#it's got this sheen to it that makes you wanna stare at it forever

[cleric4vampire]

my spacelab9 DA vinyl set arrived on DA Day of all days!!!

[qvrcll]

Hi! So I love your blog and I have a request if you're up for it!

So imagine Vendetta!Leon or ID!Leon with a younger, Rookie D.S.O agent. So the reader is learning about what it takes to be an agent and they are skilled but a little reckless. The reader and Leon end up going on a mission together and something happens to where the reader does something risky/reckless to save Leon and afterwards while Leon is patching them up he's also scolding them for putting themselves into a dangerous situation...

I just thought it was a cute idea and I adore your blog so obviously no pressure and thank you regardless! :)

change

summary: training to be a d.s.o agent has its perks and its fair share of dangers, and who would know that best other than the acclaimed leon s. kennedy? former rookie cop turned myth, you’re troubled as you try to not question your worth to your duty — to him.

warnings: intense violent imagery, d.s.o. agent reader, talk of death / loss, talk of wounds / stabbing, weapons mentioned, angst (comfort i swear!!!!!!!), written with infinite darkness ! leon in mind

a/n: bam stop using deftones songs as titles FAILED. and hello??? ur mind??? revolutionary. but thank u so much for the request!! i did make it more angsty than intended 😭 but happy ending i swear !! this is just a general disclaimer, but i’m trying my best to get as many requests done as possible, but finding myself easily burnt out, so please bare with me if i take some time to get these pieces out!! enjoy :-)

word count: 3.5k+ (help)

You’re well put together — inundated at the seams and bursting in the areas that made you an excelling recruit, something of a common place practice when one gets appointed to a station as alpine as the D.S.O.

It’s gruelling at first. The training, not the people — the people here offer you awkward but veritable grins, cloying pats on the head when you’d surpassed a notable fix in your inculcation, maybe even conversation in places you’d expect hard worn expressions, bumps of the shoulders, a lack of acquiescence for a new comer such as you.

“Turns out, there’s a new donut place opening in the city” someone speaks through a mouthful of food, grinning when admonished by their peer. They look at you with tired yet cordial won eyes, something like a respite in comparison to the gruelling training and pains you endure in staple hours.

You laugh, craning backwards, replying “Really? Wanna go sometime?”

And they teem, sheen with surety as you set a date. The date passes and you’ve got your fridge brimmed with donuts — pastel, sugar coated and chockfull of profuse fillings.

You’re home. You’re staring at your laptop. The device whirrs with effort, the screen fulgent with simulated light as block words stare back at you — MULTIPLE KILLED IN GOVERNMENT ORDAINED PROJECT. SEVERAL INJURED.

The next day, you press your lips together and wait for the space ahead to be filled with a familiar face, some day old blistering talk about donut shops and parties and mandated leaves.

No one comes. You chew your bread in wanton silence.

And your days blur as usual — your attitude is unparalleled. You give yourself the credit for coarsening against such losses, of confidants who offered you their time and remaining nuance of sentience. You don’t, however, congeal like they do. You do not die or recoup.

You move senselessly and so do the days.

It’s several months later, when you’ve gathered yourself in the training room, greased with sweat and vigour, when you meet him.

Leon S. Kennedy, in the flesh.

There’s talk of him in the corridors, rumours of his barely capricious resolve and even more so of his loyalty to the D.S.O. Of his habitual reclusiveness, ordained leaves and near blank appearances.

He’s almost a myth.

Still, you’re real and working and need to cavort around your training till your muscles bleed and chalk up with pain that marks enough effort for the night — you do not want to stay a rookie forever. There’s a insecurity underscored in your brain somewhere, in bright red lines and despite the sweat of your skill in your hands, but you decide to delineate it for tonight. Try to focus on the knotty feel of the compress against your knuckles as you strengthen your feet, begin to get into a stance most up to par, a gracing thought of ‘please don’t break my bones’ pressed into the bean bag before—

“Hello?”

The addition of another voice, besides the earsplitting one in your mind, makes you falter. Makes you lose your footing and touch the target in front of you, rather than skirting it with a hard worn touch — the sight would’ve made you chuckle on a normal day. But today was not normal, it was marked with a accent of irresolutions. So you swivel on your feet, baring your teeth like the caitiff the D.S.O had disillusioned everyone into being. The pretence doesn’t fool anyone, not even yourself, but you give it a try.

And maybe you give yourself some credit, for stoking it up to the myth, the caricature of duty himself, Leon Kennedy. In the flesh, complexion enervated in his well earned stack of muscle, that seemed to be garbed with a leather jacket. Jeans.

How… normal.

You lose tension in your muscles. Ditch the shout in your brows. Abandon the faux, heavy lined bellicosity in your belly for curiosity. Some guilt and embarrassment, too.

“Leon S. Kennedy?” you gasp, feel the air hit your tongue. The room grows a faltering few degrees hotter, and some part of you is convinced you’ll sink into the floor in a matter of minutes.

But Leon offers you one of his complimentary smiles that scream business. His hands are discarded in the wide sinews of his jeans, where they are distracted and nonplussed with the goal of hurting the material with diverted fingers. Yet you linger ahead of him, visibly sweaty and awkward, and it blunders his heart with some peace that you’re biding that same level of awkwardness.

“In the flesh,” he jokes, but the room is too small, too dark to determine tone. To determine the weight of his words or his presence. You still find sentience in you to laugh, snort even, and it makes the air between a lot more genuine, “I’ve come to discuss something here with you.”

“With me?” you croak, not wanting to sound delirious but inevitably falling for the trap — what did the Leon Kennedy want to do with a single recruit that is you? Skilled, yes, but sharing the innumerable roster of missions as him? Not a chance. Still, you grab a towel and a bottle of water, finding rhythm in your step as you talk alongside him to the exit.

Slogging be damned.

He offers a small nod, resigned in a way that made sense to the both of you, “We’re to be assigned in a collaborative project. A mission, if you will,” he opens the door, allows you to step past the threshold first and doesn’t miss the way you flesh out with a terrible blush as you skitter ahead, “Nothing too out of the ordinary for agents like you and me. Just a simple clear up.”

But we are nothing alike, you want to ink the air with the words. And some part of you stiffens as you hear the intractable comparison. Still, you’re curious above all things else and hear him out — not that I can refuse, you add mentally. Scribble out with imaginable red ink.

“When will it be?” you ask, feet jittery and muscles still sheening.

“A month from now” he confirmes. You work to notice the exigent lines of wear and tear on his face, the follow of a stubble beginning to thread against his chin and jaw. The sharpness giving way to kindness in his eyes as he looks at you.

Oh god, he’s looking at you.

“I see,” you say, gaze falling to the gravel and spit of stone as you corner the exit. As the wind hits your skin, you’re pathetically assuming a shiver. You hope Leon isn’t as perceptive as the rumours pin him to be, but you never truly get anywhere with that wish — he places a warm, kind hand on your shoulder, “You’re freezing.”

“Yeah I should probably—“

“Get back?”

“Home, yeah.”

And an awkward, painfully annoying silence courses the space between you two — between you and this acclaimed proxy you barely knew prior to these graceless seconds. The better part of you ushers the thought away and the worse part of you is antsy to prove something — anything.

“Get home safe…” he offers some semblance of a tight lipped smile, again as reclusive as he can get. His back is turned to you, departing, and you’re pulled in the other direction by your feet, when you suddenly turn around.

He’s gone already.

The month beneath his guidance is as you expect it — resilient and tough on the flesh. He manoeuvres you in ways you’d never have begun to correct yourself (“Lift the end of your arms here, instead of down here.”)

He presses feeling and rigour to his praise (“That’s it — you got it. Good job — now give me 20 more.”)

He holds you back from splintering push forwards, from the bridge between you and your apex. Holds a hand against your wet shoulder to shoulder your eagerness (“Woah, woah — don’t get too ahead of yourself.”)

You make it known of your gratefulness. You buy takeout and share it on the stairs. You communicate your worries and walk out free of them.

You also hate him for rubbing raw of your potential. You hate him for the wounded look in his eyes when you falter. You hate him for the itch in his fingers when you push yourself some more.

But you keep that one for the shadows. Don’t make it known. Hide it behind falsity.

You share takeout on the stairs again.

The night before the assignment couldn’t be more gruelling.

You’re welcome by the sheets, yet find no recluse in them, as you twist and turn as the hours come. Your feet are stretched and throbbing with hurt from the range of pushing exercises from the day before, your fingers curling with effort only.

And your head is plagued. Swimming, bathed, with those reticent thoughts. Those same block letters that spoke back to you, flagged the death of thousands you knew from passing glances to remembered conversations.

You turn on your side, try to flush the thought away. But they come back with vigour, with spit.

You knew them.

You’d eaten with them.

You’ll die just the same.

Fuck this.

Your feet find the cold, hard-wood floors immediately. They’re a ridged comparison to the heat of the sheets, but a blistering reminder of what’s to come tomorrow. You pace your apartment, crowd your brain with tasks, busy your hands, till the sun flits past the clouds like routine.

And with your heart in your throat, you ready yourself to the chin, gripping yourself with the promise of doing what you must to euchre death on its own doorstep — both for you and Leon.

The day arrives with a quick start. You’re deployed in a vehicular that is smaller than anticipated, holding your fears in your hands with cupped palms. Leon sits beside you, eyes vacant of anything palpable. You’d talked once, but that’s all of what either of you offered each other up till now — now, it’s you and your fears, cut-throat and fusty, ahead of you.

A thought of your friend passes your mind.

A thought of the donut shop.

A thought of the bottom of your coffee cup.

A thought of the post-mortem images. Of the flesh. The blood. The time. The place.

“Remember,” Leon cards you out of your worst, thoughts crumbling against themselves as you swivel to glance at him, “on me at all times. No sudden moves. Got it?”

He is far more profound here, the spitting image of the rumours materialised into the skin of a battle worn agent — his tone is pebbly, no semblance of that night’s patience in it anymore.

He’s in it for good. And you should be too.

“Got it,” you reply when the seconds flow too far. He nods back, curt and sharp and you want to talk him up. Want to offer your share of strategies. Want to card through the wounds on your arm and how to avoid the bloody things. Want to loop your fingers through half of his experience and not want to set him back.

But it was never that simple. And the ride is just as silent.

Two hours in and you’re stationed against crumbling brick, jagged stone, MK-45 gripped tightly in your hands. The smell of rot, mycelium, abused your lungs. Makes you stagger forward and hold yourself by the seams like flesh on plying bone.

But when you look at Leon, he’s everything but as discomposed as you — his eyebrows are tightly drawn, a shadow to his eyes that wasn’t there prior. There’s a bite in his step, in the way he holds his weapon, in the way he surveys the area.

Get yourself together, you think.

Within minutes, you force yourself to straighten your back, swallow back the burdensome bile stretching against your mouth and prime yourself to the futile smell of the dead at every carrefour you cross.

“Ahead,” Leon speaks and clings to your attention.

You look ahead, noticing an array of groaning zombies clawing at a car that seemed to have initiated its alarm. The smell is amplified by the rub of petrol curdling out of the car (from the repeated clash of the zombies, you’re sure) and you frustrate yourself into not gagging — think ‘fucking hell, I really hate these things.’

“You go to the left, I’ll take the right,” Leon whispers and you realise his motive.

Mutual accomplishment built on the precipice of trust.

Still, he looks at you like he’ll splinter without a response.

Like he relies on this circulation, no matter how damning, how short. His eyes scream ‘don’t you dare do anything stupid’ and you choose to blur it into something nonsensical, a thought of ‘it’s common procedure, a set of instructions he needs to hand feed me’, choosing to ignore the obvious side of things, the bleeding flush of his words, the trepidation nailing every withering seam of his body.

He’d grown to interpret you as more than just a rookie, someone capable of vigour and strength of the winning.

He needed you alive.

You needed him to look at you other than a wounded animal.

You offer him some little nod, feet hurrying up to the fluster of zombies against the few cars gathered there — as you get close, you can see the vegetation cram against the side walk, the stink of flesh against the windshield.

But you’re skilled, not stupid.

Your weapon purrs with warmth in your hand as you pin down the first vier, working your second round of bullets with the other five you’ve attracted— their fractured groans are animalistic, orotund where human capability shouldn’t be.

But you’re twice the work than they ever are.

“Fuck,” you whisper, realising close proximity doesn’t hold up with your choice of weapon — so, working against better judgement, you retrieve your knife by the hilt, scoring it against the reeking flesh of the first two. You quickly gain footing and stab the other two point black in the skull, feeling the vibrating collusion fill the blade.

And you’re close — you feel it. With another plow, the last of them falters to the floor with a wet thump. Blood pools at your feet, curdles against the material of your boot as you curl a hand against your hip in weariness.

And yet, you have half the nerve to concern yourself with Leon.

As you turn, you quickly see that he is struggling. He’s cornered, stuck between a stretch of the building that allows a swift gateway of those creatures to buckle within arm’s reach. And there’s little solace as you learn the fact, as you ready your weapon — you’re aiming before you can think, firing before you can feel.

Leon spots you, as his jaw goes slack.

His voice is swollen with disbelief and you’re sure you catch the words “get out of here!” but you’re moving on the pure pump of your blood, of the stretch of muscle and skill in your body. Two, three, four enemies crumble at the bite of your bullet and your fingers sink against the sting of gunmetal.

Memorise the step of their movements.

Formulate an opening.

Ignore Leon’s snare and his warnings and the way his arms curl around his weapon and the look in his eye and the fickle hope in them and the way they look at you like you’re something wounded.

Ignore the way a grunt sounds in your ear, a pale and cleft palm clinching your shoulder like an orifice — and finally, you realise, Leon had been right.

The zombie is quick to remind you of your mortality — it swings you to the side with it’s astounding asperity, frightens you with the dexterity of its bones as it makes quick work of the distance between you. It’s teeth stitch against cold bone, blood and meat between the gaps.

You gasp out a hoarse cry — your weapon is out of reach and your arm stings with a burn, a swelter. Your leg feels numb and you’re sure you’ve caught it on something, and you’re convinced you’ll be half mauled to death, when suddenly,

“Shit!”

Leon rattles through the zombie towering you, sears it with a knife — it falls atop you like meat and you shove it off with awfully numb hands. You’re barely catching respite as Leon hauls you above his shoulder as he runs to some place else, and the world quickly melts beneath your eyelids.

The next time you’re conscious, it’s much quieter.

There’s a dripping noise from your right — you try to play with that recurring sound till you’ve figured your bearings, but the throb in your head is searing. Your leg jumps with a pain so awful you choke a cry when you’re all opened eyed and slack jaw, and you catch sight of Leon in front of you, balancing your leg atop his lap for inspection.

“L-Leon?” you gasp, feel the burn of your throat. You’ve said nothing but he quickly hands you a water bottle, and you allow yourself the contents almost immediately — “Where are we…?”

“A few ways off the target location. Recuperating,” he answers, too quick, too harsh. You wince, both from his demeanour and the growing image of your maimed leg — the skin is dented with much blood, the flesh peeling apart with ease and the pain hits you like a train. His fingers are trembling and spat with your blood, moseying around the quiver of the wound.

And you can’t figure out where your pain ends and where his anger begins.

For one, there’s some grip to his movement, in the way he bandages the broken flesh of your leg. The way he swats your hand away when you go to dictate the amount of hurt it would bring.

Only then does he look up and your breath hitches — his eyes are red rimmed, mouth set like hard stone in a frown and his jaw sharp, blistering to a furious degree.

“I’m sorry—“

“Are you? Because you would’ve been dead without me having been there” he spits out, lashing against your apologetic words. You press your lips together, a bitter feeling fermenting in every space your framework can produce.

“I said I’m sorry Leon.”

“Will that fix your wound?” He grates and his voice sounds like a threat. It worries you. It angers you. Its rends you like glass, cuts you like a skiver.

“Maybe if you didn’t look at me like a fucking wounded animal, I would quit taking my chances at dying” you force out, tone through clattering teeth when his fingers pause over that delicate and awfully repulsive spot on your leg.

“What?”

“Oh, please don’t play pretend with me Leon,” it’s your turn to hit the brakes, “It’s that look you give me — like I’m some backwater D.S.O rookie here to drag you through glass. Like—Like I’m here to get myself killed.”

You pause, breath cut short with an unsatisfactory cry as you throw your head back from the gushing pain from the wound. You crack open a weary eye to spot his movements have resumed, but his jaw is quivering, jagged, his eyes unfocused and his hair in his face.

Shit, shit, shit — I’ve really done it now.

“Wait, Leon—“

“Is that what you think this is?”

You blink — his fingers are on the ground beside your hips, his eyes flooded with disbelief. Much like earlier, only this time, it’s counterpart being woe instead of anger of disappointment. He lifts his head, cradles the anguish in his eyes with a tattered sigh and you realise, oh. You had it all wrong.

“That you’re just some agent I don’t care about?” he’s close, somehow, “that—that I care for you out of duty?” closer, now, with his breath on your neck, on your face, in your ear, “That I don’t want you gone so soon because I only tolerate you? Not because—I like you?”

Your anger drops its futile act.

“What?” you whisper, because you’re so beguiled that it’s a trick. A trick from the pump of adrenaline in you, from the fear. The sweat. But he’s looking into you, at you, and his stare is not sympathetic. It stinks of love and admiration and truth and some close call of fear.

“I’m saying that I like you.”

There’s a few moments of clouded breath. You’ve never done this before — never held this song and dance of emotion between another and certainly not at a time like this, but god, Leon looks at you like you’re something to be worshipped, not admonished like the wounded thing that you are.

He looks at you like hope.

Like love and love and love.

And you’ve never appreciated the stench of rot on you or another, and you’ve never appreciated distractions. But the burn of his lips against yours is delicious and swirling with something addictive when you meet him with nothing but rigour — he kisses you back like he’s meant to, like he’s going to run out of you if he doesn’t.

And when you pull away, groaning as your leg spasms with hurt, you smile at him gently, curve a laugh from your overworked lungs.

“Buy me dinner first, Kennedy.”

“Kennedy?”

“Would you prefer Scott?”

“God, you’re awful.”

© 2023 qvrcll ! do not repost any of my works on any platform.

[impala-dreamer]

Colder Weather

A Supernatural Story

~Dean's always been the one for you, but his life - hunting, fighting, almost dying constantly- it hasn't given you a chance to try. Until one day, things seem to change...~

Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester (briefly)

2858 Words

Warnings: Bittersweet Romance, Angst, Glossy Smut. - Set somewhere inside the SPN Finale - S15E20, Carry On. - Just so beautiful and painful and ... damnit. I did, in fact, cry a few times while writing... 

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

It’s the strangest thing. His skin is so incredibly soft in some places, so rough and tortured in others. He’s covered in scars, lines thick and faded to a dull white; holes where bullets have torn him through, but around those imperfections lie a universe of freckles covering the softest skin she’d ever felt.

His fingertips are forever calloused but so tender when they’re caressing her flesh, scooping up into her, even roughly holding her down. There’s fire in his soul but his kiss is pure love, lips so cracked but plush, smooth and tingling as they trail across her cheek, slide down to taste her.

Everything about him is a contradiction. He’s brave yet scared, strong yet fragile, quiet but so loud when he’s in her arms. He could talk forever with one cheek on the pillow they share, green eyes staring into hers as if blinking would break the spell.

He talks of forever, of leaving his life and settling down somewhere in the woods by a stream. He wants to spend his days fishing and learning to finally play the guitar for real. He wants to stand in the sunshine and breathe deeply, close his eyes for once and not be worried about something attacking from the shadows. He wants to put down his blade, lock up his gun, put it all behind him. He talks of nights spent by a little fireplace wrapped in her arms, fighting for space beneath a handmade blanket while the wind howls against the old windows. He wants to wake to her sleeping face, to brush the hair back from her cheek and kiss her delicate eyelids. To wake her with love, not an alarm. He wants to take his time, ride out the rest of his life by her side.

She teases him that they’d be bored after a while, that a fantasy like that would never last, but he swears that it would. Says with her, he could never be bored, he’d never want for anything ever again as long as she was there. Her cheeks burn from smiling and she bites her lip to hold it all in, but that only makes him want to kiss her, and they roll under the sheets once more.

Every time with him is the same.

There’s a text, maybe a call if he’s desperate to hear her voice.

‘I’m nearby. Wanna buy me a drink?’

‘Passing through on Tuesday, you around?’

She’s always around it seems, life hitting pause when her phone rings. She would put aside the entire world just to see Dean Winchester walk through her front door. And she does.

It’s a Thursday the last time she sees him darken her front steps. The sky is a deep oily gray with lighter clouds than makes sense. It’s been raining on and off for hours and the midday sun is lost behind the airy cover, lighting the edges of the world but only enough so that he didn’t have to turn the headlights on.

She heard the car anyway, didn’t need to see the familiar sweep of light across her front windows.

She’s at the door before he’s even got the driver’s side door shut and she hears the creak of metal, wonders why he’s never oiled the hinges. Everything else about the car is perfect; from the sheen on the tires to the way the raindrops slick off the hood and slid down the windows in a race to the ground. She can close her eyes and smell the old, worn leather in her dreams. Something comforting and warm even on a chilly day like this. She can feel the springs in the backseat give as Dean lays her down. Remembers the feel of the felted roof beneath her fingertips, the cool chrome pressing into her back. So many nights spent driving out into the middle of nowhere and finding bliss in the backseat together.

Dean looks up as he closes the door and a smile tugs at his pink lips. Realization catches in her stomach and Y/N wonders if he’s ever looked happier. His hair is a bit longer than last time they met, his face a little fuller, features more relaxed. He looks good, content. She dares to think: happy.

Even in his lighter moments, there’s always a darkness in Dean’s eyes. Something nagging at his thoughts, some horror lurking that she can’t get near. She would, if he’d let her. She would dig down deep into his soul and scrape away all the pain, all the scarred bits of him until he could breathe again. But he keeps her just far enough away that it’s always a mystery to her. She knows of his life, of the things that lurk in the night, but he never lets it touch her. Not once has she feared for her life, never have the monsters of the world knocked at her door. She’s his secret. His lifeline to normal. His good dream.

But now, he smiles so easily it almost scares her. Her cheeks twitch and she bites her lip, watching as he gallops up the walkway and takes the steps two at a time until she’s in his arms.

He smells like tacos from the road and is so warm she melts right into him, her face in his chest, her arms sliding around to hold him close.

“Dean.”

She looks up and he beams down at her, green eyes fresh and clear, cheeks rosy with a grin.

“You gonna invite me in or we gonna do this out here?”

She laughs at his assumption and slaps his chest as she backs away. She turns to go inside, but he grabs her arm, spins her back to him. His big hand catches her cheek and his thumb curls beneath her chin, lifting her face gently. His kiss is familiar yet striking, wet and hungry. She breaths him in too deeply and stumbles when he lets her go, dizzy and so in love.

“Won’t you please come in, Mr. Winchester?” she teases, bowing her head to invite him inside.

He chuckles softly and takes her hand, fingers slipping in between hers so easily it’s like they’ve been there forever. He kicks the door shut behind him with one muddy boot and the rain is left to carry on without them.

She shoves the jacket from his shoulders, nips at the tip of his ear. He kicks his boots off, paws at her chest.

They stumble through the living room, desperate for the empty expanse of her bed while they strip the road from his back. Naked and shivering, they fall together onto the blankets with searching hands and warm, hungry lips.

He’s starving for her, but he takes his time. Slowly savoring every inch of delicate flesh, he drinks her in, tastes everything she has to give. Relentless, he doesn’t stop until she’s breathless and begging for him.

His name reaches Heaven, pushed like a prayer from her kiss-swollen lips.

When it’s done, they lay tangled in the sheets, fingers laced, hearts synced.

She stares, counting the flecks of gold in his gorgeous eyes, pondering the changes she feels in him.

“You’re starin’ right through me,” he says, blushing like a fool.

Y/N shakes her head gently and lays her hand on his cheek. The stubble sparks against her palm and she rubs her thumb across his cracked bottom lip.

“Not through you,” she answers honestly, “never through.”

He kisses the pad of her finger and smiles. “Hope you like whatcha see.”

“I do.” She leans in, fingers sliding back to scrape lightly over his scalp. “I really do…”

Their kisses are soft and lingering, lazy. Leading nowhere. There’s no urgency, no push to overtake the other. It’s just peace and love and wanting to be close.

Dean catches her in his big arms, closing his hug around her head and kissing her hair. She laughs against him, captured and terribly, wholly happy.

She can hear his heart beating, feel it ticking beneath her cheek. It’s steady and calm, so different from the hundred times before.

“What’s up with you?” she asks, her words slipping out before she thinks them.

He sighs, relaxed. “What do you mean? I’m good. I’m… really good.”

“That’s… kinda what I mean.” Pushing back, she looks up at him and lets her head rest on his bicep. “You just… You seem different. So happy. There’s no… I don’t know, you’ve always got this dark cloud over you and today… it’s gone.”

Dean’s smile falls but it’s not for sadness. His lips pucker and smooth out, the dimples pop above his lip as he thinks about her words and how to answer. Thick lashes distract her for a moment as they flutter over a constellation of freckles and his deep whisper almost makes her jump.

“Something happened, Y/N. I’m still not sure if it was good, but I think it was. I really do. And… things are different now. There’s… hope. I have hope for the first time. I can see a future for me… for-” He takes a breath and brushes his fingertips across her cheek. “-for us, maybe. A real future. Not random hookups every few months. I mean… a real, honest life together.”

Shock washes over her and bubbles up into tiny laugh. She swallows it down and stares at him, her eyes flickering between his, in awe and surprised.

“Dean, I-”

Suddenly shy, he pulls his hand away, but she grabs it, puts it back against her cheek.

His voice cracks. “I didn’t mean to just assume-”

She kisses his palm. “Dean… I have never wanted anything more than to be with you. I hope you know that.”

The smile that spreads across his face is true and stunning and Y/N can’t help but trace it with her fingertips.

“You are so beautiful, Dean.” Her eyes float across his lips, his crooked nose, the deep seated crease between his eyes. “If you are happy, so am I. I mean that. And if… whatever happened has opened something up for you to be able to be with me… then- I mean- of course, I’m yours, Dean. Of course I am. I always have been.”

He crushes her like he’s afraid she’ll disappear, breathes her in as if she’s the only air in the room.

When the moment settles, he tells her everything. He talks of God and how they defeated the biggest evil in every universe. Of Jack saving them, bringing the world back and setting everything right. Wipes away tears when he tells her about Castiel and how he gave up his soul to save him. He smiles, amazed at how he and Sam finally broke away from fate and their horrid lives. He talks about feeling free for the first time in his life and how he’s thought of nothing else but being with her, of running away and starting their life together.

Y/N clings to him, listening with all of her being. She’s confused but grateful that he’s opening up, nervous to hear some parts, but happy that it all ended well.

Silence holds them close as they drift off to sleep, promises made and minds at ease.

He’s going to take her away for a while, somewhere with sand and sun and little rum drinks with neon umbrellas shoved in their tops. He wants to rub sunblock on her shoulders and run through the waves, feel the world around him, feel alive and safe.

He just has a few things to finish up back home.

One more hunt.

Then he’s out for good.

It should be easy, he says as he kisses her forehead and squeezes her hand. “More like one last road trip with my brother, really. Do what we do best, ya know?”

“Do you have to?” she asks, sad to see him go. “You could just text him. Doesn’t have to be such a dramatic farewell.”

He laughs and sucks his tongue against his front teeth. “Nah. Sammy deserves more than a text. Besides, I want to tell him all about you and that’ll take a while. And I gotta pack up my room, give the car a tune up and then-” He reaches down and wraps an arm around her back, tugging her close. “Then it’s you and me and clear blue waters, baby.”

He grins and she pushes up on her toes, sealing it all with a kiss.

She watches from the door until the brake lights are faded, until the glint from the chrome doesn’t catch her gaze anymore.

Days pass without a word.

There’s no answer when she calls, no reply to a text, nothing.

Worry stirs in her gut and Y/N spends the third night pacing her livingroom, running a trench into the hardwood with her barefeet. There’s an aching fear deep inside and she jumps whenever headlights strike her window.

It’s never him.

Panic wraps itself around her and she grips the phone, calling every number she has for him, listening to every voicemail intro like they’re ripping her soul open.

“Dean, please- whatever is going on, just call me. Please. I just need to know that you’re alright.”

It’s two in the morning when the line picks up. Her heart stops midbeat and pain webs across her chest. She takes a breath and presses the phone to her ear.

“Dean?”

She’s near to fainting waiting to hear his voice, but it’s not Dean who answers.

He clears his voice, takes a breath. “Uh- No, it’s… This is Sam.”

“Sam.” She says his name and her hands start to shake so badly it’s hard to hold the phone. “Um… Hi. I don’t know if you know who I am, I don’t know if Dean ever- well… My name’s Y/N. Dean was- We were-”

Sam exhales quickly and she can hear the tears on his breath. “I know who you are. He… Dean told me about you.”

“Oh. Good.”

This is wrong, she thinks. Something’s wrong.

She closes her eyes, blocking everything but the white noise in the background and Sam’s heavy breath. “Is he there?”

The pause is painful. She holds her breath, ready to scream, to run, to collapse in on herself.

“Sam?”

She can hear his hard swallow, a swipe of fabric across a wet cheek.

She can’t stand it.

“Is he dead?” she whispers. Her eyes are flooded already, jaw clenched so tightly against her trembling that her teeth ache. “Sam-”

“He’s… He’s gone.”

She can feel herself falling, takes the crash of her knees into the floor like it’s nothing. Her limbs go numb, her eyes blur.

She doesn’t want to ask but she has to know, has to understand.

“What happened?”

Sam’s voice is so low she has to strain to hear him.

“It was… it was so stupid. We, uh- It was just a milk run.” He hangs there for a long moment as memory washes over him. “I tried. I wanted to get him to the hospital but it was too late. I couldn’t- I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t save him.” He trailed off, losing against his tears. “I’m so sorry.”

She wasn’t sure how long she’d laid there on the floor but it felt like forever. Her back was aching, body craving water after shedding so many tears.

She crawled to the bedroom, struggled up onto the bed and hid her face in his pillow. He always took the left side when he was there, always nuzzled deep into the down, said he loved her pillows.

The sheets still smelled like him and she pushed her face into them, wondering how long it would be before his scent left her for good. She clawed at the pillow, crushed it to her face, wanting to suffocate, die with him on her last breath.

“Dean…”

It’s the strangest thing. The sand is soft and yielding but rough between her toes. It’s hot too, like the sun has penetrated every tiny grain with heat and its pushing into her with each step.

It feels good.

She walks along the beach, skirting the waves as they breach the shore and threaten to overtake her. She stares out into the waves, squints at the sun. She sees the ocean for the first time and thinks of him. Of how tanned his face would be under the tropical sun, of how silly he’d look slathering lotion on his nose when he started to burn. She dreams about watching the sunset over the water, their asses sinking into the damp sand, the breeze tickling their cheeks.

Her heart aches for him but the tears never come anymore. She hugs her arms over her chest and closes her eyes, imagining his warmth, his love. If she tries really hard, she can feel his lips on her cheek, his firm chest pressing into her back, holding her close.

In some small way, he’s always with her.

And she holds onto that until the day she can see him again.

2023 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

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[kl4us4]

BEGIN AGAIN (Eddie Munson x Reader)

Request: i was wondering if you could write this idea i’ve been thinking of: what if eddie hasn’t died and eventually got his name cleaned, and now reader has to help him readapt into the old world they knew, like finishing school and dealing with bullying & hate from people who still think he did all of those things? (@rockmunson)

masterlist / requests open

Eddie is frowning deeply, staring at the paper in front of him. You admire the faint lines between his eyebrows, watching fondly. He’s so cute. And he’s here. The struggle of the Upside Down was long ago now, and sometimes you find yourself staring at Eddie, an energy of light flurrying in your chest. He twiddles the pen in his hand, and the plastic sheen of it rattles against his metal rings. Underneath the table, he taps his foot in annoyance.

“I don’t get why I should re-write this,” he reiterates, brown eyes scanning over his work, “it’s- not to be, like, immodest, but it's fuckin’ good.” A smile stretches across your face as you gaze at him. He tugs on his bottom lip, looking up when you don’t answer. Your expression softens his scowl and he lets out a laugh, “It is!”

“I know,” you respond lightly, shrugging as you lean against the table, “I read it. Twice.”

“And?”

You grin at his hopeful expression, “It’s fuckin’ good.”

“See? Thank you!” He exclaims, a little too loudly for the town library, as he grabs the loose leaf papers in one hand, “She wants me to fail. First, she makes me take her stupid summer class, now she’s just itching - I mean, itching to give me an F.”

“Yeah, well,” you rest your head against your palm to look at him, “it’s better than another senior year.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he hums, tapping his pen against the table for a moment. He looks up at you and you sit up straighter at his expression, “Hey, Y/N…”

“What?” You narrow your eyes for a moment.

Eddie leans back on his chair with a teasing smile, “I don’t appreciate that tone. C’mon, have a little spirit - my deathly binding to Hawkins High is nearly over. And…” He leans his elbows against the table, his puppy-dog eyes wide and endearing, “We can do whatever we want.”

“Whatever we want, huh?” You tilt your head. He nods. “What do you wanna do?”

Eddie sucks in a breath before letting out a deep hum, smiling fondly all the while, “Whatever you wanna do. Anything. Just... start again.”

“Yeah?” You raise your eyebrows, “What if I wanna stay in Hawkins forever?”

He cringes but wordlessly builds to a shrug, “Hm- well, uh, then we’ll stay… here-” Your laugh cuts him off and he stares at you, “Okay, but really, sweetheart.”

You bite your bottom lip, smile fading contently, “I don’t care. I wanna go wherever you’re going.”

“Like my little groupie,” he whispers lowly, inching towards you.

“Yeah,” you answer with a scoff, “just yours though - you’re only one.”

“Oh, my only one. Only mine,” he nods in agreement, swallowing dryly as he stares at you, “and I’m only yours, too.”

A tender smile makes its way to your face, “Just you and me then.”

“Yeah,” Eddie answers, “like it’s meant to be.”

“Excuse me?”

The voice catches you both off guard and you snap away from Eddie, staring up at the librarian. Eddie just glances over at her, his face a mixture of confusion and unease.

“Yeah?” He wonders after a moment of silence.

She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, arms crossed over her floral blouse, “You two are being far too loud. I’m going to have to ask you both to leave the library, please.”

“Oh- what?” Eddie scowls, tilting his head to one side. Your mouth falls open for a moment before you look down, a pang of hurt and anger in your chest.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” she repeats herself, “you’re disrupting the people here.”

“We’re not being loud at all,” Eddie responds, looking around the room, “there’s barely anyone near us - who- wh- did someone complain?”

“Uh- it’s… it’s fine,” you mumble, shoving the book into your bag quickly, “we’ll go.”

“What?” Eddie looks at you, his face a picture of betrayal and his voice soft.

“It’s okay,” you shrug.

“No, we… I didn’t do anything. She didn’t do anything.” Eddie frowns. He can feel his heart pounding inside his chest.

“People don’t want you here, Munson,” the librarian finally pushes the words that have been sitting in her mouth, waiting to burst free, “you’re turning people away.”

You look up at her, a subtle glare on your face as you pause. Eddie takes another look around. He sees it this time, sees the side-eyed glances, the way two people snap away from one another and cease their whispering. He rips his essay from the table, the shrill noise of it in the silent study space makes your teeth grit. Shoving it into his bag with rapid speed, Eddie rushes towards the door before you can even push your chair out.

You look up at the librarian as you pack your things, “You know... He’s not who you think he is. You have no idea what you’re talking about,” you admit to the woman as you stand, the feet of your chair scrapping against the linoleum floor, “you and all these people.”

With that, you scurry towards the open doors. It’s bright outside, the setting sun angled right towards the library doors. When you look around, Eddie’s gliding down the steps, head down as a few people watch him. You catch up to him as he rears the corner to where his van is parked. “Eddie!” You tug on his shoulder, breathless from running after him, “Eddie, c’mon-”

“You don’t want to live here,” he whips around towards you, eyes closed, chest heaving, “you don’t really want to live here… do you?”

“Eddie-”

“‘Cause if you do,” he swallows roughly, hand gripping the strap of his bag, “if you do - just-just tell me. And I’ll walk away now, make your life a whole lot easier. You won’t have to see me again and… and I’ll never come back here. Because I’m… I’m never gonna come back here, Y/N. Ever. So just,” he sucks in a breath, shaking his head for a moment before plastering a small smile on his face, “Just tell me I’m too much. I’ll go.”

A frown makes its way to your face and you stare up at his cracking smile. Pressing a cold hand to his cheek, Eddie exhales deeply and you run your thumb along his cheekbone.

“That wouldn’t make anything easier,” you admit to him.

“You’d be allowed in a library,” Eddie huffs out a sad laugh and opens his eyes to stare at the ground, “you could walk down the street, not get any mean looks. No one would… You’d just be free from it all.”

“No one would what?” You press.

“Hate you,” he peers up into your eyes, pausing for a second, “like, really hate you. You wouldn’t have to worry about that anymore.”

“I want you,” you whisper to him, inching forward but he takes a step away and you drop your hand, “Eddie?”

“I don’t want to make your life hell.”

Your reply is quick, and you feel your throat hoarse and your eyes begin to burn, “You don’t. Eddie, you don’t. At all."

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not," you answer more sternly, "my life’s better ‘cause you’re in it. I know who you are - and being loved by you? That’s…” you shake your head as you let out a shaky sigh, “that’s worth everything to me. Please, don’t… don’t let me go. Please.”

“No,” he whispers, chest aching at your tears, “I don’t think I can.” A frown tugs itself onto Eddie’s face and, suddenly, he’s wrapping his arms around your shoulders. Eddie holds you as though he’s anticipating your disappearance, head buried into your neck, arms squeezing tightly.

“I love you,” you remind him quietly, hands rubbing up and down his back.

"I love you," he says back.

“I’m sorry.”

"No," Eddie lets out a hum, pulling back gently, “I should be saying sorry. Maybe I was really loud in there, I-I dunno.”

You want to tell him what he already knows - that he wasn’t loud, not at all - but, instead, you just smile and shrug, “I don’t know. I didn’t notice.”

Eddie laughs gently, pressing a smile to his lips. His hands squeeze your waist and he looks down at your lips, “I don’t deserve you.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“Nah,” Eddie grins, shaking his head, “you’re so out of my league.”

“Shut up,” you cringe at him, wrapping your arms around his neck, “you’re the person I’m meant to be with.”

Eddie feels his heart melt. Melt. Like, turn into actual putty inside his chest. And he leans down towards you, eyes closing before he presses his lips to yours. Your lips move against one another slowly, sweetly, and he lifts a hand from your waist to cup your cheek. He pulls back gently, a soft smile on his face as he licks his bottom lip a little, "You're perfect."

"You're perfect," you throw back at him.

"I love you."

"I love you."

Eddie rolls his eyes but grins at your antics, "I think I'm gonna marry you one day."

"I-" Your eyebrows raise and you're suddenly at a loss for words. It's not like it never crossed your mind; to get married, one day. But it was never something you planned for. You never imagined your wedding.

Eddie laughs at your fond expression, "Suddenly nothing to say, baby?"

You let out a quiet, giddy giggle, lips parted for a moment, "I... I think I'm gonna marry you one day."

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek, nodding gently, "I'd be a pretty good husband to you. Build a library in our home - you know, just in case."

You tilt your head, "Yeah? Could you build a pool too?"

"Hmm," Eddie chuckles, "I'd definitely try. And I'd cook dinner every night. Get you anything you want, too. Tell you every day how hot you look with a ring on your hand. I'd do anything for you to be happy."

You bite your bottom lip, leaning in, "Eddie."

"Baby."

You press your forehead against his, "I'm so in love with you."

He leans forward and kisses you once, his thumb brushing your cheek, "I'm so in love with you."

[saoney]

Sensual | Kento Nanami

✿ Nanami Kento x f!reader

Idk what I’m typing but I’m in so much stress & I wanna fuck Nanami real bad. MDNI

Cw; dry humping that lead to penetrative sex, slight orgasm denial.

You can’t help, but have your fingers glide down from Kento’s chest down to his abs and slightly ghosting your touches on his pubic bone. His body is so broad, so muscular under you and you can feel him bucking his bulge directly between your folds.

Sitting up straight on his torso, you tilted your head gingerly as you brings his big hands cupping your mounds. A soft sigh escape your mouth when his hand lovingly massaging your clothed tits, his eyes never leaving you but your lips is where he keeps on gazing. So plump, so moist from the kiss; he couldn’t get enough of your tongue dancing with his.

Your hand stay glued on top of his, guiding the experience hands to knead your breast equally. Occasionally, your fingers feel the veins popped on the back of his hands, on his forearms; so fucking pretty and alluring to your eyes got you to bite your lips to suppress your own exhilaration.

His pelvis never stop rubbing your covered pussy, rubbing up and down motion but that’s when you feel the hard zipper at his crotch lightly bumped your clit elicited a moan from you.

“Fuck, Ken.. do it again.” You rasped, placing your hands on his shoulders to keep you stable on his laps.

His hands grab handfuls of your ass, and begin stroking your pussy to his zipper while his cock work on pushing them into your folds and drag up to your clit.

“Like this? Fuck..” His gazes from his groin went up to your face, contorted in deep focus to give you pleasure. He can feels your pussy clenched, simultaneously make his cock twitch in his pants.

“Yes.. yes, oh please.” Your mouth formed a small ‘o’ to endeavouring get that warmth in your stomach, you’re desperately want to, “I wanna cum, Ken.. I-“ between laboured breath; you can feel it, it’s getting nearer as you moan became louder, he pushes the zipper deeper in your hole and swiftly swap the position into missionary.

“That, was close.” He says in a low tone. He have his hands caging your upper body, still trying to catch his breath his eyes scanning your features.

You looked so damn hot under him like this, shimmering with a light sheen of sweat, breast heaving up and down attempting to respire. His eyes finally land on your undergarments, the bra perfectly encasing your orbs; they successfully defining your cleavage that he terribly wish to fuck them.

But not this time, right now he wants you.

“Ken, I was- you..” still gasping for breath and stare at him in exasperates.

“Sorry, I’m close and I want to be inside you. I’ll make up for it.” He says in a low tone, kissing your nose in tenderness.

“Fuck.. I don’t think I can control myself, please bear with me.” He whispered as his hand impatiently work to unclasp your bra and slide down your panties.

He start licking your clit, playing his tongue there, from time to time he dips his wet muscle in your hole to get more taste of you, he knew he hit the spot when he feels you starting to squirm under his holds. giving you head is forever his favourite thing to do.

“No, no more Ken. I want you, please.” In a meek voice, you said to him as you lift your legs to stretch your pussy lips open with your fingers for him to see. “Here, I’m waiting.”

Lust, lust is all you feel right now and you want nothing but his cock to drag your gummy wall.

He doesn’t need for you to say it again for him to stuff you full and your wish, is his command.

“Shit.. yn, fuck..” he rarely curses, but doing it with you have him uncontrollable, his cock doesn’t need anymore lube, your dripping pussy is enough support for him to slide in.

The stretch feels so painful yet so good, you can never get enough of Kento. He’s big and his girth is just the way you like it.

His thrusts were fast and powerful, every smack of his pubic bone to sink his cock to the hilts into your pussy got your toes curling in ecstasy.

“Ah, ah, Ken.. Ken! There! Please!”

“Here?”

“Yes! Oh, oh my god!”

He pistons his cock on the spot that keeps you writhing, his pace become unrelenting.

Smack

Smack

Smack!!

“I’m cumming, I’m cumm- ingg!! Ah ah, don’t stop, don’t stop!”

“Yeah? Wait a little bit more, cum with me, please..” He gruff in your shoulder, he stands on his knees to gather your legs on his shoulders and lift your ass slightly to angle his cock to that one spot that he kept on teasing the whole time of this ordeal, because he knows how hard you’re going to come undone.

This right here. His eyebrows quirked once you start convulsing and your soaking wall begin tightening around his cock.

“Wait, Ken.. if you-“ you eyed him in panic, knowing fully well that you cannot hold on any much longer, “I’m gonna cum! Ah! Ah!”

“F-fuck!” He stuttered, thrusting his cock entirely in your hole as his seed paint your wall white.

The overstimulation is overwhelming and you’re still quivering under him, when you eventually come down from your high, your gazes moved from the ceiling to Kento who’s already waiting for you endearingly.

He’s still hovering on top of you as his eyes looking at your face lovingly, scanning for any discomfort or distress he could’ve done when he’s wasn’t in his senses. Gratefully nothing, but bite marks, love bites and your blissed out expression smiling back at him. How cunning.

“Are you okay?” He query as his hand tuck a few strands of your hair behind your eyes and kisses your forehead, your cheeks and a few more on your plump lips.

“I’m great!” You giggled, your hands are playing with his undercut whilst the other gingerly cupping his face.

“So..” you playfully drag the word as if to test the water, watching he quirks his eyebrow in a feigning confusion but you know his smirk said otherwise. You bring your legs to hug his slender waist to put a light pressure on his butt so his body moves closer to you as your arms encircled his neck.

You purposely did it to let his cock went in vaguely deeper in your pussy.

“Oh!” Kento breath a shocked groan and his eyes blown wide when your pussy clenched on his cock.

“Are we.. up for the second round?” You seductively asked him as your finger slide from his lower back slowly up to his nape and he shivers from your ghosting touches.

“Why, gladly.”

© 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟐 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲. 𝐃𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐲 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭.

[pleasantanathema]

A Little Taste

Pairing: Step-dad Erwin x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only)

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Pseudo incest (step-dad/step-daughter), Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Fingering, Choking (on fingers and hand around throat), Secret Relationship

A/N: This is what Erwin brain rot and a too-long shower leads to. Please heed the warnings.

          Erwin was a commander in every sense, you could feel it in his stride, in the way he held himself, so real and full against the border of his composure. He was golden, muted power, even in the moments of silence you spent together— drinking in his study when you visited home for Christmas break, sitting in the breakfast nook in the early morning light as he read the paper and you perused books without actually reading them.

           Sometimes it made you sick to your stomach that you couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t stop thinking about your step-dad, but other times it brought you a silent thrill, made your chest burn with excitement, especially when you caught him looking back at you. Brilliant blue eyes were always waiting for your first move. That’s how the game worked. The initiating step had to be made by you; you had to show your willingness, your need for him, then he would take over.

          He was always so calm and in control, someone who changed the atmosphere whenever he drew near. But whenever you moved closer, you could see the softness in his eyes, felt the quietness between his fingers as they wrapped around your throat. He was a gentle lion, shy and soundless before the press of your lips would stir and rouse him into something more dangerous.

          You could still remember the first time you fucked him.

          Alone in his study, your mom hundreds of miles away on an impromptu business trip, and you asked him for a sip of the dark, amber colored liquor that sloshed in his glass. You immodestly draped yourself on his knee, short dress pooling around your hips to expose smooth thighs. He was eager to appease you, full lips curving into a smirk at your boldness.

          His long, thick fingers dipped into the drink, coating them in the expensive whiskey.

           “Have a taste.”

          He slipped his digits into your awaiting mouth, eyes watching your every move as you sucked the burning alcohol from his skin. He pressed down against your tongue, groaned as you swallowed around him and your heated lips slid along his knuckles.

          You thought it would be simple, just a little taste of something you weren’t supposed to have.

          But simplicity wasn’t enough for your selfish step-father.

          He placed his spit-slick fingers between your legs, pulling you deeper into his lap as pushed your panties to the side and curled his fingers inside you.

          “You’ve always been such a good girl,” your hands were sinking into his blonde undercut as you whimpered for him, “you always do exactly as you’re told, don’t you? I raised you that way.”

          He wasn’t wrong. He came into your life your first year of college, sweeping your mother off her feet with his handsome features and the promising wallet of a high-rise CEO. You weren’t beyond the age of raising, however, and Erwin took his time teaching you how to behave for formal dinners, took his time teaching you how to be the perfect little lady with etiquette books and trips to lavish department stores.

          “Yes, daddy,” you whispered. He used to hate when you called him that, said it made you sound childish. But as his other hand wrapped around your throat, keeping your chin tilted toward his face so he could watch you come undone, you could feel his cock hardening at the moniker.

          “You look so pretty like this, darling, take my fingers so well,” he knew you liked the praise, could feel your pulse pounding against his palm at the words.

          “I-I want you…” you mewled when his strong thumb began to circle your wet clit.

          “Want me to do what? Use your words like I taught you.”

          You were rocking in his lap, pressing yourself down his hand as you chased your high. Slick was running down your thighs. The noises were lewd, wet, the sound of fingers plunging into a too-willing cunt.

          “Want you to fuck me, wanna feel you inside me.”

          Your hands were trailing down his chest, fingertips stumbling as you pulled at the buttons of his dress shirt.

          “You can have me if you can take me.”

          You realized what he meant when he leaned back in the leather chair, allowing you to unbuckle his belt and pull his cock from his slacks. His cock was fat, long, hot blood thumping beneath silken skin and thick veins. It was pretty, weeping with pre-cum and flushed pink at the flared tip. You couldn’t help but to touch him, moaning as the fingers inside of you suddenly didn’t feel like enough.

          It dawned on you that he was just as needy for you as you were him.

          Erwin pulled his hand from between you drenched thighs as you straddled him, bringing his sticky fingers back to your lips. You took them in, tongue lapping at the bittersweet taste of you on your daddy’s fingers.

          “How’s that taste?”

          You closed your eyes as he greedily pressed his fingers down your throat.

          “ ‘s good,” you murmured with your stuffed mouth, lips closing tighter as his cockhead brushed between your slick folds.

          “Keep them in there and keep quiet. Can’t have the whole neighborhood hearing you scream for me.”

          Heat raced to your cheeks at his words and at the burn of his cock pressing into you. Your walls were tight around him, his pumping veins molding to your insides. One of your hands pressed against his exposed chest for balance as he started to thrust, your panties softly cutting into the fat of your thighs as he spread you. You were still slipping down his cock, body unsure if it could take all of his length. But, of course, you were a good girl for him, eventually taking every inch of him in so he could bottom out inside of you.

          You weren’t sure how long you were moaning around his fingers, lingering notes of slick and whiskey painting your tongue. Time was inconsequential as he took you, other hand secured at your hip so he could bounce and move you how he wanted.

          It felt so good to be used by him, to hear him grunting below you, to feel the sheen of sweat building on his chest.

          “So good,” he groaned, “so fucking good for me.”

          His balls were slapping against your tender ass cheeks, his damp slacks sliding against your thighs, the blonde curls at the base of his cock kissing against your swollen clit.

          You wanted to remember this moment forever, wanted it to burn and sear against your thoughts like a polaroid in a dark room.

          “Daddy,” the name was a muffled sound in your mouth, reverberating down his fingers and forearm.

          “Daddy’s gonna cum inside you, darling,” your lashes fluttered open at his confession, and your chest tightened at the sight of his normally perfect hair falling against his forehead, his cheekbones stained pink with lust. He was as undone as you were, his jaw flexing and eyebrows pressed together as he took what he wanted from your body.

          “Please,” you begged, spit drooling from the sides of your mouth as you moaned uncontrollably with every plunge of his cock spreading your pussy apart, “pleasepleaseplease.”

          He knew what you were pleading for. You wanted to cum with him, didn’t want to be left behind as you both barreled down the path of no return.

          Erwin slowly broke you apart as he swirled his thumb over your clit, a purposeful, brutish pace that matched the cock skimming along your gummy walls. But he was becoming just as unhinged as your cunt sucked him in more and more, your belly clenching as you got pulled closer and closer to ecstasy.

          “Come on, cream on my cock, baby, cum for me, cum for daddy.”

          You almost gagged yourself on his fingers as your head fell forward from the forcefulness of your orgasm. You screamed around his skin, felt his knuckles against your teeth as you held back tears. It all felt too hot, too fast, like he’d stretched you like a rubber band and snapped you back together. Your belly was tensing over and over again, shocks of pleasure racing down to your toes, making your fingers curl against the downy hairs of his chest.

          Erwin came soon after you, holding a growl back in his throat as he buried his seed into your depths. Some part of you hoped that he came just from seeing what he’d done to you. You dreamed that he reached the point of euphoria just from watching you cum, watching you cry and shake for your daddy in his lap, his cock stuffed so deep in your pussy that he could feel your heart beating.

          When he pulled out of you, he quickly pushed your panties back into place, two fingers patting against your abused clit.

          “Don’t lose a drop of my cum, darling. I want to feel it inside you next time I fuck you.”

          That first fuck was just the first move, just the first taste.

          Every time you visited home from college, Erwin found a way to take you. Some nights were quick and hasty, the two of you fighting against time so you wouldn’t be caught. Asking you to help him find something in his car, only to have you back in his lap with his massive hand over your mouth. Following you after you said goodnight, only to press you against the shower wall and have you praying that the heavy sound of water against the tiles covered the sounds of you whimpering for your daddy.

          There was a time he was bold enough to slide his hand up your skirt at a family dinner after you playfully pulled at his pant leg under the table. Your moans bubbled into the wine glass that you nursed, thighs clenching around his wrist.

          Erwin was relentless whenever you released him, whenever you made that first step and teased him, asked him for more cum, touched him when no one was looking.

          Your favorite moments were when you could find him alone, run your hot tongue along the shell of his ear and tell him how good you’ve been for him. How you think of him when you’re away from him, how you imagine that your hands are his when you touch yourself during the witching hours of night. Sometimes he would strip you and lay you naked across his desk so you could show him exactly how you make yourself scream when you’re alone.

          Sometimes he would leave you with things to remember him by. He’d suck a bruise in the shape of his mouth on your breast, leave nail marks along your thighs, smack a scorching handprint into your ass cheek that you’d feel for days on end.

          He once had you filled with shame as he pounded you into the bed he shared with your mother. With his back pressed against yours, his hand back around your throat where it belonged, he whispered promises that couldn’t be kept.

          “I’m yours, darling, just like you’re mine.”

          Your ears burned with the vows as your pussy spread to take him in deeper, harder.

          “I’ll fuck you even after you get married, my little girl will always be mine.”

          Affirmations would tumble out your open mouth, little whines of yes daddy and I’m yours.

          But you knew one day the game would end. Someone would find the pieces, someone would hear you, see you, catch you, but the thrill of it had you cumming even harder whenever daddy decided to play with you.

[hornime]

home workout | bokuto koutarou x gn!reader

“i’d let you do- do anything. anything you wan’ to me. i’m yours. all- all,” his voice raised a few octaves as the inside of your thighs brushed past his cockhead, “yours. all yours.”

warnings: 18+, sub!bokuto, jealous!reader (i mean who wouldn’t be when bokuto, your goddamn boyfriend, is perceived by other people the fuck), also lowkey possessive!reader, lotsa licking and sucking, nipple play, some praise (from reader) and some begging, brief mention of dacryphilia, kinda soft at the end

w/c: 1.5k sheesh

a/n: bokuto brainrot has me in literal tears. him being completely clueless to people flirting w him cus he doesn’t recognize romance from anyone but you has me so soft. i luv this man w my whole heart !!!!! ALSO THANKS FOR ALL THE LOVE ON THE BAKUGO FIC I JUST ABOUT SHIT MY PANTS WOOWWOWO

you weren’t an idiot. you knew that your boyfriend was attractive in literally every aspect of the word. he was sweet, patient, and kind, and what he lacked in academic smarts was made up tenfold in his emotional maturity and ability to read people. big and beefy, bokuto was all yours and all you wanted to stay trapped within his arms forever. unfortunately, to maintain the figure you adored so much and stay in shape for the volleyball season, he had to leave the four walls of your shared bedroom far more than you liked, having a daily obligation to spend a few hours at the gym.

once again, you weren’t an idiot. the few times that your work schedule and his training schedule aligned, you’d been able to work out together. and despite your knowledge of just how good-looking bokuto was and the fact that other people could perceive him (much to your chagrin) you were shocked at just how much people shamelessly flirted with him. 

cute girls with matching leggings and sports bras practically clung to his biceps, gushing about how strong he was and how he could probably pick them up with just one hand. their incessant giggling, mesmerizing hair twirling, and teasing touches pissed you off to no end, and you’d tug your boyfriend away before their breasts got too close to him for your liking.

something else you noticed was that, no matter how blatantly obvious the girls seemed to be, the guys were somehow worse, flirting through terms you couldn’t even understand. they compared deadlift weights, bicep curls, hip thrusts; you gritted your teeth thinking about whether they’d ever compared cock sizes in the locker room—you wouldn’t put it past those thirsty gym rats. sneaky bastards.

and bokuto, of course, was oblivious to it all. how could you blame him—he was so used to being adored! you knew that, to him, all of their praises paled in comparison to yours, but you couldn’t help but feel jealous. he was all yours—should be all yours—and you hated sharing him with the world.

you woke up saturday morning with a ringing in your ears, hand smacking the nightstand trying to turn off that god-awful alarm noise, bleary eyes barely able to focus on the text notification from your boyfriend.

[5:33 AM] kou: gm babe!!!! i didnt wanna wake u up cus u looked so peaceful! im heading to the gym rn. text me when ur up! love uu

[5:34 AM] kou: should be home around 9!! gym bud wants to show me something so i might be a little late for breakfast.

just to reiterate, you weren’t an idiot. for all the annoying flirting you noticed when you were with bokuto, there was no doubt in your mind that there must be a lot more when he was at the gym alone, which, unluckily for you, was most of the time since he was a freakin’ pro athlete and all.

you couldn’t prevent the pool of envy from swirling in your gut. gym bud? are you serious? who could that be? the girl with the arm tat or the dude with the dreads? no, maybe its that yoga instructor with the ass—

you shook your head, clearing your brain. you’d be here for hours if you went through everyone at that stupid gym that had ever shown interest in bokuto. the clock read 9:53 AM and the green flame in your body only burned brighter. just as you were about to call him and ask where he was, the front door slammed open.

“babe! i’m home!”

you silently put your phone down, teeth still clenching in jealousy. for some reason, hearing his voice only exacerbated the tension in your shoulders. you needed him. now.

“babe?” his voice creeped closer as he tread through the hallway towards the room. “you up?”

you peeked your head out of the doorframe, cheery voice masking your devilish intentions, “kou!"

his eyes brightened as he made eye contact with you and flashed his trademark smile. “hey! what’s u-” he took in the mischievous glint in your eyes “-p?”

you grabbed his burly forearm, yanking him behind you and walking towards him, forcing him to stumble and fall back on the bed. “wait! i’m all gross and sweaty,” he said, “gym showers were broke-”

“i don’t care. take off your shirt.”

“wow, someone’s eager. missed me that much?”

“watch it,” you glared. “i’m not in the mood, kou.”

he gulped at the dominance radiating from your voice, scrambling to take off the t-shirt that stretched between his pecs perfectly. with the fabric off and throw haphazardly to the side, he looked to you expectantly, the epitome of innocence.

your eyes wandered over his sculpted chest, the remnants of a soft sheen of sweat from his workout making it shine in the sunlight pouring through the blinds. your heart stuttered in your chest—he looked like an angel. coupled with the way with his bottom lip was tucked under his front teeth and the wide, anticipating look in his eyes, fuck. you almost smiled how blessed you felt in that moment, to see him in such a raw, alluring position, before a jarring thought caused your lips to twitch back into a frown.

everyone else can see him, too.

your eyes hardened. maybe they can see him all big and strong, you thought, but they’ll never get to see him like this: submissive.

and so fucking sensitive.

within an instant, your lips were latched on the soft spot above his collarbone, causing him to whimper in pleasure. you continued to travel along his throat, slowly working your way to the other side of his neck and crossing back to nibble at his adam’s apple.

you unexpectedly pulled away, drawing a short whine from him, before repositioning yourself so that you were straddling his outstretched legs. slowly, starting from the hem of his shorts, you dragged your tongue between the ridges of his abs, moving up towards his pecs, tasting the saltiness of his sweat and feeling the muscles tense underneath.

“fuck,” he groaned. as your lips puckered around one of his peaked nipples, he uncontrollably jerked his hips up, inadvertently rubbing his sensitive cock between your legs. overwhelmed by the sensation, he moaned. “fuck.”

“you taste good,” you muttered, grazing your teeth over his other nipple. “just wanna taste you all the time. you’d let me, right?”

thoughts muddled by just how good everything felt, he nodded mindlessly. “i’d let you do- do anything. anything you wan’ to me. i’m yours. all- all,” his voice raised a few octaves as the inside of your thighs brushed past his cockhead, “yours. all yours.”

you paused. raising your head from his chest, you made eye contact with him, so intense he almost closed his eyes to shield himself from the blaze burning in your dilated pupils. “why’d you stop,” he begged, “i want more. feels so good and i wan’ mor-”

“say it again,” you demanded. “tell me that you’re mine.”

his eyes, glossed over and prickled with tears precariously close to falling, squeezed tightly as he spoke, unable to control the growing volume of his voice. “’m all yours. always. all yo- yours.” he gasped as you resumed your movements, pinching the sensitive skin around his v-line while fervently leaving sloppy kisses on his chest. 

“good boy.”

he keened at your praise. another light touch to his cock combined with the passage of your mouth had him trembling, and his breath hitched as he cried out in warning, tears now flowing freely over his flushed cheeks. “m’ gonna cum, ‘m gonna, gonna cum.”

“yeah?” you whispered, lips brushing against his strained abs. “go ahead then.”

“fuck!” he whined, blabbering as you sat back and watched in awe of the beauty before you, a big strong man like him reduced to nothing more than a moaning mess. “fuck, fuck—you always make me feel so, s-so go-od, fuck i love you.”

with soaked shorts and an exhausted sigh, he dropped his head back onto the plush comforter of the bed. you flattened your palms on his quivering body, reeling from the aftershocks of his orgasm. he panted, running his fingers through your hair before nudging your face to look at him, staring at you with an expression of pure bliss and adoration. he studied you for a bit before declaring with a soft smile, “you’re the best. so fuckin’ happy that i’m yours.”

driven by affection, he sat up and reached his arms around your waist, snuggling his chin over your shoulder and mashing your chests, yours clothed and his naked, together. “kou wait!” you shrieked. “you’re all sweaty again! it’s gross!”

he chuckled. as if you hadn’t been spoiling him by licking it up just a few minutes ago. “you’re right. i‘m probably sweating more now than i was after my workout.”

at that, your ears perked up. “well maybe you should do home workouts more often then,” you teased.

“you’re right,” he repeated with a grin, “maybe i should.” if it meant more mornings like these, he’d forego the gym in a heartbeat. 

that night, he canceled his gym membership. after all, he reasoned, it’s offseason anyway.

© property of hornime 2021. do not plagiarize any of my writing and do not repost/copy my writing onto any other sites.

[harrysgloves]

Three to tango

story summary: You, Harry, and Florence have a good time in your makeup trailer.

warnings: Language // THIS IS P*RN WITH LIKE ZERO PLOT // Threesome // w|w // spitting // oral (female receiving) // i have no idea what a production company is so don't come for me.

a/n: Brushing off the metaphorical cobwebs and finally getting back into writing! Woo-hoo! Ending could have been better but... meh. Also, I'm posting from mobile. If it looks weird, blame Tumblr ✌😍

REQUESTED: by @iwannaholdyoutight- and @hazgoldenstyles

And also by all these people... sorry it took so long.. 😁

>>><<<

"Stop movin'." You grumbled for the millionth time that morning. Your focus on covering up all these damn tattoos that you loved had become one of the worst things you had to do almost every morning.

"It tickles." He whined as the makeup brush ran over the inside of his arm. He instantly flinched away from the brush the moment it glided against a particularly sensitive spot.

"Harry!" You groaned, your eyes closed in frustration when he shot you the most adorable puppy eyes.

"'M sorry, kitten." He cooed, his lower lip pouted out when you sighed loudly, grabby hands tried to enclose around your waist before you smacked them away.

"H, I gotta get this done or you're gonna miss set time." 

"Wanna kiss." Those big green eyes flashed up to you from his spot in your makeup chair and you knew there was no way you could say no.

"One kiss." You clarified, knowing damn well he'd use kissing you as a distraction from being tickled again. 

He nodded eagerly before leaning slightly up to your level. Your eyes narrowed, still not sure you could trust that he wasn't going to divert your attention but his lips. 

God, his fucking lips.

They looked so memorizing. The light sheen of chapstick he'd applied earlier was still lingering across the plush pink cushions. His tongue wetting them, taunting you to come closer, and it worked.

You were so naive to think he wouldn't do this.

You squeaked as his hands gripped the fleshy curve of your hips. His lips twitched up into a smile against your own when he pulled you forward onto his lap as quickly as he could. 

You knew you should have tried to protest a bit more. You should have attempted to keep him on track but when his thigh pressed against your clothed core, you knew you were done for. His tongue licked into your mouth as his hand got a firm grip on the round flesh of your ass.

"I see what you two do in here." That sweet voice floated through the thickening air in your makeup trailer as she opened the door. Your eyes lazily blinked open to see your smug boyfriend smile wide across his face. 

Whatever snarky come back that was sitting on the tip of your tongue was quickly choked down to the back of your throat when you looked up to see her wearing that. 

Who knew a robe could turn you on so much?

"Damn." Harry finally commented after your not so subtle shifting of your hips against his thigh. Now he completely understood why you'd suddenly gone silent. 

"Shut up." She mumbled under her breath. Her cheeks flamed red from your shameless stares. 

"You look great, baby." You smiled brightly, your hand extended out for her to take. "Mhm." Harry's quick agreement had both you and Flor rolling your eyes, but a small smile formed at the corner of her lips.

"Wait til you see what he's got to wear." She smiled brightly, her silky soft hand wrapped tightly in yours as she walked towards the both of you. 

"Better hurry up then," you practically jumped off Harry's lap, his lust filled eyes quickly turned fearfully as your eager hands reached for your set of brushes. "Hold him down for me."

"Gonna pay for this later, sweetheart." Harry grumbled as Florence's hand held down his arm. 

"Sort of counting on that, Harold. Now, be a good boy and hold still."

>>>

The rest of your day had been absolute torture. Your core ached, your underwear were beyond ruined, and you couldn't wait another minute for the both of them to finally be off set. 

Instead, the both of them casually took their time, leisurely hanging around to talk to other cast and crew while you were basically jumping out of your skin to get them back into the privacy of your trailer. 

After 30 minutes of them both shooting you sweet smiles and well disguised sultry eyes, you'd had enough. Your feet carried you as quickly across the lot to your haven, your fist clenched in your hand almost as tightly as your core.

You were dripping and the both of them knew you were having a hard time keeping your hands to yourself.

It started out innocent enough, Harry's tattoos needed to be touched-up about a million times with the edge of his suit rubbing away the makeup there. You had been practically drooling over the both of them all day but when he saw your legs tighten together, he could help but lay it on thick. His hand rested on the small of your back as he circled around you, nose pressed almost completely against your ear as he whispered a raspy thank you. 

Florence was just as bad and she wasn't ever the instigator out of the three of you. She couldn't help it when she heard a soft whimper leave your lips when she brushed a few hairs off your forehead when you were redoing her makeup after lunch. 

She smiled sweetly, too sweetly, before those plush lips pressed tightly against your own. Her hand laced around your jaw to pull you tighter into her kiss. 

She pulled away from you before you were even close to being done. "Only fair that I get to makeout with you in this chair if Harry gets to do it all the time." 

You felt like you could combust from how turned on you were and you were done waiting for them to do something about it.

You practically slammed the door to your trailer behind you, making sure to lock it before laying yourself out across your couch that sat in the corner of your room.

If they weren't going to do something about it, you would. Your hands fumbled around with the pesky pants that covered your legs, until you were finally free enough to touch where you needed.

The sigh of relief, shuddering feeling that ran through your body from the contact you were craving only lasted a moment before you heard a metal key fumbling around with the locks on your door. 

"Couldn't wait for us?" Harry chuckled, his keys to your trailer thrown on your table top.

"You two were taking forever!" You glared at him through your open legs. 

"Told you she couldn't wait any longer." Florence giggled as she pushed her way past Harry. Her hands on her hips but a smile danced on the corner of her lips.

"Are you two going to help me here or?" You were cocky, impatient, and your fingers weren't anywhere near as good as theirs was.

"Might just watch." Harry shrugged with a smug smile as he plopped down on the end of the couch. The furniture was barely big enough for the three of you to sit normally. His hands moved your legs to lay over top of his own. Your eyes could have shot daggers through him as he loosened his tie, his legs spread wide enough that your hand bumped his thigh with every slow circle around your clit.

"Baby." You whined, your pleading eyes flashing towards Flor. Who was already wearing nothing but a smile, her robe abandoned on the floor, and if you weren't so insanely turned on you would have turned to stick your tongue out to Harry. Gloating that at least one of them was nice enough to help you.

Having sex with them always seemed to be frenzied, blurs of quick paced moments that seemed to fly by.

Her thighs rested on either side of you as Harry peeled away the drenched lacy fabric between your legs. 

Her tongue dominating your own as she pulled down your top enough to free your breast. Her hands pinching and kneading across them as your back arched further off the couch.

You could hear Harry mumbling out a slur of curses, followed by the sound of his zipper. Your legs were bumped up and down in time with his strokes along his swollen cock.

"Soaking my leg, kitten." He groaned at the sight of your cunt soaking the thin material of his brown suit.

"Thought you were just gonna watch." Florence chuckled, her perfectly pouty lips swollen from how hard she'd been kissing you. The edges of them barely touching your own as she talked to Harry.

"Was gonna but she's so fuckin' wet, Flor." His voice was deeper than usual, gravelly, slow, "Bet I could jus'...." 

Your jaw fell open, your back arched off the couch when his fingers filled you. A wild moan ripped from your lungs when he curled them just right.

You could already feel the cord tightening in your lower stomach. You had been so wound up all day long from looking at them you were practically ready to snap within seconds. 

"Awe, poor thing's already about to cum." Florence cooed, her hand around the back of your neck, teasing your jaw with the edge of her nose. 

You always loved hated how well they could read you. How their teasing words made your face burn and your pussy flood with need. 

When she was harshly shifted down further into your chest, her own sweet sounding moan falling from her lips, you couldn't help your own snide remark, "who's the one going to cum too quickly now?"

She probably would have snapped right back at you but she couldn't utter out anything more than whimpers. You knew the feeling, Harry's tongue had a way of doing that, making you both shut up and he had proudly used it on more than one occasion to get you two to stop bickering about dumb stuff. 

Your hand laced through her blonde locks, her lips attached to your neck whenever she could control her mouth long enough to kiss your sweet spots. Your nipples peaked at the contact of her breast against your own, Harry's hand still pumped lazily against your sweet spot, his thumb running tight circles around your clit, and while it wasn't enough, you weren't complaining. You weren't ever sure how he managed to focus on eating one of you out while fingering the other when you knew damn well he was about to combust himself.

You knew she was close when her breathing became erratic, her chest heaving against yours. Her whole body shaking as her orgasm washed across her, her panting barely broke when you felt his warm tongue slipping through your folds.

You moaned at the feeling, your hips instantly shifted downwards, craving every bit of contact you could get from him. 

You could feel your walls fluttering around his fingers with every thick swipe of his tongue across your clit. Your eyes barely staying open when soft kisses were pressed lazily against your neck. 

Such a contrast to the harsh grasp of Harry's free hand digging into your one thigh. His gruts and groans were only muffled by the deafening sound of your soaking core.

Florence perked up her head from your chest, carefully turning herself completely around. Her legs on either side of your head as she draped herself across you to watch Harry at work.

Her sweet honey only inches from your face and fuck did you want a taste. You wet your lips, hands pushing her thighs down but she wouldn't budge.

Your huff of protest was quickly choked down when Harry's tongue ran tight circles around your clit.

"Gonna share?" That sweet voice asking that innocent question about broke you. Your walls clenched tightly trying to not get Harry to stop his fingers from slipping out of you, almost crying when they did anyway.

"Course, baby." 

You squeaked, your legs pushed backwards by your thighs, your body almost folded in half.

"Fuck, you got her soaking the couch." 

You were suddenly very appreciative about the fact neither one of them could see the embarrassment burning through your face. Your forehead pressed to Florence's leg as you whined, not wanting them to point how just how turned on you were.

You heard two simultaneous shushing sounds before your lower lips were pulled apart, the cool air licked across your slick, only making you whine louder.

When you heard and felt Harry's spilt against your core you thought you were done for. Lip tucked so tightly between your teeth you could taste the faintest hint of metallic against your tongue.

Then the softest kitten lick had you losing your mind, her tongue collecting all of his saliva on your clit before swirling around your entrance.

"Fuck," you cried, your nails digging crest moons into the flesh of Florence's thighs. "please, just fuck me already!"

"Don't think she can take anymore teasing Flor." Harry chuckled, yeah, chuckled, from between your thighs. 

"But I was having fun." She pouted, her tongue stopping its mesmerizing movements.

"Can 'ave fun with her after." Harry said as he started to shed the layers of his suit. 

"I'm literally right here!" You complained, your huff of annoyance jammed down your throat when Harry pulled up by your legs. Your face now exposed to his smirking, mischief filled eyes. 

"We know, baby," he cooed, almost too sweetly, something about the look behind his eyes made your pussy flutter but your mind anxious about how sore you'd be tomorrow. "Ass up for me."

You eagerly nodded your head, trying to roll over in your place before the tsking clicks of his tongue stopped your movements. 

"Like this." He said, pulling you off the couch. Your knees on the hard linoleum floor, your elbows resting on the seat of cushion in front of you. Giving Flor just enough space to sit pretty right in front of you.

Your arms instinctively circling around her thighs, pulling her core down to mouth. Her moans filled the small space around you. Vibrating off the walls with an echo. 

"Should 'ave done this in 'ere before." Harry mumbled more to himself than to either one of you as his tip teased your entrance. Your hips swayed instantly at the contact, slowly backing up the little bit you could to feel him slip inside of you.

He hissed, his fingers gripped the round flesh of your ass tightly before he surged forward, stuffing you to the brim with his cock.

"I ruin this pussy 'most everyday and you're still so fuckin' tight." He gritted out through his teeth, your walls clenched down around him at his words.

"Guess you're not fucking her good enough then." 

Your eyes widened in disbelief belief, disconnecting from her core so your mouth could gape in shock.

Did she hate you being able to walk?

"That so?" 

"'S what I said."

"Kitten," You squeaked when you were lifted by your shoulder, your back against Harry's chest. His hands snaked under your shirt just long enough to rip it off. "you can thank Flor tomorrow for why you won't be able to sit." 

"She'll probably be thanking me." The blonde rolled her eyes playfully teasing but enjoying the fact she was getting under his skin.

"Need me to stop, just tap my leg," his deep voice husked into your ear. Your hand tapping his leg, showing him you understood,  before you were hurled back in front of Florence's core by the back of your head. "good girl, now lick." 

You had Harry go hard on you before but when he sheathed himself fully inside of you in one go, you knew you were really going to be in for it. 

Your tongue tried to desperately get Flor off as fast as you could, your fingers slamming into her sweet spot, as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You had a hard time knowing where to focus. Her addictive taste or his marksman worthy precision thrusts into your g-spot.

Your body felt like warm liquid was being pumped through your veins. Both of them gripping onto you at different ends, his hips grinding against your ass as he sat balls deep in your pussy. Her hips dragging against your mouth, fucking herself against your face. 

The sound of their collective moans slicked through the sticky, sex filled, air around you. Your mind lost in that space of non-thinking as your body moved back and forth between the two of them.

"Gonna cum all over my cock, sweetheart?" Your walls tightened around him as her fingers dug deeper into the back of your head. Her own cord snapping only moments before your own.

The white burning light washing through your body followed by the familiar gush of fullness in your lower tummy. 

"Holy shit," Florence breathed out, her arm dropped across her forehead. 

"Why haven't we done that here before?" Harry asked through short breaths.

"'S company property." You mumbled against the couch, your head buried into the soft material as your legs gave out to lay on the heaven-like cold floor below you. "We literally just said fuck you to New Line Cinema." 

You heard chuckling from either side of you, both of them still slightly out of breath.

"Hope we don't work with them again then." 

[hotdamnhunnam]

Take All That Anger Out on Me

A/N: Here’s the first requested fic from the ‘Super Kinky’ list for my Dirty Little Secret series!!! (I’ll be alternating these super kinky fics with the ‘Somewhat Filthy’ fics.) **Please note the warnings: This fic is all about the kinks, please do not read if this is not your thing!!**

Pairing: Jax Teller x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, intense degradation, Jax is raging and seriously roughs you up ‘cause you beg him to let all his anger out (slaps your face, spits on your face and in your mouth) Request: Request from @rayslittlekitten (in comments under this post) + anon request

Word Count: ~2k

Note: As explained in this post, this ‘Dirty Little Secret’ series consists of fics that I had originally written for another character/celebrity, which I’m repurposing for characters of Charlie! So if the characterization ever seems a little off, please don’t judge me too harshly 🙂

**Please note warnings above**

Triggering content after ‘Keep reading’ cut…

***************

It's past 2 A.M. when he finally gets home, storming into the living room, the front door swinging loud and hard behind him as he slams it closed.

You jump up off the couch immediately, tingling as you sense the red hot rage that's radiating from his body, from that drop-dead gorgeous head down to his toes. It fills you with the urge to rip off all his fucking clothes. Worship the sculpted muscles underneath his shirt and kutte... just eat him up... But you're not sure if Jax is in the mood to use you as his slut, right now when he is clearly furious about whatever happened on today's job. So you try to keep your mouth closed. Stay composed. 

But then he heads into the kitchen, and you can't resist the urge to ask a question, as you follow. "How'd it go...?"

"Don't ask," Jax grumbles in a low rasp, as he tosses his gun down onto the table, moving toward the fridge to grab himself a beer. He doesn't even bother looking back at you at all, let alone stop to say hello. Just moves across the room like you're not even here. "You don't wanna know."

Some twisted part of you loves it when he gets so rude. He’s in one of those moods, and it shows, and the one thing you do know... is just how the rest of the night's gonna go.

You don't wanna know, he had said. You protest, knowing that will provoke him best, bring all that smoldering rage to the surface and make him go mad.

And you want that. So bad.

He says it again, like he's reading the thoughts in your head. "Trust me, Y/N, you don't wanna fucking know."

"I do, though—"

"I said don't," your man repeats, casting a glance in your direction, for a split second, piercing blue glare burning your skin off with the heat. And then he turns his back to you again, muttering something as he grabs the drink he needs. You're not sure if he wanted you to hear it. But you did. "Stupid bitch."

... Well, shit. Those degrading words off of his lips just made your pussy twitch. You squirm and cross your arms over your tits, nipples suddenly stiff, through the thin cloth of your pajama top. His back is toward you at the moment so he doesn't really notice. You pretend to just be miffed, although the truth is that you’re thirsty for this man to fuck you up. "Okay, somebody's got his boxers in a twist..."

Jax takes a deep swig of his drink. Then sets it down, and slowly turns around. "You shut your mouth," he growls out loud, the dark edge in his tone depriving you of all ability to think. 

A sheen of liquor glistens on his lower lip; he flicks his tongue out, takes a lick and then bites down hard on the soft pink flesh. Surveys the skimpy PJs you’ve got on, the lacy fabric of the bottoms, hanging low upon your hips... his gaze descends down to your crotch before sliding across your chest... Then up your neck to linger on your mouth and make you melt, as if he knows you're desperate to use that dirty mouth to just untwist his boxers yourself. 

And damn are they in a tight twist. He talks down at you in a mean, menacing hiss. "Thought you'd know better than to get sassy like this when I'm already fucking pissed."

Every word he utters, in that husky voice of his, gets you all hot and bothered, hits you like a goddamn bomb exploding on your clit. Taking a few steps toward this sex god motherfucker, you uncross your arms and set your hands upon your hips. At this point all your dignity has been eclipsed, desire coming through, and you don't care if he can see your tits—you don't doubt it. In fact you want him to, if this suggestive shift in energy is signaling that he might want to do something about it. 

So you respond accordingly: with a provocative reply to make it clear that you are quite painfully horny. "Well, I guess I don't know shit. I'm just a stupid little bitch."

At that, a shadow of a smirk flickers across his luscious lips. "Oh, now you're asking for it..."

"Begging. Please," you answer, wet with need, unable to hold back the nasty slut inside of you that has to be released. Undoubtedly. "Take all that anger out on me."

Towering over you so tall and powerful, so big and strong and beautiful, those eyes so blue and hair so blonde... he bites his tongue and pauses just a fraction of a second. Ocean eyes exploring yours, to make sure that you know just what you're in for. That it's what you really want. That you're ready and eager for whatever rough and dirty sex Jax Teller has in store.

And of course you fucking are. Without wasting a second more, he lunges forward, like an animal pinning you to the floor—the kitchen table, let alone the bed or any better surface that may be available, is way too fucking far—hovering over you on all fours, groaning in sadistic pleasure as you happily surrender to his force, grinding his hips hard into yours, until you're moaning like a whore.

"This what you wanted, bitch?" he devilishly teases, razor edges of his teeth grazing your trembling bottom lip as he gets off on just how bad you fucking need this. Scratching your every last itch. His ruthless hands tear off your flimsy top, groping and pawing at your tits. "Yeah, 'course it is. You kinky little piece of shit."

"F-fuck...!" you scream, turned on beyond belief. His brutal dominance is everything you’ve ever dreamed; the filthy whore inside you instantly reacts, as he attacks. "Fuck, Jax..."

"Told you to shut your goddamn mouth," he grunts, one hand reaching to rip right through your panties so that he can plunge two fingers deep inside your dripping cunt, pumping violently in and out. As his thumb flicks against your slick sensitive clit, he clamps his other hand across your gasping lips, your skin on fire beneath his fingertips. "So keep it shut. You filthy fucking slut."

Oh God, oh Goddd, he is so motherfucking hot. By now you are incapable of any other thought. The palm of his strong, calloused hand is so big that he easily smothers your whole snout and stifles your breathing. And you love the feeling, the heaven of staring up into his blazing blue gaze as he cuts off your airways, of sinking straight into the ultimate subspace... your mind is so blown you've forgotten your own fucking name.

Yet still you know you will remember his, always. Your world revolves around Jax Teller... you live only for his pleasure, now and forever, all day every day... you truly love it when he treats you like a worthless piece of shit. You have no shame.

Despite your consciousness being shattered to bits, somehow you're nonetheless aware that you just came.

"Ugh, look at you," he snarls, pulling his soaked fingers out of your pulsating slit, sticking them in your mouth to make you taste yourself just as he loves to do. Your juices have gushed out all over the floor, and his hands, and his pants, and the whole goddamn world. "Such a dirty girl. Squirting all over my kutte. Did I say you could cum, you dumb slut?"

No, he most definitely did not...

"You're disgusting," he snaps, pulling his hand off of your mouth at last, only to deal your cheek a sudden savage slap. Your inner slut is blissfully combusting. You're so weak and he's so strong. And then he holds your breathless mouth wide open with his thumbs... hocks up a thick wet wad of spit, and puckers up his slick pink lips, to shoot it straight onto your tongue. "Good-for-nothing scum."

By now you're so turned on that you've gone numb.

Jax spits on you again, and again, down your throat and all over your forehead and chin, humiliating you with laughter as he smacks your cheeks repeatedly and rubs his palm across your face to spread his spit around till every inch is fucking glazed. Sending you deeper into subspace. 

Your pussy convulses in shameless disgrace, clenching tight around nothing, set to come undone again just from the sheer power of his fucking perfection. From the friction of his raging hard erection, through his jeans against your bare skin, the sensation of pure sin, his rough hands and ravenous mouth dominating and degrading you in all possible ways.

"You like being my dirty little punching bag?" he taunts, as if he has to ask; it's obviously everything you want. To be a damn fucktoy for Jax. He swiftly flips you over then, all of a sudden, to begin smacking your ass. "You want this big fat dick deep in your cunt? Mmm, know you do, slut. Gonna have to beg for that."

You try to beg, instinctively spreading your legs, desperate for fifty shades of filthy sex, as you sprawl out for him facedown upon the ground. And yet given the state you're in right now, somehow. you can't manage a sound. 

He spanks your ass raw, as you squirm and struggle from beneath, gritting your teeth, striving to speak, wasted and weak, gaping your mouth so wide you'll probably break your fucking jaw. Still not a word comes out—nothing but choked whimpers and gasps for air, as his dominant fingers grab a fistful of your hair, lifting your head and tilting it toward him just to spit in your mouth, yet again and then slamming your head right back down. God, you love how he's letting his inner beast out and just going to town.

You quiver in bliss as you grovel in a puddle of his spit, the floor tiles pressed against your tits, high on the way he beats you like a low-down piece of shit. It's all you are to him at times like this. Overcome with arousal and unable to control yourself at all, your pussy aching as it drips, you start cumming again at the next words off of his lips. "You're such a stupid... fucking... bitch."

You squirt even harder this time around. Feels like you've drowned.

Jax deals your ass a final stinging spank, then twines his fingers in your messy hair again, forcing your head up off the ground with an aggressive yank. "Dumb fucking skank. See, I was gonna fuck that cunt tonight—stuff you full of this big dick until I cum inside, then fuck your throat and let you drink it all up—every goddamn drop, you dirty little slut... but you know what? You don't deserve it. Not when you've been such a pathetic piece of shit."

He blesses you with one more smack across the face, and one more shot of his sweet spit, laughing as you soak in the feel and the taste of such total disgrace.

Ughh, he is so fucking hot... he's an actual sex god... you think, as he throws you back down to the ground, letting you drown, lost in the pure filth of your perfectly satisfied kinks.

"So now you know what happens when I'm fucking pissed," Jax says, gloating at how you groan in bliss, letting your loving gaze worship his flawless face. "Next time you disobey, and piss me off like that, I'm gonna take out all my anger even harder on your sorry ass and make it hurt real bad. You got that, bitch?"

Oh God, fuck, yes. He's such a savage. To be honest, you just hope that is a promise...

And from the way he's smirking down at you like this, dirty and devilish—giving off such a dangerous dominance that's so fucking delicious—set to satisfy your deepest darkest wishes... you can tell that it most definitely is.

***************

... Sooo that was super filthy and I know Jax is an absolute asshole in this lol but I hope there are some kinky bitches who enjoyed it, and would love to hear if you did!! 😅❤️

– Main Masterlist

– Dirty Little Secret Masterlist

***************

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[pinkmirth]

—𝐌𝗼𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝗼𝐮 𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢 [𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞]

《𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝗼𝗺𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝗼𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 + 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝》

Boxes splayed across the bare, sheen hardwood of your newly owned apartment, some contents of them being haphazardly tossed out onto the floor, courtesy of Katsuki. Speaking of, the eager ash blonde had been taking this whole unpacking thing with a ravaging approach, a little more aggression than enthusiasm being displayed. This disregarding husband of yours had already broken two vases since the moving van hauled in your belongings..

You caught wind of his incoherent murmurs throughout the day, which were practically countless by now. You’d been racking your brain since, attempting to discover what had gotten your poor Katsuki so upset. Despite the marriage that bonded you and him, Katsuki’s profession usually got in the way of many personal things. For a while, it’d been a danger just for the pair of you to live together, so you haven’t been. Until now. It had been three days since you and him moved from the comfort of your hometown, Musutafu, to the renowned capital, Tokyo, and you wished you could say it had been smooth sailing. Unfortunately, a certain Bakugou wasn’t having the best time, always sputtering a profanity or a groan left and right. His case of the grumps was probably a trip of his complex emotions, either caused by a sense of neediness, deprivation of some sort, or bottled rage. You were betting, practically hoping on the first two instead. Knowing your husband, it meant well that he’d get his hands on miscellaneous household items to crush, smash and break, as some way of channeling his anger episodes. Three days down the line, and you already needed to replace a handful.. Though, it was currently dinner time, and you were sure that was a good thing. Katsuki’s little funk would wash away come 6pm. Cooking had a way of melting away the male’s heaps of stress, especially when you offered to join in. Throughout that hour of making food and serving you his prideful dishes, he always carried a subtle smile. Dinner wasn’t something to worry about. “Fuckin’ hell!” Scratch that. Telling by the pestering clatter of the cabinets he was yanking open, to the dastardly echo of his stomps, it seemed that you couldn’t rely on the succor of food for any longer. “I oughta’ set this lousy kitchen on fucking fire!” You let out a hefty sigh, picking yourself up from the spacious beanbag, since you were yet to assemble any couches, before strolling over to the kitchen, awaiting to see the reason behind your husband’s exaggerated shrieking. “Katsu-Chan, what's the issue..?” Your husband immediately bombarded you with a growled rant, “I can’t find my shitty apron!” You eyed Katsuki through furrowed brows. Is all this attitude really about one measly apron? Nah, I doubt it, your inner voice chimed. “And there ain’t any more pepper seasoning, so I haven’t got a clue what I’ll cook now..” he spewed through gritted teeth, recklessly tossing away the poor frying pan that he’d been holding onto all the while, impressive dents imprinted onto the handle, curved into the shape of his fingers. In that case, you had one more household item to replace. Noted.. “I can’t find that damned thing,” he spoke with an exasperated huff, his hands flying up to the cupboards, motioning them open and closed with the slightest violent tendency. “Hate to break it to you, sweet cheeks, but we ain’t eating dinner tonight,” you scoffed over Katsuki’s recurring dramatics, “These past few days have been shitty anyway..” He’d said it throughout a lowly mutter, but it was enough to cause a nervous stream to rush through you. Did he not like it here? Perhaps the city was too busy for Dynamight, maybe he wasn’t immune to getting homesickness as he liked to brag about, or it couldve been that he just wasn’t ready to get used to such a foreign occurrence in your relationship— living together. But, of course, considering your nature to bat things off with a joke of some sort, you contorted your worries into a comical stick to jab at your husband with.

“Darling, if you’re on your man-period, you should’ve just said so..” you’d said it with fabricated pity, all the while holding back your chuckles as his brows began to furrow, upper lip curving vexingly.

“You think you’re so damn funny, dontcha’, woman..?”

“Yeah, just a little bit.”

Another rasped groan left the lips of the ever-impatient Bakugou Katsuki, “Oi. Are ya’ just gonna keep giggling on about my little anger episode forever?”

Hm. For once, he actually acknowledged it for what it is, you thought briefly, before making your way around the glossy, marble-design kitchen island, your hands finding solace on his defined, muscular triceps. 

The thick straps of his black, square neck tank top gradually began to slide past his shoulders, shadowing over his collarbone before you inched it back up.

“Do you.. like it here, Katsuki?” By the moment he answered your answer with an aggressive snort, you realized you had nothing to worry about.

 “Why the hell wouldn't I? We didn’t pay for this house just to hate the place,” he scoffed, his large palms skimming over the small of your back before thick fingers of his wrapped around your waist.

“That’s a relief, but you’ve been acting a little grumpy— Like something’s bothering you. Could you just tell me how you’re feeling?” You finally admitted your questioning thoughts with an expectant look, watching Katsuki return your curiosity with a subtle smirk. “You wanna know what’s bothering me..?” 

“Y’know what, never mind. Don’t wanna hear it, Katsu-Chan.”

Your abrupt response had him knitting his brows and emitting confused huffs. “So you’re just gonna change your mind on me like that?!” You jabbed at his chest with your pointer finger to punctuate your reply, “because you made it sound creepy, that’s why!”

Katsuki then tightened his grip around your waist, earning a breathy gasp out of you. Before you could question the blonde, he already had you hauled up into the kitchen island, standing between your dangling legs with the tip of his nose grazing yours. You couldn’t help but let out a sigh at the comforting warmth of his sizey hands, your arms instinctively flinging around the back of his neck.

“Alright, I’ll tell you the truth, hon,” confessed Katsuki, “The move has been great, but horrible. It all went good, I guess. No missing items, moving trucks arriving in record time, everything we wanted. But there’s one more thing that we wanted that you seemed to forget about, you lil’ idiot..”

Despite the use of an insult, his cheeks and ears began the bloom a subtle but pretty pink, his sharp red eyes averting from your own blinking ones.

“Care to inform me on whatever I forgot..?” You skimmed through my your memory frantically in those few seconds that he’d paused, trying to dig up a pleasing answer before he told you himself.

“Privacy, [Y/N].. We’d have so much, too much once we moved to our own place. And we loved the sound of that. Y‘know why, right..?”

Your heart suddenly leapt within your chest at his indication, his left brow rising suggestively as he briefly cocked his head. You definitely knew why.

“So we could have times like this. Without any damned interruptions. I can suck your face off without one of my shitty friends popping up unexpectedly, ain’t that swell?” His voice held the slightest bit of laughter in it, his tone comical and yearning.

“So.. if I said that I wanna feel you close to me..” you murmured, your breath fanning over his proximate lips, “Like, really really close, it wouldn’t be a problem, yes?” A teasing, lingering peck was what you placed across his cheek, earning a genuine grin from Katsuki as a response.

“Who the hell’s gonna stop you? In fact, I’ve got my own idea,” his lowly voice came out booming nonetheless, but of course, the benefit of privacy made sure that his volume wasn’t a problem.

“I wanna watch you. While you watch me.” He didn’t have to be lewdly exact with his words, the lust-blown gaze in your husband’s vermillion eyes was enough to tell what he wanted. It was simple enough as he’d said; Mutual masturbation, just a few minutes before dinner time would commence.

Albeit the serene atmosphere, you couldn’t hold back your snicker over your realization. Bakugou Katsuki, your impatient lover. The poor guy had been in such a distasteful mood, only because of his unnerving libido..

“You wanna watch me take off my panties, huh?” Your teasing statement came out as a suggestive giggle, your hand placed sturdily at the nape of his neck while the unoccupied one got to work on making his fantasies a reality, tugging at the hem of your leggings hastily.

“You’ve gotta watch me too, y’know,” Katsuki reminded you with a gravelly chuckle, shimmying and pulling his bottoms off as though there were no time to spare.

His half naked form had attracted you in an instant, eyes drawing to his thick cock, semi-hard and already being encased into his moving palm.

“Don't just stare. It works both ways, sweet cheeks. I wanna see some fingers moving’ already,” Puffs of breath were taken between his words, ruby red eyes already lidded with an agape mouth that poured out the most arousing groans.

“Nah, I think I’ll just enjoy the show for now,” you decided matter-of-factly, pressing a sloppy kiss along his defined jawline, causing him to emit another grunt, lowly slapping sounds being heard from his vulgar ministrations.

“You think you’re cute, huh..” hissed Bakugou, trudging his clothes back on with a grunt, to your dismay. “Forget it. Instead of putting on a show for a brat like you, I’m gonna go straight to dinner.”

You accepted the fate that your actions resulted in, ready to slide off the island, just before his stern hands stopped you. He gave you this glance, one that made you eye him in suspicion as he kept his hands on each of your thighs, spreading them apart with a lax grin.

“Katsu— Ah!” By now, the blonde had already dropped to his knees, now face level with your clothed heat. “W-what about dinner..?!”

“Whaddya’ mean?” His tone came out rasped and attractive, a growing smirk reaching his lips as his fingers prodded at the band of your bottoms, “This is my dinner, babe..”

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Home Sweet Home: Catch ‘Em

Summary- 3.9k Andy Barber x You. You and Andy almost have it all, married and with a jointed family consisting of Andy’s teenage son Jacob, as well as your two younger children John and Cassidy. Looking to add another member, your family is in need of a bigger house, a forever home. You find just the place, 112 Ocean Avenue in Amityville Long Island.    Home Sweet Home

Written for @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho​ Spooky Scary Stories challenge. Divider by @firefly-graphics​

Warnings- Child Endangerment, Hints of Smut (nothing graphic) Swears.

A/N- I chose Amityville Horror for the challenge because its one of my favorite Spook Stories growing up. When reading you will find a lot of similarities to the 2005 Movie, some of the scenarios and dialogue are specifically from that film. Other parts of it are from the book itself. The family name was changed for my own personal reasons. Happy Haunting!  🎃

A/N 2- We’re halfway through! 

Chapter 2 / Masterlist

The family settled and a few weeks later, morning started out normal for the rest of the household , but didn't start that way for Andy. His coughing never seemed to break and he was covered in a light sheen of sweat. You were already up to make breakfast for everyone, and Andy came down the stairs, rubbing at his chest. 

“Coffee Andy?” You ask while holding the coffee pot over his mug but he shook his head. 

“No, I actually came down hoping to find some cough syrup? Or pain medicine? Anything really. We don't have any upstairs.” 

“Oh I tossed out the old stuff. But I will pick some up when I go out today. I told Jacob that I would drop him off at the high school today after I got John on the bus.” 

Just as you were saying this, a stampede of footsteps came down the stairs making Andy wince a bit and all three kids came around the corner into the kitchen. Andy barked out a bit sharply, which even surprised you. “Y’all don’t need to be running on the stairs.” He coughed again and shivered. “Fuck its cold… I'm going down to check on the heater. If you could get that stuff, that would be great.” 

He snapped the door open and disappeared from sight while you were staring after him in surprise. Even all three of the kids seem to be in shock. Jacob just shrugged at his father's weird behavior and went to sit on a stool at the kitchen bar, the other two following him while you set plates with some scrambled eggs on them in front of them. Jacob just took toast nibbling on the edge of it a bit. 

“My phone cant keep any kind of charge whatsoever! I just got this thing to.” Jacob flipped it around to show you, and you saw it was already at 50 percent. You frowned at that, because of course he had one of the better styles of phones. Much better than anything you've ever had. 

“Your charging cord is working and everything?” You question and he nods, slipping it in his pocket. 

“Works just fine. It charges it to one hundred percent, twenty minutes later it is back down to fifty.” 

You shrug at Jacob at a loss and happen to glance at a small clock on the kitchen windowsill. “Shit.” you hiss out and down the last of your coffee. “Come on, time for the bus before we're late. Jake, meet you in the car.” You grab your car keys and open the door to call down to Andy. “I'm taking the kids to school.” 

You heard nothing more than a resounding deep cough and frowned reminding yourself to pick up that cough medicine for Andy on your way home. “Got your backpack John? Alright, lets go.” The whole pack of kids ushered out the door, leaving Andy all alone. 

Andy is pacing downstairs, waiting for the heater to kick on, cursing it out. 

“Spent all this money and the damn thing wont work.” he mutters while pulling the chair from his desk to it to sit in front of it, messing with the buttons on the front till a groaning protest came from the heater, and it clicked on to blast a bit of cool air, and quickly switched to warm. Rolling his chair back to his desk, he pulled out files from the bottom drawer to contact his clients and inform them that he was back in business at his new location. 

He was so tired though, having felt like he was up half the night feeling ill, and within a few moments he simply closed his eyes to rest them, he would use as an excuse to himself. Within moments he nodded off, and the creeping shadow came out of hiding, solidifying in front of his desk. Sharp clicking steps echoed against the cement floor and claws seared when they touched the wood of Andy's desk. It leaned forward to loom over the desk, over Andy whose chin rested against his chest. Forked tongue slithered along Andy's face, making him twitch in his sleep, whispering “Catch ‘em, Kill ‘em” Red eyes watched his victim for a moment, seemingly at peace in this state. It flexed its hands, claws scratching into the wood before giving a hard shake, sending  papers and pens flying, Andy’s laptop skidding across the surface and a picture that you had set on there yesterday crashing loudly to the floor. Cracking the glass into shattering pieces across the floor to glint wickedly. Andy’s eyes sprang open and he tipped forward to grab his shaking desk in surprise to see glowing red eyes and the scream of “Catch ‘em!” 

Then it all stopped, and he shoved back from his desk, pressing his heels to his eyes thinking he was seeing things. “What the fuck, what the fuck.” when he lifted his head, his breathing shaky to look at his desk, it was all normal. His papers were still exactly where he had set them before, his laptop in sleep mode ready to be used, pens all neatly lined up how he liked, and his family looking at him with wide happy smiles and laughs at the beach, the glass shining slightly in the light. 

“Jesus Christ Andy, get it together.” he shivered, cold once more and started coughing again. The door at the top of the stairs opened and your soft footsteps brought you down, Andy glanced up to see you carrying a steaming mug with the string of a tea bag wrapped around the handle and a paper bag that he assumed must have been the med’s he asked for. You reached the bottom and started approaching him, seeing his flushed face, the way he was heavy breathing with the rise of his chest, and you frowned while sitting the mug in front of him. 

“Baby, you don't look so good.” Your hand brushed against the side of his face, and it felt ice cold to him. Jerking out of your touch a bit, he wrapped his hands around the mug and sipped from it, scowling at the taste. 

“Don't talk to me like one of the kids Y/N.” he bit out of nowhere and he could see your face flash in a bit of hurt. “Sorry- sorry… I don't know what's wrong. Just a head cold is all. Are those the med’s?” 

“I got you a bit of everything.” your voice was colder towards him now, turned off from his offhand comment, and you set those down to, Andy knew he had to make it up to you, that was twice in the same morning he had been short, completely out of character for him. His hand wrapped around your waist and pulled you into his lap, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. 

“I’m sorry I have been an ass this morning.” He said, hoping you would ease up a bit. Which you did, he felt you relax on his thigh and your hand lifted to brush through his hair, tilting your head. 

“I know you're not feeling good. Come up soon and lay back down though? I am worried about you.” you confess, and he nods. “I gotta go back up and check on Cassidy.” 

You leave him at his work, and going up the stairs, you leave the door open to let the kitchen's sunshine at least shine down the dark stairs. Maybe it will remind Andy to come back up you think to yourself as you leave the kitchen. 

As soon as you do, the door eases shut, closing him back down in the dark belly of the house. Up the stairs, you walk the long hallway towards Cassidy’s room, gazing along the walls, imagining the photos you wanted to hang along the way when you heard Cassidy’s soft voice seemingly talking to someone. 

“No Jody, I cant. Mommy wouldn't like that, and neither would Andy.” You tilt your head curiously hearing this now, recalling her mentioning someone by that name a few times now since moving in. 

“Well, okay Jody, that doesn't sound too bad. And it is really cool. He took me out on it a few times. Even let me drive it once.” 

You eased her door open to see her standing in the middle of her room, and she jumped when she saw you. 

“Oh mommy! You scared me.” She giggled, and you poked your head around the door to see what she was talking to. Nothing, there was nothing there. 

“Who are you talking to, Babygirl?” You ask, and Cassidy looks once more where she had been talking before answering. 

“Jody, but they are gone now.” she hummed and turned towards her box of toys to dig through it. You come into the room and go to sit on the edge of her bed, watching as she pulled out a few of her dolls and brought out her tea set. 

You wiggle your nose a bit, knowing imaginary friends were not uncommon. You pull up to a stand as she is setting up her dolls around a small table. “Do you want me to have tea with you?” 

“No Mommy, I wanna just play by myself.” She said happily and you lean down to kiss the top of her head. Walking out, Cassidy followed behind you, peeking out to see you heading off to go back down the stairs. 

“Okay Jody, she's gone. You still wanna go down to see the boat?” Cassidy looked over her shoulder to see the closet door easing open on its own. Cassidy giggled, and raced out of her bedroom, one goal in mind. Going to the boathouse. 

You're in the kitchen, unpacking the last few boxes when you hear Cassidy’s feet thumping down the stairs. Luckily Andy is still down in the basement and hopefully can't hear the thumps that seemed to bother him. You were surprised in finding the door, but figured he must have had to shut it if he was talking to a client. Opening it back up to hear Andy was still downstairs, typing away on his laptop now with the clicking noise that worked its way up the stairs. Humming you lift another box on the table and start to unpack the contents. Turning your back from the fridge, you hop up to sit on the edge of the counter so you could fit the dishes together and put them on the upper shelf you couldn't reach. Unnoticed by you, the alphabet letters on the fridge start shifting around, letters coming together to fit together in a couple words. 

When you finish, you hop off the counter and turn back to catch sight of the refrigerator door, your eyes widening at the horrible words spelled on the door. 

Katch ‘em Kill ‘em 

You gasp in shock at them, wondering who would have possibly written that. Thumps on the stairs distracted you half a second and Andy appeared with his mug for a refill. “Andy, did you write that on the fridge?” you say in a slightly accusing voice, and he frowns while glancing at you as he heads to put the kettle on the stove. 

“What are you talking about Y/N?” 

“The magnets on the fridge.” You answer and you both turn to the fridge door to see the letters scattered all over the place, not spelling anything. You scowl in frustration, because you know what you saw and Andy gives you a strange look. 

“What words?” he asks while he's at the sink, filling up the kettle with water and you just shake your head. 

“Nothing, I thought I saw something, but I didn't.” you brush it off, now unsure of what you saw. While you're unwrapping more dishes, you suddenly hear Andy utter. “Oh shit, Cassidy!” and the tin sound of the kettle crashing in the sink while Andy is sprinting to the back door and outside. You drop what you're doing and follow him out, right on his heels as he's running down the wooden deck steps and headed straight for the boat house. “ANDY?” You shout from behind him as he's running full out across the deck. “What's wrong?!” your panicked, unsure what is going on while Andy is trying to wrench the door open. 

“Cassidy, I saw her go in here.” He rushed out as he wrenched on the handle, trying to get it to unclasp. You start pounding on the door now in a frantic way, Cassidy couldn't swim, and the boat house was stretched over the lake, should she slip in, there was a good chance she would drown. Your fear builds as Andy continues trying to get the door open. “What the fuck. CASS! OPEN THE DOOR.” he yells while trying to push it open.

“Oh god Andy, get it open, get it open.” tears start to well up in your eyes as you picture your daughter slipping under the water out of sight. 

Andy growls out and pushes you aside to slam against the door, hoping to wrench it open. “I'm trying Y/N, get out of the way.” 

Your just about to jump in to swim around to the other side of the boat house when the door sprang open and you both race in, looking around the dim interior to see Cassidy standing on the nose of the motor boat just staring out over the lake, you gasp in surprise seeing her like that as Andy made his way carefully along the edge of the deck not to startle her. 

“Cass, Babygirl, look at me.” Andy says softly as he makes his way towards her. Your right behind him. 

“Cassidy, look at Andy.” you whimper out, watching as she gets closer to the edge of the boat, and her gaze was so far away out over the lake, like she never noticed you or Andy trying to get to her.

“Cass!” He says more urgently, and she jumps to look at him, slipping a bit as the boat rocks from her movements. “Take my hand baby.” He stretches his hand out and she shakes her head a bit. 

“I can’t, I gotta go.” Cass say’s with certainty, tilting her head like she was listening to someone else. “Jody want’s to take me to play.” 

“Take his hand Cass!” your panic rushing your voice and Andy stretches out further over the water, his voice turning hard and authoritative. 

“Cassidy I’m not asking again. Take my hand.” When Cassidy heard him this time, she snapped her head to look at him and her eyes grew wide with surprise. She stretched for his hand, her fingers trying to reach for his. Andy is quick to snatch her and pull her off the boat to safety, falling back against the wall from the momentum. You gather your daughter in your arms, giving a sob. 

“Cassidy what were you doing, you could have drowned.” 

Now the girl is caught up in Andy's and yours fear, giving her own sob as tears burst from her eyes while you and Andy rush out of the boat house with her strongly clutched in your arms, stopping just outside as she wails out. “Jody wanted to see the boat Mommy! Jody wanted me to go with them.” 

“Cass, there is no Jody!” your nerves shook so you shout at her in anger and fear, and Andy reaches to take Cassidy from your arms. 

“She's scared Y/N and didn't know any better, yelling isn't going to help.” He turns the little girl in his arms as she sobs into his shoulder, his hand smoothing along her back to calm her down. “Hey Kiddo, it's going to be okay.” He tried calming Cassidy who’s sobs wracked her body in Andy’s arms, and you walked away a bit to take a shuddering inhale. You know he's right, you're just upsetting her more, but your fear outweighed that right now. 

“Just lock that damn door Andy, so this doesn't happen again.” you look back at the door and he nods. 

“I will go pick up a lock at the hardware store, I promise.” He assured you and you nodded, wiping away your tears. Now your daughters crying in Andy’s shoulder upset you, made you feel guilty for yelling at her. You move to press your hand against her back and say her name. She tilts her head to look at you through teary eyes and you try giving her a shaky smile. 

“I’m sorry baby, I didn't mean to yell. You just really scared me and Andy.” 

She gave a sniffle and Andy eased her back so she could wipe her face dry and look at both of them. 

“I’m-i’m sorry. Next time I will ask.” She said, and you nodded. Andy shifted her once more to rest on his hip. 

“Cassidy, the boathouse is dangerous and you know off limits to you and John. If Jody tells you to do something you're not supposed to, what do you tell Jody?” he asked and the little girl lifted her arm to wipe her face again, hiccuping as she tried to catch her breath. 

“I tell Jody no Andy.” she said, his hand still rubbing against her back. 

“That's right, if you're not sure if you're allowed, you come ask Mommy, Me, or Jacob if it's okay.” he smiled at her to reassure her that it was all okay.

She gave a nod and he held up a pinkie finger, which she hooked her finger around and Andy kissed her forehead. “Pinky promise I swear Andy.” 

“Can't break a pinky promise. You know… I think I have some cookies up at the house.” He said, his hand coming up to brush the last tears away with his thumb on her cheeks. “You wanna get a snack before I have to go back to work?” 

Cassidy seemed to consider it. “Oreos?” 

“Of course they are oreos!” Andy winked as you all headed back up to the house. “Best cookie there is, right?” 

Cassidy gave a firm nod, and you let out a relieved breath. Crisis averted. 

Later that afternoon, Andy came back out of the basement just as you were finishing the kitchen, Cassidy coloring at the table while he grabbed his keys. 

“I will go pick up Jacob and stop at the hardware store.” He pecked a kiss on your cheek, and you looked at him. 

“You sure you're feeling up for it?” 

Andy nodded and flashed a smile. “I feel much better Love, those meds kicked in and some fresh air will do me good.” 

You happen to agree since he's been in that basement most of the day, and you wave a goodbye, deciding you should probably figure out what's gonna be for dinner later in the day. “How about tacos tonight Cass?” 

She cheers and  you double check to make sure there was enough ingredients, which there was. No need to send Andy a text to pick up anything. “Come on kiddo, lets go pick John up from the bus stop.” you snap the door shut, bluntly ignoring the letters scattered over the fridge. 

Heading down the driveway, the house groaned, all alone once again. There was a shattering through the kitchen, your finest dishes being flung from the cupboard and against the wall, fine china dust settling in the air as the scattered pieces spread across the linoleum for you to find later. The basement door wrenched open and the yawning darkness going down the stairs turned darker, more ominous. 

When you came back, you stared in shock, stopping both John and Cassidy from going in to save them from stepping on shattered broken shards. “How about you two go on up to your rooms to play while I clean this up?” 

Both children went upstairs, and you grabbed a broom to start sweeping, as you passed the basement door, you slammed it shut in frustration and anger. 

Night fell and you got the kids settled in. Settling in bed yourself to lean against the headboard, massaging your temples while Andy was in the bathroom getting ready for bed.

You were beat after having to help John with his homework and Cassidy suddenly changed her mind and just hated tacos. Andy seemed to be feeling better, helping where he could. Offering to take over the dishes when John called you back to the kitchen table, and afterwards he hugged you from behind, kissing your neck while whispering in your ear that he couldn't wait to put a baby in you before he went back down to the basement to finish up with a few things.  

Thinking back on his idea made you warm up and when Andy came back in the bedroom and stretched out next to you, you looked at him, biting your lip while looking at him.

“You really wanna tonight?” you asked hopeful, since moving your and Andy’s sexual escapades had diminished a bit and you put it all to the stress of moving a whole family to a new house.

“Make you a baby momma? Of course, come on over Pretty Girl.” He reached up to click off the lights and bathe the room in the moonlight when you gently eased into his lap, the two of you starting with gentle affectionate kisses before they turned deeper and needier. Andy's hands slid up and down your back through your tank top, and you would sigh against his lips at how good it felt. Andy chained kisses from your mouth to your jaw and you tilted your head back to let him chain those kisses of his down your neck. He pulled you in closer to feel more of you when his glance lifted to look in the mirror just behind you at the end of the bed. 

At first Andy had no idea what he was actually looking at, a grotesque face appeared above him in the mirror, like it was balancing on the headboard behind him. Crouching in place, its clawed hands dug into the wood, its muscled body flexing as it swayed slightly on the head board. Up to its face, a forked tongue slithered out and red eyes glared at him in the mirror. How could something from a nightmare be here right now? He wasn't asleep, he was just about to make love to his wife. His head jerked back in shock, banging against the headboard with a loud crack as he looked up to see nothing above him. “Fuck!” 

You yanked up in surprise, running your hands down his chest. “Handsome, what's wrong?” your head tilted and you looked where he was staring, feeling his heart starting to race under your hands. 

“You didn't see that?” He grasped your hips, making you go still as you frowned. 

“See what Andy?” his gaze fell back to ours and then back up. 

“There was something there, fuck I saw it in the mirror. I don’t even know what it was. It looked like a- ” He grasped your hips and sat up to look around, your hands grabbing onto the front of his tee shirt in surprise. Looking back to the mirror and then to Andy who was still trying to figure it out. 

“Like what Andy?” You are studying him trying to figure out what he was talking about. 

“Fuck it I know Y/N.” His hold tightened on you a moment, like whatever was going to rip you away while he still looked around the room. 

“Hey hey, Andy.” you cup his face and make him look at you, kissing his forehead and down till you leaned your forehead against his. “It's okay, there is nothing there, I promise.” Your lips brushed against his. His breathing slowly started to settle back down, and your hands rubbed against his shoulders and the back of his neck as he started to sink back against the pillows, rubbing at his face. 

“It was so real though Y/N. These past few weeks, I feel like I'm losing my mind.” 

You tilt your head and brace your hands against his chest. “Stress Andy, we’ve had a lot going on. It will get better, I promise.” 

His blue eyes shined up at yours and softened seeing you looking down at him, his hands going back to tracing your thighs clasped at his sides. “You know I love you right Pretty Girl?” 

You nodded and he twisted you two around till you were underneath him, and tilted your head up to kiss you deeply. “I think I was just about to put a baby in you.” 

You giggled against his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck and whispering. “Yes you were Andy.”

[mxvladdy]

Beelzebub- True Form

Three more boyos to go!

Next up: Leviathan

Beelzebub-  

The embodiment of starvation. The sharp contrast between his healthy and fit forms is truly baffling.

Mouths are scattered all over his gangly form. It is the only human thing about him as he is faceless otherwise. When hunting they release a mist or plague of locusts depending if his hunger is physical or emotional

His hunting form is juvenile and frail. Naturally small and unassuming, it is perfect to lure his victims close and ensnare them forever. He attracts souls with an overwhelming hunger. It’s a lure filled with false promises of substances and warm. When close he latches on like a parasite and gorges until there is nothing left but an empty husk.

Once full his form shifts into something- greater- his small body growing and stretching. It’s somewhere along the lines of a human growth spurts, or puberty, but is done in moments. It’s uncomfortable for him; the rapid growth takes a lot out of him.

When fed he is larger, but still skeletal in form. It’s a permanent reminder of his new immortal purpose. His skin is like stone, hard and grey but translucent. It is stretched tight around his frame, like an artist canvas over his jet black bones. The texture of it emphasizes all the odd twists and turns of his bone structure and whatever else lies underneath his flesh.

Each raspy breath he draws from the many mouths scattered around his body rattle his disjointed skeleton. His bones clinking together with every exhale to create a truly chilling symphony.

When crazed with hunger he loses himself. In his younger years as a cardinal sin he was responsible for wiping out land masses and civilizations to try and dull the ache before his brothers could contain him.

His gluttony isn't only for physical sources of substances. Slabs of meat only go so far. He will latch on like a leech, to anything that radiates his current emotional cravings. Love? Happiness? Fear? He wants to experience it all. Filling and cramming every little space with whatever sensations he craves. Till the deadened feeling in his chest is a little less.

There was a time where he was very close with his brother sin greed. During their younger years as demons they would terrorize the mortal realm, a deadly duo. Both unable or unwilling to control their new urges.

He hates this existence. He’s empty and it drives him mad. Was he like this in heaven? Honestly, Beel can’t remember anymore. He doesn’t think so. He had his brothers and sister to keep him in order and a different name. At the time he was called Temperance, right? He thinks. It’s a bit foggy.

But what hurts him the most is that his family structure is fractured now. There is a hole where Lilith used to be, and no amount of souls or food will ever fill that.

When he met you it helped a little. But he has to be weary.

He has better control of his abilities now then a couple centuries ago so you don’t have to worry too much. He likes having you around. It fills part of the void that he’s been struggling with for so long. Being with you makes him feel like dirt has finally hit the bottom of what he thought was a vacuous void inside.

Sometimes his natural abilities seep out when he is hungry or frustrated from another family row.  He gravitates towards you then, searching for that odd human comfort demons just don’t possess. He sips slowly on it; with your permission of course. Not the wisest idea- but an idea nonetheless. 

Mini Fic

Sleepy Sloth Boi- Hey. Can you check up on Beel? He had a bit of a argument with Asmo today Sleepy Sloth Boi- Apparently he ate a homemade face  goop? IDK, it’s stupid.   Sleepy Sloth Boi- I would, but I’m stuck in a remedial class with Lucifer Sleepy Sloth Boi- I don’t know when I’ll be out-                                                                                     Ok! Is he in your room?-   Sleepy Sloth Boi- No, at the gym. Asmo called him and chewed him out. Didn’t go well. Trainers called me. He busted up some equipment and might have eaten someone... They want him out.                                                                                  Oh... K I’ll head over now-

You frown down at your D.D.D and stuff it in your bag. This wasn’t the first time this had happened. You had heard stories of his terrible temper when hungry. Most of the time you have seen him just mope, huddled up in the kitchen eating his feelings. He was always open to talk though and you usually could convince him out of the kitchen so Lucifer didn’t have an aneurysm over a barren fridge.

The gym isn’t far from the house. A short tram ride and a walk down a couple of familiar streets. You have spent every Saturday morning with Beel there, spotting him. Not that you really could. With the amount of weights he was dead lifting, but he appreciated the company nonetheless. You ring up the front desk dashing across the street. It goes straight to voicemail. Crap it must be bad. You round the corner right before the gym and skid to a halt. Glass and metal litter the cobble street. The shards flicker off the lights of the street lamps drawing your eye to the sheer amount of damage around you. Some equipment even stuck out of the wall adjacent to you.

You make your way closer. “Human! Tis’ not the best time to be here. We are having a bit of an issue.” A terrified trainer scuttled towards you, mandible clicking in alarm. “You best turn back. We don’t need your body littering the streets too.” They wave a three fingered claw back up the street. On cue a weightlifting machine was launched through the remaining window exploding on impact with the road. A few more trainers run out after it, yelling and pushing at each other to get out of the way. A dark black mist bellows out after them.

Well shit.

“I’m actually here to try and help.” You smile down at the tiny demon trying to instill some false confidence in them. You think you could handle this. You didn’t want to call in the cavalry to get him. Knowing Beel, it would only trigger his guilty conscience. “If you could give me a moment.” Ignoring the little creature you creep forward, careful of the broken glass and praying that no more equipment got launched.

“Beel?” You call out peaking your head through the gaping hole on the side of the gym. "Hey, Belphie texted me. Wanna talk about it?” The inside of the gym was dark. Wires hung and sparked dangerously in front of you. A large burst pipe blocked most of your vision. “Beel?” You could hear his loud bone chilling breathing. He was close.

“Careful.” You jump swallowing the curse that threatened to slip out. Beelzebub emerged from the darkness at the back of the gym. His eyeless face locking onto you. “You are close to a line.” His many mouths move in unison. Some rumbling as he spoke, others just drawing in rasping wheezing breaths.

“Thanks.” You jump back onto the street. “You wanna come out? You look a bit cramped.”  He was comically too large for the allotted space. His goliath sized body packed into a little sardine can. He rattles for a bit considering. You cock your head to the side looking at the empty street. “Plenty of room out here.” You wave at your sole spectator and give them a small thumbs up. They blink in horror over your shoulder. Eyes locked on the beast emerging.

“I’m sorry.”  He drags himself  out. Thick steel like claws causing the little trainer hiding behind you to whimper. Beel’s fingers dig into the stone and mortar. Oph- this was going to cost a bit to fix.

“It’s ok big guy-happens to the best of us.” You say casually. Once he was outside he shivers in the cool afternoon air. His bones creak as you approach him. “May I touch you?” You approach hand raised. He never cared if you touched him in his human form. It centered him a lot of the time. He enjoyed the feel of your soft and giving flesh against his smooth hard skin. But this form was slightly more dangerous for you well being.

Beel shakes his head at your movement melding back into the dark hole. His mouths open wide to release a plume of black smoke. The trainer cries out, scurrying back further down the street. You hold your ground however. Chin up definitely, unafraid at what you knew was coming. The thick black vapor coats your skin. It latches on to you and seeps through your pores. You feel him in the back of your mind running through your head, searching for something. You breathe slowly, letting him shuffle through your psyche.

You feel a flush of warmth, a near giddiness that brings an uncontrollable smile to your face before it is gone. Snuffled out like a candle in the wind. A slow chilling tingling begins in all of  your extremities as he feeds off your emotions. He pulls at your center, eating away at your mental state. An odd empty ache blooms in your chest, you need to untangle yourself before he bled you dry.

He pulls back then, knowing when he has gone too far. The pallor of his skin is richer now. A darker grey than before. The waxing sheen gone and replaced with a deep purple hue underneath. His cobweb like veins thumping with life. “Thanks~” His rattles remerging onto the street. His oblong head nudges your shoulder, checking on you. You pat at it, careful of the mouths and razor sharp teeth.

“Of course; don’t mention it.” You turn on weak knees to the trainer. Looking at complete ease with the cardinal sin currently wrapping his many limbed and mouthed body around your comparatively tiny frame. “I guess this is not super common?” You ask, waving at the destruction. They shake their head.

“He-he ate Gordin.”

“Ah-ye. He does that. Sorry.” At a loss, they accept the sleek business card you thrust at them with your free hand. “Call Mr. Morningstar. He can work on the repair finances with the manager.”

“But Gordi-” You wince as the little demon’s mandibles tremble, voice getting frantic. Could demons shed tears? You were about to find out.

“Beel?” Cupping his large head you stare at him, eyes traveling over his face. His mouths snap shut, body turning smooth. The only movement from his was his hearts beating steady beneath his translucent skin. He stood still like a statue carved by a deranged artist. “Beel.” You say again more firmly. You step away from his hooked fingers. “Spit them out.”

He doesn’t move. His inner rattling becoming louder and more defensive.

You roll your eyes and look back exasperatedly with a shrug. The other demon stares speechless in terror. Or with the dawning realization of just how absurd this whole situation was. You turn back to Beel, fists balled on your hips. “If you don’t I guess I’m going to eat all these snacks I brought.” The death rattle stops. You could feel his full focus on you now aghast. “I’m serious. Mammon even went and bought those new limited release batwing chips too, extra spicy.”  

He hacks suddenly, back arching like a cat as a large seam opens on his skin where his stomach (stomachs?) region was. A bulky demon covered in purple viscous sludge tumbles to the ground with a wet squelch. Their skin was a sickly color and their eyes wide in terror.

“Gordi!” The other trainer pushes past you and grabs at the trembling demon, pulling him away from the hungry mouths.

“Thanks, Beelzebub.” You walk him quickly down the abandoned streets once the two others had fled. He lopes behind you, gaunt body swaying in the light breeze. Once you hit the more crowded streets he moves closer to your back. Other demons on the street give you a wide berth, eyeing and swatting at a few straying arms or fingers that attempt to grab them or their things. You move quickly, hoping to avoid having to scold him again for eating more demons.

“I’m sorry.” Beel croaks once more when you finally come to a stop at an empty park bench. He sits next to it expectantly. The grass and foliage around him weathering and turning to dust at his touch. His arms subconsciously start stuffing the dried grass and flowers into his many mouths.

“It’s ok.” You repeat yourself coming to rest on the park bench. Without preamble you dump the contents of your bag onto the ground. He croons in delight at the mound of snacks being pushed to him. “Eat up. Take a breather and then we can talk. If you want.” With that he dives in.

Beel munches in silence, mismatched limbs unwrapping-or not- the treats and popping them into his little mouths. You watch for a bit before getting preoccupied with a book you borrowed from Satan. You don’t know how much time passes before a boney finger pokes at your forearm. The same arm then hovers by your nose offering you a pudding cup.

“Ah, thank you!” You close your book and take the flan pudding. He had finished most of the food and had calmed considerably. Most of the mouths have disappeared, closing as they were sated. He scoots closer, the oppressive neediness of his sin dulled to an almost non existent thumping in your stomach. Easy enough to ignore, especially now with a sweet treat boosting your mood. “Feeling any better?”

Beel grunts, scratching at his knobby spine. You watch him for a moment. Reading his emotions in this form was hard. Thankfully, you knew the reason for the outburst this time. First time you stumbled upon him like this  had been an absolute circus. A terrifying, and destructive circus. He had been in full form that night. Locusts and clawed fingers moving in blurs, swiping at everything that came near. The younger brothers screaming at him over the sounds of breaking furniture and the buzz of insect wings. They dodged around his tantrum trying to calm him before Lucifer returned from a meeting.

“It’s a damned ice cream cup!” Satan roars, close to shifting himself. The tell tale heat of his body starting to radiate out and singe the carpet beneath his feet. Beel screeches back, flies and spittle spraying out over them. Asmo yelps and  drags you out of the room with him.

“Ugh! The moment he gets all gross and buggy I’m out.” He shudders, locking the door on the apocalypse happening on the other side. “Hopefully Mammon can slow Lucifer down so they can neaten up.”

“Is he going to be ok?” You look back watching the solid door shudder under the weight of a body being thrown.

Asmodues sucks his teeth dismissively, bright nails clicking away at his phone. You glance at it seeing that he had messaged Mammon to bring some take out too. “Oh ye, this happens from time to time. He just has to let off some steam. Then we can stuff him with food and he’ll be right as rain. You want anything hun’?” You shake your head stunned by his carefree attitude as the house shook around them.

Beel had come to apologize for his behavior later that night. His human form a little banged up, but no worse for wear. You went out for ice cream in hopes to cheer him up. Offering an ear too if he needed an outsider's perspective. You were also curious about his true nature and had a thousand and one questions to ask. He was apprehensive at first. It was clearly a sore subject for him. But over time he opened up, speaking freely about his struggles and fears of destroying his family's already shaky foundation with his gluttony.

“Asmo is furious with me.” He sighs, bringing you back to the present. He rests his head on your shoulder, careful with his weight.

“He’ll get over it.” You stroke his cool skin tapping at a closed mouth. It opens and licks your finger. It was as close to a kiss as this form could get to. “It’s not like he can’t make more.” Beel huffs, rubbing his head into the soft fabric of your sweater.

“I am nothing but a burden to them aren’t I.”

“Never.” You don’t hesitate. He grumbles unconvinced. “Hey,” You nudge him off your shoulder to look at him. “Remember last Saturday? How you helped Levi get his limited edition statue?”

“I just stood in a line.” He pouts. “And I only did that because I ate his Ruri-chan mochi’s.” Oh- you didn’t know that part.

“Well, I still think you’re a good brother.” You cover. “ Tell me, would any of the others do the same? You beat yourself up over every little mistake. How many times has Asmo or Mammon swiped one of your snacks?” He hums contemplatively, nails clacking on the concrete.

“But I always lash out when they do that.” You nod kicking your feet up to lounge on the bench, back resting against his. Grabbing at a set of arms you wrap them around your waist playing with the fingers that weren’t razor sharp.

“Yes, and? Asmo just did too. Runs in the family by the looks of it.” You chuckle. “ So why should you be the only one not allowed to get upset? But next time call before rampaging through the city, K?” You smile up at his monstrous visage. He smiles back hesitantly before coming closer.

Beelzebub nips you gently with his primary mouth. Large fangs careful not to break the skin. A cute little display of gratitude. He tastes your sincerity on you. Sweet and smooth on his tongue. “Thanks,” He rumbles. Cradling you close, he rises to his full height. “I think I’m ready to head back now.”

You snuggle into his unyielding body checking your wrist watch. “Yeah big guy? Guess it is almost dinner time.”

He picks up the pace.  

[donutloverxo]

Stevie

Authors note- listen... I'm sorry for this but at the same time I'm not. Anyway this was inspired by an arc from the anime gintama.

the female captain america graphic does not belong to me.

Do not repost or steal my works. Reblogs are welcome

Summary- Steve has been on a space mission for a week. When he gets back he's a completely different person.

Pairings- Steve Rogers x reader, Stevie x reader

Warning- smut, sex toys, bi curious reader, gender bender(Tony nat and steve get turned into the opposite sex)

Word count- 3.3k

Masterlist

You had been monitoring Steve’s mission status for the past week. You were both used to the other being gone on missions. But a mission in space was something else. Steve, Tony and Nat were helping Carol out with a situation in space. Since the guardians were mia. In another galaxy. It was still hard to wrap your head around. Last you heard going to Mars was considered a huge accomplishment now people are travelling to another solar systems.

It was hard not to worry. So many things could go wrong. They could be sucked into a black hole or encounter a hostile species. You were one of the few Avengers who had never been to space. As you were blipped after the snap.

You had heard about it from Steve. He had a far away melancholic look in his eyes whenever he talked about it. You understood how hard those five years must’ve been for him. You weren’t sure if you could even last 5 weeks without him.

As much as you would’ve liked to go explore space you had decided someone had to stay home.

You were going about your night drinking some coffee to help with your fatigue in front of the monitor waiting for updates from Steve’s team. You had not left the room, you pretty much lived there. They were supposed to be home two days ago. With no updates from either of them you were at the end of your rope.

You were jolted awake when you felt your chair along with the whole room vibrating. You didn’t even realise you had fallen asleep. You rushed outside hoping that the team had made it back.

You looked at Carol approaching you from the ship landed on the compound lawn.

“Hey there”, she greeted giving you a nervous smile.

“Is something wrong?”, you asked looking at the ship hoping to see Steve come out of it.

“Well yes and no. Something happened. I’m going to need you to stay calm.”

“I’m always calm”, impatient you walked towards the ship.

You stopped in your tracks when you see three more people come out of it. Two women and a man. Confused you looked back at Carol who just smiled and shrugged.

“This must be weird for you”, you heard the man say, his hoarse deep voice say.

You looked back at the three of them and wished to pinch yourself or slap yourself, anything to wake up from this dream. You looked the three of them up and down. It wasn’t too obvious but they looked a lot like Steve Tony and Nat.

The redhead man had broad shoulders, a square jaw and a Bob haircut. He was shorter than the blond woman standing beside him.

You stopped breathing for a minute when you looked at her. She was tall, taller than any woman you’d ever seen probably taller than most men. She had a sharp jawline and high cheekbones. Her short blond hair was slicked back. If you didn’t know better you would be scared by her sharp features but you couldn’t help look away from her piercing blue eyes. That’s when you realized.

“Steve?”, you breathed out after what felt like forever.

“No no, she’s Stevie now”, you whipped your heard to look at the short brunette woman standing behind the redhead. Her hair was short with flicks of grey. She had wrinkles around her eyes and mouth.

“Yeah and she’s Toni now. As in Toni with an i.”, she redhead said.

“What is going on here?!”, you yelled and looked at Carol for an explanation.

“Well we were on the mission everything was going quite well. But then somebody decided to make some sexist jokes.”, she gave Toni and the red head a icy stare. “So they changed these idiots into the opposite sex. To teach them a lesson. They will go back to their old selves soon enough.”

“Ok it was just a joke! How was I supposed to know they would be so sensitive”, Toni whined.

“Wait who are ‘they’?”, you asked her

“Aliens”, she answered and walked back to the spaceship “alright I have to leave good luck”

“Oh no you don’t. How are we supposed to fix this?” Toni chased behind her asking and then begging her to stay.

You looked at the red head who would most probably be Nat and then at Stevie. Not really knowing what to say your gaze went down Stevie’s body. Your eyes widened when you looked at the curve of her breasts. You couldn’t see them properly under her tshirt but you could tell that they were big. It was no surprise, Steve did always have big assets.

“Uh... can we go inside?”, Stevie asked awkwardly rubbing her forearm with her hand.

You hadn’t uttered a single word still speechless and in shock. Was this real life? You had solved so many problems, seen so many things over the years but never in your life did you think you would be here. Looking at your boyfriend or girlfriend, you couldn’t deal with the feelings emerging inside you or how much you wanted to touch her to see if her skin was as soft as it looked.

You could only see her arms and face as she was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. She had a soft sheen of blond hair on her arms, not nearly as coarse as Steve’s arm hair used to be. Her arms were still muscular and definied but much more slimmer. And she clearly wasn’t wearing a bra. Not that you were complaining.

She was looking down at her thighs closing them and then opening them again, probably not sure how to sit. She looked up at you and smiled.

“How are you feeling?”, you asked her.

“Strange”, she said running her hand through her short hair. “Are you okay?”

“Well...”, you started not knowing how to finish. Would she be mad if she knew what was going on in your head? She was confused and in distress this is neither the time nor the place to have unsavory thoughts.

Nat came into the common room and plopped down beside Stevie. “I just used the bathroom. It was quite interesting.”, she said nodding to herself and staring off into space. She looked like she was contemplating her entire life.

You looked at Toni grumbling and making herself a drink. “She left. Said we’ll be back to normal by tomorrow”, she sat down on the sofa in front of you sipping her drink. She looked down at her breast before squeezing one.

“Toni!”, Stevie chastised him and looked away. You laughed at both of them, Nat and Toni joined you as laughter filled the hall.

“Imagine if Stark was born a woman”, Nat wondered.

“They definitely wouldn’t call you a playboy. They'd call you much worse names.”, you said before going back to admiring Stevie in all her glory while you had time.

“I’m going to head out. Good night kids. Pray to your gods that we go back to our old selves tomorrow”, Toni said putting her empty glass on the coffee table before leaving.

Nat yawned and stretched her back. “I’m going to bed as well. Long mission. Good night”

“So, what do you wanna do?”, you tentatively asked Stevie. You were suddenly nervous around her, the way someone would be around a new crush. You went back and forth between looking at her eyes, breasts and your lap.

“Let’s just go to bed. But... uh.. I could just sleep in the guest room if you like.” She scratched her neck blushing just like your Steve would. You smiled at her. There was no need to be nervous. This was the same Steve you knew and loved.

“No. We can sleep together. I’ve missed you”, you take her hand in yours. It felt the same but a bit different. Maybe because her hands were much smaller than Steve’s.

“I’m not me though”, she mused looking at your fingers linked together.

“I don’t mind. In fact I like it”, maybe you were being too bold but this might be the only chance you ever get.

“Oh?”, she looked at you her pink plump lips pouting. They looked even more kissable right now. Her nose was slimmer but still a bit crooked. The cute confused expression on her face reminded you so much of your Steve. Which was bizarre because she was still your Steve.

You couldn’t help it anymore, you leaned in putting your hand on the armrest for support and joined both your lips. She was stiff at first but then relaxed. You licked her lips and she opened her mouth kissing you deeply. She had missed your lips and your touch for the past week.

You broke apart after a few minutes. You looked into her eyes trying to catch your breathe. You decided to sit on her lap like you usually do. She put her hand around you as you nuzzled into her neck breathing her in. She smelled different, more feminine, but you could still smell hints of Steve’s soap and cologne.

“Are you sure about this?”, she asked intensely looking into your eyes.

You cradled her face in your hands. “I am as long as you’re comfortable. I’ve always wanted to do that. Be with a woman. Just never got the chance.”

“I... uh.. wouldn’t know what to do to”, she murmured looking away.

Steve, bless his heart, would never go anywhere near porn. He always found it too gratuitous. Never mind that the few sex tapes the two of you did make were plenty gratuitous.

No matter how much he liked to act like a boy Scout you knew all his kinks and perversions. But you had seen and read your fair share of erotica and you knew what you liked. You could make it work.

“You’ve always wanted to be with a woman?”, he asked and you nodded “you never told me that”

“I don’t know. I like women but don’t even feel like thinking about anyone else when I have you. Man or woman”, you shrugged. She blushed at that giving you a wide grin.

“Well... maybe Carol..”, you trailed off. You had developed a slight crush on her since the moment you met her. She was so fierce and strong. She didn’t take shit from anyone. You smiled at how she just left everyone here and went on her next mission to save the universe.

She was someone admirable. Or maybe it was just because she was a lot like Steve. Captain and everything.

Stevie hummed at that. She had seen you looking at Carol in adoration, her suspicions were just confirmed. She didn’t feel bad or jealous. She knew you were hers.

***

You had made yourself at home between Stevies leg while she laid her head on your pillow. She was apprehensive about letting you go down on her or see her. But you were adamant about giving her the experience of a female orgasm.

Maybe you had your selfish reasons as well. You couldn’t stop looking at her pretty pink pussy. It might be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. You were tempted to whip out your phone and click a few pictures.

There were little dirty blond hair sprinkled around it. You wondered if you liked it because it was objectively pretty or because it was attached to the love of your life.

You smiled to yourself when you noticed it was glowing. She was probably getting impatient. She had been on a tasking mission, she deserves some relief. You were a bit anxious even if you knew what you had to do, you had never done it before. Your core tingled when you remembered the first time Steve ate you out. How you had to direct him and tell him exactly what to do. He was pretty much a pro at it now.

You licked a shy stripe up her lips. You gained a little bit of confidence when you felt her gasp and shiver. You licked a few more stripes before sucking on her clit. She seemed to like it when you did it faster so you increased your pace.

You pushed your tongue inside of her while licking her up. You decide to try incorporating your fingers as well. Pushing one and then two inside of her before thrusting them in and out with purpose.

She grunted and pushed your head back towards her core. “Shit”, she screamed as you began lapping her up again.

Steve never had any qualms about cursing during love making. It gave you great pleasure knowing you’re the only one that ever gets to see this wild feral side of him. Or her.

“Oh god”, she clutched your hair fisting them in her hand before coming all over your mouth. You lapped up everything you could.

You climbed up on your bed and looked down into her eyes. “How was that?”, you asked stroking her cheek.

“Pretty good”, she smiled up at you her blue eyes twinkling.

You raised your brows at her frowning. “Just pretty good?”

“It was perfect. But nothing different, I think”, she replied bringing your hand to her lips giving it a kiss. “Now it’s your turn”, she smirked.

“No”, you said firmly and got off the bed disappearing into your closet.

“No?”, she asked before sitting up trying to see what you were up to.

You return to your bed tying your favorite strap on to your hips and coating it with a generous amount of lube. You smirked when you looked at her staring at it. “What do you think?”

You already knew the answer to that question. You had used the very same toy on Steve’s ass more times than you could count. As much as you loved being dominated by him you also liked pleasing him, having him completely at your mercy.

She visibly gulped down. “How do you want to do it?”

“I’d like to look at your face.” You said holding her face in your hands stroking her cheeks. You push her down on the bed. Kneeling between her legs. You groped and stroked her body. It was unsurprisingly as soft as you imagined it would be. You held her breasts in your hands for a minute squeezing them and stroking her nipples. “they’re so soft”, you wondered out loud.

“Now you know why I like yours so much”, she said chuckling

You squeezed her pink hard nipple between your fingers before taking it in your mouth, giving it a harsh suck.

“Fuck... doll I need you”, she whined grabbing your dildo lining it up to her pussy.

You released her nipple with a pop swatting her hands away. “Be patient”, you scolded. She pouted at you but kept her hands to herself.

After sucking on her breasts for a while you lined your dildo upto her pussy. You snaked a hand under her hips to pull her up towards you, just like Steve used to do with you. You needed to be as close to her as possible.

You have her an open mouthed kiss slowly pushing into her. She moaned into your mouth. You fucked her nicely and slowly. Holding her in your hands as if she was the most precious thing to you, which she truly was.

You increased your pace when you felt her moaning and grunting loudly, knowing she was probably very close. You looked down at her face scrunched up in pleasure as she came around your cock.

You had never been able to look at Steve’s face when he came, either you were too fucked out from your own orgasms or were focusing on making him last longer.

Now looking down at her, doing something that was only pleasure able for her felt incredibly intimate. It felt better than any orgasm could’ve.

You pulled out of her, taking the strap on off before cuddling with her.

“That was something else”, she mumbled feeling high from her intense orgasm.

***

Later that night you had some how convinced Stevie to let you put make up on her. She didn’t agree at first but with some pouting she was basically putty in your hands.

You lips were set in a firm straight line in concentration as you tried not to mess up her eyeliner. Her hair was incredibly short so there wasn’t much you could do with it. You wondered if she would let you take some pictures.

“So what exactly happened? Why did they turn you into women... and man”, you asked still not sure how they were able to do it.

“It was something Tony said about never understanding women and then Natasha argued with all men are the same or something along those lines”, he said a frown on his face as if he was trying hard to remember it “I was caught in the middle of it trying to get them to stop fighting” You decided to let it go for now. Maybe she’d tell you the whole story some other day.

“One good thing about this is now you can take my name”, you smiled as you imagined Steve with your last name.

“I always thought you’d take mine. I like the thought of you as Mrs Rogers”

“Oh and why would I do that? I was one of the most renowned sheild agent and I am the best avenger”,you said puffing your chest out proudly.

“You might have some competition with that”, she teased smirking at you to which you stuck out your tongue putting some final touches on her face. “I guess our kids could just hyphenate”

You gasped at that, “kids? If you think I’m having more than one child then you’ve lost your mind. You know what it’s like to have a vagina now. Imagine pushing a child the size of a watermelon out of it”, you huffed but looking at her pretty face all your anger melted away.

“I’m sorry sweetheart. You know if I could go through it instead of you I would”, she said stroking your thighs and you knew she was sincere.

Steve would never let anything bad happen to you. Not if he could help it. After he got you back he had vowed to you that he would always protect you.

You looked at her sad face hunched down staring at the ground. She looked as if she was in another world. “Stevie what’s wrong?”

“It’s just what if the kid inherits all my illness. Or the super serum. That could be a danger to you”

You knelt down between her legs so you could look into her eyes. “Hey it’s okay”, you said softly “we don’t have to have kids. And we can always adopt. That gives us much more time”

“Are you sure?”, she asked shyly playing with a strand of your hair.

“Absolutely positive”, you beamed up at her.

***

The next morning you woke up earlier than usual. Stretching your back muscles you smiled looking at the sun shining through the window. It was a beautiful day. Perfect for a picnic. You looked to your side smiling at Steve sleeping peacefully. Wait a minute.

“Steve”, you shook him harshly.

“What?”, he rose his voice heavy and hoarse. He looked down at his body touching his pecs and abs before looking back at you. “I’m back”

“Yeah you’re back”

You both went down to the common room to find if Toni and Nat had went back to their normal selves. They were already waiting for both of you.

“Oh Rogers is back too!”, Tony said eagerly.

“Did you two have fun last night?”, Nat smirked suggestively at the two of you.

“I see neither of you learned your lesson then”, Steve shook his head at them before looking at you, catching you staring at him. “What do you miss Stevie?”

You shook your head at him. Lightly slapping his chest. “I like what’s in here. Doesn’t matter how you look”

[quillingyousoftly]

Betrayal

Written for @amonthofwhump and their event March Madness. I pushed myself to finish it today and only did minimal proofreading, so sorry for any mistakes.

Warnings: infidelity, terminal illness, Brock Rumlow/John Garrett

Brock doesn't know what pushed him, if it was the desire to punish Jack for his indifference or to prove to himself he can still be attractive. Perhaps it was a mix of both that made him follow John to his house and into his bed instead of driving home to Jack.

He wakes at dawn, a burning hot wave of shame crushing over him as it hits him with clarity what he's done. He checks his phone with nervous hands, but there are no notifications, no missed calls, and the relief he feels comes with the pain of a twisting knife in his stomach. It's clear as day Jack hasn't even noticed he is gone. Would he notice if Brock didn't return home at all, if he joined John for breakfast instead? 

Having decided he's not ready to find out, he gets up and haphazardly throws his clothes on. His underwear and pants are by the bed, his sweatshirt is a crumpled mess on the hallway's floor. His socks are still on his feet. John doesn't stop snoring as he sneaks out of his house.

There are few cars on the streets at this hour, and despite all the emotions bubbling away inside him, Brock can't stop yawning as he drives back home. He turns on the radio for a minute, but the music is too cheerful, and the speaker's sense of humor too quirky. Thankfully, his anxiety keeps him awake until he parks in his driveway. Jack's dirty black Jeep is still there--of course it is, it's four in the morning.

The house is quiet. The couch in the living room is empty, and the closer Brock skulks to the bedroom, the better he hears Jack's soft snores. Him sleeping soundly and unaware of Brock's nightly shenanigans is somehow worse than everything else Brock half-expected to come home to. It means he can slip under the covers next to his boyfriend and pretend nothing happened, but maybe that's not what he wants. Maybe he wants a fight. A big one, with shouting, glasses breaking, maybe some punches and pushes. Maybe that's the only way he knows how to let his pain out.

Jack's curled on his left side, Brock already knows before he opens the bedroom door, because that's the position that makes him snore. He doesn't stir when Brock sneaks in and loses his yesterday's clothes. He can smell John's cologne on his skin as he pulls his sweatshirt off, but decides against a shower. Maybe he wants Jack to notice.

He wants Jack to notice him.

He slips under the covers behind his back and wraps one arm around his midsection. Jack's body twitches, but stays unconscious. Brock stares at the back of his neck, his eyes stinging. He doesn't fall asleep again.

*

Usually, Brock would get up before Jack to go on a morning run. Ever since Jack stopped touching him, he's been pushing himself more and more. Maybe he's started slacking off, maybe he wasn't fit enough.

Maybe he was getting too old.

He ran longer, spent more hours at the gym, ate healthier. He has basically no body fat anymore. Jack still is more interested in sleeping than sex, and mumbles something about a headache before Brock has a chance to initiate intimacy. He claims he's overworked, but Brock's his superior; he knows Jack doesn't work harder than usual.

Brock lies still as the alarm goes out and makes Jack stir. He watches him pat around for his phone blindly, wondering if he has someone on the side. There should be other signs; secret texts, calls, and meetings. Brock would stay up at night, wondering where his boyfriend was. But Jack always comes straight home after work and doesn't guard his phone like a dragon guards its treasure. 

It's not somebody else. It's just Brock who lost his appeal.

Jack turns onto his side to face him. His sleepy smile breaks Brock's heart.

"Hello," he rasps. "We're sleeping in today?"

"You know we can't." Brock rests a hand on his hip. It's so easy to act like nothing's wrong.

"Too bad." Jack covers his yawn with the back of his hand. "I could sleep forever."

"You have been sleeping forever." 

Brock gets up and hurries to the bathroom without giving Jack a chance to respond. In the light of the morning, a fight is the least desirable thing.

It's so easy to act like nothing's wrong.

*

They have lunch together, and Jack asks if everything's alright. He makes more excuses for his tiredness, and Brock lies that he gets it. It's wrong, he knows, but his thin-walled office isn't a good place to discuss their relationship problems.

Jack spends the rest of his workday holed up in his office, and Brock runs into John in a corridor. His smirk makes his body light up, and they end up fooling around in the armory like a pair of hormonal teenagers. Brock lets his common sense turn off in the heat of the moment, lets his yearning, starved body decide for him. It's not John's hands and mouth it wants, it's Jack's, but a dick is a dick, and John's a good--and willing--substitute.

"You're truly evil," John comments after all is done, and he's zipping up his pants.

Brock hesitates for a moment, taken aback by it. He bends over to do his boots before he snarls, "You don't know what I'm going through."

John huffs out a laugh of disbelief. "What you're going through? Your boyfriend's struggling with cancer, and you're fucking around behind his back. But sure, you have it worse." He laughs again. "Not that I'm complaining."

Brock's blood turns to ice at the word 'cancer'. Slowly, he straightens up. "What the fuck are you talking about?!"

"Don't act like you don't know. If Lee could dig up his medical history, so could you. Fuck, you could just ask for it as his superior." John's smirk fades. "Fuck, don't tell me everyone knows but you."

Brock can't leave the armory fast enough.

*

He spends a few hours in the car, bracing himself to face Jack.

John didn't lie; Brock requested access to Jack's medical history and got it the same day. Advanced lung cancer that has spread to his stomach. A death sentence, as far as Brock's concerned. 

He doesn't know how to tell him he knows and figures Jack had no idea either. He doesn't know how to look him in the eyes and tell him he loves him without thinking how good John's dick fucking him felt.

He rolls down the window and pukes on the driveway.

When he finally forces his body to enter their home, he finds Jack asleep in the bedroom. Of course he's been so tired; Brock can't imagine how hard it must have been to hide all the pain and other symptoms, to keep a smile on his face around Brock and act like everything was alright. For the first time in a while, Brock takes a good look at him and finally notices the weight he's lost, how his hair thinned, how pale and tired he looks.

It's never been Brock Jack had a problem with, but he's been too self-centered to notice his boyfriend's terminal illness. Jack deserves so much better. Brock wishes he was a better man, but he's never been a particularly good one, and Jack knows that. 

He joins him in bed and holds him close through the night.

*

Yet again, he stays in bed until Jack wakes. Jack's surprised, but glad to see him.

"What happened to your morning runs?" 

Brock looks at him seriously. "I know about your cancer."

Jack's mask falls within a second, and Brock finally sees what he's been hiding behind it. Pain. Exhaustion. Despair.

"Oh," he says. Then he nods. "Good."

They stare at each other quietly for a while before Jack breaks the silence again. 

"I didn't know how to tell you."

Brock sighs. "I know, sweetheart. It's alright."

"What now?"

Brock shrugs. "Wanna sleep in?"

Jack nods and crawls into Brock's open arms. Brock can feel his tears on his neck. He doesn't cry himself. Maybe it hasn't truly hit him yet.

*

He gives Jack a vacation, but needs to head to work himself. He stays three hours at the gym after out of habit. It's already dark outside when he leaves the Triskelion. He doesn't expect to run into John in the parking lot, but when he's invited to his home, he tells him to fuck off without a second thought.

He expects Jack to be asleep when he returns home, so he's surprised to see the lights on in the living room. Jack's sitting on the couch with his phone in his hands, and Brock's instantly alarmed at how red his eyes are.

"Jack?"

Jack looks up, a fresh sheen of tears covering his eyes, and Brock's widely unprepared for the disgust aimed at him.

"Care to explain this?" 

Jack raises his phone to show him a picture of him getting fucked from behind t5hat Brock had no idea existed. Brock's heart stops.

"There's more," Jack continues angrily, swiping through the pictures. "There's you with somebody's dick in your mouth in what I believe is SHIELD's armory, and you--"

"I can explain."

Brock immediately regrets his words, because there's no explanation he can offer that doesn't end with Jack kicking his face in. But Jack goes quiet and watches him intently, waiting to see what he has to say. Brock sighs.

"I didn't know about the cancer when it happened," he says. "You acted like you weren't interested in me anymore, so I went for someone who was."

Jack's eyes go from burning to icy anger. "So it's my fault?"

"No! No. It's mine. I fucked up. I know I did. I'm sorry, Jackie." Brock winces at how lame his apology is, but he doesn't have a better one.

Jack sighs shakily, and Brock watches him put the phone away in a tense silence. His shoulders drop, and he wipes his eyes before his tears can fall. When he looks up at Brock again, his face is unreadable, masked.

"Do you know what I see when I look at you now?"

Brock nods stiffly; those pictures are burned behind his eyelids as well. The tangible evidence of his betrayal that can no longer be hidden and forgotten.

"I can't stand it," Jack continues. "Please, leave."

"Okay," Brock lets out, his breath still trapped in his lungs making his chest hurt. "I'll stay in a motel. I'll give you the address so you can check for yourself."

"I don't care where you go."

Brock can only hope it's a lie.

"I really am sorry, Jackie. I didn't mean to cheat. It just..." He winces again and doesn't finish. Anything he can say will only make it worse for him. "Please let me know when you're ready to see me again."

Jack simply nods, curled on the couch with his gaze fixed on his knees. Brock leaves with what he has on himself, hoping to come back soon.

As he drives through the city, he has to talk himself out of going straight to John and murdering the motherfucker. He preyed on Brock when he was vulnerable and hurt them both in the end. 

No, Brock shakes his head at himself, John wasn't the one who hurt Jack. He only brought out the monster Brock has always known he is.

[wisherbysharlight]

Can’t Deny It, Who You Are Is What You’re Feeling

Word Count: 5685

Pairings: Demus, LAMP(and all variations thereof)

Janus is trying to settle into his new role as the makeup artist for a small off-off Broadway production, but he can't seem to figure out the relationships going on in the troupe, let alone what he has going on with the eccentric set designer...

AO3 Link

Janus squinted at the side of the stage. He should definitely be trying to make himself useful, it being only his second day, but he had just finished an eye test on Valerie and he was fairly certain he could pass off his staring as making sure it looked right where she stood in the spotlights. Hell, that’s what he’d been doing originally, before getting side tracked by the male lead sliding off the stage to the crafts table, where he’d sidled up to Patton, the costume designer Janus had met yesterday. Patton had beamed like Christmas had come early and promptly started breaking off pieces of his muffin to feed over his shoulder to the man who was now firmly attached to his back with his arms around his waist, visibly giggling the entire time. They looked carefree and besotted with each other in a way that made an ugly curl of envy build up in his stomach, but he couldn’t look away once he’d started. At least, until the props master interrupted him, that is.

“They’re tooth-rottingly sweet, huh?” Janus would deny the sound he made til his dying day, but he was fairly certain it could only be described as a yelp. The prop master cackled, holding their hand out to shake, which Janus took, grateful for the distraction. “Hey, it’s Janus right? I’m Talyn. Could you come back this way and give me a hand with moving some of these bigger pieces over to the wings for the next scene?”

“Oh sure Talyn, I don’t have anything until my next stage test in an hour or so,” he assured, carefully pasting a smile on his face that he hoped looked genuine.

Talyn threw a thumbs-up over their shoulder as they went towards the workshop and Janus took the opportunity to look back over at the crafts table where Valerie had now joined the two during a break and was laughing brightly as the actor playfully picked Patton up, throwing him over his shoulder to head over to the drinks table, and Janus could hear the shrieks even from his distance, “Rooooman, oh my goodness, you put me down right now, you big show-off!” Huh, so Mr. Leading-Man was named Roman. Good to know.

“You’re just so easy to toss around, Patton-cake. Maybe stop being so cute and I won’t be so tempted,” Roman shot back, opening a can of apple juice with an overexaggerated casualness.

“I’ll get you back for this, you heathen,” Patton cried, changing tactics to poking and tickling at Roman’s sides.

The laughter could still be heard even in the back wings of the auditorium where the workshop was, and Talyn had to raise their voice to be heard as they worked to finagle a fake-flower covered arch through the doorway, “Thanks for the help. The set designer, Remus, is out shopping for supplies today and he’s usually the one who actually moves this kind of stuff, but the director needs this for some sort of choreography today.”

“No problem at all,” Janus assured again, eager to prove his usefulness. “Happy to help when I can.”

By the time they finished getting the bulky prop to the proper side of the stage, the break was over, Roman was back onstage with Valerie, Patton had gone back to the far wings of the stage to continue working, and Janus had a new actor to meet and a fake scar to attempt to do in a transition that lasted less than 10 minutes.

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Less than a week later and Janus once again found himself squinting to the side of the stage, but this time it was up higher in the sound and light booth. Actors were scattered throughout the theater, running lines with each other, and the Technical Director seemed to be taking the opportunity to work with the Lighting Technician on setting up a few cues. Nothing out of the ordinary, most of the productions Janus had worked on in school worked the same way, no, the interesting part was just how close the Technical Director was to the Lighting Technician in the booth as they worked. They seemed to be able to communicate without speaking at all, effortlessly moving around each other and flicking different settings and somehow coming out with the correct configuration without ever saying a word.

The ease around each other was palpable, and that was what caught Janus off guard. He’d worked with the TD, Logan, once, and that interaction had been succinct, professional, and brokered no nonsense. Now, though, Logan’s shoulders seemed to loosen up the more time he spent up in the lighting box, and every once in a while, when the technician was triple or quadruple checking a light, Janus could see the TD huff and roll his eyes teasingly, then dodge an equally teasing swat to his side or shoulder. And he’d smile , a real smile, not a smirk or a placating pleasantry, and Janus felt that nasty longing that was tinged green with jealousy snake up into his throat again.

He forced himself to look away, finally, just to see Roman sitting in the makeup chair looking thoroughly amused and he was suddenly glad he’d chosen to wear a full face of makeup today, not just covering his left side like usual, because now he could at least hope that his thick foundation would cover up the way his face flamed up at getting caught staring at a couple again . “Hello Roman, did you need something?” he asked, going to his workstation to avoid having to look at the actor’s smirking face anymore.

“Hmm? Oh. Yes, yes, yes, I did, I was wondering if I would be able to offer up my time for you to practice the second act’s possession effects, as I know you were saying it would be difficult to practice on a dummy, and I am much further ahead in my memorization than the others,” Roman rattled off, and when Janus turned back to him, he quickly averted his eyes from the lighting box. Hm, so apparently he wasn’t the only one looking, that was interesting…

“That would be great actually, thank you. Getting that pallid coloring done three times in one intermission is going to be tough unless I do it a few times ahead of the show, I appreciate it.” He brought his rolling cart over to the makeup chair and crouched in front of Roman, watching carefully without giving away that he was focused on anything other than the makeup. After the third time Roman’s eyes strayed towards the light box he decided to speak up, “What’s the lighting technician’s name? Haven’t met him yet.”

“Oh you mean Tall, Dark, and Moody? That’s Virgil, him and Logan grew up together so they’re pretty used to each other by now, it’s really great to watch them work,” Roman enthused, and that made more sense, Roman was just appreciating the well oiled machine. “We all send Logan up there when it looks like he’s ready to murder the next person to say ‘slightly behind schedule’. Or when Virge gets new cues and gets so overwhelmed he starts gnawing on that giant hoodie he’s always got on. They really good at chilling each other out.”

Janus absorbed all of this as he brushed a small test bit of gray over Roman’s cheek bones, mulling it over and ultimately content to just let Roman talk. By the time he was done with the ghostly sheen, he had learned that Logan, Virgil, Patton, and Roman all went to college together and all joined the budding troupe together straight afterwards, even though they all had offers for separate larger companies scattered across the country. It was clear that Roman would talk about his little group forever if he were allowed to, had spent almost 10 minutes alone enthusing about some cosplay work Patton did in college with this adorably smitten twinkle to his eye, but Janus had to let him up from the chair eventually. When he stepped back to admire his work, though, Roman didn’t make any moves to get up. “Spent all this time talking about us, how about you? What brings you to our humble little company instead of some larger agency?”

Janus startled a bit, not used to getting asked anything about himself. “I suppose I was intrigued by the premise of the play, and wanted to do more hands-on work than most agencies allow new graduates.” It wasn’t quite a lie, and Roman didn’t need to know that this particular theater had been Janus’s saving grace growing up, how he owed the owner, Thomas, everything, how…

“My brother is the exact same way. Not happy unless he has full, creative control over his sets,” Roman laughed, and Janus tilted his head curiously. “I mean it’s better that he has an outlet for his thoughts. You don’t wanna know what he gets like when you try to stifle him, woo boy. Much better he swing a hammer at the scenery than at my head.”

“It was a wiffle ball bat, I only hit you once, and you didn’t even have a concussion. And beside that, you practically dared me to.”

Janus spun so quickly his beanie tilted slightly, and he fidgeted with his gloves to hide the fact that his heart was racing, but his face remained carefully even, “Remus. Speak of the devil and he shall appear.” The man had a way of blending into the shadows until you least wanted him to jump out at you. Janus had been too startled to even react the first time, but Remus had taken it as though he wasn’t scared at all and was now determined to make him scream. Luckily, Janus had great experience controlling his expressions, the few times he’d been caught daydreaming observing relationships around the theater notwithstanding.”Were you looking for Roman or are you just here to bother me?”

Remus swooned dramatically, “Bother! You wound me! Nono, Joan sent me, they want Roman on stage to help Virgey-poo calibrate the acoustics after I, er, nudged one of the speakers over. Accidentally, of course.”

Roman rolled his eyes and scoffed, “You pissing Virgil off has never once been an accident. But I’ll head over there before Tickle-Me-Emo has a heart attack.” He turned to Janus, patting him on the back, “Good luck with him, don’t let him near anything sharp or he’ll try to cut his own bangs in the name of creating a new hairstyle.”

“I can handle him just fine,” Janus drawled, and pointedly ignored the suggestive look Remus gave him in return. Instead, he focused again up on the lighting box where Virgil seemed to be ranting, hands flying in front of his face, as Logan patiently listened. Roman finally got up on the stage and Virgil started messing with the sound board, forehead creased in concentration, and Janus pretended there wasn’t a tug in his heart when Logan leaned over to smooth the skin out just between his eyebrows with his thumb, earning himself a small but genuine smile, before heading back down to work.

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Three weeks into rehearsals and Janus was really getting the hang of his new life. He and his roommate, Remy, the publicity manager for the theater, had moved into a new apartment closer to the theater with Remy’s boyfriend Emile, as between the three of them they could now afford more than what basically amounted to a shoebox. He’d made friends, something he’d thought was somewhat of a pipe dream before. He absolutely adored his job. Two to three times a day he would snag actors to do test runs of looks and see how they turned out on stage, tweaking things here and there when he could. The rest of the time he would help out around the theater, helping Logan with keeping Remus in line and on schedule(Remus would sometimes demand only Janus be allowed in his studio, and Janus had found that Remus was much more bearable when he felt he was paid attention to. Pleasant, even, if a little random and impulsive), shopping for props for Talyn, running lines with Valerie or Roman or Terrence or the background actors when the others were busy, or, most often, assisting Patton in costuming.

Apparently, Patton was supposed to have an assistant but they’d had a family emergency and Patton had brushed off the idea of trying to find someone else on short notice. Janus had noticed, of course, that Patton came in earlier and stayed later than almost anyone else and so he went out of his way to help where he could. He had some basic sewing experience and worked well as a sounding board for Patton to bounce his ideas off of while he worked, and Janus was thrilled to be able to be helpful. He had also noticed Patton was more willing to take breaks if he thought Janus needed one and Janus was not above being a bit dramatic with his yawns to get Patton to relax for a few minutes. He’d become fond of the guy.

He’d just gone to the craft table to grab something Patton would eat, intending to goad him into taking 15 minutes off. He’d gotten a bit sidetracked when Remus decided to “stumble” into him, leaving a large forest-green handprint right in the center of his chest and loudly declare that he needed to take it off (Janus made a note in his head to spend the next day in his workshop, he was definitely looking for attention, and he was missing the rowdier man a bit besides), but he had still only been gone about 20 minutes, so he was surprised when he heard another voice coming from the sewing room aside from Patton. “- and we need to make sure Valerie’s weighted dress is done before next Wednesday, she needs to rehearse the choreography with the added material-”

“Lolo, relax. I’ll get it done, I promise,” came Patton’s voice, light and almost teasing in a way Janus had never heard before. He’d almost describe it as… flirtatious? But that didn’t make any sense… “You’re starting to sound like Virgil with all that fretting. You know me, you know I never break a promise.”

“Y-yes,” and now Logan sounded flustered, which really was out of character, “Of course, Patton, I just wanted to make sure you had all the resources you needed and were not overextending yourself-”

Patton cut him off again, and this time Janus got the impression he was very amused, “I’ve got everything I need, right here, Mr. Berry. I even promise I’ll do something to relax tonight, sound good? Pick up a bottle of wine and have a night in, maybe watch a movie, something to really decompress…” Janus got the distinct feeling he was missing something, because Patton was speaking as though he had a completely different meaning behind the words, but they seemed completely innocent.

Janus finally decided to head into the studio then, feeling like he’d been eavesdropping on something private, and when he saw Patton he was leaning against his desk casually, no indication in his body language at all that he’d been flirting like Janus thought he’d heard. He thought maybe he’d been mistaken, but Logan was adjusting his tie even though the knot was perfect, like always, and had a very faint pink to his cheeks that he would have missed if he weren’t paying attention. He lightly cleared his throat before speaking, “Hello Janus. I was just heading out. Thank you for assisting Patton with keeping to the deadlines, it is much appreciated. Patton, we can continue our discussion later.” Patton smiled brightly, looking like the picture of innocence, and waved as Logan headed back towards Remus’s workshop and Janus repressed a wince. Yeah, he’d definitely visit tomorrow if Logan was going to get on his case about deadlines too.

He pasted a smile on, making sure not to indicate he’d heard anything before coming in, “Hey Pat, I grabbed some cookies and tea from the craft table. Remus sends his regards.” He gestured wryly to the graphic tee shirt he held in his hands, still grateful he’d worn an undershirt today.

Patton beamed and took a cookie, looking all the more innocent when he bounced a bit on his toes, curls catching in the light as they moved with him, “Woo! You rock, we definitely earned a few cookies today!” He tilted his head curiously at the stain, then nodded like he’d decided something, “I can definitely get that out, by the way, just need some vinegar and washing soda. Re does stuff like that to Roman all the time. Leave it with me and it’ll be perfectly fine by tomorrow!”

Janus smiled again, feeling taken care of in a way he hadn’t in a long time, and it felt more real this time, “Thanks Patton.”

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Janus was making good on his promise to himself the next day, lounging on a chair next to the open door of Remus’s workshop even though it was technically his day off. He came into the theater every day no matter what just in case anyone needed assistance, but it was nice to not feel guilty for not doing his own work. He people-watched between the points where Remus would ask for his opinion on a piece or start up a seemingly unrelated conversation, letting the silence fall when Remus needed to focus. He’d been watching Virgil up in the tech box, messing with the settings for the lighting of one of Valerie’s solo scenes while she rehearsed. He had that focused crease in his brow again but he didn’t look nearly as murderous as when Remus screwed around with his speakers, so Janus didn’t feel the need to get Logan yet, but when the door opened behind the engineer he’d still been expecting the technical director to come in.

What happened instead was much more confounding to Janus. Patton burst through the door, looking worn down and cranky, and paced the room a few times with his hands waving around. Virgil took his headphones off without turning around and nodded along, not breaking focus at all but still responding from what Janus could see. Then, seemingly out of steam, the costume designer maneuvered around cords and computers over to Virgil’s chair and promptly ducked under his arm and threw a leg over Virgil’s before burrowing his face into Virgil’s neck. Virgil didn’t flinch at all, continuing to focus on the lighting of the scene by simply arranging Patton slightly on his lap so he could tuck his own head over his shoulder.

At some point in the performance on stage, Valerie and the director aimed a thumbs up at the light box, and Virgil gave a self satisfied smile as he leaned back and finally wrapped his arms around Patton in return.

“Jannie?” Remus called, sitting back from his stage setting, a beautiful star-lit grove, “Do you think you could make me look like a werewolf?”

Janus blinked at him for a couple moments, not knowing how to respond, before he just  shrugged, “Sure. Might look a little weird with your mustache though.”

Remus nodded, once, with finality to it, “How about a tentacle monster?”

“Same answer,” Janus replied, quicker this time now that he knew where Remus’s head was at.

“Huh. I think I’d like to try being a tentacle monster at some point. Could probably terrify the shit outta Roman. Not to mention all the benefits of tentacles.”

Janus laughed, charmed as always by Remus’s ability to just say whatever he felt like without hiding anything, “You name the time and place and I’ll be there, Remus.”

Remus gave him a blinding smile and Janus felt his breath catch a bit. God, this whole thing was so stupid but he couldn’t bring himself to care at all. He found that he’d do just about anything to make Remus smile like that again. “It’s really nice to have a partner in crime now,” Remus enthused, twirling his paintbrush without a care in the world if he splashed himself with paint.

“Yeah, Re, I get what you mean.”

By the time Remus had gone back to work splattering a blood stain artfully over a tree in the middle of the otherwise beautiful landscape, Patton had left the tech box and Virgil was back to his computer with his headphones on.

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It was one week til opening night, and Janus had been sent to find Remus, who had apparently announced he was going on a quest for inspiration which alarmed pretty much everyone who knew him, but instead he’d stumbled upon Logan, alone in the orchestra pit, looking like he was ready to scream as he tugged at the padlock on a crate. Janus made his way over and tapped Logan on the shoulder lightly, “Hey, everything alright?”

Logan’s eyes were fiery as he responded, and Janus was just a little bit taken aback, “The previous production group left the alternate curtain ropes in this container, nicely labeled and everything, except the box has this godforsaken lock and I do not want to have to pay for bolt cutters. Or have the time to buy them before dress rehearsals. It’s rather… infuriating.”

Janus laughed a bit and knelt down next to the box, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket and taking a long thin piece of metal out, “You don’t have to do that, rotation locks like this are ridiculously easy to pick.” He manipulated the piece of metal up under the last rotation dial and pressed up, trying to listen for the click even though Roman and Valerie were rehearsing their final duet up on stage. He finally got the lock to pop open and turned to show it to Logan, only to find him thoroughly distracted by the scene on the stage.

Janus could understand, he had no interest in Roman Prince( his brother on the other hand...) but even he thought the way he was waltzing Valerie around the stage was a bit hypnotizing, the lyrics soft and sultry and romantic for the final number of the performance. Logan seemed to be completely entranced, singing along under his breath to Valerie’s piece and following their movements carefully. His eyes were filled with nothing short of adoration as he swayed to the music and as Janus watched carefully, the movements matched up fairly evenly to Valerie’s part in the dance as well. Logan didn’t look away until the director had called for a cut for adjustments. He shook himself slightly, seeming to remember all of a sudden that Janus was there, and flushed brightly as he took the lock from Janus, “Oh. Um. Thank you, very much. Where did you learn to pick locks like that?”

Janus could practically envision his mask slipping into place, covering the memories of manipulating the door to the theater open for what must have been the hundredth time only to come face to face with the new owner…

“Oh it’s barely a party trick, just something I picked up along the line. Let me know if you need any more street-rat techniques,” he brushed off with a wry grin, waving a hand dismissively, “Anywho, any chance you’ve seen Remus around?”

Logan eyed him a bit critically for a moment then seemed to choose not to push it further, “Yes, I believe I saw him lurking back by your station actually.”

Janus repressed a disappointed sigh at himself. Of course, Remus had come looking for him if something had upset him. He took off for the makeup room quickly, leaving Logan behind to stare up at the stage again while Roman began rehearsing the solo piece of the song. He didn’t miss the small wink Roman aimed down at the pit when the director had turned to answer a question, and filed that bit of information away with Logan’s admiring gaze to analyze after he’d made sure Remus was alright.

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Janus was not used to anyone being in his station before him, but he was starting to become used to being surprised, so he didn’t even really react to seeing Roman and Virgil commandeering one of his makeup chairs, Roman’s hands buried in Virgil’s long black and purple hair, twisting it into intricate braids as they argued fiercely. “No, Virge, you don’t get to say ‘American Idiot’ is your favorite Broadway song. That doesn’t count.”

“It totally counts. You wouldn’t say ‘Honey, Honey’ doesn’t count, even though that’s just an ABBA song!”

“Don’t you dare bring Mamma Mia into this, that is a classic!”

“So is American Idiot!”

“Girls, girls, you’re both pretty,” Janus droned, smiling at the Venti Iced Mocha sitting on his rolling tray, ice not even melted yet, with a little doodle of a green dragon blowing fire at what he could only assume was Roman on one side, and a python wearing Janus’s signature beanie on the other. Virgil and Roman both turned to glare at him and he smirked back, lounging back in his chair and taking a long sip from his coffee in a loose impression of Remy, “What are you two doing in my domain aside from attempting to drive each other up the wall?”

“Princey was having a minor meltdown about opening night tomorrow, so I told him he could braid my hair,” Virgil told him, squinting curiously at the cup like he was trying to make out what the doodles were.

“Not true! Virgil was freaking out about opening night, not me, and he asked me to braid his hair,” Roman whined, though Janus noted that the whole time Roman’s hands never stopped moving and Virgil seemed to lean further and further into them, both their shoulders relaxing more and more as the braids took a more concrete form, “Though I will admit it is somewhat of a ritual for us at this point. Been doing this since freshman year of college when Virge first started growing his hair out.”

“Barely had enough for one braid back then, you would just do it and take it out over and over again while I ran lines with you,” Virgil commented fondly, fidgeting with the end of a piece which was left down.

“And I didn’t have the skills which I do now, of course.”

“Oh, no doubt. Maybe I’ll cut it so you could test that theory.”

“Don’t you dare!” Janus looked up from his thank you text to Remus(he’d responded with a giant squid emoji, followed by a dirty joke about proper thank yous which Janus found unreasonably funny), tilting his head curiously at Virgil’s smirk and Roman’s blush. “I-I mean, it’s your hair, obviously, but it definitely suits you being grown out.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll leave it be. Just for you,” Virgil shot back, and Janus felt like he could see the years of friendship in his smile.

Roman and Virgil stuck around for another hour until the director got there, ribbing each other over everything from music preference to sleeping habits to, bizarrely, the dark undertones of Disney movies, not even noticing when Janus slipped off to Remus’s workshop to have his own minor meltdown about opening night, lost in their own little world.

(Remus already had a hammer and some messed-up pottery out, actually encouraged him to smash stuff, cheering him on enthusiastically, and Janus thought he might have found his own pre-show ritual. He didn’t even realize he hadn’t felt envious of Roman and Virgil’s easy camaraderie and teasing affection at all until he was lying in bed that night.)

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Janus made a downright embarrassing shriek when he felt a mustache rub against his neck and Terrence broke off from their conversation to the living room with a playful eye roll, leaving the other two in the kitchen. “Come on Re, don’t start anything you can’t finish in public,” he teased lightly, patting Remus on the cheek, the adrenaline rush from three successful shows, the pure joy at being officially offered a full time position within the theater troupe from Thomas (from Thomas , who took a chance on the high school dropout who snuck in to the theater to use the big mirrors and the real theater makeup and listen to music echo through the empty stage. Thomas who so generously gave him the recommendation letter he needed to get the scholarship to cosmetology school. Thomas who found him a roommate so he wouldn’t have to stay with an older brother that didn’t understand him at all. Thomas who had seen his talent for deception and pushed him to turn it into art. Thomas who Janus owed his entire life to...) and the three vodka sodas in his system making it difficult to even begin to hide his flirtation, especially since he was fairly confident at this point he wouldn’t be rebuffed.

He felt more than heard the laugh that followed as Remus pulled away, still leaving his arms wrapped around Janus’s waist, a testament to the comfortable something (Janus refused to call it a relationship, even in his head, lest he burst the perfect bubble of happiness) they’d fallen into, “Come on Jan, you can’t deprive me of finally getting revenge on my brother for the years of cast-party-brand PDA he’s put me through.”

Janus stiffened and he turned to face Remus quickly, bracing himself on Remus’s chest when he started to trip a bit out of tipsiness. He also blamed the tipsiness for his lack of ability to cover up his curiosity, “PDA? What do you mean? I’ve spent the last 6 weeks trying to figure out who would end up with who in that group, but Roman’s already seeing someone?”

Remus smirked at him, clearly enjoying a less-inhibited Janus, and didn’t audibly answer. Instead, he laced their fingers together(Janus was not blushing like he was a middle-schooler. He wasn’t. If his foundation just so happened to help hide that lie then so be it.) and led him back towards the living room where a particularly rowdy game of beer pong was being played with Logan and Virgil on one side with only one cup in front of them and Joan and Talyn on the other with two, all four of them looking like a giant weight was off their shoulders with the last show of the first weekend over and done with and four whole days before the next one. Patton and Roman stood behind Logan and Virgil’s side, alternating between making ridiculous and distracting movements and singing along to whatever was playing through the speakers. The other team missed both their shots and Virgil snagged the balls, handing one to Logan before holding the other behind him. Patton leaned in and blew on the ball, then leaned further to press a kiss to Virgil’s cheek with a visible giggle while Roman mimicked his motions with Logan. Oh, ok, that kinda made sense for how the pairings worked out, he supposed…

Janus’s head tilted in confusion as Roman and Patton promptly switched positions and repeated their actions before they actually fell back. Logan and Virgil then glanced at each other from the corners of their eye, smirked, and sent both balls flying in unison. They didn’t even circle the rim, sinking easily, and the room erupted in chants to “chug” that Joan and Talyn took good naturedly on one knee as they emptied their cups.

Janus wasn’t watching the prop master and stage manager, though, instead focused on where Logan had apparently flung himself into Virgil’s arms in celebration, wrapped his legs around his waist, and promptly kissed him like he was trying to devour him, glasses tilted with no attempt being made to adjust them. Patton laughed brightly and tugged on Virgil’s sleeve to bring them both over to the couch with a practiced ease that said this was a fairly regular occurrence, Roman practically skipping as he followed. Logan transferred to Roman’s lap once they were settled, kissing him with the same amount of barely-restrained hunger, and Patton took his place in Virgil’s, pressing small kisses up his throat at the same time as he hooked his pinky with Logan’s and nudged his feet under Roman’s thigh, at which point Janus looked away, blushing furiously at just how shameless they all were.

He turned back to Remus with wide eyes just to find him openly laughing at him, “How long have you spent trying to figure that out, hm? For someone so smart you’re kinda a dumbass sometimes.”

Janus pouted, still feeling flustered and embarrassed that he’d somehow missed the idea of polyamory, but in the back of his mind he was delighted that the angry green jealous monster was no longer clawing at his insides at seeing so much open affection. He finally had someone who replaced that nasty curl with fluttering butterflies. Someone who gave a shit about him, and who was darkly hilarious and creative and didn’t hide anything but didn’t push Janus to be completely open in return. Someone Janus could truly see a future with, someone he felt he could trust.

He made a calculated decision, and his mouth turned up in a smirk as he grabbed Remus’s wrist and tugged him over to the pong table, “Tell you what, Re-Re. You help me win and you can have as much revenge as you want.”

Remus’s eyes went dark but his smile was blinding, “And if we lose?”

Janus grinned back, sharp and wicked, and easily sunk his first ball despite Remy’s boyfriend Emile jumping around ridiculously on the other side, “Guess you’ll just have to keep up so we don’t.” Remus’s grin widened even further at the challenge and he nodded resolutely, focus zeroed in.

For all the talk of revenge, they didn’t even notice Roman’s indignant squawk when Remus pinned Janus to the wall before Remy could even take the last cup off the table.

[gaaruto-kage]

It’s Alright - Gaara x Reader

Oh, it's alright, oh

Oh, hey

I had a night I had a day

I did one million stupid things

I said one billion foolish things

I'm not okay

I got a baseball bat beside my bed

To fight off what’s inside my head

To fight off what’s behind my meds

I'm lonely, lost in pain

You woke up, the dark, still air interrupted only by the slight sounds of crying and whimpering coming from beside you in the bed. You rolled over to look at your partner, Gaara, to find the sounds coming from his grimace-twisted mouth. His fists clenched so tightly around the blanket that his knuckles were white and a thin sheen of sweat coated his forehead, causing his red hair to stick to it in clumps. You knew what this was, another one of his nightmares, and immediately you sat up and reached your hands out towards him, one on his shoulder gently shaking him and one pushing his sweat-soaked hair away from his face. It took a minute, but eventually his eyes opened and he looked around frantically before seeing you. He all but threw himself into your arms and relaxed into your touch while you rubbed his back and whispered reassuring words into his ear.

It's alright, it's okay, it's alright, it's okay

You're not a monster, just a human

And you made a few mistakes

It's alright, it's okay, it's alright, it's okay

You're not gruesome, just human

And you made a few mistakes

It's alright, oh

It's okay, oh

After several minutes Gaara’s sobbing subsided to a few sniffles and his stiff body seemed to relax into you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked, your gentle voice breaking the tense near-silence that had settled in the room. At first Gaara just nodded while his face was pressed into your neck, but then he pulled back and verbally responded with a quiet “yes”.

“Well, I’m right here my love. You talk when you’re ready,” you reassured. A few moments passed before he started speaking.

“I… I was a child again. Back during the chuunin exams. I was fighting Lee and I felt this unstoppable rage burning in me and… and I killed him. And then I turned and I, oh god I killed them all! There was blood everywhere, and it got mixed into my sand, and I just…” at this point Gaara’s description turned into an incoherent babbling with some gasps and sobs mixed in, so you pulled him into your arms again and rubbed his back as he let it all out again.

Goddamn

I throw a brick right through the window

My life ignored the signals

I am high and drunk on ego

Can't see straight

So I just feel my way around and

I am touching, I am grabbing

Everything I can't be havin'

I am broken down in shame

Gaara mumbled something into your shoulder that you didn’t quite catch, so you asked him to repeat himself.

“I wanted to kill myself,” he whispered. “Right at the end of it, standing in the middle of all my carnage, all of the rage slipped away and I was me again. Me now, I mean, not the monster I was back then. I wanted to kill myself, as if that would somehow make up for all the destruction I had caused. And then I woke up.”

You were stunned into silence. Most of Gaara’s nightmares were about his childhood, when his father raised him to be remorseless, someone fueled only by anger and the sand demon trapped inside him, but this was one of the worst nightmares he’d had in a long time. You stayed quiet, unsure of what to say and unwilling to risk saying the wrong thing in case it might make things worse for Gaara.

You continued to rub his back and murmur throwaway phrases in between gentle kisses to the top of his head - things like “it’s okay now” and “it was just a dream” and “you’re safe here”. Eventually he calmed down enough to want to try and go back to sleep. Once under the blanket, you pulled him close so he could still feel your comforting embrace even after he fell asleep again.

It's alright, it's okay, it's alright, it's okay

You're not a demon, there's a reason

You behaved in that way

It's alright, it's okay, it's alright, it's okay

And I believe, yes I believe

That you will see a better day

It's alright, oh

It's okay, oh

It's alright, oh

“Am I a monster?” Gaara’s question rang out in the silence. A couple of hours had passed and you figured he had fallen back asleep by now, even if you hadn’t. You propped your head up on your arm so you could get a good look at him as he stared hopelessly at you.

“No, Gaara, you’re not a monster,” you replied.

“But, all those people I hurt-”

“The people in your dream?”

“The people in real life.” Your words caught in your throat. It had been a long time since Gaara was the kind of person who hurt people just to see them in pain, the cold killer his father wanted him to be, but it was clear that he still thought of himself that way sometimes. Maybe this most recent nightmare brought up old fears. You went to place your hand on his cheek to comfort him, but he flinched when he saw it come near his face so you let it drop to your side instead.

“Gaara, I don’t think you’re a monster,” you said quietly.

“I’ve killed so many people, and hurt countless others. I’ve destroyed lives in ways that I can’t take back. I try to make things better using my power as the Kazekage, but no matter what I do it won’t bring those people back. They’re gone forever, and still they won’t leave me alone.” He sat up straight in bed and you followed suit. “I’m going for a walk. Don’t follow me.” As he said this, he got up and began getting dressed.

“Gaara, what are you doing?” You reached for his hand but he pulled away too quickly for you to grab it.

“I need to clear my head.”

“Let me help you, please.”

“No. You stay here. I don’t… I don’t want to hurt you too.” With that he pulled on his shoes and made his way swiftly out the door. You waited about thirty seconds before pulling on your own sandals and slipping as quietly as you could after him.

I don't wanna know who I am

'Cause heaven only knows what I’ll find

I don't wanna know I'm not capable of coming out alive

I don't wanna see what's inside

I think that I would rather be blind

I don't wanna know I'm not capable, I'm capable

You followed Gaara through the town and towards the outskirts of Suna, sticking to the shadows and making sure not to create any sounds that could alert him to your presence. After what seemed like ages considering the sky had just begun to get lighter with the promise of the sunrise Gaara finally stopped walking as he made it to the entrance of the cemetery. He paused for a moment before making his way not to his mother’s grave as you had known him to do on the occasion, but rather to the opposite side of the cemetery where the former Kazekages were buried, including his father.

Gaara made it to the large stone that marked where his father’s body rested in the ground and immediately fell to his knees. You wanted to rush forward, but knew it would be better to stay hidden and not let Gaara know just yet that you had followed him. On his knees before the great stone marker he looked so small and helpless. That, coupled with the crying you could now hear coming from him, just about broke your heart. It hurt seeing the man you love breaking like this and knowing you could only do so much for him. After a few minutes you started to hear him actually say things, although a lot of it was lost to the distance.

“Why… turned me into… made me… a monster like you…”

At this point Gaara began pounding his fists into the sand below him and screaming out into the world. You saw the sand begin to move around him in ways you knew could only be due to his chakra. You felt the fear rise in your throat but swallowed it down hard. This was Gaara, and he wouldn’t hurt you. You trusted that much to be true. Even in this emotional and scared state he was in right now, he wouldn’t hurt you. You stepped forward out of the shadow and called out his name. He whipped around to face you, sand scattering around him and reforming into spikes and tendrils.

“I told you not to follow me here.” You steeled yourself and took a single step forward, then a second and a third. At this point the sand whipping around Gaara was close enough to just start hitting you, each grain feeling like the sting of an insect. It hurt, but you pushed through it.

“Gaara, this isn’t you,” you pleaded. You took another step and this time a tendril of sand shot forward and wrapped around your ankle, but quick as it latched on it pulled back.

“You’re wrong! I’m a monster! I kill people, and I hurt those I care about! It’s how I’ve always been and I’ve been kidding myself thinking I’ve changed!” The wind and sand grew harsher around you and felt something drip down your face. Blood, maybe, from the sand cutting your skin, or maybe you were crying.

“No Gaara, you’re not a monster.” Despite the worry and anger and sadness building up within you, you managed to keep your voice even. “That boy you once were, you’re not him anymore no matter how much you fear you might be. You unlearned every awful thing your father taught you, not just because other people love you but because you love them too. Temari, Kankuro, Naruto, everyone else from Leaf Village, you know you love them all. The old Gaara didn’t love anybody and didn’t care who he hurt. The Gaara standing here before me, he is so full of love and is only acting this way because he’s scared. That’s how I know you’ve changed.” With that, you rushed forward through the sand, ignoring the way it cut up your skin, and threw yourself at Gaara hoping your idea of what would happen was correct.

I'm alright, I'm okay, I'm alright, I'm okay

I'm not a monster, I'm a human

And I made a few mistakes

I'm alright, I'm okay, I'm alright, I'm okay

I'm not gruesome, just human

And I made a few

Everything was silent. You were laying on the ground and tried to pull yourself up, but something stopped you - Gaara’s arms wrapped tightly around your midsection. You shifted your head enough to take in your surroundings; the two of you were still in the cemetery laying in the sand in front of his father’s grave.

“Don’t get up yet, please.” Gaara’s voice was much quieter than you expected. It was as if he thought that being too loud would shatter the stillness that surrounded the two of you.

“What happened?” you asked, equally quiet.

“You saved me. My nightmare terrified me; I was so scared that I’d turn back into who I was that I almost did exactly that. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been here for me.” You turned enough that you were able to see Gaara face to face.

“I love you, Gaara. I will be there for you whenever you need me.” He smiled before placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“What do you say we get out of here and lie someplace more comfortable, like our bed?”

“I like that idea.”

It's alright, it's okay, it's alright, it's okay

You're not a demon, there's a reason

You behaved that way

It's alright, it's okay, it's alright, it's okay

And I believe, yes I believe

That you will see a better day

It's alright, oh

It's okay, oh

It's alright, oh

And I believe, yes I believe

That you will see a better day

(It's alright)

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This is a loose sequel to my other Gaara fic All My Loving. Enjoy.