#it has been one episode since stripping was dangled in front of me and no stripping has happened

[lastweeksshirttonight]

"How will I know what to say sometimes?"

The Horne Section, Episode 3

[imagine-darksiders]

Hey there, I’m not sure if you still take requests or anything but agh, I’ve been going through a really rough depressive episode since Christmas and your blog brings me such joy. I was wondering if you’d be kind enough to write something about War saving reader from demons or something along those lines? Or even just something fluffy? No pressure of course, if you’re not up to it that’s fine :)

Sorry this took so long, hope you’re doing a bit better now, though if not, maybe this will at least cheer you up for a few minutes <3 <3

War X Reader. 

---

When you ran into the formidable Red Rider in the ruined streets of your old home city, you knew without a doubt that you were gaping up at a veritable force of nature, rather than a man.

War turned out to be everything the name suggests.

Physically, he's enormous - taller than you by at least a few heads and broad as an ox, cloaked in red and covered from head to toe in weathered battle armour the colour of gun smoke. His pale face – half hidden by a crimson hood – seems to be etched with a permanent scowl that only ever shifts if he's snarling or unleashing a blood-curdling battle cry. Not once in all the time you've been travelling with him have you seen him crack a smile.

Although, you suppose, a Horseman of the Apocalypse might not have a reason to smile, nor an inclination to.

'Oh well,' you muse as you follow the gruff and stoic behemoth through the inner-city graveyard one foggy night, 'He's better company than the demons, at least.'

War certainly wouldn't have been your first choice of travelling companion, just as you're sure you aren't his. Yet, as circumstance dictates, if you want to stay alive, you'll just have to put up with his imposing presence and general lack of social graces.

All of a sudden, you're halted in your tracks when an enormous, metal gauntlet catches you roughly in the stomach, the fingers splayed wide against your shirt.

Slightly winded, you open your mouth and a wheeze shoots out. “What?” you choke, throwing War a nervous glance. He merely stands there in utter silence with his head turning on a slow and constant swivel whilst a pair of icy, blue eyes scan the graveyard, searching. After a few seconds, you swallow down a lump and hesitantly ask, “You see something, big guy?”

The Horseman's broad chest puffs out at the nickname, though you can't tell whether it swells from indignation or pride. However, instead of offering clarity, he reaches up with his free hand and tugs his sword – Chaoseater – from its place strapped to his back, and at the same time, he begins to push firmly at your belly, forcing you backwards. “H-hey!” you yelp, “What're you doing?!”

Before you can protest further, your spine hits something cold and solid and you whip your head over a shoulder to see that you've been unceremoniously herded up against a large, mould-caked headstone. Sending a quick, mental apology to the owner laying buried just below your feet, you crane your neck around War's bulk in an attempt to see the cemetery beyond him, only to have your vision promptly obscured by the appearance of familiar, billowing smoke. In another second, the mass of darkness has taken on a much more tangible form and you suddenly find that the minimal space where you're sandwiched between a Horseman and a headstone has been invaded by the Watcher.

“What's the hold up?” his wispy voice hisses in your ear and forces you to fight back a shudder at the chill his trailing, vaporous tail leaves when it brushes against your legs.

“Dunno,” you reply in a whisper, “I think War sees something.”

The Horseman in question lets out a low grunt. “Not see.. Smell,” he clarifies, which is as descriptive an explanation as he's inclined to give, apparently.

Scoffing, the Watcher mutters, “All I can smell is this rancid human standing next to me...”

“If you don't want to smell me, then why are you hovering so close,” you shoot back, swatting at the wisps of smoke that escape from the top of his head until he draws back to a less suffocating distance. Still, with your curiosity peaked at War's strange admission, you tilt your head back and sniff idly at the air. “It just smells... earthy? Uh, and kind of sweet, I guess, like-”

“- death...” the Nephilim finishes.

You fall silent for a couple of seconds, using the time to share a bemused glance with the Watcher. “A graveyard that smells like death, huh?” you smirk, noticing that all six of the sprite's eyes are now glimmering with amusement,“Wonders will never cease.”

While he may be far from a fan, the Watcher still takes great delight in seeing you poke fun at War, and of course, he can hardly resist jumping in with a jab of his own. “Next, he'll complain that a forest smells of wood,” he sneers.

You're not quite fast enough to bite back a laugh as it bursts out of your throat.

“Quiet.” War's growl causes your mouth to snap shut and the Watcher bristles irritably, preparing to remind the Horseman of his place when the blood red hood twists to one side and you briefly catch a glimpse of War's striking, blue eye. He doesn't look angry at you though, or at least, no angrier than usual. Instead, if you didn't know any better, you'd swear you can detect the barest sliver of confusion as the Horseman peers down at you and asks, “Do you hear that?”

Furrowing your brows, you cock your head and listen intently to the eerie ambiance of the graveyard.

To begin with, there's nothing especially out of the ordinary, only the creaking of rusty hinges as the wrought-iron gates swing to and fro in a gentle breeze and the skittering of leaves against the cobblestone path somewhere nearby, or the soft 'ssshk,' 'ssshk,' 'ssshk,' that breaks up the monotony of near-silence -....

 “Wait a second,” you murmur, holding a finger up and going completely still, straining your ears to hear the shifting, shucking sound coming from somewhere very close by. So close, you can feel the vibrations through your.... feet? 

The Horseman locks eyes with you and all at once, your heart plummets into your shoes when, at the exact same time as War and the Watcher, you realise exactly where the bizarre sound is coming from and all three of you drop your gazes to the heaped dirt you've been standing on.

There isn't even a split second to react before a cold, clammy hand suddenly shoots out of the loose soil below you and latches itself around your ankle, gripping with a supernatural strength that causes your bones to grind painfully together. Although you know that screaming is the absolute last thing you ought to do in the middle of a demon-infested city, the unexpectedness of being grabbed it sends a bloodcurdling shriek jumping up your neck and out of your mouth, drowning the graveyard in a noise like an especially shrill dinner bell.

Sensing the impending battle, the Watcher swiftly disappears back into War's gauntlet as the Nephilim lunges towards you and curls his fist into the front of your shirt, wrenching you towards his chest without thinking too hard on the consequences of doing so. The motion does rip you free of the sinewy hand that flails in the air afterwards in search of its lost victim, but in doing so, long strips of your skin are left behind, embedded underneath the vicious claws of whatever had a hold of your ankle.

Gritting your teeth against the sting, you spin about, feeling your back hit the Horseman's sturdy chest and he keeps you tucked under him for a moment, his lips curling into a snarl as the two of you stare down at the emerging arm that braces itself against the soil. Then, in a fashion hideously similar to that of those old zombie movies you used to watch, the earth begins to rise as the monstrosity buried beneath it heaves itself up and out of its premature grave.

The sweet stench of rot hits your nose full force now, but you hardly even register it, too busy gaping at a grinning skull that emerges from the tumbling dirt, its empty eye sockets and parting jaw filled with soil and worms, all of which are flung in every direction when the living skeleton wrenches the rest of its body onto solid land.

Your startled yelp is swallowed as War promptly tries to swing you behind him, letting go of your arm in the process and inadvertently sending you crashing to the ground at his heels. Not that you can complain about the rough treatment however, for not a second later, the skeleton throws itself at him and lets out a shriek of outrage that cuts through you as sharp as any knife.

The Horseman, apparently having recovered from the unexpected attack, simply lifts his gauntlet and engulfs the monstrosity's skull when it leaps within range. In a rather anticlimactic turn of events, the skeleton's assault is cut short and now it resorts to scrabbling furiously at War's metallic fingers. You forget that for a man as large as he is, the Nephilim can move extraordinarily fast.

However, before you can marvel for much longer at War's impressive catch, you stiffen, splaying your fingers over the ground underneath you and twisting your head around to watch a few, nearby pebbles skitter up and down in place.

“U-um, War?” you gulp, now painfully aware of a continuous and thunderous rumble coming from deep under the earth, as though an enormous train is careening along on its tracks somewhere far below you.

At the sound of your timid voice, the Horseman spares a glance over his shoulder and sees you sprawled out on the ground, your attention turned to the graves lining an iron fence several metres behind him. Casting the skeleton dangling from his fist a last, fearsome grunt, War flexes his gauntlet. There's a sickening 'crack!' and the creature's flailing limbs fall perturbingly still. He tosses it dismissively to one side and you hear the clatter of broken bones hit the stone nearby as the Horseman turns fully and blinks down at you, his eyes going immediately to the bloody welts left in your ankle. 

Sensing his gaze, you whip your head about and almost gasp at the wrathful expression he's subjecting your injury to. One side of the Nephilim's mouth and nose scrunches up until he's giving you a very uninterrupted view of his gleaming teeth and you find yourself swallowing loudly, your heart throwing itself against your ribcage so violently, you'll hardly be surprised if it manages to break out of its bony prison. Your eyes fly nervously to War's hand as he forces it out of the tight fist it had curled into, regarding him closely when he raises it, draws back in hesitation for a moment before at last reaching down towards you.

He doesn't manage to get far though, because just then, the rumbling you'd been feeling reaches a crescendo and there's a sudden cacophony of howls and bellows all around you, filling every corner of the dark graveyard like a terrible orchestra playing its funeral march.

War tears his eyes off you and raises his head, leering hard at another skeleton that bursts out of its tomb, though it’s soon followed by a second, then a third, and after that, you stop counting because the knowledge of how many undead are suddenly surrounding you makes you feel queasy and light-headed.

A veritable plethora of skeletal monsters, each varying in shape and size, turn their skulls in your direction, their hateful, burning glares washing over you with the force of a tidal wave and you wonder if you're the object of their ire because they're envious of your life, or hungry for your flesh.

Regardless, neither leads to a favourable outcome for you.

You're almost embarrassed at the sob that manages to push out from between your tightly closed lips, but staring into the faces of creatures you know had once been human is a little more than you're equipped to handle.

Behind you, War's immense shoulders bristle when he realises that the majority of skeletons have their sights set undeniably on the vulnerable human sitting near his boots. In response to the clear threat, something angry rushes to curl itself around the Horseman's heart. At the very epicentre of his swirling rage, he becomes aware of only one thing. Those skeletons are standing between his charge and safety – and that, War will not permit.

Like a murderous river eddying around a fern, the Nephilim steps out in front of you and plants his feet firmly on the ground, an immovable barrier of flesh and metal standing protectively between you and the salivating undead.

Once again, you find yourself with a grave at your back and the Horseman to your front. 

Then, all of a sudden, something changes. 

Still subjecting the skeletons to his loathing glare, War falls back a few steps, moving himself around and to your rear where he proceeds to crouch over you, his chest pressing uncomfortably against the top of your head until you get the message and bend forwards as well, twisting your neck about to shoot him a wary glance but finding his eyes are still trained on the circle of creatures surrounding you. He plants one hand into the soil, digging in with the clawed tips of his gauntlet whilst with the other, he raises Chaoseater high above your heads where it lingers, poised and waiting - for what however, you have no idea.

As the bloodthirsty blade begins to hum in anticipation, you try to twist your neck around to peer up at War, hoping that your horrified expression accurately conveys the question you want to ask. 'What the Hell are you doing!?'

He doesn't look back at you.

With the skeletons prowling towards you like a pack of circling, salivating dogs, he can’t afford to lose focus.

You're not ashamed to say you let out a hoarse cry when, without warning, they all charge as one.

The skeletons are just a few feet from being right on top of you but as they close in, one of your hands flies up to cover your face and in the same moment, War suddenly brings Chaoseater down hard, plunging the blade's tip into the ground mere inches from your toes.

No sooner has it breached surface soil than a dozen more blades burst up from within the earth, each resembling the Horseman's treasured sword. 

The skeletons don't stand a chance. 

Like a shockwave, the ethereal blades that have been conjured from seemingly nowhere continue to erupt out of the ground and take the charging undead by surprise.

Femurs, rib cages and tibias are obliterated in less than a second, skulls are thrust from the ends of spines as Chaoseater's earth-bound friends impale the skeletons from below, a place where they never would have guessed an attack could come from.

You can feel the heat of the blades closest to you, hot enough to singe some of the hairs off your legs, no doubt. 

Then, just as soon as they appeared, they begin to retract back inside the earth, and when the dust settles and you lower your arm to look, all that's left is a scattering of bones, strewn about the vicinity. Blank, featureless skulls stare back up at you through unseeing eyes, dead – for what you really hope is the last time.

“Ho-lee crap,” you breathe shakily, flopping back onto your elbows and knocking your head against the underside of War's chest, adding, “Ow,” at the latter.

“You're hurt...” The rumble of the Horseman's voice rolls gently over you, prompting you to glance up, only to find a pair of bright, blue eyes blinking back down at you.

Lifting a hand, you rub absently at the spot where you'd bumped your skull into his armour. “I'm all right, that didn't actually hurt.”

“No,” he insists in a growl and roves his gaze down to the scratches on your ankle. You follow his glare, blanching at the sight of the gouges left behind in your skin and grimace, bracing your hands on the ground in an attempt to pick yourself up. You hardly manage to get one foot underneath you before a large, metal hand promptly grabs the back of your shirt and lifts you effortlessly into the air. “Hey!” you squirm, trying to stretch your toes to find purchase on the ground, “Put me down, War. I can stand up by myself!.”

The Horseman makes a skeptical sound at the back of his throat, but he does lower you – albeit hesitantly – until your shoes meet the dirt once more.

Any confidence in the strength of your legs is short-lived however the moment his hand withdraws.

You take a step, only to find yourself immediately punished for the action when a white-hot bolt of pain lances up from your ankle and you cry out, teetering sideways and trying to hop desperately for a few seconds on your good leg. 

Just then, there's a deep sigh of exasperation and War's gauntlet is at your side in the next second, sliding around your waist and nudging you upright again.

“Here, sit down. Let me see it,” he murmurs, and you hesitate to say he's gentle when he turns you around and attempts to guide you to the ground once more.

“Are you sure it's a good idea to stop?” you ask, leaning out of his grasp to glance around the shadowy cemetery, “I mean, that wasn't exactly a quiet fight...”

The implication hangs in the air between you and after a moment, War draws his head up and blinks, the strategist in him concurring with you. “That is... a fair point,” he mumbles and if you weren't so grateful to him for keeping you alive, you'd be insulted that he sounds surprised by your common sense.

In keeping with the typical, straight-forward bluntness you've come to expect from him, War wastes no time in bending down and extending his arms, aiming to scoop you off your feet. “Come,” he declares, “I shall carry you to Ulthane. He will know best how to treat a human's wound.”

The Horseman’s permanent frowns deepens though, when you hop away from him on your good leg, splaying your hands out to stop him from proceeding. Undeterred however, he gives you a warning glower and huffs, “Keep still.”

“W-woah, hold on now,” you protest, stumbling back as he once again tries to reach for you,  “Seriously, War, thank you. But I can walk, I'm not a baby who needs to be carried!”

“You are injured.”

His tone implies that he's angry, but the way he's now staring at your leg makes you consider whether he's angry at you, or something else entirely. “Wait, what if... what if you need to use your sword?” you point out, “You won't be able to if your arms are full of me.”

You can tell that he's far from happy, but he tilts his head, pondering you for a moment longer before huffing brusquely and averting his fiery gaze. “Very well,” he grumbles, adding, “But if you fall again, don't expect me to catch you.”

The Horseman's acquiescence, if nothing else, at least reassures you that you won't be a total liability. Satisfied for the time being, you nod and turn about, starting to hobble off towards the cemetery gates, confident that the enormous Nephilim will overtake you in a few, steady strides. You make it all of five steps before your ankle turns to jelly and seems to lose all of its bone structure, collapsing out from under you and as you topple sideways once again, arms flailing, you idly wonder whether the damage is only skin-deep.

Luckily, whatever jarring impact you might have made with the stone path is prevented by a strong set of arms that emerge like a pair of safety nets and sweep underneath your knees and shoulders, letting you fall harmlessly into a secure hold. Gasping, you tip your head back and sheepishly risk a glance at the Horseman, meeting his disapproving frown. At the sight of it, you try and push against his broad chest to put some distance between yourself and his ire, but he soon silences you with a throaty growl that reverberates through your head.

Pursing your lips, you reluctantly give up on your meagre effort of trying to escape the warrior and instead let yourself flop gracelessly in his hold. “Hmph.. I thought you said not to expect you to ca-” War whips his head down to glare at you so fast, you instantly allow your mouth to click shut and decide – perhaps wisely - not to finish that sentence.

[redrose-juliet]

follow on from episode ten.

so like, this is my first time writing fan fiction and if anyone has any tips please help me out. i dont know how to do it and it never crossed my mind to do it, until i watched the society ;)

Grizz and Sam were walking home back to Grizz’s house after the big expedition. Sam couldn’t even begin to explain how relieved he was that Grizz wasn’t injured and that he was alive. Sam wouldn’t know what to do without him. He had been Craving his muscular body every night when he was alone in Grizz’s trophy filled room.

“I dreamt about you every night you know, I was so lonely in my tent,” Grizz knew that was a lie, he wasn’t the only one in his tent, but Sam didn’t need to know that. Grizz felt guilty so he reached out to Sam’s hand which was unsurprisingly cold. Sam was always cold, it was something that Grizz had noticed, no matter what he was wearing, or he was he was always cold. Grizz thought that it was because he was so skinny, but maybe it was something else.

Once they arrived home Grizz ran straight to the shower stripping off as he went. He was so happy to be able to wash off all of the sweat and grime from the past week. The warm water streaming down his body was the best feeling he had in a long time, he was so relaxed that he almost forgot to wash himself.

Meanwhile outside the bathroom Sam was pacing the bedroom, trying to think of something to do to distract his mind from picturing what the sight would be if he were to be in the shower too. He couldn’t stop imaging his perfectly chiselled body, his brown floppy hair dripping wet and his piercing hazel eyes. Oh shit, he couldn’t hold it in any longer, Sam pounced toward the bathroom door and pried it open just enough for his to slide through.

The bathroom was dark and steamy, Sam looked up and he could see the lofty silhouette in the shower curtain. Although Sam had seen Grizz like this before, it still gave him Goosebumps, he wanted to see more than just his silhouette.

Grizz was about to finish up in the shower, so Sam had to move fast, he clumsily unbuttoned his shirt, he continued to undress himself leaving nothing but his underwear. Sam looked up and suddenly he felt really nervous, but the tension between them was so strong, he was craving Grizz more than ever. Sam moved closer to the shower, stepping gracefully into the tub, exposing the perfectly toned body in front of him dripping wet.

Grizz whipped around quickly noticing what Sam was up to. Not worrying about covering himself up Grizz is frozen as he just stares at Sam for a minute or two admiring the beautiful boy that stands before him. Before Grizz can move Sam practically jumps up into Grizz arms, wrapping his legs around his strong torso. Grizz is stunned as the toasty water runs over the both of them, Sam runs his nimble finger through thick brown hair that dangles over him. They lean in and create a deep sloppy kiss that feels as though it could last a lifetime. They are both filled with the warmth and comfort that they have longed for all week. Sam is so deeply in love with this boy and he hopes it lasts. He just hopes that Grizz feel the same way. Suddenly Sam feels Grizz pull away. Oh no! did he do something wrong, was this too weird?

“Were you planning on taking those of?” Grizz Chuckles, looking down at Sam’s drenched underwear. Sam gives off an embarrassed smile before unwrapping his legs from Grizz’s waist. Grizz gets on his knees before gripping the waist band of Sam’s boxers and pulling them down below his ankles. Even though Grizz knew how horny Sam all week has been, he wasn’t really up for anything to exhausting tonight since he was tired from the expedition. So, he stood up, wrapped a hand around Sam’s back and laid him down on the bathtub floor, kissing him gently on his soft lips. Sam places his tiny hands on the side of Grizz’s head, pulling him in for more. They kiss for what feels like forever, as a result the shower was off and Grizz is leaning up against the tub wall with Sam perched on his lap.

“I love you,” mouths Sam. “And I know how hard it’s been for you with Becca and everything, but I want you to know that Becca and I aren’t a thing, we never were, Grizz I love you and only you.”

Grizz Knew that the baby wasn’t Sam’s, but it just felt good for him to say that aloud. Grizz didn’t know how to respond so he replied with a big warm hug. “I’m getting cold now, want to hop out?”

[honeymoonjin]

warm (yoongi x reader x hoseok)

A/N Here it is! The smutty sequel to Running Man Bangtan I promised! If you haven’t read Running Man Bangtan, read it here first. Word count for this is 3.8k. Warnings: explicit sexual content, handjob (mxm), oral (female receiving), doggy style, slight overstimulation, masturbation (m).

It’s still drizzling outside when the three of you are woken up at 3 in the morning and quietly herded out of the dorm.

Director Lee isn’t with the crew members, one of the production assistants, Kyeong-eun, is giving you directions. She’s on the phone with Lee for the majority of the time you spend in the company van.

It’s early and it’s cold and you can barely keep your eyes open wider than a squint, so you ball up your scarf into a vaguely pillow-like shape and press it against the window so that you can have a nap.

When Hoseok gently shakes you awake at the end of your journey, the sun is beginning to rise, and the bright light helps you become a little more alert.

The crew take another twenty or so minutes to get everything ready for a day of shooting, and you and the boys huddle up outside the entrance to a bathhouse.

Once all the cameras are set up and it’s a little lighter outside, you read off the instructions you’ve been given about the punishment.

“In the winter months, many Korean people like to warm up in the sauna. Today, the winners of last week’s episode get to enjoy a relaxing day at the spa. Y/n, Yoongi, and Hoseok will have to use the cold sauna instead.” You furrow your eyebrows. “Cold sauna? I’ve never heard of a cold sauna.”

Yoongi fiddles with his beanie, grumbling and moaning. “This sucks. They’re like, minus twenty degrees or something ridiculous. All because I knew you were the spy.”

You harrumph. “Well, let this be a lesson that next time you should trust me.”

“But you were the spy!”

“Yeah, but if you lived in ignorant bliss like Namjoon or Tae, you wouldn’t be here!”

“Ladies, ladies, you’re both beautiful,” Hoseok teases, stepping between the two of you. “Some people actually choose to use cold saunas, so they must be pretty good for you.” He gives each of you an encouraging smile, but you just stare at him in disgusted silence. He clears his throat. “Okay, let’s get this over with,” he mutters.

Cruelly, you have to walk past the baths and saunas to get to the freezing area, and the aromatic steam wafting around the three of you is like salt in the wound.

The cold saunas are individual, upright columns, looking almost like tanning beds that are stood up on end, and the moment you enter the room you break out into goosebumps.

A worker quickly explains how to use the machines, as well as safety precautions, and the three of you stare at each other like deer in headlights when she mentions that you get into the cold sauna naked.

You give the camera your best imploring gaze of pity while the two men argue back and forth. Clearly, neither one of them is interested in seeing the other’s junk, particularly not when they’re all shriveled up with the cold.

Kyeong-eun reminds the three of you that you have to spend twenty minutes each in the cold sauna, and Hoseok offers to go first to get it over with.

“Look away!” Yoongi heaves a long-suffered sigh and shuffles around until his back faces Hoseok, and you do the same, albeit a little more reluctantly.

It’s not like you haven’t seen each other naked before. After a while of shooting, mishaps are bound to happen, and while the editing team can add a blur or a censor for the wellbeing of the fans, you’ve been faced with unexpected genitals more times than should really be reasonable for someone your age.

He squeals like a pig for the first three or so minutes while in there, hopping around in the cramped space, holding out his arms to show the angry lines of goosebumps that he desperately tries to rub away.

After a while, though, something inside him gives up, and he dangles his arms over the side, and rests his chin on the edge in miserable defeat.

You and Yoongi half-heartedly try to make conversation with him to keep something decent in the footage, but his spirit has been truly broken by the brutal cold that’s dragging down his body temperature.

Between the two of you, Yoongi decides to go second. It’s not like him to volunteer go to next, but he’s noticed three identical thermoses lined up on the floor by the cameras and is eager to get done so that he can discover what warm delight awaits.

As the LED timer on the sauna ticks down under a minute, Yoongi launches into action. Wrangling the hoodie over his head, kicking off his shoes and socks, and wiggling out of his jeans, he’s too preoccupied to ask you to look away, so you patiently observe the quickly undressing man.

He pauses when he gets down to his underwear, and hovers by the sauna, ready to wrench it open and swap places with Hoseok as soon as he can. Yoongi’s been slowly packing on muscle in the past few weeks, ever since he lost a weight-lifting challenge because he was too weak, and you’re sure the fans will appreciate it as much as you are right now.

He still has pretty skinny legs and a small waist, but the fabric of his boxers stretches taut against his thighs and his shoulders boast beautiful planes and angles when he reaches up to open the door.

Hoseok, whose eyes have been scrunched up as far as he can squeeze them, barely gets a moment to cheer up and celebrate as the timer beeps, before Yoongi is wrenching open the door and tugging Hoseok out. Hoseok lets out a ’hey!’, then comes to his senses and realizes he’s standing, stark naked, directly in front of you and fifteen-odd crew members. He yelps and covers himself, hobbling over to his clothes pile with stiff limbs.

He gestures with his head for you to look away before he takes his hands away to start getting changed. You laugh but acquiesce anyway. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, Hobi.”

You grin at the sound of his offended whine. “I’d prefer if you didn’t ogle my dick after being in that death trap for twenty minutes.”

“Okay, oppa, I’ll just ogle your dick later.” He harrumphs again, but you half-turn to face Yoongi. “How’s it in there?”

“Just peachy, thanks,” he drawls sarcastically, “I really love the feeling of frostbite on a Friday morning.”

“That lady said you won’t get frostbite until you’ve been in there for at least two hours.”

“Okay, clever-dick.”

“What, you didn’t pay attention to the safety briefing? Yoongi fans, be aware! He’s a real bad boy, this one.”

Hoseok is finally back in clothes, and gratefully accepts the thermos handed to him. “Yeah, hyung, it’s safety first, safety second, and style third.”

“Being naked is pretty stylish,” you agree. You turn to the staff. “Couldn’t I get in another one so we can get done quicker?”

In the end, they set up a second pod, and after a few minutes of warming up, or rather, cooling down, it’s ready to go. Yoongi’s timer is down to seven minutes, so it really hasn’t saved you that much time.

You strip down quickly, ignoring the heavy stares of your two coworkers, and hop on in, barely holding back the curse that comes to your tongue when you’re fully encapsulated in the cold.

Twenty minutes goes by slower than the most boring math class, but eventually, you stumble out and will your numb fingers to dress you again.

There’s a bit more faffing about with the cameras before you can actually go home, but once the three of you are finally dropped off, it’s not quite lunchtime, and the other five are still out.

You all automatically make your way to the lounge and collapse in a heap on the nearest couch.

It’s a little cold in the apartment since it’s been empty for several hours, and none of you, not even Hobi, have warmed up properly again. You find yourself snuggling into Yoongi’s side, with Hoseok’s head in your lap.

“You know,” Hoseok starts, breaking the comfortable silence, “I know a good way to warm us up.”

Yoongi grunts. “I’m too tired to fuck right now.”

Hoseok grins up at you, catlike. “I never specifically mentioned having sex, but I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

You glance down quickly to sneak a peek at Hoseok. He’s hard already, the tent in his jeans a dead giveaway that he’s clearly being serious. Your gaze flicks back up to his and he wiggles his eyebrows at you.

Yoongi sighs deeply. “Do whatever you want, I just want to lie here and take a nap.”

Feeling the telltale stirs of arousal blooming between your legs, you turn your upper torso around and rest your chin on Yoongi’s chest, staring up at him. His eyes are lidded, but not fully closed, and through the narrow slit you can see his eyes flick over to yours. “But, oppa,” you plead in a soft murmur, “you don’t have to move if you’re too tired. We can take care of you.”

You can’t tell if he genuinely is too sleepy to get in the mood, or if he’s just playing it cool, so you trail your hand down, resting your elbow on Hoseok’s forehead (much to his disgust) and dipping your fingers underneath the waistband of his jeans.

His skin is clammy with the cold, but you can feel the muscles jump under your fingertips. Hobi moves his head off your lap so that he can get off the couch and sit on the floor in front of the two of you. You let a nail drag along the skin just below the edge of Yoongi’s jeans, relishing in the way his breath stutters. His eyes have fallen shut fully, now, and his head is tipped back on the couch.

It’s Hoseok that reaches up to undo the button and drag down the zip, not that Yoongi could tell either way, and you let your hand slip under his shirt to run up his chest while Hoseok starts jiggling the jeans down.

Yoongi lifts his hips off the couch slightly, but the tight material pulls his boxers with it, and before you get a chance to process it, his dick is slipping out and coming up to rest against his stomach. He lets out a deep groan in the back of his throat at the feeling of the cool air against his bare skin.

Your hand, which froze under his shirt when his pants came off, resumes its trek upwards, bunching up the fabric so that you can lift it off and really see him, but before you get the chance, his hand flies up to latch onto your wrist, halting you in your tracks. “Too cold,” he murmurs, “just leave it on.”

You frown, dropping the fabric but dragging a nail against one of his nipples in retaliation. He whimpers, and it’s the first time you’ve heard such a noise from him. You take back your hand and lie back down against him, waiting for Hobi to make his move.

He’s left Yoongi’s jeans and underwear bunched up around his knees, so he can’t spread Yoongi’s legs and move between them. Instead, he pushes Yoongi’s legs towards you and moves in closer on the other side.

A lean, tanned hand reaches up to grip Yoongi gently, and a desperate sigh leaves Yoongi’s mouth.

Hoseok smirks darkly, hand applying pressure but not moving. “What was that?”

“Ah, please,” he breathes, face scrunched up in concentration. You can see the muscles in his thighs and hips moving beneath the skin, flexing with want but trying not to move.

With a Chesire grin across his face, Hobi bends down to spit on Yoongi’s cock, and finally begins jerking him off in slow, deliberate strokes.

The erotic sight of one of your closest loved ones giving a handjob to the other has you wriggling your hips around, trying to move the fabric of your jeans between your legs for some much-needed relief. When you press your crotch to the couch, you can feel the damp fabric of your underwear slide against you, but it’s not enough.

Hoseok’s picked up speed now, and you sit up from Yoongi’s side so that you can properly take in his glorious expressions. His eyebrows are still tensed up, but his mouth is open in a pout, and whenever Hoseok grips a little harder or twists his wrist on an upstroke, beautifully needy grunts and groans come out.

As divine as the sight before you is, you find yourself getting more and more impatient. A quick lick of two of your fingertips is all you need to slide your hand into your pants and start rubbing your clit.

Yoongi doesn’t see you, but Hoseok certainly does, and his eyes are dark with lust, trained on the rhythmic shifting between your legs. There’s not much room, though, and you tug off your jeans with a frustrated whine, hand immediately returning to its rightful spot underneath your wet panties. Your movements are desperate, and you can’t stop your hips from juddering back in forth in a call for more friction. Your grinding attracts Yoongi’s attention, and he cracks open his eyes to see you.

You lock gazes with him, and he swears, batting Hoseok’s hand away. “Fuck, you guys have convinced me,” he growls, “let’s do this.”

Without bothering to see if you two are following (which you most certainly are), Yoongi slips his jeans off fully, leaving a haphazard pile of clothes in the lounge as he makes his way to your bedroom.

You and Jeongguk both have your own rooms, while the other six share, so it makes sense that he beelines for your bigger bed. When Hoseok, still fully clothed, and you join him, he’s taken off his shirt as well, and is sitting on the edge of the bed wearing nothing but a pair of socks.

You copy him, shucking off your jacket and shirt, and waste no time in unhooking your bra and stepping out of your panties.

Hoseok, although he was the one to initiate it, seems taken off-guard by the speed at which things are suddenly progressing, and he races to undress.

Not wanting to stand around and wait for him, and too horny out of your mind to care about propriety, you join Yoongi on the bed, pushing him onto his back so you can climb on his thighs.

His cock fits snugly between your two stomachs, still dribbling precum. As you look down on it, you’re brought back to the last time you were in this exact position with Tae, just a few days ago.

Both Jimin and Jeongguk know, because Taehyung couldn’t help himself, but you hadn’t told either of the men about it.

As Hoseok hops onto the bed beside you two, you sit upright again. “Wait,” you breathe, “this is just sex, right? It doesn’t have to mean anything?”

Yoongi pauses. After a moment of silence, he nods slowly. “Sure, if that’s all you want.”

You curse your muddled brain. “No, I mean… It can be more, if we all want it to, but… you’re okay with it just being sex for now?”

Hoseok’s face lightens. “Oh, you mean Tae? We all know about that, you know. It’s fine with us.” Yoongi nods in genuine agreement.

“He told you?”

Yoongi lets out a breathy laugh. “He told everyone. Was extremely smug that he was the first of us to get with you.” The two men share a look. “We’re quite happy with silver and bronze.”

You make a surprised noise in the back of your throat. “Well, it’s not a competition, is it?”

Both men look guilty.

You scoff. “Okay, well, I’ll process whatever the fuck that means tomorrow, right now I just need to cum or I’m going to lose my mind.”

Yoongi groans, hands falling to latch onto your hips, and you feel the bed shift as Hoseok tips you over onto your back, hands wrapping around your knees, and lifting your hips up to his face.

Your legs drape over his shoulder, and you’re all but upside down, resting on the bed with the top of your back. As Hoseok licks a broad stripe up your pussy, you shiver, hands flying out to steady yourself on the mattress.

The obscene sound of Yoongi jacking off fills your ears as Hobi buries his face between your legs. At first, he drinks up your arousal, scooping it out of you with the curve of his tongue and sucking it off your lips. As he moves, the bridge of his nose rubs up and down your clit, and you feel all the muscles in your upper thighs firing as you’re finally given proper stimulation.

Once his roving tongue cleans you up, he props your lower back up with one hand and uses the other to curl a finger inside you, wiggling it back and forth rather than thrusting in and out. He pairs the insistent rubbing against your g-spot with his teeth dragging lightly over your clit, lighting your nerves on fire.

You keen and arch your pelvis up to meet him, and slowly feel around for Yoongi, as the wet smacking sounds get faster and faster. Your hand bumps into his, and your heart soars in the midst of everything as he interlocks his fingers with yours, holding on to you tightly with one hand hand as he furiously jacks off with the other.

It’s an embarrassingly short time before you feel the momentum of an orgasm building, and Hoseok takes the opportunity to slowly increase the number of fingers he’s crooking inside of you; two, then three bunched up, until he’s fucking you with three fingers held out flat, working you open.

It takes one solid suck on your clit to catapult you over the edge, and you clasp onto Yoongi’s hand until your knuckles turn white as Hoseok only speeds up, tearing you through your orgasm. At some point in the blinding pleasure, he has to take his dripping fingers out of you so that he can hold your pelvis to him and stop you from accidentally breaking his nose with your wildly bucking hips.

As pleasure turns to the stinging bite of overstimulation, you hear a guttural ‘fuck!’ and the squeeze of Yoongi’s fingers around yours as he reaches his own orgasm. The two of you come down together, breathing heavily, moaning softly until the aftershocks die down.

Hoseok lets you down onto the bed gently, before shaking out his wrists to work out the tension in his muscles.

For being the only person in the room who hasn’t cum yet, Hoseok looks pretty self-satisfied. The whole bottom half of his face, from his cheeks down, is gleaming with your juices, and the sides of his hair are pressed against his temples from where your thighs tightened around him.

“Why are you so smug?” you manage to huff out, heart rate slowly returning to normal.

He dips his head towards Yoongi. “This idiot blew his load, so now I’ll be the one to get to fuck you.”

You shift onto your elbows so you can follow his gaze. Yoongi is lying on his back, panting like he’s run a marathon. The hand that isn’t still linked with yours is covered with his own cum, the rest of which is spattered around his stomach. His dick is softening, spent. The man in question scoffs in displeasure. “I’m older than you, punk, don’t speak to me like that.”

“Well, do you think you can fuck her right now?”

Yoongi’s silence is his answer.

You roll your eyes. “I’m still here, you know. Besides, who ever said only one of you got to fuck me?”

Yoongi lets out a miserable whine and lets go of your hand, throwing his arm over his eyes.

Hoseok licks his palm and tugs at his dick a few times, making sure he’s ready. “You can stay and watch, or you can go have a shower, up to you. But if you fall asleep with your dick out I’m not going to move you.”

Yoongi huffs, but sits up and gets off the bed slowly, ambling over to your dresser, where there’s a box of tissues. He pulls out a wad and begins cleaning himself off.

Hobi, not interested in delaying any longer, shuffles over on his knees, hand still wrapped around the base of his cock, and stops in front of you. “How do you want me?” he asks, ignoring Yoongi’s scoff of derision from the other side of the room.

You hum a little, considering. “I’m too tired to do much. Can you just take me from behind?”

Hoseok’s mouth opens and closes a few times. “Can I just-? God, I love you,” he groans, and helps you flip over onto your stomach, sticking your ass in the air and resting on your forearms.

You feel him line himself up, and with a long, drawn-out groan, he sinks into you languidly. He’s certainly less girthy than Tae, and maybe a bit shorter, but it means that it’s no time at all for you to adjust and give him the all-clear to start moving.

He doesn’t last long with the rate he goes at, clearly too horny and desperate to think about drawing it out, and his lightning-quick thrusts take him only a few minutes to get to the edge. At one point, to his credit, he reaches down a hand to rub at your clit, but you’re too tired to come again, and you bat his hand away.

He doesn’t protest, instead putting all his energy into reaching orgasm, grunting and moaning far louder than Yoongi did before. You feel his rhythm begin to falter, and a few moments later you feel a hot rush deep inside you as he comes.

Ever the gentleman, Hoseok, pulls out and collapses onto his back beside you rather than on top of you.

You reach down a hand to cup your vagina, trying to avoid cum dripping onto your sheets, and wiggle your way off the bed.

Hoseok sighs. “You didn’t cum again, I’m sorry.”

Yoongi’s sitting in your armchair when you stand up, and he holds out a bunch of tissues to you with a grin. You accept it gratefully, cleaning up the inside of your thighs and your pussy before getting the semen out from where it seeped between your fingers. “It would’ve been too much too soon, oppa. Don’t worry,” you say breezily, “there’s always next time.”

“Is there?” Yoongi asks softly, his eyes looking imploringly into yours.

“I’d like there to be,” you reply honestly.

He smiles at you warmly.

[washipuppy]

Where is my mind (this time)?

Personal stuff? On MY Tumblr? Yep, it's happening. I need to ramble, and where the feck else am I gonna do it but Tumblr?

I was supposed to go in for an Autism assessment today with my therapist. It's been constantly on my mind it all week, to the extent that I think I might actually ne worried about it, and I have no feckin idea why. It's not a test.

Anyway, it was cancelled and re-scheduled for next week. I took the day off work for it too, since it was gonna be a couple of hours, but I went back to work because I'll need to take next Thursday instead. So I guess I'm having another week with this oversized, unresolved question-mark dangling from my neck.

Background will (hopefully) be under the cut so that most of you aren't bothered by all this:

Background 1 - My therapist is kind of flakey. 

Like many people, I have a therapist that I picked entirely because I'd been without one for several years (since my last therapist retired) and I needed to do something about the tail-spin death-spiral my brain was in. I don't get to see them too often, because I work 8:30 - 5:00, 5 days a week and they tend to cancel my appointments on me thr day they happen, but I'm too tired and worn down by existence to get another one, so it is what it is.

Background 2 - I'm not trying to be weird, please stop calling me that. 

Lotta people seem to think I'm Autistic. Including said therapist, who I noticed was asking me the "Could this person be Autistic?" questions during our last session. Shortly after which I realised I recognised the "Could this person be Autistic" questions without the word ever being used. I've considered the possibility, but although I have a some traits that are associated with ASD (non-verbal episodes, repetative hand / body movements when anxious, low social situational/emotional awareness, eye contact avoidance...), I have a pretty intense imagination and I can be spontanious. If I decide I want to go shopping after work, I'll do so. If someone wants to spend time with me and I don't really have a reason not to go (e.g. a prior commitment or not wanting to spend a lot of money on something I won't actually enjoy), I'm gonna go even if it's last minute. Because they asked me specifically (General invitations offered to "the group" don't elicit this, and I'm way more likely to bail on those) and I want to keep being asked to go to things; If I say no too often, people will just stop inviting me to things. So if I'm asked to go see a band or an expo or whatever and the cost isn't too bad, I'll go. Besides, what good will it actually do me if I get confirmation that I am Autistic? It's a bit late for it to make a difference to my development, the damage has already by and large been done. I didn't see how it would actually help my life now to be diagnosed.

Background 3 - The culmination of a cascade of f**kups.

For a while, I've suspected I might have ADD/ADHD (just gonna use ADHD from now for this). It started on Tumblr, oddly enough - I follow several people here who also have ADHD and post bits and bobs about it, all of which make me go "Yes, that is a thing that is me." But I tried not to think too much about the growing idea that I might have ADHD myself despite almost everything I ever saw or read about girls having ADHD described me perfectly - From the childhood maladaptive daydreaming through to the mental breakdown in university and inconsistent job performance - because I think of myself as something of a hypochondriac* and It's trite to say "Oh, I've got ADD, I'm so easily distracted!" when the world at large is horrible and distracting. 

That is, until last year. See, I left a job I didn't like in 2018 and got one I quite liked in 2019. Thing is, even though I like this job, I'm still fucking up with an alarming frequency and I can't seem to stop. I don't know why it happens or how to make it stop, and I don't know how to make myself think or be more careful or even understand how I'm doing something wrong enough to stop. It's so incredibly frustrating and distressing to know you're going to fuck up, and to try to spend your time mitigating the inevitable**. The thing that made me think I should probably actually get myself checked out, however, was my partner. I've been forgetting a lot of things lately, getting confused, been struggling to keep things right in my head - after driving across the city for an event that had in face been re-scheduled next week, my partner sent me a comic strip from the ADHD Alien that basically outlined my exact mental stateand life. It was his own gentle way of saying "I don't exactly understand what's going on with you, but I think this might be what its called". More importantly though, it's something that, if I really do have it and can be diagnosed with it, we can actually do something about it and getting it managed would actually help my life.

And now, the thrilling culmination...

So. I figure "Feck it, 2020 is the year of getting my brain sorted out or something," and I talk to my GP about how to go about getting assessed for ADHD. My response is more or less a shrug with a side of "Speak to a mental health professional about that." So I speak to my therapist. I know ADHD often comes with ASD, so I figure okay, maybe we'll kill two birds with one stone and see about getting them both assessed.

Turns out she was going to suggest doing an assessment for ASD as well. I initially thought ADHD was in that too, but nope - misunderstanding on my part again. So I need to get off my goddamned backside and track down a way to get tested for the thing that can actually be managed and mitigated, while my stupid head spins its wheels over the thing that probably won't do anything but confirm how different/ not different my brain actually is.

Whatever it is, I worry it's getting worse.

*On a related note, my partner's atitude to his health is so different to my own. I always think I need to prove that something is wrong to my GP before anything can even be looked at. For example, I'm tired a lot, to the point I slip into micro-sleeps / blackouts at work. We thought perhaps I wasn't sleeping well due to the hole in my face being a disaster zone, which I talked to my GP about. A blood-test later revealed that my iron intake was within normal levels, but it was low within normal levels (i.e. I'm not anemic, I've just got a low iron count). So I worked on upping it with more red meat and iron suplaments. No improvement, either in my being tired levels or my iron intake levels (And my sinuses are as clear as they ever get, which is still not good). So stronger Iron checks and a test for celiac disease that I still need to get the results for, despite the fact that I'm about 98% sure they won't show anything. Basically, I'm working to prove that whatever's wrong with my sleep, a sleep study will probably be needed to assess.

My partner pointed out that I could just... go do that. On my own. I don't need my doctor's permission to check to see if I have apnea or some kind of sleeping condition. I don't need to prove I have something that warrents a sleep test, I can just go get a sleep test.

**There's also the distractions that aren't helping. I'll always find something - I made so many paper roses until that was finally burned out of my system, I went through a pad of post-it notes in a few months trying to take down distractions and put them asside before re-focusing on the task before a minor hiccup interrupted that technique, I've opened new windows on my browser and immediately closed them because I'm trying NOT to get distracted, but even if I don't put an obvious distraction in front of myself, I'll stare blankly into space and daydream instead of focusing.

[higginbothampublications]

Book Bits: “A Bit of a Pickle” Chapter Three

Book Bits: "A Bit of a Pickle" Chapter Three

Thank you for joining me for Book Bits. In this episode, we will begin to read the book "A Bit of a Pickle" by Nicole Higginbotham-Hogue. This is the second book in the Simmons Series.

Enjoy!

A BIT OF A PICKLE

WRITTEN BY NICOLE HIGGINBOTHAM-HOGUE

COPYRIGHTED BY NICOLE HIGGINBOTHAM-HOGUE

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

CHAPTER THREE "Ihave to pee," Edna said, stirring Gertie from her relaxing mindset. Gertie had been driving for what seemed like hours, and she was sure that they had to be close to their destination. "Can't you hold it?" she asked, looking around. There were no gas stations in sight, and the sun had started to set, making everything in the distance look like a dim gray outline.

"No, I have to go right now," Edna insisted. "Pull over."

"Edna, I told you to stop sipping on that camelback," Gertie replied. "It was a good gesture, but I knew that you would overdo it with the fluids."

"Well, maybe you were right," Edna replied. "But if you don't pull the car over, we are going to have to deal with a problem bigger than my excessive hydration."

"Fine," Gertie retorted, swinging the truck over to the side of the road. She wasn't fond of the idea of her wife urinating in public, but at this point, she saw no other choice. "Just hurry, Edna. This is a little embarrassing."

"Will do," Edna said, stripping off the camelback and flying through the passenger door.

Gertie sat in silence, looking around the truck as she did. The last thing that she wanted was for her wife to get arrested for indecent exposure.

"Oh no," a cry sounded from outside the truck.

Gertie looked and saw her wife running across the roadside with her undergarment flapping beneath her. "Edna Simmons!" Gertie lectured. "What on Earth are you doing?" Gertie waited for her wife to stop, but she just continued to run, and Gertie let out a deep sigh and got out of the truck to chase after her.

Running at full speed, Gertie caught up with her wife, who was panicked and screaming. "What's going on?" Gertie asked, looking to the roadside as a truck blared its loud horn.

"Look down," Edna cried. "It's tangled around my foot."

Gertie looked at Edna's foot and saw a long, dangling object. "Is that a snake?" Gertie inquired, trying to look closer.

"Yes," Edna cried. "Get it off of me."

Gertie looked around for a stick or any kind of object that would help her perform the grueling task and finally found a large branch that had fallen from a nearby tree. "Hold still," she commanded as she brought the stick closer to Edna, who was now taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself down. Gertie slowly edged the stick closer, preparing for the snake to fight back, but the operation went smoothly, and Gertie managed to extract the small creature without any backlash. "There," Gertie said, grinning at her wife. "Now, do you want to pull up your drawers. Those truckers over there have been getting quite the show."

"Well, I'm glad that I could be their source of entertainment," Edna grumbled. "Because that snake damn near scared me."

Gertie smiled at her wife and looked over at the snake on the end of the stick that she was holding, but the snake wasn't moving at all. "Are you sure that this is a snake?" Gertie asked, squinting and bringing the object closer to her face.

"Be careful, Gertie," Edna warned. "It might bite."

"I think that I will be okay," Gertie mused, a look of recognition on her face. "This isn't a snake, Edna. It's a piece of a tire."

"Don't lie to me like that, Gertie," Edna told her. "It's not nice."

"No really," Gertie grinned. "It really is a tire. Look." Gertie picked up the long material at the end of the stick with her bare fingers, wiggling it in front of her wife.

"No kidding," Edna sighed. "This whole time I was running from a piece of rubber?"

"Only you," Gertie smiled, throwing the piece of material into the wind. "Now, come on. We need to get there before the sun is completely gone. I don't have the best of night vision."

"Alright," Edna said. "But next time that I have to go to the bathroom, we are stopping somewhere. I don't think that I could handle having another experience like the one that we just had."

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is image.png GERTIE ROLLED INTO the hotel parking lot and stopped the car. She couldn't see her surroundings at this point, but she knew that something was different. The air had grown cooler as they neared the city, and there were some signs that indicated that there might be mountains around them. Gertie got out of the truck, stretching her legs and walked to the other side to help her wife out. She was ready for a good rest after such a long drive, and she knew that as soon as she got their luggage inside, she was free to relax.

"Gertie, can you grab the bags?" Edna asked, yawning. "I'll go inside and check in."

"Sounds good to me," Gertie replied. She really wasn't in the mood to hold a conversation with anyone at the front desk, and the idea of just being able to go straight to her room put a smile on her face.

Edna smiled and walked into the hotel, and Gertie waited for her wife to enter before turning her attention back to the task at hand. She wasn't looking forward to carrying Edna's bags. Her wife had gotten a bit excited and gone overboard with the packing, and Gertie knew that it would be a struggle carry them all in one trip. Nevertheless, Gertie wasn't one to give up that easily. Where there was a will, there was a way, and she knew that if she could get all of the bags up to the room, she wouldn't have to come downstairs until morning.

Gertie opened the door to the cab of the truck, backing up as a group of bags bounced out of the truck and onto the ground. Edna had definitely overpacked. Gertie shook her head at the mess, knowing that she should just get the task over with and began to pile the bags on her arms. She had just about gotten every one of them, when she noticed a small bag in the back of the truck. "Dang it," Gertie said, wondering how she was going to get it, but at that moment, she noticed a dark shape by the trash receptacle and her mind was at ease. "Sir," Gertie called towards the stranger. She didn't usually like to ask for help, but at this point, she saw no other option. "Sir," Gertie called again, but the stranger didn't respond.

Gertie struggled with her bags, trying to inch closer to the mute stranger, hoping to get a response. "Sir, I know that you are probably busy, but I just wanted to ask you if you would help me with my bags. You see, my wife overpacked, and though I've managed to get a majority of her belongings, I can't reach the little bag that is deep in the cab of my truck."

Gertie watched as the man came closer but thought it odd when she saw the gentleman lower himself to his hands and knees.

"Never mind, sir," Gertie said, wondering what kind of lunatic she had just contracted to help her. The man was beginning to creep her out a little, and she certainly didn't want to pick up any weirdos while they were out of town.

But the burly man kept coming towards her on all fours, halting just a few steps in front of her. Gertie squinted her eyes in the moonlight, hoping to get a good look at the gentleman in case she had to report him to the authorities later for some sort of crime, but as her eyes focused in the dark setting, she realized that the person in front of her wasn't a man. In fact, she hadn't been talking to a person at all. Instead, the recipient of her communication was in fact a black bear, and the animal didn't look very happy.

"Oh," Gertie squeaked, not knowing what to do. She debated whether she should run into the truck or if she should just stay right where she was. "Sorry to bother you," Gertie said to the bear, hoping that the animal would back off and leave her alone. "I didn't mean to interrupt your dinner."

The bear looked at her blankly, and Gertie stared back, wondering if this was her final moment. She took a large gulp as the bear began to move and sighed as the large animal walked away from her and back to its trash can. Gertie closed the doors of the truck quietly, the bags in her hands and inched her way toward the front doors of the hotel. Edna would have to wait for her last bag until morning. There was no way that Gertie was going back.

Thank you for joining me for this episode of Book Bits. Stay tuned for the next installment, and until then, be safe and well.

About the Author

Growing up in a small town, Nicole Higginbotham-Hogue spent a majority of her time reading and writing, so when she was granted the opportunity to write full-time, she didn't have to think twice.  Since beginning her writing career, she has managed to pen several lesbian romances, while adding a little action and adventure to spice things up. As a newly graduated MBA student, she plans to use her recently discovered free time to craft the art that she loves. For more information on Nicole's new releases or to find out what she has been working on, sign-up for her newsletter at higginbothampublications.com.

Also by Nicole Higginbotham-Hogue

Jems and Jamz

Don't Tell Me Twice

A Second Chance

To the Beat of Their Own Drum

Finding a Voice

A Fan to Remember

Aspiring Affection

A Stepping Stone

The Jems and Jamz Series: Books 1-2

The Jems and Jamz Series: Books 3-4

The Jems and Jamz Series: Books 5-7

The Jems and Jamz Series Boxset

Simmons Series

A Brief Debacle

A Bit of a Pickle

The Catnip Conundrum

The Simmons Series: Books 1-2

The Avery Detective Series

Sentiment to the Heart

Heart's Content

Complicated Heart

Thank you for joining me for this episode of Book Bits. I look forward to seeing you next time.

[thefragileblackdahlia]

Metamorphosis: Part four

Chapter Summary: Sam and Dean find that a family man is turning into a flesh-eating monster, and they argue about killing him. Ariel makes a big decision that leaves her crippled and alone.

Pairing(s): Eventual Dean x Archangel!OFC

Warning(s): Fluff, Heavy Angst, Blood, Nudity, Self-loathing, Kissing, Typical Supernatural violence, Mild Language

A/N: Here is an episode with some Sam content for those that really like Sam. I never really liked the Ruby storyline, but anyways here you go. Its a bit wonky everything will be explained in flashbacks, I promise. Kinder surprise egg.

Beta’d by no one

Word count: 11,308

      ◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

Sam went out for research.

A loud thud came from across the room. With their hunter instincts, Travis and Dean reached for their guns and aimed it from where the noise originated. Dean put out a hand, signaling Travis to wait as he investigated the sound.

A mop of red hair came up from between beds, followed by a bloodied grimace with slices on it.

It was Ariel.

Blood seeped from the thousands of cuts on her stripped body. She dipped in and out of consciousness. The ginger tried her best to steady herself by using the bed as support.

"Dean.." Ariel whimpered softly before her eyes rolled to the back of her head and her knees buckled, sending a jolt of pain through her nervous system.

Dean abandoned his gun almost instantaneously and dived for the archangel. He caught her just before she hit the floor.

He hauled her into his arms and sat on the bed with her form limp between his legs. It was a lewd position, but at this moment, Dean cared little about that. The human gingerly caressed her bloodied face, smoothing down her hair in the process.

"Oh, Red..." He whispered sadly. Dean felt like it was his fault. He should have immediately gone to help her. His eyes roamed every part of her naked form, not to be a pervert but to see if she had any significant injuries. 'Fallen' was freshly carved deep on her collar bone, along with many other deep cuts. One particular injury stood out; it was a symbol cut deep into her thigh. It looked self-inflicted.

Why wasn't she healing? Dean remembered when he stabbed her, and she recovered from that almost immediately. So, what could be preventing her?

Dean never tore his eyes away from her as he removed his navy-blue flannel with the notion of covering her up. Dean carefully lifted her arm, which resulted in a small moan from Ariel, but he proceeded. He slid her arm into the sleeves of the flannel and closed it momentarily.

Her savior let out a low grunt as he tossed her arm over his shoulder, then lifted her into the bridal position. He gently lowered her on his bed and began buttoning the shirt; It stopped at her mid-thigh. Dean let out a hard sigh but never looked away from her.

"What the hell?!" Travis exclaimed as he still has his gun trained on the motionless woman. "What just happened?" He gruffed.

"Focus on the case." Dean replied shortly as he delicately sat on the edge of his bed, still watching Ariel.

Travis scoffed and squeezed his gun. "You tell me what the hell she is, or I'll shoot her myself." He drawled.

Dean finally looked away from the archangel on the bed to look at Travis. He had a calm smile on his lips, but it never reached his eyes. The righteous man pushed himself off the bed and slowly stepped to the man who just threatened a defenseless woman.

"If you touch her or so happen to even look at her. You'll be dead before you hit the ground. You understand me?" Dean sneered at the man standing in front of him.

Travis squinted his eyes, challenging Dean, which resulted in Dean snatching the gun away and aiming it at Travis's forehead.

"Focus on the case." Dean commanded, and begrudgingly sat at the table. He picked up his gas can and resumed his work.

. . .

Dean watched Ariel's chest rise and fall as he sat tinkering with the gas can nozzle, deep in thought. She looked peaceful but also plagued with sorrow. Occasionally a low groan came from her, and of course, Dean immediately paused what he was doing to examine her.

Travis was the one to speak first. "It must be important to you...threatening me like that." His eyes darted from the gas can, nozzle to Dean's stoic face.

That comment made Dean frown. Ariel was not an It. She was an archangel. Dean reached for the flamethrower and flicked it on, then waved the flame over the nozzle. "So, fire, huh?"

"The only way I found to kill these bastards; deep-fry 'em." Travis peeped at Dean.

Dean clutched the rag on the table and wiped off the nozzle as he spoke. "Well, that's gonna be... horrible. Is that what you did to Jack's dad?"

"Uh-huh-"

Their talk was cut short by the sound of the doorknob twisting. As Sam entered, his gaze immediately fell on the unmoving woman, but he chose not to mention it. His grip tightened on the papers in his hand, and he closed the door.

"Not wasting any time, are you?" Sam was belaboring the obvious.

"None to waste." Travis gruffed. "The guy hulks out, we won't be finding bodies, just remains."

Sam sat down on the bed Ariel was resting on, immediately catching Dean's attention. Dean eyed him carefully, his hands still working on the can. Sam noticed this and held his hands up toward his brother, who seemed way to protective for someone who only talked to the angel twice.

"He's been that way since that thing just appeared out of nowhere. Won't tell me what it is." Travis drawled.

Sam furrowed his brows and looked to his brother, who donned a stoic expression. He watched his brother's jaw clench at the words 'thing' and 'it,' bothered.

Sam took that into account. "What if he doesn't hulk out? I did a little homework. Uh, I've been checking out the lore on rougarous."

Travis took this as an insult. "What? My 30 years of experience not good enough for you?" The aged hunter lifted a cup of coffee to his lips and sipped while eyeing Sam.

"What?" Samuel chuckled. "No. No, I- I just wanted to be prepared. I mean, not that you didn't..."

Dean picked up on his brother's uneasiness. "Sam loves research." He joked. "He does. He keeps it under his mattress right next to his KY. It's a sickness." He flashed a smile at his younger brother. "It is."

Sam just shook his head. "Look, everything you said checked out, of course, but uh. I found a couple of interesting stories about people who have this rougarou gene or whatever. See, they start to turn, but they never take the final step."

"Really?" Dean questioned.

This reaction made Sam continue. "See, if they never eat human flesh, they don't fully transform."

"So what? Go vegan, stay human?" Dean seemed genuinely interested in not deep-frying a person.

Sam appeared hopeful. "Basically, or in this case, eat a lot of raw meat, just not--"

"Long pig." Dean ended with a dorky grin. He glanced over to Travis, who was just listening to the conversation.

"Good on you for the due diligence, Sam." Travis derided as he stood to his feet and continued. "But those are fairytales." He drawled while shuffling over to the kitchenette and pouring himself another cup of coffee. Travis pivoted on his heel and faced the boys. "Fact is," He sipped his coffee and resumed. "Every rougarou I ever saw or heard of...took that bite."

Sam immediately took a defensive stance and stood to his feet. "Okay, well, that doesn't mean that Jack will."

Dean's olive eyes darted between the two as he also stood. He could sense an argument brewing.

Travis sipped his coffee. "So what do we do? Sit and hope and wait for a body count?" He jeered.

"No, we talk to him. Explain what's happening. That way, he can fight it." Sam confuted.

"Fight it?" Travis laughed at the notion. "Are you kidding me? You ever been really hungry?"

Dean hadn't been paying much attention to the debate, but once Travis asked that question, he was all ears. He gripped the papers in his hands and looked up at the man.

"I mean, haven't-eaten-in-days hungry?" Travis added.

"Yeah." Dean replied quickly.

Travis took this as an opportunity to continue. "Yeah, right then. So somebody slaps a big, juicy, sirloin in front of you, you walking away?"

Dean thought for a moment at the scenario and then raised his brows as he turned to face Sam, who worn an upset expression.

"That's what we are to him now, meat on legs. I'm sorry. I'm sure he's a stand-up guy, but it's pure base instinct. Everything in nature's gotta eat. You think he can stop himself 'cause he's nice?" Travis drawled.

Sam's serious expression never wavered as he stared Travis dead in the eye as he spoke slow and precise. "I don't know. But we're not gonna kill him unless he does something to get killed for." Once he finished, he could barely keep a steady breath. He had to excuse himself from the room.

Dean and Travis exchanged looks of awe and confusion.

"What's wrong with your brother?" Travis questioned.

"Don't get me started." Dean just rolled his eyes and turned to go sit down by Ariel.

Before they left, Dean carried the woman to the bathroom and started the bath. At some point, he messaged Sam to tell him to pick up some clothes for Ariel.

Eventually, the angel stirred awake.

Dean leaned against the wall in front of the sink, his gaze fixed on her cloudy eyes. It was like someone had sucked the joy out of her.

"Hey," Ariel breathed.

Dean smiled faintly. "Wanna tell me why you fought a cheese grater and lost?"

The archangel looked to the man in confusion. "I didn't fight a cheese grater. Half of my grace was extracted, and then I was tortured for a day." Ariel murmured, pain apparent in her voice. She perched herself on the sink, her feet dangling inches above the floor like a small child.

"Anything we should worry about? No one's following you or anything?" Dean questioned.

"Nothing to worry about." She lied.

The atmosphere in the bathroom bounced between sexual tension and awkwardness. It had been a couple days since Dean actually saw Ariel with his own eyes, not including their dream encounters. He stared at the defeated woman and contemplated if he should hug her not. They never hugged before.

"You're a horrible a liar, Y'know that?" Dean chuckled and pushed himself from the wall and closer to the redhead.

"I am not, trust me." Ariel mumbled as she averted her eyes toward the door. "Where's Sam?"

Her attempt to evade the topic did not go unnoticed by Dean. He raised a brow at her question and decided not to answer it and instead pose his own question. "Why were you naked?"

Ariel scoffed and looked down at the flannel she was now wearing. "Was my nude figure making you uncomfortable, human? My captor felt it was necessary." She put hard emphasis on the word captor.

Dean grew silent as he thought about his own time in hell, being tortured, and having to live through the pain of being torn apart and put together again. His body stilled, and his breathing shortened. He couldn't help it, disassociating himself and caving in.

"I know," Ariel whispered softly to the panic induced hunter. Her voice felt like warm blankets you first take out of the dryer on a cold winter day. He could listen to her talk for hours and not get sick of it. A buzzing behind his ears pulled him out of his deep thoughts.

"Know what?" He gruffed, trying his best to keep on his hard exterior facade. Of course, Dean knew exactly what she was referring to, but he just wasn't ready to think about hell. He felt better pretending it didn't happen was much better than admitting it and it being true.

"About what happened in Hell..." She answered simply. Ariel held out her hand for him to take, but he pushed it away. He held a stoic expression on his face. "Dean," Ariel cooed, attempting to comfort him best she could from a distance.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Dean choked out, keeping his eyes on his own reflection behind her head. How much did she know, and if she knew, then why did he deserve to be saved?

Ariel observed his body language, he was panicking. His hard expression, the clenched jaw, and his eyes screaming help. "You remind me of someone I knew long ago...When I visited earth. He and his brother were plagued with many problems just like you." The angel's eyes looked off into the distance as she reminisced about old times. "He was a gentle soul...but then darkness overwhelmed him. He was no longer the man, I knew." She added.

Dean furrowed his brows and finally looked her in the eyes when he addressed her. "Did you try and save him too?"

That question made Ariel smile. "Yes...but he pushed me away."

Dean folded his arms over his chest and gave her a slight nod. He stored this information deep in his brain, perhaps it would be needed at a much later date. "What was his name?"

"Cain." She mumbled.

The green-eyed beauty pursed his lips. "Wow, you must be very old."

Ariel snorted at his observation. "Yes, well, I was made after creation." She teased.

Dean's eyes lit up as her laughter filled the air, cutting through the tension that remained. If he could make her laugh all the time, he would. "Well, I should get out of your hair."

"Oh, yeah, okay." To be honest, She really didn't want him to leave, but she knew that if he watched her bathe, erotic human things would ensue. "Could you help me down from the sink?"

Fuck. Dean was 100% sure he wasn't ready to touch her or make any kind of physical contact. The constant buzzing in his ears urged him to make contact with her any way possible, but he was stubborn and skeptic. Fuck it. The hunter slowly advanced toward the injured angel and hesitantly held out his hands.

"You remind me so much of them..." Ariel whispered as her fingertips grazed his jawline. It was apparent Dean had no idea who she was referring to, but that didn't matter. She shut her eyes once Dean nestled himself between her legs. Ariel furrowed her eyebrows as the heat pooled between her legs, and a tight sensation filled her stomach.

She had no idea her vessel would react in such a way, she was never on earth long enough to feel the intense passion humans shared.

Dean parted his lips and withdrew a sharp breath as his fingers finally grazed over her thigh. The hunter's calloused fingers clasped around the woman's hips, digging into the skin. He almost forgot that she didn't have anything on under the shirt, he cursed himself.

The buzzing grew crescendoed behind their ears, the closer they became.

Dean squeezed the angel's hips as he pulled her close to him. It was almost instinctive for her to wrap her legs around his waist. Ariel pressed herself to the human, tossing her arms over his shoulders and pulling his face to hers.

"Dean?" A voice came from outside the bathroom. Dean stumbled back and finally let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding. They could never become one no matter how hard they tried, which infuriated him. Dean cleared his throat and hurriedly left the space.

. . .

(Ariel's hunting outfit)

When Sam came back to the motel, finding Travis alone and sitting at the table with a suspicious look on his face. "Dean?"

The hazel-eyed hunter could hear a small thud emanate from behind the bathroom door. The sound made his head whip over to the door. His brother wasn't doing anything he shouldn't; he was just helping her, right? Sam unpacked the shopping bag.

Dean exited the bathroom with a flustered expression. "Ariel is- uh, awake now.." He mumbled to Sam before hustling over to the kitchenette and gulping down the rest of his beer.

Sam's eyes darted over to the bathroom door as a tiny figure emerged. Her minor injuries vanished, except for the large 'Fallen.' Seeing that word on her made him angry, and he swore to himself that whoever was the culprit would wish they were dead sooner. No one should be treated that way.

Ariel bestowed a grimace expression as her eyes examined the three men. She said nothing as she took the clothes and undergarments from Sam.

After twenty minutes had passed, Ariel stepped from the lavatory. Her hair was messy and pushed back; the ends also flipped to reflect a 70s hairstyle. She sported a tan, corduroy jacket over a black long-sleeved shirt. On her lower half, a pair of snug-fit, bell-bottomed, denim jeans accompanied by heeled, dark-brown, combat boots. She made sure to tuck in her shirt; it seemed to look better on her curvaceous physique.

All eyes were on her.

Dean jealously cleared his throat, "Alright, let's roll."

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