#[spice voice] what the FUCK why is this guy not scared

[hoofpeet]

He’s so fucked up looking even when he’s perfectly healthy

[felinecyan]

Untouchable

[Katsuki Bakugo x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: When a classmate breaks a well-known rule within the dorm, you decide to take it upon yourself to “fix” the issue.

WC: 2863

Category: Mega Fluff, Kindhearted!Reader, Todoroki being an icon (like always 💅)

I don’t know about you guys, but writing for Bakugo is the single hardest thing I have ever done. He is SUCH a difficult character to get right 😭

I believe I did him justice, though 🙏🙏

『••✎••』

Kaminari had a death wish. That was the only logical explanation for why the electric blonde was currently in the common room with a shit-eating grin plastered to his face, along with a bowl of ramen that just so happened to belong to one Katsuki Bakugo.

Food was the one thing the explosive hero didn't joke around with, and the rest of Class 1-A was painfully aware of that fact. It was like a rule that had been ingrained into everyone's minds after spending any amount of time around the temperamental blonde.

Do not, under any circumstances, mess with Bakugo's food. Ever.

So the moment you had walked out of the kitchen and saw the familiar spice-infused soup in Kaminari's hands, you knew there was about to be a disaster. And that disaster was going to happen at the cost of the boy's life.

You were about to warn Kaminari when a familiar voice stopped you, its monotone quality giving away that it belonged to the heterochromatic hero. "Don't."

Todoroki shook his head at your concerned expression, a sigh leaving his lips. "It's not worth the effort; he'll learn the hard way. I would suggest standing back unless you want to get hit."

As if on cue, the sound of a bowl shattering against the floor echoed through the common room, and you flinched as bits of ramen and broth splattered your pants and shoes. You could only imagine what kind of mess it would have made if you had been standing any closer.

At the same time, Jiro sighed, plugging her ears as she muttered, "So much for getting some peace and quiet today."

Kaminari stood a few feet away from the mess, his entire body trembling in fear. He was too scared to move, frozen to the spot. His golden eyes were glued to the blonde standing before him, a murderous aura surrounding the ash-blonde.

"Bakugo, look, I can explain—"

The blonde's crimson eyes flashed in anger, and his face contorted into a feral snarl as he cut the electric user off. You couldn't stop the flinch that shook your body at the tone. "You... you..."

"It's just one bowl of ramen, dude! I'm sure you could easily make another one!" Kaminari exclaimed, waving his hands in front of his chest frantically. "I mean, come on, I know you love spicy food, but surely you're not that much of a monster that you'd kill me over it! Especially with something so mild as that!"

The room went silent, and Kaminari's words echoed in everyone's ears, but it only took Todoroki’s comment for the tension to change from fearful to downright chaotic.

"That was his last packet."

It was almost comical how fast the blood drained from Kaminari's face and how fast it returned a second later. The electric blonde gulped, a nervous laugh escaping him.

"B-Bakugo, listen—"

He was cut off again, this time by an explosion, which had been aimed right at his face. Thankfully, Bakugo missed on purpose, but the sound had been enough to startle everyone.

"You're so dead, Spark Plug!"

And thus began the chase, with Kaminari being chased around the room by an enraged Bakugo. Kaminari's screams of terror and Bakugo's threats and explosions filled the air, and everyone watched on in amusement.

Well, everyone except for Iida. He was chasing Bakugo, trying to calm the blonde down and yelling at him for using his quirk indoors, but his efforts were fruitless.

"Stop running around the room! You're going to destroy the furniture and break something!"

"I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU, DUNCE FACE! GET BACK HERE SO I CAN KICK YOUR ASS!"

Typical afternoon in the U.A. dorms.

After what felt like forever, the chaos eventually died down, with Bakugo calming down enough to sit and stew in his anger and Kaminari passing out from his quirk short-circuiting. You helped Iida clean up the mess that had been left behind, and everyone else returned to their activities.

But you felt bad for Bakugo. Yes, the blonde was a little intense and downright mean sometimes, but you knew what it felt like to crave something you didn't have. Especially when you physically buy that ‘something.' So, you decided to go out and get the angry Pomeranian a replacement packet.

Of course, given the fact that being empathetic was a common occurrence for you, the explosive hero wasn't at all surprised to see you walking toward the doors of the dorms with nothing but your wallet and a smile.

And he was not pleased.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

You stopped in your tracks, turning around to face the blonde, who had an unreadable expression on his face. Honestly, you were still shocked that he was still in his uniform, given he usually changes the moment he walks through the dorms. Not to mention, he even started wearing it properly, which was a feat in itself.

"Umm..."

"If you're about to say the damn store, I'll blow your ass to the moon," he threatened, and you couldn't help the frown that tugged at your lips.

"I'm just going to get you some more packets, okay? It's not a big deal," you said, your eyes softening. "I don't like seeing people upset, especially not over things that can easily be solved."

"Like hell, I'm upset!" He snapped, but the lack of bite in his voice gave him away.

You raised an eyebrow but kept your mouth shut. After knowing Bakugo for as long as you have, you've learned that the best way to deal with him is to keep your thoughts and opinions to yourself—at least, all thoughts and opinions about him.

"I'll be back in an hour, okay?" You said, offering him a kind smile. "Is there anything else you need?"

Something about the look in your eyes and the kindness in your voice was enough to make the blonde falter, his resolve slipping. He clicked his tongue and crossed his arms over his chest, a scowl on his face.

But, since he didn't respond, you figured that was all you were going to get from him. So, you turned back around and headed for the doors, intent on leaving.

You hadn't gotten very far, however, when the sound of the couch squeaking alerted you. You turned your head just in time to see Bakugo jump over the back of the sofa, his slacks making a thud sound as he landed, snatching his phone off the coffee table before he headed in your direction.

He grumbled something incoherent under his breath, causing you to tilt your head, but before you could say anything, your wrist was being grabbed, and the front door was opening.

"If we're gonna get the damn ramen, then I'm coming with. It's annoying when people come back with the wrong shit, so it's better to go myself."

"Oh," you hummed, not expecting him to follow you. You smiled up at him, and the scowl on his face deepened. "Well, alright, then. The more, the merrier."

Bakugo grunted in response, dropping his grip on your wrist so he could shove his hands into his pockets. "Just keep up, alright? I don't want to wait for your slow ass."

With that, the blonde walked out of the dorms, and you were quick to follow.

For those twenty minutes, you couldn’t help but be amazed at how quiet the walk to the store was. Normally, Bakugo was yelling at someone for one reason or another. Whether it was because they were stupid, slow, or a bunch of other reasons that seemed to only make sense in his head, he was never silent.

But, currently, it was different. Bakugo wasn't talking, or yelling, or grumbling, or doing any of the things he normally does. He wasn't even walking fast, keeping his pace slow just enough so you could keep up.

He didn’t have a scowl on his face, either. He wasn’t smiling, of course, which would actually terrify you if he was, but there also wasn’t a sign of irritation or anger on his face.

In fact, he was the most relaxed you had ever seen him, his muscles not as tense as usual, and his posture was straight, yet not rigid. And his crimson eyes seemed to have a hint of softness in them, something that you had never noticed before.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you hadn’t even realized that the two of you had arrived at the store until the ash-blonde had started walking through the automatic doors, not waiting for you to catch up.

Shaking your head, you hurried inside, quickly scanning the store for a sign that pointed to the aisle where the ramen packets were. Bakugo was a couple of feet ahead of you, with a look of indifference on his face as he followed the sign. However, he stopped once he reached the right aisle and turned around to look at you.

"Hurry it up, nerd," he growled, his impatience getting the better of him.

You rolled your eyes, a playful smile on your face. "I'm going, I'm going."

Bakugo didn't say anything as he turned back around and started walking through the aisles, and you were hot on his heels. Believe it or not, you were on a side mission, determined to not just grab the ramen for him.

He got distracted, and the two of you weren't in a hurry, so you went around and grabbed a few things that you knew your classmates had mentioned wanting. If you were going to take the time to go to the store, you might as well make it count.

After a few minutes, you ran into Bakugo, who had his arms full of different flavors of the ramen brand he liked. He took one singular glance at the contents of your basket and rolled his eyes.

"The hell are you getting all that shit for? I ain’t helping you carry anything."

"Well," you huffed, a pout on your face. He seemed to realize you were about to give him an entire speech because he immediately let out the most dramatic groan you had ever heard from him and began walking away.

You didn't care, though, and continued speaking, following him around the store.

"Well, I was just going to get the ramen and be done with it, but then I ran into Mina, who told me she was craving some 'chocolatey goodness,' which are her words, not mine," you explained, pulling out the package of chocolate-covered strawberries.

"Anyway, so, then I ran into Kirishima, who was complaining that there were no manly snacks in the pantry, and the last of his protein bars were eaten the other day, ironically also by Kaminari," you added, showing him the small box of protein bars. "So, I figured I'd get him some more and make sure Kaminari has his own snacks."

Bakugo groaned once more, still refusing to look at you. And, again, you ignored him and kept speaking.

"Also, Sero wanted more chips, and Koda was asking for some extra treats for the animals," you continued, showing him the chips and animal treats. "I didn't run into Midoriya, but he’s been awfully kind with his notes, so I'm pretty sure he would appreciate some gummies and pocky."

"Alright, I get it," Bakugo grumbled, a grimace on his face.

"Mineta also asked if I could grab him a new bag of limes, but I figured, after that little stunt he pulled in the changing room, that he doesn't deserve to have his gross habits indulged." You scoffed, trying to make a dramatic gesture but failing, given the items in your arms.

Bakugo paused in the middle of the aisle, turning around to finally face you, his arms still full. "You done?"

"Hey, you asked." You shrugged, a smile on your face. "I wasn't finished, though. Jiro wants more popcorn, Ojiro needs some more protein powder, Hagakure needs—"

"Is any of that shit even for you?" He cut you off, narrowing his eyes at you.

You pursed your lips and tilted your head. "No. Why?"

"You came all this way, wasting money on everyone else's crap, and didn't even think about grabbing shit for yourself?" He asked, his eyes narrowing further. "Are you stupid or something?"

"Um, well, no?" You answered although it came out as more of a question. "It's not a big deal. I was already going here, anyway."

Bakugo clicked his tongue, shaking his head. He walked forward and, without a word, dropped his armful of ramen onto your own. "Hold these."

Before you could protest, the ash-blonde walked past you and disappeared from view. Confused, you spun around and tried to follow him, but the sudden weight in your arms made it hard to move.

"Bakugo, wait up! I can't move!"

"Then stop moving, idiot." His voice was muffled by the shelves, and you couldn't tell where exactly he was. But, as if he had a sixth sense for things like this, Bakugo returned to the aisle, his arms full of random snack foods and drinks.

"What are you—"

"Shut up and follow me," he said, not letting you finish your sentence. You opened your mouth to speak, but a sharp glare from the blonde made you close it.

Bakugo led you through the aisles and dropped the items onto the conveyor belt, much to the surprise of the cashier. The young girl didn't dare comment on the large pile of utter junk food, however, and merely rang it all up, her eyes never leaving the screen.

Once the total came up, you pulled out your wallet to hand the girl the money, not wanting Bakugo to waste any of his own money on you, but the blonde snatched the bills from your fingers before you could pay.

"Hey, what—"

"I said, shut up." He clicked his tongue and turned away, his back facing you. You could hear the rustle of his pockets as he fished out his own wallet, and you were quick to shake your head.

"Bakugo, the whole point of me coming here was so I could pay. You were the one who got his last packet stolen, so I was supposed to be paying for the new one, and—"

"Do you ever shut the hell up?" Bakugo interrupted, his voice gruff. He didn't turn around to face you, but his tone was enough for you to shut up. "I don't give a shit about the money. It's my own damn fault for letting that dunce face near my food, anyway."

"But—"

"And it's not like I need the money," he added, pulling a couple of bills from his wallet and handing them to the cashier. "My parents are loaded. It's not a big deal."

Way to show off, Blasty.

But you knew better than to say that. Instead, you closed your mouth, your eyes softening. It didn't make sense to you, though, because not only was he buying his own replacement ramen, but he was also buying an abundance of junk food, which, while tasty, wasn't for him or you.

It's always about repaying the favor with him, but this was just... unnecessary.

"Thank you," you said instead, knowing that he would only get irritated if you kept protesting. "That was... unexpectedly nice of you."

"Don't make a big deal out of it," he grumbled, picking up a few of the bags. He handed them to you, and you struggled to balance the weight, but you didn't complain. "It was your fault for being too damn nice."

You blinked, not sure if you were supposed to take that as a compliment or an insult. Either way, you didn't say anything and merely nodded. Bakugo didn't spare you a second glance as he grabbed the rest of the bags and began walking toward the exit.

"You coming, or what?" He called out, not looking back at you.

A smile grew on your face, and despite him not even looking at you, something told you he could sense the happiness radiating from you. You hurried forward, struggling a bit to balance the bags in your arms and keep up with Mr. Grumps, but the smile didn't leave your face.

"So... does this mean we're friends now?"

"The hell? No!"

"I think we are, Blasty."

"Don't call me that." He narrowed his eyes at you, but you merely giggled.

"Would you rather it be Kacchan? Kaminari's been using that one a lot lately."

"Call me that, and I'll blast you into the fucking sun."

"Blasty it shall be, then."

Needless to say, the walk back to the dorms was the complete opposite of the walk to the store. But, just as the silence between the two of you was comfortable then, the bickering and teasing and overall playful nature of the conversation was comfortable now.

Bakugo would never admit it, and you knew better than to ask, but he didn't have a problem with the nickname or the new friendship that blossomed between the two of you.

And you didn't have a problem, either.

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐅*𝐂𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑.

-ˏˋ. 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ˊˎ-

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — FWB!matthew tkachuk x f!reader 𝐰𝐜 — 1.7k 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 — "old habits die hard..." — or, your boyfriend won’t fuck you right, so you run to the one person who always does.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — patrons know the chokehold this toxic sin-fest has on me and probably always will... in all seriousness, this is one of my favorite things i've ever published and i am so insanely proud of it. i hope you love it as much as i do <3

(spoiler — not possible teehee)

18+ MDNI — content warnings under the cut.

𝐜𝐰 — profanity, innuendo, matthew’s filthy mouth and lack of morals, cheating (not on matty or the reader), outdated/incorrect information about having sex for the first time, borderline too much degradation, some objectification to add a little spice, unprotected sex w a cheeky creampie (what did you expect from two morally bankrupt individuals written by me, a retired whore?), matthew being a noncommittal, possessive piece of shit joking about knocking people up for funzies

────────────

“D’you think you’re so addicted to my cock because you know I don’t give a fuck what you think about me? Or care if you think I’m a Nice Guy?”

Even buried to the hilt—bare with nothing between you and far too fucking close for comfort—Matthew Tkachuk runs his mouth like he’s got nothing to lose and even less to prove. He’s insufferable, his only redeeming quality being the pulsing appendage threatening to split you in half as you buck in his lap.

With your hands braced against his hard chest for leverage, you drown out his grating voice, chasing the white-hot surges, bolts of lightning leading you to the brink of collapse with renewed vigor.

The sooner you come, the sooner he’s gone.

“All I care about, sweetheart, is fucking you good and hard. Giving it to you like the hungry, cockdrunk whore that you are.”

Debonair attitude. Sly confidence. Vulgar demeanor.

Filthy fucking mouth.

You were warned about Matthew Tkachuck. Repeatedly. Warned about him and his complete lack of a filter, about his total disregard for anyone’s feelings but his own. His aversion to commitment, to monogamy, to propriety.

All the things that repulse you about the man lounging on expensive hotel sheets beneath you—as you do all the work—lure you back to him in equal measure. He shouldn’t turn you on, but that’s exactly why he does. He’s all wrong, wrong, wrong.

Which makes him just right.

“I bet if your fiancé walked in right now, you’d just keep riding me. You wouldn’t even notice, would you? After all, you haven’t cum yet. And that’s all you care about, right? Using my cock to get your rocks off because Billy Boyfriend’s too scared to give you what you really need. Lucky for you, I’m not a fuckin’ pussy. I don’t treat you like a fragile doll because I know you’ll take anything I give you—and beg for more. I treat you like what you are, not some chaste little princess.”

You’ve been with Bill for nearly a decade, engaged for more than a year. It’ll be a spring wedding, probably. If the venue pans out, and the caterer finally calls you back with a final quote.

Perfect on paper.

He doesn’t pay attention to you the way he used to. Just throws money at the problem until he can bury himself in work again, undisturbed by you or nagging obligation.

Flowers for being three hours late, a necklace for missing dinner entirely. A trip overseas when he had to go into the office on your anniversary.

But he’s nice, so fucking nice it hurts, and more loyal than the Golden Retriever he wants to adopt after the honeymoon. After you’re settled into a custom-build nestled comfortably in the suburbs and far away from the city. White picket fence, manicured lawn, barely-there speed limits.

It's all so nauseatingly idyllic. So perfectly attuned with what you thought you wanted, what you spent your childhood coveting.

All your single friends are jealous; your committed friends are resentful. Your family loves him, and even though you’ve got a fucked up way of showing it, so do you.

And he loves you too. He’s just busy. It’ll be different once we’re settled, he says. You try to believe him, though not as hard as you should. You tell yourself it's because he doesn’t either.

Bill’s gotten lazy. You’ve gotten bored.

You’re no angel, and never claimed to be. You just want to feel good.

Matthew barks out a dry laugh, almost like he can read your mind.

“You haven’t been since I first got you on your knees at his birthday party. And definitely not after I popped that sweet cherry you were so adamant about saving for him."

Bill doesn’t fuck you. He never has.

He makes love to you. It’s that romance-novel tenderness that got you here in the first place. Slow, sweet, and nearly devoid of passion. It’s so gentle you have to think of him just to come.

How he fucks you.

How tightly he yanks your hair, craning your neck until it aches. How hard he kneads and smacks your ass, bullying the skin until you sob. How deep his cock reaches. And how he takes, takes, takes without forethought. How could you accept a lifetime of only tame rutting in the face of Pavlovian depravity?

It’s awful, and it's so profoundly selfish, but his everything has you in a bind.

Matthew’s everything is ruining your life.

An uncharacteristic wave of guilt and sadness washes over you, and before you can catch yourself, you’re staring down at the engagement ring. The band constricts, digging into your finger like it's out for blood when you glimpse the indentation it left behind on Matthew’s peck. You wince, then choke down the shame lodged in your throat, screwing your eyes shut to will it away.

“If it's bothering you that much, take it off. I’ll keep it safe for you.” —wink— “I can’t imagine the weight of a rock like that, especially one you don’t even deserve. But, if you actually felt as guilty as you claim to, you wouldn’t be this wet on another man’s cock. Don’t play saint now. You’ll ruin the fun.”

You can’t do this right now; you can’t have this worn-out fight. So, you say what you always say even though you’ve long since stopped trying to mean it.

“You keep saying that, sweetheart. We should stop. This is the last time. But no matter what you say, you always come crawling back to me sooner or later because I have what you need. Because I’m not him. Because I fuck you better.”

His words light you on fire. You hate it, but how deeply your body enjoys them is undeniable. How tightly you squeeze and flutter with every degrading line, choking his cock as you use him to satisfy your own perverted needs. How his brutal honesty, his refusal to let you forget your zealous participation in the affair for even a second, arches your back and hardens your nipples.

Even without all that evidence stacked against you, the blitzed-out look on your face says it all. One look at you and everyone would know just how right Matthew is.

“Shut the fuck up,” you growl.

You say it for the sake of saying it. To know, when you curl into Bill's side tonight, that you said something to deny his assessment of you.

But the last thing you want is for him to shut his mouth.

Not right now, not when you’re right there—

“You can’t hide from me, sweetheart, and you can’t lie to me. You can’t fool me, either. I see right fucking through you. It terrifies you—and you love it.”

His raspy voice swims freely through your hollowed-out mind. It unwittingly thumbs through every unforgivable memory, like some sort of pornographic Rolodex.

Matthew’s hips grinding against yours in darkened corners and dive-bar bathroom stalls and poker tables.

His hands fighting against hard-earned sweat in the foggy backseat of his car, battling to find purchase anywhere he can so he can keep rutting with reckless abandon before you’re expected home.

His fingertips burrowing into the sides of your throat, hard enough to bruise, hard enough to silence, hard enough to hurt.

Him spilling inside of you, ropes painting the sacred place white with no remorse or expectation of responsibility.

Matty’s hand over your mouth, urging you to be fucking quiet as he pistons in and out, in and out, keeping you pinned against the bathroom door, against the only thing standing between Bill and the worst discovery of his apple-pie life—

Old habits die hard.

Especially when it’s one that always feels that fucking good. No matter how lecherous or immoral.

Or how badly the betrayal would hurt someone underserving and innocent.

“Even if you walk down that aisle and take his last name, you’ll still belong to me. Wedding or not, this pathetic, weeping cunt belongs to me. But it’s all gonna be okay, though. Don’t you worry that pretty, empty head. I don’t mind sharing my toys. Especially with someone who could never compete.”

You can't compete where you don't compare.

He doesn’t want to be your boyfriend. He doesn’t want to be anyone’s boyfriend. He isn’t the Relationship Type. He doesn’t even want to be exclusive. That’s part of his appeal, no matter how fervently you deny it. He doesn’t want more than pleasure—primal, deviant pleasure—and that’s all you're looking for.

That's all you need.

“Where do you want my load, dirty girl?”

“Inside. I-Inside me, please, Matty.”

“Right answer.”

The burst of warmth is like getting a perfect grade you didn’t earn. Or feeling the cash your sibling gave you in exchange for not ratting them out sitting in your back pocket. It's hard to feel bad about the wrong you’ve done when the payoff is so deliciously worthwhile.

Matthew twitches, still hugged by your sensitive walls, and you shudder.

This is the high you chase every time you bend your morals until they splinter. The still nothingness that lays beyond the denouement, where everything is glowy and the pit inside you appears not-so-bottomless for once. The lack of expectations and obligations. The sheer freedom that stringless pleasure, that sensual self-indulgence provides.

Matthew doesn’t owe you anything, you don’t owe him anything either, and neither of you pretends otherwise.

And you sure as fuck don’t trip on his dirty laundry every time you walk into the bedroom.

“If that doesn’t take,” Matthew flicks his hips in emphasis, “…let me know when and where you want your wedding present, sweetheart.”

You don’t answer. You push his hands away and roll off of him unceremoniously. But he keeps talking.

Matthew is always talking.

“Oh, and before I forget, would you be a dear and let Billy know I won’t be able to make it for his bachelor party? I don’t know why, but I have the oddest feeling that something desperately needing my attention will come up.”

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[ananxiousgenz]

pssst. pssssssst. hey guys. look at what i got y'all (IT'S MORE JARTHUR COWBOY AU)

this one comes with several pieces of info you need to know first:

@percymawce-arts and I are writing this fic together!!! we have entered into writers matrimony for this fic and we are super excited about it!! I wrote the bare bones of the scene you're about to read and he added almost all of the flavor and spice (while i was laying on my bed in the family guy dead pose bc of how good he made it). make sure to go show percy some love for this too!!

this scene takes place after one where john and arthur chase after larson, but arthur refuses to shoot him, and john is more than a little pissed off about it.

and some trigger warnings: this scene contains some fighting (both verbal and physical), child abuse, religious trauma, homophobia, and some suggestive themes

and finally, i will tag @ellamenop and @izel-reblogs bc i have a feeling you will both enjoy this :)

“What,” John snarled, slamming the cabin door shut behind him, “the fuck. What was that?!”

“None of your business,” Arthur replied, ever so prim and fucking proper. He kept his back to John, maybe to hide his face, so John couldn’t read him. Maybe because he was too much of a coward to meet John’s eyes after that stunt. John didn’t care what the reason was. It was only pissing him off more.

“No. Fuck that. It's all my business.”

“I didn't fire a gun. How is that making you upset?”

“You had him right in front of you,” John rumbled, his voice as low and dangerous as thunder on the horizon. Arthur shivered. “And you let him go. You had the opportunity to kill him. To end this, all of this. And you let it slip through your fucking fingers.”

“Maybe I didn't want to kill him.”

“What the fuck does that matter? He's too goddamn dangerous to be left alive!”

“It's not that simple, John-”

“The hell it is! I’m sorry you feel conflicted or whatever it is that’s going on in that head of yours, but this isn’t about you! All you had to do was fire the fucking gun. He was right in front of you, and you didn't shoot!”

“No, I didn't!”

“Why?!”

“You want to know why?” Arthur shouted, whipping around to face John, at last. “Because I can't kill another person! Even someone as awful as Larson! I’m not like you! This isn’t easy for me, alright?!”

As soon as the words had left his mouth, Arthur’s face fell. John could see the regret wash over his face like a cloud over the burning sun, but it only lasted a moment before he was collecting himself. Putting on that same mask of polite-until-you-fuck-with-me he always wore around suspects and targets. John had never had that face turned on him before. He hated it.

“So that’s what this is about,” John murmured, his tone dark. “You think it’s easy… You think I’m a monster, and you’d rather let Larson go free than be like me.”

“No, John, that’s not-”

 “Who do you think made me that way?” John snapped. Arthur’s mouth closed so fast John heard his teeth click. “It was him, Arthur. It was Larson. And thanks to you, he’s going to go and do it to another lonely, scared Native kid with nowhere else to go!” John chuckled humorlessly. “Christ, Arthur, If that’s what you thought of me, why didn’t you just say it at the start?”

Arthur threw up his hands in frustration. “That’s not what I think of you, John. Jesus, am I not allowed to have a minor moral crisis over shooting a man?!”

“He’s not just a man! He’s a gangster! A robber! A killer! You told me so yourself!”

“So are you, John.”

“Yeah, and you shot me for it,” John reminded him. 

Arthur growled and slammed his fist down on the mantle of the fireplace beside them, hard enough that John could feel the vibration travel through the floor. “Jesus fucking Christ, John, I wanted to let the law deal with him! Is that so hard to understand?!”

John took a step in Arthur’s direction. “Oh yeah? The same law that ripped me away from my family and home? The same law that turned me into a monster? Too little and too much for everyone all at the same time? The same law that drove human beings off of their lands and into reservations? That killed thousands of people like me?”

“The criminal law would have placed Larson in jail. Like he deserved.”

John scoffed and crossed his arms. “You think the law cares that he deserves it, Arthur? The law is punishment for those who don’t deserve it and ignorance for those who do. There’s no justice in it.”

“What, so that means it’s your job to deal it out?”

“Yes!” John yelled. “If it means he can’t hurt anyone any longer, then yes. And vigilante justice works a hell of a lot faster than the court system will ever manage!”

“I thought you were trying to be a better man, John.”

“I was trying to be like you,” John said venomously. “My mistake.”

That was the final straw. Arthur took a step forward without warning and swung his fist as hard as he could. It made contact with John’s ribs (he could feel them shift beneath Arthur’s fist), and John made a soft oof sound as the wind was knocked out of his lungs and he was knocked into the fireplace mantle, the corner of it digging into his shoulder. 

The fight that followed was chaotic and messy in a way John had never experienced before, and when he tried to think back to it, it would only be preserved in blurry snapshots, like someone moving in the middle of a photograph. Arthur grabbed John’s braid and pulled. John clawed a deep gouge into his arm. He drew blood. Arthur twisted John’s arm. John cracked Arthur’s rib. Arthur knocked John’s legs out from under him, causing them both to go sprawling onto the floor. Arthur punched. John slapped. Arthur bit. John pinned. And then paused. And then…

In the midst of the fighting, John had ended up on top of Arthur, straddling his waist while pinning both wrists with one hand and grabbing a fistfull of Arthur’s shirt with the other. Both of them had frozen, the only movement the rapid rise and fall of their chests. Their noses were nearly touching, and John could feel Arthur’s breath fanning across his lips, staring into those dark, dark eyes. They weren’t so dark, John realized as he looked into them. They were brown, lovely and warm, with scattered flecks of gold and green nestled deep inside. Hidden gems, wide and wild with adrenaline, flicking back and forth across John’s face without any point of focus.

John’s eyes flicked over the rest of Arthur’s face. Freckles smattered across his nose and cheekbones. Loose strands of auburn hair falling messily across his forehead. The crooked corners of his nose from being broken one too many times. Smile lines beside his tired eyes. Lips like flower petals, soft and pale. Slightly parted and inhaling, exhaling. At some point, John realized he had let go of Arthur’s shirt and was cradling Arthur’s face oh-so gently as he examined it, dragging his thumb lightly over his cheekbone, caressing it. Down the bridge of his nose to his lips, his perfect lips. Arthur remained as still as stone, barely even breathing as he stared blindly back at John.

Somewhere behind the haze of the moment, John wondered subconsciously what would happen if he kissed Arthur. Because, the truth, he realized, was that deep down, in the pit of his stomach, he wanted. He wanted Arthur, in a way he had never wanted anyone else before. He wanted to be close to him, close like this. Closer than this. To be around him always, to hold him, to kiss him. 

What would happen if he took what he wanted instead of what he was told, for once?

He hesitated when he heard Arthur’s breath hitch.But then, when no resistance came, he leaned his head down ever so slightly (there was barely any bridge to gap, by that point), and then he was kissing Arthur. And it was like the world had been set ablaze.

As he pressed his lips against Arthur’s, every nerve in John’s body was alive. It felt like a jolt from a live wire, like a burst of fireworks that would light up the sky on the Fourth of July, like the sparking tang of gunpowder before the shot rang out. It felt like energy, pure and bright and hot and lighting him up from the inside. He felt Arthur’s body respond in kind, arching up to create a line of contact that started at their hands and continued all the way down to their tangled legs, making John shiver. He tasted like whiskey, sweet and sharp beneath the campfire smoke and aftershave, and John marveled at how such a strange and sinful combination could taste like it had just come down from heaven.

He kissed harder, chasing the taste. He nipped at Arthur’s lip hard enough to draw blood, adding a coppery tang to the kiss and eliciting a small moan from the back of Arthur’s throat. It only made John want more. He kissed him again, and again, and again, Arthur’s lips and tongue moving against his with a practiced skill that made John dizzy. He kissed him until his lips were swollen and his head was swimming with nothing but Arthur, Arthur, Arthur. He only pulled away when his chest was burning and there was no choice but to come up for air.

Arthur’s face was flushed, his eyes wide and twinkling. “Oh God.” His voice was hoarse. “Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, John.”

And an unbidden memory surfaced in John’s mind. 

He was back in boarding school, sitting for a mandatory midnight mass in the chapel, his posture ramrod straight. The priests had always been so particular about those masses. There was to be no slouching or fidgeting, and God alone could help you if you dozed off. John had been kneeing in one of the pews, focusing all of his attention on keeping his posture perfect and his eyes open and remaining somewhat alert. 

In the midst of silent prayer, one of the priests, a Father McKenna, had thrown open the doors to the chapel, and dragged another boy up before the altar by his ear. 

The boy had tears streaming down his disheveled face and his nose was red from crying, but the thing that struck John the most about him were his eyes. He just looked so… tired. Not the kind of tired that John was fighting, the kind where a seductive sleep was lingering at the corners of his vision, waiting for him to blink or close his eyes in “prayer” for a second too long. This boy looked like the kind of tired that shot through his bones and grew like rot and rust with every passing day, the kind that only shuffling off this mortal coil a bit too soon could cure.

Father McKenna said the boy had been caught ‘with’ another, with a fury in his eyes that made John wonder in the back of his mind if he had been possessed by the devil. He’d been too young to know what it meant to be ‘with’ another boy at the time, but he knew it must be evil. Father McKenna threw him down in front of the altar, and the boy- John vaguely recognized him to be a child named Alexander- just knelt with his head bowed, like he had accepted his fate before Fate came to dole it out.

Father McKenna was not pleased by this. He smacked the back of Alexander’s head. Hard. He didn’t respond. He picked up a hymnal and smacked him harder still. And still, nothing. 

The priest was trembling with barely concealed fury now, and there was a steady pit of dread opening up in John’s stomach as he began to eye the doors, the windows. Any potential escape from the devil and the punishment that awaited him.

But there was no escape, there never was. So John sat, quietly, and watched as Father McKenna began to beat Alexander.

It was horrible, but somehow John couldn’t tear his eyes away, not even as Alexander’s screams tore through his ears and began to echo off the vaulted ceilings, pleas to stop and promises to never do it again ringing in John’s mind. Not even as the boy’s blood began to stain Father McKenna’s hands and drip onto the marble stairs, as vivid and crimson as sacramental wine. Not even as two of the altar boys had to drag Alexander’s barely conscious, barely breathing body down the aisle and out to the hospital wing.

John was trembling by the end of it. He felt like he was going to throw up. He dreamed of that moment for weeks afterward, never able to sleep without witnessing another religious sacrifice, another crucifixion, another martyr behind his eyelids.

Suddenly back in the present– but not really, never fully out of the past– John scrambled back off of Arthur and pressed his back against a wall, wide-eyed and sweating in sudden, sickening fear. In another life he might have missed the feeling of Arthur beneath him, his waist between his thighs, his lips against his. But nothing could permeate that fear. Nothing would ever be bigger than the fear.

“Wha– John?” Arthur asked. There was fear in his eyes too, but it was different. It wasn’t fear of hell or Father McKenna or whatever had become of Alexander. It was fear for John. It was concern. John closed his eyes against it. “John, what’s wrong? What–,” “Shut up.”

“What?”

“Just, be quiet!” John snapped. “Please, please, just–,” his voice broke. He squeezed the bridge of his nose between his fingers, trying to stave off an oncoming headache. 

“Okay…” Arthur said, quietly. Gently, so cruelly gentle. John could feel the beginnings of tears burning behind his eyes. He squeezed them shut tighter. “Okay.”

“This…” John started. He didn’t want to say it. He knew there would be no coming back from it. No more fireworks, no more whiskey on flower petal lips. Never again would he be so close to Arthur Lester if he said it. But that was the point wasn’t it? Make distance.

Take what he was told, never what he wanted.

“This was a mistake,” John said, firmly. A lie, of course. Inside, his very soul was shaking. The strings of his heart were trembling in a tragic vibrato, a song with no recipient. But he’d always been good at lying. He stood, tossing his braid over his shoulder and brushing the dust of his shirt (his wrinkled shirt, stained with a speck of Arthur’s blood). “It never happened.” He didn’t look at Arthur, because he was a coward. He was everything Arthur thought he was, so he didn’t look him in the eye when he said:

“If you ever so much as mention this, to anyone, I won’t hesitate, Arthur.”

He opened the door to the cabin, ready to step outside, leaving everything he’d never known he’d wanted behind. 

“I’m not you.”

[bugs1nmybrain]

Backdoor - Shigaraki x fem reader (Anal sex)

Notes: some people may remember anal being in my "do not request" list, but I've become more open-minded lately. I have a complicated relationship with anal so I was hoping to write a fic that was realistic and not hard ramming up the ass sex with no lube. I am projecting with this fic so bad

Warnings: Anal, 18+ (minors don't interact), fem-reader, reader experiences pain, Shigaraki is considerate and is actually somewhat scared of hurting the reader, soft Tomura and I won't apologize for making him a sweetheart, praise!!!, clitoral fingering, white-haired Shigaraki (s5ish), reader is immune to Tomura's quirk, no condom but they use hella lube, after sex pillow talk

Word Count: 3001

MINORS DON'T INTERACT

When it came to anal, you felt at a loss. Would you love to appease this little fantasy of his? Sure. But it wasn't an easy task and it wasn't your fault that your ass wasn't designed for any visitors.

It made you feel bad because you wanted to meet Tomura's needs. You'd catch him late at night watching some pretty crazy porn while you were sleeping. Some of it involved anal. Not always, but frequent enough to make you feel like you weren't enough for him.

You were actually the one who brought it up first. Tomura had made anal jokes here and there, but he seemed to catch the drift that you didn't want to. He understood that it would hurt, but he was convinced that you were drilling most of that anxiety in your head. Not that he'd admit it to most people, but he had experimented with anal himself on a rare occasion. He surprisingly discovered that taking it up the ass was pleasurable for him. He just needed to lather himself with spit and he was good (do not use spit, don't be like Shigaraki).

So why didn't you like it? Well, put simply. Ow. It fucking hurt. You knew because you had tried it with your sex toys and every time you put yourself through agonizing pain that wasn't like any other feeling. You panicked when that pain would stab you instantly, and you'd immediately take it out. It made you feel insecure and undesirable.

When you brought it up to Tomura, the instant giddy look on his face told you upfront that he had been waiting for this moment like a kid on Christmas Eve. A part of you felt squeamish about his instant agreeable response, and another part of you simply melted away at his cute smile.

"If..if we did it. Would you stop? If it hurt?" you asked while spacing out.

"Yeah, of course. But, like, it's gonna probably hurt at first. Gotta push through it," he slied at you.

Tomura noticed your brows furrow in fear and almost felt guilt. You're the one who proposed this idea, though. You didn't have to bring this up, but you did. He was a little confused but nonetheless excited. Your pussy was incredible and nothing could ever take the place of that gushy warm wetness. However, he wanted to try another side of the cake. Spice things up.

"Hey, hey," he said cooed with a soft, raspy voice. "I'll be easy on you, alright? Nothing crazy. Think of this as testing the waters."

"I-uhm, okay," you nodded shyly. Tomura stepped closer and rubbed his thumb on your cheek in attempts to comfort you.

"Ya sure?"

"I am. I trust you, Tomura."

That's a bold statement, he thought.

"Hehehee, okayyy. Sooo, now? Are we doing this now?" Tomura perked up with a beam in his eyes. You could already see that his crotch looked a little bigger through his pants, though constricted by how tight his jeans were.

"Yea,, uhm. I actually got something that I thought would help."

"You mean lube?"

"Yea. I know some guys think it ruins the fun but-"

"Are you assuming that I'm like "other guys?" Your misandry is showing, y/n," he jokes with a chuckle.

"No! I just know it probably ruins how tight it feels."

"I wouldn't know, but "probably" not. I don't need you cutting the circulation off to my dick, anyway."

You laughed at his witty remarks, which in turn eased the tension you felt about what you were going to do with him. As you both sat on the bed, laughing at each other, Tomura took your hand in his, rubbing his thumb in your palm.

"I'll take good care of you, okay? You don't have to be scared."

Instinctively, you relax into his embrace, resting your head on his chest while he held you snug. "So damn emotional," he thought cockily, though Tomura absolutely adored it when you needed his affection like this. He knew better that the invitation you gave him to your ass was probably an attempt to secure your bond with him. Perhaps you thought he'd love you more if you did this. Not exactly true, but he certainly wasn't complaining. He has wanted this since he met you. He'd keep these fluffy thoughts of his to himself, at least until it was over and done with.

Tomura kissed your temple first, then started teasing his way to your neck. He gave you love bites on your neck and shoulders, making you yelp out a tiny "ow!" His teeth were as sharp as knives sometimes, but he tried his best to not be so rough.

Soft sex wasn't something Tomura was above. He liked making love, too, and just enjoying being in love with you. He was indeed rough, though. Needy may be an accurate way of saying it. Sex would start out slow and affectionate, but usually end up very fast and deep. He'd pound your pussy as if he was taking something out on you, maybe he was. Lucky for you his rough treatment made you tremble and cum hard underneath him, and you felt best when he finished inside and pulled you into a tight cuddle with him for the rest of the night. You just hoped he wouldn't be so aggressive tonight.

As Tomura continued to give your neck wet kisses, he trailed his fingers up the sides of your shirt, eagerly tugging it off.

"Hehe, boobies."

He could be such a fucking kid sometimes.

"Shut up."

"What did you say to me?" He says, gripping your jaw gently to face him. "Repeat that?"

You blushed so deeply and giggled, making him cock a smirk. He bit his lip as he stared at your tits that rested in your bra, having no remorse for his gaze. "Take this off."

Obliging to his request, you hear a heavy "mmm" sound from Tomura's throat. When your tits bounced out of your cup bra, Shigaraki felt his dick strain. He didn't think much, and reached out to touch you shamelessly.

"Tomura!"

"I gotta get you wet," he muttered sensually. "God knows we could use all the help we can get in the lube department."

He squeezed, sucked, and pinched at you with hunger. Soon after, your pants were torn to shreds by his quirk (while you were immune to his quirk, your clothes weren't), mostly because Tomura was getting irritated by how hard they were to get off of you. Once you were pantsless, he could see by the drench of your panties that you were hungry for him.

He reached inside of your underwear, searching for that little lady he loved to mess around with. Years on a game controller did him favors when it came to you. He found your clit easily and gave her gentle strokes. He could feel how swollen and soaked you were without even taking off your panties, and he became hungrier as you whimpered in pleasure.

"You like that, baby?" he asked in a half-genuine, half-conceded tone.

"Mmhmm," you nod vigorously with your eyes shut.

Tomura's fingers circled around your clit, building faster and faster as he went on. He could feel you beginning to contract your hips and relax as you lay back. You were close, and he was going to make you cum good. It's what you deserve for treating him with such a lovely present tonight.

You felt your clit begin to spasm, and waves of pleasure flooded your body. You let out a moan of gratitude and became wetter when you reached your orgasm. "Awhh Tomura-awhh~"

"Yeahh..that's a good girl. Cum all over my fingers."

"MNnnmm!"

Tomura kept swirling his fingers gently as you continued to ride out your orgasm, and as you came down from your high, he whipped your slickness downward.

"hmm-!" you shook, almost forgetting what the initial goal was. You froze as still as you could while he rubbed your pussy juice on your ass.

"Where's the lube you bought?"

"In my bag," you replied. Shigaraki quickly grabbed it and zipped back onto the bed with lightning speed. He set the lube beside you and continued rubbing your fluids on your ass. His fingers rested before your hole, pressing against it slowly.

"Tomura.."

"I'm going to loosen you up a little before I go in, okay? I'm not the smallest."

"Uh-huh."

"You'll be regretting that when it's up your ass."

You giggled and tried to relax the best you could. Tomura continued to talk," Actually, turn around."

"Okay," you complied, turning so that your ass was toward him. He pulled your panties down, revealing your perfect, full figure to him. He swore he was going to blow his load right there if he didn't reel himself in. His fingers returned, rubbing wet circles onto you. He finally decided to push them in, easing in with caution.

"Ah!"

Your exclamation probably startled Tomura more than what was happening to you. He removed his fingers quickly and decided to rub your ass to soothe you.

"You have to relax. If you tense up like that it's going to hurt like a bitch. Here, I'll get the lube, alright?"

He reached for the bottle and flicked the cap off. Taking a generous squirt of it on his fingers, he rubbed the cold substance into your hole. "Mm..." you whimpered in discomfort, though the lube was making it easier.

"Is it cold?" Tomura asks.

"Yea."

"Sorry. We're gonna have to use a lot of it, though."

"I know."

"Turn this way."

"Hm?"

"You know how people lay when they're getting a colonoscopy?"

"Uhhh..? Maybe?" you guess, not expecting such a bizarre question.

Tomura's hands guide you to lie on your side, with his fingers returning shortly after. From this angle, it felt more tolerable, though uncomfortable even so. His fingers moved in and out, fingering inside as he tried to stretch you to accommodate his impending penis.

"You have no idea how hard my cock is, y/n," he flirts, causing your body to respond with unintentional tension. "Don't stiffen up now. You're getting there."

You tried breathing throughout the sensation of his fingers, and you weren't quite sure if you were in pain or not. Tomura spoke as if he could read your mind.

"Does this hurt?"

"I don't know. I think it's okay."

"Well, you've been taking them for a bit, now. I think you're adjusting," Tomura reaches for the lube and lathers your, ass up more with it fingering the lube inside and making sure there's plenty up front for when he goes in.

"I think-or-I, uh.."Tomura clammed up, somewhat nervous himself. "Are you ready?"

He rubbed your lower back, listening for your reply. He kissed your neck affectionately while he waited for your answer, making you giggle for him.

"Yea. We can..we can do it."

"Good girl," he praised.

You smiled at him, watching him pull down his pants. His cock sprung out, looking painfully hard and oozing pre already. You didn't realize how sizeable he actually was. Was it really going to fit in you? Would it go in at all?

Tomura came in for a spoon, wrapping his arms around you for a moment while he pet your hair.

"I love you," he says adoringly.

"Eheh...really?"

"The fuck you mean, really?" He teases. "Of course I do. You're my favorite girl..and...I'm very happy to do this with you."

"I am too. I love you so much, Tomura."

"hehe she loves me..." he blushes jokingly. "I'm going to start, okay?"

"Mhm," you assure.

Tomura's cock rubs on your asscheek, startling you by it's texture. He guides it to your entrance and rubs it around you. As if it dawned upon him, he quickly grabs more lube and rubs some on his cock, and a bit more onto you, too.

"Jesus that's cold!" he quietly hissed. His cock was thoroughly coated with lube, and he focused back at your ass. His tip stopped at your hole, "I'm pushing in, kay?"

You only nodded. Tomura's cockhead felt big against your hole, much bigger than when he's going for your pussy. Your heart was throbbing, so you grabbed for Tomura's free arm and held him like a comfort item. He started pushing in.

At first you thought you weren't feeling much, but then he sunk further and an instant shock of pain surged in your insides.

"OW OW!" you exclaimed in pain.

"Fuck! Sorry!" He pulled out quick. He looked at your face, worried he was going to make you cry or hate him. Fuck, he'd hate if he hurt you more than he expected.

"It's, it's okay. Just..try again," you huff.

"Alright," he lined himself back up with more lube. "Breathe, baby."

You did as suggested, breathing as well as possible as he pushed his cock in, deeper and deeper. He was being slow, and honestly, the slower he went the more it hurt.

"Just go, please," you trembled.

Tomura didn't register what you said right and thought you were telling him to go. "Baby,-"

"Tomura, keep going, please," you begged, trying to fight away tears from the pain.

"Okay." He did as you asked of him, thrusting in and out as smoothly as he could. He was slow but moved consistently without pausing. As you seemed to become more used to him, he was finally processing the immense pleasure he was receiving from this.

"Awh~," he began sighing. "Fuck, your ass is so tight."

"Eheh...I imagine..." you said in discomfort, fumbling with his hand for comfort. He held your hand in his snuggly, and unconsciously his pace grew faster. He paused only for a moment to put more lube down, making sure to be quick when he remembered it hurt worse when he would stop inside.

"Nnnfff...fuck y/n.." he sighed into your neck, pushing in and out. "Does...fuck...does it hurt?"

"It's not so bad.." you hummed, admittedly feeling some pleasure in what you assumed was your internal clitoral system, even if it was outshined by the discomfort.

"Good..good girl...mMmmfff," his eyes rolled back (not that you could see) and his mouth hung agape as his thrusts got faster.

"Eas--easier, Tomu-"

"I know, baby. Fuck...sorry...UhMmm..~" He held you close and buried his face into your hair while he tried to keep his pace at bay. You smelled nice, and the sensations of your scent, your soft skin, and the feeling of your ass were driving him up the wall. You felt fucking incredible.

"Mmm.." you let out a small moan. He couldn't tell if you were faking it for his sake, but you still sounded hot and it was making him leak in your ass. "Awh~."

He wasn't going to last, he thought. You perked your ass up more to him, and he moved in you at a sensual rhythm in response. He grabbed your tits as he huffed his hot breath on your neck, making yearning, groaning noises. The lube provided enough help for him to move in your ass without having to stop a lot, but naturally, you were still tight. You were squeezing his dick, surely cutting off that circulation he was talking about earlier.

"Tomura.."

Fuck. There he goes. He fucked you faster when his orgasm overtook him, and he savored your ass every second as he came thick inside of you. "Fuckin-God.."

You could feel it oozing inside. Tomura wriggled himself in you until every drop of his cum was out, and he finished by pulling out of your ass. You felt instantly relieved by the lack of his cock, and turned around to see him smiling at you with his shit-eating grin. He kissed your forehead and hummed in a happy tone, his fingers reaching to stroke your hair.

"Good girl, well done, hehe.," he grinned at you with a cheeky smile. "Are you okay?"

You nod, tired beyond belief.

"Do you hurt?"

"It hurts less now that it's out," you remark.

His face scrunches up a little, assuming that you had no enjoyment from what you two did together. What did he expect? It wasn't like you had a prostate like he did, so there wasn't much you could get from it. Fuck! He should've at least played with your clit, he thought.

"Tomura?" you question, noticing his disturbed face. "What's the matter?"

"You didn't like it, did you?" he assumed.

You paused, but confessed, "It was uncomfortable. I did feel a little pressure somewhere that felt sorta good, but it was hard to get through."

"I'm sorry. You, uh. You just felt great, ya know? It's like your entire body was meant for me. From your quirk to your pussy to..there, too."

You lit up with laughter and a relief shot through Tomura. "I am meant for you. I'm all yours, Tomura. That's why I wanted to do this. I wanted to make you feel good."

"Well, thank you," he chuckled. "Do you need a shower? Or like, I don't know, another orgasm? My fingers don't have a refractory period, thankfully. I want to take care of you."

"Do you really?"

"Yea. You were so good to me tonight, you deserve to be spoiled," he smiled, tapping on your nose with the pad of his finger. You scrunched your nose cutely and and giggled at him, making his heart flutter.

"I just want cuddles."

"Really? That's all?"

"Yea," you grinned, kissing his jaw. "Pleeasse?"

"You can have as many cuddles as you need, my evil princess," he says, knowing full well how cringe that pet name sounded. "You'll have to clean up a bit, though. Unless you want cum in your ass all night."

"Yea, that's probably not good."

"Come wash up with me? Then we can cuddle, kay?"

"Ehehe, yes, Tomura. I love you."

"I love you more."

[lailawinchesterr]

silence in the city (two)

part i

pairing; sam x reader/ dean x reader summary: you cook for the two boys and start to feel like you’re fitting in again. tags; mention of rape, degradation, suggestive content, soulles sam.

tw: reference to the night of the rape but not detailed just him calling her names but guys please be mindful of what you consume, if this might trigger you in any way or if you’re not comfortable with this topic please please don’t read

"Sam," I moan against his hair, sliding my fingers through it. He's kissing my neck, then higher and higher, behind my ear, my face, my lips. He's getting so close to me. And I can't think straight when he's this close because all I can remember is him pounding into me that night—

"Hey," his voice forces me back to where we are. His room. The bunker. His bed. His his his. How do I even fit here, with the Winchesters? “Hey, what happened? Where'd you go?"

"I— I don't know, what happened?" I echo the question, mostly asking what I did when he's decided on shaking me softly out of it.

"You were with me. I was kissing you but you were shaking and... fuck, are you okay? You really scared me. I think you were trying to tell me to stop but you just—" He's stepped back now, sitting on the bed a few inches away, he's still towering over me but it doesn't bother me as much as it did when he was kissing me, he's just really scared.

"I'm sorry," I mumble, trying to get up and off the bed. "Sorry, just thought about something and I couldn't stop."

"Yeah? Was it something bad?" He lets me leave his bed but stares at me in a way that makes me think he won't be so generous about me leaving the room.

"No, just something. I think I'll— yeah, you guys are probably hungry, I'll go make dinner." I don't move until I see him nod, but while walking out I don't miss the way his whole body deflates and his hands scrubbing down his face. 

My whole chest hurts and I want to cry again for the tenth time today but I just can’t help it. I’ve been trying so hard with Sam and I know he sees that, I know he hears me cry at night when we’ve went a little too far or how I start shaking whenever we’re alone and he runs a hand up my body. I’m not scared of him, I know he wouldn’t do anything like that, I trust him, but just— i don’t want to, just can’t do anything with him when all I imagine is that fucking monster pounding into me, calling me a slut, telling me to take it.

“Hey, angel,” I perk up at the sound of nickname coming from Dean. I’m still looking through the cabinets for any ideas for dinner so I entertain him, nodding. “What’re you cookin’?” That Texan accent.

“Oh, just pasta probably. I’m not sure, any requests?” He drums his fingers onto the table, seemingly in deep thought, “Not pie, Dean.”

“Dick,” He rolls his eyes but I let out a huff at his playfulness, my tone similar to his.

“Slut,” I retort back quickly, waiting for him to actually give me suggestions. Though it looks like pie was his only running thought (maybe something with bacon too) and I decide to pick out a bunch of random spices, hopefully the idea will come to me as I make it. 

I am glad Dean is with me in the kitchen though. For all the shitty me and Sam have been going through this past month, me and Dean have gotten closer, especially since his heartfelt declaration in this very room. 

Albeit, I haven’t seen soft Dean since then, but I got enough to last me a lifetime. “What about something from your home? I can try to help too.”

My eyes widen. “You want a proper Egyptian meal? Are you serious?” It makes me giddy more than I’d like to admit cause fuck that’s kinda the most adorable thing anyone has ever asked of me. He wants me to make him something from my culture? That’s… 

“Yeah, ‘course. Don’t know why we never had Egyptian before, but let’s do it. What’s on the menu today?” He says casually but my cheek’s all pink and my mouth hurts from grinning and I bet I’m even beaming a bit but it’s all expertly concealed as I give him my back to look through the fridge.

“Yeah, we can do that. How about… do you guys have cabbage?”

“I’m not sure. Sam probably—” 

“There, found it!” I answer myself quickly, looking at the bottom drawer. I take it out, figuring it’s big enough for maybe all three of us, could even have some left overs. “I can get started on the mahshy and leave it to cook while I go get some stuff from the market, how’s that? Y’all don’t mind a few hours before dinner, right?”

“The what?”

“Mahshy, honestly our most popular dish. Or maybe waraa enab, either way, you might like them. I don’t know if you’ve ever tasted anything like them but… I can make pizza too, incase it isn’t something you end up enjoying.”

“I’m sure it’ll be good, sweetheart.” I nod then run to the drawers, as if he’ll change his mind, to start getting supplies. 

Two hours later I’ve finished making the rice and stuffing it into the cabbage then rolling them, letting Dean attempt a couple, and put it all on the stove to cook. “Okay, I wanna try and make pigeons, too, for protein.”

“I’m sorry— you what?” 

I keep scrubbing my hands clean at the sink, biting my lip between my bottom teeth. I often forget what’s common and what’s uncommon here in America, mostly ‘cause I’ve only been here a decade, but in my home two. 

“Yeah, I mean, you don’t have to, I don’t know— what kind of bird do you eat? It’s just usually made with pigeon or hamam in Arabic and I guess I figured if we’re… you know, but we can do…” The words are blurting out my mouth and I see Dean holding in a laugh. I deflate a little and he chuckles, walking towards me. 

“Sweetheart, whatever you make will be perfect. I didn’t know you were stressing about this. You know we love your cooking.”

“Yeah but this is different, you’ve never had this before and obviously I won’t be offended if you guys don’t like it— that goes without saying,” and I check Dean’s expression through my eyelashes so there’s hopefully no doubt about that, “but I wanna make it good for you.” I’m assuming the you is heavy on him because he takes a deeper breath but then shakes his head, moving his hand from his side to my back.

“Let’s go to the market. Wanna get Sammy?” And then, a beat, “Or you guys could go and I can watch the food here?”

“No, no. He’s probably busy, we should go. Surprise him ‘n all.” Dean looks down at me, he looks like he’s going to reject the idea, plus I’m about to apologize for suggesting it, but then I feel him nudging me forward with a smile and we walk to the garage.

We’re going to the market for some food.

Me and Dean.

K.

It’s uncharacteristic of Sam to both be dry and not grammatically accurate while texting and it makes my chest constrict before I shut the phone off and stare out the window. I already know tears are running down my cheek but I don’t want to acknowledge it at the moment. God, I have so so much to just cry about, it’s all since I’ve stayed with these Winchesters. I love them, and I love Cas, and Charlie, and Jody obviously but that doesn’t take away from all the pain they’ve caused me.

Sam (soulless) fucked me while I kept screaming at him to stop. Practically raped me. Dean didn’t speak to me for years, not even after what Sam did, though I’m not sure how much of that he actually knows. Hunters and supernatural creatures alike have tried to smite me so many times to get the Winchesters that I’ve lost count. I’ve been used as bait too many times and almost died even more. I’ve watched these two men die over and over and over again. 

It never ends, even when Sam got his soul back; leviathans got thrown back to purgatory; Dean came back from purgatory; Sam went through the trials; Angels falling then Dean got rid of the mark; then the darkness. It just doesn’t end, and I have been with Sam through it all. Saw him grieve Dean so much I started to miss his brother that I’ve talked to a handful of times. I let him go through the trials after begging him not to, only for him to give them up when Dean asked him to. 

I don’t think the boys understand what that night did to me. We were all there, staring at the king of hell gain some ounce of humanity and Sam losing all of his while I sobbed into my knees. My voice had grown hoarse with my screams at Sam at that point. Then Dean came in. We all stilled. We all knew what would come next. We all held our breath. Then;

“Don’t you dare think that there is anything, past or present, that I would put in-front of you. It has never been like that. I need you to see that. I’m begging you.”

“I— how do I stop?”

What I had tried to do for months Dean had done with three words, and of course, yeah, they’re blood and all that, but the look in their eyes? I wasn’t sure whether he loved Dean as innocently as he claims he does.

“Angel?” My head whips, giving me a damn migraine, and I face the older brother. 

Dean had never done anything particularly nasty to me. I only started living in the bunker this year so we’ve been housemates for a little over three months, and we started speaking two months into it so I’ve decided he’s heaps better than his brother at the moment. 

“Angel, you with me?” I nod then remember he’s looking at the road, though I’m sure he can see me.

“Yeah, Dee, with you?”

“Dee?”

“Nickname. Like ‘angel’.” He seems to accept it. I don’t though, so I ask the question that’s been on the top of my tongue since we’d spoken a month ago, “Why’d you call me that, by the way? Why ‘angel’?”

“‘Cause.” I hope he doesn’t think I’m letting him keep the answer that brief. Thankfully he keeps going, “You saved Sam. Saved him from himself too many times. Kinda like his guardian angel.”

Damn it. Even the one thing I thought was mine, totally and utterly related to me, had something to do with my boyfriend. 

“— and, sweetheart, you saved me too.” That catches my attention and just as I’m about to ask, he parks in front of the mall’s double doors. 

“Get inside, I’ll park Baby and come in.” I zip my mouth, though it takes everything in me, 

I get out of the car and into the market quietly. That’s how me and Dean finish our shopping. That’s also how we get into the house (though not without our little squabble of “I’m a hunter Dean, I can handle a few bags!”  “You’re also cooking enough as is, stop being stubborn and get inside. I’ll bring the bags.”)

I told him he should go check on his brother while I make the pigeon, that takes much less time than the mahshy. Dean doesn’t come back, but an hour later everything is ready to serve so I text him to get Sammy and come down. 

I may or may have not brought a frozen pizza at the market and put it in the oven incase they don’t enjoy the meal— it just makes me feel more at ease. I’ve never been so nervous in my life, not even when me and Sam had sex the first time. Or when I said yes to our first date. Or when I came to America alone.

But here I am, panicking out of my boots because Sam and Dean Winchester are gonna taste Egyptian food by my hand for the first time. “Angel, you’re shaking,” I look at Sam first and he’s smiling at me but it’s clear he’s not happy. I’m not sure about which part.

It’s already close to ten and I left our room in a hurry at six so I can only think of the contemplation he’d done. About me and us and our sex life and everything.

“Want any help, honey?” I let a smile spread over my face as I nod once at Sam. Yeah, okay, maybe I’m overreacting. 

He goes to grab a plate but I shake my head and point to the ten inch tray we have for when we’re serving guests. He furrows his eye brows but does at told and I tell him to put it on the counter where we’re eating. He does so and I grab the pot of mahshy then flip it upside down on the tray. Both men seem to jump at my sudden movement but quickly relax when they see it was not an accident and that I have it under control. 

When I flip the pot, we all stare at the excessive smoke from the dinner and I smile. I almost want to snap a picture and send it to my mother. She’d be proud. If we still talked. 

I shake the thought out of my head and we decorate with some parsley then salt. Me and Sam grab more plates and I serve the fried pigeon and traditional salad. 

“Woah, Angel. This looks fuckin’ incredible.”

“Yeah, what is that?” Sam agrees and I serve some on both their plates (though my mother would scold me for that one ‘we always eat from the pot’ but I don’t think they’re ready for that much culture yet). 

“Oh, uh,” I see both men’s focus on me and the food they’re trying, “Mahshy is just cabbage with rice, I guess. Broth too, but I used mostly water since y’all don’t have that here— but it should be just as good.” 

Dean’s the first to stop blowing on his food like a fucking girl and actually put the finger into his mouth. He chews and chews and then—

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” My heart stops, “This is… oh my god.” He starts shoving more onto his fork from the top of the steaming pile so it’s the least hot.

“Really? You’re not fucking with me?” I ask, like a hopeful child on Christmas Eve, I bet.

“Angel, this is amazing.” I smile so wide I’m sure it could stretch to next Monday. I face Sam and he’s… he’s eating. 

Sam is actually fucking eating my food. Not that he’s ever not eaten my food, but he asks about the ingredients first, frickin’ diet he’s on or something and tries it first, but no trying today. Sam goes right in. 

“You said—” Dean says through a mouthful and it pulls a surprised laugh out of me so he swallow before resuming, “Said something ‘bout protein?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I start to give each of them a bird from the four on the table. It’s stuffed with a dried wheat mix I made. Honestly, I had to make literally everything on the table. America doesn’t provide the right spice mix, or sauce, or even wheat mix, for me have any help. And I wanted it to be perfect. 

“What is that?” Sam asks a second after he’s cut his one open. 

“Dried wheat mix.” And then I remember the fucking diet he was just telling me about— “Sammy, ‘m so sorry, I forgot about—”

It’s evident he doesn’t mind because he tried it with no hesitation then lets out soemthing between a growl and moan that I thought was reserved for the bedroom but was apperantly not off limits to my cooking too.

“This is absolutely fuckin’ delicious, sweetheart. How’d you… wow.” And I don’t think he’s actually asking anything, he’s just praising me. 

I feel a blush on my cheek from both the extremely positive feedback and small praises both men have thrown my way. I quickly get up to get them beers from the fridge but both men groan so i quickly look back to them.

“Where’re you goin’? You didn’t even try the food.”

“Getting your beers.” I smile and run over to get them then back. 

“What about you?” It’s no secret I don’t drink so I shrug and pour some of Sam’s pineapple juice/smoothie mix thing into my cup. 

I touch around some of my food, but I’m not entirely sure I made enough for both men after seeing them eat like they are so I want to keep as much as I can for both of them. I don’t think they notice because they go in for seconds— then Dean for thirds and the pot is almost empty when they both decide they’re full and there’s only one pigeon left, the one on my plate.

“Y’all like?” They both look offended and I laugh, “I’m so glad you actually enjoyed it. Can’t believe you guys enjoy Egyptian food like this.”

“Yeah? You made it so damn well, too.” I can hear the satisfied tone my boyfriend gave and I smile. “Shit! We should’ve asked what you do before you eat. Tradition in Egypt and all that. We could’ve really made you feel at home.” 

Dean doesn’t seem to care what Sam’s saying though because he’s leaning back in his chair, phone in one hand as he lazily drinks his beer. 

“Actually, it’s after we eat.” Sam smiles, urging me to go on, “but it’s religious, not traditional. So I guess it is traditional but just not—”

“What is it?”

“Translated in English it’s; Praise be to the Lord for blessing us with the food we’re eating and for our drinking with no power or will required from us… I think. It’s usually in Arabic.”

Sam nudged Dean’s foot under the table and I let out a giggle as they both repeat why I said and then I kiss Sam’s cheek quickly before going to get cleaned up so I can come clean after. I am still a bit hungry, though, so I might go for some pizza tonight.

+

“Hey, baby.” I smile and Sam dips his side of the bed as he climbs in I move closer to him, nudging my head into his chest.

“Hi, Sammy.” He strokes my hair, long fingers making me moan as I put my phone down and melt into him. “Missed you.”

“‘Missed you so much more.” He kisses my head and i drift to sleep in his arm. Feeling safe for the first time in a very very long time.

it’s so fluffy and idk why but I’m Egyptian so kinda really wanted to write this but also is she liking Sam or dean???🤭 we never know

we might next chapter tho.

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 32 - Whose bed have your boots been under?

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 31 -- Part 33

Pairing: Sy x Alicia (trans!ofc)

Summary: Sy finally takes Liz out on a date! (Which he's late for. And we know why.)

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI, anal sex (f receiving), loads of nerves, mentions of transphobia, some angst, there's a horse dildo in there somewhere, Sy not eating a girl out for a change. This one's pretty basic actually...

Word count: 5.5k

A/N: And once again, it's been a while! I've been working on this date for a long time, but I was in a smut-writing-slump for some reason. Looks like I'm out of it now! (Heck yeah!) Now if maybe I could put this energy towards my novels, that would be superduper great, but you know the muse... Finnicky, fickle little fucker. Anyway: Enjoy nervous Sy on a date!

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @summersong69 @livisss @sillyrabbit81

@ellethespaceunicorn @ylva-syverson @poledancingdinos @thelastsock @wa-ni

@proud-aroace-beastie @totalwool

“Couldn’t find a lower cut top to wear?” Dammit.

“I hate that that’s not even the worst opening line I’ve heard,” I say as I look up at Sy. I’m not wearing heels today, so he’s slightly taller than I am. I like it — not that a guy being shorter than me is a dealbreaker or anything… It’s more like… I’m tall for a girl, and that height sometimes makes me feel un-girly, which I hate. So, the fact that Sy is the kind of guy who looks like he could pick me up and throw me across a room… It helps.

“Hey. Sorry I’m late.” He smiles down at me, leaning in for a kiss. I have to admit I was worried about that. All of it. When he texted me after the party, I was just waiting for him to suggest the typical ‘movie at his place’ date, but he asked me where I wanted to go, and there happens to be a Shania Twain cover band playing tonight at a bar I like.

So, I told him we’re going to a bar. Didn’t mention the part about the Shania Twain covers.

“Wanna get going?” I can’t stop my voice from trembling, and I’m sure one look at my face will tell him more than he needs to know, so I turn around and start walking.

“Any particular reason you’re walking a mile and a half away from me?” He catches up with ease, grabs my hand and turns me to face him. “What’s going on? ‘Cause I’m gettin’ the feeling you don’t want to be out here with me.”

I scoff. “Right.” Do I tell him? He puts his hands on my waist and pulls me close. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy, and all that heat is making me boil over. “I’m scared you don’t want to be out here with me.”

I’m shaking, and freezing cold and boiling hot at the same time. My heart races in my throat, and I can’t bring myself to look Sy in the eye. I can’t cry. Not here. Not now.

The feeling of his hand cupping my cheek almost pushes me over the edge. “I’m sure you have a reason for feeling that way,” he says softly. I nod — a tiny little nod that I’m not even sure he caught. “Mind telling me what it is?”

Fuck. I screw my eyes shut to stop the tears from falling, but they escape anyway. “I’ve dated guys before,” I mutter. “And they were super-duper okay with me, they said… It actually took me a while to realize — scratch that… A friend had to tell me… It was always their place or mine. Never dinner, or even a movie.”

There’s no stopping these tears now. “When my friend pointed it out, I asked the guy I was seeing about it, and…”

Sy pulls me into his chest and wraps his arms around me. I inhale deeply on instinct. Leather. Spice. Warmth. “I don’t need to know what he said, because I’m pretty sure it would ruin my entire mood,” he says softly. That he didn’t want to be seen in public with me because he was scared it would make him look gay? Yeah, that’ll ruin your mood, alright… “But I want you to know I like you, Liz. Pretty sure I’d follow you anywhere.”

I’m laughing before I know it. “Well, that’s a good thing… Because I might have omitted a tiny little detail about the place we’re going…”

“Alright… I’ll go get us some drinks! Beer?” Without waiting for his answer — it’ll be ‘yes’ — I turn around and start to walk towards the bar. Try to, at least, because Sy grabs my arm and pulls me back until I’m standing with my back against his chest.

“I remember asking you out on a date, Liz.” His lips are right next to my ear, his beard tickles my neck, it’s… That damn cologne. Those damn, huge, strong hands keeping me pinned to him right now. “This is a date, right?”

“Yeah, Sy. It is. Wha—” He’s suddenly right in front of me, gently backing me into the wall, hands on my hips.

He leans his forehead against mine. “Let me make something very clear, sugar.” He speaks slowly, his voice dark and gruff. The sound of it shoots sparks straight down my spine, and I clench my thighs together. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before any woman of mine pays for her own drink on a date.”

Speaking. That’s a thing. Words are a thing. Do I know any? Voice… Where is my voice? Why am I just staring at him? That’s dumb. This is dumb. I’m dumb. Oh my god, what am I even doing here? “I, ehh…” Yeah. That’s not good. “Okay.”

He smirks down at me. “Beer?”

“Wine,” I manage — but barely.

Sy cocks an eyebrow. “You drink wine?” No. I don’t. But it makes me feel more feminine, and I really need that right now. “I’ve literally never seen you drink wine. Besides, people who drink wine usually tell you if they want red or white.”

“Okay, busted… I wanted to feel… girlier,” I admit.

“You dragged me to a Shania Twain cover band. We’re good on girly,” he says with a wink. “Beer?”

I nod, and semi-anxiously await his return. “You’re not mad about the music?” I ask as I take the bottle from his hand.

He chuckles as he shakes his head before raising his bottle. “To Shania Twain,” he says, “and great company.”

“Thanks so much for coming out, everyone! We’re gonna take a little break, and we’ll be right back!” The singer jumps off the small stage in the corner and makes a beeline for the bar, where she spots me. “Liz! I thought I saw you!” She’s got her arms wrapped around me before I can actually see her — during the first half of the set, the bar has gotten significantly more crowded.

“Hollie!” I love this girl, but if she doesn’t take her eyes off my man right this second, I’m throwing hands. “You’re doing amazing! How’s the cold?” It had her down for a good few days, she wasn’t even sure she’d make it tonight. I’m glad to see she’s doing well.

“Getting better! The full set is tough, though.” She downs the glass of water she’s holding. “We could use a little bit of you after this break, girl. But first, introduce me to this handsome gentleman.”

Is it totally horrible that I don’t fucking want to? I look at Sy, who casually reaches out a hand towards Hollie. “Nate Syverson. Call me Sy.”

“Well, Sy,” Hollie says with a sickly-sweet smile. Or is that my imagination? “What brings you here?”

“Liz,” he deadpans. Much to my surprise, he’s looking at me, barely even glancing at Hollie as he speaks. “She agreed to let me take her out on a date.”

“Lucky man… And you bring her here?” She gestures around the room before giving me the look.

“I dragged him here,” I admit. We go from ‘damn girl, nice! Break me off a piece of that!’ to ‘what the actual fuck were you thinking?’ in a matter of seconds. I look over at Sy — he looks insanely hot, the way he’s standing there, leaning against the bar. “Sorry, again.”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret, sugar,” he reaches for me, hooking his fingers behind my belt and pulling me back until I’m standing between his legs. Those same damn legs he’s been spreading a little too casually on that damn bar stool. The ones I can’t keep my eyes off. “I like the music.”

When he excuses himself and heads off to the bathroom, Hollie grabs my arm so hard it almost hurts. “You have to sing!”

“What? No!” Actually, yes. I’m secretly dying to get up there: I love to sing. And not to toot my own horn or anything, but I’m good.

“Your song’s coming up, girl! I’m not giving you a choice.” Just Hollie being Hollie. “You want him to come home with you, yes?”

Duh. Then why is the gesture I make hesitant as all hell?

“Alright! For our next song, I’d like to invite a very special guest onto the stage… Alicia Thomson!”

Sy’s eyes go wide, and he raises an eyebrow. I take a deep breath. “Well, gotta go!”

I walk up to Hollie, who’s busy adjusting the mic stand. Even in this little bar, the lights are hot. And despite that, my arms are covered in goosebumps. Haven’t done this in a while… I can still see Sy, sitting in the same place as before, his gaze trained on my face with utmost concentration.

One side of my mouth curls up into a cheeky smile. “Whose bed have your boots been under?”

“So,” Sy says when I make my way back to him after the song is done. “You sing.”

“I sing,” I reply, my smile stretching ear to ear. I forgot how great that felt… Not nearly as great as the warm hands that pull me forward by my hips until I’m standing between Sy’s thighs again.

“Woman, you are amazing,” he says with a smile. When he kisses me, it’s like my heart stops. My head spins, my knees shake — the whole nine. He keeps it decent. Why? For the love of God: Why? Words cannot express how much I need this man, literally right now, and — if at all possible— incredibly indecent.

“Wanna get out of here?” Not subtle, but incredibly effective, if I do say so myself. He doesn't even answer me; he just grabs my hand and pulls me along to the exit.

We don't talk during the drive back to my place, or on the walk up to the apartment, which gives my insecurities plenty of time to get the upper hand — especially when Sy doesn't make a move as soon as the door closes, other than wrapping his arms around my waist.

“Are you opposed to watching movies in bed in general?” Dirty smirk? Check. Playful glint in his eyes? Check. Me unceremoniously shoving him against his shoulder? Check. Ugh. Get it together, Liz. And try to maybe not maim your date. He seems fine though.

Instead of answering, I grab his hand and drag him towards my bedroom, stopping right in front of the door as a sudden wave of anxiety grabs me by the throat. Did I clean my room? Did I put everything — and, yes, I mean everything, in that way — away?

“Liz?” He leans his chin on my shoulder from behind, while his hands slowly dance over my hips, fingertips barely grazing me.

“Can I get, like... Thirty seconds? Just to see if there's anything you shouldn't be seeing...”

“And what would I be seeing?” I can’t see his face, but I can hear the grin in his voice. Yeah... What would he be seeing? I hate the way his teasing seems to shut down my brain. I hate the fact that I could tease him right back if I could just find my nerve, even more.

Get a grip, Thomson.

I conjure up a grin and turn my head towards Sy, leaning it back on his shoulder to get my lips as close to his ear as possible. “Equipment of the... mature personal entertainment variety,” I purr softly. I can feel his cock twitch against my ass, and part of me really hopes it's the voice he reacts to, instead of the message. Another part of me, however, kinda hopes he’s into… that.

“Just open the damn door,” he groans, digging his fingers into my hips. “If I don't have more of you in my arms soon...”

Despite all this big talk, I'm still more or less mortified when the first thing Sy comments on is my favorite vibrator. It's on my bed, because it needed to charge. Regardless of whether it's actually done charging... it's done now. I yank it off the charger and toss it back in the drawer under my bed.

Sy chuckles as he drags a thumb over my no doubt crimson red cheeks. “The way you're looking at me right now, all terrified and whatnot, kinda makes me want to take a dive into that drawer...”

“You're not, like... pissed? Or, I don’t know... intimidated?” Wouldn't be the first time.

“Intimidated?” He laughs — the deep, full, throaty kind that men do that's hot and, in this particular case, slightly embarrassing. “Sugar, ain't no way I'm going to be intimidated by a piece of plastic.” He's still laughing when he drops himself onto my bed and rolls to the side by the wall.

Oh, what I wouldn't give to smack that cocky smirk off his face... Maybe I can. I lie down next to Sy and reach into the drawer. “Not even this one?” I wave a whole lot of light blue silicone in his face until he grabs my wrist and looks at the toy I'm holding with wide eyes. He's definitely not smirking now...

“Sugar... Before I even ask any questions...” He blinks a few times as if that's going to magically make the dildo I'm holding up disappear — or at least transform into something that doesn't look like it jumped straight out of my — or maybe his, who knows? — OF subscriptions. “I grew up around horses. I know what that is...”

“Oh my god!” I laugh — no. Cackle. — and hide my face behind my free arm. “Sorry,” I mutter, “I'm a bit of a freak.”

“As long as we're keeping that away from me, I'm good with that,” he chuckles. “Now... Where the hell does that even go? Never mind...”  He knows the answer. I know that, because the last time I saw him, I told him there was no way he was ever going to fit in my pussy. And since this thing is bigger than he is by... not even as much as you'd expect, looking at the size of that toy, really... God, the man is massive...

I put the dildo back under the bed and snuggle into Sy's side. I admire the way he just makes himself at home in my room, grabbing the remote off the shelf over my headboard. “Do we go the cheesy romcom route, or do we opt for Mike's favorite tactic?”

“I'm assuming that would be ‘worst horror movie of the century’, then ‘hold her when scared’?” I ask, and Sy nods. “What if I don't get scared?”

“I could pretend to be scared.” He smirks down at me. “But we'd have to switch positions.”

I shake my head. I'm comfortable, lying here with my head on his chest, my leg swung over his. There's one thing missing, though. Blankets. Lots of ‘em!

“It's freezing in here, sugar.” Oh? Really? I hadn't noticed! It's not like I turned the heater off before I left and opened the window... I look up at him like I don't know what he's talking about, but he won't fall for it. “Fucking hell, y'all are somethin' else!”

We get under the covers, and I sigh as I sink into his arms again. “But it's comfy, right?”

He rolls his eyes at me and turns his attention back to the TV. “Horror, romcom or something else?”

“Romcom. Anything Ashton Kutcher is fine by me.” Besides... I was actually hoping we wouldn't be watching most of it because we'd be too busy doing other things. Like making out like our lives depend on it.

Imagine my surprise — and horror — when I see an annoyingly large amount of Ashton Kutcher, and very little of Sy's body. What is he waiting for? An invitation carved in marble? I'm practically on top of him, for crying out loud! This is just rude.

And as if that's not bad enough... “Sugar, would you stop squirming?” he suddenly asks.

“I'm squirming to get your attention,” I huff. “Y'know... so you'll grab me, and kiss me, and we can get to the good stuff? You inside me, to name something...”

He winces when I say it. What kind of man winces at the prospect of sex? Okay, I mean... tons of them, probably, and for all kinds of good reasons... But Sy is known, by and large, as a bit of a slut.

“Hey!” he says, glaring at me when I point that out. “Us sluts get nervous, too.”

“Nervous about what?” Oh my God! “Shit, about what I said last time? I mean... I wasn't kidding, but... Ah. First time, right?” The nod he gives in response is damn near imperceptible. “You know we don't have to go there, right?”

“I, eh... No, that's not... Not that I... Wh— I give up. There's no way to say that in any kind of way that doesn't make it sound like I'm not here for you, but for that, and...”

“The gist of what you're not saying would be that it's every man's dream, right?” I can't hold back my laughter. “Sy, it's okay! You suffered through Shania Twain for me — even though I suspect you secretly love her — and you tell me you like me in public, I know—”

“Is the bar really that low, Liz?” He stares at me with wide open eyes, and I can't think of a single thing to say.

I shrug, tears burning behind my eyes as I barely manage to squeeze the words out: “Yeah. I mean, with guys, it sort of is...”

His fingers trail over my cheek, all the way down until they rest at the nape of my neck, and he pulls me close. “You deserve better.”

I guess we're finally done with Ashton Kutcher for tonight... Sy's lips are warm against mine as he kisses me. It's tender. Romantic. Lacking every bit of the raw, needy passion from the New Years party... I'm sure I'll get to see that side of him again sooner rather than later, though. I can feel in in the way he pulls me in, fingertips pressing into my lower back as he firmly holds my body flush against his.

He's hard — my squirming worked — but there's nothing about him or his behavior that draws any attention to the fact. What a true gentleman.

Sy pulls back and raises an eyebrow when I chuckle out loud. “Not what a man wants to hear,” he mutters under his breath, making me laugh even harder.

“I’m sorry,” I manage between fits of laughter. Am I laughing to avoid having a serious conversation about this? Absolutely! It’s way too early for that. I barely know this guy. That said, the laughter isn’t exactly helping, I suppose, so it doesn’t really matter. “It’s just that you’re trying so hard to be sweet and gentlemanly and I’m over here trying to seduce you and it feels a little… backwards? It’s funny, okay?”

His eyes darken, and when he speaks again, his voice is low and rough. “Ain’t so funny to me, sugar.” If the voice wasn’t doing it, the way he’s squeezing my ass through my jeans right now would. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been dreaming about that pretty mouth on my dick.”

Oh, so we’re playing it like that, all of a sudden? “Including that other thing I did?” I tease. It’s fun to watch his cheeks flush as he tries to keep his composure.

“I’d like to reiterate my disinterest in silicone horse cock,” he says, his voice surprisingly steady. “But otherwise; yeah.”

I look at him for a second too long, and next thing I know, we’re both laughing uncontrollably. “If we keep this up, neither of us is getting laid tonight,” I manage in between fits of laughter.

“Might be for the best…” Hey, what now? I frown — not in an angry way, but in complete and utter confusion. Sy sighs deeply and rests his forehead against mine. “I’m stalling. Under normal circumstances… No, fuck, I didn’t mean— That’s not— All I’m sa—”

He rolls onto his back and groans while I bite back a laughing fit that would most likely make him run.

“Sy,” I whisper, scared that if I speak louder, I won’t be able to control myself, “stop worrying about saying the wrong thing. These are not normal circumstances — well, they are for me, but you know what I mean. You have some leeway in the vocabulary, I promise.”

I take a deep breath and roll on top of him, straddling his hips and sliding my hands under his t-shirt. Don’t feel like laughing now, do you, Thomson? Sy groans when I roll my hips. The way he looks up at me raises goose bumps all over my body. Big hands rest on my thighs, fingers tightening with every move of my hips, squeezing me hard…

My hands are on his chest now, nails digging into his skin, leaving little half-moon marks from the pressure. His eyes are locked on mine, his breathing heavy and quick… As soon as I sit up again, he pulls his shirt over his head, and I follow suit. His Adam’s apple bobs aggressively when he swallows hard, and I smile smugly.

I appreciate being appreciated. Admired. Coveted. And Sy is giving me exactly what I need.

He sits up against the headboard, pulling me in with just two fingers hooked into the waistband of my jeans. Heated moans fill the air as he crushes his mouth against mine, sucking my bottom lip between his teeth while his hands work quickly to undo my belt and unbutton my jeans.

“Could’ve worn one with a zipper,” he growls quietly as he fusses with buttons number two and three. Yeah. I could have. He should be glad they’re not skinny jeans.

The sensation of his warm hands competing with the cold air as he moves them over my waist and the small of my back, is electrifying. To make matters worse — or better — it’s followed by a slow, sensual kiss in my neck. Then another. Then another.

He’s moving, searching, my hands clasping the back of his head, guiding him, until… There. Heady moans escape me with every pass of his tongue over that spot at the crook of my neck, every playful nibble, while every needy roll of my hips earns me a dark chuckle, muffled against my skin. One hand rests on the band of my bra, while the other is draped around my waist, pulling me down while his hand dips into my jeans and squeezes my ass.

Fuck. I need friction. Lots of it. Now! I grind down on him harder, but it’s not working — not like this. There’s too much denim. Too many clothes in general, I—

One simple move of his hand and my bra snaps open. Damn, he’s good. I sigh, my breath quivering with disappointment as his mouth leaves my neck and travels down my sternum.

Sy's barely had his mouth on my nipple for ten seconds when a sudden, harsh bite makes me whimper. “Take these fucking jeans off,” he growls, pushing me back with force. He takes care of his belt buckle with one hand. Why is that hot? “And everything else, too.”

Moments later, we’re naked, pressed up against each other, every atom of space between us one too many. I used to hate being naked — I still do, occasionally, but right now, with him… It’s wonderful. My hands roam over his chest, down his abs, exploring his body. I teasingly run a finger down the length of his cock, and he shivers, moaning into my mouth as we continue making out. It’s his turn to grind against me with burning need and impatience, and I chuckle.

It’s a powerful feeling to have a man want you this bad.

His hands linger on my ass, his touch switching between punishing and demanding, and hesitant and shy.

“You’ll have to, at some point,” I tease. He knows what I mean.

“I—” The end of his sentence is an adorably helpless, clueless look as he shrugs.

It’s a good thing I don’t mind taking point for educational purposes, or else this whole thing never would have worked out. Behind my back, I grab his wrist, and bring his fingers up to my lips. He gets the hint, biting his lip as I suck his fingers into my mouth, his cock twitching against my stomach.

I reach down between us and wrap my fingers around his hard length, while Sy very slowly and very gently eases a finger into my ass. I resist the urge to chuckle when I see his eyes go wide. Sy’s face doesn’t usually have subtitles, but I can see every thought going through his head right now in quick succession.

“I said it would fit,” I say, “not that you could ram it up there within ten seconds, no problem. Just take it easy, take your time.”

“Is it— I mean, does it…” His voice trails off into a desperate moan when I trail my thumb over the underside of the head of his cock.

“Feel good? Yeah it does.” I push back against his finger a bit. I’m five seconds away from begging him for more, faster, harder, deeper, anything… The feeling of the tip of a second finger teasing me gets my hopes up, but he stops.

“Do you have any lube?” he asks carefully.

It takes everything I have to not roll my eyes. Not only do I think that stupid questions do exist, I also firmly believe they deserve an equally stupid answer. “No, I was planning on taking this entire thing up my ass completely dry,” I snap a little too sourly as I squeeze his cock, making him groan. “Believe me, neither of us want that. That’s how you end up in the ER.”

I can barely reach my nightstand from this position, but I don’t really want to move away from him. Finally! I triumphantly pull the bottle out of the drawer. “Here you go! Don’t ration it.” He laughs when I wink at him.

He takes the advice to heart, coating his fingers in a very liberal amount of lube. I continue stroking him as my heart flutters in anticipation. My stomach is sticky with precum — his too, probably — and every stroke draws another deeply sexy moan from him while he explores me with two thick fingers, moving them as if he’s searching for some— Ah! Right.

“Wrong angle,” I moan against his skin, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

I push his hand away and lift my leg up to his hip. Sy understands immediately, reaching between my legs to continue what he was doing.

“Found it,” I say, smirking up at him when he’s found the right spot. I abandon my attempt to continue the sort-of-handjob I was working on. We both need to focus right now.

One of the best things about Sy is that he seems happy to put his ego aside for the sake of learning. He’s not insulted by instructions, and he takes advice to heart. I’d say I appreciate it, but it’s really more of a hard requirement to even get into my bed — it's been quite a while since I last wasted my time on silly little boys who don’t listen when I clearly spell out to them what feels good and what doesn’t.

Sy is a quick study, too, and I’m squirming in his arms in no time, breathing heavily against his neck, with my arms wrapped tightly around him.

“Don’t change a thing,” I moan. Pressure steadily builds inside me, and I know an earth-shattering orgasm is within arms reach, and all he has to do is keep. going. “I’m so close…”

Every perfectly steady stroke of his fingers winds me tighter and tighter until I snap. A sharp his escapes Sy when I dig my nails into his back and bite his shoulder. It’s the only thing I can do to keep myself from screaming as every fiber of my being unravels around his fingers.

He lets me catch my breath for a moment, then he looks at me, unsure how to proceed.

“One more, to be sure,” I say weakly, not entirely recovered yet. I’m pretty damn relaxed, so I don’t expect much trouble. Indeed, the next finger slips in without a hitch. Good. “Wanna give it a try?”

He nods furiously, catching himself in the act and calming down immediately to a tougher, more laissez-faire attitude. I can’t help but chuckle as I reach for the drawer again and pull out a condom.

“How, eh…” He makes a few vague hand gestures.

“The logistics?” I ask, and Sy nods in reply. “I prefer doggy, but…”

“I want to see your face,” he blurts out before I can finish my sentence. It’s sweet, he doesn’t easily look shy…

I pull him in for a kiss. It’s gentle, sweet, and clearly telling me just how nervous he is right now. When he breaks the kiss, he leans his forehead against mine and lets out a trembling breath.

“I want you on top of me,” I say softly, and he nods, moving to sit on his knees between my legs. He puts the condom on and then takes the bottle of lube, applying a generous amount to his cock before looking at me. There’s a question burning in his eyes.

I let my legs travel up his sides, never breaking eye contact, until my ankles are on his shoulders. He lifts a trembling hand, hooking it around my thigh, and pulls me closer before leaning over me. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous, sugar.”

“Look at me, Sy,” I say, cupping his face in my hands. “Just take it easy, go slow, and listen to me. That’s all you have to do.” Well, that and screw me to heaven and beyond. But let’s not tell him that right now.

He swallows hard, putting more of his weight on top of me as he uses one hand to position himself, and I feel him slowly, steadily pushing into me. It’s impossible to fight back a grin when I see his face: mouth hanging open, eyes wide at first, then screwed tightly shut…

“Easy,” I remind him gently. He’s not hurting me — not yet. “Stop for a second.” He instinctively pulls away, but I stop him. “Just stay there. Give me a second.”

My heart threatens to jump right out of my chest, and it feels like electricity runs through my veins — it’s exactly that excitement that keeps me from being able to handle this right now, and it bugs me.

Deep breath in. Hold. Breathe out.

I repeat it a few times, until I feel Sy sink into me a little further. “We’re good,” I say, my voice barely more than a breath.

Carefully, he pushes deeper into me, until his hips rest against my ass. “Goddamn, sugar,” he pants.

“Tell me about it,” I reply with a smile, relishing the feeling of his thick cock stretching me out. His first thrust makes me whine — then again, louder, when he leans down to kiss me. He sticks with a slow, gentle rhythm, in time with the way his lips move against mine. His low growls mixed with my moans fill the room, and soon I’m begging him to go faster.

“I won’t last ten seconds,” he grunts, but I don’t really care. So he sits up on his knees again and picks up the pace, his thrusts growing rougher with every move. His breathing quickens, his grip on my thighs tightens. I watch his face closely, amusement mixed in with my own desire. His eyes are closed, brow furrowed. A bead of sweat runs down his forehead. He’s clenching his jaw, lips trembling as he tries to hold on — but it’s no use.

“Fuck.”

‘Fuck’, indeed. His last thrusts are reckless, punishing, the low growl he lets slip as he finishes is music to my ears. I whine softly when he pulls out, taking a moment to adjust to the sudden emptiness.

It gets worse when he gets out of bed to clean up. I’m shivering, cold and alone, furiously wishing for Sy to come back and hold me. “Sy?” I plead. “Please talk to me.”

“What? I’ll be right there, sugar.” I know it’s ridiculous. He doesn’t even leave the room, for crying out loud! And yet I feel tiny and abandoned until Sy crawls back under the covers with me and holds me safely in his arms. “Shower?”

“Tomorrow,” I sigh, snuggling tightly against his chest. Yeah. This is alright.

[esperwatchesfilms]

Dune (1984)

This is my father's favorite movie. Every time I walk into my parents' house, I see the Baron floating around laughing maniacally. I have never watched it in its entirety, and with the new ones out, I wanted to watch this before I moved on to Dune: Part One. I spent an hour of the film being SO confused about what was happening and why. But about an hour in (I know, that's a long time), I realized how super into it I was, and the more I started to understand what was up, the more I enjoyed it. Ultimately, a really good film, and I hope I enjoy the new one as much as I liked this one! And I can't express enough how much I love the pug that made it through the whole damn film. ESE: 150/100 50 +2 for the brown spot in Princess Irulan's otherwise greenish eyes +3 for her soothing voice +5 for 9 bulldogs +10 for Patrick Stewart -10 for the laughably horrible effects they used for the shields -2 for the wild eyebrows on Thufir -3 for marching with Barbie hands +10 for the Duke telling his son that people need new experiences to grow +5 for the Atreides family pug -10 for the gross-ass fucking pain box +10 for Brad Dourif -10 for needles in eyes -10 for super nasty Baron pustules +5 for Sting -5 for the nastiest juice box ever +10 for Lady Jessica's hair +5 for Paul ticking off prophecy boxes +5 for how proud the Duke looks that his son knows how the suit should be worn +10 for Duke Atreides saving the miners and saying "Damn the spice!" showing he cares more for his people than the spice -10 for the Reverend Mother jumpscare +5 for Paul saving Shadout Mapes +10 for Shadout Mapes informing Paul of the traitor in his midst -10 for Yueh being a major shitterton +5 for the pug making a getaway +10 for Gurney saving the pug -10 for Yueh being all sookie-la-la after betraying people who were so good to him -5 for the death of Duncan Idaho +10 for Yueh's death because seriously, what a shitterton -10 for the Harkonnen Mentat guy trying to feel up Lady Jessica +10 for Paul using the Voice -10 for the Duke's death -10 for the Baron being alive -5 for the death of Doctor Kynes +10 for Paul's waking dream +5 for the second thumper +10 for the Fremen +5 for Paul Muad'Dib -5 for eating the cow tongue +5 for Feyd's goofy undies +5 for Thufir's new cat -5 for the weird advancement of Usul and Chani's relationship +5 for the weirding way +5 for worm-riding -10 for the fast-forwarding through Alia's growth and Usul and Chani's love story +10 for Gurney still being alive! +5 for Paul's blue eyes +5 for Chani trusting Paul's judgment and giving him the Water of Life despite being scared to +5 for the Emperor calling the Baron "that floating fat man" +10 for Alia +5 for the pug making it to the end of the film +10 for rain on Arrakis

[michaelasworlds-blog]

Sugar, Spice and Nothing Nice

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 5: Bean & Sugar

🚨TRIGGER WARNING: SA 🚨

Bean and Sugar are two different people, however they are stuck in the same body. For example, Sugar has been in control for the past few months; this is because Bean can’t control herself in certain situations. She can’t be trusted, she’s too afraid, too clumsy and ever since Bean freaked out in the bathroom Sugar had to take control. Unlike Bean, Sugar was outgoing, knew what to say and knew how to get the things she wanted. She took the interviews, did the films, posted online and was there to pleasure Valentino; while Bean went off with Angel Dust to play in a dusty hotel. Before dying Sugar didn’t even have a name, she was just Bean’s shadow. They could’ve had it all; but Bean got scared and ruined everything for them. Sugar will not let that happen again.

She refused to let that happen again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I can’t believe you were able to get away from the studio,” Angel said to Sugar. “How’d you do it?”

“I have my ways,” Sugar shrugged.

“You’ve been here three times just this week, is there something you want us to know?” Husk smirked, handing her a beer.

“Somewhere you might wanna oh I don’t know, check in?” Angel leaned into her, also smirking.

“You guys are so weird, leave me alone,” she got up from the bar stool. “Nobody wants me here, I’m a lost cause.”

“What?! You’re like a celebrity here, Eric can’t stop talking about you,” Angel said.

“Who?” Sugar was confused.

Husk and Angel point to the red demon across the room, “He watches your porns every night,” Angel laughed.

“Seriously, the guy watches without headphones,” Husk looks disgusted.

“At least with you here he’d be getting the real thing,” Angel smiles.

“No, I think that would be worse,” Husk replies.

Sugar scrunched up her face, he was cute but he tried too hard which resulted in him becoming a nuisance. “I don’t think so,” she laughed. Her phone buzzed, it was Valentino.

Val - Hey where r u??

Val - I need you here baby.

Val - okay what the fuck! Why are you not answering???

Val - You and Angel are pissing me off!

She put her phone away.

“You know, you don’t have to be at his beck and call,” Angel walked up to her.

“Right..because you’re the only one allowed to make money right?” Sugar put her hands on her hips.

“That’s not-”

“Sugar!” Charlie walked up to them with someone following behind, “I know you’re technically not a guest yet but I’d love to introduce you to our new guest; her name is Voe and she just got here, well not the hotel here but here in hell for the last two months,” Voe had red curly hair, and kind of had the appearance of a deer.

“Um hi,” Sugar said with a half smile.

“Your skin is blue!” Voe looked her up and down.

“Yes..?” Sugar responded.

Voe looks at her.

“Okay, I’m gonna go,” Sugar begins to leave.

“Wait, Sugar!” Angel followed her outside. “You said you liked it here, why not stay?”

Sugar faced him, “Because, I just don’t belong here okay.”

“Is it Val?” Angel said in a stern voice, “Did he do something to you?”

“For fucks sake Angel-”

“Are you afraid of him?” He cuts her off.

“Angel! Stop!” She snapped, “Please just leave me alone!” Sugar took off away from the hotel.

Angel sighed frustrated, “Shit!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Fuck yeah!” Cherri bomb screams, “Five more rounds!” The bartender brought her and Angel five shots each.

“Let’s fuck shit up!” Angel pulled Cherri bomb onto the crowded dance floor. He was finally able to hang out with his bitchin’ bestie and he wasn’t gonna miss a chance to get wasted.

“I can’t believe you got away from that dickwad you call a boss!” She danced around him.

“Believe it baby! This might be my only time I can even catch a break!” Angel yelled over the blaring music.

“Then let’s make this a night to remember!” Cherri cheered.

Angel and Cherri stumbled out of the club laughing and singing off key, they sat on the curb together leaning on each other, “Where do you think he is right now?” Cherri broke the silence.

“Who?” Angel looked down at her.

“Sir Pentious,” she answered.

He thought about it, and thought but had nothing to say, “I don’t know, maybe another hell; or maybe, I don’t know, maybe he went to heaven.” Angel shrugged looking at the deep red sky.

“You’re a great person Angel, I know you’ll be redeemed one day, When you do and you see my dad; punch him in the throat for me,” Cherri smiled.

Angel laughed, “You can do that yourself once you’re up there.”

“Oh please I’m gonna be down here awhile, didn’t believe all this junk when I was alive; big man is probably gonna need some convincin’ on whether Cheryl King can her a pair of wings,” she smiled.

“I’m sorry, Cheryl?” Angel burst out laughing.

Cherri sat up punching his arm, “Shut up! See this is why I can’t tell you nothin’!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” He wiped a tear from his eye. “But seriously, you’re getting up there, even if I have to talk to the guy himself.”

“Sure, whatever you say mate,” She leaned on him again.

“It’s you and me huh Cher?” Angel remained looking at the sky. There was no answer, “Cherri?” Angel looked down to see her fast asleep, he smiled putting his head on her head.

Angel stood up putting Cherri on his back. He began walking down the semi empty street, there were some demons walking up and down the sidewalk.

“Do you have the time?” A voice said. Angel turned, seeing Sugar sitting on a bench.

“What are you doing here?” Angel looked her up and down. “And are you drunk?”

“Maybe a teensy bit,” she slurred.

“Crap, are you serious?” He rolled his eyes. He could not carry two broads.

“What’s the time?!” She yelled.

“Shit! It’s a little past midnight,” Angel replied. He was tired and just wanted to go to sleep. “Come, I’ll walk you back to V tower.” Sugar got up holding onto his lower hand.

They walked together in silence for a bit, “Today was the day I died,” She broke the silence.

“Wow okay, that was random,” Angel said.

“I fell right..there,” she pointed to a spot on the street.

“What were you doing outside?” He asked.

“I was gonna go to the club, but I didn’t want to go; so I sat out here,” Sugar stumbled a bit while walking. “Val is probably mad at me.”

“Why don’t you stay at the hotel tonight?” He offered.

“I can’t,” she looked down.

“Why? Why can’t you?” Angel stopped walking looking at her.

“Because.. because I feel like you and Charlie would be wasting your time,” her eyes were watering. “I’m not a good person.”

Angel sighed, “I wasn’t the best person either; I did a lot of terrible shit.”

“What’d you do?” She asked.

“What’d you do?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Touché,” She finger gunned at him.

“Maybe let’s start with something a little easier, like our names,” Angel suggested. “I used to go by Anthony.”

“I’m Bean,” Sugar smiled.

“Bean?” He tried not to laugh. “What are these names?”

“My mom was a big coffee fan!” She laughed.

“Why didn’t she name you latte or espresso?” Angel laughed.

The demons continued walking until they got to the Vee’s tower.

“Well I’ll see you tomorrow Latte,” Angel opened the door for her. Sugar flipped him off before going inside.

Angel made his way back to the hotel, it wasn’t a long walk but it was long enough. Once he got to his room he put Cherri on the bed and cracked his back, “Ow, shit.” He laid next to her, Angel grabbed Fat Nuggets from his chair and hugged him, he closed his eyes trying to sleep; but then felt Cherri sit up in the bed. He turned to her, “Hey you doin okay?” He asked. Before he could sit up, she threw up.

Right on his face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Sugar came into Valentino’s room. She had a very important question for him, “Can I have a dog?”

“You’re fucking with me right?” Valentino scoffed. “You didn’t do what I said, but you want me to do something for you.”

“Angel gets whatever he wants, he literally has a pig!” She raised her voice. “I just want a dog!-”

“Angel gets what he wants because he listens to me! You are nothing but an ungrateful brat!” Valentino yanks her by her arm.

Sugar looks up at him in fear, “I’m sorry..” She looks at the ground but he lifts face back up.

“Get back to your room and get ready for today’s shoot,” he glared.

She nodded before leaving to her room, slamming the door Sugar looks in the mirror at herself. She glares at her reflection, toxic waste dripping from her mouth. Sugar punches the mirror, glass falling on the floor and getting stuck in her knuckles.

Sugar was losing it.

Sugar walked onto set, Angel was there getting his makeup done. She was confused.

“There she is,” Valentino grinned. “What happened to your hand?” He looked at her bandaged hand.

“Um-” She looked at the hand.

“No matter, Angie baby, are you ready?” He looked over at Angel.

“I’m sorry, what's she doing here?” Angel walked up to them.

“Yeah I’m so confused,” Sugar chimed in.

Valentino put his arms around both of them, “Well I was thinking since you two just LOVE hanging out together, I was thinking why not have some quality time on set?” He was smug.

Angel looked horrified, “But Val..I don’t-”

“You do what I tell you,” he angrily said. “Are we gonna have an issue Angel Dust?”

Angel shook his head, Sugar gulped.

“Good, now..get your asses on my set.” Valentino glared at them before sitting next to the director.

Sugar was shaking, “Angel, I can’t do this.”

“You kind of have to Latte,” he said as they walked onto the bed.

“Do not start calling me that,” she sat on the bed.

“Okay get into position, Angel cakes you’re the top,” Valentino smirked.

Angel got on top of Sugar as she laid down, her lip trembling, “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

“And..Action.”

Angel sat in his dressing room, he was in shock; he was trying to think of this as just doing his job. Because it was right? Just a job? It was like all the other times, right? The door opened, snapping him out of his thoughts. Valentino came inside walking up behind him.

“Hey amorcito, you did so good,” he put his hands on Angel’s shoulders. Angel stayed silent not looking in the mirror, “Baby are you upset with me? You needed to be taught a lesson, you know I don’t like it when you disobey me,” Valentino gently lifted his face and kissed his forehead.

“But I didn’t even do anything, I was just trying to get to know her-,” Angel was interrupted by Valentino yanking him up by his robe.

“No! What you were trying to do was take MY souls and give them to that little bitch,” he slammed Angel against the wall.

“That’s not-”

“Listen to me Angel Dust! You are not to talk to ANY of the actors! You are not to talk or even look at Sugar! If you do, I’m gonna add one of your little friends to my collection; and trust me there are ways to go around getting their permission,” Valentino grinned. “Are we at an understanding?” Angel nodded. “I SAID are we at an understanding?!”

“Yes Valentino.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Angel walked into the hotel, trying not to get anyone’s attention.

“You look like shit,” Husk looked at him from the couch. Angel lays on the couch with him, burying his face in Husk’s fur.

“I fucked up,” Angel groaned.

Husk put his hand on Angel’s head, “It’ll work out; I promise.”

Angel looks up at him, “Oh yeah, and how is me not able to go to her gonna work out?” Husk just shrugged. “Yeah I didn’t think so.”

An hour or so later there was a knock at the door, well a few knocks, Angel was too comfortable and Husk didn’t want to.

“Don’t worry we’ll get it,” Vaggie said sarcastically.

“Great idea,” Angel gave her a thumbs up.

Charlie went to open the door with Vaggie being her, she opened it with a large smile growing across her face. Angel and Husk sat up, looking shocked. In the doorway stood Sugar with two suitcases and a bookbag.

“Room for one please.”

(PS: Voe is not my OC, she is @nkirukaj she’s from the story “The Radio Demon and The Billboard Doe” check it out when you get the chance)

[iamfruitie]

Caution and Care Pt. 1

Welcome to a prequel series to the dantimadmare horned!omegaverse that we can all thank @bookwormscififan for convincing me to write XD

I'm not sure how long this will be, but I just couldn't stop thinking about how Dark, Anti, and Mad became mates before Mare joined

There will very likely be some spice because I am weak

Summary: Anti and Mad are omegas that were kicked out of their home pack and left to fend for themselves on the streets to the point that they're starving, sick, and huddled together in an ally, praying for the rain to stop and that the night won't be too cold. Dark, an alpha running a business that one wouldn't call the most legal, finds Anti and Mad in the ally and convinces them to come to his Manor to heal. Little did the three know how close they would become.

Lost and Found

Dark looked like any other intimidating alpha at first glance. Tall stature, broad shoulders, and horns almost pitch black. He dressed in a suit that cost more than the gold watch he was glancing at, checking the time as he headed for his car. The phone he returned to his ear was the same black as his horns, and so was the umbrella he held. The rain had calmed since earlier that morning, but there was still a steady drizzle. The gray clouds above made it hard to see the setting sun’s colors, showing it would get dark soon.

“I parked a few blocks away. I’ll be there soon. There are some new…” Dark’s voice trailed off when he thought he heard a whimper down the ally beside him. “I have to go.” He hung up the call and waited to see if that sound had happened. It was only a few seconds before there was another whimper. The whimper was a pain-filled one, with some heavy coughs following. 

Dark couldn’t stop his feet from heading down the ally, something telling him that whoever was coughing and whimpering needed help. 

“Hello?” Dark called and watched as something moved beside the dumpster, where more coughing stemmed from. “Hello?” He called again as he neared the dumpster. “Oh.” 

“Go away!” An omega hissed at Dark. The omega was soaked from the rain, gaunt in the face like he hadn’t eaten in weeks, but he was using his slightly larger body to cover another omega who looked worse off. The smaller omega was trembling, curled up, and his body convulsed with each cough. 

“You guys need to get out of the rain.” Dark held his umbrella away from himself and over the omegas, getting another hiss. 

“I said go away! I know how you alphas are. You can fuck off!” 

“My name’s Dark.” Dark kept a soft, calm tone. He could tell the omega was scared, and based on what he just said, he couldn’t blame him. “Can I at least help you get back home?”

“We don’t have one.” The omega tried to keep his own harsh tone, but it broke a little at that admission. 

“I have a Manor, a large building with endless spare rooms. I have a doctor who can help you two get better. We have warm water and fresh food.” Dark could see how each thing he said made the omega look down at the other, swallowing thickly as the smaller omega started coughing again. “You can leave at any time. Just let me at least help you get back on your feet.”

“Why?” The omega asked in almost a whisper. “Why are you offering this? What are you expecting in return?” That look in the omega’s eyes told Dark so many things. 

“Because you two don’t deserve to die out here, and I don’t expect anything.” Dark could tell the omega didn’t fully believe him, but he nodded. 

“Okay.” The omega started moving, body shaking lightly as he slowly stood up. “Mad, we’re moving.” He spoke to the other omega, trying to pick him up. 

“Anti?” The smaller omega’s voice was hoarse.

“I can help.” Dark started reaching over, pulling his hands back when the omega, Anti, hissed at him, stopping short of biting him. 

“Don’t touch him.” Anti was clearly using what little strength his body had left to stand with the other omega, with Mad. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. My car’s a block away. I don’t think you can get that far on your own.” Dark tucked his umbrella away under his armpit, uncaring of getting himself wetter and wanting both hands to help the omegas. 

“I got it.” Anti wrapped Mad’s arm across his shoulders and managed a few steps before his legs buckled, and he fell to his knees.

“Please, let me help.” Dark waited as Anti seemed to be swallowing his pride. 

“Fine.” Anti tried getting back up and stiffened at Dark’s hands on himself and Mad. He tightened his hold on Mad as Dark practically carried both of them out of the ally and down the sidewalk. Dark didn’t like how light the two felt. How long were they out here on their own?

“Here we go.” Dark opened the back door to his car and guided the two in. After ensuring they were in and sitting, he went to his trunk, popped it open, and pulled out the spare towels he kept back there. Dark placed the folded towels on Anti’s lap. “Just to help give you a head start drying off.” He explained before closing the door and getting into the driver’s seat. 

Dark adjusted his rearview mirror to check on Anti and Mad. Anti was drying off Mad the best he could before wrapping one of the towels around his shoulders. He used another like a blanket on himself and wrapped his arms around Mad, a hint of a soothing purr coming from him as he and Mad curled up against each other. 

Dark could also get a better look at their faces. Anti had a cut on the side of his neck, an old one that seemed to be beginning to heal, and he noticed that a horn was broken, a chunk of the tip missing. His eyes were soft blue, and his short hair was the same dark brown as his horns. Mad had freckles covering his whole face, eyes a deep hazel, and his short, wavey hair and horns were a lighter brown than Anti’s. He didn’t seem to have any visible wounds, but who knows what he’s seen.

Dark felt a strange warmth in his chest, assuming it was caused by being able to tell that the two omegas had been through a lot. Dark has had his fair share of hell, and perhaps he had a strong desire to help since he understood all too well. He turned the heat up and turned on the seat warmers before he drove off for the Manor. 

x~x~x

“There you are, Dark. How was that-” Wilford, an alpha even larger than Dark with dyed pink hair and horns painted with light blue swirls, had his question stop when he saw Dark walking into the Manor with two soaking wet omegas. JJ, his omega mate with silver chains and diamonds wrapped around his horns, made a worried squeak at the scene. “What happened? Are they okay?” Wilford went over to help and stepped away, hands up in the air, when he got hissed at by Anti. It only took JJ a second to catch on.

“Wilford, go start a hot bath in a spare room. Dark, let’s get them to that room, and then you go get Edward.” JJ’s voice sounded strained as if speaking was painful, but he was talking casually, showing that it was just how his voice came out. “Go.” He shooed Wilford away with his hands. Wilford nodded and jogged off. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you out of those wet clothes and warmed up soon enough.” JJ gently placed a hand on Anti’s shoulder, and Dark was shocked that Anti allowed it. However, that shock lasted for only a second. JJ was an omega, likely seeming much safer than Wilford or himself since they were alphas. “What are your names?” JJ asked as the four of them walked.

“I’m Anti, and this is Mad,” Anti answered. 

“I’m JJ, and that big goof you saw earlier is my mate Wilford.” 

“Big goof?” Anti repeated with a little chuckle. 

“Most of the alphas that work here are.” JJ gestured with his head toward Dark and got another chuckle from Anti. Dark felt himself relaxing as Anti and Mad did the same. 

“Water is warm and filling up the tub,” Wilford said as the others entered the room. 

“Good, good, now you two go. This is for omegas only.” JJ placed his hands on Dark and Wilford’s backs, walking them out of the room. 

“Are you sure you can-”

“I will call if I need help. Go get Edward and make some food for them..” JJ stopped Dark’s question and closed the door. “Let’s get you two cleaned up, shall we?” 

“I can take care of us if you don’t want to,” Anti said, clearly still too weak to walk much on his own, let alone bring Mad with him.  

“Oh, nonsense; if I didn’t want to help. I would have gone off.” JJ clicked his tongue and returned to helping Mad and Anti walk, guiding them to the bathroom. Just the steam in the air alone felt so good to Mad and Anti, the warmth so calm and inviting. “When was the last time you two ate?” He asked as he helped get the wet clothing off of Mad while Anti undressed, hands shaking but moving with determination. 

“Too long,” Mad answered softly, hugging himself when his body was bare. 

“We’ll get you nice and full as well. I bet a home-cooked meal will help you even more.” JJ guided Mad into the tub, and Anti climbed in with him, using the wall as leverage. A groan escaped both of their lips as they sat down in the water. Mad took a deep inhale and started coughing harshly. “Oh dear, we’ll have Edward look into that cough.” 

“He doesn’t have a fever. I don’t know what’s causing it.” Anti said. 

“Maybe a bug or something. Edward’s a talented doctor and will get you two good as new as quickly as possible.” JJ grabbed a cleaning rag and dunked it into the water. He took one of the soaps, squirted it on the rag, and cleaned Mad’s back. 

“I’m shocked you’re not asking how Dark found us.” Anti let himself sink a little more into the water. 

“Dark’s found most of us on the streets. I assumed you’re likely the same, and if I’m wrong, then it’s none of my concern unless you wish to tell me.” JJ softly smiled when Mad began to purr. 

“Is this just a big home for abandoned people or something? Does he have a bunch of omegas hidden away here?” 

“I was actually the only omega before you two arrived. Everyone else here are alphas. The business kind of calls for that.”

“Business?” 

“Now, that’s something I’m not allowed to explain without Dark’s permission. But I promise you’re not in any danger.” JJ handed Mad the rag and let him try cleaning the rest of himself, mostly only needing his arms aside from his hair. He got a new rag, repeated the prepping process, and moved to Anti’s side of the tub. 

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Anti muttered, turning and letting JJ clean his back off. It had been so long since he’d gotten cleaned by a fellow omega or even just clean in general, and it internally hugged that need within him. 

“It’s complicated,” JJ said. 

“Is this shampoo?” Mad asked, grabbing one of the bottles from the side of the tub. He got a nod from JJ and then started using his hands to wet his hair.

“Sounds like the stuff you’re doing is illegal.” Anti hummed and had his comment confirmed when JJ didn’t respond. “Strangely enough, that makes me feel better.” 

“How?” JJ asked, working on cleaning Anti’s shoulders and pausing at the sight of the wound on his neck. He tried to ignore the broken horn, but the wound made it stick out even more. JJ wanted to ask what happened and what caused this. Horns were a massive pride point for anyone, so bringing up a horn’s damage was taboo, and that kept those questions sealed away.

“Come here, Mad.” Anti beckoned Mad over to him with his hands. He took the shampoo and poured some into his hands before scrubbing it into Mad’s hair. Mad relaxed against Anti and started purring right away. “And it’s because if you’re telling the truth about being the only omega and you only smell of your mate, then what’s happening here doesn’t involve hurting omegas.” 

“Smart man.” JJ softly chuckled, being as gentle as possible with wetting Anti’s hair and scrubbing some shampoo into it as well. 

“That’s Mad. He’s the smart one of us.” Anti leaned into the touch. 

“If he’s the smart one, I’m a little concerned about just how intelligent he is.” 

“You should be.” 

“Hello?” A voice spoke from the bedroom door. 

“That’s Edward,” JJ explained, rinsing his hands off in the water before getting up. “Give me a moment, and I’ll help you two get out of the tub. There’s some spare clothing in the bedroom, and I’ll see what I can find to fit you.” Anit just nodded to show that he understood. JJ stepped out of the bathroom and closed the door. 

“Are we staying here, Anti?” Mad asked. 

“For a bit. They promised food and a doctor’s going to check on you. If things look too dodgy, we’ll sneak out.” Anti started using his hands to cup some water and began rinsing Mad’s hair.

“I hope it’s nice here. I miss being in a home.” Mad sighed.

“I know. And sleeping on a soft, clean bed sounds so good.” Anti checked that all of the soap was gone from Mad’s hair before hugging him, resting his head on his shoulder, and having his soapy hair facing away from Mad’s neck. “Maybe we’ll get lucky, and we can live here. But I’ll need to figure out these alphas first.” 

“I think we’ll be okay here.” 

“You’re already sounding better by just taking a bath. Hopefully, that doctor of theirs is a good one.” 

“Yeah.” Mad’s voice trailed off, showing that what little energy burst he had gotten had worn off. 

“I’ll bite them if they’re not.” Anti’s threat got Mad to giggle. 

“It’s me,” JJ said before walking back into the bathroom, holding some clothing in his hands. “They have some food cooking for you to eat after a quick look over by Edward. Let’s finish your hair and get you both dried off and dressed.” He sat the clothing down on the toilet and started rinsing the soap from Anti’s hair. 

“What all is this Edward wanting to do?” Anti asked.

“Temperature, weight, make sure you don’t have any infections. He’ll probably want a closer look at your neck and horn.” JJ wasn’t shocked when Anti placed a hand over the broken part of his horn.

“It’s fine,” Anti muttered.

“It’s better to be safe than sorry. I’ll stay in the room if you’d like.” JJ stood up and helped Mad to his feet, getting him out of the tub and wrapping a towel around him. 

“Please,” Mad said softly, hugging himself with the towel, enjoying how soft and fluffy it was. 

“Are you okay with that?” JJ asked Anti, helping him from the tub next and wrapping a towel around him, too. 

“If Mad is, then I am.” Anti stated, trying to sound neutral, but JJ could tell he was also thankful for the offer. 

“I’m not sure how well these will fit you, but they’re clean and dry.” JJ helped both of them get dressed, having caught on to Anti’s protection of Mad, and got him dressed first. “Not too bad,” JJ said after Mad and Anti had the clothing on. He had grabbed the same size for both of them, and it was a little big on Anti, making it a little bigger than that on Mad. “Are you ready? Edward’s likely already set up in the room for you two.” JJ waited as Mad took Anti’s hand and squeezed it. 

“We’re ready,” Anti said with a nod. 

------

Next Part: Link

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

Oh my.

* the community label is incorrect, there are no dirty themes in this *

Happy belated Hallowtide, y’all.  Here’s another chapter, slowpokes :)

When - right after A cause for concern. You’re still at the table with Hershel and your glass of activated charcoal. S02 episodes Cherokee Rose + setup for Chupacabra.

What - Hershel just asked you if your brother Shane “is a cause for concern.” Turns out, Daryl walked in and heard. You also keep meaning to talk to Lori but there have been a lot of interruptions...

Relationships - slow cooker Daryl x You is in the works, of course. Right now y’all are at the cooking stage where Daryl just wants to hang out with his only friend :( but you keep being otherwise occupied. You even defend him to Hershel tonight. As for you and the gang, we got casual brotherly/sisterly affection between yourself, Shane, Rick, and Lori.

Perspective - still stuck in 2nd person You + 3rd person “one who often carries the crossbow”

TWs - some language and some alcohol use (Dary-bear)

Pronouns - they/them, feminine implied at times

Word count - it won’t irk you this time

Masterlist - capital idea considering all the references! Checking out the four chapters chronologically before this one (What were your nightmares about?, Better with a friend, Picking a flower = saving the day, and A cause for concern) as well as Too much thinking before bed, Part 2 is recommended.

Him

That old man is sharp. At least somebody else is seeing it.

Really, it’s as if Daryl could literally smell the bullshit during Shane’s little speech at the funeral.

Though, the other old man might see it, too. Dale. It was about a month ago he’d noticed that Dale stopped being chummy with Shane the way he was with everyone else, even to Daryl himself.

And Lori has seemed real uncomfortable around Shane, too, come to think of it.

Maybe he’s not as alone in seeing that guy’s hiding something as he first figured.

It just sucks that Y/N is having to admit that about their own family, if just to themself. And Daryl knows all about what it’s like to admit that shit about a brother, if just to himself.

Speak of the devil, Lori is now walking by him, quietly whispering, “How are you, Daryl?” as she scoots out the front door.

Dr. Farmer (his bad, he doesn’t remember Dr. Farmer’s actual name) tells his friend something about a ‘solution’ (?) and Y/N picks up the glass with black stuff in it and��ew, start to sip it through a straw. The hell is in there?

But before he can get a word out and ask, a high, small voice from behind him scares the shit out of him as it squeaks, “Why are you in here?”

He jumps, turns—and holding a choose-your-own-adventure book is the teenage girl, frowning at him and probably freaked out as fuck. Just look at her eyes, all wide and scared like a bush baby’s.

In a way that sounds kinda like she’s accusing him of something, she next questions, “Do you, um, n-need help findin’ Carl’s room?”

“Nah.”

...

...fuck, this is awkward.

Eyes still so wide they’ll probably fall out, her high little voice again squeaks, “What do you want, then?”

Lucky for him, saving his ass is Y/N’s voice. “Daryl? Hey.”

He takes a few steps toward the table, thinking to himself that it sounded like Y/N’s throat was tight but feeling relieved that he isn’t gonna have to talk to Baby Spice anymore/ever again.

“You here to tell Carl about the Cherokee roses, too?” they ask him with a teensy little smile.

No, I don’t know why I came in here but you’re my only goddamn friend and I knew you were in here. “Yeah.”

“Do you remember which room he’s in?”

I actually have to walk in there and talk to the kid now. “Yeah, s’the one with the little boy in it, right?”

Instead of finding that funny, they make a face that reads as annoyed and tired.

Psht. Getting annoyed himself, he marches down the hallway to the room where the kid is recovering while Y/N, dunno, probably keeps drinking that black sludge and gets interrogated by the old man more.

You

All Mr. Greene asked was if Shane would be ‘a cause for concern.’ That’s it. All you had to say that is that he’s going through a rough time, what is wrong with you?

You need to say something to explain why you couldn’t answer and you gotta figure out where the doctor was coming from in the first place.

“I ain’t cer — I am uncertain as to what your question meant, sir,” you say by way of asking for clarification.

“Simply if you feel that there is a cause for concern regarding him.”

“In what way?” croaks from your throat not much more substantially than a whisper.

But now Beth is joining you and her father at the table so nothing more is said.

She thanks you for the flour and tries to make polite conversation, you try to stay upbeat and friendly.

You’re grateful that her voice is soft, because the ringing in your ears is making sounds louder. Plus, her and Maggie’s accents are twangier like yours, so it makes you feel less self-conscious around her father.

You gulp the drink as fast as you can through the straw. That Mr. Greene mixed the charcoal with Tang and gave you a straw is helping to make it less gross.

And when you notice Beth’s holding a choose-your-own-adventure book, you and she start to have a normal, easy moment—until you feel Mr. Greene’s eyes on you and figure he wants you o-u-t.

So, you excuse yourself, thank him again, and stand up to go wash your glass and straw while hoping your dizziness isn’t too obvious in the way you walk as to upset Beth.

But the doctor stops you. (?)

“I was hopin’ to ask you a favor. Or enlist you, rather.”

“It’s okay, I’ll take care of your cup, you can sit back down,” Beth murmurs to you, and takes it from your hands.

You swallow and find your seat again. “What d’you need help with, Mr. Greene?”

He clasps his hands together on the table. “I gather you’re likely planning on searching for the missing child first thing tomorrow morning?”

“Yes.”

“Is it your intention to remain out for the entirety of the day?”

“No.” Oh my God, why did you just—“I meant, I don’t think it’ll, the, um—” please formulate a coherent sentence. “W-we’ll have re-combed the whole grid and further by the afternoon,” you stammer. “And with seven or, um, however many of us will be out again, I can come back. I ain’t writing Sophia off, doctor, I just know that my duties also lie elsewhere. We all have jobs to do.” Good enough. “Do you need me to stay with Carl?”

You thought you felt his stare burning holes in your face, but when you actually look at him, he’s got his eyes on the table, lost in thought.

“That your group has searched so thoroughly and for successive days, it likely means one thing — and you understand that, I can see it. But it doesn’t discredit the other entirely; perhaps that tomorrow the whole area will have been re-swept means you’ll finally recover her. Sophia.”

You have to cover your face with a hand and turn away. How many times are you gonna get close to tears, this is getting old.

Swallowing the latest lump in your throat, you dab your eye with the corner of your sleeve and nod. “We were going to,” sniff, “check the road off the trail tomorrow, then he — that’s Daryl — he mentioned going to the top of a ridge someplace near to get a high view.”

Mr. Greene looks so much less impatient and unwelcoming than he did before but you aren’t certain the reason. Even his body language has changed.

“There are no infected individuals in any of the houses on that road, I can tell you that,” he informs you. “Otis went by that way more than a few times. There’s one home, however — it’s the one closest to the connecting road, northside. The family boarded it up because of that proximity, I would imagine.” He sighs. “No one answered Otis when he called from outside. It may be because they were newer to the area or perhaps there was somewhat of a language barrier, but the house is boarded securely and Otis never received any responses.” Scratching his eyelid, he finishes, “We decided to assume the Bardales left for a safe zone or perhaps a relative’s.”

“But the family might could still be inside,” you state more than ask. In what manner the family could be in, you neither state nor ask.

“There’s the potential,” he confirms. It seems as if he’s intending to say more but is having trouble doing so.

You wait.

He finishes slowly, “We aren’t certain if they caught the illness.”

Beth is coming back to the table with a snack-sized bag of barbecue chips. She offers to share, so you take one despite your newly discovered taste aversion. Chew. Swallow. Think of Amy and Jim and the Morales family.

“What I wanted to ask you was to help me give Carl a transfusion tomorrow. Now, I don’t know…” He stops talking entirely. “I don’t know if it’s an advisable thing. As we are aware, I am not a medical doctor—”

“—For humans,” you interrupt. He is a medical doctor and he saved your Carl’s life.

He unclasps his hands and holds his palms up. “I am a veterinarian and walking a fine line. Now: I know in some circumstances, anticoagulants are prescribed to postoperative patients who are at an increased risk of clotting. Carl, with his injury in that spot,” he shakes his head, “I cannot get it out of my head that he is at risk.”

His daughter loops her arm through his and rests her head on his shoulder as he takes a deep breathe. “And after the miracle we had in saving him, and the sacrifice it cost,” his tone sharpens when he says that part. You bow your head.

Then he exhales heavily and controlled. “My blood type matches his. Before his surgery, while he was still bleeding out, a transfusion from me would have killed him because I still take a daily anticoagulant. It’s a very low dose, but even that would have been too much for him. Now, however…”

“What risks would there be?” That Carl is alive is what’s keeping you sane and grounded.

“I do not believe he would be at risk of bleeding out with just one pint from me. We know that the stitch has held, and I have been restricting him from moving his core in order to maintain that, and I will insist upon it for a few more days.”

“What did Lori and Rick say?”

“I haven’t spoken to them yet. I suppose one could argue I was practicing the proposal with you.” Mr. Greene rubs the spot on his forehead in between his eyebrows. “If his parents agree, I would like both Patricia’s and your hands on deck. You take direction well, and have much more experience with human medical cases than Margaret.”

You must look as overwhelmed and unconvinced as you feel, because he shakes his head at you and goes on to say, “I’m telling you this in earnest. You did an extraordinary job getting that child’s vein on the first try, at a time when he was profoundly hypovolemic, not considering the emotional trial you were undergoing during the event and the two injuries you sustained in its onset that could have interfered.”

“There’s no need to butter me up, I’ll be there for him,” you mumble. Why is he suddenly being so generous with the compliments?

He appears to sigh again, and next turns to his daughter. “Beth, sweetheart, would you mind putting the tea kettle on for me? I want to ensure privacy while Y/N and I discuss some matters a bit further.”

That tiny seed of dread is still firmly rooted in your gut.

When you see in your side-vision that Beth is off in the kitchen, you state the prepared phrase quickly and quietly. “About your question earlier: Shane is a good and decent man, he simply hasn’t been himself.” There.

Mr. Greene gets that serious, discerning look on his face again. “Has he spoken to you about what happened that night? It must be weighing on him heavily.”

Your posture slumps and you can’t meet his gaze. “He ain’t even talked to Rick about it.”

The front door opens again.

Lori’s back from wherever she had gone. She looks like she’s close to passing out. You even begin to stand because she really doesn’t look well. “Lore, are you feelin’ alright?”

“Just feeling extra tired, honey,” is what she tells you as she walks blindly to the hallway, then stops and heads toward the kitchen. You sit down when you hear the faucet turn on.

“One last question for now, and I thank you for allowing me to do so. The man who walked into my house before, the one who often carries the crossbow?”

“Daryl,” you confirm, somewhat cautious.

“Will he be a problem?”

Your head is shaking ‘no’ before he’s finished asking. “He can come across as…” You shrug, unable to think of a word. “But he’s proven himself to be remarkably…good. My mama would call him a work-in-progress.”

But Mr. Greene’s response is completely justified. “I cannot help but somewhat wonder against your statement when I and my family all noticed the schutstaffel symbol on his motorcycle.”

Holding up your hands as if trying to prove your innocence, you explain, “It was his brother’s, he’s no longer with us. And we all hate it, too.” You grimace in disgust and mutter, “I don’t think Daryl even knows what it means.” With a peek at the doctor’s unreadable expression, you unhelpfully mention, “Glenn and I are keepin’ an eye out for black spray paint to fix it.”

Lori’s footsteps sound back down the hallway. The door to Carl’s room opens and closes.

“Do you feel safe around the man, Y/N?”

“Yes, oddly enough.”

“Why ‘oddly enough?’” he counters.

Is there a bright interrogation lamp over your head? “He comes across as otherwise, and he can be a hot-head,” you concede, shrugging one shoulder. “But he never leered at the women, and the kids didn’t feel uncomfortable or unsafe around him. He hunts for us, is teaching me how,” you go on, then feel testy enough to meet his gaze head-on. “And he’s spent more time out there searchin’ for Sophia than any of us.”

“He never made, um, I’ll call them ‘advances,’ toward you? I don’t know his inclinations, but Margaret is about your age, my Beth is even younger, and I likewise worry about Jimmy’s safety in that way. Their—” he cuts off as the front door opens yet again.

It’s Rick this time. He greets the two of you, pecks a kiss on your head, and goes down the hall.

Mr. Greene takes a moment as if he’s collecting his patience. “Their safety is paramount. And as you can imagine, having strange, angry, armed men tramping around my house and property feels like a very risky game.”

“He’s made none at all to me, and I-I don’t think to others, neither.” No way, y’all would have discussed that. Andrea would’ve been very outspoken about it if he’d ever stared at her chest, for one. “We would have discussed that.”

But whatever the thoughts in his head are, you can’t quite to read them in his expression. And he changes the subject.

“Thank you for your honesty,” he repeats, sighing. “Now, with your permission, I would like to reexamine your shoulder before sending you on your way.”

Him

He told the boy about the flower, all about the search, and even about having been lost for nine days when he was a kid. He sanitized it for Carl’s sake, obviously, made it seem like an adventure.

Sophia is his friend, he’d needed to hear it. At this point, everyone should know so they won’t write that little girl off as a goner.

Weird thing was, the teenage girl—sorry, ‘Beth’— had walked in there partway through and sat herself down as if she didn’t trust him to be alone with the boy.

He ignored her and kept telling Carl stories.

Now the kid’s asleep, still with his dad’s giant deputy hat on.

At one point, Carl fake-complained that “After this, it’ll be forever until they let me go hunting with you guys.”

So, he reminded him, “I told ya: be this tall or when your voice changes, then you can come with.”

Beth is reading her book, still sitting kinda stiff as if she’s nervous.

As for he himself, he’s just listening to a clock ticking and thinking that he wants a smoke and another beer and to not be around someone who doesn’t like him, even if it was just Baby Spice.

When Lori came back into the room with a glass of water, she looked paler than her kid, and that’s saying something. Carl’s about as tan as a sheep.

He didn’t think he should leave, to be honest, she looked so drained. So, he sat there.

Waited.

Wondered what the hell to do and felt awkward as fuck.

It can’t have been more than three minutes when Rick quietly steps into the room.

Relieved, Daryl stands up, grunts “Night,” before zooming out.

Trying not to stomp too loud, he walks out of the hall to find Dr. Farmer doing stuff with Y/N’s arm.

The old man straightens it. Positions it forward. Up. To the side. Up. Asks them to apply pressure from different angles. Has them twist their neck side to side, up and down.

Daryl leans against the wall and crosses his arms.

Sometimes it looks like it hurts them, sometimes not. They make eye contact with each other for a second. Y/N gives him a resigned look, he blankly offers a thumbs up in response.

Then he wonders what the hell he’s waiting for and to stop being creepy, and so stands back up and figures he’ll leave.

“It was mentioned before that your shoulder was previously injured?” the old man questions Y/N.

The door to Carl’s room clicks open again, Lori and Beth exit. Beth scurries away, Lori starts to make for the door.

“About a month-ish back,” Y/N replies.

“What was the mechanism of injury?”

“Um, we was tryin’—we were trying,” they rephrase it, less twangy than usual, “to escape from someplace with a…very shut door. We, um, the pain started after I rammed against it too hard.”

Lori stops where Y/N is sitting and lightly smooths some flyaways in their hair.

The old man makes a hm. “That was the original injury?”

And Lori cuts in, weirdly enough. “It was a slight twisting injury.” Softly, he can hear her murmur, “Honey, remember what happened a couple days before that?”

Y/N looks confused, then remember whatever it was. Their mouth opens, closes.

As he finally walks by and out the door, he ears them whisper all shy, “Th-that only bothered me for a few hours after.”

You

“A twisting injury makes much more sense for the other affected areas to which the pain is radiating, especially the neck and chest,” Mr. Greene affirms.

You didn’t even remember that your shoulder technically got hurt when you attacked Ed. After all, your jaw had been what was bothering you the most.

It’s still so wild to you that you’d gone so…wild.

“Lori, don’t let Carol know—oh, and Daryl, you neither,” you call in case he’s still in earshot. That woman can’t find out, she’ll blame herself.

“If you didn’t recall the initial injury as having been serious, consider it having been akin to small ding in a windshield. Minor impact or driving into a pothole in the road can lead to a bigger crack, and from there, much more serious damage at a moment’s notice. Likewise, having a small injury, even a barely noticeable tear, made the force against the, uh, door injure you more than it may have,” he explains, “which eventually, if the injury did not fully heal or heal properly, worsened still when you carried young Carl here.”

Lori kisses you on the head and places her hands on your shoulders, rubbing them gently.

“Now, I have just about zero knowledge of physical therapy, but Pat will remember the exercises Jimmy needed after a baseball injury last year to his shoulder. In fact, he went back outside to your group’s fire, you can ask him there. They may be helpful.” He stands. “Now, Lori, I’d please like to speak to you and Rick about something important.”

Him

When Y/N came out of the farmhouse, their brother sped over to them and helped them walk back. They ain’t even talking or nothing now, they’re just sitting quietly listening to the conversation and staring into the fire. By the looks of it, they’re dozing off a little against their brother’s shoulder.

Y/N had a silent, tiny cry soon after they first got back, too. Shane simply put his arm around them.

The basic way he’s noticed everybody handle that stuff was to just allow the person get the tears out in peace and not make a big deal about it. Maybe pat the person on the back or whatever but nothing dramatic. There are more reasons to cry these days, you know?

Anyway, Carol is warming up Y/N’s oatmeal.

As for himself, he’s just about to—wait a sec, only a few gulps left—ah, okay, yep, he’s done with his third beer of the night.

Except he doesn’t even have the spins yet, what bullshit. Why doesn’t he just go to bed?

It can’t be because he’s clinging, no way.

Aw, lil Darylina wants to feel like he belongs by clutching to his only friend like a little blankie.

Ugh, you know what? He could just have a fourth beer and shut up. Still got two left back at his tent, and he could crash after. He’ll need the full night’s rest if he’s gonna find Sophia tomorrow. Check out the road, check out the ridge, get that little girl back safe.

You

You must’ve fallen asleep because all you remember after you stopped sniffling was that suddenly Shane was tapping you so you’d sit up. He stood and quietly set off somewhere, passing Lori on his way.

Huh. Lori. You’d been dreaming that she was crying around the campfire. That must be because you had a cry and knew Lori wanted to talk—oh poop, you haven’t talked to her yet, have you?

As you blink a few times to clear the brain fog, Carol hands you a bowl of oatmeal. Smells yummy.

Lori sits by you. Carol hands her a bowl, too. She lifts her spoon but does nothing else. It’s as if she’s miles away as she stares at her boots.

“It’s true, my dad wore his Bulldogs jersey every Saturday,” you overhear Jimmy say. “I wish he could’ve, um…” He pauses when his voice cracks.

If this is where the conversation had been heading, it makes sense to you why your brother hurried off. The guilt from what happened with Otis. You brush away those horrible, heartless, stupid doubts in your head about what happened that night and pass Lori the unused glass by you that she’s gesturing to.

Lori holds out the glass and Carol pours him some of the Tang that Jimmy brought for you all in the pitcher. The kid takes a big gulp, and T-Dog  delicately taps Jimmy’s glass with his beer bottle in ‘cheers.’

“He would’ve been so excited to meet you, Mr. Douglas.”

“Nah, I ain’t nobody impressive, Jimmy. But your dad?” T-Dog’s serious expression warms into a grin. “The dude who volunteered on the regular to save lives? I woulda been honored to have met that man.”

Sniffing, Jimmy clears his throat and takes another few sips of his drink. Lori rubs his back a few times from where she’s kneeling, then gets up and sits back by you.

“His favorite game was the day after Thanksgiving, 1994. I was a baby so I can’t remember, but the way he retells the story every Thanksgiving makes me feel like I do.”

“That was a damn satisfying game, let me tell ya. Perfect way to finish the season.”

Cue Jimmy’s eyes to expand two times their normal size as T-Dog begins to chuckle.

“Were you…y-you were playing during that game? The Dawgs obliterated Georgia Tech, it was 48 to 10!”

“Hell yeah we did, kid.”

Him

The discussion morphed to video games and how the teenager’s never fired a gun “Other than in video games at my friend’s house.”

Proper farm boy, minus the part where he’d need to know his way around a rifle to deter hogs and all that. He had a BB gun, and “did skeet shooting with Dad’s shotgun a couple times? We used birdshot, so it was easy enough.”

That’s when Glenn and he hopped into a happy little discussion about…eh, Daryl isn’t sure. He needs to sleep.

Y/N is dosing again, otherwise they’d probably be just as excited to talk about whatever Glenn and farm boy are into. He’s still weirdly disappointed he didn’t get to talk with Y/N. Find out their big secret…or just hang and feel wanted.

Sweet baby Darylina, you getting all mopey? Are you PMSing, sugar?

Dale already excused himself to hit the sack, Lori looked like she was about to. That woman’s looked tired as fuck even before all that went down at the highway.

However, Y/N is accidentally using them as a pillow, and Lori has her head resting against Y/N’s with this look across her face like she’s having war flashbacks.

He closes his eyes for a moment as he stretches before standing up to just get back to his tent already.

…

…

…zzz...zzz…

You

“Honey,” softly whispered in your ear pulls you out of a similar dream to the one you woke from earlier, but this time, Lori was crying in the house and her older sister was with her. Mr. Greene was sitting at the table and frowning. Shane was trying to get inside. Mama was outside with him but had her hands covering her face.

Rick and you were by the door, but it was almost as if you were guarding it.

Dreams can be so creepy. And stupid, like, as soon as you saw Evie, you should’ve realized it wasn’t real life.

Back to the here and now, Glenn and Jimmy are really into whatever they’re talking about. Videogames? You’d probably be into it if you weren’t half-asleep.

Lori stands up. Hold up, are her eyes wet?

“You should head to bed, too, come on.” She holds her hand out to help you up. Taking it with your good arm, you hold on when you stand, and the two of you bid your goodnights to the group.

Aw, Daryl is asleep where he’s sitting, can you believe it?

Him

It’s when his head flops forward that he finds himself jolting awake.

Turns out, like his friend, he also fell asleep right there in front of the campfire.

Except now Y/N and Lori are gone.

…This night has been really annoying, just saying.

Actually standing up this time, he grunts what probably passes as a ‘goodnight’ and shuffles drowsily storms off to his tent, set apart from the others.

You

Ears still ringing, you walk slowly to your tent and wonder where Sophia’s sleeping. “I just had the funkiest dream, Lore. Evie was in it.”

The muscles in her arm tighten. “Evie?”

“She looked good. Had on civvies instead of a uniform.” You chuckle to keep it light. “She was hugging you.”

Lori runs her hand over her face. Once at your tent, she and wishes you a “Goodnight, Y/N,” and wraps her arms around you in an unusually tight embrace that she maintains.

“Did you wanna talk now?” you check. “We kept gettin’ interrupted.”

She avoids eye contact as she pulls back and assures you, “It-it’s okay, honey, it’s nothing.”

Memories of that strange night and morning at the CDC start replaying in the back of your mind. There’s a red flag waving with it, but maybe that’s due to your weird nap dream a few minutes ago.

Still, you offer, “I can talk about nothing, easy.”

She hesitates. Inhales.

But all she finally says, with a smile that doesn’t convince you, is, “I just need some sleep.”

White lie. You almost tell her she owes a quarter.

Her lip wobbles and she hugs you again, and you squeeze back as much as your shoulder will allow.

“I’ll see you at breakfast, honey, okay?”

“Make sure you sleep in, Miss Patricia mentioned that. G’night, Lori, love you.”

And as she pulls her button-down off her hips to put it back on, whatever was in her back pocket falls out.

Ha, why does she have a digital thermomet…oh.

Oh my.

Ohh my, okay. Okay.

That wasn’t a digital thermometer, a fact made clear by the way she scrambled to grab it when she realized it had fallen.

“Lori?”

You end up on the floor of your tent, sitting there dazed with your mouth open while the ringing in your ears seems to grow louder. She quickly crouches and pulls the door flap down.

She stops hiding the test and rests her hand in her lap as she sits beside you, her fingers gripping it tightly.

You stare at it.

Yep, it’s a pregnancy test.

It’s got the little plus sign, too.

Taglist (inbox if you are interested, friends)

@spenciepoo338 @its-freaking-bats​ @whistlesalot​

[transpoettryinghisbest]

Who wants some Desmitri? Just trying something new lol. This is early in their relationship. Also Aurora is alive because fuck you. Trigger warnings are in the tags.

I’m okay. No one’s dying. Everyone’s safe. I’m okay. No one’s dying. Everyone’s safe. I’m okay. No one’s dying. Everyone’s safe. 

I curl up into a ball, trying to ground myself by feeling my weight against the mattress, the blankets around my shoulders and over my feet. I squeeze my bear plushie tighter against my chest. My breathing is the only sound I can make out, aside from some distant chatter.

BANG.

I feel myself flinch.

I’m okay. No one’s dying. Everyone’s safe. 

Logically, I know they’re just fireworks. Completely harmless to me, as I’m tucked up warm inside. But they still have some kind of effect on me that I can’t quite place. I just know that I hate it. And I hate that I hate it. I wish I could just be normal and enjoy Bonfire Night like anyone else.

But it keeps bringing me back to that memory.

I’m okay. No one’s dying. Everyone’s safe. 

“DiDi are you not coming downstairs?”

“Huh? Uh…no.”

Aurora’s at my door. I didn't hear her coming. She’s the adoptive daughter of my new partner. She’s a bit of an oddball, even coming from someone like me, but she’s sweet and she seems to accept me.

“But Grandpa Ray made soup! And this spiced cake thing, I forget what it’s called.”

“Parkin?”

“That’s it! He says it’s traditional to have it on Bonfire Night. Then we’re going to burn a doll of this evil man from history. But Dad says if you're coming outside you should wrap up warm.”

“Mm hm.”

I’m vaguely familiar with the history of Guy Fawkes and this holiday, having lived in England for most of my life, but Aurora’s fairly new to all of this. It’s sweet watching her learn and retain things, but I can’t really focus on what she’s saying, I’m so on edge anticipating the next bang.

“Are you okay?” she asks me.

I nod.

“You look frightened, DiDi.”

“I’m-”

BANG.

I flinch. Aurora seems unfazed.

I’m okay. No one’s dying. Everyone’s safe. 

“Oh, are you scared of the fireworks?”

I want to deny it, but I don’t think I’ll be able to convincingly. I just nod, trying to slow my breathing back down to normal.

“Oh that’s why Dad didn't buy any. He bought sparklers. They don’t make any noise. But he said we can still watch the neighbours’ fireworks.”

I’m okay. No one’s dying. Everyone’s safe. 

“DiDi, the fireworks won’t hurt you. Dad says they’re pretty explosions in the sky hundreds of feet away. They’re meant to be fun.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.”

BANG.

I flinch, letting out a little whimper.

I’m okay. No one’s dying. Everyone’s safe. 

“Do you want me to get Dad?” Aurora asks.

I nod.

“Okay. Stay here. I won’t be long.”

She goes downstairs and I stay put, trying to regulate my breathing and ground myself.

I don’t know if what I’m having are flashbacks, it feels more like just constant repeated bad memories and a sense of unease. Every time I hear a bang, I get this impending feeling of doom, like someone I love is going to die again. That I’ll be helpless to stop it, and I’ll be left alone in the world, sobbing on the ground.

I’m okay. No one’s dying. Everyone’s safe. I’m okay. No one’s dying. Everyone’s safe. I’m okay. No one’s dying. Everyone’s safe.

“Love, are you alright?”

Desmond is here. His voice is very soft and calming. I smile, mostly out of relief.

“Aurora told me you were having a hard time.”

I nod.

“It’s alright, I’m here.”

He sits next to me on the bed and I instinctively nestle into him.

I’m glad he’s Desmond today. Descole is hot and funny and interesting and cool. But Desmond…he makes me feel safe.

My partner switches back and forth sometimes. Not in a dissociative identity disorder way, moreso…he’s playing roles. They help him express how he’s feeling and what kind of environment he’s in. He’s Desmond a lot of the time he’s around Aurora and in professional settings, but he’s Descole on dates or…when things get bad. Descole allows himself to feel things much deeper than Desmond does.

Both are better suited to different environments, but I love them both equally. They’re two halves of a whole man whom I fell in love with.

BANG.

I flinch against him. He gently strokes me, making a shushing sound.

“You’re safe, Dimitri.”

I’m safe. Everyone’s safe.

I’m okay. No one’s dying. Everyone’s safe.

“I didn't think it would be this bad,” Desmond says. “I’m sorry I wasn't more prepared.”

“It’s alright.”

“I wish there was something I could do. Perhaps some noise cancelling headphones would help.”

“I… No.”

Something about the idea of explosions going on around me and not being able to hear them scares me even more than this. The idea that someone could just disappear without me knowing.

“No, you're right. An avoidant strategy may not be ideal.”

If I thought running away would help, I’d have left the country for the weekend. I feel stuck in this place, unable to do anything until the night ends, so frightened of something that I’m not entirely sure what that something is anymore.

BANG.

I flinch. Desmond holds me tighter, telling me once again that I’m okay.

I’m okay. No one’s dying. Everyone’s safe. 

“Do you want to talk?” he asks me.

I shake my head.

“Alright. Well I’m here if you change your mind.”

“I love you.”

I said that instinctively, in case this is the last time I’ll ever see him. Even though I know it won’t be. I can’t help but be scared of losing someone else. And I know he feels the same.

“I love you too. I promise you will be alright.”

The one thing that Desmond and Descole have in common, is that they both have a deep sadness within them. Maybe that’s part of what attracted me to him in the first place, the idea that I don’t have to hide anything from him or pretend to be okay. We’re both broken souls. But we found each other. Somehow.

BANG.

I think I flinch less that time. My mantra isn’t really helping, but holding onto Desmond is. He feels so sturdy and real, which helps me from getting lost in my head. I put my plush bear down and wrap my arms around Desmond instead. He kisses my forehead.

“Perhaps looking at the fireworks would help? So that you can be more aware of what the noises are and that they’re not going to hurt anyone.”

That sounds logical, Desmond usually is, but something is stopping me from doing so. I keep my forehead resting against his chest, feeling his chest go up and down with his gentle breaths.

BANG.

I cling tighter.

“That one was blue,” Desmond says. “Quite pretty. I wonder which metal they added to the gunpowder to make that particular colour.”

I'm crying now. I’m not sure why. Maybe because I miss Claire. Maybe because I hate feeling like this. Or maybe because I finally feel safe enough to do so. Desmond's shirt becomes slightly damp from my tears, but he doesn't react in a huge way, just continues to stroke my back.

Maybe one day I'll tell him about Claire. Maybe.

There's a soft knock at the door.

“Grandpa Ray says he's left the soup on the stove if anyone wants some. But no pressure.” 

“Alright, thank you, Aurora.” 

“DiDi, I made you tea. Because you're upset. Was…that the right thing to do?” 

“It is customary to ask first,” Desmond says.

I take the tea. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

Offering tea as a sign of compassion is a very British thing, and given that Desmond is very British, I'm not surprised Aurora picked that trait up from her father. I take a sip. The warmth is comforting.

“I think I'm gonna stay inside tonight,” Aurora says. “It's cold out. Can we have a movie night?” 

“What do you say, love?” Desmond asks me. 

“Uh…okay. Just nothing with…loud noises.”

“Okay! I’ll go get my collection and we can pick one. Dad, can we have popcorn?”

“Sure, sweetheart.”

The fireworks continue well into the night, but snuggled up to Desmond and Aurora, watching a cringy but wholesome film about ponies, I feel safe. Halfway through the film, Aurora falls asleep leaning against me. I cautiously stroke her hair.

I may never get back what I felt for Claire. I still don’t even fully understand what that feeling was. But that’s okay. I know who I am now. And this strange little family loves me with no complications. And I love them back.

[yourimagines]

Hurt by you p.2

* English is not my first language I apologise

* Gif is not mine

* Triggers: Fluff, Violence, Swearing

Y/n POV

Sean asked me to join him at his private gym. So here I was, looking at him train for his next fight. “Sean move! You need to move more!” His coach yelled at him. His sparring partner was throwing some big launches on him. “Okay stop!” His coach went in the ring as they stopped. “What the fuck are you doing Strickland.” He shrugged his shoulders. “You look like a scared little mouse, you need to focus more, stop playing around.” “Sorry, I just don’t feel so good today.” “Well you need to get your shit together otherwise you are never getting that belt buddy.” Sean nodded as his coach walked out of the ring. “Let’s take a break, 30 mins.” Sean walked over to me, smiling softly. “Hey.” “Hey.” We both sat down on the bench. He grabbed his water bottle, taking a sip from it. “Are you okay?” He nods and places his water down. “Yeah, are you okay? Not bored or something?” “I’m okay, I like watching you..” he smiles. “You do?” I nodded. “Yes I do..” I said with a light blush on my face. “You are always welcome here..”

—— the next day——

I was back at my apartment calling with my bestie, while making dinner for myself.

“You guys are what?” I asked as she was rambling about her and Dillon.

“Together, Dillon already post it in his story.”

“Aww how cute..” I giggled

“But enough about me, how are you and Sean..” she sang as I blushed

“Good, went to his gym today.”

“Are you guys already dating or…?”

“Nope, just hanging out.”

“Come on Y/N, just date the guy already, he’s probably thinking about you now… fantasying about you.”

“Y/B/N!” She starts to laugh as I scoffed at her

“Oh come on don’t be a prude…. Just call him and ask if he wants to go out with you, spice thing up between you guys.”

“I don’t know..” I sighed.

“Hey, it’s okay. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable with this but I don’t want you to regret this because you are afraid to fall…”

“I know, I will think about it.”

“Good, now I need to go, I have a date I speak you later..”

“Okay have fun tonight and we speak later.”

“Bye bye!”

“Bye.”

I placed my phone down and sighed, looking at my food. ‘Maybe I should call him..’ I looked between my food and my phone. ‘Okay fuck it.’ I grabbed my phone and called him. I was fiddling with the strings on my hoodie, feeling nervous.

“Hey Y/N.” I heard his voice echoing through my phone.

“Hey Sean, I hope I don’t bother you at the moment.” I felt my heart beating fast in my chest.

“No you never bother me darling.” I quickly sat down, feeling a bit dizzy.

“So why do I have the pleasure that you are calling me right now?”

“Uhh, I don’t know anymore.” I cringed at myself. ‘Idiot!’

“Okay, that’s okay, you want me to come over?” ‘Yes please!’

“Only if you want to, I’m sorry I don’t know why I’m calling you…”

“I’m coming over, text me your address.”

With that he hang up the phone. ‘You’re an idiot!’ I quickly texted my address and started to panic a bit. ‘The food, my living room is a mess, what if he was fantasising about me…’ I quickly cleaned up my apartment, throwing some clothes in the wash basket, folding the blankets on the sofa, cleaning up my kitchen. Placing my dinner in the fridge. ‘Just in case.’ I heard a knock on my door. ‘He’s here.’ I quickly looked in the mirror in the hallway before I opened the door. ‘You look alright for a Saturday night in.’ I took a deep breath and opens the door. Sean stood there in his joggers and a hoodie holding a bag. “Hey, come in.” “Thanks.” He walks in and I closed the door behind him. “I didn’t know if he already ate something but I brought some food.” He gives me the bag. “Sean, you didn’t have too you know.” “I know but I wanted to.” I placed the bag on the counter. “I hope you like Asian food.” I smiled at him. ‘It’s better what I made, potatoes with vegetables..’ “yes I do, you want some as well?” He nods and joins me at the table. “I’m happy you called, I was just thinking about you..” ‘oh no, why did she had to joke about it.’ “You were?” He nods as i gave him a plate. “Yeah, I was thinking to ask you out on a date…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “You want to go on a date with me?” “Yes of course, like I said give me an chance..” “okay, I would love to go out on a date with you.” His face lights up. “Really?” I nodded. “Yes but can I count this also as a date?” ‘Just be bold..’ “if you want that then yes.” I smiled and looked at my plate. “Then it’s a date.”

We where watching a romantic movie on the tv. “What an asshole…” I mumbled softly. “Yeah, she should leave him.” Sean says as he rest his arm on the back of the sofa. “I would never do that to you…” he whispered softly at me. I turned my head, looking at him with already a blush spread on my cheeks. “Are you flirting with me Mr Strickland?” He smiles and he slowly drops his arm around my shoulders. “Maybe.” My heart speeds up as I felt his hand tracing my shoulder. “Sean..” whispered softly as he leans closer to me. “Yeah?” He was dangerous close to me now. “Can you grab that blanket next to you.” I bailed out. He smiles and leans back, grabbing that blanket. “Here you go.” He throws it over us, tucking us in. “Better now?” I nodded and looked back at the tv.

I felt him watching me, his arm carefully pushing me closer to him, as my head slowly fell against his chest. His hand slightly brushed against my arm. I tried to relax as he rested his head on top of mine. “You smell nice, so sweet.” I looked carefully up at him, he had a lazy smile on his face. “Thank you.” His hand traveled up to my neck, slowly to my chin. Holding my head steady. “Can I kiss you darling?” He whispered softly as he leans a bit closer. I nodded and he closed the distance, his lips ghosting over mine. I closed my eyes and leaned in. Our lips touched and he deepened the kiss. My hand went up to his hand as he softly squeezed me. I moved a bit around to sit more comfortable, straddling his lap. His hands move down to my waist, holding me. I broke the kiss. He smiles and wipes a few strands of hair out of my face. I tried to move away from his lap but he stopped me. “Please stay.” “Sean, I’m to heavy..” he shook his head. “No you’re not, stop talking like that…” he softly squeezed in my hips. “You’re not heavy, you can sit on me every day darling.” I blushed and hide my face in crook of his neck. “Sean stop..” “No never, look at me baby.” I looked up at him, he pecked on my cheek. “Don’t talk that crap around me, you’re beautiful.” His hand caressing my cheek. “I want you to be there with me, in two weeks at the fight, I want you to be at my side…” I was in shock. “You sure, I mean we’re not together and…” “do you want to be mine y/n, join me for this ride. I promise I will give you the world.” He held my cheek, wiping away a single tear that fell. “Don’t break my heart Sean.” He leans closer. “I’ll protect it, I promise.” I smiled and nodded. “Okay then I’ll join you on this ride.” He smiles and kisses me. “You won’t ever regret this darling.” He said between the kisses. ‘I hope so Sean, because I’m madly in love with you.’

[spellbook-gayboy]

20 with whoever you'd like :)

20.

"Y'know, there are a lot of situations that that phrase can be applied to, dear brother," Ian grumbled, "but one of the very few exceptions is the fact that you only managed to half-cut the rope that's still wrapped around the bloated corpse's neck."

"Okay, that's fair." Rex murmured in response. The corpse in question still dangled limply from its spot on the bare poplar tree, the thick yellow cord that served as a noose digging into swollen and purple flesh. A gentle wind set it in sway, the shiny white footwear attached to its feet occasionally clicking against each other. "Maybe we could find someone to help, or...?" The hero starts, his voice trailing into silence as something dawns upon him. His eyes, from behind the thick goggles, sweep the small backyard they find themselves in. "...where are we? Why are we doing this? This isn't a superhero thing, it's not even a 'Rex and Ian do crimes for fun' thing! Wha- why are we tryna cut down a body?! What the hell is going on?!"

Ian looks his brother over, recognising the expression that was currently stuck to his features. "Honestly, I'd ask the writer. Some of these prompts have been low-effort before, but this?" he declares, throwing his hands up in a display of useless frustration. "Thi-this is just a scene from Disco Elysium! Like a straight rip-off!"

"Disco... Elysium?" Rex questions. The specific combination of words rings empty in his mind, the two nouns sounding almost absurd next to one another. The gears within turn: could he be referring to some obscure police procedural from decades past, or a novel in his house's vast library? Perhaps something more current, like a film that just released in theatres, or even, God forbid, a trending topic on social media? Despite the absurdity, there is a pang of familiarity at the name, scratching at the edges of that pink wet sponge between his ears. He focuses, and focuses, until...

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Challenging: Success] - Disco Elysium is a video game, written and designed by the Estonian novelist Robert Kurvitz and a collective of fellow artists, musicians and creators, and is currently published by the games publishing company ZA/UM. It styles itself as a 'detective RPG', and features a distinctive painterly art direction, the brainchild of oil painter Aleksander Rostov. From what you've been able to recollect, there is also an apparent ongoing legal dispute between Kurvitz and shareholders of ZA/UM, and you have been advised several times to not the game legitimately, lest you contribute further to the practices of ZA/UM. The advice seems sound, and you already have the perfect method of pirating it on your games console. You will do it, once your curiosity tips you into morally justified piracy.

"Woah woah woah, stop that!"

I'm sorry?

"You! Yes, you! Listen here, Harry, putting us in a different setting is one thing, but subjecting my little brother to the game mechanics? Oh, you should be thanking your ancestors that I'm a fictional character, or I'd have ripped your fucking balls off by now!"

Okay, first of all, it's the new year, and I'm trying to spice up my writing a little. I'm sorry that being out of your comfort zone scares you, Ian, but you need to understand-

"I don't need to understand shit! Listen, Cape-Watch, the old man, everything up until now, completely fine! It's in-universe, so I don't have a problem with any of it! But this?! What's even the point? A funny reference? A fourth-wall break? Like, at least plan these out first!"

How am I supposed to plan these out? They're meant to be short little snippets where people can point and yell 'there's my little guy!' Nothing more than a little serotonin boost before the weekend. Were you expecting Shakespeare?

"Don't give me that! I've seen you write better than this, Harry! Don't you want to be... I don't know, a great writer? One of the greats of AO3, or whatever?"

Not really. Sometimes I write prose, and sometimes I write pigshit. At the end of the day, as long as I can still write, I'm happy. It's all words to me, Ian.

Ian sighs. He rubs exhaustedly at his brow, already tired of debating his creators' reasons for writing. "Fine, whatever makes you happy. Just take us home so I can wipe my own memory."

Rex was very confused by what he had just heard. "What the fuck."

[eyes-talks-ocs]

Tagged by @winterandwords !!!

Thank you for the tag. (And people please go check them out, since I created my writing blog I feel like I've been the lost shy puppy following them around haha. I love their blog so much 🖤)

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FIVE THINGS I NEVER TIRE OF WRITING!

Rules: list five things you never get tired of writing. It can be anything, tropes, character situations, themes - whatever brings you joy.

(let me know all of your secret self indulgence, haha).

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No.1: Contradictions.

My favorite characters I have, are nothing but a bucket of contradictions. Macaw, he's the brute with a nasty reputation and a sour attitude that will put you in the ground for looking at him wrong. But - he's gentle. He'll go out of his way to help or comfort random strangers or be a listening ear for someone. Just don't preemptently judge him before he speaks or initiates an interaction. That will determine how he treats you. Lucan, my DnD child. A genuinely kind and friendly guy who wants nothing more than to make the people around him happy. He's carefree and always in good spirits - yeah he's deeply traumatized with anxiety and guilt chewing at him in every silent moment he has. Before running into the current party he's traveling with, he was an honored member of a cult and by his hands, countless people were sacrificed to his gods. In any moment it's called for, he has no problem being brutal and unusually cruel to the point he scares himself by his own actions because he enjoys letting his frustration out a little too much.

No.2: I'll bring you down with me *insert crazy eyes*

Also a trait both Macaw and Lucan share. Just. A complete stupid disregard for their own life? I don't know what to call it. Both of them so jaded with their own actions of the past that it's led to both of them being reckless with no self preservation left to care. Will sink a ship with them on it just to make a point. Will burn a building to the ground with them in it just to watch their enemies burn with them. Fuck around, find out because I am no longer afraid of death and some days I welcome it. Definitely - hurt me so I can feel alive or else I'll do it myself.

No. 3: Symbolism, Symbolism, Symbolism.

Uff. Especially animal symbolism. But everything from the landscape to phrases, to little Easter eggs for myself when I go back through to reread things. It won't bother me if no one else picks up on them. I know they're there and what they mean. My mind works in weird ways and makes strange connections between things and you bet your sweet bippy it's littered throughout all the writing and art I create.

No. 4: Tragic Backstory.

I think that's enough said. I just. It just happens. I create characters just so I can hurt them I guess. Even the ones I make that WEREN'T supposed to be tragic somehow get a little bit of traumatic spice thrown in there. I mean. Look at Lucan. My goal wasn't to have a sad backstory player character. But a happy go lucky adventurer. Well after rolling stats and all that fun stuff I made a backstory that would fit his stats and abilities. Somehow that led to being a cult runaway? Now as the campaign has progressed more and more dark details have been added to his backstory to incorporate and fit into the DM's main storyline. But hey at least he's still a ball of sunshine to be around! (And my DM loves my character's story and every opportunity he gets, he goes ahead and throws a curve ball just to emotionally hurt my character too haha. Like the last one was a small fight with a Kenku and he used my DEAD FATHER'S VOICE to taunt me. Fuck that was something I wasn't expecting the DM to pull. I loved it.)

No. 5: EVERYONE IS BI.

Self projection. I know. I gotta keep reminding myself that not everybody is attracted to everybody. Ha. But reasoning for why basically all my characters are when I try to justify it ranges from: "This is DnD, how could anyone possibly be just straight?" to the dramatic "he's never been treated with compassion or has felt a soft loving touch. He'll bond with anyone who's willing to give him that." and everything in between.

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This tag is open to whoever wants to do it!!

[brideofkylosolo]

Writer Wednesday Week 34.

Tagging @writer-wednesday

A Spooky Brooklyn Date

Adam X Amelia (OC) (HBO Girls)

Adam and Amelia get in the Halloween spirit.

Warnings: swearing, mention of blood and gore, mention of smut, fluff

     If there was one thing that anyone could say about Adam Sackler, it was that he was an odd guy.  And that was no more apparent than around Halloween time.  While he openly complained about how much he hated everything about the holiday, from the decorations to dressing up, he still liked the things that had to do with Halloween, like ghosts and scary things.  Especially scary things.

     Things like horror movies, watching videos where people got the ever-loving shit scared out of them, he loved it all.  He couldn’t explain why, he just did.  And lucky for him, he had found someone that liked that as well: his longtime girlfriend, Amelia.

     “Jeez, how can you eat that shit?” Adam asked her as they walked down the Coney Island boardwalk, the last bite of her funnel cake in her hand.

     “Hey, need I remind you, you ate a big bite not even five minutes ago, you goofball,” Amelia replied.  “And you drank nearly all my pumpkin spice latte, as well.”

     Adam couldn’t deny that, he did take a rather large bite of not only Amelia’s funnel cake but of her drink as well.  He was rather notorious for that, saying he didn’t like something but taking a bite anyway.  It both baffled Amelia and made her smile.

     As Adam shrugged his shoulders in indifference, something caught his eye: a haunted house.  And not just any type of haunted house, it was the cheesy kind that looked like it would scare the absolute fucking shit out of someone.

     He smiled and took her hand in his.  “Come on,” he told her and made his way towards the attraction.

     The outside of the usual brightly colored storefront was made to look like a creepy house that looked like it was out of a horror movie or a Scooby Doo cartoon.  The front façade had been built up to make it appear to be much taller than it actually was.  The fake windows on the front were decorated to look like they were boarded up along with eyes peeking out in between the slates.  Several ghosts and bats were painted on the front as well; out front, three guys dressed in costumes, one as a creepy clown, one as a hooded grim reaper, and another as a chainsaw welding killer played up the crowd, eliciting screams from several patrons as they chased them down the boardwalk.  It was the epitome of a cheesy haunted house.

     “Looks kinda scary,” Amelia teased as the couple stood in line.  “You sure you’re not gonna get scared?”

     “Not as much as you are,” Adam retorted with a grin.

     Amelia’s eyebrows shot up at that.  “That so Sackler?  Care to make a bet on that?”

     “What did you have in mind?”

     She paused to think.  “If I don’t grab onto your shirt, you have to eat me out later and dress up as in couples costume for Abbie and Ray’s party.  I pick.  If I do, I’ll give you a blow job and I’ll watch Jaws with you.  Deal?”

     Adam nodded his head.  “Deal.”  This was going to be way too easy.

     Before long, they made their way to the front of the line and inside the building.  No sooner had they entered the dark interior corridor when a guy with a fake knife jumped out at them; Amelia jumped but kept walking.

     They entered the first room which was set up like an old Victorian parlor with three life-sized stuffed dolls on the couch.  As they walked past the sofa, one of the stuffed “bodies” jumped up and screamed at them.  As Amelia went to jump away, a scare actor dressed as a statue came alive.

     “Shit!” she swore under her breath as Adam laughed.  She gave him a dirty look as they continued into the next room which was set up like a dining room.

     “Anybody hungry?” one of the scare actors asked in a creepy voice.  He lifted a cloche and the head of another scare actor covered in fake blood writhed on the plate, screaming.

     As Amelia went to step away, one of the pictures on the wall in the pathway pushed open and a person dressed as a zombie burst out, grabbing for them.  Amelia yelped in shock but continued.

     Adam just laughed as they walked into the next room which was the kitchen set.  As they watched the main scare actor, a man dressed as a mad scientist pretend to cut up a victim on the table, someone ran across the scene and revved a chainsaw.  Amelia screamed loudly and clutched onto Adam’s arm.  The chainsaw revved again and she buried her face in his chest.  He just laughed and hugged her.

     As evil as it was, Adam had to admit, he was enjoying this.  He was definitely not going to let her forget this for a very long time.