach take flight. Talk about mere mortal faced with sorcery.

“What?” Her brain will eventually reboot from that quick trip to Pervyville.

Steve, leaning against the doorframe ducked his head and looked at tablet clutched at her chest and the nail polish bottles littering the coffee table she’d moved closer to the sofa.

Oh. Yeah.

“Nah. Just,” she waved at the mess, “trying to do the impossible when you’re not a contortionist and have no artistic talent is hilariously quixotic.”

His brow arched and she deflated.

“I want pretty toes and can’t do it.” She wasn’t pouting. She wasn’t! Just looking longingly at the pretty pictures.

“Want some help?”

She looked up. When did he move from the door to the sofa? Was super speed part of his skill set now, too? Her toes shriveled into the sofa, hiding from the source of light that sat down next to her. Not that she was thinking Steve was light because, he was just a man, right? A pretty, pretty man.

“I’ve picked up a pencil a time or two.”

Wait. He was offering to paint her toenails? Did she get sucked into an alternate universe and didn’t know it? Those pretty blues were doing things to her.

“Uh.”

He leaned over a tad, not touching because he’s forever aware of the impropriety, and looked at the tablet on her lap.

“Those are very artistic.”

“Uh.” She blinked. Earth to Darcy! “Yeah. I wasn’t really trying for those, just, you know, the basics like actually painting.”

He nodded. “One color or two?”

“Two.” Came out in a squeak. She didn’t even know her voice could do that.

“Trust me?” He was looking at her so soft and earnestly.

With. My. Life. Yes, a thousand times, yes!

“Uh huh.”

He was staring at her expectantly and Darcy finally realized he was waiting for her to bring her feet out of the cushions of the sofa. God, she hoped they weren’t baskets of fuzz nearing sentience. She lifted a foot near him and to her eternal astonishment, he picked up both of her legs and placed them across his lap.

This was the same man who was also so careful around her. Always making sure not to touch her, even accidentally, never mind in a friendly casual manner, that she actually thought he found her kinda repulsive. I mean, she got it, her mouth had a way of saying things before her brain could filter it and he was an old-fashioned type of guy who was used to proper ladies. But she’d never felt so trollish as when in the presence of Captain America.

“Those your paints?” He was looking at the case with enough polish to paint every toe in the Eastern Seaboard and that included the men, too.

Darcy nodded. “Steve?” God, those blues of his were so…drownable. “You’re touching my feet.” More than her feet actually, her calves here firmly on his thighs and his chest was pressing lightly against them in order to look at the nail polish on the table.

The masculine muscles, and there were so, so many, blanketing her calves tensed. “Is that okay?”

Is it okay? Dude. I want to use you as my own personal, preferably naked, blanket for the rest of my life.

“Uh huh.” Thank God the filter worked for once. Might not be fully coherent but it didn’t spew the things she was thinking. “Is it okay with you?”

His hand brushed the top of one foot, before holding it. It was almost a caress. “They are nice feet, Darcy.” His mouth tightened and eyes closed as his head dipped to his chest and his shoulders kinda folded on to themselves.

“Well, they’re my little piggies so I’m kinda okay with them.” A soft huff escaped his lips as they hitched up. “You’re hands are…” warm, soft, strong, making me melt…“nice.”

“So this is okay?”

Uh, yeah. “More than okay.”

He gave her calf a gentle squeeze before turning back to the polish. “What colors would you like?”

“Do anything you want.” So much for the filter working. Did his ears just turn a little pink? Totally worth her own embarrassment.

“Anything?” His voice was low and a little husky.

It gave her ideas. Pervyville meet your new mayor, Darcy Lewis. She swallowed. “Sure.” Her voice did not squeak. It didn’t!

“Don’t look,” he said. “I want it to be a surprise.”

The man could ask her to go piss off Banner and she’d do it in a heartbeat. “Okay.” She picked up the tablet and started scrolling. “Can we still talk?”

Not if he continued kneading her arch with the hand that was not painting, they couldn’t. God, it felt so good, she bit off a moan. Because that would have been inappropriate.

“What do you want to talk about?”

You. Naked in my bed? Thank God the filter was semi-functional. “Do you know what happened in Budapest?”

Steve laughed. “I think they are just messing with everyone.”

“Yeah,” she smiled, “that would totally be something they’d do.” Silence settled between them and it was surprisingly comfortable. She was still trying to think of something to say, what could she have in common with a gorgeous superhero.

Turns out they had a lot in common. Love for coffee. Movies. Books. And he kept massaging her foot with strong, nimble fingers so it’s not her fault her eyes drifted close and she enjoyed the fucking moment. And then he did that thing.

He lifted her foot near his mouth and blew. It couldn't be helped. The jolt of electrical - okay, fine, sexual - energy surged through her and her leg jerked. Would have probably kicked him in the face if he hadn’t been holding on so securely.

“Darcy?” His eyes looked pained with worry and the grip on her foot tightened. “You okay?”

What was her name again? Right. “Uh. Huh.” Yes. Her voice was actually squeaking. She dropped her eyes before something embarrassing happened. Like her having an orgasm because he was blowing that warm, intimate breath on her damn toes. Which led her to thinking what it would feel like against other parts of her body.

“Want me to stop.”

“God, no.” Hard to clear your throat when it's rough and tight. “I mean, not unless you want to.”

He stroked her foot and if that wasn’t caress, she’d eat Tony’s stupid suit. The small one, not the Hulkbuster.

“I’m only halfway done.”

Yeah. If she made it out of this room without jumping him, it will be a flipping miracle.

“Okay.”

She knew he was nice. Of course, Captain America would be nice, but Steve Rogers is so goddamn adorably sweet and funny and smart. He makes her laugh and she’s thrilled that she could return the favor to the point he had to stop painting, eyes crinkling shut and hand on his chest. She fell a little in love with him right there and then.

Okay. More than a little but who’s counting.

The thing was after this, she wouldn’t be able to go back to the way they were before. It would crush her to know this Steve and have to go back to the formal, perfect gentleman and rather cold Avenger.

“Can we stay like this?” It comes out of her mouth before she can think about it.

“Like what?”

“Friends.”

He looked up. “I thought we were friends, Darcy.”

Her head moves slowly side to side. “No. You were polite. Nice. But there were times I thought you could barely stay in the same room I was in, much less stand near me.”

The hand massaging her foot stilled. “I’m sorry, Darcy. It wasn’t about you, it was about me.”

What was that supposed to mean? Should she ask? Did she want to know or would it be something she’d be better off not knowing like that inter-dimensional portal to a zombie world that opened up in Jersey of all places? It got handled quickly but…ew, gross.

“Oh.”

“I like this,” he said. “I,” the corded muscles of his throat stood out when he swallowed thickly. “like you.”

He did? “You do?”

His lips curved up into a soft smile. “Yeah. I do.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Or twelve. Who needs a regular rhythm anyway?

“I like you, too, Steve.”

They just stayed like that smiling at each other until she felt the heat blossom from her cheeks down her neck to her chest and…Oh.My.God. Her brain short-circuited. It just did.

She didn’t know how long it took for her to remember to breathe, but she finally managed, and her face finally felt like it wasn’t doing its best impersonation of a tomato. She was finally back to normal. Or as normal as she could be with Steve Rogers touching her and massaging her foot.

And then he did that thing he did. Again. Bringing the other foot near his mouth and blew.

Jesus on a pogo stick!

Her whole body shuddered. God, she wanted to do dirty, inappropriate things to this man when he does that thing he does.

Her eyes met his and there was merriment and something dark and promising. Hell. He knew, had known the whole time what he’d been doing to her. Or maybe he was just making sure that he was actually doing that thing that made her throw caution to the wind.

“If you don’t like it, I can do something else.”

Huh? He pointed to her toes. Her beautiful, marvelous, amazing toes in blue with stars, one toe in each foot was red with stars. He’d used that damn glittery silver polish that she’d loved but couldn't put on her nails without making them look stubby.

Red, silver, and blue, huh? Either that was a hint, shut up, she’s not thinking all that clearly, or she’s going to have to move to a cave on the other side of the world.

Darcy gently tugged her foot his grasp and scooted closer until her butt was flush to his thigh and she was practically sitting on his lap.

“Darcy.” That voice again, low and husky and full of promise. “Want to get coffee with me sometime?”

She’s almost on top of him and he wants coffee? Hell no.

“No.”

He stiffened and his eyes turned into that soft, lost puppy dog look. “No?”

“Dinner,” she said. She should have left it that, but that damn filter. “And breakfast.”

He swallowed. “Most important meal of the day.”

“Uh. Huh.” Her hand traced his jawline before settling against his cheek. This man was carved from granite. She always wanted to be a geologist.

Darcy leaned forward until they were sharing breathing space, their mouths a whisper apart.

“Do you want me to stop?” She really, really hoped he didn’t.

“Hell no.” He closed the distance, lips covering hers and did that thing he does.

[rogerinas-bra]

You Belong to Me

Rating: M

Summary: "Brian’s Dom had been the one to walk into the kitchen it turned out."

Notes: I ended up having to repost this, lets pretend that didn't happen :')

AO3 Link

A quick note: There is the use of the title Mommy used in the dom/sub sense but the implications that title could have go no further than that. I mention it because I know that can still bother some people so I wanted to warn you.

I recommend Voodoo by Godsmack as a music companion piece ;)

Brian sat on his and Roger’s bed, filled with anticipation.

He had been sitting in the kitchen earlier, dinner in front of him, with every intention to do some music writing after his meal. He had been lost in thought about a chord progression that had been floating around in his mind for about a week now. So lost in fact, he hadn’t heard the back door open.

Roger had come in, cheeks rosy from the cold outside. He had shrugged off his coat, and strode forward to Brian, who was staring off into space.

Brian had jumped when his jaw had suddenly been grabbed, giant blue eyes entering his field of vision.

“Half hour. Wear a button down and the rainbow socks. Nothing else.”

Brian’s Dom had been the one to walk into the kitchen it turned out.

Brian had not been able to say anything in return because Roger went on to press his lips onto Brian’s. He then watched Roger as he walked to the stairs to the second floor, his hips swaying suggestively as he did so.

Now, as requested, he wore a button down white shirt, the specific rainbow colored stockings he knew Roger wanted and nothing else. He felt quite vulnerable.

After about ten more minutes of waiting a cough came from the master bathroom, a clearing of the throat and a false high pitched voice. “Are you ready for me?”

Brian pressed his lips together and his eyebrows raised. ‘Oh.’

Despite himself, knowing it was against the rules, Brian replied, “You know you really don’t need to do that right, Roger?”

The door to the bathroom opened to reveal a dainty looking blond wearing a too high of a skirt, high heels and a rather realistic wig. Her hands were firmly on her narrow hips.

“Excuse me? What did you just call me?”

Brian licked his lips. “Ah right, sorry,” He paused. “Rogerina.”

A sneer appeared on Rogerina’s face, and she stepped towards the bed as though she had been born in heels. Brian could see the head of her cock peaking below the skirt, a detail that hadn’t been lost by his own dick.

In a swift movement she put her foot on the bed, the point of the heel coming dangerously close to Brian’s balls.

“Oh you don’t even get to call me Rogerina tonight,” She said, matter-of-fact. “Or ma’am for that matter. Tonight you’re calling me ‘Mommy’.”

A blush bloomed across Brian’s face and Rogerina’s hand reached to caress his cheek.

“Are you going to be a good boy for me, Brian?”

He answered while staring up into her eyes, “Y-yes, Mommy.”

A delighted giggle tumbled out of Rogerina’s pretty little pink lips. “That’s more like it.”

The toe of Rogerina’s high heel pressed a bit firmer onto Brian’s crotch. As a whimper escaped Brian, his hands grabbed fistfuls of sheets. His eyes remained locked with hers.

“Now don’t you worry, Mommy will take care of you,” She said softly as she caressed his lips with her thumb. “You know I love it when you’re vocal.”

Brian nodded, his eyes still not leaving hers until she dipped her head and captured his mouth, her hand sliding to the nape of his neck.

His hands began to roam over Rogerina’s naked torso, her skin so very soft, except for her hands. He pulled her closer, raking his nails down her back to the top of her ass where the skirt started.

Rogerina let out a small gasp into his mouth. This made Brian gather her up in his arms so that she sat on his lap, her knees on either side of him.

“Hmm, how nice should Mommy be?” Rogerina asked rhetorically. She began to gyrate her hips to create friction.

Brian grabbed onto her ass underneath her skirt, thrusting up to meet her movements. “I’ll be a good boy,” Brian said faintly, his eyes wider than they usually would be, clouded with lust.

He kissed down Rogerina’s neck, licking her adam’s apple as he went. The smell of perfume and shampoo met Brian’s nose. Rogerina hummed and tossed her head back. “Oh I know you will be babe,” Her voice was caught in her throat and her fingers threaded upward through Brian’s curls.

When Brian began kissing her collar bone, she said, “But I’m still going to fuck you.”

Brian grunted in response, wrapping his hand around Rogerina’s cock; A much manlier moan to escaped her parted lips. She struggled not to break character while he slowly pumped her dick, but FUCK, his hand felt so good; especially the textured tips of his fingers from playing guitar all these years.

“Fuck Bri,” Roger said, completely breaking character. He panted as Brian palmed his balls and then pulled Roger down for a kiss.

Roger had no time to take in what was happening when Brian suddenly pushed Roger onto his back. Now Brian was straddling him, kissing him roughly. When they broke apart to breathe, Brian went for Roger’s neck, but this time he wasn’t kind. His teeth caught flesh between them, that he sucked on, and he reveled at the low grunts and moans coming from Roger’s throat.

“No fair,” Roger managed to choke out as he kicked off the heels and locked his legs around Brian’s waist.

Brian began to thrust against Roger, both of them incredibly hard. Precum leaked from the head of Brian’s cock and Roger reached between them to run his fingers over it. He glided his hands down Brian’s impressive length.

Brian’s face buried into Roger’s shoulder and he whimpered again, which finally reminded Roger to get back into character.

“You like that?” Roger said, switching back to his Rogeria voice. “Tell me how much you like that, baby.”

A muffled moan got lost into her chest as Brian nuzzled his face into her skin more as Rogerina’s hand sped up.

“Now now, use your words-”

“I-” Brian’s voice shook. He got onto his back as Rogerina moved to hover over him, her lips found his nipple, which she teased with her tongue, along with long even strokes back and forth on Brian’s cock.

“Hmm?” Rogerina hummed against Brian’s skin as she totally removed her hands from his body.

“Please, don’t stop,” Brian whined.

“Oh now I have to,” A wicked grin spread across her face as Brian let out a frustrated sigh.

“Come on, on your belly, ass in the air for Mommy.”

Rogerina reached under her skirt and palmed her own boner which had begun to ache.

Brian grumbled, crossing his arms defiantly.

“Do you want to be punished?” Rogerina asked, raising her eyebrows as she rubbed the head of her dick. It was hard to keep her mind in what she was trying to get Brian to do; everything felt so good. She knew, however, her prize, if she persisted, would feel even better.

Brian grumbled again and eventually said, “No I don’t want to be punished, Mommy.”

It came across a bit more aggressive than Rogerina would have liked but she changed her focus to Brian’s shirt instead. Rogerina helped him slide it down each arm after Brian unbuttoned it. Their eyes locked again in a battle of wills.

Brian’s resolve softened when he saw that Roger had put on eyeliner in the way he knew Brian liked. The moment of hesitation was enough for Rogerina to gain the upper hand. She gently but firmly pushed him down onto his stomach, exposing his unmarked back. She waited for him to put his ass into the air like she instructed. His rainbow striped socks made the display in front of her even more sexy as he allowed himself to become even more vulnerable than he was before.

Rogerina reached to their bedside table and took out the petroleum jelly they kept stored in it. She dipped her fingers in, mindful of the nail polish she had hastily slapped on her short nails when she was prepping earlier. She put the tin back and positioned herself behind Brian.

“I’m going to touch you okay?”

Brian nodded, pressing his face down into the mattress. Rogerina’s warm fingers slid their way to Brian’s hole, where she began to finger him with two fingers to start with. “Didn’t I say I was going to take care of you?”

Brian eagerly pressed backwards onto her fingers, arching his back. His hair was now a curly cloud around his face. His blush deepened and his eyes squeezed shut.

“Yes,” He gasped out as Rogerina added a third finger in, his eyes watering from behind his eyelids. “Yes, Mommy.”

Rogerina went on for a few more minutes, thrusting her fingers in and out while soft gasps continued to pour out from between Brian’s red lips.

When she eventually withdrew her hand to replace it with something else, it made Brian whimper, but he knew he wouldn’t be empty for long. Rogerina, though now mostly just Roger with a wig at this point, pulled off her skirt.

Brian was biting down rather hard on his lip to the point where the skin around it turned a bit white and that made Roger pause.

“Hey, are you okay?” Roger asked softly, running his hand down Brian’s back gently. Brian nodded.

“Do you want me to stop with the Mommy thing?”

Brian shook his head, nudging his backside closer to Roger, who smirked.

Victory.

Roger cleared his throat and put on his high voice again.

“Look at my needy boy,” Rogerina crooned. “Are you ready for Mommy’s cock now?” Another nod.

Rogerina got behind Brian and positioned herself, admiring for a moment how pretty her glitter nails looked holding onto Brian’s backside. She gave his butt a little slap of warning, and her cock twitched in anticipation. She placed the head of her cock near Brian’s entrance, and slowly she guided herself as she slid inside. Her breath hitched as she met the temporary resistance.

She carefully settled herself, her fingers reaching under Brian and milking his cock. A half sob tumbled out of Brian as he pressed his face into the mattress again and a grunt came when he relaxed enough that Rogerina felt she could thrust.

Brian was now very vocal. His eyes remained tightly shut and his fist clutched at bedding while he used the other arm to brace himself. He got help from Rogerina’s strong drummer arm holding him up too around the middle.

Brian grew steadily louder as Rogerina sped up both with her thrusting and milking his cock. Her hand grew tighter when he moaned out, “Mommy, please don’t stop!”

Roger grunted deeply and moaned Brian’s name as his thrusts became more erratic. It was clear he wasn’t going to last much longer.

Brian followed Roger’s thrusts, and eventually his cries just changed for moans for Roger to keep going. Roger didn’t care about their roll playing anymore, he was now just building towards sweet release, enjoying how warm and deep he was in Brian.

Roger began to let out high pitched squeaks that weren’t just playful exaggerations this time. He often did this before he was about to cum but it was also something Brian knew Roger was very self conscious about.

However, the sound drove Brian crazy. He could feel that he was about to cum himself. He let out one last ‘Roger, Oh my god, fuck, FUCK,” He hit his peak, gasping breaths coming from him deeply while Roger angled to hit his prostate over and over. It was becoming almost too much. Cum dribbled down onto the bed and Roger was still squeaking as he got closer to his own release.

Brian panted, “Finish... on...chest?”

Roger let out a frantic noise of agreement and slipped out of Brian so he could roll over onto his back.

Brian’s hand took over for Roger. Brian flicked his wrist the way he knew Roger liked most. The sight of Roger above him was gorgeous- his wig had unpinned completely and fallen off at some point. His eyeliner ran down his cheeks and his cherubic mouth was open and his head thrown back. It was a wonder Roger could hold himself up at all.

Roger thrust frantically into Brian’s hand, completely a sweaty, sexy mess.

“Bri-”

It didn’t take long for Roger to begin to shake and Brian pointed Roger’s cock to his chest and Roger cried out as he came, watching wide eyed as his cum spread on Brian’s chest. His mouth fell open and he panted. Unable to keep balance anymore, he collapsed next to Brian, absolutely spent.

“s’Good?” Roger said after a couple minutes of holding Brian and panting.

“Yeah,” Brian smiled and ran his fingers through Roger’s short, sweaty, hair.

Roger looked at Brian’s chest and rose a little to kiss it, lapping up the cum he just put there with his soft tongue. Brian sighed softly and ran his fingers over the back of Roger’s neck.

“Am I gonna get punished next time because I broke character?” Brian asked, a mischievous tint to his tone.

“Maaaaaybe,” Roger said sleepily running his fingers in light circles on top Brian’s stomach.

Brian pressed his lips to Roger’s damp brow. “Looking forward to it, Mommy.”

[sweetlangdon]

Reckoning: Part Four (Michael Langdon x Reader)

Notes: AU of the Outpost plot of Apocalypse. A Gray accidentally finds Michael while he’s performing the ritual. Things take an interesting turn.

Warnings: Blood. So much blood. There’s blood in every part of this fic so far. Swearing. Murder. Graphic violence/gore. Blood kink. Knife play. Things get heated, but there’s no smut…yet? (There might be in the future, if I’m feeling particularly brave.)

This fic is currently in progress.

Also available on AO3.

[Repost of a previously published fic from my main blog.]

Part One   Part Two   Part Three

She recoiled as if the mark had scorched her fingertips, as if her skin had blistered in an open flame. It might as well have—he’d been warm all over; she’d felt that warmth through her clothes, but the mark behind his ear was blazing hot. She stumbled away from him until her back slammed into the wall near the doorway, hysterical laughter numbing the pain that jolted up her spine and knocked her teeth together. Her hands were shaking again.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” she said at last. “That’s just—no. You know what? This game has gone on long enough. I don’t know what kind of shit you’re trying to pull here, but that…I’m not…no.”

“You asked for the truth.” Langdon eyed her with slightly disheveled hair and annoyance pulling at the smirk on his lips. It was a composed sense of annoyance, which seemed like an unbelievable concept to her. She felt such a weird mix of confusion and rage and attraction toward him that she was beginning to infuriate herself, and she was sure that he could see every single bit of it.

“I gave you nothing else.” He took slow, deliberate steps to eliminate the distance she’d put between them. “When you found me, a part of you knew.” Langdon inched closer, the pointed toe of one his shoes settling between her feet. “And when you said those words back to me…you felt them, didn’t you? The power of them—of my father. Suddenly, the world became clearer…every need, every desire, no matter how dark,” he planted his hands on either side of her shoulders, “…and the very thought of it frightened you.”

What little air that had been left between them seemed to crackle, the heat that flowed from him playing across her skin. Her palms were slick with sweat again, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Langdon. She didn’t know what she hated more—him, or her inability to resist the intense, prying look he’d leveled her with.

She definitely fucking hated that he was right.

Ave Satanas. The words she’d said against his mouth, so full of rage and want, her mind hazy with it. She’d said them before she understood the full weight of them; she’d needed him to feel the words on her own lips. What the fuck was wrong with her?

“You may not be a believer—not yet,” Langdon cocked his head to the side, just a little, “but you believe in things beyond this ruined world,” he continued. “I could see it in your eyes…just as you saw it in mine.”

Lightning appeared to streak across his face and illuminate another side of him that lay hidden beneath his impeccable jawline and silky blond hair. It lasted for a moment or two; eyes shining like onyx sunken into a pale, withered face. Something hellish. A monster.

The fucking Antichrist.

She felt dizzy again. Her spine pressed into the wall, her fingers cold and tingling as panic began to race through her bloodstream. “You’re going to kill me.”

“No,” he drawled. Langdon lifted one of his hands and she felt his soft, warm fingertips wander along her cheekbone. His blood had long since dried on her skin, staining her dark red, and the scent and feeling of it seemed to leach into her soul. “If I’d wanted to kill you, I would have done it already. You gave me more than enough opportunities.”

She slapped his hand away without thinking about the fact that he could strangle her or probably break her goddamn neck with it. Fear made her angry, and anger made her act entirely on impulse.

“Then why the hell are you here?” she demanded. Langdon dropped his hands to his sides, one eyebrow raised at her outburst in a show of amusement. “You’re the reason we’ve all been miserable for the past eighteen months. Youstarted all of this shit.” She huffed out a shallow, anxious breath. The fucking Antichrist. “It’s been a while since I’ve gone to Sunday school, but I recall the Book of Revelation being a huge fucking deal.”

“So death would’ve been preferable to you?” Langdon goaded. “Torn apart by the blasts or the agonizing effects of radiation? Compared to the rest of the world, eighteen months of loneliness and servitude seems a far better alternative.” He folded one arm behind his back; he’d stepped away from her, taking the warmth with him. His tone regained some of its sharpness. “The only reason this outpost is standing is because I helped make it possible. And I’m here, as I said before, at the interest of The Cooperative. I haven’t lied.”

“You destroyed the world.” She scoffed, but she still missed the heat he carried. The anxiety in her veins had made her cold and her chest tight. A small fragment of her realized that she was only fighting him and asking these questions because it seemed like the right thing to do. That nagging thread of morality left from the old world; an effort that had become futile, now. “If you ask me, deceptive doesn’t even begin to cover that one, Langdon.”

“Humanity has already been doing that for centuries,” Langdon countered, side-stepping the accusation she’d hurled at him. “It was never going to last. We wiped the slate clean, and now it’s time to decide who will make this new world flourish in my father’s image.”

His father. Satan. How the shit did I get here, again?

Goddamn it, she really, really fucking hated that he was right.

She was so exhausted and bewildered by this whole situation that it took her a moment to comprehend that he’d fixed her with one rather expectant look. Her own laughter, all sarcasm and disbelief—the traces of hysteria gone as if the two of them had finally reached some strange level of understanding—echoed in the cavernous bathroom. Was it her own fatigue that made her slightly more open to the possibilities, or had she sold her soul the moment she accepted his challenge?

“I’m nobody.”

The coolness of the tile against her back made her shiver, so she pushed off it to take a few wary steps in his direction. Once she settled in front of him, Langdon dropped the arm that had been folded behind his back and peered at her with a narrowed gaze. She had to stop the contented sigh that almost worked its way from her throat when she fell back into the orbit of his warmth.

“A worker ant.” Venable’s words made her cringe, even from her own mouth. “I’m surprised you haven’t crushed me underneath your very expensive heel yet.”

That earned her a grin. Her stomach did another one of those involuntary somersaults, and without thinking too much about it, she dared one step closer. The hem of her dress brushed against his pants and the toe of her drab shoe knocked into his, but he didn’t move.

He leaned forward so that his breath skirted her hair. “That’s just what this place has turned you into.” Langdon took her hand and brought up so that it was level with his chest, running his thumb along the dark stains on her knuckles. His curious gaze dropped to the coating of dried blood on her skin, which seemed almost like a reprieve from his endless pursuit of her soul. As he traced a gentle fingertip across her knuckles, she clenched her jaw shut tight.

“At least consider that you could be more.” His thumb traveled down the inside of her wrist, following the path where the ribbons of his blood had soaked into her flesh and the sleeve of her dress. His voice turned low and dangerous. “I think you were made for this new world—you showed me that when you freed yourself from the old rules. You’re not the same person you were when you walked into that room; you and I both know that. But the question is,” he drew out the syllables, ice blue eyes flickering up to her own, “will you allow yourself to accept who you could be?”

Langdon hummed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His words dropped into an almost whisper, warm breath ghosting across the tender flesh of her wrist. His lips now hovered just above the network of veins that had been concealed under a layer of dark blood, his head dipped toward her, hair cascading gracefully down his bare shoulder. She watched him inhale the remaining scent of iron.

“Chaos becomes you.”

A shudder wracked her body, and she knew he’d felt it as her fingers curled under his touch. She waited for him to press his lips to her wrist, to maybe taste the iron on her skin, but instead he dropped her hand.

Her eyebrows pulled together. “Or, I could tell everyone your dark secret.” She flexed her fingers at her side, the ghost of his touch and the warmth of him still lingering on her skin.

Langdon’s face was suddenly bright with a sarcastic grin that she wanted to loathe, but it only made her cheeks feel flushed. “As if they would believe you.”

He circled around her until he came to rest at her back, and she leaned, just a little, into the solid presence of his bare chest. She found him staring at their reflection in the mirror above the sink—Langdon, fucking perfect as always, despite the fact that he’d been stabbed in the past half hour, and there shewas…a fucking blood-stained travesty of a human being. She didn’t even look worthy enough to polish his shoes.

Maybe that was the exhaustion talking. This night had lasted for an eternity.

“So…” His words were low and rough in her ear. Heat prickled up the back of her neck. “While I’ve enjoyed the sight of you covered in my blood,” he swept a chunk of hair over her shoulder and one of his rings grazed the side of her throat, “I’m afraid I can’t let you walk around the outpost like that.”

Langdon moved away from her, and she stared at the muscles that rippled in his back as he retreated, this time without a sense of shame or a hint of rage.

“Take all the time you need.” And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him, the room so many degrees colder than she would’ve liked.

She let out a sigh. Well, shit.

In the end, she decided that taking a shower in the fucking Antichrist’s private en suite ranked very low on the list of unbelievable shit that had happened tonight. Exhaustion had made itself comfortable in her bones. And even though she thought of the blood on her as some kind of morbid trophy—she’d made the fucking Antichrist bleed and lived—all she wanted to do right now was clean herself up and sleep. Maybe for an eternity.

The cold air hit her skin, raising goosebumps as she let her dress pool around her ankles. Her bra and panties followed, and for a second she stood there in the soft yellow light of the candles, wondering what she’d do about the blood-stained clothes. Her vision went unfocused, tired and in a daze, her thoughts wandering off in too many directions. Thinking about Langdon just on the other side of that damned door and if she actually trusted him enough to make herself vulnerable with nothing but a rather thin wall between them.

And the knife.

She’d forgotten about it, honestly. It had been neglected on the floor by the shower, blood splattered on the tiles when Langdon had tossed it. The blade was more crimson than steel now. He’d been right, of course—to her deep, unwavering irritation, he always seemed to be right—she wasn’t the same. She didn’t feel the same. These past eighteen months had taken their toll, but this…it wasn’t anything she could explain. Had she always been like this? Had she always wanted to be like this? Or was it just what this strange, new world now demanded of her?

She kicked the knife under the pile of clothes.

The water ran dark red, the scent of whatever flowery soap that came standard in the outpost blossoming into the air. She watched the tendrils of red swirl in the soapy water around her feet until they vanished down the drain. The near scalding heat worked her tense, weary muscles loose.

Clouds of steam obscured the glass as she scrubbed at her skin until it was bright pink, eliminating every trace of Langdon’s blood. She melted into the warmth, eyes fluttering closed, trying to breathe after whatever the fuck had happened. When she realized she was actually falling asleep standing up, lulled into a gentle comfort by the water, she decided it was time to leave.

She shoved aside a few used towels on the floor with her foot, entirely cognizant of the fact that while she’d be one of the people washing them later, she’d used up all of Langdon’s clean towels out of spite. While towel-drying her hair, wandering around the bathroom in aimless circles, she noticed something folded over the chair in front of the vanity table. It definitely hadn’t been there before she’d hopped in the shower. Langdon’s en suite had been untouched except for the blood stains, devoid of anything personal.

Except for the coat that was now on the chair. The coat that he had somehow left in here while she’d been oblivious.

For…her?

Huh. That’s…something, all right.

She finished halfheartedly drying off her hair and then dropped the dampened towel into the pile with the rest. “Fuck it.”

After sliding her bra and panties back on, she considered the heap of blood-stained clothes and decided her shoes were the only thing worth saving. There was more identical, boring gray attire in her room; not as many as the Purples had in their wardrobes, but she could spare at least one set. She cleaned the blood off her shoes as best she could—she figured the bloodied towels were another problem for Langdon to solve—and then picked up the coat from the back of the chair.

Her stomach did another one of those obnoxious somersaults. It was an elegant coat, long and black and lined with buttons. She held it up, unfolding it to reveal the bright red lining on the inside. An equally obnoxious part of her brain remembered that Langdon had been wearing this coat when he’d first introduced himself to everyone in the outpost. She sunk into it, suddenly more alert than she’d been in the past half hour, her pulse speeding up its rhythm. It was the finest piece of clothing she’d worn in over a year, and probably the most expensive thing she’d ever worn in her life.

And it belonged to Langdon.

Was it possible that some part of him wasn’t complete hell spawn?

She pulled the coat closed and buttoned it—frustratingly aware that she was half-naked underneath it. Holy fuck, why. The fabric felt like silk against her bare skin, cool enough to provoke another round of goosebumps that broke through the lingering heat from her shower. The sleeves were too long, and her hands disappeared into them no matter how many times she pulled them back up. It smelled exquisite: rich and earthy like a rain-soaked forest with just a hint of wood smoke and something else, maybe warm spices and citrus. She breathed in deep, inhaling the intoxicating scent, recalling images of a world that hadn’t been nuked to hell. Is this what he smelled like all the time? She hadn’t had a chance to notice, what with all the blood. It was nice. Really nice.

Well. I’m fucked.

She suppressed a groan.

The knife had been left where she kicked it—there was no damn way Langdon didn’t know about it, either—and without a second thought, she wiped off the blood and stuffed it in an inside pocket. Once she gathered up her pile of stained clothes, she summoned whatever was left of her resolve in the mess of her own exhaustion and walked back into Langdon’s suite.

His attention had been pulled toward her at the sound of the bathroom door opening, half of his face caught in the pale white glow of a laptop screen. When did the outpost get WiFi?  He had one elbow propped up on the desk, his hand slowly curling into a loose fist. He was once again fully clothed in black. She didn’t miss the way his bright blue gaze took in the sight of her in his fucking coat. The way his lips curved into a smirk. The way his head tilted, and his chin rose as if in appreciation. Was it genuine, or was he just fucking with her? Maybe it was just her lustful, traitorous imagination. Maybe it was smugness, or fucking delight, because he’d helped put her in this situation.

She sighed. “Don’t.”

Langdon made an indifferent sort of gesture with his hand, but his smirk deepened. “I didn’t say a word.”

“You don’t have to.”  

He rose from the desk and crossed the room in several long strides to open the door. “I’ll need that back.”

“Obviously.” She made sure the corridor was empty before she stepped out. “No one will know about it.”

Langdon’s chin rose again, and this time she couldn’t read his expression. “Good night.”

The door clicked shut when she was halfway down the corridor. She moved as quickly as she could through the labyrinth of hallways—now more empty than they had been before; everyone had to have gone to bed by now. Not that time existed down here anymore, but she’d never felt the effects of such a weird, virtually lawless existence than she did walking through the outpost on this artificial night. She found herself both longing for the construct of time and thrilled that it no longer held any meaning. All she knew for sure was that she just wanted to fucking sleep. Langdon had drained whatever energy she’d had left.

She stopped once in her travels to burn her clothes in one of the large fireplaces; her eyes burned with fatigue while she watched the flames consume the last evidence of her bloody interview with Langdon. When she finally arrived at her room in the Gray quarters, her roommate was blissfully asleep, tucked away under the covers.

Slipping off her shoes, she padded across the room to her armoire under the dim light of the low burning candles. With a pang of reluctance that she did notwant to acknowledge in any way at all, she took off Langdon’s coat and stowed it among her comparatively dull wardrobe. It wouldn’t be in here long enough for her roommate to find it. The girl was gossipy to a fault, but she at least kept out of her belongings. Not that any of them had much to begin with.

She dressed in a plain, off-white linen nightgown that served no purpose other than to uphold Venable’s outdated aesthetic. And finally…finally, after this endless fucking night or whatever the hell it had been, she dragged her tired body to her bed and crawled under the blankets.

And she hid the Antichrist’s knife under her pillows.

@lastregasolitaria @mylippo @zeciex @lvngdvns @langdonsdemon @yourkingcodyfern @sojournmichael @gabnelson98 @rainbowrosesjas @antichristlangdxn @keavysmithxoxo @artistlunadrayne @codysfallenangels @batgirlbride @mileeyyowens @dead-witch-boy @boofy1998 @gentianea @cryptid-coalition @langdonsrapture @kinlovecody @yuriohoe04 @electricurie @marvel-rpdr-and-ahs @gallxntdean @langdonscurls @jcshadowkiss-blog @frozenhuntress67 @sebastianshoe @dixmond-taurus @bookobssesed99 @sassylangdon @queenie435 @holylangdon @weareallevilmotherfuckers-deact @langdonfern @angsty-otters-blog @denaexr @mr-langdonn @micheallangdons @lostin-fern @crazedcatcuddler @satansapostle @monsucre @ritualmichael @fernshorrorstory @queencocoakimmie @bluelancesredswords @theharvestgirloffire @punkysouls @sevenwondr  @zoebensvn @kylosbabe @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26

[naryaflame]

Number 22 from the writing list for the fanfic meme C:

Thanks, Nonnie!

No. 22.  Favourite thing you’ve ever written

I thought I’d have a harder time answering this, but when I started to think about it there was really only one option - my 2017 Christmas one-shot, Auld Acquaintance.

(A word of warning - it contains Paradox spoilers, because I write out of order.  I’m sorry.  Also, this answer got very long.  Again, I’m sorry.)

Rewind the clock fourteen months.  I’d spent five years struggling with my writing, lucky to hit a few thousand words a year, and I was starting to think I was never going to get my creative groove back.  There were a few reasons - I was studying for my professional exams on top of working full time.  I wasn’t particularly happy in the department I’d joined, but I was stuck there for the duration of my training contract.  My husband’s mental health was not in a good state, and my own emotional reserves were pretty drained.  I didn’t have the headspace for the thing I loved most in the world, and it was heartbreaking.  

Luckily, not too long after I qualified, an opportunity arose for an internal move and I grabbed it with both hands.  I found myself in a team that valued flexible working and encouraged its staff to have interests outside work.  My husband, meanwhile, had started a small craft business and was doing a lot better.  It was like a pair of rocks had been lifted off my brain.  Suddenly I had the time and energy to write - but I wasn’t sure if I could.

Almost as an experiment, I wrote Pilgrim Through This Barren Land, posting it first at Faerie, then SWG (and eventually at AO3, which I joined this year).  It was a scene I’d had in my head for a while, part of an arc I’d thought about writing a number of times through the years, involving Maglor through the Ages and into known history.  The comments were encouraging.  I started to feel positive again.

Auld Acquaintance is part of the same series.  I wrote it in a festive haze, fuelled by hot chocolate and warm blankets and Christmas carols.  It was meant to be fluffy, a self-indulgent crossover between my very old Second Chance storyverse and the ‘verse I’d dipped my toe into with Pilgrim.  Like Pilgrim, it was meant to stand completely by itself - which it kind of does, but as I wrote, something weird started happening.  All the ideas I’d boxed neatly away as “never to be written” started coming back to life in my head.  The knowledge of everything that had led to this point in Maglor’s timeline started to weave itself into the narrative, little references sneaking in almost of their own accord.  It quickly outgrew the conceit of being a Second Chance crossover; while a few minor links to that ‘verse remain, it sits very firmly in the Maglor-centric series that I had by this point made up my mind to write.  It also quickly ceased to be straightforward fluff - the information and possibilities revealed at the end of the fic were as much of a surprise to me as the readers.

I’m also going to go out on a very un-British limb and say that I think it’s a decent story.  I’d produced next to no fiction in the preceding five years.  The fact that I’d managed to create this sad yet hopeful and festive tale of friendship was astonishing and empowering.  It was my gateway back into writing - more so than Pilgrim.  Although I love that story too, I could have left the ‘verse there and never gone back to it.  Auld Acquaintance hints at so much history, and so much yet to come.   Once I’d hit ‘post’, there was no turning back.

It’s now just over a year since I posted Pilgrim.  I’ve participated in lots of exchanges and fandom events this year (I’ve even helped to run one!).  I’ve written numerous one-shots, polished and reposted several old pieces, and (if we go by posted wordcount as opposed to whatever’s lurking in my notebooks) I’m more than 50k words into the first novel-length work in the series.  I don’t think I’d have done any of it if I hadn’t written Auld Acquaintance, and even if I look back in five years and boggle at why I ever thought it was a good piece of writing, it’ll take a lot to stop it being my favourite.