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there-must-be-a-lock · 4 years

Text

All That I Ask

Sam x Reader

Word Count: 6990

Warnings: Smut. Smut, feels, and Sam Winchester being wonderful. There’s a brief moment of post-traumatic dissociation, but the traumatic event itself isn’t discussed or really even named. Otherwise, it’s about as gooey and sweet as a fuckin marshmallow. This is like... fix-it fic for life-canon.

A/N: Whether it was rape or coercion or just a partner who didn’t care enough to make you feel comfortable, I think almost every woman knows what it’s like to feel powerless or unsafe during sex. This is about agency and trust and hang-ups and recovery, and how partners should handle those things.

This was inspired by a request from @the-departed-patato. Thank you for trusting me with this one. I didn’t realize until I started typing that this was something I really really needed to write.

Also, major thanks to the Slack squad for edits and support and trying to curb my comma habit: @rockhoochie, @icemankazansky, @fangirlxwritesx67, @stunudo y’all are amazing.

Here’s my heart, don’t break it. It’s all that I ask, nothing more. - “Moonlight,” Future Islands

This is so stupid.

This is Sam. This is sweet, kind, gentle Sam, and I’m head over heels for him.

I want him. How could I not? I’ve wanted to do this since I met him, and now I can. He tugs his shirt over his head, and I can run my hand up his side, down his chest, tracing the ripply contours of abs, and god dammit, I want him.

He rolls me onto my back, hips slotting in against me. I can feel the drag and catch of denim, I can feel where he’s hard against the crease of my thigh, and I can feel his weight on me, holding me, pressing into me, trapping me, and I can feel myself start to shut down.

This is so stupid.

I remind myself that I’m safe. He’s being gentle, I tell myself. He’s not holding my wrists, he’s not pinning me, he’s not doing anything that should make me feel unsafe.

I’m still shutting down. I stare at a point somewhere over his shoulder as he kisses my neck, and I remind myself that I’m being stupid, and I can’t fucking breathe.

“Hey,” he whispers, and then he’s looking down at me, rolling onto his side again, and I try to focus on him but part of me is seeing someone else.

“Sorry,” I whisper, voice small and tight around the lump in my throat.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks, so fucking sweet with his sunflower eyes wide and concerned. I shake my head.

“No, it’s stupid,” I squeak. “I’m being stupid. I’m sorry, it’s not your fault, you didn’t — we can — I’m fine.”

“Do you need space, or — how can I help?”

“Don’t go,” I breathe. “Please don’t, I’m okay, just come… come here?”

“Okay, sweetheart,” he whispers, putting an arm around me, kissing my forehead. “Hey, I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I’m right here. Take your time.”

I burrow into his chest, tears stinging my eyes as I start to break the grip of whatever cold thing has been clutching at my ribcage.

This is so fucking stupid.

I remember to breathe, and Sam waits. He strokes my hair, whispers soothing nonsense, cradles me close.

“I’m sorry,” I choke out eventually. I can’t look him in the eye; I look at his neck instead, the steady flutter of his pulse under the skin.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” he says, soft but fierce. “Nothing. You hear me?”

“‘Kay.” I swallow hard and try to shake it off. “We can — it’s not that I don’t want to. Do you want—”

“Stop,” he interrupts. “There’s no rush, okay? If you’re doing this because you think you should… for my sake? That’s not how it works.”

He curls a gentle finger under my chin, tilting my head back until I meet his eyes, and I feel hot all over at the tenderness in his expression. I blink away tears and give him a tiny nod.

“This is about the guy you told me about?” he asks, tentative. “Was it… it was more than you made it out to be, wasn’t it?”

I nod again. I don’t trust myself to make words. My heart is racing, and I can feel the panicked beat of it in my throat, choking me.

“We need to talk about this, at some point. Okay? You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to tell me, but I need to know what not to do. I don’t ever want to scare you.”

“Okay,” I whisper, feeling raw and exposed and so goddamn crazy about him.

“We don’t have to do that now, though. Just rest. You’re safe with me.”

“Good morning, gorgeous,” Sam whispers when I stir. He’s spooned up behind me, one big solid arm around my waist, and I settle myself more comfortably in the cocoon of his embrace. Then I remember.

“About last night—” I start hesitantly.

“If you’re going to try to apologize again, stop right there,” he says, and I can hear the wry smile in his voice. “But if you want to talk about it…”

We didn’t close the curtains, and the morning sun is filtering through the blinds of the motel room, making everything feel clean and bright and fresh. It’s easier like this, too, with my back to Sam. I don’t have to feel his eyes on me.

“There hasn’t been anyone else, since,” I admit. My voice sounds very small in the quiet of the room. “So… I don’t really know what causes it. Not for sure.”

Sam exhales slowly, his breath tickling the curve of my neck. “What happened last night, to set it off?”

“Having you on top of me, I think. It’s not — you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Neither did you. That’s all on him,” Sam says. The faintest hint of a growl in his voice takes me by surprise. “No blame, okay? I’m not going to take it personally. Not ever.”

“Okay. Um. Feeling… held down, or trapped. And you shouldn’t — don’t grab my wrists?”

“I can do that. What else?”

“I think… just, not too rough?” I ask, cheeks burning. “I don’t think I could handle… too much. The first time, at least.”

“Okay,” he agrees calmly. “And what else? What does work for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“This isn’t about, like, just making it manageable for you,” he says, low and earnest, kissing the curve of my neck. “I want to make you feel good.”

“Oh,” I say breathlessly. “Oh. Um.”

I’m suddenly very conscious of his hand splayed over my lower abdomen, his palm warm through the thin cotton of my tank top. He must feel the way my belly tightens, because he slides his hand a little lower, thumb tucking under the hem and stroking back and forth, tickling deliciously.

It’s such a light touch, a barely-there brush, but it’s sending sparks down my spine. I wriggle back against Sam, wondering if the sudden crackle of tension in the air is just my imagination.

“I want to know what gets you off.” Sam’s voice is husky and heated, and my breath hitches. It’s not just my imagination, then. “I want to make you come. It’s not just about… penetration, or whatever.” He lets out a quiet huff of a laugh, and I wonder if that’s the first time someone has made the word penetration sound sexy. “Do you want me to touch you? Do you want my mouth?”

I shift, and I can feel him getting hard through his pajama pants.

“Yeah,” I whisper.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I want that. Sam… want you.”

His hand slides lower, until the tips of his pinky and ring finger are dipping under the elastic of my shorts.

“When you touch yourself,” he says quietly. “What do you do? Can you show me?”

“I don’t—”

His hand finds mine where it’s curled loosely on the mattress, slides under it so that my palm rests on the back of his, and he laces our fingers together, bringing our joined hands back to my stomach.

“Can you show me?” he repeats, and the warmth of his hand is burning through my shirt, pooling in my core, making me want like I haven’t wanted another person in a long time.

“Oh.” I take a deep breath.

I guide his hand lower, flush against my skin, under my waistband and down until his fingers cup my cunt. When I press my middle finger down against his, he moves with me, one long finger parting my lips and stroking through silky wet heat. He follows my lead, waiting for me, his knuckle bending when mine does, nudging against my entrance. His finger is so much longer than mine. When I curl it, pressing in, it’s him sliding into me, his fingertip, shallow and easy.

I exhale slowly, not pushing, and he stays, chest rising against my back as he sucks in a deep breath, waiting for my direction.

“Can you feel how much I want you?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says, low and gravelly.

“Good.”

I’m shaky and wet and aching with how much I want him, and I’m not sure where this is going, not sure I’m ready for more than his fingers, but I need him to understand: none of this, none of my hesitation, is because I don’t want him.

I draw his hand up, showing him where to stroke with one slick fingertip, circling my clit, and I can feel him trembling too, all down my back, his cock hard where it presses against my ass. This torturous drawn-out intensity, the way he’s waiting for me… it’s almost unbearable, but at the same time, I can’t bring myself to move any faster.

We breathe in sync, both our chests heaving at the same time as the zing of it ripples out through me, and —

Someone bangs on the door.

“Up and at ‘em!” Dean shouts. “C’mon, let’s hit the road.”

“Fuck,” I hiss, as Sam lets out a low groan. It takes every bit of my willpower to pull away. When I roll to face him, he’s just as wild-eyed as I feel, flushed and panting and gorgeous.

We’re both paralyzed for a second, staring at each other, until he lets out a long sigh.

“Later,” he husks, and it sounds like a promise.

“Later.”

Later, when we fall into bed, I’m shaking for a completely different reason.

It wasn’t a bad hunt, in the end. It’s just one moment that keeps replaying in my memories on a sickening loop. There was so much blood, all down the side of his face and neck, and he went still in a way that made my heart stop for a second.

Apparently ears bleed a lot.

I felt a little embarrassed when I saw the injury, a barely-there slice through the cartilage, but I couldn’t shake the sight of all that blood. There’s still traces of it on his skin, dried in his hair. My stomach churns whenever I catch a glimpse of rusty red.

He pulls the comforter up over us, lying on his uninjured side, and I kiss him, deep and starved, my entire body vibrating with the tension of lingering adrenaline, like my skin is sparking up with the reminder that we’re still alive and we should enjoy it while we can.

I can feel it in his muscles, too, the way he’s holding back, holding himself stiff like he has to restrain himself. He rolls onto his back and takes me with him, arms strong around me, body warm and ready under me.

I choke on a quiet sob, trying to hold it in.

Sam freezes, big hands cupping my cheeks as he breaks the kiss. He looks at me, eyes deep green-gold in the lamplight.

“It’s not — it’s not that. You scared me.”

“I know,” he says. “I know. It’s okay. I’m here.”

“Want you,” I say fiercely, watching the way his swollen-red lips twitch into a bittersweet smile.

“Not like this,” he says. “Not when you’re already on edge. If your fight or flight system is still all revved up…”

He’s right, but I hate it. He brushes hair back from my forehead and kisses me again, chaste and quick.

“Okay,” I whisper, against his mouth. “Just… god, you scared me, Sam.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and I kiss one corner of his mouth, then the other.

“I need a shower,” he says.

I frown, feeling childish as I confess, “I don’t want to be alone.”

“I didn’t mean — come with me,” he suggests. “Shower with me. Not — no sex.”

I raise an eyebrow at him skeptically. “Really?”

“You don’t have to,” he backtracks gently. “If you’re not ready to—”

“Sam, I’ve wanted to see you naked since I met you,” I say flatly. “Believe me, that is not the problem.”

He laughs, dimples flashing as he grins up at me. “Then… yeah. Come shower with me. I don’t want to let you out of my sight either.”

“Yeah, okay.”

He only turns on half the bathroom lights, keeping it dim. The harsh fluorescents would be too much. It’s easier to pull my shirt off when I feel like I can still hide in the shadows.

I try not to stare as he strips down matter-of-factly and steps in, but it’s not easy. It’s not easy to look at myself, either, when I compare my body to Sam’s. I get my clothes off before I can talk myself out of it, tripping clumsily out of my jeans.

He must see something different than I do when I look at myself, because the way he stares at me when I step into the shower… he looks at me like he never wants to stop looking.

I’ve never felt like this before, shaky and vulnerable and open but in a good way, because somehow I’m sure I’m not the only one feeling like this. I’ve never trusted anyone like I trust Sam. That trust is what stops me from covering myself with my hands, stops me from doubting myself as I step under the spray with him and stand up on my tiptoes for a kiss.

One kiss turns into more, syrupy-slow, water streaming down our skin as we melt into each other. Sam licks and sucks and nibbles at my mouth until my lips feel puffy and bruised. I adjust, slowly, to the feel of his body against mine, the way my soft curves mold to the muscled planes of his chest, the way his cock twitches against my stomach as he gets hard, and even though I can feel the length of him hot and heavy between us, he doesn’t press for more; he kisses me like this is all he’s ever wanted to do.

By the time he pulls away, I’m light-headed. He looks down at me with water beading in his spiky eyelashes, and he smiles.

“You’re beautiful,” he says simply, and somehow, I believe him.

I don’t know what to say, but it doesn’t seem to matter. He grabs his shampoo from the edge of the tub and turns me around, my back to his chest.

He massages little sudsy circles into my scalp and combs his fingers gently through the tangles. He shields my eyes when it’s time to rinse, tilting my chin back gently into the spray. Nobody’s done this for me since I was a child. It makes me feel innocent and serene and fucking treasured, the way he takes care of me.

Sex has always felt like the height of intimacy to me. I always feel vulnerable, like that’s the closest I can get to another person, the most exposed.

Sam’s fingers in my hair feel like a better expression of trust than anything I’ve ever done in bed. Sex has never felt this intimate. I’m not sure anything has ever felt this intimate.

Everything starts to fade, the leftover adrenaline draining out of me, the outside world ceasing to matter. It’s just Sam and me, completely bare, wrapped in our little steamy cocoon. I feel safe. I feel exhausted, heavy-eyed and heavy-limbed, muscles aching, but I don’t feel pressured and I don’t feel nervous. I just feel safe.

Maybe it’s the booze talking, but I want to lick Sam’s arms.

He’s stretched out over the pool table as he lines up his shot, eyes laser-focused, hands curled around the cue. He has his sleeves rolled up past his elbows, and I can see veins standing out under the skin, corded muscles rippling, bunching and shifting with every twist of his wrist.

Yeah. I want to lick Sam’s arms.

Dean spits out a sip of his beer, spluttering out a vehement, “Ew, I don’t want to hear that shit!”

So apparently I said that out loud.

Dean stalks away, muttering to himself, and I chirp a quick “Sorry!” to his retreating back.

He’ll get over it.

Sam’s done with his game, and he’s walking toward me, grinning in that slow easy way of his as he tucks his hair behind his ears. He’s so fucking gorgeous. I can’t handle not touching him any more.

“Can we get some air?” I ask breathlessly, and his eyes sparkle with amusement as he lets me tug him outside.

There are a couple people smoking by the door, so I pull him farther away, down to the end of the building, where a tacky wooden statue of a bear stands between us and the door. It’s close enough to privacy.

Sam slouches back against the brick, and I stand up on my tiptoes to kiss him, leaning against him and trusting him to keep me upright. He goes with it, opening up for me as I take control of the kiss, his lips pillowy, and I can feel him smile.

“What was that for?” he asks, when I give him a second to breathe. I nuzzle into the side of his neck and nip at his pulse, and his fingers tighten on my hips.

“Just want you,” I say bluntly. I kiss him again, a deep filthy kiss that I can feel down to my toes. “I was watching you, and… yeah. Want you. Can we go back to the motel?”

“You’re drunk,” he says, mock-admonishing, but he’s still smiling.

“‘M not drunk, you’re drunk,” I mumble sulkily.

“Yep,” he says, popping the P, and raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, okay,” I concede. “Tipsy, maybe.”

“Which is still too drunk,” Sam says gently.

I let out a tiny frustrated sound as he kisses me again. “Fine.”

He laughs, shifting his weight, getting one knee between mine, and when I settle closer, I can feel the blunt pressure of his thigh right between my legs.

“Believe me,” he whispers, between kisses, “I would really, really love to take you back to the motel right now but… it’s not a good idea.” He shifts, and I whine at the friction. “I’m not going to have sex with you tonight. I want us both to be sober for that. When we get there… I want to remember every second of it.”

“Kinda worried I’m gonna combust before then.” The drag of denim on denim pulls at the seam of my jeans, almost painfully good, and I shiver.

“Oh,” he says quietly, like he didn’t realize that he was torturing me. He rocks forward experimentally. It feels like fireworks.

“Don’t oh me,” I grump, except it comes out more breathless than grumpy.

“It’ll be worth the wait,” he whispers. “Don’t want to rush it. Want to take my time with you. I want to watch you come for me, want to taste it —”

I whimper, rolling my hips helplessly, clinging to Sam so tight that my fingers must be bruising his biceps.

“Do you like thinking about that?” he asks, growling low against my ear. “My mouth?”

“Please,” I bite out. “Fuck, Sam, I need — something. Anything.” I tilt my hips down again, trying to make my point.

He hesitates for a split second before rocking up to meet me, and I let out a ragged sigh.

“I won’t — not tonight, not more than this,” he says hoarsely, stumbling over the words. His hands grip my hips, holding me still as he asks intently, “Are you sure this is okay right now? If you really want —”

“Please,” I say again. I meet his eyes, embarrassed by how much I want him but steady in spite of it.

Maybe it’s the alcohol making me feel like this, loose and relaxed and reckless, or maybe it’s just Sam, the way he’s letting me take the lead, the way he groans when I shudder against him, the way I trust him with my life and trust him enough to let him see me fall apart like this.

And I am falling apart. I work my hips in little circles, feeling the dull burn of it clench in my gut with every tiny movement, pushing myself closer to the edge.

Sam just lets me, chest heaving, murmuring filthy-sweet things in my ear: “I’m all yours. Anything. Don’t care how long I have to wait, just — want to make you feel good. Want you on top of me, want you to just — ride my mouth, rub yourself all over my tongue, want —”

I let out a tiny, bitten-off whimper, hiding my face against his shoulder. My muscles spasm as I come, jerking against him, feeling it thud through me all at once like a punch to the gut.

I’m almost surprised by it, and by the wave of relief that washes through me. It’s not the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had, but it’s the easiest by far. I never realized I could get off like that.

Then again, any experience I’ve ever had with dry-humping was with the guy on top of me, hipbones bruising my thighs, and… yeah. No thank you.

“Jesus,” Sam breathes, arms around me, supporting my weight as I collect myself.

“That was… unexpected,” I blurt out, and I giggle helplessly as I pull back to look at him. He grins back, and there’s something so dazed and beautiful in his expression that I lose my breath all over again.

“I —” Sam starts, but he catches himself, shutting his mouth abruptly.

I’m falling in love with you, I think, heart pounding, but I know I can’t say it now, can’t say it like this.

Sam and I look at each other in silence for a second, and then the moment passes. I flush, self-conscious, an apology on the tip of my tongue.

“Don’t apologize, that was one of the hottest things that’s ever happened to me,” Sam says preemptively, before I can form the words. “You should go inside, before Dean comes looking for us. Just… give me a second?” He adjusts himself in his jeans, making a face, and I giggle.

“See you in there.”

“That was easy,” Dean comments, as we buckle our seatbelts. “Where to next? Sammy, did you find anything in the paper this morning?”

“Actually,” Sam says. “I could really use an evening off. Can we grab some food and go back to the motel and just… chill for the night?”

He and Dean exchange one of those Winchester looks that don’t mean anything to anyone else but the two of them.

“Sure,” Dean says easily. Sam smiles at me in the rearview, and I think, oh.

My brain is my worst enemy. By the time we pull into the motel lot, I’m panicking, and I’m not even sure why.

Sam’s laughing at something Dean just said, bathed in gold late-afternoon light, and he’s incredible, and I should want nothing more than to get him in our room and jump him, but my chest feels tight and I’m convinced that I’ll freeze up, freak out, mess it all up, and he’ll give up, he’s already been so patient —

“Hey, you okay?” Sam asks. The driver’s side door slams behind Dean, breaking me out of my trance.

“Fine,” I say, too brightly. “I’m fine.”

He studies me for a second, head tilted, and I try to smile at him. It doesn’t work.

“I’m not fine,” I amend, and feel my face crumple.

“Hang on one sec?” Sam asks, and I take a second to compose myself as he jumps out of the car. He and Dean have a whispered powwow and then Sam returns, key in hand, sliding into the driver’s seat.

“Come sit up front,” he says easily, without explanation. “Let’s go for a drive.”

“We can —” I try, but he cuts me off.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like there’s pressure,” he says firmly. “I just want to spend time with you. Let’s just… go for a drive.”

So that’s what we do. When we leave the strip mall hell that surrounds the motel, Sam gets off the highway and we’re in the woods, driving up a winding mountain road. Sam seems to know where he’s headed; he mutters “Think it’s around here somewhere,” at one point, and then eventually he turns onto the Blue Ridge Parkway.

He drives slow, easing into the sharp curves. I can breathe again. It’s hard to feel panicky out here, up in the open air, close to the pink-tinted sky. When the trees open up there are views of sprawling valleys, just starting to turn orange and yellow in the first hints of fall.

There’s a wide pull-off for a scenic overlook, “Rocky Knob,” and Sam parks. The sun is setting behind us and the clouds are lined in deep pink now.

Sam spreads his coat out on the scratchy grass, right in front of Baby, and we sit next to each other, watching in easy silence as the light fades and dusk falls.

“Thank you,” I say quietly, tilting my head onto his shoulder. He slips an arm around me and I shift, turning to settle more comfortably against his side. A sliver of moon is just visible on the horizon.

“You know you don’t —” he starts. His voice sounds choked and strange. “There’s nothing to thank me for. I just like seeing you happy. That’s more important to me than… any of the rest of it.”

“Thank you,” I repeat, firmly, and he lets out a laugh that’s more of a sigh.

I twist to kiss him, intending to make it a quick peck on the corner of his mouth, but he turns to meet me, tongue flickering over my lower lip, teeth scraping ever so carefully. One hand finds my cheek, and his fingers are so long that I feel dwarfed by the way they cradle and caress and pull me closer.

I crawl into his lap, straddling him. He has one hand on the small of my back and the other between my shoulderblades, steadying me. I trace the hard lines of bones under skin, running my fingers along the jut of his jaw and stroking the hinge of it with my thumb, sliding the other hand back to cup the shape of his skull, and for all his size and strength he feels fragile under my fingers. I brush over his pulse and rub the soft hollow behind his ear, and I can feel how fragile this is, this thing between us and the way it makes him shake when he breathes.

We’re both shaking, I realize, as I rest my forehead against his. The tip of my nose nudges against his. The curve of his lower lip brushes mine, barely, not intentional enough to be a kiss, just… close.

Not close enough. Never close enough.

“Sam,” I start, voice wobbling dangerously, but I don’t even know where to begin. His fingers twist in the back of my shirt, fisted in the fabric like he’s afraid to let go. He exhales — inhales — trembles.

Somehow I never considered that I might not be the only one here who’s scared.

I kiss him one more time, trying to tell him how I feel even if I can’t say the words yet, and then I pull away to look at him. His eyes catch and reflect the moonlight, glittering in the dark.

“Let’s go,” I say, and my voice isn’t shaking any more.

Sam’s nervous. He doesn’t know what to do with himself once the motel room door clicks shut behind us; he turns the desk lamp on and just stands there, rubbing the back of his neck and shifting his weight uncomfortably.

“We could watch a movie?” he offers. His hesitation makes it easier, somehow, to take the lead; I go up to him and tug at the hem of his shirt as I kiss his jaw.

“I don’t want to watch a movie,” I say firmly. I slide my hands under his shirt and run my thumbs over the ridges of his hipbones. “Take this off?”

He strips his shirt off and tosses it to the side, smiling, shy and happy.

We kiss and shed layers and kiss again, stumbling back toward the bed. When the backs of my legs hit the mattress, we’re down to our underwear, and even though I’ve seen Sam naked, now, the sight of him takes me by surprise. It doesn’t seem fair, how beautiful he is. All the bare golden skin throws me off-balance.

He moves slowly into my space, running his hands up my arms to cup my shoulders, and when he kisses me, my head spins. I sit down heavily on the edge of the bed, feeling clumsy and stupid. Sam just folds to his knees in front of me, smiling up at me patiently.

“Can I?” he asks softly. He runs his hands up my legs and hooks his fingers in the elastic of my panties. When I nod, he tugs, and I lift my hips to let him slide the fabric down until it’s out of the way.

He moves closer, kneeling between my spread legs. He doesn’t look shy any more. He looks hungry, pupils huge in kaleidoscope blue-gold irises as he watches me through his lashes.

I nod again, silently giving him permission, and his lips curl into a smile. Sam hooks his hands under my thighs and pulls me forward, until I’m right on the edge of the bed.

“Give me your hand?” he asks, and when I do, he brings it to his head, tangling my fingers through his silky hair. I lean on my other hand to brace myself and the position opens me up for him even more. “You’re in charge,” he reminds me.

The first lick is slow, just a smooth wet curl of heat tracing up my center, good in a way that’s easy and sweet even if it’s not the ‘god more now’ kind of pleasure. I run my fingers through Sam’s hair idly, trying to relax. He does it again, dipping down and dragging up, before swirling his tongue over my clit, and the friction coils up and rolls out through my core. The next lush swipe of his tongue has more pressure behind it, and he lingers on my clit, flattening his tongue, massaging. I let out a little sigh, and he hums approvingly.

“Want you to tell me what feels good, okay?” he asks, mouthing at the crease of my hip. “Or show me. Hold me where you want me.”

How does he just say those things?

Sam buries his face between my legs again, not just licking but working me over with his open mouth pressed to my cunt like he’s kissing me. He gets my clit between his lips and sucks gently, and it’s so good that I tug him closer helplessly, giving in to the pleasure before I even have a chance to hold back.

“Sorry,” I gasp, relaxing my grip when I realize how hard I’m pulling. “Shit, sorry, didn’t mean to —”

“I like it,” Sam growls, the words vibrating right up against me. Then he’s doing that thing again, slick pulsing pressure, and I give in, twisting my fingers in his hair and tilting my hips up to meet his mouth as my eyes roll back in my head. He moans low in his throat.

Every wave of suction feels more intense. It’s sharp and bright and perfect, building so fast I’m not sure what to do with myself; all I can do is hold on and arch up and shudder. I can feel it pulling up from my fingers, my toes, an inevitable swell of pressure under my skin until the wave of it finally crests and I come with a shout, long and drawn-out, one shock of pleasure after another.

“Fucking — fuck, Sam,” I whine, my voice coming out embarrassingly high-pitched and cracked. He flicks his tongue over me again and I twitch, jerking away from the raw-nerve feel of it.

When I drag my eyes open he’s looking up at me, smiling, a dimple just visible as he turns his head to kiss my inner thigh.

The fuck am I supposed to say to that?

Apparently I can’t say anything to that. I think my brain has gone permanently offline.

Sam sort of scoops me up and deposits me farther back on the bed, where I’m not at risk of falling down on my ass, and I grin dazedly as he stands up. His mouth is red and swollen and it looks like sin.

“Still with me?” he asks, and I nod. “Be right back.”

I scoot back until I can get under the blanket and sink into the pillows. I hear Sam rummaging in his shower kit, then the water running, but I don’t have the mental capacity to pay attention. My eyes are half-closed by the time he comes back.

He sets a bottle of lube down on the nightstand and I avert my eyes uncomfortably, taking the glass of water he offers before he slides into bed next to me.

“Why did that just make you get all shy?” he asks softly, correctly interpreting my expression. I shrug and twist away to set the glass down, but when I turn back to him, he’s still waiting for an answer.

I cuddle close, tucking my head under his chin, listening to him breathe for a moment. He’s naked, hard against my hip, and I’m almost surprised by the way my body responds to that; my stomach flips, hot and eager, in spite of my racing thoughts.

“It’s like… all of this,” I say hoarsely. “It just makes me feel like I’m being a pain in the ass. Because it’s supposed to be simpler than this. It means I’m not wet enough, and… I want you, and that should be the only thing that matters, and instead we have to go through this whole process of talking about my issues and… it’s supposed to be easier than this, and it’s my fault.”

Sam is very still, muscles stiff, and for a moment I’m afraid he’s angry.

“It’s not ‘supposed to’ be anything other than good for you,” he says sharply. “Look at me for a second.”

I pull back, taking in the fierce, raw expression on his face. My chest feels tight.

“Everybody’s different,” Sam says, quiet and intense. “Everybody has shit they like and don’t like, places they like being touched… it’s not an issue, and it’s especially not your issue. You’re not being difficult by telling me how to help you enjoy yourself. I want that. I want to know how to make you feel good. Okay?”

“Okay,” I whisper.

“And if I ever meet any of your exes —” he says, jaw clenching, eyes stormy. I let out a nervous little giggle, and his expression melts from thunderous to soft before he continues, “It makes me happy knowing that you feel safe. It’s hot, watching you get off on it… your reaction is what turns me on more than anything.”

My stomach swoops. I slide closer, running a thumb over the soft swollen curve of his lower lip. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, voice dropping down low. “You have no idea what you do to me.” He rubs his palm over the curve of my hip like he can’t get enough of my bare skin. “When you were pulling my hair and just — the way you were shaking —”

I cut him off with a kiss, melding my body to his, and he smiles against my mouth before opening up easily, kissing me back with these slow, sultry swipes of his tongue. I can feel him everywhere: bare all down my front, hands roaming like he can’t help himself, close and feverish under the blanket. I push it down, shivering at the cool air on my sweaty skin.

When I tangle a hand in his hair and tug slightly, Sam makes a gorgeous needy sound, and his cock twitches, hard and thick against my stomach. I push him onto his back and he goes easily, pliant under me, looking up with a flush on his cheeks and a smile on his lips as I straddle him. For a moment I feel paralyzed by the sight of him. The moment stretches and I just stare.

Sam runs his hands up my hips, sliding one hand up between my breasts before tracing the curve of one with his knuckles, dragging his thumb over my nipple and circling as the skin pebbles under his touch. My shivery sigh of pleasure breaks whatever spell we were under.

I duck down to kiss him again, and the movement presses the ridge of his cock right between my legs, silky skin hot where it slots up against me. When I roll my hips, we both groan.

I reach for the lube. His smile goes smirky at the edges.

“If you say ‘I told you so’ right now, I swear to god —” I blurt out, and we’re both laughing as I touch him, slicking him up messily.

It’s the laughter that erases the last of my doubts. My nervous giggle bursts like a bubble in my chest, releasing whatever tension I was holding there. I just feel light and giddy and happy as I wipe my hand on the blankets and position myself.

Then I’m sinking down, opening up around him, and the sudden aching stretch turns my laugh into a breathy moan. Sam is watching me as I work my hips down, taking him in. His eyelashes flutter against his cheek.

I understand, now, what Sam meant: your reaction is what turns me on. Because if I’d wanted him before, it was nothing compared to how I feel now. He tilts his head back, arching up and exposing his throat, tendons shifting under the skin as he strains under me and gasps out my name, and the clenching wave of need in my belly is blinding.

Fuck.

I shift, lean forward, sparking up some new kind of friction deep inside where I’m so full of him, and I’m whimpering as I kiss him gently.

“Okay?” he asks. I cup a hand to his jaw and he brings his own up to cover it, an oddly tender gesture.

“So much better than okay,” I tell him. It’s the truth.

I take it slow. We kiss, mouths clumsy with need, and I take it slow.

It takes a few minutes to adjust to his size. I rock my hips in tiny little movements, circling, twisting, feeling all the different ways there are to just feel him. Every movement brings some new sort of sensation as he drags against every sweet spot deep inside me.

I’m barely moving. I know he must want to fuck up into me, thrust, but he holds back, holds himself steady, lets me take what I need while he whispers sweet bits of nonsense against my lips. He tells me I’m beautiful, tells me I feel incredible, tells me I’m safe, and I trust him.

Then I grind down harder, and something flares up inside me, quivering out from where his cock is pressing deep in my belly. I do it again. The low dull throb of it has me trembling, panting against his mouth as I brace myself to get more, harder, clenching around him desperately.

Sam slides a hand down between us, flattening his palm over that spot, and I can feel the pressure building right there, but I need more.

“Sit up for me?” he asks raggedly. “Lean back, it’ll —”

He grits his teeth and cuts himself off, but I do it without questioning, sitting back on my heels and bracing my hands behind me. I would feel exposed if I wasn’t distracted by how good this feels. I’m barely moving, still, but Sam presses his palm down and tilts his hips up, and it’s like I can feel the molten force of it everywhere, like it’s going to split my skin.

Sam looks as close to the edge as I feel, eyes glazed, and I can feel him jerking up to meet me.

“Do it,” I hiss, and when he thrusts up for real, the surge of pressure makes me cry out, loud and shameless like I never am.

One last urgent grinding roll, one last surge of pressure, and I’m gone. I let my head fall back and let go, trusting Sam to keep me tethered to the earth as everything else goes brilliant white and sends me flying.

I’m distantly aware of the way he curses and twists up, the way he swells and twitches inside me, but there’s so much sensation that I can’t separate what’s him and what’s me; it’s all just one hot slick rhythmic pulsing rush as we ride it out, together.

When I start to go shaky and useless, Sam tugs me so that I flop forward onto his chest. I melt against him, face buried in the sweaty crook of his neck, skin thrumming with satisfaction. I kiss whatever bit of him is close to my mouth, and he tastes like salt.

“So that’s what that’s supposed to feel like,” I mumble.

“I don’t think it’s ever felt like that, with anyone,” Sam says quietly, like he’s telling me a secret. “But… I’ve never felt this way about anyone, so.”

I can tell he’s holding his breath. I put my palm on his chest. His heart is pounding, racing in counterpoint to mine, and I want to tell him that he’s safe; he can trust me with this.

“Me too,” I whisper, and he exhales.

If you enjoyed this, please reblog and/or leave me a message? It means the world.

Thanks for reading.

#spn fic #sam winchester fic #supernatural fic #sam winchester smut #sam winchester x reader

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whentommymetalfie · 3 years

Text

Home to you -chapter 5

-Closer-

Prologue//1//2//3/4

Pairing: Tommy/Alfie

Summary: Tommy and Alfie both want to take things further. But it turns out, things might be more complicated than simply wanting.

Warnings: mental instability, hallucinations, self harm, self-hatred, ptsd, panic attacks, disordered eating

Content note: sexual content

Wordcount: 3,7

Tommy wakes up with led in his veins, head too heavy to lift from the pillow and confused about his whereabouts. The warmth of a hand on top of his head tells him he’s not alone, at least. It prompts him to squeeze his eyes open just a fraction to observe the world through his lashes. Alfie’s sat next to him, paper in his lap and with his glasses balancing low on his nose as he thumbs the pages with one hand, combing gently through Tommy’s hair with the other. Tommy stays completely still. Wants to stay in this moment, sink back into sleep and hide from the memories of the past night before they fully catch up with him. His right palm throbs dully and he clutches it against his chest, willing away the feeling of glass digging into fragile skin. He squeezes his eyes shut. Wants to stay in the warm safety of here and now, with Alfie, in bed, with Alfie’s fingers in his hair. Far away from the coppery smell of blood and the voices echoing between the tiles.

“It’s so easy, Tom, so easy, and then you’ll get to rest.”

“It’ll never be anything more than this. What do you have to offer him? Look at you.”

and he looks and looks until he can’t bear it anymore until it’s all too much and-

“Tommy?” Alfie scratches lightly at the nape of his neck. “You awake?”

He nods, because he needs Alfie to talk, bring him out of the darkness. Like last night.

Alfie keeps stroking his hair.

“You gonna open those pretty eyes and greet the day and your companion any time soon, eh? Nearly lunchtime innit.”

He can hear in his voice that he’s smiling. And he wants to see that, so he opens one eye to peer up at Alfie. Who is indeed smiling down at him. Tommy curls up impossibly closer, as if he could fully melt into him, face pressed into his soft side. Alfie flinches when his nose digs into a ticklish spot and lets out an indignant snort, but then continues petting him with a fond chuckle.

“Just a little kitten, aren’t you, petal? Yeah. Bet you’ll start purring one of these days.”

Tommy ignores the comment and drags in Alfie’s familiar scent into his nose.

“How’re your hands feeling?” Alfie asks. “You in much pain”

“It’s not too bad,” he mutters into his shirt.

With an unconvinced hum, Alfie takes his hand gently and presses his lips against the back, just softly, continuing over his knuckles, up his fingers and down the inside of them, featherlight over his bandaged palm, until he can kiss the inside of his wrist. Which sends a thrill of pleasure up Tommy’s spine.

Then, Alfie leans down and kisses him. It brings out different memories altogether from last night. Alfie kissed him then too. Lifted him up onto a counter and kissed him until his head was swimming. He sinks into that feeling now, happily following where Alfie leads.

The steps approaching outside makes Tommy pull away, but Esther just passes. He looks towards the door, unable to relax. Esther has certainly seen him in more compromising positions. But still---

Taking his chin lightly in hand, Alfie turns him away from the door and smiles again before pressing another kiss against his lips.

When the steps approach a second time, this time accompanied by low humming, Alfie relents.

“How about we pick this up later tonight,” he whispers into the hot air between them. “When we know we won’t be disturbed. And I can take care of you good and proper.”

The words light a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach, his chest, and fluttering and fragile as it may be, it’s definitely real. So much so that Tommy finds his lips twitching into a smile as he whispers, “Is that a promise?”

Alfie chuckles, low and dark and the way his eyes light up makes Tommy wish he could find more enticing things to say, anything to keep that expression on his face always.

“Indeed it is, love.”

…

The day passes impossibly slowly. Alfie helps him stick to the usual routine, the firm schedule of eating, walking, resting, doing a crossword or two, followed by the usual afternoon nap. The one Tommy swears he doesn’t need but still always ends up taking sometime in the afternoon, cuddled up against Alfie’s chest in front of the fire as he reads, when the ever present weariness overcomes him.

It’s easy enough to fall into the familiar pattern, even if he can’t stop counting the hours until sundown, for once feeling something other than dread at the thought of going to bed. Everything makes him think of it: Alfie’s hands lingering after he’s helped him with his coat. The soft brushing of lips against his forehead as he dozes off in the afternoon. The firm warmth of an arm around his waist during the walk. Little things that remind him. He clings to those, to keep his head quiet. Tell the voices that no, Alfie doesn’t find him repulsive, Alfie likes touching him, Alfie doesn’t look at him and see something ugly and broken. It helps a little. Even if they’re not silent for long.

…

Despite what happened last night, Alfie lets Tommy take a bath on his own, that evening. Not without fussing first, and not with the door locked. And as Tommy reclines against the cool porcelain, all the anticipation that’s been building throughout the day seems to vibrate through him. Despite the heat of the water he trembles, and he tries to force himself to relax without much success. He glances towards the mirror. Where it used to hang, at least, the empty space above the sink. The bones inside of him seem to poke through his skin, bruising his insides and he can’t find a comfortable position. He wishes he could lay down completely, sink underneath the surface until the water makes him weightless and takes the pressure from his bones, but the mere thought of being under the surface makes his throat constrict in panic. Instead he sits up. Draws his legs towards his chest and stares at his bruised knees. Scratches hard over the place where the bone sits too close to the skin.

Alfie asked, last night, if he’d been trying to hurt himself. More than you already had, that’s what he said. Tommy doesn’t know. If Alfie hadn’t showed up when he did, to shield him from the ghosts and pry away the sharp piece of glass from his hand… he doesn’t know what would’ve happened.

The thought scares him enough to stop scratching at his knee and put his legs back down, hiding the thin trail of blood left by his nail.

Eventually he climbs out of the cooling bathwater. It’s a small mercy, not seeing his reflection. But it’s not enough. And they still remind him, even when he can’t see himself, they tell him, won’t let him forget-

He dries himself off and puts on the large flannel shirt, burying himself in the safe scent and the soft warm fabric. Pulls his underwear on and makes sure the long sleeves on the shirt cover his hands, cover as much of him as possible.

When he emerges from the bathroom on legs that still feel unsteady, Alfie is sat on the bed, glasses in place and with a book on his lap. The scene exudes safety and familiarity. He looks up when the door swings shut. Something dark and hungry seeps into his gaze, and it makes Tommy stop in his tracks, a shiver running down his spine under the intensity. He must be looking like a deer in headlights. Feels like one, at least, frozen and helpless.

“Come here, love,” Alfie says, beckoning him over with an outstretched hand. The hand is unnecessary because the command in his voice is enough to physically pull Tommy towards him. The book lies forgotten on the bed and when he’s close enough, Alfie grabs him by the waist and pulls him down onto his lap and into a kiss. It’s surprisingly gentle at first, but Tommy eagerly parts his lips and soon it becomes deeper, hungrier. Alfie kisses him like no one’s ever kissed him before. So self-assured and firm, taking the lead and making him follow. And he gives into it completely, desperate for more.

In a swift movement, Alfie spins them around, leaving Tommy laid out under him on the mattress, legs around his waist. A surge of heat rushes into the pit of his stomach, making his hips buck up against Alfie’s solid frame. Already gasping and aching for it.

“If you want me to stop or slow down, you just let me know, alright, pet?” Alfie says, pulling away just enough to look him in the eye. “Yeah? Just say the word. Or give me a poke in the shoulder if that’s too difficult. But other than that all you need to do is relax. I’ll take care of you.”

Tommy nods and sinks into the feeling of relief. Alfie’s got this. Alfie knows what he’s doing, even if Tommy himself suddenly feels like a blushing virgin all over again. Alfie flashes him a grin and plants a quick kiss on his nose. “Alright then.”

And take care of him, he does. Begins by kissing him on every inch of bare skin he can reach, the sharp edge of his cheekbone, his temple, trailing his lips down his jaw, stopping right at where his pulse throbs to scratch his teeth gently against the skin. It sends a pleasant shiver down his spine and Alfie must be able to tell because he lingers on the spot, sucking a mark onto the skin before moving further, down to where his collarbones peak above the shirt. His hands meanwhile are stroking down his sides, his hips and thighs, leaving burning trails behind. Lighting a dizzying arousal that collects in the pit of his stomach, burning hot and all consuming.

Tommy’s own hands are buried in the back of Alfie’s shirt. Eventually he works up the courage to tug it up towards his shoulders. Alfie sits back between his legs. Pulls the shirt off and smiles down at Tommy when he reaches out to touch, running his hands down his hairy chest, solid muscle and the swell of his stomach. If he could, he would’ve told him, how beautiful he is, how much he wants him, how much he wants this. Instead he pulls him closer, tries to show him. Needs to have that powerful body fully pressed against him, needs all of him at once-

Alfie is so warm and heavy on top of him when he kisses him again, cock hard and straining against his boxers, pressing against Tommy’s hip. Tommy wraps his arms tight, tight around his chest and just clings to him while Alfie’s tongue laps against the roof of his mouth, entwining with his own, setting the pace. He drinks in the kisses eagerly, desperately wanting more, more- His hips buck, searching for friction any way they can.

When Alfie’s hand finally trails up the inside of his shirt, tension ripples through his muscles like icy water. The hand stops and Alfie raises both eyebrows in a silent question. One Tommy knew would come but still doesn’t know how to respond to.

Alfie’s seen him in less clothes before. But so many of those times he was too far gone to even reflect on it. Now he’s painfully aware of his own body again. And Alfie is right, he doesn’t believe him when he says he’s beautiful. Only thinks of that scrawny figure in the reflection. He hides his face against Alfie’s chest. Alfie strokes his side gently. Each time a finger dips into the hollow spots between the ribs he feels his stomach turns into knots.

How can he let Alfie see, when he knows what he’s become?

“How could anyone want you? Look at you-“

Look at you

Alfie wouldn’t

Look at you

“There must be something you can do?” Lizzie’s voice is sharp and demanding as she speaks to the shadows looming over his bed. “Look at him, he’s wasting away.”

Wasting away locked away forgotten in this room

“The only option is to feed him more often, but-“

They keep talking over him and he wonders if he’s really here at all

“-considering his aversion to it that might have a negative effect on his wellbeing overall, I’m afraid.”

In this room

Where the door is always closed

And no one touches him except the men in the white shirts with their tubes and their cold hands and all the dark figures who try to keep him still and he’s wasting away nothing but a black hole

Cold mud

Pushing the air from his chest filling all the empty crevices-

No one can stand touching him.

“Shh, treacle, ‘s okay.” Alfie’s voice emerges from the chorus of others, whispered against his ear. “You’re beautiful. Let me show you. Let me take care of you”

He desperately tries to ignore the snide remarks that follow Alfie’s softly spoken words, things that echo in his own head, that’s all, not real. This is real, Alfie’s voice, Alfie’s body against his-

Alfie kisses him but he can’t feel it, the scratch of his beard or the soft press of lips against his.

He tears himself away, presses his face into his chest again as he struggles to breathe. Coughs to get the mud out, has to get it out, out pushes harder into the firm surface to find an anchor, it’s cold against his forehead, cold wet dirt and the smell of earth and

blood splitting pain and wetness trickling slowly down his face

splutters and coughs and chokes as bits of mud hack up his throat.

“God, there’s nothing there Tommy! Will you just fucking listen to me?” Lizzie’s fingers can reach all the way around his wrists. “Frances, get in here!”

“Fuck-“ the weight on top of him shifts but he still can’t breathe- “Tommy?”

he struggles uselessly against the hands.

Until they disappear and footsteps echo across the floor, doors slamming, new hands, shushing, dark figures and faces he doesn’t recognize.

The room floods with warm light and Alfie’s face swims into view. He cradles his face, holds it still, but he can’t feel it, can’t feel the heat against his skin-

“It’s alright, sweetheart, breathe with me, in and out- I’ve got you.”

He’s moved, pulled closer, ear pressed against Alfie’s chest, he listens to his breaths, the steady beating of his heart. In and out. In and out, the familiar mantra.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

Alfie’s got him, he’s safe. Alfie’s got him, and he’s safe, Alfie- he clings to the words with every stuttering in and exhale, until feeling slowly seeps back into his limbs again, he can feel the warmth of Alfie’s skin, the firm hold of his arms encircling his waist and cradling his head against his chest. He winces when he comes back to himself enough to remember why they’re in bed together.

“I’m s-sorry,” he chokes out. His teeth clatter together so hard that getting any words out at all is a struggle. “I don’t know why- why this is happening,”

“Shh, fuckin’ nonsense that is. Apologizing. Nothing but a bad habit. If you’re not ready, we’ll take it slower. Simple as that, eh?

He grasps desperately at Alfie, shaking fingers against firm muscle.

“No, no, I want to- I-“

“Shh, love, just you focus on breathing and leave the talking to me. Sometimes your head knows it’s wants something but the rest can’t quite keep up,” Alfie says and rocks him slowly in his arms. “The opposite ‘s true too, I reckon. But I’m nothing if not persistent, so I promise we’ll figure it out. Don’t you worry your pretty little head ‘bout it.”

He presses his nose into the crook of Alfie’s neck and sinks into his embrace.

Alfie begins rubbing his back slowly. The hand moves up along his waist, outside of the shirt this time. He stays in one place. Rubbing warm circles into the skin. Tommy forgets to breathe.

“Relax, pet. ‘s nothing dangerous, this. I’m keeping it right here, see? Does that feel okay?”

The thin barrier the shirt provides helps somewhat. He nods. And as he gets used to the sensation the worst of the terror it caused before fades, at least enough for him to relax.

“There you go. Doing wonderfully, aren’t you?” Alfie moves his hand further down to his waist, caresses all the way to his hipbone and up again. Over and over. “Yeah, you’re doing so good, sweetheart. Just relax. It’s all fine.”

And as the adrenaline seeps out of his veins, his eyelids become heavy. Alfie keeps stroking him, lingering in each spot for a long time. And before he can even feel himself slipping, he’s asleep.

…

For once it’s not a nightmare that wakes him, but Alfie tossing and turning in bed next to him. By now Tommy’s instincts have him reaching for Alfie already in his sleep, so once he drags himself out of it he’s already firmly pressed against him, face buried in the crook of his neck and one arm wrapped around his bare chest. He drags his scent into his nose. Reassures himself that he’s safe. Not alone. Never alone again. And he’s already sinking back into sleep when Alfie lets out a grunt into his hair and presses closer. He’s hard, the outline of his cock pressing into Tommy’s thigh, thick and straining against his boxers. The feeling sends a sharp spike of arousal to the pit of his stomach. He lies frozen, barely daring to breathe. Alfie’s arm is tight around his waist, keeping him firmly pressed against him. His hips roll forward, making Tommy’s heart jump. Heat floods through him, pooling in his groin, and he presses his thigh harder against Alfie, can’t resist. Fuck, he’s so big. It’s a thing he never knew he’d find so arousing: the feeling of a big, hard cock pressing into him. Now, the reaction is so strong it almost frightens him.

Alfie’s arm tightens around his waist and another moan escapes him, hot and raspy against Tommy’s ear. His own cock quickly becomes achingly hard and he swallows down the urge to shove a hand down his shorts and touch himself. Or turn around. Rub himself against Alfie until- oh fuck-

Alfie suddenly jolts awake, unsuccessfully attempting to untangle himself from both the blankets and his own grip around Tommy all at once. He looks blearily around the room before setting his eyes on him, half closed and with a confused crease between his eyebrows.

“Fuck, sorry ‘bout that, love” he slurs. Gestures awkwardly downwards as he relaxes back against the pillows. “Don’t pay any attention to it-“

He clears his throat and once again shifts to pull away. Tommy kisses him. Surges forward and crashes his lips against Alfie’s, clumsy with need, tongues and teeth clashing as Alfie kisses him back with equal fervor. He tugs at the thick arm around his waist and Alfie rolls them over, settling his entire weight on top of him. Tommy spreads his legs, grinds up against him and whimpering at the feeling.

Alfie stills for only a second, but he squeezes his thighs tighter around his hips.

“Don’t stop,” he whispers against his lips and with a growl, Alfie thrusts forward, rubbing his stiff cock against Tommy’s. He moans, open mouthed and desperate against Alfie’s lips.

Then they’re moving frantically together, Alfie’s hands digging into his arse to push him closer, grinding down against him, hard and unforgiving. Pinning him against the mattress with his entire weight. Tommy rolls his hips, heels digging into the backs of Alfie’s thighs, desperately chasing friction and fuck, fuck, he’s so close already- it’s all too much, and not enough, Alfie’s cock, hard and thick under the thin fabric of his boxers, the soft ,heavy press of his stomach, he writhes against the heat and the firm pressure of muscle and flesh, close- so fucking close now-

“Oh, oh Alfie-“ he keens and the release washes over him in sharp waves of pleasure, quick and relentless and absolutely brutal, he’s crying out, voice cracking into sobs and Alfie doesn’t stop moving, chasing his own pleasure against his over sensitized cock.

“Fuck, Tommy-“ he groans into an open mouthed kiss. “Fuck, that’s so good, love. Fucking hell-“ his hips push harder and faster until they stutter. He pushes his face into the crock of Tommy’s neck, hands painfully tight around his arse as he comes, shuddering through his release. Then he collapses on top of him, breath hot against his neck.

A warm stillness settles in the room, where only their breaths are heard. Tommy’s head is full of cotton, muffling all the noise, softening it. Eventually Alfie raises himself up on his elbows and lets out a chuckle.

“Fucking hell, love. Not exactly how I’d pictured it, bedding you for the first time. Thought’ I’d be more of a gentleman about it.” He brushes away a sweaty lock of hair from Tommy’s brow and smiles. “But I’ve always believed in doing what comes naturally. I promise to take better care of you in the future. Do it properly.”

Tommy knows he’s blushing and the cotton makes it impossible to come up with any words. Alfie rolls over onto his side to tuck him against his chest. He’s shivering for some reason.

“But perhaps some drowsy, half-asleep rutting was just what we needed, eh? Just to blow off some steam. And can I just say that you make for quite a sight when you- Fuck, sweetheart, you’re shaking.”

Alfie rubs his back and pulls the blankets up higher around him, tucking them around his face and wherever he can reach.

“You alright, love?”

Tommy hums, even if his teeth clatter together and every breath hacks its way up his throat. Because Alfie is here and Alfie holds him and keeps him safe.

And he’s alright. At least in that moment.

#tommy x alfie #breathe again verse #home to you #peaky blinders fanfiction #disordered eating tw #panic attacks tw #hallucinations tw #ptsd tw #self harm tw #I don't even know what to say it's here it's posted #it is what it is

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talkfastromance4 · 4 years

Text

Hi! I LOVE your stuff sooo much<3 for your 13 nights could I request 4- Michael, 5- Calum, 6- Luke, and 12- Ashton ? <3 <3 Can't wait to read them :)

6. “I want to bite you, too.” “A human’s bite won’t hurt, it would probably just tickle.”

Not even going to attempt to make this short because 1) it’s luke and 2) i’m just not capable. oh well. This is also written in third person with she/her pronouns as it’s in line with my vampire fic with Luke

Warnings: involves biting and blood drinking (nothing gory) while in a sexual situation.

• • • •

She’d heard being feasted on by a vampire was a very tantric, electrically charged and erotic moment. It was the ultimate high and while she and Luke became more physical as their relationship continued to flourish, she began to wonder more and more what it would feel like.

The first time she asked Luke to bite her neck he was taken aback. She always gave him a shock factor with something, he’s never met a human like her. After his initial shock, he was adamant on a hard ‘no.’ His response was so clipped she didn’t bother to push him and buried down the rejection inside her.

The second time she asked was while they were walking his grounds. He was in the middle of retelling an encounter with Elvis when she blurted out, “I want you to bite me.”

Luke sighed, took her hands in his and brought them to his lips so he could kiss them. His crystal blue eyes stare into hers, unblinking but trying to get a read out of hers.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says quietly.

“I heard it doesn’t hurt. I trust you. I want to...be connected to you.”

“You already are connected to me, lovie,” he rests his forehead against hers. Her sweet floral scent of her blood invades his mind, but he inhales deeply. “In more ways than you know. My heart doesn’t beat but if it did it would be calling your name.”

“Then why don’t you want to?” she asks sadly. Luke groans, he hates making her feel sad.

“Believe me, I’ve wanted to since I first saw you. You may trust me but I don’t trust myself. I’m already extremely careful with you, this would be even more...demanding of my willpower that always crumbles away when I’m with you.”

“Really?” she chuckles gently.

“Yes, silly girl. You drive me insane.”

“Well...what’s it like to bite a human?”

“For me or the human?”

“Both.”

Luke sighs, he never wants to keep anything from her but also doesn’t want to share this so out in the open. There isn’t anyone for miles within earshot but this topic is touchy. Feasting on humans is what caused the mask mandate in the first place. A vampire’s bite became the most highly wanted and most illegal “drug” there is.

He took her hand that lead her inside to his trinket room. It’s where he feels most himself, surrounded by his most prized possessions but his most valuable is Y/N. Not that she’s a possession but she’s the most valuable companion. He sits down and she drapes herself across his lap.

“Tell me,” she demands. He pokes her nose.

“For humans it’s like a drug. I’ve heard different reactions but each one always makes the human feel light, extra light and slightly dizzy but then increases as the feast continues. Some have hallucinated, some black out, and some say it’s the ultimate high. It’s a pure form of arousal. For me--vampires--it’s very replenishing. We almost get a little buzz as well but nothing compared to a human. We’re fully satisfied and in turn, the human wants to be satisfied in other ways. Sexually.”

“Oh. So...you don’t want to bite me because you don’t want to be...I’m sorry. I don’t understand why you don’t want to,” she shakes her head.

Luke smiles and strokes the backs of his fingers against her throat. Her skin is warm, her pulse strong but fluttering like a hummingbird.

“I’ve already told you, I do want to. It’s just...I don’t want it to be too much for you. What if I hurt you?”

“You won’t. Please, Luke. It can only be the one time, I swear. I won’t push you but I want to experience everything I can with you. You bite me anyway so what’s the difference?”

Luke lets out a loud laugh then squeezes her thigh affectionately. “The difference is that I bite you to get you aroused, I’m not drawing blood. But all right...next time, we’ll try it and see how it goes.”

“Is it next time now?” she breathes against his curls. She kisses his temple.

“No, now it’s time for your shift at the Bar.”

Luke had asked Michael for help on feasting and was surprised to find that Michael had only done it once with Kitty. It was a wonderful moment shared between them but he felt like he didn’t have to keep doing it and doubts he’d ever do it again. Kitty felt the same, saying it would only be for special occasions or of the mood called for it.

Luke felt some reassurance from that but he made a promise to Y/N and he vowed to never break a promise to her.

After Y/N’s shift at the Bar, he drew her a bath with some lavender salts and candles. He joined her and washed her hair, pressing gentle kisses to the space between her shoulder blades. The way her heart kept jumping he knew she was thinking it would happen right now, but this was all preparation.

He wanted her completely relaxed, her head clear of all tension. When they toweled off, they remained without clothes and he brought her to his bed. He laid her down gently and began pressing his lips to her warm skin.

“I promised we’d try but there are some rules first,” he says swiping his tongue over her nipple.

“Rules?” she sighs, her body already aching for more of his touch.

“Yes, rules. First one is that you tell me to stop if you need me to stop. Don’t worry about hurting me feelings, you say the word and I’m done, all right?” he asks, eyes burning into hers. She licks her lips and nods. “Second rule, I need you to stay completely still, I’m using all my willpower. Third rule--”

“This is a very long list,” she interrupts tucking a curl behind his ear.

Luke snags her fingers in his hand, kisses her fingertips then sets them on the bed. “Rule number three is to not touch me, just in case.”

“I can’t touch you?” she pouts.

“It might jostle you or make me release my venom.”

“Were you like this with Celeste and Simone?” she asks quietly.

“No, because I didn’t care about them as I do you.” He leans up and kisses both her cheeks, then her lips ever so gently. “Are you ready?”

“Ready,” she exhales, her heart hammering.

“Tell me the rules...” he whispers stamping his kisses down her jaw.

“Tell you to stop...stay still and...” she sighs as his tongue strikes across the side of her neck, “and don’t touch you.”

“That’s my good girl. Where do you want me to do it?” his lips hover over her pulse point.

“Here,” she points with a shaky finger to the space just above her left breast.

Luke hums then travels his lips in that spot. He removes her hand gently, then sucks lightly on her skin, bringing the blood forth. He’s hyperaware of her breath, the race of her heart and the stillness of her body. He opens his mouth wider, lets his incisors extend then punctures her skin.

She gasps and Luke moans at the warmth of her blood, it tastes a thousand times sweeter than she smells and he begins to drink. Slowly. It warms him completely, fills him with a different form of desire. Her breathing hitches, small moans bubbling up from inside her and it’s music to his ears.

He hears her fingers tap against the sheet, aching to touch him but she listens to his orders and stays still. He’s mindful of how much he’s feasting and after one last pull, he releases his fangs then licks the puncture wound so she can begin healing. He kisses that spot multiple times, it’s a combination of her warm skin and his ice cold bite marks.

He lifts his gaze to her and she’s completely blissed out. Her lips are slightly parted, eyes fluttering. Luke hovers above her, cups her cheek and tilts her face to look at him.

“How are you? Are you with me?” he asks softly.

She sighs turning into his palm. He kisses her forehead, then her eyelashes before stopping at her ear. “Are you dizzy?” She makes a small grunting noise.

He kisses her cheek then rushes to his cupboard downstairs that holds all of her favorite sweet treats. Sugar usually helps the humans after a feasting, it helps them come down. While he gazes at his supply she begins to cry for him, calling his name.

He chooses a candy bar than flies back to his room where he finds her trying to fall off the bed. Tears fall down her cheek and he’s quick to cradle her in his arms.

“I’m right here, lovie. Here, eat this.” He rips open the candy bar and holds it to her lips. “This will help.”

She nibbles on the chocolate, eyes still partially closed as she tries to swim through her head. Luke’s heard after a feasting the humans are in a sort of subspace. He’s never done after care with anybody else (especially with Celeste and Simone) but he cares deeply for Y/N.

“Better?” he asks after she takes a few more bites.

“Mhm,” she sighs nuzzling into his chest. Her fingers curl into his light chest hair. “I want to bite you, too.”

Luke smiles, kisses her hair and strokes her cheek with his thumb until her eyes open a bit wider. They’re glazed over.

“A human’s bite won’t hurt, it would probably tickle.”

“Please?” her mouth opens the tiniest bit as she attempts to nip at his chest. She just ends up falling into him and Luke chuckles.

“Let’s discuss this when you’re more coherent, lovie, okay?”

She sighs again and Luke gazes out his window. The moon is high in the sky and the way it reflects on her skin, illuminating her, he’s come to a realization. He can’t exist without her, she’s officially become a part of him that has overridden the other feasting he’s done in his existence.

Should he change her if she feels the same? They could marry and have children of their own while she was human but eventually she would die. This is also why he didn’t want to bite her, he knew the bond would be concrete, set in stone just like his heart that somehow still sings for her.

• • • •

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elizabeethan · 4 years

Text

Always By Your Side

Part 5/6 of It’s About Bloody Time (Season 3 Canon Divergent after Neverland).

Catch up on Ao3 or tumblr!

Summary: “Not that,” she says, and she does roll her eyes this time. “I told them about what happened before. You know, when you left me pregnant in jail for your crime.”

The tone she uses and the satisfaction she gets from his reaction is slightly sadistic, but when his jaw drops open and his eyes bug out, as if this is the most shocking news she could have ever told him, she can’t help but feel her pulse buzz with the sensation of sweet catharsis.

“You did what?” he hisses.

A/N: One part to go!! The next one will likely be a bit shorter, and I'm sure you can guess what it'll consist of content wise! Thank you so much for reading, reblogging and commenting! Reading peoples' reactions is what keeps me going :)

Anna had been brought over in the first curse. Apparently, she and her fiancé Kristoff were in the Enchanted Forest, or Misthaven, as she calls it, looking for information about her parents when the curse struck. When they didn’t return, Elsa froze her kingdom and searched for her sister for 29 years, which is apparently something that she can do.

When Elsa found Anna on a whim, working in the ice cream shop that Henry frequents, she jumped from where she was seated with Emma and Henry and nearly gave Emma a heart attack. As it turns out, Anna knew she needed help getting back home, but was too scared to ask anyone because she kept seeing the sheriffs with the Dark One and wasn’t sure where to turn. Whoops.

Now that all is well, Elsa, Anna, and Emma sit in Granny’s while Kristoff and David catch up and Henry sits at the counter with Hook. They’re considering how they might find their way back to Arendelle, but Emma can’t seem to focus on the conversation at hand.

She has been trying to muster up the courage to talk to Henry for weeks now. Killian rarely lets her forget that she’ll be starting to show very soon, constantly placing his warm hand over her 14-week, not-quite-there-yet baby bump. She wants to tell Henry, she really does, but something in her keeps stopping her. Archie says she fears that she will somehow damage their relationship, and she knows he must be right. He also agrees with Killian that this pregnancy is bringing up some unresolved trauma from her past. What a shock, she thinks.

Talking to Archie has been hard. She told him all about her past; about how she was pregnant and abandoned in prison for a crime she didn’t commit, about how she gave birth while chained to a hospital bed a couldn’t bear to look at her son. She cries a lot during their sessions together, and she knows it isn’t really pregnancy related (now that she’s officially reached her second trimester, her symptoms have been a lot less obnoxious). They’ve been working together for about a month now, and she still cries every time. But every time she starts to apologize, he stops her to thank her for letting him in and for allowing him to understand how she’s feeling. It’s weird, but she thinks she likes it. It’s... what’s the word he always uses? Validating.

“Hopefully I can get another portal working,” Elsa says, drawing Emma out of her thoughts.

Emma nods in response. Elsa finally found a clue of where her sister went when she found Princess Aurora back in the Enchanted Forest, who told her about the curse and that many people were trapped in another realm. “I’m sure you can.”

“Someone is distracted,” she says with a smirk sent Emma’s way, and she hears Anna laugh lightly in agreement.

“I don’t think she’s heard a single word we’ve said, Elsa.”

“I’m sorry,” she says in response. “You’re right, I am distracted. There’s a lot going on right now.”

Elsa nods and Anna smiles sweetly to her, taking a sip from her mug. It’s started to get really chilly out with Christmas just two weeks away, so Emma has successfully turned her new friends on to the wonder that is hot chocolate. “You still haven’t talked to your son, have you?”

Emma smiles softly, briefly, and shakes her head. She and Elsa have become fast friends since they met several weeks ago, and she finds that Elsa can read her almost as well as Killian can. “No,” she says. “I still don’t know how.”

“Well,” Elsa starts, reaching across the table and taking Emma’s hands in hers. “I suppose I don’t know much about your situation. I’ve never been pregnant, and I don’t have any children, but I am the daughter of parents who neglected to tell me the truth for much of my life. Trust me when I say it would have been better for me if they had told me the truth.”

Emma nods, shooting another glance at Henry. He’s laughing at something Killian said, and Killian’s eyes are lighting up as if he’s happier than he’s ever been. “You’re right. I know I have to tell him eventually. I can’t exactly keep hiding it.” As if on instinct, she removes one hand from Elsa’s and reaches it down to rest it against her miniscule bump concealed by a thick sweater.

Much later that night, she finds herself in bed with her pirate again, his hand running soothingly up and down along her the bare skin of her belly as she nestles her back against his front. He continues to press soft kisses against the back of her neck, his nose nuzzling behind her ear, drawing a breathy laugh from her every so often.

“You’re growing, love. Every day the little blob gets bigger and bigger, and soon I’ll finally be able to see him.”

“Or her,” she amends, hoping to keep an open mind. She corrects him pretty often when he mentions the baby being a boy, but in reality, she thinks it’s a boy, too.

“Aye,” he says, kissing her neck again. “Tuesday will be 15 weeks. The applications say you should be getting bigger now that you’re feeling better and the baby is growing more. She’ll be the size of a pear.”

“Apps,” she says with a laugh as she squeezes his hand. “You're cute. And I am getting bigger. I think I have a bump, it’s just hard to distinguish it from regular bloating.”

He hums. “You're rather slight to begin with, love. I believe soon you’ll start to show much more, if the apps are correct.”

“Slight?” she laughs.

“Slim, slender, small,” he says, trailing off and obviously attempting to not offend her.

“Mhmm,” she says. “I was small with Henry, too, but I was probably a bit malnourished.”

“Well, we won’t allow that, now will we, Swan? Perhaps I should go and get you some fruit? You may need it to revive yourself after all that vigorous lovemaking.”

She snorts, reaching behind her to pinch the skin of his hip.

“I would like some fruit, actually. And some Cheez-Its.”

“Sounds like a nice compromise, darling. I’ll be back shortly,” he says, standing and exposing his bare ass to her. She reaches for it quickly and pinches him again, drawing a yelp from him as he leaves the room.

She rolls over onto her back once he leaves, glancing down at her belly and stroking it in small, soft circles. He’s right, she is going to start getting bigger very soon, and it’ll become harder and harder to hide. With this knowledge, she’s faced with the truth: she’ll need to tell Henry, and soon.

~~~~

A week later, when she finally breaks down and realizes that she needs to buy new jeans, she accepts the fact that it’s time. Henry has to know, no matter how he may react. This should be one hell of a Christmas present for him.

She picks him up from Regina’s on Sunday morning, promising him breakfast and cocoa from Granny’s. The moment he hops into the car, she can tell that he’s in a good mood.

“Hey kid,” she says with a smile as he bounces into his seat.

“Hey mom!”

“You're in a good mood today,” she points out.

“Yeah, my mom and dad have been talking about Christmas. I might be getting two Christmases this year!”

“Oh,” she starts, startled by his exclamation as she pulls out of Regina’s driveway. “you mean with Regina and your dad? Because you can spend Christmas with me and your grandparents, too.”

“Really?” The excitement in his voice is more than evident. “Awesome! That’s three Christmases!”

“Yeah.” She smiles over at him, hopeful that his good mood will extend as they arrive at Granny’s. “Come on, kid. Let’s get some waffles, I’ve been craving them all week. And nothing is gonna keep me away from Granny’s hot chocolate now that I can finally drink it again.”

“What do you mean, again?”

Oops. She falters, then says, “nothing, come on.”

Once they're inside and seated, Ruby brings over a mug for Henry and gives Emma a look, as if asking if she wants any, and Emma nods.

“So,” she finally says, once they have full plates set in front of them. “We need to talk.”

He clears his throat around his too-big bite of waffle and looks up at her, his eyes wide. “Am I in trouble?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “No, you're not in trouble, kid. Just… it’s just that things are changing around here, and I wanted to talk to you about it.”

“You mean like you dating Captain Hook?”

“Yeah,” she says tentatively. “Sort of like that; I guess this relates to that.”

“Okay… so what is it? Is this about my dad? I know you guys aren’t together, you know.”

“No, I know. It's not that either, Henry. It’s… I’m… Hook and I…” She inhales more deeply than she knew she could, reaching down to her mug and taking a long sip.

“Mom, whatever’s going on, it’s okay.”

She smiles up at him. Leave it up to her kid to be more mature than her. “Henry… you're going to be… you're going to be a big brother,” she finally spits out before immediately going back to her hot chocolate, her ability to look him in the eye failing her.

“Wait… you mean…?”

“I’m going to have a baby. In June.”

She still can’t look at him, still hides behind her mug, but when he speaks, she thinks she can hear a smile in his voice. “Really?”

When she finally finds it in herself to look up, she does see a smile gracing his face. “Yeah,” she says, matching his expression with her own.

“I’m gonna be a big brother,” he confirms.

“Yeah, you are, kid.”

He laughs now, standing up and walking around the table to sit on his knees next to her in the booth, wrapping her in a hug. “This is awesome!” he says into her ear, and she swears she feels tears stinging the back of her eyes, even though she thought she was past this particular symptom.

“You really think so?”

“Yeah! Of course! Is it a boy or a girl?”

“I don’t know yet,” she grins. “We can find out in a few weeks when I go to the doctor.” His face is still alight, and she’s in awe of his reaction. “Henry,” she breathes out, shaking her head. “Are you sure you're… alright with this?”

His draws his brows together, as she often does, and cocks his head to the side. “Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, because of…” she starts, looking down from his eyes again and reaching for her mug. “Because of what happened. Because of what I did—when I had you.” She’s surprised at herself for even getting the words out, and she thinks that Archie will be proud of her when she sees him on Wednesday.

“Mom, I thought we talked about this when you came to Storybrooke? I know why you did that.”

She nods, still in awe of his maturity. “I know, but I didn’t want you to think that I'm replacing you. This baby wasn’t planned or anything, but… well, we’re planning on keeping him or her. And I don’t want to make you feel…”

He takes her hand in his, and she finally finds it in herself to look up at him, to meet his eyes with hers, and she sees joy. “You gave me up to give me my best chance. You were in jail; you couldn’t have raised me. But now you're happy and you're in a good place. Don’t you know what that means?” She shakes her head, feeling more childish than her own child. “It means that you're this baby’s best chance now.”

She does feel tears burning her eyes now, the heat of them dripping down onto her cheeks at the sound of his words. “Henry,” she starts, choking on words before they can leave her tongue.

“I’m not a kid anymore, mom. I know that things have changed between now and when you had me.”

She lets out a breath, finding it hard not to laugh at the wise words coming from her son. “You are perceptive, aren’t you?”

“Well, my mom is a bail bondsperson, I guess it runs in the family.”

~~~~

Emma Swan was never very fond of Christmas. Normally viewed as a holiday spent with family, Christmas has been a dark mark on Emma’s past for as long as she could remember. Although she was in Storybrooke last year, she had only arrived a few weeks prior and the curse was not yet broken, so there wasn’t much celebration taking place. The obvious lack of decorations and Christmas spirit should have struck her as odd, but she didn’t think much of it at the time. Now, she realizes that no one who grew up in the Enchanted Forest celebrated the religious holiday. However, now that she’s here and her parents remember her, they are determined to give her a happy holiday season.

They plan to spend Christmas day together tomorrow, but for tonight, she and Killian will be spending Christmas Eve alone in his apartment, and they start by decorating a tree. Killian is determined to give her an authentic Christmas experience as well, and so far, he’s delivering.

He curses as he rounds the tree over and over, trying his hardest to string the lights properly as she stands off to the side and holds the strands for him. “Bloody hell,” he says as he gets stuck with another needle. “Wasn’t there an option for a non-living tree? That might not hurt quite as much.”

“This is my first real Christmas, Killian. I need to have a real tree.”

“The whole tree tradition seems silly to me,” he counters as he pokes his head out from behind again, the lights finally reaching the top.

“That’s because you keep getting poked.”

“Aye, well, perhaps the task would be easier for someone with two hands.”

She rolls her eyes with a soft laugh. “Come on, I have never heard you use that as an excuse, don’t start now.”

He rolls his eyes too, smirking over at her as he takes a box of red and blue ornaments from her, balancing it on his left arm and hanging them with his right. If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s compensating for his missing hand.

Once the tree is filled with colorful balls and lit with twinkling white lights, they make their way to the kitchen to work on making cookies, and it takes everything in Emma not to eat the dough each time she breaks a piece off. She elected to buy both the kinds decorated with reindeer and with Santa, figuring the more the merrier.

“These are horrible for you, Swan. The amount of sugar…”

“They're sugar cookies!”

“There’s absolutely no nutritional value. Perhaps we shouldn’t have bought two packages.”

She rolls her eyes again as she opens the hot oven and places the tray inside, trading it for a batch of freshly baked treats. The smells wafts over her nose and fills his kitchen, making her mouth water.

“Please, I plan on eating so many of these that I give birth to a gingerbread baby,” she deadpans to him, pulling a cookie from the parchment and tossing it from one hand to another in hopes of cooling it down before hoisting herself onto the counter.

“That makes no sense, love. You just told me these are sugar cookies, why would you have gingerbread?”

“It’s a children’s book,” she says, grinning to him as she finally takes a bite, saying a quick goodbye to poor Rudolph.

He chuckles, rounding the corning so that he was standing between her knees and placing a hand against her waist. “Perhaps the little love will enjoy that story.”

She giggles—actually giggles—as she presses a soft kiss to his lips. God, she is so gone for him, it’s scary. “Perhaps.”

With his hand running up and down along her waist, finally landing on her ass, he pulls her to the edge of the counter so that she can feel the heat of him against her center through her leggings.

“We don’t have time to do this before the movie comes on,” she reminds him as his soft lips trail along the length of her neck.

“Hmm,” he hums, “perhaps not, but I think it may be worth it.”

She groans when he nips at her ear lobe, then traces the line of her pulse with his tongue. “After.”

He backs away slightly, letting out a sigh and pecking her on the tip of her nose. “As you wish, darling, but I hope you're prepared for what’s to come after this wonderful movie.”

“It’s called It’s a Wonderful Life, you don’t have to be sarcastic,” she says with a laugh, taking his hand and hopping off of the counter. He heads over to the couch and fetches her favorite throw blanket while she takes the last tray of cookies from the oven, then places the cooler ones on a plate and carries them to the couch.

“Sorry, love, I don’t want you to think I’m not happy to be here doing this with you. I’m honored that you wanted to celebrate with me.”

“Well,” she starts, plopping down next to him as he wraps the blanket around her tightly. “You are my baby daddy. I suppose there isn’t anyone else available who I’d rather spend my evening with.”

“Ah, so I’m the best available option, is that it?” he asks with a laugh, squeezing her tightly in his arms and pressing a firm and lingering kiss to her temple.

“Yes, well, my son is with his mother.”

“I’m only teasing, darling. I am truly glad to have you here this evening. And evidently, this film is a classic, or so my baby mama will have me believe.”

She turns her head, unable to move much in the security of his arms and draws her brows tightly together. “Where the hell did you hear that?”

“Our dear friend, Ruby,” he says as the commercial ends and the movie starts. “She asked me this morning how my baby mama was feeling today.”

“I never told her,” she mumbles.

“According to her, she’s very perceptive, and you're horrible at hiding it.”

“Shit.”

“The little peach will be able to hear us soon, Swan, if they can’t already; we may need to find new vocabulary.”

She scoffs, unsure of her ability to not swear, especially during labor and delivery, and turns her focus back onto the movie.

Killian seems to like it, and Emma assumes that it’s slightly easier for him to watch because of the lack of twenty-first century technology getting in his way. She’s always had a soft spot for the film, perhaps because she always hoped to find her family. She knew that she wouldn’t take advantage of it like George Bailey did.

He runs his hand up and down her arm when she cries at the end, kissing her temple and her ear. “That was sweet,” he says as the credits begin to roll.

“It was always my favorite. They based Bert and Ernie from Sesame Street on those characters, you know.”

“I don’t know what that means,” he whispers against her hair, and she feels another kiss against the crown of her head.

“You will in a year or two, trust me.” He chuckles and she turns in his arms so that she’s facing him. “I got you something.”

“You didn’t have to do that, Swan,” he argues, but she’s standing anyway, struggling slightly with her hips and back aching after sitting for so long. She heads for his coat closet and returns with a few wrapped rectangles, thrusting them towards him as she plops back down.

He looks to her before peeling the tape away from one of them, unwrapping them carefully and not even tearing the paper. It threatens to drive her insane, but it’s so painfully Killian.

When he finally removes the festive paper, he smiles at the sight of the book’s cover art. “Peter Pan, why the bloody hell would I want to read this,” he says jokingly through a laugh, hugging her into his side and kissing her cheek.

“It’s more of a gag gift, I thought you might want to learn about this world’s depiction of you. The others are probably going to be more enjoyable.” He opens the other two, revealing Treasure Island and Robinson Crusoe. “They're pirate books,” she explains. “There are movies you might like, too, but I thought you’d want to start with the books.”

“Aye, love, I’d love to. I look forward to reading them.” He kisses her softly, his tongue slipping along her bottom lip. “Thank you, love,” he nearly whispers, his voice rough and deep.

“It’s nothing,” she breathes out, overwhelmed by the gravel in his voice.

“It was a wonderful gesture,” he kisses her once more. “I got you something as well.”

She shakes her head, but he catches her jaw in his hand and kisses her again before standing and making his way to his bedroom. He returns quickly with a giftbag stuffed with tissue paper.

“Did you have help wrapping this?” she grins.

“Aye, Granny gave me a hand.”

She laughs at the picture in her head and takes the bag as he hands it to her. She removes some of the tissue and pulls out a maroon leather jacket, drawing a grin along her face. “I don’t have one in this color,” she points out, looking up at him and cocking her head to the side.

“There’s more in the bag, love.”

She looks down again, her attention being brought back to the gift bag as she digs her hand in deeper and feels more leather near the bottom. She pulls gently, expecting it to come out with more difficulty than it does. When she removes the item, she realizes it’s because she wasn’t tugging on a leather jacket made for a fully-grown woman.

What she pulls out of the bag instead is a tiny leather jacket, the same color as the one that was just gifted to her. A matching leather jacket for a matching tiny human.

“Killian,” she says, her grin somehow growing and her cheeks burning. “This is… this is so adorable.” She’s laughing as she holds the jacket up again, then she stands and holds it up against her tiny bump. “It’s perfect, look!”

He’s laughing now too, standing with her and placing his hand on her belly. “I’m glad you like it, love.”

“I do, I love it,” she says, nodding and looking up at him. Without thinking, she places the jacket back down on the couch and reaches her arms around his neck to link her hands in his hair, pulling him down to her for a soft kiss that eventually turns heated when his tongue runs along hers.

Before she knows it, her legs are around his waist and he’s carrying her out of the living room and down the hall before gently laying her down on his king-sized bed. It was certainly an improvement from his small bunk on the Jolly Roger, and if she thought she was sleeping well there, she had a new thing coming when she started sleeping here.

He trails his lips along her body, lifting her to remove her festive sweater and kiss along the cleavage peeking out of her bra. She lifts again, undoing the hooks for him and releasing her breasts for him to ravage before he trails his lips and teeth and tongue down to her belly, pressing soft and loving kisses along the slight swell of skin before reaching to remove her leggings.

His tongue dances along her clit for several moments before he adds two fingers, drawing her to her peak quickly as he sucks and nips at her sensitive skin. She tugs on his hair, begging him to meet her lips with his before he’s pulling his clothes off and sinking into her tenderly. His thrusts are gentle yet precise, and she’s nearly driven mad at the feel of his scruffy face dragging along the sensitive skin of her neck. He continues to drive into her, reaching his hand down to where they're joined to rub quick circles against her aching clit, drawing moans and screams from her parted lips as she finally flutters and clenches around his throbbing cock.

It’s as he finishes, his face buried into her neck just below her ear, his hand squeezing hers above her head as her other scratches marks into his back, that she hears it. His lips press against her neck as he lets out moans and words of encouragement before she hears him whisper, “I love you,” into her sensitive skin.

She’s in a post-coital daze, but she knows she doesn’t imagine it. She knows she heard it without a doubt in her mind, and although her breath catches and her body tenses, her heart still beating rapidly, she doesn’t pull away from him. She doesn’t try to run.

“Fuck,” he whispers, and she knows that he didn’t mean to let it slip. “I’m—” he starts, but he doesn’t seem to have anything to say.

“Killian,” she whispers, running her hands along his back and through his hair. “It’s alright.”

“I didn’t, uh,” he starts, perhaps suddenly realizing that he’s still inside her as he presses his body up from hers and reaches for the box of tissues by the bed. “I didn’t exactly mean to let that out just then.”

“I figured,” she says with a smile, accepting the tissue he hands her and cleaning herself up.

“It wasn’t exactly… how I’d planned to tell you. But… Emma, you must know that I meant it.”

Now she panics slightly, a bit surprised at herself for only becoming scared once she receives confirmation that this is, in fact, how he feels. “You did?”

“Aye, very much so. I realize that you may not be ready to say it back, which is why I wasn’t going to say it any time soon, but…” he trails off, still struggling to make eye contact with her, which she doesn’t mind. He takes the tissues from her and tosses them into the bin before taking a seat next to her. “I don’t expect you to say it back. But I need you to know that I meant it. And it’s not just because of the babe. He’s certainly helped to… solidify things… but how I feel is independent of this little bugger.”

She considers this. Considers saying something in response. It would be the emotionally mature thing to do, and she’s certainly been working on her emotional maturity lately. But she has no idea what to say, and now she’s starting to think about how she truly feels about him. About how he truly feels about her. Now, she’s starting to worry that she may love him too.

Is worry the right word?

Before she can say anything, she feels a soft flutter in her stomach, as if she’s the host to a flock butterflies and they're trying to take off. She immediately lets her eyes bug out, reaching down to her belly and pressing softly into it in hopes that she’ll feel more. “Killian,” she says, pulling on his hand and placing it under hers. It’s silly, she knows; he can’t feel anything yet. But she wants him to be a part of this. “I felt him.”

“He moved?” he asks with a smile thick in his voice.

“He was fluttering just a second ago,” she responds, grinning as she looks at him with tears in her eyes. “You won’t be able to feel it yet, but…”

“Aye,” he whispers, finally meeting her eyes with his glassy ones. He leans in to press another kiss to her lips before leaning down and kissing her belly. He whispers, “nice to hear from you, little one,” before kissing her skin again.

She laughs through her tears and squeezes his hand as it rests against their growing baby. She can’t bring herself to say anything to him yet. They haven’t even been together for very long, only about four months. Is that even enough time for someone to fall in love with someone else? With her?

She thinks of what Archie would say when she starts to doubt herself and whether she’s deserving of the love of another, using the skills he’s been teaching her to challenge her negative thoughts, then focuses back on her child and its father. Whether or not she thinks of herself as deserving of his love, or capable of loving him back, she sleeps soundly with the knowledge that she and Killian are both madly in love with the life they’ve created together.

~~~~

Emma Swan has never fully been able to relate to the term “like a kid on Christmas morning,” until she woke up on Christmas morning to Killian Jones with his head between her legs. That comparison may be slightly disturbed, but the feeling she’s experiencing now must be on par with how a child feels when they wake up to their dreams coming true.

He was determined to make this holiday season a good one for her, and so far, he’s off to a great start.

Her hips start to jolt upwards, and he reaches his hand up and places it gently on her belly to still her before he laces his fingers with hers. He continues to draw thick strips between her folds, the sounds coming from him absolutely sinister and drawing loud moans from her lips. His tongue zips from side to side over her clit before he starts sucking it into his mouth and releasing it with a pop, making her hips jump again.

Eventually, she drags their hands downward so that she can let go and lace her fingers through his hair once his own reach her opening and press inside. He doesn’t bother to tease her open with just one, seemingly able to read that she’s more than ready to take two of his thick fingers. He may regret letting go of her hips as she moves them with ferocity against his face and fingers, but it doesn’t seem like he minds as she feels the low buzz of his moans.

He makes her come so hard that, once she feels herself becoming lucid again, she starts laughing. It’s a soft chuckle at first, but then it morphs into uncontrollable hysterics until her eyes are watering and her face is red and hot. He starts laughing too, wiping his mouth and scooting himself up to her level to lie down and comb through the ends of her messy hair with his fingers.

“What’s funny, love?”

“I don’t know,” she laughs again. “I guess I was just thinking about what a nice Christmas present that was.” She’s laughed so hard now that she begins to cough, and he reaches towards the side of the bed and hands her a bottle of water.

“Glad you enjoyed,” he says with a smirk and a kiss to the tip of her nose as she hums out another laugh.

“I’m nervous,” she finally says once she’s settled down, sinking back into the thick comforter and into the warmth of his arms.

“For dinner? I thought things were better with your family now that you’ve spoken to your parents?”

She hums, nodding into his shoulder and turning onto her side, slotting her leg over his hips to hold onto him like a koala. “They are, but my mom invited Neal and Regina, plus Granny and Ruby. I get why—she wanted to make it feel like a true family dinner for Henry. But I still don’t really want to face Neal.”

He sighs, his blunted arm running gently along her bare back and his fingers tracing patterns into the back of her hand, and says, “you can still be upset, love. I’m not particularly fond of the idea myself, but you're right. It is a good idea for Henry’s sake.”

“You're always thinking about him,” she sighs, kissing his neck where she can reach it.

“Only because I’m always thinking about you.”

“Cheese,” she says, pinching the skin on his side, just above a rather nasty-looking scar.

Once they're showered and dressed festively, they head over to Mary Margaret and David’s loft for dinner. She never did understand the concept of calling it dinner, since they arrived at noon and they’ll likely eat at one-thirty, but she lets it slide. She’s realizing that there are a lot of things about Christmas that she doesn’t understand, but she’s trying to roll with it.

The loft is decorated to the nines, covered from floor to ceiling in red and gold. The tree is sitting in the corner by the stairs, and it’s so tall that it almost reaches the second level, and Emma wonders how on earth they got it up the stairs and through the door. It looks beautiful, as if it should be featured in a magazine that she sees at the dentist office.

Mary Margaret, dressed in a red and gold sweater and black skirt and covered with an apron that makes her look like an elf, rushes over to the door when they arrive and embraces the two of them in a warm hug. “I’m so happy to see you both!” she exclaims excitedly into Emma’s hair. She returns her hug with one arm, smiling despite herself.

“Me too,” Emma responds truthfully with a small squeeze.

“Killian, you look positively dashing in red,” she says to him, taking in his royal red vest and making his cheeks turn pink. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen him wear it, and when she found it in the closet and insisted that he put it on, he cringed and groaned and argued. But when he pulled it over his black button down, she grinned in a way that must have broken him down. “And look at you, Emma! You look so beautiful in emerald.”

“Thank you,” she says softly, pulling away and brushing down the front of her figure-hugging cowlneck dress and making her way towards the stool at the counter. “Where’s David?”

“Oh, he forgot to get the champagne yesterday, so I sent him out for it. I also asked him to get some sparkling cider for you, Emma, so you can be part of the toast.”

She laughs lightly, feeling Killian’s arm resting along the top of her shoulders and his body sliding to her left. “Thanks.”

Her father comes home, giving her a tight hug and shaking Killian’s hand before wishing them both a Merry Christmas. When Henry finally arrives with Regina, she grins at the outfit she has him in. He’s wearing a black three-piece suit with an emerald tie that perfectly matches Emma’s sweater dress, and she couldn’t have planned something better. “Hey kid,” she says, reaching out to him for a tight hug.

“Hi mom,” he says into her shoulder. “Merry Christmas.”

They separate a bit, and she takes his face in her hands and looks at him lovingly before reaching up to gently feel his gel-cast hair and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. He looks like a tiny gentleman and her hormonal heart can’t handle it. “You look so handsome, Henry.”

He puts his arms out at his side and spins. “Thanks. Do you like my new suit? My dad helped pick it out.”

Ugh, she thinks, before shoving the thought to the back of her mind for the sake of her son. “He did great.”

“And look, the tie matches you!”

She nods back at him with a grin before kissing his forehead once more and releasing him, determined not to press her luck with the amount of affection he allows her to show. He is nearly a pre-teen, after all.

Plus, soon enough, she’ll have another kid to dote over.

She grins at that thought.

Ruby and Granny arrive soon after, both giving her a hug. Granny surprisingly hugs Killian first, although he doesn’t seem that taken aback by the gesture, then comes to Emma and runs a hand over her belly briefly and shooting her a sweet smile. It’s as if the world has shifted on its axis.

Regina walks over to her, much to her continued surprise, and wishes her a Merry Christmas. She thanks Emma for letting Henry spend the night at her house, telling her that he had a great time eating sweets and watching Elf, and that he was very excited to come down the stairs to presents under the tree this morning. “Well, I suppose that congratulations are in order,” she says somewhat awkwardly, finally making eye contact with Killian before turning back to Emma and glancing down for a moment.

“Oh,” Emma says in surprise. “You heard.”

“Henry told me.” Emma almost makes a snarky comment about being surprised that Neal didn’t spill the beans. “You should know that he’s veryexcited.”

Emma smiles and Killian squeezes her knee as if to say I told you so, Swan. “He is?”

“Oh, yes. He thinks that he’s going to have a baby sister.”

Emma feels a grin splitting her face at that, and suddenly feels overwhelmed by the image of Henry holding a tiny pink bundle, leaning down to kiss her nose, talking to her about magic and curses and fairy tales. “Thank you,” she says after a moment. “That’s… very comforting.”

“Yes, well…” Regina trails off, stiffening again and pursing her red-stained lips. “Best wishes to you both.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Killian says diplomatically.

When Neal arrives, Emma wishes she could indulge in some champagne like the rest of the adults in the room.

Watching him with Henry is reassuring, at least. He’s proven himself to be a fairly devoted father, now that he’s in his son’s life, and she knows that she can’t hold their past over his head forever. She also knows that she isn’t ready to fully forgive him yet, but she can put their history to the side for the sake of their son… today.

At least, that’s what she had hoped, until he came up to her and put his hand on her shoulder, making her flinch. “Hey, Ems,” he says, miraculously able to read her body language and removing his hand.

“Hey.”

“Merry Christmas.”

“Yeah, thanks. You too.” She glances down at her flute of cider, wishing again that she could magically turn it into champagne to take some of the edge off.

“You look great.” She sighs, fighting the urge to roll her eyes, and instead doesn’t give him a response. “Emma, look. Since the pirate seems to finally be out of earshot, I wanted to come over and talk to you.”

She feels the heat of anger burning through her veins, her eye twitching and her fingers clenching firmly on her glass at his judgmental remark. “You're not off to a great start,” she says stiffly.

“Sorry, that was rude, I guess. What I meant was, I wanted to talk to you privately.”

“Okay,” she says tentatively. “What is it?”

He takes in a breath and lets it out roughly, taking a seat in the empty stool to her right. “I wanted to apologize. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I realized how stupid and selfish I was of me to go to you like I did. And for me to assume that the baby was mine. Like, that was really stupid.”

“Yeah, it was,” she agrees, not feeling like sugarcoating it. He’s right, it was stupid and selfish. Like, extremely stupid.

He laughs lightly, which only serves to piss her off more, and continues. “I guess I just got really jealous. I thought you and I could have worked out eventually, and he said he’s back off. I mean, we have a kid together,” he says with a laugh.

“Right, we do, and that’s great. But now I’m having a kid with someone else and you and I are over. We’ve been over for twelve years.”

“Yeah. I know that now. I'm sorry, Ems.”

She nods, still struggling to look him in the eye. It’s not exactly what she wanted to hear from him, but she supposes it’s a start. “I appreciate your apology, Neal, but I’m still gonna need some time. I can’t just forget about everything overnight.”

“I know, I know. Take your time. Just know that I’m here for you and Henry for whatever either of you need.”

She wants to roll her eyes. What could she possibly need from him? Henry, sure. She’s glad that he wants to be there for him. But her? He’s just being pompous. He’s probably expecting Killian to walk out on her the same way he did.

“Hey, are your parents okay? They seem kind of off today.”

She almost smiles, but fights it back, not wanting to be petty on Christmas. “They seem fine to me.”

“Well, I don’t know why it would just be me.”

Screw it, she thinks. “Maybe it’s because I told them about what happened between us.”

“Well, your mom knows I thought the baby was mine.”

“Not that,” she says, and she does roll her eyes this time. The idea that he genuinely thought that this baby could have been his still astounds her, the idiot. “I told them about what happened before. You know, when you left me pregnant in jail for your crime.”

“You did what?” he hisses.

“Oh, I told them what happened.”

“Why? You know I didn’t have a choice!”

She hums, still looking down at her hands and trying hard to fight the smile. “If you didn’t have a choice, then there shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

“You're still making me look bad to my kid’s grandparents,” he spits out in a low tone.

“Oh, I’m making you look bad?” He’s triggered something in her now, making her whip her head in his direction and raise her voice just a touch too high. “It’s just like I said. If you didn’t have a choice, then your conscience should be clear. Doesn’t that mean you did nothing wrong?”

Before he has a chance to respond, Mary Margaret calls everyone to the table. She certainly would have continued to argue with him, but she keeps the spirit of Christmas alive in her mind.

Unlike the last time the entire family was sat around this table, her assigned seat is next to Killian’s. She also has Henry on her right, so she thinks she couldn’t be more pleased with the arrangement until Neal takes his seat across from her. It’s alright, though, she’s focusing on a positive attitude today, for the sake of their son.

“Before we begin,” David says, standing up once everyone has found their seats. “I wanted to propose a toast. Firstly, to Henry, for spending his first Christmas with his family, sans curse. The same could be said for Emma as well,” he lifts his glass and everyone at the table does the same, murmuring in agreement and passing around smiles. “I also wanted to say a thank you to my lovely wife, Snow, for graciously hosting this dinner for our family.” More murmurs and raised glasses. “And I believe she has something to say here as well?”

Mary Margaret stands now, holding her glass but not raising it quite yet, and each person at the table turns to face her. “Thank you, honey. I wanted to say a few words to Emma and Killian.” In surprise, Emma purses her lips and cocks up an eyebrow. “As I believe everyone here is aware, the two of them are expecting a baby in the middle of June.” She sees Ruby and Granny smirking at her from across the table. “When I first heard the news, I was surprised, and I didn’t handle it very well.” Mary Margaret is looking squarely at the two of them, and Emma thinks she can see her eyes glassing over as she speaks. “I wanted to say, to my daughter, I feel so much joy when I think about you having another child. I’m so sorry that my response at first wasn’t anywhere near what it should have been, especially coming from your mother. Now that I’ve gotten over the shock, I hope to support you in any way that I can. I cannot wait to meet my grandbaby and to see you as a mother again.” Emma’s eyes sting now as she smiles up at her.

“And to Hook…” she swallows, clearing her throat before continuing. “To Killian, thank you. I can see clearly now the way that you treat our daughter—like the princess that she is.” She chuckles a bit before continuing. “This pregnancy may not have been planned in the slightest, but the amount of love and respect you have for Emma is palpable each time I see the two of you together.” She smiles at each of them before going on. “I also wanted to apologize to him. David and I were not exactly accepting of him when we first heard the news, myself especially. But, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my life, it’s that everyone deserves a second chance. And if there’s one person I know who has proven himself deserving of a second chance, it’s you. If the way that you treat my daughter is any indication, you will be a wonderful father.” She’s looking directly at him when she raises her glass, adorning him with a soft grin as a tear slips from her eye. Emma squeezes his knee this time, feeling the tears burning her eyes and heating up her cheeks as they fall.

“To Emma and Killian,” David takes over. “May their baby be healthy and happy, wanting for nothing.” Each person at the table brings their glasses to the center, clinking them together and giving her and Killian soft smiles. She doesn’t bother to look in Neal’s direction. “Now, let’s eat!”

~~~~

The weeks fly by, the new year coming and going, and before they know it, it’s the middle of January and Emma is twenty weeks pregnant. Killian was right when he said she would start to show soon—her belly has grown into a formidable bump, and the two of them can’t seem to stop themselves from touching it whenever they can.

She really needs him to stop touching it now, though, because she knows the ultrasound technician will be in any moment and she doesn’t want them to walk in on him tickling her like he is now.

Her symptoms have been relatively easy since starting the second trimester, the worst of them being the cramps she gets in her legs and her near debilitating heartburn. She remembers the heartburn from her pregnancy with Henry, but the muscle cramps are worse than she can recall. She’s been dealing with heartburn by eating small meals pretty frequently, and she finds herself to be hungry very frequently now that her horrible morning sickness is finally at bay. According to Killian's applications, she's gained a healthy amount of weight so far.

The anatomy scan is important and exciting, though they still haven’t decided if they want to know the sex. She’s looking forward to seeing the baby again and learning about its growth and development, hopeful that everything is going as it should. They’ve had many conversations back and forth, but they can’t seem to come to a conclusion on whether they should find out what, or who, she’s carrying.

They both sort of suspect that she’s having a boy, although they have absolutely no reasoning behind their thoughts. Henry is convinced that he’s going to have a baby sister, and she’s considering finding out just for him.

When the sonographer arrives, Killian sits back, finally moving to stop annoying her. She greets them happily, asks how things are going, and reaches for the cold gel before applying it to her bare bump. She scans the wand over her belly, showing them the baby’s face and body and organs as she notes things down and takes measurements. The process is a long one, and it seems to take hours of rubbing and pressing and Emma turning from side to side before she finally gets all of the information she needs.

“I can see the sex of your baby— very easily. This little one is not very shy! Are you two interested in knowing what you're having?”

They look at each other and she shrugs and smiles. She genuinely doesn’t know, and now that it’s time to come to a decision, she can’t see to make one.

“If you’re having trouble deciding, I can write it on a piece of paper and seal it in an envelope.”

Killian laughs and squeezes her hand, looking back over to the screen at the baby’s round face and perfectly sloped nose. “I like that idea, love,” he says to her, and she nods.

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

Once they're home—or should she say, back at Killian’s place— she takes the yellow envelope from her pocket and places it on the kitchen table. Maybe they’ll have some elaborate announcement or maybe she’ll just rip the envelope open one day, unable to wait any longer. Whatever they decide, she knows it’ll be perfect.

~~~~

Tagging:

@courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @profdanglaisstuff @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook

#Always By Your Side #it's about bloody time #captain swan #captain swan fanfic #captain swan smut #cs ff #cs smut #captain hook #killian jones #emma swan #season 3 divergence #canon divergence #neverland smut #or the aftermath of neverland smut #anti neal #anti baelfire #anti swanfire #it's christmas yall #my writing

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writeblrfantasy · 3 years

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a king and his knight 2 | part 3

string acquired, the knights staked out the entrance to the underground tunnels. the woman said it’d make no difference whether they went in at night or day, it’d be equally dark. they’d bought some candles and matches at the rest stop nearby, but those could only do so much. the string was their savior.

the knight volunteered to go first while the female knight kept watch above ground. she agreed. the knight had to steel himself going into the dark opening, but the thought of reward and saving that queen and the tower spurred him on. the tunnels were short, and he had to duck his head, but he breathed through his hatred of the cramped space and kept his eyes on the dim candlelight in front of him.

he heard nothing save the sound of his own feet, which was unnerving at best. he kept looking over his shoulder. some brave knight he was supposed to be. what would his king think of him now?

a loud sound next to him made him jump, but it was just the woman with a candle of her own. she rolled her eyes.

“what are you doing here?” he sighed, clutching his chest over his armor.

“i couldn’t stay out there. it feels vulnerable. we shouldn’t split up. and...” she paused, but the knight could read her thoughts easily enough. she wanted to be the one to save her queen. “my queen will trust me more than you,” she said aloud, a thin excuse, but the knight nodded and walked on.

they peered around every corner, expecting the man who’d laid the curse to jump out at any moment. his not showing up made them more nervous than if he had. the tunnels eventually came to an end at the front of a large, old, dirty wooden door that took both of them to force open. it was too dark to see into until they brought their candles, where they found a dark skinned woman tied to a chair in front of a dusty wooden table, apparently asleep or unconscious.

the knight stepped out of his companion’s way to let her tend to her queen and comfort herself, while he scanned the room for danger. out of the shadows lunged a man, and the knight was on the ground and pinned down before he knew what was happening.

his companion was there in a moment, but the knight saw the dark gleam in the man’s eyes and choked out, “don’t, stay away.”

the queen, now apparently awake, said, “yes, stay away, he wants to kill you so that he can have full control of the tower. he won’t until you’re dead. stay awake, please. i can’t lose you.”

“i won’t step back like a coward while what’s mine is stolen from me,” the woman knight growled, and the knight on the ground wondered, does she mean the queen or the tower?

“everyone stop!” the man yelled. in a flash he’d crossed to the table, where he now had his hands around the queen’s neck. he had no blade, but the knight doubted he needed one. the queen bore it grimly, hard determination in the frown on her face. her eyes were locked on the woman knight. for the first time, the knight could get a good look at the queen. she looked bedraggled and messy in every way, but powerful, as beautiful as the woman had described. beautiful, but fierce, and she would not die without a fight.

the knight saw the look on his companion’s face: pure relief at seeing her queen alive and relatively unharmed again, like she wanted to freeze time to give herself a moment to take this in. also understandable terror, and guilt at not being here sooner.

“give yourself over to me,” the curser said to the woman, “and i’ll let you die with your queen. stand there, and she dies anyway.”

“no one’s dying today but you,” the knight said, drawing his sword, back on his feet. but they were all in a stalemate. everyone was afraid of moving, it might mean the end of a life. it was the queen who broke the stillness and kicked backwards behind the chair she sat in, surprising her captor enough for the knight to leap forward. he could tell it was killing his companion to stay back, but he didn’t want her coming anywhere near this man. he kept one arm out to keep her back as he and the queen held the man’s wrists. hopefully without them he couldn’t do much.

the knight glanced back at his companion, motioning the queen toward her, towards safety, which was a mistake. she let go of their captor’s wrists, and the knight had loosened his grip a bit too much when he’s felt how strong the queen’s was. the man managed to twist his wrist and get him down on the ground, sending white hot pain shooting up his arm. it wasn’t broken yet, though. he gasped, “go, save yourselves. i can fight him. neither of you should die.”

the fight would be a hard one, but he was sure he could win it. he couldn’t lose. he couldn’t leave his king alone, without protection. he didn’t trust any soul in the world but himself to that duty.

he could tell that the other knight thought about it, if only for a second, but he also knew that it would be a hard thing to convince her of. it wasn’t in good knight blood to leave someone behind, especially someone who had helped or saved you. the best knights didn’t need a reason to save someone.

but our knight really didn’t want to watch this woman, this good woman, lose her life, and watch her queen have to watch it too.

as the other knight inevitably lunged forward to attack the man who’d cursed her, the knight grimaced, going to position himself so that she couldn’t be hurt, but a knife flew through the air before anyone could see it coming, with incredible precision. the knights turned away from the curse man, now dying with a knife in his neck, to stare at the queen, who was lowering her filthy and tattered skirts. the knight caught a glimpse of a garter.

“i’ve been too afraid to use it until now,” she said in answer to her knight’s silent question. “i didn’t know if he had some sort of spell on you. i didn’t want to risk it if he somehow survived or died too slowly.”

anger and confusion and exasperation flashed over her knight’s face, but she just shook her head. “let’s get out of here. i hate this place. are you hurt?”

“no, just weak,” the queen said, though how anyone could be considered weak and throw like that... “who’s your friend?”

the female knight told their story as she helped the queen out of the room and into the tunnels. the knight walked slowly ahead of them, carrying both candles. he saw the way the knight touched her queen wherever she could reach, how her hungry eyes roved over every inch of skin, searching for wounds and bruises and finding only dirt. once they were out, she promised the queen a hot bath and a hot meal. where they were going to get those, the knight had no idea, as the tower was almost a day’s trek away, but he thought the knight was just trying to make things up to her by promising luxuries. he saw his own behavior mirrored in everything she did.

he felt sorry for her as his thoughts turned to his own king, and he dearly hoped that the queen returned her knight’s feelings. she was good enough at hiding her emotions that the knight couldn’t figure out how she felt to be reunited with her knight, but she kept a hand over the knight’s hand that was resting on her shoulder the whole awful walk through the tunnels.

finally they were in fresh air again, and the knight offered to jog alongside his horse so the two of them could share it, but his companion knight insisted she’d go ahead and search for danger. here was the first difference in their behavior over being in love with monarchs. the knight wouldn’t want to let go of his king for a moment. he diligently rode while the queen placed her hot hands lightly on his waist.

“tell me something,” the queen said in a strong, clear voice that gave no hints of her imprisonment. “she said you two have been together several days, exchange stories. you’re the famous knight who fell ass over heels in love with his king and by some miracle got his feelings returned. is her story the same?”

the knight paused. “that is not for me to say,” he said, knowing he’d answered her anyway with his hesitation.

“you have not broken any honorable code,” the queen assured him, but he could hear the smile in her voice. the pressure in his chest lightened a bit. he wanted to see them happy, but the ache in his chest that came from missing his king had turned into more than something he could ignore, it was constant, every moment. it wasn’t quite panic yet, but he felt alone and cold and hollow even around the hot campfire with nice company that night.

the knight offered to take them both back to his kingdom, since it was closer than the queen’s and had more to offer their recovery than the tower did. the knight’s leg wound wasn’t infected, but it needed proper medicine. he thought of the king’s chilly fingers dressing his wound because, like the knight’s protectiveness, the king didn’t trust anyone else to tend to him. he’d get a kiss on the cheek that would supposedly be to make him feel better. the knight closed his eyes, and for a moment, he was there.

“we’ll leave first thing in the morning,” the female knight said, which were some of the best words the knight had ever heard. “after we stop by the tower so i can give you your reward.”

oh. the knight had forgotten all about that.

(cont’d because this is long and i don’t wanna clog up your dash)

the castle coming into view was the most beautiful thing the knight had seen all week. well, that was, until he caught sight of a certain someone in the courtyard.

he saw a blue cloak pushed back and gray sleeves rolled up in the summer heat, an irritated hand reaching up to fix the crown that wouldn’t stay put, pushing the hair that the wind was blowing into his eyes away. he was scowling about something, snapping at a pair of people in front of him. his voice carried across the yard, making the knight’s chest pulse.

the knight lost control of his limbs before he even knew what he was doing, he leapt off of his horse before it’d stopped moving. the king must’ve heard his boots clicking rapidly on the cobblestone, as he turned. his eyes widened and a beautiful smile lit up his face and eyes. he began sprinting the rest of the way toward toward the knight.

they collided with a force that nearly knocked them over, if not for the knight’s strength to keep them upright. the king had taken a running leap into his arms, arms around his neck, and the knight held him bone-crushingly tight, savoring the smell and feel and chill of him after what felt like forever. the king was laughing, delighted, into his neck, and placing little kisses wherever he could reach, hands roaming over the knight’s armor, trying to work their way underneath. the knight leaned on his good leg, knowing this would kill his bad one, but not about to let the king down. he’d been dreaming of this all week, and he would milk every second of it.

reputation and decorum and his own shyness be damned, the knight kissed the king in the square with his companions, those people, and a carriage full of riches waiting behind him. the king didn’t seem to care and kissed him as if they were alone. the knight felt every bit of his reputation as a whipped, lovesick fool, but he didn’t care one bit.

he whispered, “i missed you,” and the king squeezed him, rocking them a bit. the knight finally found the sense to regain some dignity and set him down, straightening his clothes, attempting to appear casual.

“you’ve brought friends?” the king said, finally tearing his eyes away from the knight. it was good he hadn’t noticed his injury yet, the knight would never hear of another thing all day.

the knight introduced them as the other knight dismounted and helped her queen down from her horse. the king welcomed them to his kingdom and promised they could stay as long as they wished. the other knight was kind enough not to say anything aloud about the king and knight’s reunion, but the knight saw her smirk and the mischief in her eyes.

the king finally noticed the carriage the knight’s horse had been pulling and turned a knowing smile on the knight. he brought his guests inside to get the care and attention they needed, and then he noticed the knight’s limp and began fussing in outrage. the knight didn’t attempt to hide his grin, he was so relieved to be home, surrounded by his king’s presence and affection. he’d never get tired of the way he could just interrupt the king’s worried tirade with a kiss that made him forget he’d ever been mad.

hours later, with his leg tended to, the knight knelt at his king’s feet, remembering all the times he’d done so. his devotion hadn’t eased with time. he took the king’s hand, looking at the floor of the throne room, feeling the eyes of all on him. “my king, my love, i bring you the fruits of my labors, humble gifts. my toils were all in your honor, with you in my thoughts.” they weren’t humble, he was endlessly proud to be giving the king such things, and he could feel pride dripping off the king, but he could pretend.

he presented the chest of gold, which was useful, but he knew the king wouldn’t care about it as much as the lovely jewelry, soft silks, ornate pens and thick paper, fine cloaks and carved wooden boxes. the other knight had been exceedingly generous.

the king stared down at it all in seeming shock. it took him a long while to find his words. “you have my eternal gratitude for putting yourself at risk for my sake, and for bringing me such wonderful things.”

love poured from the king’s eyes when he took hold of the knight’s chin and forced his head up. he was smiling, never widely, but close-mouthed and small in his private way, just for the knight.

the knight rose to his feet, and the room clapped. the knight had set out to prove to others that his devotion was deserved, but he’d returned with so much more. the queen and her knight were looking like their old glorious selves again, smiling and clapping for him. the knight smiled at his companion, gratitude in his eyes.

the knights and monarchs spent a week together, resting, bonding, the knights sparring while the monarchs watched them. but the knight could tell the ladies were anxious to get back to their own kingdom, the tower, their people, and he hadn’t seen anything to suggest the two had sorted through their feelings yet. the two decided to head back.

the knight got more emotional saying goodbye to them than he’d ever thought he would. “thank you for everything,” she said as they stood in the courtyard, in front of a carriage that would escort the queen back, with a horse for the knight. she wrapped her arms around the knight’s back. “if ever you have need of anything, don’t hesitate to contact me. i will be there for you. you are welcome at my tower anytime.”

the knight thanked her and sent them on their way, smiling. the king waved after them. the knight was utterly content to be home, the king in his arms, safe, rambling endlessly about how he planned to use the riches the knight had brought back. the knight still felt like he’d burst from the king’s love, and still had to remind himself that his love was returned. he felt like the luckiest, greediest person in the world. all he wished was for his knight friend to meet the same fate with her queen.

the king was his only weak spot, the person he’d do anything for in the world. he didn’t know if he had the willpower, let alone the desire, to leave the king again for a mission such as this. he was perfectly happy to stay home, a spoiled knight captain king’s bedwarmer. he couldn’t imagine a place he’d be happier.

for now, he led the king back inside by the hand, out of the heat. back home.

shorts taglist: @magic-is-something-we-create @lunarmoment @missingpeace

and that’s that!! this has been insanely fun to write, again. i might write part 2 of the savior/poor story next, or i might write the start of the ladies’ tale, because believe me, it’s coming. i’m planning on making a little book of stories from this universe, i don’t think i could let it go easily haha

#writing #writing shorts #lgbt writing shorts #writeblr #fantasy writeblr #my writing #fantasy writing #lila's short stories

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boywivlove · 4 years

Text

| Please Don't Go |

Kim Seokjin x Reader

Summary | You and were partners in the Police force, and soon became romantic with each other. After investigating a murder you are gunned down during an on foot pursuit. Not knowing if you will pull through, Jin stays by your side in the hospital, not knowing if he will ever get an answer to questions left unsaid.

Warnings | swearing , blood, descriptions of violence, fatal injuries.

AN | This is my fic for the `April Showers Bring May Flowers` collaboration with @bangtanscenery I hope you enjoy it! I based the concept on the song `Please Don't Go` by Joel Adams listen to it if you can its a great song <3 Please enjoy and lemme know what you think!!

There was no doubt in your mind that joining the Seoul Police Force was the job for you. You had always been set on becoming a cop like your father, he was the greatest man you knew, and when he died on duty, you made a promise to yourself you would become a great cop. After months of hard work, you graduated from the police academy, finally reaching your dream.

Your partner, Kim Seokjin, had graduated from the academy four years before you, and you hung to his every word as he showed you the ropes. Jin was a great partner, his arrest record was one of the highest in the precinct, and his face wasn't bad to look at either. He was professional as he could be with his work, but he had a jovial charm that made him approachable. He always had a cheesy dad joke ready for when you would see each other at the office, and each time, he would crack you up. The best thing about your friendship is the nickname he gave you, sunflower, he knew you loved the colour yellow, and You guess it just stuck. Every greeting to you was followed with `Sunflower`

`Good morning Sunflower`

`Gloomy weather we're having Sunflower`

`Coffee? Sunflower`

You never caught on, but Jin was starting to fall for you, outside of work when the district officers would go for drinks or a meal, Jin always sat next to you, banter was always exchanged and aside from work you had a great deal in common. He wanted to keep it professional, he knew how distracting office relationships were, but it happened, he fell for you. He fought off his feelings for as long as he could, but seeing your smiling face greet him everyday at work got him.

He didn't even know if you felt the same, you never hinted that you wanted anything more than friendship from him, and on several occasions, you voiced how you couldn't see how office romances work out, either romantically or professionally. Jin had to agree, especially in the police force, there was too much to factor in, but he threw caution to the wind.

Jin had turned up at your apartment at 10pm, which you immediately thought was strange, social calls at night were not usually Jin's thing. But as you greeted your friend you were surprised by the bouquet of sunflowers, and his out of breath ramblings to you

` if I don't try, I'll never know… I don't know if this will work with us, but, i want to try…`

And the rest was history. Two years later and you and Jin were still going strong,

To say you were stressed is an overstatement. You haven't eaten all day, working on this case was the most important task in your eyes. Jungkook had to eventually drag you from your desk and take you out to a diner to your objection, only relenting when it was agreed to bring your paperwork along. The whole force was still grieving and doing their best. But you felt a personal grievance in this particular case. It had all started a few weeks ago, There had been a string of murders in the area, and the police were on the hunt for a suspected serial killer. It seemed the suspects M.O was targeted at doctors, nurses and emergency responders. Whoever this killer was, it seemed he had not planned these murders, all spur of the moments, possibly driven by a grievance, feeling wronged in some way by the people working in medical care. This killer had the same method of killing, gunning their victim down in a moment of opportunity, but after they had killed the victim, the killer gave one more bullet, an execution style shot to the head.

The personal connection she had in this case was felt by the whole force. The murderer had changed his M.O, and gunned down a police officer who was working the case. Officer Kim Taehyung graduated from the academy with you and a few other officers on the squad.You had been close with Taehyung, you introduced him to his wife Seol, and he had teased you about Jin's sunflower nickname for you. He was a great cop, and a great husband. He and Seol had just welcomed their first child, a little boy, Kim Sung Jae. Now, Tehyung will never see his son grow up, and Sung Jae will never get to know his father. Your heart broke for the boy, as you yourself know what it's like to grow up without your father.

You and Jungkook had spent hours at the diner, and the paperwork was finally done, now you were nursing a coffee when Jungkook decided to ask about Jin, honestly since taehyung's death, you'd barely seen him, he and Namjoon had been moved to the night shift weeks prior to work on different cases and fill out paperwork, and with you and Jungkook on day shift, you barely get time with him. You knew he had not been sleeping well either, he and Taehyung had gotten close after you had both started dating, and he had taken his sudden death just as badly as you had.

“ Im sorry for your loss Y/n, I didn't know Taehyung that well, but he was a great officer.”

“Yeah, I just hate that he will never see Sung Jae grow up, I know what it's like to lose your father in duty…”

You sighed and sipped on the now cold coffee, it was just as sad and bitter like this whole situation. Lost in thought you didn't register Jungkook taking your hand in his, a firm grip reassuring you slightly.

“We will catch this guy Y/N,”

The way Jungkook said it with such conviction moved you, he was a good kid. Jungkook was one of the youngest officers on the squad, and to you he became something like a younger brother

.“I know we will, we have to.”

With the paperwork done and the coffee now ice cold, you and Jungkook left the diner and headed to your squad car, you wondered how Jin was holding up. You didn't want to make an issue out of nothing, but recently, Jin was acting odd. The grief and working late was one thing, but it was like he was trying to hide something from you, and it made you slightly worry.

You find yourself coming out thinking about him, you barely registered Jungkook pulling you down behind the passenger side door as the window shattered into pieces falling onto you both.

You snapped out of your inner thoughts, another loud noise making its way into your ears. A gunshot. Jungkook radios for backup as he notes that shots have been fired in the area, you look towards the back street of the diner, seeing a shadowy figure with its gun pointed at you, and as you draw your gun your partner lets out a shot of his own. The shadowy figure doesn't seem phased and lets off another round of shots towards you both before his gun clicks, signally it's empty. You see the figure make a run for it towards the main street. You were sure, more sure than anything in your career as a cop, that this was the guy you were looking for. The guy who killed Taehyung. Not wanting to let him get away, you and Jungkook speed off after the culprit, radioing once again to update the situation.

“ This is officer Jeon, requesting back up….shots fired …..were in pursuit of the culprit approximately five foot male grey hoodie, black jeans…”

You ran ahead of Jungkook, ramming through pedestrians and across the busy roads, he was not about to get away, not after all the pain he's caused people. You see him duck into an alleyway and you quickly run after him, your gun aimed and ready to shoot should he not surrender peacefully. Your eyes were looking over every little detail, the alley led out to the back streets of the high street, he couldn't have run straight though, the alley being lengthy and blocked by rather large dumpsters. You cautiously made your way forward. You could hear your rapid pulse in your head, every beat getting louder and louder. You scanned ahead and while making your way forward, you heard it, the sound of a can being kicked across the floor. Coming from behind you.

You turned quickly and then you felt something heavy connect with the side of your head. Your vision flashed with white as you fell disoriented to the ground, The perp had hit you with a brick, the corner covered in blood as he dropped it to the ground, you could feel the warm sticky liquid start to run down your head and seep into the collar of your shirt. You could see double, the alleyway swaying as the perp made his way to where you had dropped to the floor. You felt the wind go out of your lungs as he landed a sharp kick to your stomach. The pain and the force of the kick only seemed to magnify the harsh vibrations your head wound was giving you. You tried to reach for your gun, which had dropped after the blow to your head, but the perp was faster. He seemed to toy with the idea of what to do, looking at the gun with his head tilted to the side.

You had never felt this scared in your whole career. Risking your life was just a part of the job, but the pain you felt was frightening. You felt as though you were staring into the abyss when he looked you in the eyes. His black orbs seemed to stare through to your core, seeing every part off you, and when he registered your fear. He didn't even seem to relish it as you thought he would. If you weren't so disoriented, you would think that maybe this was why he killed his victims with a shot to the head, simple and quick. This was rushed and sloppy for him. A shot rang out. The warm feeling in the side of your head had spread to your abdomen. Looking down, you see the pool of red that surrounds you, the metallic taste in your mouth was stronger, it was getting harder and harder for you to breathe. you stay awake just long enough to see the perp aim his gun at someone making their way into the alley.

Jungkook, finally caught up with you, let out three gunshots, killing the perp on the shot. The commotion from the main streets starting to zone in on the gunshots, Jungkook rushes to check you over, your pulse faint, and your skin cold to the touch. His jacket is pressed into your stomach, trying to stem the blood that was covering you from the waist down. You could faintly hear him screaming at the radio com for the EMTs to get here.

Four weeks, it had been four weeks since Jin's whole world stopped. He hadn't slept, shaved, or had a decent meal in two weeks. How could he? He was almost certain his heart had stopped beating the moment he got the news.

He had been making his way to work when he got the call, the captain, he had been vague, asking him to come to the hospital, but he knew, he knew it had something to do with you. He hadn't heard from you all day. But recently, that was the norm. This case had everyone on edge and overtime was greatly needed. The only time Jin saw you that wasn't in passing was when you were heading out and he was coming home, and vice versa. He had also been avoiding you for a reason. He didn't want you to find out during all this, he had wanted to wait for the right moment, not wanting to spring this on you on top of grieving and working overtime. Jin had met Jungkook at the reception, his shirt was stained red, his usual black work blazer was missing from his usual attire, he knew. Jin knew the moment he was Jungkook that something bad had happened to you.

“Doctor please. How is she!? Is she alright? No one will say anything to me…” He was desperate to know, but Jungkook was silent, his face seemed to be like marble, threatening to crack.

The doctors eventually got Jin alone, away from the busy hallways of the intensive care unit. Jin felt his whole world crash, his sun dropping from the sky like a led balloon.

“The shots perforated her stomach and penetrated the large and smaller intestines… we resected what we could… but the damage was severe…her head injury had caused slight swelling on the brain and has caused her to enter a comatose state...mr Kim… I'll be frank. With this amount of damage...there's a slim chance of her pulling through..but..”

“But what…”

“You might want to get in contact with her family, let them know she may not wake up”

He made his way to his destination, the light from the early sunset had illuminated the hall in a warm amber glow, he bathed in its warmth for a moment, the feeling of the sun on his skin felt like a hug from you.

The soft, yellow, warmth. It was you.

He came to the same place he'd been coming to for weeks, the flowers he had placed days ago had wilted, the petals dry and falling to the floor.

Sunflowers. Your favourite.

He replaced the dead flowers with new freshly cut ones, disposing of the old ones in the waste bin. Jin then sat down and looked out of the window. The same soft amber glow from the hallway had made its way inside the room.

His mind replayed the moment he first walked into this room. The hurt and anguish still stained on his memory.

You had looked so broken. Your pale skin, the needles that stuck out of you from the I.V, the bandages. It was so hard for Jin not to break down right there on the floor.

It had been four weeks since you were brought to the intensive care unit. And Jin had been given leave to get himself together while you tried to pull through. You had stabilised, but you still remained in the coma. Jin had to take that with a grain of salt. You were fighting, and that's all he asked for. There was so much he still wanted to say to you. So many moments you and he had yet to go though. Jin had to hold onto those yet to be moments, as a reminder everyday that you were fighting to come back to him.

“Hey sunflower, I brought you some more, the last ones had started to wilt again, I got you a bigger bouquet this time, thought i'd make up for how fast you go through them…”

Jin sat beside you, his hand takes yours in his, stroking your knuckles slowly. He brought your hand up to his face as he traced kisses over each knuckle, and then your palm. He would give anything to hold you properly. He would give anything to see your beautiful eyes shine in the light again. His breathing hitched as he trained himself not to cry.

“Love, I know you're fighting, and I know you can hear me. But I need you to fight more. I have so much I have to say to you. I should have asked you a year ago when I bought this, but I could never find the perfect moment.”

Jin looked to the bedside table, the velvet box sat next to the sunflowers, and he kissed your fingers one by one.

“I promise, I will ask you the moment you wake up. Just come back to me Y/N, please.”

“Please don't go.”

#bangtanscenerycollab #bangtanscenery #ficswithluv #hyunglinenetwork #btsbookclub #armysource #bangtanarmynet #bts #bts audio #bts fanfic #bts fic #kim seokjin #kim seokjin au #kim seokjin fic #kim seokjin fanfic #jin fanfic #jin fic #jin au

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gingyboo · 3 years

Text

Mirror Mirror

A/N: Again many thanks to @booglebug

Description- Soulmates existed. People knew that much. Soulmates were rare, a handful in each generation, an unexplainable phenomenon that formed a bond closer than blood and more sacred than marriage.

Bucky finds his soulmate when he needs her most. Little does he know how much she needs him too.

(Soulmate au that slots pretty much in to the MCU but with soulmates. Set after TFATWS.)

Pairing- Bucky Barnes x OFC

Warnings- Mentions of violence and guns, but its mostly fluff, drama and angst. Blood and serious injury.

This is a multi chaptered fic.

Please like, comment, reblog!

prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter4 Chapter 5Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 chapter 15 Chapter 16

------------------------------------------------ Chapter 17

Kit watched the ramp rising, shutting out the sunlight. His breath was heavy as he maintained the pressure on Nancy’s wound. Just before the ramp closed Kit was jolted by the distinctive clang of metal on metal. The ramp was forced open enough for Bucky to squeeze through, he seemed dishevelled but unhurt as he stood up, his head brushing the roof of the jet. All colour left his face as his eyes landed on Nancy. Words lost him entirely as he fell to his knees by her side. Kit looked at him helplessly.

“The Wakandan outreach centre, London, they’ll be able to help her.” Bucky stuttered towards the pilot. He took Nancy’s hand that was limp by her side. and enveloped it in his flesh hand squeezing it firmly. leaning over her, he swept a flyaway strand of hair off her forehead. Tears pricked in his eyes.

“Nancy…” he whispered.

Sam dropped through a hatch above them, landing lightly on the floor behind Bucky. They shared a look and Sam dropped the shield, squeezing Bucky’s shoulder.

“Nancy, please, stay with me.” Bucky pleaded, holding up her head, two fingers finding the weak pulse in her neck. A shiver ran through him, and Nancy’s eyes fluttered slightly. Bucky squeezed her hand tighter.

“Nance…”

“Bucky, you’re okay… Buck…what happened?” Green eyes peaked out between her lashes.

“Oh, thank goodness, you’re going to be ok, the Wakandans will help you, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry...” he pressed his lips to her forehead. Kit shifted his hands as Sam passed him fresh wad of bandages to stem the bleeding. Sam was talking frantically on the phone. Nancy’s eyes darted round the plane frantically taking everything in. Her eyes landed on Kit, all his focus was on the wound in her chest, he was shaking, his breath catching in his throat. Nancy tried to reach for him, with the hand not locked in Bucky’s, but her arm felt heavy and detached from her.

“Kit,” she choked out, “Kit, look at me.” Kit shook his head, her eyes snapped to Bucky’s, a wordless exchange took place as he removed her hand from his grip and slipped his crumpled jacket under her to support her head. His hands covered Kit’s releasing him from his trace. Kit slid back, finally meeting his sister’s gaze.

“I’m sorry, it should have been me.” He stuttered “it’s all my fault.”

“No. Don’t you say that.”

“Shuri’s let the London team know, they’re preparing a medical team, she says Bucky should stay close, she thinks their bond could help her.” Sam said, hanging up the phone. Looking at the scene by his feet. Kit looked like a small child whilst Bucky seemed older than ever. All extended youth seemed to have evaporated from his form as he watched life spilling from his soulmate. The sight seemed too personal, too private, even Kit had looked away, curled up against the wall. Sam marched into the cock pit, he could be more helpful there.

The journey could have been years for all Bucky knew, Nancy drifted in and out of consciousness speaking fractured sentences, he shushed them away, telling her to save her strength. She was quite for what seemed like an age before her voice returned, stronger and clearer than before.

“I need you to promise me something.” She said to Bucky.

“Don’t talk like that.”

“You have to promise me you won’t fall apart, promise me, you won’t go looking for vengeance, you or him, I know he’s still in there, but you can’t let him out.”

“Nancy stop.”

“it’s okay, you can let me go. I think it’s time.” She winced pain filling her feature.

“You’re not going anywhere, you’re not leaving me.” Bucky turned to the cockpit, “How far are we?” He shouted.

“We’re close, little further.” Rayden responded, his voice laced with guilt though he pushed the engines to their limit.

“Bucky I’m sorry,” tears swam down her cheeks, “Kit.” She called, unable to turn her head, paralysed in pain. Her brother slid over to her, taking her hand in his.

“I’m here, I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Kit, I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too CeCe.” He cited his childhood nickname for her. A simpler time when his baby sister came home from the hospital and two separate syllables was too much for him.

“I need you to know, I forgive you, for leaving, for hiding, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, you not forgiving me, you’re not going to die, you’re going to be angry at me for long time, I’ll have grovel and plead, I have regain your trust and even then you’ll still bring it up every time we disagree on something, you’re my baby sister and you’re not going anywhere.” He said firmly, Nancy smiled softly, a chuckle escaping her lips. Her breathing escalated, she choked and coughed, blood seeping out of her mouth. Sam appeared beside them once more, reaching down he swept Nancy up in his arms, cradled to his chest like a baby. Her head lulled to one side. Kit stood to protest, but Bucky held up a hand.

“He’ll get her there faster.” the ramp started to lower, as Bucky leaned over, kissing her cheek softly.

“Don’t go where I can’t follow.” He whispered in her ear, if Sam heard he was pretending not to. Kit squeezed her hand before Sam dove out into London’s sky.

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

Bucky felt her fingers twitch first. His gaze shifted up instantly until it rested on her eyes. They shifted beneath her lids, responding at last to the bright lights above her sick bed. The outreach centre had taken her in fixed her up, she had stabilised by the time Kit and Bucky had made it to her. It had been two days now, her wound was healed but her body was still recovering. Wakandan medicine was an amazing thing, Bucky was fascinated, remembering his days on the battlefield in the war, how many would have lived had their facilities been available then. She was squeezing his hand now, and he smiled squeezing back.

“Nancy?” He spoke softly his free hand sweeping across her cheekbone. Her eyes fluttered open, green peeking through her thick lashes.

“Buck… Bucky.” she croaked out.

“Oh, doll you had me scared back there.” he exhaled heavily, drawing his chair closer to her bed.

“The witches?” she asked frantically trying to sit up. bucky held her back down with soft shushing noises.

“We left them there, not the last we’ll see of them no doubt, but for now you’re safe, that’s all that matters.

“Where do we go from here? Back to Wakanda?”

“We can’t.” his face fell into a solum line.

“What’s happened?”

“Duncan Everitt is dead.” he said simply, watching a crease form between her brows.

“How?”

“We don’t know, but if someone can get to him there then its not safe enough for you.” he insisted. Nancy’s brow furrowed but any protest was cut off by Kit rushing into the room. He was by her side in an instant.

“Don’t ever put me through that again.” he smiled down at her.

“Where will we go?” she asked looking between the two men.

“I will go to Wakanda, Duncan may have hunted me, but he was one of my men once, he deserved better than what he got, I will find out what happened to him.” he said defiantly. Nancy nodded, Bucky help her to sit upright in the bed. “I’ll get to see dad, apologies, start to make amends.”

“He’ll be over the moon, to see you again, when I told him I think he didn’t dare to dream, he won’t believe until he sees you. I know I didn’t.” she looked up at her brother, he was now freshly shaved, and his hair trimmed, he wore a loose-fitting white t-shirt and some black silk trousers, he’d made him self at home here. Nancy was pleased, he looked more like his old self, younger, softer in the face without the wiry beard.

“I was thinking, we could go to America, Louisiana probably, I got a place there, it’s not much, but…”

“I’d like that.” she said quickly smiling, she caught Kit’s eye who smiled in agreement. Whatever had happened, Kit trusted Bucky now.

“Sam would be close by too, if trouble were to find us.” he smiled taking her hand again.

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

It took a few days to prepare, finding flights, sorting out her visa, getting Samara to deliver her passport to Sam on the other side of London to avoid anyone following them to get to Nancy. Kit left with Rayden for his journey to Wakanda, it was a tearful farewell on Nancy’s part as Bucky finally left her side to give the siblings a moment of privacy. Nancy felt stronger every day, moving out of her sick bed and into a shared room with Bucky. Not wanted to risk going outside she walked up and down the stairs in outreach centre, outwards appearance resembled a tower block, one of the larger centres held, it had a lot of stairs. Shuri contacted her, sending over a replacement top with bullet proof properties, the other torn to shreds by the bullet and the doctors. Her father fretted down the phone to her, even her mother called, though it was cool and brief her mother did at least sound half relieved to hear her awake, Kit had insisted she’d fretted constantly before Nancy had woken up, this she found hard to believe. Eventually it was time to leave, set off for a fresh start. As Nancy curled up in the wide 1st class seat with Bucky beside her she felt herself poised at a precipice, a brand new chapter of her life.

#bucky barnes #the winter solider #sam wilson #captain america #soulmate #mcu #mcu fic

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endless-whump · 4 years

Text

Milo: Drifting

TW dissoci@tion, disordered eating, past starvation references, conditioning, panic attack, gaslighting, reference to past assault, Theo is an asshole ;)

Masterpost

Happy pride month!!! Heres some angsty fluff for my bois!! <3

----

Milo drifted, letting his mind go unfocused as he listened to the soft music playing through his headphones. It was a good drifting, though. Not one where his ears rang, mind numb, fear and pain dulling his senses. No, this was soft. This was the type of drifting that let him block out everything but the senses he chose to focus on. Like the music, or the feeling of soft fabric underneath his fingertips, or the weighted blanket laid over him.

It all felt very real,which is what comforted Milo most of all. The reassurance that he was here, burrowed under blankets on the couch, with Nick just in the next room cooking some late dinner. He let himself get lost in the soft sounds playing, sighing contently and burrowing deeper against the pillows.

He startled when the earbuds were yanked out of his ears, bringing him snapping back to his surroundings all at once. His eyes blinked open, head tilting up to see the source of the sudden startle as he cringed against the back of the couch. There was a flash of red hair, someone crouching in front of him.

Oh. It was Theo.

He was holding Milo’s phone and earbuds, looking at them curiously.

“What the hell are you listening to? Looks like some weird stuff, man.”

“I, um..it’s just..music and stuff.” Milo tried telling him, reaching out for the phone. Theo just leaned back, taking them out of reach. Nick had put together a playlist for him, and it had helped him sleep tremendously when he was by himself. Some of them weren’t really music, more like white noise. Nick called it asmr, told him he used to listen to it a lot while he studied.

“Doesn’t look like just music, what the fuck is this? This a cam girl or something? Didn’t know you were into th- hey!”

Milo had tried to scramble for the phone, face flushed.

“It’s..its not, Theo its..its..give it back..”

“Hey, thought you were supposed to be docile and shit- get down.”

Milo stopped, breathing hard. Tears filled his eyes, threatening to fall as he sat back, feeling like the reins were being yanked from his hands, someone else taking control over him. He could feel himself slipping, his senses dulling as he fought to keep some semblance of control over himself.

“Hey- the fucks wrong with you, man?” Theo tapped the side of his face lightly, earning a flinch, but that just made Milo recede further. Away was safe, going away would make it hurt less once-

Milo whimpered and jerked away at a harder slap, Theo now closer to his face.

“I didn’t mean to freak you out, ok? Just stop losing your shit, Nick’s gonna kill me if he comes back and you’re all zoned out like this, focus up.”

Focus up

Nonono, he didn’t want that. He needed to hands off him, he needed people to stop touchinghim. He couldn’t breathe, the ghost of hands pinning and shoving and holding him down and touching and they wouldn’t stop touching him-

“N.nnh..no..no Theo..Theo please stop..Theo-”

“Dude, I’m not even touching you, I need you to calm down before Nick gets back.”

Nick

Nick could help. That's who he needed right now.

He tried to throw off the blankets, moving to get away from Theo. He yelped when hands grabbed him by the arms, pulling him back to where he was originally and holding him in place.

“H,Hey, hey hey Theo..Theo stop.”

Milo struggled, becoming more panicked as he was wrestled onto his back, held down on the couch. His chest was restricting as he struggled for air, mind blank with panic and instinct.

“Theo, what the hell are you doing?!”

There he was. The bruising grip was off him now, replaced by a soft, grounding touch just to his shoulders, a familiar face, a safe face, in front of him.

“He was freaking out, I was worried about him hurting himself on accident or something, I didn’t mean to make it worse.”

Milo grabbed onto Nick, burying his face into his chest, almost as if he was trying to hide himself. Warm, safe arms wrapped around him, and Milo wanted to bury himself as far into them as he could and stay there forever.

“Milo, need you to take deep breaths, ok? Can you do that for me?”

He still couldn’t breathe. He tried, wheezing with the effort it took to try and draw air into his lungs, which just made him struggle harder and faster and made things worse-

“Breathe, Milo. Need you to slow yourself down before you pass out.”

Hands cupped his face, holding his just inches from Nicks as Milo gasped for breath. He tried to mimic the slow, intentional breaths Nick was taking, and although it was hard, eventually it started working.

His heart was still racing, beating so hard Milo could hear the pulse ringing in his ears, but it was easier to get air now. He could manage slow, shaky breaths in replacement of the quick gasps that just brought him closer and closer to delirium.

“Are you feeling better? What freaked you out?” Nick asked

Milo...wasn’t sure. It all happened so fast, he was just sleeping and listening to music and then Theo was there and he couldn’t breathe-

“I..um..” He swallowed, trying to formulate his thoughts properly. “I..I don’t know..I’m sorry..I don’t..”

“That's ok, you don’t have to figure it out right now if you can’t remember. Just relax, ok? C’mere.”

He was pulled into Nick's arms, a hand running soothingly through his hair. Milo closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation as he tried to relax. None of it was coming back to him properly, the panic seemed to come out of nowhere...Theo was there, he was scared of Theo, but he said he was just trying to help.

He didn’t have the energy to try and sort his thoughts and make a decision about it, so let it go from his mind.

Hands ran up and down his back, fingers running through soft, recently washed hair, the touch a constant reminder of where he was, and who he was with.

“Made us some dinner, you need to eat.” Nick hummed. Milo didn’t want to pull away but knew he had to, nodding as he leaned back against the couch cushions. His blanket was wrapped around his shoulders again, a warm plate pushed into his hands.

He leaned against Nick, who’d settled next to him, and started eating. It was lasagna, something that would actually get some nutrients into him without being too overwhelming.

“Did Theo do something?” Nick asked quietly, and it took Milo a moment to register the redhead was nowhere in sight now. “You can tell me if he did.”

Milo took another bite, focusing on the warmth and the taste and the texture of the pasta.

“Um..I don’t think so..he said he was helping, I think,” He murmured, unsure. It was all a blur right now, he doesn’t remember anything clearly after his headphones were gone, just panic. Theo hadheld him down..but he was helping, right? “I was..I was freaking out..I, I don’t know why, I don’t know why-”

“Hey,” Nick cut in, a hand at the nape of his neck and rubbing softly. “It's ok if you don’t remember why, all that matters is making sure you feel safe right now. Just trying to make sure Theo wasn’t fucking with you, is all.”

He set the unfinished plate down on his lap, curling up as small as he could against Nick’s side.

“You need to eat the rest of that, Milo.” Nick murmured.

“Don’t feel good.”

Nick sighed, his arm around Milo hugging tightly. “I know, but doctors orders. I’ve been too lenient with it recently, and you needto eat more. Cmon, I know you only ate like, half your lunch today. It’ll get easier, I promise. Just gotta trust me.”

Milo shoved down a whine of protest as Nick pushed the plate back into Milo’s hands, and he stared at the unfinished food. He hesitantly picked the fork back up, grabbing the bite of food between his teeth. He wasn’t feeling sick, not exactly. It just felt wrong to be eating this much. He was also in the middle of slowly transitioning to eating without permission, which felt like absolute hell for Milo.

He could remember spending hours staring at food Samuel had set on the ground for him, hours spent not allowed to touch it until his captor gave him permission. It made him scared to even think about eating without Nick telling him to, but he’d insisted he try. That was..technically giving permission, right?

“Done.” He muttered, shoving the now empty plate to the side, wanting to get it far, far away from him. It felt like he’d done something awful. Something he didn’t have permission for.

Nick quickly took the plate, leaning forward and setting it aside on the coffee table. Something else was being pushed into Milo’s hands, but this time it was his phone and earbuds.

“These were on the floor.” Nick said gently. Milo closed his fingers around them, holding them protectively. His ears still hurt a little from where they were harshly yanked out.

They were yanked out? Milo thought…

“Thanks,” He forced the thought out of his mind. He was too tired to question it right now.

“Turn on something and get some more sleep, ok? I’ll stay right here, have some studying to do.”

Milo nodded, slipping the earbuds into his ears and shakily opening the phone. He wasn’t really paying attention as he scrolled through the playlists, blindly picking one out of the many he and Nick had put together. He didn’t really have a preference for any, at least not yet.

He settled down, his head resting on Nick's leg as they both got comfortable, soft music playing through the earbuds. Milo tried focusing once more on the music and the fingers running idly through his hair, but he felt so wound up now. If he paid attention, he could just barely hear the sound of pages turning next to his head, Nick no doubtedly getting settled to catch up on his homework.

Milo couldn’t help but feel guilty. Nick tried to hide it, but Milo had overheard him talking about being behind because of all this. Apparently he’d fallen behind quite a bit during the months he was missing, and even now that Milo was back he was struggling to juggle the schoolwork. Nick was going for his bachelors, Milo remembered. Psychology.

There was a tap on his temple that startled him slightly, and Milo took out a headphone, turning his head to look up at Nick from where he was resting against his leg.

“I can practically hear you thinking right now, you’re all tensed up. Go to sleep, honey.”

Nick pressed a kiss to Milo’s temple, music once again drowning everything else out as he put the earbud back in. Back and forth, fingers ran soothingly across his skin, almost to the tempo of the music. He finally let go and let himself drown in it, a content hum rising from the back of his throat.

He could drown like this forever, Milo thought to himself, muscles relaxing as he let himself trust his partner completely. He’d prefer it over anything else.

----

Taglist

@haro-whumps@spiffythespook@simplygrimly@insanitywishes@lonesome--hunter@deluxewhump@elisabethrosewrites@insanitywishes@iaminamoodymoodtoday @bleeding-demon-teeth @lumpofwhump@redstainedsocks @redstainedsocks @finder-of-rings @insomniacscoprio @inaridriscoll

#whump #angst #comfort #recovery #ptsd #panic attack #dissoci@tion #Nick and Milo #my oc's #my writing #disordered eating #tw disordered eating #past starvation #conditioning #sorta fluffy #comf

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let-me-love-you-loki · 4 years

Text

Waking Up in Vegas-Ch. 41

Chapter 41: Wouldn’t Dive In

Dean, Morning, 10:43 AM

“You’re out of the woods,” the doctor said from the end of Mera’s bed. He smiled at her and tucked his hands in the pockets of his white coat. “We’re going to finish you on the drip you’ve got, and then we’re going to get you out of here and back home.”

The knot in my chest loosened just a little. I sagged into the chair by her bed and let out a breath. She looked so much better. Her eyes were bright and amber. She had more normal color in her face, and the rash that came with her disease had faded from her cheeks. For the first time in over a week, she looked like herself.

“Thank you,” Mera replied, giving the doctor a faint smile. He promised to send a nurse down with discharge papers and instructions and left. When the door shut behind him, Mera sank back against the pillows and closed her eyes.

“It’ll be nice for you to sleep in your own bed again,” I said, leaning forward and propping my elbows on my knees.

My wife turned her head toward me, her eyes going slightly golden in the light. “I want to go home so much, Dean. I want to go back to when you didn’t have to worry about me.”

I took her hand, threading our fingers together. “Mera Ambrose, I will worry about you every day for the rest of my life. Because you are my wife, and I love you more than anything in this world.”

Tears glittered on her lashes, but she blinked them away. “Don’t make me cry, Dean,” she whispered. “They’ll think I’m sick again.”

“Alright,” I said, kissing the back of her hand. “Relax and let that IV finish, then we’ll spring you out of this place.”

Mera smiled—maybe the first genuine, wide, beautiful smile in days—and my heart bounced against my sternum. For an instant, she was the woman I’d first seen that day in FCW. She was the one I’d watched and adored and loved from afar until she finally fell perfectly into my arms. I’d vowed to spend my life making her feel safe and happy.

Mera, Afternoon, 1:08 PM

It felt strange to be in regular clothes again. I’d been in a hospital gown for ten days, and I was suddenly desperate to be back in my own house. Dean had taken my bag and gone to pick up the car. A nurse helped me into a chair and wheeled me down to the entrance of the hospital. When he pulled up at the curb in the truck, Dean hopped down from the cab and came around to help me up.

I shouldn’t have been, but I was amazed by how gentle he was. His hands on my back and my arm were tender but firm. He guided me with sure, slow steps and bore most of my weight as I climbed up into the cab of the truck. He stood up on the runner and buckled my seatbelt.

“Ready to go home, sweet wife?” he queried, brushing wayward strands of hair from my forehead. His lips ghosted over my forehead.

I nodded. “Take me home, Dean.”

The drive from the hospital was quiet. He kept one hand on the wheel. With the other, he held my hand as if it would be the last time. His ring-worn fingers entwined with mine, thumb stroking the back of my hand. Every now and then, he would draw my it up to his mouth and ghost a kiss on my flesh.

I had a lot of time to think on that ride home. I thought about what my life had been like until that day almost a year ago. Before that night, I’d lived my life for someone else. No matter how hard I thought, no matter how desperately I tried to remember, I had no memories of a time before Colby Lopez. I knew there had to be. But he was as ubiquitous in my life as my own family. I’d very much become the person I was because of the person I’d been with him.

For him.

Teenagers think they know what love is. And maybe some of them do, but I couldn’t say for sure if I had. I’d never dated anyone else. Never spent time with people who weren’t Colby and his core group of friends. I was hard pressed to remember the name of a single friend who had just been mine. Everything… everything was tied up in Colby… in the boy who would eventually become Seth Rollins.

Part of me wondered if I could ever separate my sense of self from the life that had been chosen for me. I couldn’t lay it all at his feet—I’d made the choice to give up my spot at Iowa State. I’d made the choice to study athletic training so I could get a job to be with him. I’d gotten in that car, traveled, stayed in cheap motels, scrounged change for the dollar menu right beside him. No, I couldn’t say that everything was his fault. But I couldn’t say that he gave me a fair chance at a life of my own either.

And now… I was so close to having just that. A life of my own choosing. Dean, who had never pushed me, never asked for more than I could give, never took more than what I was willing to share. He’d taken me as I was, broken and uncertain, and given me permission to be who I wanted to be. I wouldn’t delude myself and say things were perfect, but I felt freer in my marriage to Dean than I had in the twenty years I spent tied to Colby.

It was like the first breath of clear air after being trapped in a dank room. To be with Dean was to finally be with myself. With the real me.

The me that I’d never gotten to know.

Seth, Afternoon, 2:41 PM

I sat in my car for what felt like years. The garage door had long since come down, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to go inside. I was just there… driver’s door open, one foot on the concrete, hands gripping the wheel so hard that my fingers had gone numb. My head was back against the headrest, eyes staring at nothing.

After seeing Mera in Las Vegas—fragile, sick, and exhausted—the very thought of going into my own house made me sick. The moment I turned down the street I was bombarded with memories of when this house had been a home. When Mera Reynolds had lived and breathed and loved and laughed and existed with me within these walls. I could remember the way her amber eyes turned to brass when she laughed as I carried her over the threshold the first day. I could hear her laugh from the Christmas when I put mistletoe in every doorway, when I went up on the roof to hang the lights and the ladder fell.

I remembered the first time we stood on the sidewalk in front of this house. I remembered how happy she’d been when I told her it was ours. She’d wanted to turn one of the spare bedrooms into an office. She wanted to use it to work from, to store her supplies. To study.

She’d wanted to go back to school, to go enroll at St. Ambrose University in the city, to finally get certified as a psychologist.

My heart felt like stone in my chest. I blinked, swallowing hard as I remembered what came next.

Just like with Iowa State, I’d talked her out of it.

Because I wanted her with me. I wanted her to travel with me, to become a road AT on top of working the televised events.

Because I couldn’t see past the fact that what I wanted had never had anything to do with Mera being happy. It was about me being the center around which her life revolved.

Dean, Afternoon, 3:22 PM

Mera sat on in the overstuffed armchair in the living room, a blanket draped over her legs. The first thing she’d done when we got home was take a shower. Then she’d put on her favorite lounge clothes and curled up in the living room. I couldn’t explain how the sight made me feel—the calm and peace and pure and simple elation that pulsed through my veins every time my heart thumped in my chest.

“Do you want anything?” I asked, stretched out on the sofa with the remote in hand. I was surfing channels, trying to find something to watch.

I looked over at her, my breath punching out of my body when I saw her smile. There was life and light in her again. She was my Mera, my wife, my best friend again. It felt like the world had been spinning off kilter for the last ten days and only now it had righted itself.

“I would kill for some sweet and sour chicken and fried dumplings,” she said, snuggling beneath the blanket. ��How much do you love me?”

Laughing, I sat up. I could feel my face light up with a smile… the one that I kept just for her. “Enough to crawl on my hands and knees through broken glass and burning coals to bring you deep fried Chinese food.”

I watched Mera smile. Her eyes glittered golden. There was health and life in her face again. And God knew, I had no words for how good it was to have her back again.

“They deliver, you know,” she replied, reaching for me. I moved to her, crouching by the side of her chair as she stroked her fingers over my jaw. For a moment, she was quiet, her eyes bouncing as she looked me over. Her smile softened. “Thank you, Dean.”

“For what, sweet wife?”

She leaned over to press a kiss against my cheek. “I know that you know Seth came to see me. I could see it in your face when you came in after he left. Thank you for not making a big deal of it. Thank you for letting me have that.”

I wanted to tell her how angry I’d been about it. I wanted to tell her that I hated how he could still weasel into her life. I wanted to tell her that I couldn’t stand the thought of him being close enough to her to hurt her again. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

Instead, I squeezed her fingers and kissed her knuckles. “You are your own woman, Mera. As much as I want to keep you from any kind of hurt or harm, I know that you are strong enough to know your own mind. I trust you. More than I’ve trusted anyone in my life.”

A single tear rolled down her cheek. “Thank you for that, too.”

Tag List

@mox-made-me-do-it @houndsofjxstice @unatictoosweet @xbutterflius-effectusx @mother-forker @instantboquetdestinysblog @dcnmarvelgamergeek @pinkduality @lilred91 @not-that-kinda-gurl08 @maelleoute

#waking up in vegas #wuiv #dean ambrose #dean ambrose fanfiction #wwe #wwe fanfiction #seth rollins #seth rollins fanfiction #mera reynolds #dean x mera #ofc #oc #multi-chapter #real person fanfiction

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theradicalscrivener · 5 years

Text

21 Dollar Foot long

It’s been a hot minute, but I have a new fic for youse guise.

Angus receives a new app from his buddy which claims to allow him to host his very own growth drive! Angus could use the money, and it’s not like the app can really grow his cock. It’s just trick photography and photo manipulation, right?

Angus was sitting at his desk when he heard the familiar chime of a file being sent coming from his desktop computer. Having nothing better to do, he quickly opened up the chat window to see who had sent the file and what the nature of the file was. Angus was not at all surprised to see the message had come from his best bud, Donald.

“Check out this latest program I made” read Donald’s message.

“What does it do?” Angus asked.

“Oh. You’re gonna love this. You know those growth drive things that have been going around on Twitter?” Donald asked.

“Yeah?” Angus replied.

“Well, I got to thinking. Why don’t we try making one of our own!” Donald said.

“You know as well as I do that neither of us can draw for shit.” Angus replied.

“That’s the beauty of it. We won’t have to! Just fire up this program, pop in a few parameters, and let the magic of modern technology do the rest!” Donald said.

The whole conversation was carried out via text so it’s not like Angus could really hear the tone of Donald’s voice, but the speed at which he was firing back responses as well as the various typos made it pretty obvious that Donald was beyond excited by his latest pet project.

“If this is such a great idea, why haven’t you done it already?” Angus asked.

“Well…. I was kind of hoping that you’d be the one to try it out.” Donald replied.

“Me?” Angus asked.

“Yeah. I mean… You’ve already got the looks. I bet you’d have people lining up to see what you can do.” Donald replied.

“If you wanted to see me naked there are much easier ways to go about it.” Angus teased.

It was obvious by the ellipsis on the bottom of the chat program that Donald was typing something, but the long pause in between Angus’s comment and Donald’s actual reply made it clear that Donald was having a hard time picking his words.

After what seemed like ages, Donald finally replied, “Just try it out. You said so yourself you were strapped on cash. This could be a great way to make a few bucks.”

Angus couldn’t argue with that… well, he could argue with that, but he didn’t see the point in it. Truth be told, he was curious about what Donald’s program could actually do, and it’s not like there was any harm in firing it up.

Angus shrugged and clicked the file. Once it had finished downloading, he fired it up and easily coasted through the installation options and eventually got the app up and running on his computer. He was amazed at how clean and easy to use the app was. All it took was a few clicks and a few permissions and the program was fully booted up and ready to go. It had even gained access to Angus’s webcams. The cameras had already fired up and were fixated on him. One feed was zoomed out to show his whole body, and the other was zoomed in on his crotch, although since he was currently wearing boxers, the second feed only got a good glimpse of plaid.

Angus took a moment to look through all the options. It didn’t take him long to get a feel for how this app worked. There were some basic parameters he could choose. First, he had to link it to an account that he would receive pledges from viewers, and then he got to choose how much he would grow per pledge. There were tons of options he could choose from as far as how much to grow for each dollar value, but most of them seemed too unrealistic. He could do something ridiculous like 1cm per $20, but that would take forever to see any growth, and he doubted anyone would pay money to see something like that, especially since it was all just going to be on the fly footage editing. Angus could just imagine how he would look during his cam show with a comically stretched out ten-inch-long dong that seemed to curve and distort every time it moved as if it was being viewed through a convex mirror.

Eventually he decided to just click one inch per each $3 donation. This seemed like a safe enough bet. People did Ko-Fis all the time for growth drives so there were obviously people who would pay that much to see some trick photography do its thing. With the parameters set and his account linked, all that was left to do was to fire up the stream, and fortunately Angus had a site already in mind to host his little cam show. All it took was a few keystrokes, and he was logging and ready to go.

“Hey guys,” Angus said awkwardly and waved to his webcam. He could see the footage displaying on his computer screen of himself waving back at him as well as a second window of just a close-up of his still plaid-clad junk.

At the moment there was no one to reply back to his welcome, but that didn’t take long to change. Once his stream was live there was a steady trickle of viewers who popped in to check out what was up. The icon of the stream just showed an old photo of Angus flexing for the cam so a few people were there to see the hot, beefy stud wearing even less than he was in his avatar pic, but there were a few who had stumbled in because they were bored and looking for a few whack and a few who had stumbled in out of pure curiosity. His stream header promised dick growth, and that’s not something you saw every day.

There were only a few people in the stream by the time Angus got his first comment. “Now eventually you might have dicks on your dick stream, yes?” the comment read.

“Oh right. I suppose I ought to get right on into it,” Angus said. He got up from his chair and took a step back, all the while keeping an eye on his cam feeds to make sure that the cameras were still staying focused on him. Sure, enough one camera remained focused on his body and the other remained zoomed in on his crotch. Angus took just a moment to steel his nerves before hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and shimmying them down. It didn’t take long for his perfectly modest five inches to spill into view.

Angus was just about to sit down on the foot of his bed and get to wanking when he saw another comment pop up on his stream, but he quickly realized a small flaw in his master plan. It was tough to keep an eye on the comments on his computer while he was seated at his bed. He quickly scooped up his phone which he had left beside his PC and logged into his own stream so he could read the comments. While he was scanning the newest comment a few more popped up, but they all said roughly the same thing.

“Nice.”

“Great cock, bro.”

The real comment that caught his attention though wasn’t even part of his actual stream. Angus phone buzzed twice alerting him to two new messages: One text message and one email. Angus checked the text first since he doesn’t normally worry too much about emails, but the nature of the text made him keen to check his email immediately after.

The message had come from his pal, Donald. “Looks like you could use something to get the ball rolling there,” the message read. It didn’t take Angus long at all to figure out what Donald meant. Angus almost immediately felt a strange sensation across his cock and balls. It was a slight warmth almost as if his junk was pulsing with energy. Angus instinctively glanced down at his cock and what he saw made his jaw drop. His bait and tackle were actually growing! It wasn’t just the fact that he was getting hard either. He was always more of a shower than a grower, but even ignoring that fact, getting a boner wouldn’t make his nuts swell up too.

Angus quickly checked his email to confirm his suspicions. Sure enough, the recent email was from PayPal alerting him to a new donation of $3 from his pal, Donald, but that was just the start. Even while he was checking his new message his phone buzzed a couple more times, but rather than having a new email show up in his email list numbers appeared next to the PayPal alert email. First x2… then x3… then x4…

Angus checked the comments on his stream. He was too dumbfounded to do much modeling for his new fans, but his cock was more than happy to put on a show. He solid six inches was rock hard at this point and steadily creeping up in size as he read the recent comments.

“Woah! Did his dick just grow!?”

“No way!”

“I gotta try this out.”

“Same. I got three bucks to throw at this.”

“Me too. I got three bucks in my couch cushion.”

Sure enough, those commenters made good on their goal and tossed another $9 Angus’s way for a combined total of three more inches. Angus stared on in awe as his cock went from six inches… to seven… to eight… to nine… He couldn’t believe his eyes. He had gone from a perfectly average five inches to a porn star nine incher in the span of a few minutes! This wasn’t trick photography. This was real! Donald’s app actually worked! Angus was too stunned to think too hard on it. All he could do was stare at his cock. He had to be sure what he was seeing was real. He had to feel it with his own hands, and his audience was only all too happy to watch him do just that.

Angus plopped down at the foot of his bed and wrapped a hand around his fat cock. He could barely fathom how huge his dick was now. It was like gripping a water bottle. His cock used to only just barely poke out past his palm when he gave his rod a good tug, but now he had room to spare. He could almost get his whole other hand around his shaft, and judging by the buzz of his phone, he got the impression that would soon be possible.

Sure enough, Angus felt a familiar warmth pulse through his penis while he had his hand around his crank. He could actually feel his dick getting thicker in his hand. His had to loosen his grip as his cock grew fatter in the palm of his hand, but that wasn’t all that changed. His dick not only got thicker but longer as well, and his balls were growing right alongside the rest of his junk. His nuts had grown from the size of cherries to the size of cherry tomatoes and were showing no signs of slowing down just yet.

Angus continued to stroke his swelling cock with one hand while he held his phone in the other and glanced at the comments in his stream. The comments were really blowing up. His did a double take as he saw that his follower count had quickly climber through the double digits and were rapidly approaching triples, and it didn’t take him long to find out why. A few of the comments said it all.

“Oh man. He’s huge! I know a site that’s gonna love him!”

“Is his dick growing!? No way! I gotta show this to my server!”

“I gotta share this on Twitter. They’re gonna go nut for this guy!”

“God. They gotta see this on discord.”

Angus had gone viral, and more viewers meant more potential donators, which explained a lot about why his phone felt more like a vibrator than a minicomputer. Angus could scarcely fathom how fast his cock had reached porn star status, and it didn’t seem like his growth was going to slow down any time soon. Judging by all the new arrivals, he might reach absurd sizes in the very near future.

Angus stared at his cock as it continued to grow and swell. He was so shocked at what he was seeing that his mind was lagging. As his cock grew past a full foot of fat dong, he started to wonder if maybe he ought to pull the plug on this little pet project or at the very least turn off the donations. He was more than happy to spend a little bit of time exploring his newly enlarged cock and he was sure his audience would love to watch him do so.

Angus was just about to get up from his seat at the foot of his bed and put a cap on donations, but something was stopping him from doing so. It was like his body refused to cooperate. He knew he should stop this before it got out of hand, he really did, but at the same time this thought in the back of his mind wouldn’t shut up. His cock was already hot as hell at a full foot. How great would it look like when it got even bigger? It had just gotten hotter and huger and sexier with each added inch. Just the thought of packing on a few more points on his pecker had his dick drooling pre. He could soon have a world record shattering schlong! Angus didn’t know what the current record actually was, but he was sure he rivaled it already. Even as he sat there staring at his schlong, he could feel his phone buzzing and see his dick swelling. It had surpassed a solid foot, that was for sure, but how huge was it really? He could always do the math, sure. He had a list of all the donors and knew how much dick he had started with. It would be a simple matter of tallying to donations to see how huge his cock was now, but where’s the fun in that? It had no punch. No pizazz.

Angus quickly got up from his seat and scrambled for his desk, but he didn’t touch his computer. Instead he opened the drawer and fumbled through the various items inside. At first, he pulled out his trusty ruler, but after a quick glance at his computer screen he quickly changed his mind. The camera feeds now both showed a close-up of his cock and balls, and it was plain to see the foot-long standard ruler would no longer suffice. The tip of Angus’s rock-hard cock now poked well past his belly button. Just seeing how huge his cock looked on cam made Angus even more excited, and his excitement led to a great show for his adoring public. His dick dribbled pre for all to see. He was so hot and bothered that his hands trembled as he dug deeper into his drawer for something that would do the job better than his now too small ruler, and soon he found what he needed. A tape measurer.

Angus plopped back down at the foot of his bed and hurriedly unfurled a segment of the tape measurer and held it up to his humongous cock. His dick was already sixteen inches long and growing by the second! He had to have hands down the largest cock of any dude on the planet! Surely this would be big enough, right? But even as he thought that he could hear his phone buzzing on the bed beside him. The donations were still flowing in!

Angus once again argued over whether or not to call it then and there. He could pull the plug on the stream right now and cap donations. He already had a cock that was seventeen inches long and growing by the second! His dick was beyond huge! His dick was already so thick that he couldn’t even hope to wrap a hand all the way around it. His cock was about as fat as a two-liter bottle of Coke. He had balls the size of large, ripe grapefruit, but even as he debated, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be even bigger. His cock already looked so amazing, and it was just getting hotter as it grew and grew. Surely it couldn’t hurt to add a few more inches to his already amazing cock.

Angus watched the twin video feeds as he reached down and cupped his balls in how hands and gawked at what he saw. The tip of his cock now reached up to his pecs. His nuts were now so huge that either enlarged orb filled an entire palm and then some. At the rate he was going he was soon to have nuts the size of his head! The mere thought of it caused his nearly two feet of fat cock to buck and lurch excitedly. Pre flowed freely down his humongous cock and his massive nuts and dripped onto the floor below.

Angus knew he needed to dial things back a bit if for no other reason than he was close to cumming, and the stream had barely even begun. He wanted to give his audience a good show and maybe squeeze a few more inches out of his donors before he blew his load.

Angus reached over for his phone which he had dropped on his bed when he had decided to be a bit more hands-on with his cock. He quickly unlocked the screen and skimmed over the chat to see what he had missed. The answer to that was not much. Most of the comments seemed to be more of the same.

“He’s so hot.”

“That cock is fantastic!”

“He’s almost big enough!”

Angus had to smirk at these comments. Was he almost big enough or was he just beginning? That was for his fans to decide – and decide they did! For no sooner had Angus had that thought than the conversation took a drastic turn.

“Nothing says we have to donate in increments of $3, right?” Someone asked.

“Not that I know of, why?” came a reply.

“Well, I think this is going a little too slowly.”

“I can put down some money for a BIG spurt.”

“I’ll match it!”

“Me too!”

“Let’s see him get YUGE!”

Angus gasped at what he saw. Just how much were they talking about chipping in? He had already packed on nearly twenty inches. His once average cock was now full two feet long! His dick reached past his nips and was as thick as his beefy bicep! His nuts were now the size of cantaloupes!

Even as Angus pondered just what his donors had in mind his phone buzzed to alert him that he had a new email. His hand trembled as he opened the email to see just what it was. He was not surprised to see it was another PayPal notice, but what did surprise him was the amount.

“I just chipped in 30 bucks.” One commenter said.

Angus read it again to be sure. Thirty dollars! That’s ten whole inches! That’s almost half what he already has!

“I said I’d match it and I will!” came the respond.

Sure enough, his phone buzzed again to alert him to yet another email, but he didn’t need to read this one to see what it meant. The previous email alerting him to a thirty-dollar donor now had an x2 next to it to indicate a duplicate. Sixty dollars… That was twenty whole inches coming at him fast!

Angus stared in awe as his cock began to grow with renewed vigor. Soon the tip of his dick was at his collar bone, and then his chin, and soon it was eye level! It wasn’t long before his dick poked up above his head. Angus stared in awe at the behemoth as it towered over him. His dick was almost as thick as he was, and Angus was no slouch at the gym! He had to feel it with his own hands to be sure it was real. He ran his hands up and down along the length of his newly enhanced rod. His hands looked and felt so tiny against his nearly four feet of fat cock. It was hard to believe that just this morning he could easily wrap a hand around his dick. Now he could wrap both ARMS around his cock.

Angus peeked around his humongous cock to get a glimpse at the camera feeds. Both feeds were now basically showing the exact same footage – a giant cock with some arms and legs poking out from behind it. Angus could scarcely fathom how huge his cock had become. His nuts had swelled up right alongside his dick as well. His nuts were now as large as prize pumpkins! They hung off the edge of his bed and drooped almost down to the floor below!

Angus’s phone began to buzz once more. He couldn’t believe it. He was already so huge, and people were STILL tossing money at him? He quickly scooped up his phone, unlocked the screen, and perused chat once more.

“FUCK He’s huge!”

“That’s so fucking hot!”

“He’s almost more cock than man now!”

“Almost”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Angus gasped at what he saw. They couldn’t possibly be thinking what he thought they were thinking. Growing his cock even more so that he was more cock than man? That’s ridiculous! Yet even as the thought crossed his mind his massive schlong lurched with glee. Pre oozed down his four feet of cock, and his phone buzzed again and again.

Angus watched in shock and awe as his cock climbed higher and higher. It was coming dangerously close to hitting the light fixture above his bed and showing no signs of slowing down, and even without looking he could tell his nuts were growing too. He could feel the cool, faux-hardwood laminate of his dorm room floor against the underside of his swollen nuts.

Angus craned his neck around his monstrous cock and stole a glance at the video feeds. His cock now touched his ceiling. His nuts now rested solidly on the floor like a pair of massive, fleshy bean bag chairs. Angus knew for a fact he needed to stop this, and soon! His cock was thicker than full-sized punching bag! When he wrapped his arms around it his fingers only just barely touched on the opposite side.

Angus unlocked his phone once more and quickly typed a message into the chat. “Ok, guys. That’s enough for one day.” But his message was met with an automated message from the server. “Guests may not comment on this video. Please log in.”

Angus’s eyes fell upon the follower count in the corner of the screen. His cock was now so huge that it hit the ceiling! He had to angle it back to keep it from mashing against the light fixture above him, and he was still gaining followers and fast! He couldn’t believe there were so many people pouring in even this late into the stream, but it didn’t take him long to figure out why.

“I shared the link to this vid with some forums I lurk. I know for a fact they’ll love him there.”

“He’s almost a little small for some of the forums I linked him to.”

“We’ll soon fix that.”

Angus cursed under his breath and hurriedly typed in his username and password. Even as he did this, he could feel his phone buzzing and his cock growing even larger. Angus couldn’t believe how huge he had gotten nor that he was still getting bigger. He thought for sure his watchers were done with him, but even as he typed in his log-in credentials he could see the chat still going.

“Fuuuuuck he’s huge!”

“Hell yeah! So hot!”

“Bigger! Bigger!”

Angus finished typing in his password and groaned at what he saw. Invalid password. It must have been because his hands were shaking that he botched the password, but whatever the case may be he had to try again and stop this mess. He typed his name and password in again, this time being extra careful not to make a typo and hit enter.

Angus flopped back in his bed and waited with bated breath while the loading circle spun in the middle of his screen. His cock was now so huge that he had to angle it towards the wall at the head of his bed. His cock was already as wide as his twin sized dorm bed and quite a bit longer. His dick was so long that it angled from the foot of his bed all the way to the ceiling against the wall behind him. “come on, come on…” he groaned under his breath as he watched the circle continuing to spin. He was running out of room for his enormous cock. If he got much bigger, he wouldn’t even fit in his own dorm room! All he needed was for the stream to load in once more and he could finally dial things back, but it was not to be. A new error message soon popped up.

“That user is currently logged in in another device.”

Angus one again cursed under his breath. There was no helping it. If he wanted to stop this he’d have to get up and head towards the PC sitting on his desk, but that was easier said than done. For starters, his desk sat on the opposite side of a solid wall of cock and balls that kept him pinned to his bed! Angus slowly shimmied his way sideways off his bed. With each inch he moved he was amazed at just how incredibly heavy his cock and balls had become. His nuts alone weighed him to the ground like a ship’s anchor, and he couldn’t even imagine how heavy his dick would be if it wasn’t currently propped against the wall at the head of his bed. It took some finesse, but once Angus was off his bed, he was slowly able to crawl shift around his massive cock until he was now over top of it and crawl his way backwards over his massive nuts.

Angus stared in awe as he stood there with his back to his desk. His cock was now so huge that it filled almost his entire room. He was nearly pinned to his desk beneath the behemoth that was his cock and balls which presented yet another problem. He couldn’t get the drawer which housed his keyboard and mouse out from underneath his desk! He was pinned so tightly against his own desk by his gargantuan cock and balls that his own thighs were pinning the drawer shut!

Angus glanced over his shoulder at his desktop screen and gasped at what he saw. The audience was still cheering for him to get even bigger! Wasn’t he big enough already!? Sure, he couldn’t deny how staggeringly hot his massive cock and balls were, but how was he going to get through life attached to a schlong the size of a subway car?

Even as Angus pondered this another message caught his eye.

“Don’t worry, guys. I just sent him a BIG one.”

Angus could feel his phone buzzing in his hand. He had kept a death grip on his phone this entire time even without really realizing he had done it. He was almost afraid to look, but he unlocked the screen anyway. Sure enough, he had a new email from PayPal, but unlike the others this wasn’t a duplicate. This was a donation with a brand-new value on it. Angus was afraid to click the email and see what the amount was. Part of him wished that it was just another $3 donation… after all, he could see the $3 at the tail end of the email preview, but the … after the 3 worried him greatly.

Angus nervously clicked the email icon. It didn’t do him any good to hide from it. After all, he was going to be growing one way or the other. It was like ripping off a band-aid. Best to just get it over with.

Angus’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he saw the final value. Three… HUNDRED!? Who has that kind of money to throw at something like this!? But there was no denying what he was reading. Someone had thrown enough money at him to nearly double his already colossal cock. With the added eight plus feet of fat cock he was soon going to be at nearly twenty full feet of schlong!

“Oh, fuck…” Angus murmured under his breath. The sound of his own words sent shivers down his spine. It wasn’t a cry of shock or anguish. It was a moan of almost orgasmic delight! Even as he shuddered, he could feel his nuts tense up as if bracing for the largest load of his – or anyone else’s – life!

With his cock rapidly expanding once more, Angus soon found himself more than mashed against his desk. He was being pushed up and onto it by his own swelling cock and balls. Soon his ass knocked his monitor off the desktop. Seconds after that he was pinning against the far wall with his cock pressed against the wall on the opposite side of the room, and he still had several feet left to grow!

Angus wasn’t sure what he was going to do now. There was nothing he could do. All he could do was stand there and gawk as his cock outgrew his dorm room. Even now he could feel the wall begin to buckle under the onslaught of his swelling schlong. He could hear the plaster crumbling. He could see the lines spreading across the far wall as it cracked and crumpled. And then, as if a dam breaking, sunlight poured into his room as his cock spilled out into the open courtyard between dorm rooms.

Angus’s cock was free to extend to its heart’s content, but he soon found himself with another problem. His nuts had grown so much that he was now resting atop them. They were so massive that they almost pinned him to his own ceiling! His massive nuts filled up every inch of space in his room from floor to ceiling and from wall to wall! His entire dorm room was flooded with his own nut sack!

Angus groaned as he felt himself be pinned between his ceiling and his own swelling balls. For a moment he was sure that he was going to be crushed to death by his own package. He was just about to close his eyes and accept the end when he felt something quite peculiar. He wasn’t sure how and he wasn’t sure why, but he was sliding forward. The rough texture of the ceiling scratched against his back, but soon he felt the fresh air on his bare skin. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the sunlight, but when they did, he took stock of his surroundings and started to figure out what had happened. His cock had grown so huge and so hefty that the sheer weight of it was enough to pull his nuts right out of his room like the cork being popped off a wine bottle. He had fallen from his room on the second floor and landed with a thud on the grass below, but his cock and balls were just so damn huge that the single-story drop had felt like nothing more than an inch.

Angus was pleased as punch to no longer be in any mortal danger, but now he had a new problem to deal with. The arrival of a twenty plus foot schlong in the middle of campus had attracted a lot of onlookers, and there was nothing he could do to try and hide from their scrutinizing eyes. Fortunately, his phone had stopped buzzing, and so it seemed that he had finally reached his new, maximum size.

In part because he had nothing better to do while trapped atop his own package and in part because he wanted something to distract himself from the crowd that had gathered around him, Angus unlocked his phone once more and peeked in at the stream chat. It didn’t take long for him to notice that things had quieted down, and it was immediately clear why. The stream had been cut short. No doubt his PC had been knocked offline due to his growth spurt which had crushed his desk. Angus breathed a sigh of relief. At least this meant things would calm down now… or so he thought. No sooner had he breathed a sigh of relief than he saw a new comment in the chat.

“Dudes… you’re not gonna believe this, but I think this was real…”

“What? How?”

“Check the news!”

“This is on the new at my college! It’s real!”

Angus saw the previous poster link to a local news network that he recognized. He almost didn’t dare to click the link, but he knew he wouldn’t be satisfied until he saw the truth. Sure enough, as soon as the live feed loaded, he was greeted by the sight of his own gargantuan package splayed out across the lawn. While he gawked at the surreal view of his own cock from a third person perspective, he was soon alerted to something else. The viewer count was rising rapidly! It didn’t take long for him to figure out what was going on either.

“Looks like the growth stream is still on!” Said one of the new arrivals.

“Now that I know this is real, I can really crack open the wallet!”

“God, I wish that was me…”

“Fuck yes. Can you imagine being that fuckin huge!?”

“Huge! Huge! Huge!”

“Let’s make him even bigger boys!”

Angus didn’t know what to say or do. They couldn’t still grow him, could they? The PC was offline. The app was closed down! But even as he thought this, he could feel his phone buzzing and his cock pulsing.

“Oh fuck…” Angus moaned, but once again the tone of his voice betrayed his true feelings. Instead of being a groan of disgust his voice came out as a low, horny moan of carnal glee. His colossal cock gave a lurch of glee. Pre oozed from his person-sized slit. He couldn’t believe he was so turned on by this. He couldn’t move with a cock this big. There was no way he could walk around. His cock was bigger than a city bus and his balls were the size of bungalows. He had a cock that would make a blue whale weep with shame, and it was still growing! Angus was so hot and bothered by his swelling member that he could barely even focus on his phone, but he could see the alerts piling up. His missed emails now numbered in the dozens, and it wasn’t all just duplicates either! With each new email alert he received, the dollars being donated varied widely. Some people were chipping in the old fashioned three-dollar inch, but some people were really cracking open the ol’ check book. Some of the donations were in the triple digits! Some generous donors were adding entire feet to Angus’s already ginormous schlong!

“fuck, fuck, fuck…” Angus whined as he continued to try to dry hump the grass beneath him, but at this point his cock was so huge that his whole body could barely even budge it. Even if he rocked with all his might, his dick would barely even shift under his weight.

As he continued to grow the crowd around him grew and grew as well. Somehow all these viewers just made Angus even hornier. It was one thing to pose for a faceless crowd on a webcam, but it was another to have a huge crowd gathered around his dick as if it was some impromptu music festival in the middle of campus. With all the people turning out to ogle his growing member, it was shaping up to be a regular Woodscock on the dorm lawn. Soon it wasn’t just the local campus new team reporting on his swelling schlong. Soon he had the major new outlets from all over reporting on what some people were calling the story of the century. Some guy with a cock the size of ship was lying buck naked in the public park.

Some part of Agnus’s mind was still fighting against his own arousal. Some part of him still wanted to keep a level head despite his growing desire to paint the town white in one massive tidal wave of cum, but that part was quickly losing out to his growing libido. About the only thing keeping him even vaguely rooted in sanity was the phone which he clasped in his hand. He kept glancing at the newsfeed to try and take his mind out of the moment. Somehow seeing his cock in third person like this seemed to distance him from the truth at hand, but soon even this proved to just fuel the fire. As the chat continued to explode with chants of “Huge! Huge! Huge!” and “Grow him some more!” more and more links began to flood the chat. Some were to other news outlets filming Angus’s colossal cock from other angles, but others were from personal feeds from people who had gathered to explore Angus’s cock.

“Oh my god! They're actually going to do it!” said one of the posters as they linked someone’s livestream.

“the absolute madlads!” came a reply.

“I wanted to be the first to go in!” came another reply.

Do it? Go in? What were they talking about? Angus wondered. His curiosity got the better of him and actually managed to stave off his hormonal need to cream, but only for a moment. The view he was greeted to upon opening up the new livestream was enough to send his libido into hyperdrive all over again.

When the stream fired up, Angus was greeted to the sight of another student he was vaguely familiar with waving at the camera. The guy was clad in a damp, white t-shirt and a hardhat with a huge headlight attached to it. He looked ready to go spelunking but judging by the lighting the guy appeared to be out in the daylight instead of heading into a cave, but that soon changed. The guy lifted his phone further up to give a wider view of his surroundings. Behind the guy stood a large ladder which was propped against a large, fleshy looking wall. It didn’t take Angus long to figure out what said wall was, though. It was his own cockhead! The guy was actually about to climb into Angus’s dick and record the whole thing for all the watch.

Angus let out another horny whine. The flow of pre from the tip of his cock really began to ramp up, and after a few second delay he could see the flow of pre on the livestream begin to increase as well.

“I think he feels me.” The spelunker said in a corny accent as if announcing his actions in a comical parody of the Crocodile Hunter. The truth was, Angus COULD feel him, but only just barely. The guy crawling into his exposed cock head felt like little more than a tickle. The dude may as well have been a gnat compared to Angus’s whale-sized schlong. At this point Angus’s cock was so huge that his back and balls were pressed against the dorm building he had fallen out of and the tip of his dick nearly reached the campus admin complex across the large, open park. The park was nearly the size of a football field, and Angus’s dick damn near filled the whole thing! Just thinking about how huge he had become made Angus once again struggle to stifle a moan.

“Oi. This bronco’s really buckin’ now,” Said the spelunker a moment later.

Just the thought of having someone crawling around inside of his cock was driving Angus wild. He desperately wanted to cum, and yet at the same time he fought the urge with every fiber of his being. He couldn’t even say why he was doing it. It was almost as if some part of him was afraid this was all a dream and the moment he blew he would wake up and find himself back in his dorm with his old five-inch rod.

Angus watched the video stream and tried to make sense of what he was seeing through his hormone-fogged senses. At first glance it looked much like any other chasm some guy might go spelunking through, but the sides were soft to the touch and glistened pink. It was hard for Angus to comprehend that these chasm walls he was watching in the video were the insides of his own cock. As angus watched the video it almost seemed like the guy’s point of view was shrinking. The walls grew further apart and reached higher and higher, but it wasn’t the guy who was shrinking. It was Angus’s cock that was growing! Even now, Angus could feel the constant buzzing of his phone and feel the constant pulsing in his cock. He couldn’t even fathom how huge he had become. His cock was so huge that he nuts pressed hard against the side of the dorms. He was so high off the ground that his nuts now crested far above the torn-out hole that was his second-floor dorm room. His balls filled much of the courtyard that spanned from the dorm hall to the campus administration office. His cock was now so huge that had it not been for the curvature of his rock-hard cock, his cock would have long since crushed the multi-story admin complex. His cock now stretched so far that the head of it loomed over the science building halfway across campus. The puffy head alone of his massive cock now dwarfed the main lecture hall AND the connected labs. The pre leaking from his cock splashed down on the street below in giant, SUV-sized gobs.

Angus’s life as he knew it was effectively over. He had a city block sized cock, and still it was creeping up in size. He was so massive that even that large donations that had been pouring in barely made a dent in his colossal size, and yet, even if this was a dream he never wanted to wake up. He wanted to remain like this forever. He couldn’t get over how amazing having a cock you could land a 747 on felt. He couldn’t get over how amazingly hot it was to have such a massive cock and balls that no matter which direction he looked, all he saw was more and more cock and balls stretching off into the horizon. Even as his nuts got so massive that they crested at over roof of his dorm he wanted to get bigger and bigger. Even as he watched the video of the dude spelunking inside his cock and watched the light of the guy’s headlamp fade to nothing as it shone down the impossible depths of his colossal cock, Angus reveled in his own hugeness. If his fans never ran out of cash to throw at his constantly growing cock, he would be OK with that, but already he could feel the constant buzzing of his phone slowing down. His donors had nearly reached their limit, and Angus too was reaching his limit in a very different sense.

Angus moaned and writhed. His monolithic schlong shuddered. His mountainous balls tensed up. He was going to blow soon, and everyone could tell. In the throes of ecstasy, Angus’s phone fell from his hand and landed with a plap on the soft flesh of his colossal nuts. Somehow the impact knocked web browser back a page. It was no longer focused on the spelunker’s livestream and was back to the newscast. The newscaster was eyeing the teleprompter intently and let out a gasp.

“This just in. Apparently, this situation is the result of what has been called a “growth stream.” If my understanding is correct. People have been paying money to see this guy grow. Is that a thing?” The newscaster asked. Then something happened that made even Angus, in his addled state that he was, gasp with shock. The URL for his stream was displayed underneath the reporter. His cock was now an international news story. His humongous cock was being displayed to people all over the globe, and now those people knew of his stream!?

As if to answer his unspoken question, his phone began to buzz even more intensely than before. He had just gone international. Now even people who don’t lurk the specific parts of the internet that had wanted to see him grow knew of his story and how to make him even larger. Whether it was out of genuine horny desire to see him grow, some kind of morbid fascination, or just the good old internet troll wanting to cash in on an already absurd situation, the donations were rolling in faster than ever before.

The video feed on the newscast changed. It was now no longer focused on the reporter who stood in the shadow of his colossal cock. The view was now zoomed out from up high. No doubt this new video was taken from some news helicopter circling far, far above. The helicopter was so far above that Angus could neither see nor hear it, but he couldn’t deny what he saw. He recognized the area shown in the feed. It was his campus! … or what was left of it. His cock and balls now eclipsed the entire region. A solid square mile of academia had been completely eclipsed by cock. His cock was so massive that he couldn’t even see himself atop it. He may as well have been an ant atop an ambulance, the size difference was so severe, and he could still see his cock growing and growing on the news feed. At the rate he was going he would no longer just eclipse the campus. He could cover the entire town surrounding it!

Angus almost chuckled at the thought, but he didn’t get the chance. The imagery was too much for him to take in. He gritted his teeth and let out a loud, low moan. His cock shuddered with enough force to shake the ground surrounding it. Car alarms went off for miles around, and then the dam broke. Gigantic spurts of cum, each jet with enough jizz to fill a reservoir, arced through the air, and everything went white for Angus.

It wasn’t just the streams of cum that caused his vision to fade though. Truth be told, Angus was relatively unscathed from his perch atop his mountain-sized stones, but the sheer intensity of the pleasure that coursed through his miles of cock caused his mind to short circuit. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t see. All he could do was moan and writhe in ecstasy as he came and came again. There was no telling how long he was cumming for. It could have been seconds. It could have been hour. Time had no meaning to Angus while he was in the throes of ecstasy. All he knew was that by the time he finally started to come down from the high, it felt like it was all over far too soon.

As the fog slowly started to lift from his mind, Angus looked out over his surroundings. All he could see was flesh spread out as far as the eye could see. His cock and balls filled the entire landscape. It was impossible for him to grasp the sheer size and scale of his package from his current position. Fortunately, he had a way to get a different perspective on the situation.

Angus strained with all his might to reach his phone which had slid away from him during his climax. He was only just barely able to get his fingertips onto the edge of the phone, but it was enough to awkwardly fish the phone back into range. Once he had his phone back in his hands, he opened up the newscast from earlier. He watched in bemused fascination as the newscaster stood in front of his cock and balls and described the scene for the audiences at home, but what Angus really wanted wasn’t words. What he really wanted was video. Fortunately, it only took a moment for the feed to shift back to the bird’s eye view of the city. Angus marveled at how massive his cock had become. His cock and balls had completely eclipsed the entire campus and had spilled out into the surrounding city. His junk covered several city blocks. His dick had to measure in miles at this point. It may have just been the afterglow still in effect, but Angus couldn’t really consider what this meant for the long run. All he could think about for the moment was how amazing his colossal cock looked and felt, but there was someone out there thinking about the future…

Meanwhile in the suburbs, Donald gave a whistle of approval as he watched the aftermath of his new app. The size his buddy Angus had reached exceeded even Donald’s extreme expectations.

Donald tabbed over from the local news website over to the master copy of the growth app. He waited for a moment for the most recent donations to be processed before finally pulling the plug on this little experiment. Now that he knew what kind of market there was for a growth drive of this sort, Donald figured it was time to make some adjustments to the programming before his next test run.

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hotforharrison · 5 years

Text

Meet & Greet ch 4

Chapter 3 <-- Series Masterlist --> Chapter 5

Pairing: Tom Holland/Reader

Summary: You missed out on a Tom Holland meet and greet, but a stranger, who you are pretty sure is a Tom Holland lookalike, rescues you from your pity party for one.

Word Count: 2,371

Warnings: Smut and profanity relating to smut. Pretty much 2,000+ words of filth. You’ve been warned.

A/N: I don’t care if Tom Holland has a girlfriend or not. I’m happy for him if he does. I will continue to write reader insert smut regardless. Why? Because it’s a shared fantasy. There’s nothing wrong with fantasies. They hurt absolutely no one, as long as you don’t shove them in the object’s face.

You weren’t in a mental state to really think about what Tom had promised you, what the rest of your European adventure would entail. You’d consider it later, after you’d had some release from all the pent up sexual frustration that was Tom Holland.

A whine involuntarily escaped your throat, and you pressed your hips up into Tom’s hand, trying so hard to get that last little bit of stimulation you needed to finally reach orgasm.

“Shhh, I’ll take care of you, love,” he assured you gently, finger finally rubbing your clit in small circles.

It didn’t take much, and you toppled over the edge. “Oh god, Tom!” you cried out between moans as you had the strongest and longest orgasm of your life. It wasn’t the first time his name had been on your lips when you came, but real Tom was so much more satisfying than fantasy Tom ever had been.

When the stimulation became too overwhelming after your orgasm ebbed, you pushed his hand away, pulse still radiating from your clit outward and heart pounding in your chest.

He brought his finger, still glistening with your wetness, to his mouth and licked it off slowly while holding your gaze. “You’re delicious. I can’t wait to get a better taste.”

“Really?” Your arousal immediately returned, verging on desperation.

“Really. And the way you just said my name almost had me cumming in my pants like a teenager,” he admitted with a chuckle.

You blushed, surprised that you had that effect on him. “Can I help you with that?”

“You don’t want me to make you cum again?” He ran his tongue across his lips deliberately while you watched, rapt.

The thought was very tempting, but you didn’t want to take advantage of his generosity. Not to mention you were still curious what he was hiding in his pants, not that you’d tell him that. “I want to make you feel good, too.”

“Believe me when I say this is no hardship. Getting my partner off gets me off, always has. But I’m not going to say ‘no’ if you insist,” he added.

“Well, then, I insist.” You reached over to rub the bulge pressing against the front of his jeans. He didn’t stop you, so you slowly popped the button and pulled down the zipper, trying not to be overly eager, even though you most definitely were. Maybe this was why he looked like he was getting the best present ever while he undressed you.

He moved to lie on his back so you could have easier access. When you tugged at his jeans, he lifted his hips. You pulled them down around his thighs, over his knees, and eventually down and off of his socked feet, tossing them victoriously down onto the floor in your pile of partially folded clothes. It seemed weird to be naked with socks on during sex, so you pulled those off, too, tossing them down into the pile next to his jeans.

“Having fun?” he asked. You glanced up, and he was grinning back at you.

“I am, but I’m not done yet.” You deliberately avoided looking at his boxers when you crawled back up the bed to pull off his t-shirt, adding it to the pile at the foot of the bed. When you were done, you noticed he was still wearing a watch. You started to take that off, too.

He laughed. “Why are you taking off my watch?”

“I don’t know. Who wears nothing but a watch during sex?” you asked.

“Me?” he replied.

You stopped undoing it for a moment.

He laughed again, his smile infectious. “I’m just messing with you. I don’t mind. You can take it off.”

You placed his watch on the nightstand.

Now that he was shirtless, you took a moment to appreciate that, and boy was there a lot to appreciate. He was definitely ripped. You traced your fingers over the hard muscles of his biceps, pecs, the definition of his abs, down to where his iliac furrow disappeared into his boxers. Then, you turned your focus there.

His boxers were tented, the line of his hardness pointed toward his stomach. You ran a finger from the base to the tip and back down again through the soft fabric. You placed your hand on his flat stomach and pushed past the waistband to wrap your hand around it from inside.

The first thing that struck you was how much warmer it was than the surrounding skin. Then, how your fingers barely met around the girth. Your fantasy version of Tom hadn’t been that large. How was that going to fit inside you?

“Something wrong?” he asked.

You glanced up. “No, it’s just...big.”

He rubbed your arm reassuringly. “Yeah, I’m on the thicker side. Don’t worry, though. We have plenty of time. We’ll work up to it. I’m not just going to ram it into you.”

“Thank you.” Although you were still nervous, you were definitely less worried. You turned your attention back to the matter at hand, or rather, in your hand.

You stroked him slowly and watched his face to see his reactions. He had shut his eyes and his hips had started moving slightly into your touch.

“Can I take these off?” you asked, free hand on the waistband of his boxers.

“Yeah,” he replied immediately, “please.”

You tugged them off, absentmindedly discarding them on the bed instead of in the pile on the floor, and looked at his bare cock for the first time. It was flushed and a bit curved, lying flat against his stomach. You had watched some porn in the past, but Tom was a bit different. You moved his foreskin a little, curious.

He caught on quickly. “I’m not circumcised. It’s not very common over here.”

You found yourself enjoying the smooth slide of your hand over his shaft without needing any lubricant like you’d seen in the videos you watched. You really liked his soft moans. His eyes were still shut, tighter this time, brow furrowed in obvious pleasure.

An idea suddenly entered your mind that you decided to go with. You shifted and took the head of his cock in your mouth, twirling your tongue around it. He tasted like clean skin, a bit salty and bitter around the tip from what you assumed was precum. Not awful by any means.

He sharply inhaled, followed by an “oh fuck!” that almost sounded pained, and his hips thrust more of his cock into your mouth.

You barely avoided gagging, saved by the grace of only having the head in your mouth at first, but after the initial shock, he stilled. You took as much in your mouth as you could comfortably, although ‘comfortably’ was a bit of a stretch, much like your mouth with him being as thick as he was. The rest of your hand worked what couldn’t fit in your mouth, and he seemed to love that.

Minutes passed of listening to the little noises he made and the aborted movements of his hips when you did something particularly good. You liked doing it. Your jaw was growing a bit sore, but you wanted nothing more than to draw out his pleasure as long as you could. There was a larger burst of precum against your tongue when you were suddenly interrupted.

“Stop, stop, stop,” he breathed.

You pulled your mouth off with an audible pop and worked your jaw for a moment to alleviate the soreness. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no, you did something right. Got too close. Fuck.” He was still breathing a bit heavily.

“Why didn’t you just finish in my mouth?” you asked, curious.

“We didn’t talk about that. Didn’t want to make assumptions,” he answered. “But maybe you should taste it first, before you commit to having a load of it in your mouth. Some girls don’t like the taste.”

“That’s reasonable,” you agreed. “How do you want me to make you cum?”

“Your hand’s good,” he replied, “or we could try something else I like.”

“Like using my, uh, breasts? Like you said earlier?” you asked, not exactly opposed, but definitely a bit intimidated by the prospect.

“Well, there is that, and it’s definitely on the list, but I was talking about mutual masturbation.”

“So both of us touch ourselves and watch each other?” you clarified.

He nodded. “Do you want to try that?”

The thought of watching him was a turn on, enough to override how self-conscious you knew you were going to feel while he watched you. “Okay.”

“Let me just,” he said, moving to sit next to you. “It’ll be easier if you’re at the head of the bed. I’ll sit over here where you can see me, and I can get a better view. Sound good?”

“Yeah.” You crawled up to the top of the bed and propped yourself up on the pillows.

For a few moments, you stared at each other, obviously waiting for the other to start. He took mercy on you and wrapped his hand around his cock, working himself over a few times. You were still trying to get over your nerves.

“You don’t need to be nervous.” He nudged your legs apart and shifted between them. “How about I get you started, and then you can take over?”

You released a sigh of relief. “That sounds better.”

After he started rubbing around your clit without actually touching it, he took your hand and placed it on top of his, teasing you as he spoke. “You know, you’ve got such a pretty cunt. I can’t wait to get my mouth on it. I’m almost tempted to do it now, eat you out until my face is dripping, make you scream my name until you’re so hoarse you can’t anymore. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, darling?”

You could tell he knew exactly what he was doing, and god, it was working. He removed his hand, placing it over yours to mimic the motions he’d been making. After he was sure you weren’t going to stop, he scooted away. You missed his hand, but yours felt good, too, more familiar with all the things you liked.

“Look at me,” he instructed.

You hadn’t realized you’d closed your eyes until you opened them again. He was stroking himself across from you, hand moving up and down his shaft, twisting a bit on the upturn. His thumb brushed the head sometimes, and he seemed to really like that.

“Getting distracted?” he asked, with a smirk.

You realized you’d almost stopped moving your hand while watching him and resumed your efforts.

“I can’t wait to get inside you,” he admitted. “That pretty, pretty cunt of yours is going to be so tight around me, no matter how many times I get you off first. Wish I could do it bare, feel how hot and wet you get for me without anything between us, be the first to fill you up with cum. I want nothing more than to lay my claim on you, set the bar so high that no lover you have after me could even come close to reaching it. I want to absolutely ruin you for all other men, darling.”

That was enough to send you soaring over the edge, and god it was good. A litany of curses and his name interspersed your moans. You forced yourself to keep your eyes open wide and watched as he spilled onto his stomach, your name on his lips. Seconds passed slowly, and he eventually scooted up to the head of the bed and lay down next to you. You were both moist with sweat and breathing hard.

“I have about a dozen things to say, but you broke my brain,” you told him, glancing over, “but first-”

You reached over and swiped your finger through the pool of cum cooling on his stomach, making sure he was watching when you popped it in your mouth. It was a bit bitter and definitely salty. Not the best thing you’d ever tasted, but also not the worst.

You decided to return the favor from when he licked his fingers earlier, and moved your head down to his stomach. You watched his face as you deliberately and unhurriedly licked small trails through the mess, until his skin was clean, and there was nothing left.

He dropped his head back onto the pillow when you shifted away. “Fuck, you don’t know what you do to me.”

“I could say the same. My brain is less broken now, so we can talk.” You felt more comfortable in your post-orgasmic haze. “I just realized I never told you my name. How did you know it?”

“It was on the note on the condoms,” he replied, not lifting his head from the pillow. “Otherwise, I would’ve asked. I don’t really like anonymous fucks.”

“You said that the thing with my breasts was ‘on the list.’ Is there actually a list?”

“Do you want there to be one?” he countered.

You paused to consider. “Yeah. It can be my trip itinerary.”

He huffed out a laugh.

“The last thing is, well, did you mean what you said earlier?”

“I generally say what I mean, but which thing?”

You weren’t sure how to bring it up, so you just blurted out, “did you really want to try it without protection?”

“I don’t want to knock you up,” he quickly replied.

“I’m on birth control, for my periods,” you admitted, a bit awkwardly.

“How do you know I’m not going to give you anything?”

“I guess I’d have to trust you don’t have anything?” It hadn’t been something you second guessed. He was still technically almost a stranger.

“I don’t, but you need to be careful,” he admonished. “You can’t trust everyone.” He paused. “Let me think about it.”

“Okay. What do we do now?” you asked.

“Well, I’m knackered, but a shower is probably in order first.”

You watched him get up and head toward the bathroom.

He turned around. “You coming?”

“Oh, I didn’t know I was invited!” You quickly hopped off the bed and followed after him.

Tag list for some people whose work I have really enjoyed and/or thought might be interested: @moorehollandplz @tragicluver @madmadmilk @dtftomholland @thollandss @tylers-ankles-beebos-forehead @delicatepeterparker

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland imagine #tom holland scenarios #tom holland fic #tom holland smut #tom holland fluff #tom holland story #tom holland writing #tom holland reader #tom holland reader insert #tom holland you

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baepsaetan · 4 years

Text

Inkarnate

Summary: Hoseok is a film student looking for muse, and Yoongi is a tattoo artist looking for money. When they meet, the two find that they could give each other far more than creativity and cash, but soulmate isn’t spelled p.e.r.f.e.c.t, and Yoongi’s tattoos cover up more than just his skin.

Chapters: pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5, pt.6, pt.7, pt.8, pt.9, pt.10, pt.11 -> read on Ao3

Genre: Soulmate! AU, Angst

Warnings: Smut, main character death, swearing, implied alcoholism, implied past abuse, seriously a lot of angst, cancer.

Length: 8k

A/N: Another one! Already! Ideally this frequent posting will become a Thing but if we’re being honest Maybe Not. Still, hope some people have a chance to read this! Also shout out to @samwithham! It really has been a hot second, but I’m grateful you’re still reading <3

---

The last short finishes with a melancholic flourish that’s a little campy but still effective, and applause fills the theatre. Unlike at normal showings, there’s no immediate mass exodus; almost everyone stays to watch the credits, and even as they roll to a close, only a few people drift out. A low murmur arises from the crowd, and Hoseok hears snatches of opinions on the piece.

“Can you believe he said that?”

“… still caught me by surprise. I liked the depiction of family as…”

“Weren’t you crying? I thought…”

They wash over him, and he drowns in the ideas and impressions bleeding their vivid colours into existence even after the film is done. It doesn’t matter that the lights are coming on, that the screen is black, that people are slowly finding their feet and their car keys and getting ready to leave. There’s something comforting about his satisfaction, something tangible and unquestionable and honest, and Hoseok wants to bury himself in that emotion until he can’t see or feel anything else, forever.

He wants to, but he can’t.

During the presentations of the films, especially as they’d gotten into it, he’d managed to submerge himself in the experience, yet now that it’s over, Hoseok is drained, exhausted. Yoongi had kept hold of his hand for most of it, they’d eventually banished the arm rest and curled up together, and if the artist had dozed off once or twice during the four hour showing, well, Hoseok isn’t in the mood to hold it against him. At least he’s awake now, watching the black screen with a furrowed brow that makes Hoseok think he might be creating some tattoos off of what they’ve seen.

Hoseok eventually rises from his seat, unexpectedly stiff, and Yoongi is much worse, cursing and standing up so slowly he may as well have claimed a senior’s discount. Watching the grumbling sight, against his inclination Hoseok smiles.

“Such an old man,” he comments gently.

“That’s not what you said last night,” Yoongi replies, and laughs at the instant flood of red across the face of the other man, the quick glance to see if anyone heard.

Once he’s sure there’s no one within earshot, Hoseok relaxes, though he’s not necessarily keen on keeping up this line of conversation. Not in public, anyways. As they file for the exit, he asks, “What was your fave? Film, I mean.”

Yoongi pauses by the garbage at the entrance and throws out the wad of Kleenex he’d shoved into his pocket when his nosebleed had ended, a few minutes into the first film. “The one with the girl who gets lost,” he replies. “Though it’s fucking bullshit she never finds her way out.”

Hoseok chucks away the now-empty bag of candy that his boyfriend had impatiently refused every time it had been offered. Remembering the picture Yoongi’s talking about – the editor had gone crazy with the light filtering, but the tracking shots were gorgeous – Hoseok frowns. “You’re calling the ending bullshit but it’s your fave?”

A shrug. “I think we’re supposed to be pissed off about it. Mad no one helped her or something. It being bullshit is the point.”

That… is deeper than he’d expected Yoongi to go, and Hobi probably shouldn’t be surprised, but he is. It’s not like his boyfriend isn’t a thoughtful person – not in the least, actually – but he tends to get impatient trying to explain what he means, and it isn’t often he sounds so calmly certain about a point he’s trying to make. And Hoseok finds himself agreeing. There had been something demanding about the end of the short, about the way the camera spiralled away in an ever widening shot, something that asked why she was left standing alone in that barren space.

“Didn’t look at it like that, but I think you’re right,” Hoseok says quietly, and can’t quell the swell of guilt that washes over him. Had Yoongi been able to see it so clearly because he feels equally abandoned?

The other man glances at him, eyebrow raised. “I’m glad a soon-to-be famous film director agrees with my theory. Maybe I should publish a thesis paper or something.” Sardonic, but lightly so, and Hoseok may or may not be imagining the searching concern hidden behind that sarcastic gaze.

“You can put my name on it, if you want.” Hoseok smiles as he says it, but turns away from the worry his conscience might be making up. If he’s right – if any of the thoughts skittering through his head are right – it isn’t Yoongi who should be looking at him with that veiled compassion. If he’s right, he thinks his heart might just break under such a look.

“I’ll take you up on it,” the tattooist promises. “Until then… what was your fave, Mr. Expert?”

Did he even have one? It’s not that he can’t remember them all individually, but it’s as though Hoseok had tried so hard to submerse himself in the films that he had accidentally pushed too hard against them, smudged the colours and details of their wet-paint newness into a blur. There’s nothing that truly stands out, and that’s… well, that’s just a shame.

“They were all so good. I’m not surprised any of them were included in the festival.”

Head ticking to the side, Yoongi sucks on his spit, opens his mouth, seems to think better of it. He looks down as they push their way through the doors and out into the early evening, his hands crumpling the beanie he’d taken off long ago into a tight ball before shoving it into his hoodie pocket. From the corner of his eye Hoseok catches him chewing on the inside of his cheek, the motion almost savage. Throwing up a hand to shield from the sudden sun, eventually the artist mumbles, “I just – I hope you enjoyed it, yeah?”

“Of course!” The reply is immediate, fervent, because Hoseok can’t bear the tentative way he asks that question. “Especially – man, that you thought of me at all. That you got the tickets for me. That’s so cool, Yoongs.”

The other man relaxes. “Well, like I said, they were free. Really wasn’t much.” That had been such a relief the first time Hoseok heard it, and even hearing it again has him sighing gratefully. He knows Yoongi doesn’t have money to spare – he makes a respectable amount tattooing, but almost everything goes into the rent for Born Tiger – and the thought of him paying had put Hoseok’s throat in knots. At least Yoongi had set that straight during the first intermission between showings.

It suddenly occurs to Hoseok that he knows that Yoongi isn’t lying about getting the tickets for free. Knows, not assumes or believes. It’s like knowing a fact is true because he’s seen it for himself. Where does that certainty come from? Where did–

He jerks his thoughts to a hard stop. He’ll figure it out, one way or another, but for now… for now Yoongi is watching him with gentle, tired affection, and if his eyes are bruises and his skin too blanched, at least he looks happy. Hoseok would do a hell of a lot more than play dumb to keep that expression in place, if only for a little while longer. They stop a little way down the street, keep out of everyone’s way. “You wanna get something to eat?”

Yoongi considers that for a moment, but eventually shakes his head. “I don’t want to take too much of your time – it’s already cool you agreed to spend some time with me today.”

“Y’know, I’m not a celebrity just yet. It’s not like my time is worth gold or anything.”

“Nah,” Yoongi replies with a wry twist of his lips, “just worth something else. Let me start paying you?” Then he reaches over, catches at the back of Hoseok’s neck, and Hoseok is already grinning at the familiar joke, but his smile becomes softer under his boyfriend’s mouth.

This kiss is quiet, almost too timid, so he throws his arms around the other man, pulls him closer, anything to cement their contact. His boyfriend responds with a low hum, the sound a reverberation of appreciation that pulses through Hoseok’s bones, replaces his marrow with a contentment that’s too airy to hold the weight of everything else. But – for a moment, it can manage. And it does, as they break off and Yoongi presses his face against Hoseok’s chest, though not quickly enough to hide the expression on his face, so tender it appears a mere breath from falling apart. Tightening his arms around the small man’s shoulders, as though that alone could hold them both together, Hoseok kisses the top of Yoongi’s head. Was there a way, some magic of filmography he hasn’t found yet, to extend this moment forever? Not freeze it like a photograph, but just… keep it going, keep all the affection and warmth and the way the sun burnishes Yoongi’s blonde hair into feathery gold?

“I love you,” Hoseok murmurs, and for once there’s no anxiety in those words, no uncertainty or fear of rejection. He and Yoongi – together, like this – is so right. Maybe only for a minute or a moment, but for as long as it lasts, he can close his eyes and feel that rightness like music in his ears, like honey on his tongue, like a shot of some view you’d climbed miles to see.

For a long time, there is simple quiet in response, but Hoseok is aware of Yoongi’s shoulders trembling as he struggles to draw in breath after breath. Eventually the artist clears his throats, whispers shakily, “Yeah. I love you too, Hobi… so much,”

They stay as they are for several minutes, secure, linked by touch and something so much heavier, something Hoseok can’t name. Eventually though, Yoongi stirs in his arms, eases himself away. His mouth is a reluctant slash when he looks up, but nonetheless he says, “We should go. You got too much shit to do to be standing around.”

In more ways than one, he’s right. Hoseok can hardly think about the various project deadlines and exams coming up in the next two weeks, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist. And besides, if he’s actually going to make himself go through with the plan…

It’s his turn to take in a deep breath. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. But I’ll drive you home first.”

“It’s not that far,” Yoongi snorts dismissively, already turning to walk away.

Hoseok catches his wrist. “You set all of this up for me. It’s the least I can do.”

“Aish… okay.” The surrender comes quickly, more quickly than Hoseok expects it to, and he finds himself wondering at it as they begin to stroll to Hobi’s car. For all of Yoongi’s dismissive tone, it is a pretty far walk to Born Tiger – is that why he’d agreed so promptly? Because a walk like that is hard for Yoongi nowadays?

Jiggling his keys to keep the electric tension at bay, the warmth dissipating like water through his grasping fingers and leaving something cold in its wake, Hoseok can’t stop himself from chatting as they walk, but his heart isn’t in it. Neither is Yoongi’s, to judge by the distracted responses, and he keeps expecting there to be a sudden crack, a sudden halt, a sudden outpouring of whatever is welling up inside the both of them. It never comes, though. The thunderous clouds just swell without rain, and he’s no god to know how to change this weather pattern.

He has to try, though.

By the time they’ve slipped into the car and Hoseok has pulled into rush hour traffic, that knowledge has hardened into resolve. When the other man takes out his phone and starts fiddling with it, he glances over – probably too intently – and asks so casually that it’s not casual at all, “Are you gonna call your doctor for an appointment now?”

Yoongi fumbles the device, drops it into his lap. “What – right now?” he asks, picking it back up.

“Not everyone works ‘til two in the morning, Yoongs. Pretty sure doctor offices close soon.” His companion is frowning at him, and Hoseok just hopes Yoongi assumes he’s nervous about bringing up something that was close to starting an argument a few hours ago. Which he is. Amazing how even a lie can rest on a foundation of truth. Clearing his throat when the other says nothing, he coaxes, “It’ll only take a moment.”

“And you get to see me doing it,” the artist observes flatly.

Hoseok flinches, can’t deny the implicit accusation. But neither can he backtrack, so he keeps his eyes on the road and sits a little straighter. “You put this off a lot, Yoongi. I’m just – I’m trying to help.”

A violent exhale from the man beside him, and Hoseok flinches again, more from the guilt of what he isn’t saying than anything else. After a moment of fraught silence, another sigh, considerably softer than the first. “I know you’re trying. I’m trying too. It’s just, this,” he touches his nose like it symbolizes all the misery he’s been going through, “this ain’t anything until someone tells me it’s something y’know? And I think I would have preferred… I mean, that I’d prefer not knowing. Easier.”

“But not necessarily better,” Hoseok says quietly, and wonders how much of this is real and how much is just more of the same.

“Maybe…” A few seconds pass in torn silence, and then abruptly Yoongi snorts. “Fuck. I guess it doesn’t really matter, does it?” Without waiting for a reply, he scrolls through his phone, has it up to his ear before Hoseok can doubt if he’s actually going to call. “Hello? Dr. Cho? Yeah, this is Min Yoongi calling. No, not – not about that.” It’s impossible to miss the tension in Yoongi’s voice, the coolly impassive look plastered across his face when Hoseok risks a glance, but Hoseok can’t make out anything the person on the other end is saying, just hears an incomprehensible voice.

“No, I don’t want that. I just wanted to schedule another appointment….” A pause as he lets the other person talk, and if anything, Yoongi’s expression grows colder. Or maybe not colder, maybe just… rigid. Eventually he seems to interrupt. “I know all that. Thanks. Like I said, just want an appointment. Some time next week? Yeah, sure. Uh huh. Mhm. Yeah. See you soon. Thanks.” His hand drops to rest limply on his thigh, and it takes several more seconds before Yoongi hangs up the call.

He turns to Hoseok. “Three o’clock on Tuesday. You satisfied?”

Refusing to rise to that combative tone – it’s obvious this call has unnerved his boyfriend, and in between his guilt and his pity, Hoseok can’t feel anything else – the film student just smiles as brightly as he can. “Sounds like just what the doctor ordered. Thanks, Yoongs. Seriously – thanks.”

His voice has lightened into something closer to grumpiness than anger when he replies. “Yeah, whatever. Now I get to spend an hour having her rip into me for not scheduling sooner.”

“Do you not like her?” Hoseok asks in surprise. He’s always assumed Yoongi’s aversion to getting a checkup was an internal issue, but maybe it was partly his doctor’s fault? That makes him hope. Maybe he is overreacting. Maybe it really is as simple as that. Maybe…

Yoongi grimaces. “It’s not like that. She’s just… pushy. Doesn’t like putting up with my bullshit.” His laugh isn’t very amused. “Guess that makes two of us. Anyways, no, I’ve had her for awhile now. She’s fine. I’m just being a bastard.”

“Good to hear.” Although it isn’t, not really.

They don’t talk much for the rest of the trip, Hoseok sweating over somehow giving himself away while Yoongi seems withdrawn and comfortable staring out the window without speaking. When they pull into a spot a short distance from Born Tiger, Hoseok feels like he’s about to have a heart attack. Hands pressing into the steering wheel until they ache, he almost doesn’t manage to make himself do it. Yoongi’s gathered up his stuff, hand on the door, before a surge of desperation rips the words from Hoseok’s tongue.

“Uh, hey! Could I borrow your phone for a sec? Mine’s dead.”

“What do you need it for?” Yoongi asks, but he’s already handing it over, nothing but distracted amusement on his face.

“I forgot I wanted to text Jimin, tell him I’m just gonna grab some fast-food for dinner. Ask if he and the other guys wanted anything.” The pads of his fingers are sweaty, and he has to try a few times to type Yoongi’s password – genius – before getting in. He hovers for a moment over Contacts, struggling to make himself move.

Meanwhile, Yoongi scoffs. “Dunno why you even need to ask. Tae and Kookie would eat out of a garbage bin if someone told them it was free.”

Hoseok cracks a weak smile. “Probably not out of it.” He still can’t make himself do what he’s been planning since before the films.

“Yeah, you’re right. They’d get plastic plates first.” It’s the fondness in Yoongi’s voice that does it. Pushes him into leaving Contacts untouched and pressing on Phone History. Because that gruff, protective affection for the younger boys… Hoseok can’t lose it. He can’t stop having those rough, secure words in his life, not when everything before Yoongi was too smooth to hold onto. He just can’t. And if this isn’t what he dreads it might be, well, Yoongi will be pissed, but he’ll also be forgiving, sooner or later. Haven’t the last few months proven that?

Phone tilted away from the other man, Hoseok taps into the most recent call, made to a Dr. Cho Jiyoo. Moving his fingers like he’s texting, he just stares at the number there instead, committing it to memory to the best of his ability. A few seconds later, he actually goes to Jimin, sends the message, and then hands the cell back to Yoongi with an empty hollowness in his stomach. It’s a good thing his boyfriend has his own things to worry about, because Hoseok isn’t exactly doing this with picture perfect guile.

It doesn’t take hardly any time at all for Jimin to reply, which is a blessing. Hoseok can only repeat the numbers in his head for so long before he’s bound to mess them up, especially while encouraging Yoongi to do most of the talking.

Breaking off a story about a guy who fainted dead away within five minutes of his first ever needle, the artist checks his vibrating phone. “Jimin says Taehyung is eating with Jin, but he and Jungkook could go for something.” Another buzz of an incoming message, and he barks a laugh. “Jungkook votes for McDonald’s, so I was right; he would eat out of a dumpster if it was free.”

Shaking his head at that – 4, 53, 67, 32, 08 – Hoseok asks, “Did Jimin get a vote?”

“Subway. You roll with the most high-class people, hey?”

“Oh, ‘cause your choice would be so much better.” When Yoongi opens his mouth, Hoseok adds, “Starbucks isn’t that classy, Yoongs.” 67, 32, 08…

“You would know,” Yoongi shoots back, with a gummy smile that’s nothing short of breathtaking, and it lurches through Hoseok’s throat until he almost lets go of the numbers and plan altogether. He can hardly breathe through his shame about not speaking honestly to Yoongi, and with that trusting grin right in front of him…

“Yoongi,” Hoseok says, and the man across from him dampens his smile at the strangled tone, leans forward a bit.

“Yeah?” the artist asks quietly, brows furrowing in miniscule tension.

Please tell me the truth. The words are so easy – so impossible to say. What is the truth? What is the nagging feeling that drags like oil across Hoseok’s brain whenever he looks at his tattoo? What is the crumpled expression Yoongi wears when he thinks no one can see him? And what the hell could Hoseok do if Yoongi refused to answer any of those questions?

And what if he didn’t?

His fingers drum against the steering wheel, and when he can’t get them to stop, Hoseok wrenches them off, buries them in his lip. He smiles, or tries to. “I’ll call you later tonight, okay? You can listen to me cry about how behind I am with everything.”

“My favorite mixtape,” Yoongi jokes, though the furrow across his forehead doesn’t really disappear. “I’ll be expecting that call. Don’t skip out.” His way of saying that he’s around to listen, that he doesn’t want Hoseok to keep it to himself. If they don’t get away from each other soon, Hoseok really is going to start crying.

Keeping his breath shallow, he shakes his head. “I won’t. Don’t worry. I’ll see you later.”

He’s actually relieved when Yoongi doesn’t make any move to kiss him goodbye. It’s not the usual – just another signal of how off things are between them – but Hoseok’s pretty sure if they touched right now, everything would come spilling out. Not necessarily through his lips, but maybe through his skin, or his head, or his heart… or wherever this aching connection is anchored, somewhere beyond his mere body.

Hand against his neck, Yoongi hesitates before he opens his door. “Happy belated b-day, Hobi,” he says, and the humour is so pale it might as well be invisible. All Hoseok can do is incline his head and murmur a tight thank you. Fingers still stroking across his neck, there’s another breathless pause before Yoongi shuts his eyes and heaves himself out of the car, movements stiff and pained. “I’ll see you later,” is his low promise, and then the door is thudding closed between them.

Because the spikes of restless agony are threatening to drive straight through him if he doesn’t move to avoid them, Hoseok doesn’t wait to watch his boyfriend walk to Born Tiger. Because there’s something ripping him apart already and anything added will splinter him into even smaller pieces, he doesn’t look in the rear-view mirror once he’s beyond the other man. Because the only thing he can do right now is go forward, Hoseok doesn’t stop, doesn’t turn around, doesn’t go back. He sets his jaw, looks up a number and an address on his almost fully charged phone, and puts it into the GPS.

---

The office looks as conventional as any medical company Hoseok has seen, at least from the outside. Short and insistently rectangular, the building is painted a sandy brown, while the double doors of the entrance are white, and plenty of windows dot the squat structure. There’s a little bed of flowers and some potted plants out front. It doesn’t look like a place where people go to learn they’re dying.

But it is. This isn’t the doctor’s office Hoseok had expected when he looked up the name and the number he had taken from Yoongi’s phone. He isn’t really sure what he’d expected, but it wasn’t an oncologist’s office. The CL Courage Clinic is, according to the website, a specialty cancer clinic that deals with various kinds of chronic leukemia. There aren’t all that many cars in the parking lot, but then again, it’s kind of late. He wonders if Dr. Cho is still here. He wonders what he’s doing here.

His pulse is thrumming in his throat, and when Hoseok swallows it feels like his heart is about to burst through his trachea. He knows what the doctor looks like – the website had all of their pictures – but there’s a layer of static over everything he sees and he’s not altogether confident he’ll even be able to recognize her. Breath so harsh he can’t hear the music playing on the car radio, eventually Hoseok shuts it off, anything to reduce the unrelenting everything that’s crushing him into a panicked nothing.

What am I doing here? He’s falling to pieces so quickly he can’t put himself together again. Am I really about to– He can’t think about it, he can’t, he can’t. He has to do it.

He has to, but for a long time Hoseok just sits in his car, shifting constantly, rubbing his fingers raw against anything that comes under his hands. He’d thought he’d go into the building, ask for the doctor, but now he’s starting to wonder if maybe he should just wait for her out here. Maybe she’s gone home already. Maybe the thought that has him caressing his collarbone and then jerking away as if stung is more ridiculous than anything else he’s managed to think up. After so many months – after what feels like a lifetime – would Yoongi really not have told him?

By now, Hoseok isn’t really sure what he’s talking about, even within his own mind. Told him what? About sickness? Or soulmates? Or are they somehow the same thing, now?

Minutes pass and doubts churn trenches through Hoseok’s head, ruthlessly treading the same paths over and over again until it feels like there’s no way to think outside the ditches, no way to leap beyond their bounds. He thinks, and only manages to dig himself deeper into paralysis.

For the seventh or eighth time, the clinic door opens, and someone steps outside. He looks towards them, empty of expectation. That might be why it takes him a moment to recognize the lady in a flora summer dress as she hitches a purse over her shoulder and walks with quick, short strides. When he does, everything… collapses. The fear, the doubts, the shrieking, formless anxiety, they don’t disappear, but they contract into a place somewhere just behind his sternum. It’s almost as though the sheer weight of his breakdown has finally ripped a blackhole into existence, and it’s dragging his heart and lungs and stomach into a mangled mess of impossible heaviness. What emotions could escape the gravity of such dread?

He forces his door open too hard, has to wrench it back to avoid smashing into the truck he’d parked next to. Clambering out of the luxurious car feels like a confession of sin, and his jerky steps are quick to leave the sleek vehicle behind.

“Dr. Cho. Umm, Dr. Cho!” The second time he calls she hears him, turns his way. His immediate impression is thinness – thin black hair, thin lips, thin eyebrows, thin shoulders… thin patience, if the expression on her taut face is any clue. He’s not sure how old she is – maybe fifty, though the exasperation makes it harder to be sure.

“May I help you?” she asks, in a slow way that suggests she’s hoping the answer is no. He can’t entirely blame her, given the time and the way he’s accosting her outside her work.

Bouncing his weight back and forth from foot to foot, Hoseok nods several times as if the motion alone might shake some words from his head to his too-dry mouth. It doesn’t, but the compression in his chest hasn’t managed to swallow his tongue quite yet, and so he manages to push out a quick introduction. “Uh, hello, Dr. Cho. My name is Jung Hoseok. We haven’t – I saw you on the clinic website, and I, umm, was hoping we could talk.”

If anything, her eyes narrow even further. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jung, but I generally only meet by appointment, and only during office hours. You could have phoned the clinic and scheduled a time to talk.” ‘Should have’ is more than implicit in her words, but the doctor’s displeasure hits his chest and – dissolves. It can’t gain any purchase in the flattened landscape of his feelings.

“I’m really, really sorry, but I couldn’t – I only just, uh, found out I need to talk to you.” Because I’m stupid. Because I’ve failed him.

Dr. Cho sighs, adjusts the purse on her shoulder. The motion makes her seem less annoyed and more… tired. “Did you receive a referral from your family doctor? I know it’s always very terrifying to receive a possible diagnosis, but it really would be better to schedule an appointment, so I have the opportunity to look at your information and –”

“I’m sorry,” Hoseok interrupts, the pressure mostly squeezing embarrassment into oblivion. He doesn’t even flush at accidentally giving her the wrong impression. “It’s not about me, it’s about one – one of your patients.”

Immediately her back is a little straighter, her brow a little more creased. “One of my patients?”

“Yes. His name is Min Yoongi. He’s… I think he’s been seeing you recently?”

She mouths the name, not as if it’s unfamiliar, but rather as though it surprises her to hear someone mention it. The tightness behind his ribs contracts even further, to the point of pain. He’d thought – hoped, prayed, begged – that she wouldn’t know what he was talking about, but she definitely knows Yoongi. Everything had suggested that she would, but if it had been a misunderstanding, if he’d gotten the wrong doctor… It’s getting a bit hard to breathe.

For a second, it looks as though curiosity might impel Dr. Cho to speak further, but the inclination is quickly suppressed, and her wariness comes back. “We’re not permitted to discuss our patients without their permission. It’s best if you ask him about–”

“He won’t tell me.” Even to his own ears, the toneless certainty is too flat to be anything but despairing. Hoseok tries to picture it – tries to imagine a conversation between he and Yoongi that leads towards them understanding each other more, and not breaking apart – but he can’t. He believes Yoongi loves him, but now, with the open chasm of truth before him, Hoseok knows his boyfriend would do anything to avoid pitching him into its consuming blackness. That must be why. It’s the only reason he can think of for why they haven’t taken this plunge together.

It doesn’t make him feel better – if anything, it just makes it worse. He had thought honesty was white, was open, was a bridge between two trusting people, but this – this isn’t that.

Her eyes flick to his face and then quickly away again, embarrassed or uncomfortable with whatever she finds there. When the doctor speaks, her voice is kind but without an inch of give. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t help you with this. It seems best that you talk to him directly. If he gives permission for me to disclose information…” By the way she trails off, Hoseok isn’t the only one who knows that won’t happen. How long has Yoongi been seeing her for, that she’s so aware of that fact?

Straightening her shoulders, expression apologetic in face of his hopeless silence, Dr. Cho inclines her head. “I’m sorry,” she says again. “I hope everything works itself out.” And with that she moves to leave.

It turns out there’s one thing strong enough to escape the blackhole nestled in his chest – desperation. “Wait!” Hoseok reaches out, jerks back his hand before he catches her. Nonetheless, she pauses. Hardly knowing what he’s doing, he finds himself scrabbling at the high neck of his shirt, yanking it down with enough force that it sounds like the fabric is ripping. Ignoring that, he pulls it even further, baring the wilted flower there. The way her eyes widen, the way she leans forward with a mixture of revulsion and reluctant fascination, tells him it’s exactly as it’s been for the last few weeks.

He knows what she’s wondering as her gaze traces the withered lines, the tones that smudge more towards ashen rot than any real flower would ever experience. Why would someone get a tattoo like this?

Why did he get a tattoo like this? And God, doesn’t he know the answer?

“This belongs to him,” Hoseok blurts out, still only half sure of what he’s saying.

She doesn’t look away from the decaying image, but there’s no dawning awareness on her face as she replies, “Yoongi is a tattoo artist, isn’t he? He did this?” Can he blame her for not understanding? How long has it taken him to finally grasp what’s been hovering over this mark? How many times has he been on the verge of holding it, only to let go at the last moment, afraid that comprehension will make it into a reality too heavy to carry?

He takes too long to respond, grappling with what to answer. Dr. Cho straightens, finally pulls her eyes away. “It seems you’re good friends, and he’s obviously very talented, but that… I still can’t help you.”

“No, I don’t –” Just what is he trying to say? The pressure crushing his insides is finally too tight; cracks are ribboning through the blackhole, fissures of agonized acknowledgement that his whole existence isn’t enough to suppress. Guilt, terror, rage, grief – what are those words in the midst of the detonation blossoming it’s frenzied heat up his throat?

His hand finds the tattoo, presses against it. Too hard, his nails digging into the skin, but the heat remains, and so does the flower. It will continue there. He can’t rip it off. Nothing can. Nothing can separate the mark from the flesh. Hoseok finds a sudden, bracing relief in that thought, as though, with everything spiralling out of his hands, this alone will remain as it is. No matter what he says, no matter what he does – this bond is going to remain.

He breathes through his clenched teeth, as if the air burns his lungs, but there are a few words that haven’t been immolated in the fire. “This tattoo belongs to Yoongi,” Hoseok repeats, his tone almost too shrill. “It belongs to him, because–” There is a small falter, another hard inhale, before he continues, voice picking up force and certainty. “Because he belongs to me.”

Caught up in the torrent of his declaration, Dr. Cho understands what he means immediately, and her expressive eyebrows jump up in startled incredulity as she takes an involuntary half-step back. He almost wants to do the same, with the words still searing his tongue and blistering his lips. Saying it feels like releasing a spell, like casting some kind of dreadfully powerful incantation that he couldn’t undo even if he wanted to. At the same time, there’s a shuddering throughout his whole body, as if his muscles and bones are snapping into their proper places, for the first time in forever. He belongs to me. Hoseok wouldn’t unsay that, even if he could.

This time, when her gaze lands on the mark, it tears along the lines like a surgical knife, trying to separate the bleak colours from the skin, to see it in a different light. And see it she does, as the understanding settles into something deeper, sorrowful realization mingling with heavy pity. Hoseok doesn’t want to see that – he wants to shut his eyes – but that won’t stop the sensation discharging through his arteries and carrying liquid anguish to the rest of his body.

“You two are bonded?” Dr. Cho all but whispers, and it’s so easy to ignore the way his eyes are aching and simply nod instead, as though he’s known all along. So easy to acknowledge that blood is red, tears are clear, Hoseok has a tattoo, and he and Yoongi are soulmates.

Why is it so easy? After months of refusing to believe, embracing this truth feels like holding onto Yoongi; light, warm, and altogether too real to be doubted. Hoseok finds himself mouthing the words, though he can’t quite say it yet. We’re bonded.

The doctor’s lips twist, her head tilting slightly, but nonetheless her examination doesn’t let up, body angled unwillingly forward to get a better view. “It hasn’t always looked like this?” she finally asks, and he wonders suddenly if there’s some kind of medical practice that takes the condition of soulmate tattoos into consideration. If she could have used this earlier.

It’s not so easy to shake his head, but Hoseok forces himself to do it anyways. “No, it hasn’t. Just – just recently. It’s always been – it’s never been absolutely perfect, but never this bad.”

“He really hasn’t told you anything?” Her disbelief hurts him, ashes and cinder burning along his throat as he’s reminded of how wrong this is.

Swallowing the embers, he replies, “No, he… I didn’t ask him enough. I should have pushed harder. I should have…” There’s too much to write in this column, not enough ink to jot it all down. He should have, he should have, he should have. “Please, I don’t know what else to do. Please, just…” Help me. Hoseok doesn’t know how to say that to this stranger, this woman who may well have been keeping his soulmate alive, who is undoubtedly judging him for his severe deficiencies now.

But if Dr. Cho is judging him, that judgement doesn’t overwhelm her sympathy. Eyes rising from his tattoo to meet his frantically imploring stare, the thin woman taps her forehead, where thoughtful creases have appeared. She doesn’t seem like the type to agonize over a decision for very long. And sure enough, far before the apprehension can do more than constrict his throat, the doctor turns away, begins to walk back to the clinic. Hoseok stares after her, not daring to expect anything.

Over her shoulder, she calls words that give him the barest hint of a reason to hope. “Come. We should discuss this in my office.”

Injected with something resembling relief – but not that, never that, not while Yoongi’s reality is still so twisted from what it should be – Hoseok hurries after her.

---

He’s collapsed on the couch, back pressed into the armrest, knees drawn up, a sketchbook resting on his abdomen and balanced against his legs, his coloured pencils on the table next to him. Yoongi is hunched over the drawing, almost curled around it, as though it’s an open wound that needs protecting. And maybe it is. He’s made several dozen strokes of his pencil along the page, but they’re just aimless slashes, split seams with nothing in between. He’d wanted to put his feelings down – on paper and otherwise – but his ideas keep slipping away, and if Yoongi knew what he wanted to draw when he sat down, he certainly doesn’t know now.

Hoseok’s face keeps intruding. That isn’t unheard of – and typically it’s more of a pleasure than a pain – but today is different. The sun without its rays is stark. Hoseok’s face without its smile is bleak.

Today had gone so fucking wrong.

I am so tired of this fucking bullshit.

It’s true, but it’s truer to say that Yoongi is tired of his own bullshit. Whether he means his body’s slow deterioration or his constant lying to hide that decline depends on the day – hell, it depends on the hour. Right now, he pretty much means the lying part. Pulling himself together enough to accompany Hoseok to the film festival after the news Dr. Cho had given him hadn’t been all that difficult – even Atlas had to get comfortable with the world on his shoulders, sooner or later – but had it even been worth it?

More and more, when Hoseok looks at him, Yoongi senses that the other man is… searching. Looking beyond the barriers he throws up, even looking beyond the concrete comfort that they feel when they’re together. His sun tattoo has been looking off recently, too. The colour isn’t draining, but the rays of light have become sharper, more defined, almost painfully distinct. Little spikes of anxiety. The overall tone has also shifted to a redder hue, more like a dying sun than a brilliant one.

Brushing his thumb over the inside of his elbow, he can’t stop the twist of his lips. Today, with Hobi all but demanding he call the doctor, Yoongi wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss him or smack him upside the head. The concern is touching, a heart-hurt that he can only be grateful for, but it can only lead one way, the one way Yoongi can’t accept, and he suspects they’re getting closer to that path.

In fact, as Yoongi had shut the car door and walked away, that feeling solidified into certainty. Hoseok found something. That’s what his demand was about, that was why he was acting so shady. The realization had been all altitude and dizziness for Yoongi, and even now, there’s nausea cringing at the corners of the artist’s stomach, like he expects the floor to collapse at any second and send him plummeting straight down. What had Hoseok found? Which secret? Any? Or is this just paranoia stacked on pain?

Another rough line added to the rest of the strokes, and it’s still a mess. Nothing clear. No answers. Just the wild apprehension teeming like termites through his wooden brain. Mumbling to himself, Yoongi tears out the page, holds it in his hand for a moment before, with a low exhale, he casts it aside.

He can’t start over anywhere else in his life, but isn’t that half the appeal of what he’s doing now?

This time, when Yoongi begins to draw, he has a better idea of where he wants to go. He’s borrowing from the film he’d liked. The concept, not the actual image. A single stem of soft blue orchids, floating in a black expanse that’s barely discernable as water. It looks more like ink. Some of the flowers are already partially submerged in the dark substance, the gentle petals streaked with oily shadows. There’s no ripple across the water, no sign of movement or change. Just the orchids, alone, slowly sinking.

It takes him a couple of hours, and during that time he can pour everything into the long funnel his focus creates, splattering the page with his loneliness. The fear, the anger, the guilt, the grief, it’s all there in that limitless lake of black. It’s nothing more than a sketch; he needs a table and a better setup to draw something worth showing to others. It is what he wanted to draw, though. As he finishes he knows that, yet… when Yoongi looks at it, his pencil falling into his lap, the itching, frantic feeling is already beginning to squirm to life again. He can’t exorcise it with this torrent of truth.

What if Hoseok does know? What then? Where is the beaming man in this picture?

Yoongi glances at his cell, checking the time. He’s only a little surprised to see that it’s a bit after 7. Time is a construct, after all, and it’s especially unstable when creativity and emotions come out to play together. A direct quote from Namjoon. Yoongi scoffs at it even as fondness makes him smooth the page against his knees with more gentleness than he might have done otherwise. The despair is demanding he crumple paper and shatter glass, but the artist shoves it down. Remembers the look on Hoseok’s face when he saw the theatre and realized where they were going.

His pencil – a yellowy gold tone – hovers uncertainly over the corner of the drawing. Can he add this? Does he deserve to add it?

Before he can make up his mind, there’s a knock on the entrance downstairs. Hard. It comes again, and then again, no regularity to the sounds. Again, like stuttering breaths or crippled steps. The pounding sets his nerves alight, and against any rational thought, Yoongi freezes, his fingers curling into fists. It’s probably some drunk messing up where they are; there are enough of those on Skymont, even if it is kinda early. Or maybe it’s a customer who forgot something, even though he’s meticulous about cleaning the studio and hadn’t found anything recently. It’s probably nothing. Maybe he doesn’t even need to answer.

It isn’t any kind of rational thought that has Yoongi casting his eyes down, half-flinching at a new round of knocking. It isn’t even intuition, the kind you laugh at during the day and heed while walking down dark streets. Something more forceful, inexorable, makes him drag his gaze back to the tattoo he had been considering only a few hours ago. A tattoo that is, before his eyes, slowly but surely dissolving through a slew of sickly colours, like diseased flesh across his skin. Yet, even as Yoongi watches in numb, detached interest, the form begins to solidify in an explosion of brighter, harsher tones.

As it does, he hears someone call in a voice stripped to its ragged core, “Yoongi!”

The sun loses its colours, finds them again, shot through with waves of distortion that look like a mirage. Repeat. And repeat.

The entire process takes about five minutes, and the knocking doesn’t stop, and still Yoongi can’t make himself move. He watches the tattoo, waiting for it to fade into nothing, or at least go dead and black. It doesn’t, the jumbled swirls of colour continuing, but the person at the door calls again, “Yoongi! Yoongi – open the door.”

Yoongi’s complained about his thin walls before. Hoseok knows that he can hear. It wouldn’t even matter if he hadn’t. The tattooist – feels his soulmate. All the time, yes, but more so now, the awareness closer to a deafening noise than any kind of conscious recognition. And the wavering lines of the tattoo mean… just exactly what he’s suddenly terrified that they mean. The numbness is washed away in a flood of ice through his stomach, and Yoongi realizes that he’s trembling.

Almost too hard to make it down the stairs, hand on the wall for balance.

Stumbling off the last step, the artist makes his way down the hallway, through his tattooing parlour. The scents and sights of his chairs and equipment aren’t reassuring; he’s alienated from them, as though he’s become a ghost, just drifting through an existence that’s no longer his. Each knock jars him further from reality. He can’t seem to formulate any thoughts. No words or excuses or apologies to set his slanted world back on its straight axis.

The dread is a far stronger impression than anything else, coppery on his tongue, and by the time Yoongi gets to the front of the store, he can even feel it coating his fingertips. Lifting a too-heavy arm, he pauses at the lock, watches the way his hand shakes in front of it, and abruptly feels contempt. He’s so afraid. Does Hoseok deserve such a cowardly person?

“…Yoongi?” Quieter now, as though he knows how much closer Yoongi is, Hoseok’s voice wedges into the icy fear, sends little cracks shuddering through it.

His other hand comes up to press against his neck, almost hard enough to cut off air and dread altogether, and in the same motion, Yoongi throws the bolt. He can’t make himself open the door. He doesn’t need to. The other person must hear him fumbling with the lock – or maybe they just know – and a second later the door is jerked open.

The bell rings. Yoongi flinches. Hoseok doesn’t.

His crumpled mouth hurts more than even the red, frantic eyes, though those are hard enough to meet. It’s just, Yoongi hasn’t ever wanted to be the reason Hoseok frowns like that, like he’s going to crumple at any second. Hoseok is the most beautiful person on the planet when he smiles, and right now his mouth looks like it will never remember how to smile again. Yoongi caused that misery one too many times already, and he’s literally sacrificed everything to avoid doing it again.

Looking at Hoseok’s foundering expression becomes too painful and he wrenches his eyes down only to see his hands, running feverish tracks along the seams of his jeans. Faced with the silent, screaming pain of those fingers, Yoongi doesn’t know what to say.

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