#(it's naked. you get a close-up of her naked chest. oh and her rotting teeth. and her organs. yay.)

[heartofstanding]

Making A Monster Out Of Elizabeth: A Paper I Needed To Exist 30 Seconds After Accidentally Subjecting Myself To Alice Roberts's Royal Autopsy

[rassvetsky]

Bittersweet

bucky barnes x fem!reader

"When it's just you, Bucky & Alpine in the Barnes residence; time seems to stop, only allowing for heartfelt confessions and kisses to be exchanged."

[2k] | teeth rotting fluff, domestic couple, alpine being the princess she is, emotional conversations & kisses. somewhere in between comics!bucky & mcu!bucky but only conceptually, no spoilers. might do more parts on this little universe because it's so cute

reblog and/or like for a kiss, feedback much appreciated! not proofread.

When it's just you, Bucky & Alpine in the Barnes residence; time seems to stop.

The car horns blaring through the city drown out in the warmth your shared bed carries; your body tucked close to Bucky's as he hugged you from behind, watching the way Alpine's soft purrs got quieter and quieter until she eventually fell asleep, whiskers pushed back with each stroke of the back of your fingers against her fluffy cheek.

The early morning sun fell on both his arm and the cat's white fur, as the metal fingers moved forward a bit on top of your waist to brush through her soft coat over your palm, before finally giving in to his original intent and getting a hold of your hand instead. He was half-naked behind you, barely had the energy to change out of his suit after returning from his mission because he could swear that seeing both of his favourite girls sprawled across the bed knocked the breath right out of his chest.

"I took her to the vet yesterday," you whispered, careful as to not wake Alpine up. "Did some parasitary stuff, it was time for those, apparently. I also wanted her to get the combination vaccine since she was supposed to get it a few weeks ago, but they ran out."

Bucky hummed as a response, urging you to continue.

"Picked up some treats for her too, and some toys. She met a puppy at the waiting room, they got along great except for the part where she just- slapped the living shit out of him for trying to sniff her butt."

Bucky's laugh startled the cat and you sent him a glare, causing him to whisper out an apology and return to caressing her fur. "She's just like you, it's uncanny." he chuckled, making you sigh and curl yourself closer to him. "Lovely and all but still badass."

"Why thank you, Mr. Barnes," you mumbled sleepily. "I'm merely doing my job, raising our love-child."

He chuckled again, slowly pushing himself further up to his elbow just so he could reach in and press his lips against the side of your lips. You couldn't help the way they tugged upwards with a smile. "You should go back to sleep. I'm sorry for waking you up so early."

You shook your head to both sides almost immediately after. "No, no need. I missed you anyway."

"Really? Seems like you'd rather watch Alpine sleep than give me a proper hug."

"Oh, shut up," you giggled, slowly turning on your spot to face him. He was hovering over you slightly, still leaning on his elbow to watch both of you. "I just got overwhelmed for a second when you came back. I get emotional as shit waiting for you, Buck."

His features softened at that, before he reached in to place a soft kiss on your forehead. "I'm sorry." he whispered, free arm going up to caress your cheek instead, this time. "But how am I supposed to know? You bully me through it all the time."

"It's a coping mechanism!" you whisper-yelled, rolling your eyes carefully when he started laughing. "Laugh all you want, Barnes."

"Sorry, sorry," he apologized again, gentle eyes flickering through every single centimeter of your face, almost as if he wanted to memorize all of you. "I missed you too, sweetheart. Miss you so bad wherever I go."

Your hands mimicked his when you brought them up to cup his face, feeling his stubble under your fingertips as you traced the outline of his lips with your fingers. "I love you so much that it hurts, Bucky."

"I know the feeling." his sheepish grin was replaced by a bittersweet one. "Whenever I look at you, I- I just think, how did I get so lucky? How did I end up with this… Absolutely perfect person, how did I get to hold her each night?"

"You're one lucky bastard, that's why." you chuckled to yourself, earning a heartfelt snicker from him. "I feel the same way. Whenever you walk out of that door, I worry myself to death. I swear, I walk around with a knot in my stomach for days until you return because- I genuinely have no idea what I would do without you. My heart, my mind, my soul- it's all just so full of you."

Bucky knew that he was loved. Oh boy, he was loved well, he was loved to death. He could feel his eyes dampening a little, salty tears stinging his eyes as he reached for you again, covering your face with butterfly kisses, leaving no spot unkissed. He shamelessly dropped his weight on top of you afterwards, smothering you with himself and his love, as he buried his head on your neck.

There was no way that you could ever complain.

"I taught Alpine how to sit on command, by the way."

His laugh didn't help the way a single tear escaped your eyes, but you didn't mind crying out of love. "Stop training my girl, she's an independent feline."

"She's an independent and greedy feline. Would do anything for a treat, I bet I could teach her how to do those dog-show tricks with enough food involved."

"Show me when I wake up, m'kay?" he asked, voice laced with exhaustion finally breaking through. "And- teach her how to give paw. Without claws."

"I tried. My hand still looks like it went through the garbage disposal."

Bucky woke up a few hours later than you, to an empty bed. Heavy patter of sock-clad feet resonated through the small apartment as he made his way over to the kitchen, pulling an appreciative hum out of you when he wrapped his arms around the back of your busy figure. You were already done with the dishes when he came, thankfully, knowing very well that no matter how exhausted he was, he'd take the task from you.

You leaned back on him, basking on his warmth while he watched you wash off the remaining soap from your hands, patting them on the nearest towel. "Morning, sunshine." you chuckled, slowly turning around in his hold to smile up at him. "Slept well?"

"Yeah, except for the part where you abandoned me." a playful pout was on his lips as he spoke, pulling you closer as if you'd vanish from his hold if he didn't feel you tighter against him. "It was traumatizing, you see."

"Oh quit being so dramatic," you rolled your eyes playfully before attempting to push him off of you. He didn't budge, though, instead leaning close with his lips dangerously close to yours. "I was gonna bring you some fruit."

"That can wait," he shrugged, reaching in for a temptative peck. He leaned in even closer when you didn't complain, lips brushing against yours to invite you in. You gave in embarrassingly fast, lips molding to his in a gentle kiss as you held onto the counter behind you, his warm hands cupping your cheeks to guide you through it.

Bucky has always been a gentle lover, and it specifically showed in the way he held you, no matter how desperate he was to have your lips trapped between his. He was slow- giving you chances here and there to catch your breath as his own lips traveled a bit south, leaving soft kisses at their wake as they toured your neck. You could feel his smile against you, that lazy and appreciative smile of his which you loved so much, always attempting to pull that out of him.

The breaking factor of your kiss was the way Alpine meowed to get your attention, alerting you of her feeding time with rather unpleasantly loud sounds. "Oh wow," Bucky pulled away a little with a laugh, lips wet with a mixture of both your salivas- he didn't care much. "Seriously, baby girl? Couldn't see that we're busy over here?"

"She's traumatized enough," you reached in for one last kiss, the short peck clearly not enough for Bucky as he tried to follow your lips. You pushed him away with a playful laugh before walking towards Alpine's food bowl, her slim white figure swaying happily by your side. "Sorry, baby. Blame your daddy, not me." you hummed, pulling out her bag of food and ignoring the way Bucky teased you right back, focusing on filling her bowl instead.

You pushed yourself up to your feet with a grunt when Alpine got occupied with her food, noticing the way Bucky seemed to melt into the comfort of the couch. "You're still all stiff, aren't you?" you cooed, earning a slight nod from him. "I'll run us a bath."

Warm water did wonders to muscles, sore from your office job, and in Bucky's case, from days worth of constant anxiety upon willingly facing risks. Your chest against his back, the two of you eased in the silence, as you trailed kisses through both of his arms. He reached his metal arm out when you held onto it, admiring the way your soft flesh contrasted with the dark vibranium before intertwining your fingers.

"I don't remember a lot about my mom," he whispered softly, a sigh following right after. "It's mostly just my father. He passed away when I was in my early twenties, a few years before I was deployed." you gave his flesh hand a slight squeeze, knowing that he didn't like to talk about the past that much.

"Yet, sometimes I find myself wishing that you could've met him. He wasn't- well, he was a bit strict at times but he always told me to never let go of a woman who loves me, and to hold her to death if that's where it all goes." he chuckled, as you smiled a bit, watching the water moving along with him. "He'd scold me for not taking these things seriously but now I know what he meant. I hope he got to feel the same way that I do now, when he was with my mother."

"He'd be incredibly proud of you, Bucky." you held his arm closer against your chest, rubbing it soothingly. "For the man you've become. A good man."

"I like to imagine that." yet another sigh escaped him. "After I got back to my senses, out of HYDRA, I felt so… Lost. No family or friends, not even an acquaintance except for Steve and- you know, he had his own stuff to do. Captain America and his responsibilities, all that. I wanted to hold onto him so tight but at the same time, I felt guilty that I'd be holding a hero back. It didn't feel safe, comfortable or even just decent with anyone else- until, well, fate brought you to me."

You closed your eyes, heart feeling warmer than ever at his confessions.

"Steve realized that I fell for you long before I did. I knew that- I could see it in him, obviously, he's been my best friend for over eighty years- and I felt like the way he trusted you with me, it could only mean that I could be able to do the same. Know that I'm free of judgment when I'm by your side." he pulled you closer for a moment, just to lay a gentle kiss on your damp hair. "I felt like a dead man for all those years, until you held my hand for the first time. I felt like I was electroshocked or something." you laughed at that, patting his arm.

"You make me feel so alive, too, did you know that?" you spoke up, tracing his fingers with the tips of yours. "You make me feel human. Completely, utterly. Because with every flaw that I have, I know that I also have you to love them. To make me accept them."

"We're not meant to be flawless," he added on to your point. "But sweetheart, you're perfect with your flaws. And you make me feel perfect with mine."

Although the water wasn't as warm as before, you still basked in his embrace comfortably,

[thusspoketrish]

Showers in the Malfoy-Potter Household

Domestic, tooth-rotting, fluffy Married Drarry!!! Written for the prompt Fresh over at @drarrymicrofic. 2.3K words. Thank you to @curlyy-hair-dont-care for the thorough beta xx

I. That One Time with the Gloves…

“Bugger, I need to shower!” Harry shouts to the empty sitting room as he steps through the Floo, shoulders tense as he kicks off his muddy shoes, waving his wand to send them to the hamper and clearing the residual mess on his and Draco’s Brazilian Macchiato Pecan hardwood floors. On socked feet, Harry dashes up the stairs towards their ensuite, disrobing along the way as the charmed grandfather clock in the downstairs hallway strikes 14:00.

Any minute now, Draco will Floo back in from brunch with Narcissa and Lucius—the very brunch Harry said he couldn’t attend because he pulled Sunday rotation at the Ministry. In truth, he had actually signed up for THE GREATEST WEEKEND QUIDDITCH MATCH EVER!!! between the Department of Mysteries and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Harry had been surprised to learn that the DoM swots were a bunch of dirty playing wankers—their self-important swagger causing a stir on the ground and a gloriously brutal match in the air. Harry’s pretty sure he bruised his ribs when he struck the muddy ground at the end of the match. But even with his injury, Harry couldn’t help the wicked grin that crossed his face when Timmons, the DoM’s Seeker, watched in horror as Harry staggered to his feet, punching his Snitch-full fist triumphantly into the air.

The glory. The power. Harry feels like a warrior—he feels like a bloody beast!

The little white lie and a skipped brunch with the in-laws were worth it!

Once in the bathroom, Harry uses his wand to send his scattered muddy clothes to the hamper downstairs and turns the water on scorching hot. Stepping under the spray, his sore muscles relax. It’s absolutely blissful, and he can’t help the happy moans that escape him as the water sluices away the mud and sweat from his highly earned, brutal win. He chuckles darkly to himself. Those wankers from the DoM will be sucking on this one for months to come.

The shower curtain is pulled to the side, starling Harry so badly that he nearly slips, his head whipping around to face his smirking husband.

Draco sticks his head into the shower, making sure to avoid the stream, his eyes flashing. “Well, well, well. Look who’s getting so fresh and so clean after a hard day’s work.”

Harry huffs, covering his nipples with both hands as he says, scandalised, “Merlin! You scared the bloody hell out of me!”

“I’m sorry,” Draco says, sounding far from it. “I was so eager to see my husband after a lengthy morning away from him that all I could think about coming up the stairs was giving him the best shower blowie he’s ever had in his entire life…”

Harry grins. “Babe, I’ve missed you so much,” he says eagerly, stepping back under the spray. “Come on, get undressed and join me.” When Draco doesn’t move, Harry gestures inward. “Come on...come now…”

“Yeah, okay. Let me just…” Draco pulls from behind his back Harry’s dirty Quidditch gloves, dropping them into the shower as Harry gasps. The fresh dirt mingles with the water, swirling down the drain. Harry could’ve sworn he sent those gloves flying into the hamper.

Draco’s smile is shark-like, eager, and ready for blood. “Imagine my surprise when these came flying into my chest on my way up the stairs. I was so curious, I decided to have a quick search of the laundry room hamper, and lo and behold, I found all of your Quidditch gear, sweaty and smelling of fresh mud and grass, darling. Must’ve been one hell of a rotation this morning, huh?”

Harry holds up his hands. “I can explain—”

“Oh, really?”

“Er, yes…” Harry starts, running a hand through his soaked hair. “Babe, it’s those wankers from the DoM’s fault! They’re a bunch of posturing arseholes and someone had to put them in their place.”

Draco crosses his arms against his chest. “Ah, right. And that someone had to be you?”

Harry smiles sheepishly, shrugging. “Well…you know I’m the best Seeker in the Corps.”

Draco harrumphs, tilting his chin up and leaning against the wall next to the shower. “So, you know what this means, right?”

Harry bows his head. “Yeah…” he says sadly, shaking his head.

“What?”

Harry sighs. “No more Mimosa Sundays at Malfoy Manor?” he asks hopefully, peeking up at Draco through his wet, shaggy hair.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You know the mimosas at my parents' are bar none.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know…so, no blowie for me?”

“You’re damn right,” Draco says, yanking his head back and sharply pulling the shower curtain shut.

Harry grumbles to himself, turning back to the shower to rinse his hair. A minute or two passes before the shower curtain opens up again, a fully naked Draco stepping inside.

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t start grovelling the proper way: by sucking my cock,” Draco says with a smirk.

Harry laughs, wrapping his arms around Draco’s waist. “How did I land such a deeply compassionate, forgiving husband?”

“With that sinful mouth of yours, obviously,” Draco drawls, placing his hands on Harry’s shoulders to slowly push him down onto his knees.

II. That One Time Draco Was Trying to be Seductive...

Harry’s entering their bedroom, half an egg mayo sandwich in hand, when he notices Draco standing before the wardrobe mirror. “What are you doing?” he asks, pausing near the door.

Draco turns around, his arms spreading wide as he pops one narrow hip outward. He’s draped in an intricate floral-patterned gold bathrobe. “Do you like it? It’s new, darling. Just arrived from Italy. Rocco-inspired, heavy-weight close-knit silk lined with black satin…isn’t it gorgeous?” Draco purrs.

“Er…it’s quite something,” Harry says, biting into his sandwich.

“Neanderthal,” Draco tuts with a scowl before turning back to the mirror. He slides his hands reverently down the sides of his body as he tilts his head to the side. “It feels like fucking sex,” Draco whispers, his eyelids drooping.

Harry chokes on a bit of egg. Draco grins, ferally, as he faces Harry again.

“I have a surprise for you. Get undressed and meet me in the bathroom,” Draco says imperiously.

“Right now?” Harry asks around his sandwich, his eyebrows shooting up towards his hairline. “Why?”

Draco runs his hands down the front of his bathrobe, his eyes fluttering shut. “The things I’m going to do to you the moment you slip this robe off my body…”

That’s all Harry needs to hear as he sets his sandwich down on the nightstand to pull his shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor before levelling Draco with a heated stare and a wolfish grin. “Is that right? Well, go on, then. I’ll meet you there in a minute,” Harry says, now unbuttoning his trousers. When Draco heads towards the bathroom, Harry picks his sandwich back up and shoves the rest of it in his mouth before getting undressed.

When he’s fully naked, he opens the bathroom door, the entire room filled with fragrant steam so thick he can barely see Draco.

“Er?” Harry says, stepping into the bathroom. Draco stumbles forward, wand in hand.

“I think I may have overdone the steam a bit,” Draco says before promptly pitching forward. Harry misses him by just an inch because he can’t bloody see, and Draco lands face first on their tiled floor.

“I thought it would be sexy,” Draco whines from his position on the floor in Harry’s lap after Harry Rennervates him. There’s a red patch on his forehead and a trickle of blood coming out of his left nostril that Harry cleans up immediately.

“You were! You were so sexy,” Harry urges softly.

“But there was no arse groping. No kissing. No fucking. It was all so unpleasant!” Draco cries.

“Aw, babe. I’m sorry. I think we should take you to St Mungo’s just in case…”

Draco sighs, sitting up but swaying slightly. “Fine. Alright. But let’s not tell them the visit is due to my failed attempt at seduction.”

Harry stifles a laugh. “Of course not. C’mere,” he says, helping Draco to his feet. “You can seduce me after the Healer has ruled out a concussion, okay?”

“Okay. But only if you promise to take my new bathrobe off with your teeth later…”

III. That One Time with the Mongrel…

Draco’s writing out a pros and cons list to determine if they’ll be purchasing a cottage in Cornwall this summer when Harry appears in front of him, a black towel cradled against his chest that’s moving.

Draco quirks an eyebrow. “What in the fresh hell is wrong with that towel?”

Harry chuckles and pulls the towel back. Pressed against his chest is a tiny, muddy little Beagle.

“No,” Draco says firmly, setting his quill down.

“Wait! Don’t be so quick about it! C’mon, babe, she was all alone in the alley by the Ministry! No mum or dad in sight. I couldn’t leave her there!”

Draco closes his eyes against the utterly heartbroken look in Harry’s eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. Of course, Harry would bring home an orphan, Draco had been preparing himself for this day since they married four years ago, only, he thought said orphan would be a wee babe, not a filthy mongrel. He exhales, nods, and opens his eyes, hand dropping away from his face. “Okay. Well. I refuse to have this mongrel in our house looking and smelling the way it does.”

Harry’s face lights up as if Draco has promised him the moon, and the stars, and all the love in his entire being. All over again.

“So, can we keep her?” Harry asks excitedly.

“Yes, Harry. We can keep her.”

Harry surges forward to press a kiss against Draco’s mouth, taking Draco off guard but aiming perfectly, nonetheless. Draco can’t help the laugh that bubbles up his throat as Harry begins to litter kisses all over his face, the mongrel caught between them. “You’re going to love her, I promise. Just look at her! She’s bloody adorable, isn’t she?” Harry says, holding the beast out to Draco.

Draco’s nose scrunches up as the dark-eyed creature stares up at him. She’s so small she could fit in Draco’s cupped hands, but her smell is atrocious. “Sure…” Draco says slowly, leaning away.

Harry hums happily. “I think we should name her—”

“—Beasty,” Draco interrupts, gaze flickering up to Harry. Harry rolls his eyes.

“No, silly! We should name her Pepper. Because she sorta smells like black pepper.”

Draco wants to suggest to Harry that perhaps they need to visit St Mungo’s to get his nose examined, because the last time Draco checked, black pepper smelled absolutely nothing like faeces. But he refrains, the joyous look on Harry’s face well worth going along with the madness.

“Sure, darling, whatever you want. Pepper it is. But she’s going to need a bath.”

Harry nods. “Right, yes, let’s take her upstairs to our bathroom.”

Draco smiles tightly. “Ah, no. I just had that tub put in. I don’t want this mong—Pepper staining the porcelain.”

“Oh, right, right. Okay, well, we can bathe her in the tub down here.”

Draco links his fingers together over his list. “Yes, excellent idea. So,” he starts, eyeing the now droopy-eyed, stinky monster. “Should we use a Petrificus Totalus or—?”

“DRACO!” Harry gasps, looking completely horrified. “We can’t put Pepper in a full body bind, are you insane? She’s a puppy!”

Draco frowns, his eyebrows knitting together. “She’s covered in grime and you expect me to manoeuvre this beast into the tub with its full cooperation?”

Harry glares at him. “She’s the sweetest thing, and I’m sure we won’t have any problems getting her into the bath, okay? Just follow my lead.”

Draco shrugs. Harry hasn’t led him astray yet.

When they finally enter the downstairs bathroom, tub now full of water at the perfect temperature and a mild soap, Draco suddenly gets an armful of Pepper as Harry begins to shed his jacket and jumper.

Draco stares down at her.

She is quite cute, with her large, bulbous black eyes, long, floppy ears, and wee-frowny mouth. Draco believes he can actually come to love this gross little beasty.

“Let’s get you all fresh and clean, sweetie,” Harry says, taking her back from Draco to place her in the water.

That’s when all hell breaks loose.

As Harry struggles to keep a hold on her, Pepper lifts her paws away from the water as if it’s fire, wild yelps escaping her as she struggles out of Harry’s grasp, dropping into the water first before lunging straight at Draco.

Draco catches her, her tiny little body soaking through his very nice, very clean jumper.

“Fucking fuck, fuck…” Draco mutters, staring down at Pepper, warmth exploding in his chest. She’s shivering against him and the anger and shock immediately leave his body as he cradles her, a defeated groan escaping him as a section of his heart unlocks and opens up to this little beasty.

Harry laughs. “Merlin, you are just so bloody adorable,” he says.

Draco scoffs, even as he stares down fondly at her, rocking her in his arms. “She’s a menace, that’s what she is.”

“No…I mean you,” Harry says, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses, cheeks dimpled. Draco can feel the heat of a blush spilling across his cheeks as Harry leans forward to kiss him. When they part, Harry glances down at Pepper before meeting Draco’s eyes.

“We’re building our little family,” Harry says proudly.

Draco opens his mouth to say something mocking, but can’t, not with the ball of emotion that’s suddenly lodged in his throat. Instead, he blinks several times, glancing down at Pepper who’s staring up at him with her large eyes, tail wagging.

“Oh,” Draco says softly. “I suppose we are.” He sniffs. “I think it’s best if we get Beasty Pepper to the vet instead, maybe they can help us give her a proper bath. Shall we?”

Draco smiles as Harry drapes an arm around his shoulders. “Yes, let’s do it, babe,” Harry responds tenderly.

[knightsimp]

Just a Little Bit of Blood

Pairing: Vampire!Percival Graves x Reader

Summery: Percival comes home late at night, injured. He needs a little blood to be able to heal.

Genre: Tooth-rotting Fluff, but spicy tooth-rotting fluff.

Word Count: 1600+

Date Posted: February 22, 2021

Warning: Definitely spicy (no actual smut in this, but it alludes to it and is still pretty suggestive), blood talk

Note: Oh god I have never posted any of my suggestive pieces. We were talking about Colin Farrell in Fright Night (2011) and this happened.  

Requested by: @sugarbloomart​

Percival landed in his apartment, apparating from the MACUSA building. It was late at night, around an hour past midnight. The bustling city was starting to go quiet, though New York never seems to go completely quiet. Percival took off his coat, hanging on the coat hanger near the front door. He pulled off his tie and waistcoat and placed them on the dining table. He did the same thing with his belt.

The blood from the injury on his side had stained his white dress shirt. When he moved, it felt like pins and needles. The man had gotten injured during a mission with a trainee. This trainee had a lot of promise but clearly needed more experience. Unfortunately, Percival paid the price of that inexperience with getting injured.

Percival getting hurt was always a concern. He did not heal like any other human wizard. 

“Percival?” Percival looked towards the bedroom door, where (Y/N) was standing. Clearly, his return had woken her up.

Her hair was tossed from whatever sleeping she had already done. She was only wearing a pair of underwear and one of Percival’s dress shirts. Simply said, she was not put together in the slightest.

But to him, she was quite the sight.

(Y/N)’s bare feet did not make a sound on the dark, hardwood floor as she approached him. 

“You’re late.” She stated, putting two hands on his chest and dragging them to his shoulders. 

“I know, darling.” He gently held her left wrist. He watched as her eyes slowly wandered to his injury. 

“Percival!” She gave light pressure to the wound, making him hiss from the sharp pain. “Is this why you are so late to come home?”

“Yes.” He grumbled, running his hand through his hair. “The boy has potential, but...” Percival rubbed her arms, up and down. “I must ask something of you.” (Y/N) is quick to agree, knowing what he is asking of her. 

“You need blood, right?” She asked, clarifying.

“Yes.” Percival brushed a little bit of her hair out of her face. “The blood supplements won’t help here.” The blood supplements were just that; they were what Percival can take instead of hunting and taking blood from humans and survive off of that. However, they were not enough for him to heal. While he can heal rapidly, he could not heal at all without real blood. If he were to let an injury go unattended long enough, he would bleed out, regardless of any medical treatment. There was already an anti-wizard growing sentiment growing and a vampire getting spotted would not make matters better. 

She sat on the kitchen island, pushing her hair away from the left side of her neck. 

“Come on.” She encouraged. Percival smiled, seeing how ready she was for him to take blood from her when he needed it. He stood in between her legs, hands instinctively on her waist.

“As much as I appreciate your kindness, my dear, taking from your neck will be too visible. We both must go into work tomorrow.” (Y/N) hummed, looking off to the side.

“I guess you’re right.” Percival took her left wrist, gently rubbing his thumb over the visible veins. She looked back at him, staring into his dark eyes. 

“You’re wrist is another viable area for taking blood.” He suggested. “Not an area you are used to but would make for another spot.” (Y/N) shook her head.

“If secrecy is your concern, my wrists will seem even more suspicious if someone notices. The neck is something more explainable, but the wrist would asking to be found out.” She thought for a moment. “My thigh is always an option.”

“As much as I do love getting in between your legs like that, you don’t need to be limping or in any pain when you go to work.” Now, this was getting frustrating. What would be an area that Percival can take from that would not hinder her as an auror or risk Percival’s true nature as a vampire from being found out? 

“What about my chest?” She inquired. “It would be under my clothes and it is not an area that is very mobile during the day.”

“It is not an area that will produce a lot of blood, nor will it be comfortable for you.” Percival gently held onto (Y/N) arm, sliding his hand down to meet hers. 

“Well, how much blood do you need for an injury like that?” She gestured to his injured waist.

“Not a lot.”

“Then, let’s do it!” Percival seemed hesitant. “Percival, it is our best option right now.” He takes her cheek in her hand, lips close, and his other hand holding her thigh.

“Are you sure?” He whispered. “This will not be pleasant and I will need to expose you for a moment.” She nodded, still sleepy.

“We’re both adults. It’s not anything you haven’t seen before.”

He popped a couple of buttons on the shirt and pushed the left side of the shirt down her shoulder, just exposing the top of her breast. Of course, she was not wearing a bra underneath.  His hands slithered on her body; one on the side of her neck, his thumb under her ear, and the other holding her ribs, just under the breast he was about to take blood from, thumb massaging the side of her breast. His lips were so close to her body.

“Are you ready, darling?” She nodded, biting her lip to prepare for the pinch. When he went in just above her breast, she realized what he meant when he said this was not going to be pleasant. The muscle in the chest is tight, making it painful. The puncture was not pleasant, but otherwise doable given the circumstance.

Oh, but the sounds Percival was making. 

To get whatever blood he could from the area, he was sucking on her skin hard. The sounds he was making were absolutely sinful. Not only were the sounds slightly wet, but he was also panting slightly. And the occasional grumble from his throat came through. If he was not trying to get blood to heal his wound, this moment would have taken a very different turn. It was enough for (Y/N) to make a couple of noises of her own which were not from the pain. 

Once he was done, he pulled away. Both of them were breathing heavily. Blood had dripped from the wound on her chest to the once-pristine dress shirt she wore. 

“Percy, you’re shirt.” She whined, feeling a little lightheaded.

“It’s okay.” He went to her chest once more, licking off the dripping blood from her skin using the flat of his tongue. He put the hand which was sitting on her side on the side of her neck with his other hand. She leaned in, letting her forehead rest on his. The red around his mouth did not scare her in the slightest. No one spoke, but it was very clear how thankful Percival was.

He wrapped her legs around his waist before picking her up. She loosely put her arms around his shoulders, unable to cling on harder. Percival carried her to their bathroom, setting her in the bathtub and sitting on the closed toilet seat. He took his time when stripping her of her chosen nightwear, gingerly unbuttoning the shirt completely and pulling her panties off from under her. 

When she was completely naked, he took the time to strip himself. In all honesty, he was ready for the shower after a long day. When he shrugged off his shirt, he saw the tail-end of his injury rapidly healing. He looked down to (Y/N) only to see her smiling up at him, eyes on the verge of closing. She was happy that he was no longer injured and that was all that mattered. 

He held her up as warm water from the showerhead poured onto them, each movement of his hands so gentle and full of adoration. One hand rested on her back and the other held her head to his chest, keeping her upright. The blood on both of them was washed off and went down the drain. As much as they both wanted to stay in the moment, (Y/N) was slowly falling back asleep and the slight loss of blood was not helping. 

Percival sat her on the bed, putting a cut-out J&J band-aid onto her chest before dressing her in one of her more comfortable nightgowns. It was not until she was lying comfortably on her side of the bed, duvet over her, when he started getting dressed for bed.

He dragged his feet back to the bathroom to freshen up before joining her. 

As he was brushing his teeth, he caught a glimpse of those slightly elongated teeth of his. The red had slightly stained his teeth, but a quick brushing washed it away rather quickly. 

He rinsed his mouth out completely before looking at his reflection in the mirror. 

For years, Percival thought of himself as a monster. He never found someone, in all his years, who was as accepting as the beautiful woman currently in his bedroom. Sure, he should have told her earlier than he did in their relationship, but even then she was so accepting of him. 

He pursed his lips, still tasting her blood in the back of his throat. Like her, it was sweet. 

Before returning to the bedroom, he drank a glass of water to wash down anything that was left. (Y/N) was already fast asleep when he laid down on the plush mattress. Facing her and entangling his legs with hers, he gently slid his knuckles over her cheek before pulling her into his chest. 

Moments like this, he almost felt human again.

[prettyboybarzal]

Ride

A/N: I think about Nolan’s thighs 24/7, so this is super self-indulgent... But I know y’all are hoes for his thighs too, so it’s also a gift (especially a gift for @bandgirlsclub​). This is short and probably not extremely well written, but please enjoy these words and thoughts put to paper!!! ✨ P.S. Maybe someday I’ll write a full Pat fic. Maybe. (Probably.)

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Thigh riding and weed smoking (an ideal day if you ask me lmfao bye)

Masterlist

Nolan wasn’t being fair. He knew what he was doing in those short shorts, thigh tattoo on display. He knew that you wouldn’t be able to pry your eyes off the ink decorating his muscled leg. He did this on purpose. And the nerve of him to do it in front of your friends who had no clue you’d been hooking up while away in Philly.

You grew up together in Winnipeg and spent your summers much like you were spending your current one, with friends around a pool or skating around town on rollerblades. You’d always had a small crush on him. His carefree attitude and dry sense of humor made you feel safe, and in return, he liked your calming nature and the fact that you weren’t nearly as loud as your other friends.

When you called him to tell him you’d accepted a job in Philly, you didn’t expect him to become such a staple in your life. But he was there the day you landed to pick you up, and it felt like you hadn’t gone a day without seeing him since.

It took until the Flyers New Years’ party for your feelings to bubble to the surface. The night started with one too many glasses of Champagne and ended with Nolan between your thighs in more ways than one. It became a weekly occurrence at least, fucking Nolan, and when the season came to an end, you decided to put things to bed, at least until you were back in Philadelphia.

But it was getting really fucking hard to ignore how badly you wanted to rip his clothes off.

Nolan was a whole different person in Winnipeg. He was confident and cocky. He undressed you with his eyes every time you walked into a room and whenever he got you alone, he whispered all the dirty little things he wanted to do to you. It never got far, though, with your friends always in tow, and the two of you were perpetually sexually frustrated.

Especially with him in those short shorts.

“Anyone wanna smoke?” you asked, standing from the lounge chair in your childhood best friend’s yard. It was a Saturday in June which meant the entire friend group was together, rotting the day away around her pool.

Nolan stood abruptly to follow you, but the others declined the invite and you felt butterflies in your stomach as you slipped into the pool house and he followed. He paid you no special attention as he plopped onto the sofa in the middle of the room, but he watched as you settled down on the other end, making sure to leave space between you.

He liked to watch you roll joints. Watching your fingers move deftly over the rolling paper and your tongue swipe along it to keep it packed together turned him on every time without fail. He liked it when you placed the joint in your mouth and let it hang there while you reached for the lighter.

After taking your first hit, you handed it off to him and then came the worst part about smoking with him— actually watching him smoke. He always looked good with smoke rolling off his lips, but he looked great doing it shirtless with his thighs on full display in those shorts that left little to the imagination.

“C’mere,” he murmured, nodding his head to get you to come closer after he’d noticed you staring. You rolled your eyes at him. “C’mon, YN. You’ve been in that little bikini all day and I haven’t even been able to touch you. It’s not fair.”

“I’m not fair?” you asked incredulously. “Look at you! You’re in the shortest shorts I’ve ever seen you wear, showing off your thighs and your fucking tattoos. You did that on purpose. You’re the one playing games.”

Nolan smiled as he pulled another hit from the joint in his hand.

“So, it worked,” he stated, extending the joint to you. You snatched it, careful not to allow your fingers to touch, and rolled your eyes as he leaned back against the couch and spread his legs. He flexed his thighs a bit and took a glance to find you staring. “They look good, huh? I’ve been putting in some overtime work this summer.”

You tore your eyes away and blew a cloud of smoke out towards the window.

“Just let me touch you,” he groaned, throwing his head back in exasperation. “You haven’t let me touch you since we left Philly.”

“Because our friends are always right outside!” you whisper-shouted, pointing a finger towards the door. He laughed. “I don’t need you to get me all worked up and then not follow through because we’re interrupted by them, or we have to stop because we have plans with them, so no.”

You stood from the couch to get a water bottle for your cotton mouth and he let you go, staring at your ass as you went. You grabbed two bottles and handed him one as you walked over, but he didn’t open it. Instead, he dropped it to the couch and grabbed your wrist, tugging you down into his lap and pulling your legs around so you were straddling his waist.

“Patty,” you warned, pushing his chest away. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pinned you to his chest.

“Who says I won’t follow through and make you cum right now?”

“I’m not getting naked when any of them could walk in.”

“I don’t need you to get naked,” he murmured against the skin of your collarbone. His finger slipping beneath the strap on your shoulder. He pushed it down and kissed the skin where it once was. “Besides, you’re already naked enough.”

He moved his kisses to the column of your throat and smiled against your skin as you lulled your head back, then leaned up to capture more of your skin beneath his lips before sitting up and adjusting himself to pull a leg out from beneath you so that you were straddling one of his thighs. You glanced down, eyes catching on the ink just below your core.

“Nolan.”

“What’s up, angel?” he asked, eyes still on your scantily clad pussy. Your whine captured his attention, eyes gazing up finally. Your bottom lip was drawn between your teeth, joint resting between your index finger and thumb. “You want me to make you cum?”

“Please.”

His hands fell to your waist, gripping tightly as he began to guide you along his thigh. You placed the joint between your lips as your rode him and took a long hit. He snatched it a moment later to replace it with a kiss, tongue swiping along your lip as you continued to rub your core against him.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he praised as he watched you grind against him. “I could watch you get yourself off on my thigh all day.” You felt his muscles ripple beneath your pussy and moaned loudly, forehead falling to his shoulder. His hands reattached to your hips and he held you tighter as he flexed beneath you. “You like that?”

“Fuck, Nolan,” you rushed out. “Yes!”

“Be quiet,” he barked, hands holding you in place on his thigh, halting your movements. You whimpered. “You don’t want them coming in here, right? You want to cum?”

“Yes.”

“Good girl,” he murmured, detaching his hands and leaning back against the couch again. “Go ahead. Let me see you.”

You braced your hands against his chest as you slid along his thigh, slowly at first. The cockiness exuding from him as he watched you with hooded eyes and the joint between his lips heightened your senses. He looked so good, so in control of himself while you had absolutely no control, and you loved being watched by him.

It felt otherworldly, riding his thigh while high. You couldn’t help but think about how it would feel to fuck him while stoned, to feel him fill you up with that joint hanging from his lips.

He noticed that your hips begin to stutter and reached out to help you. His fingers gripped your waist, sure to leave bruises for the morning, and he set a pace that was a bit quicker than how you’d started out. He knew you were closer now, heard it in your panting and the whimpers that filled the room. With each grinding movement, he flexed beneath you and received soft exclamations of how good it felt.

“I’m s- so close,” you said, breathlessly. He held you tightly to his thigh as you began to lose the rest of what little control you had. “F-fuck, oh my—Nolan.”

“I wanna see you cum,” he spoke and, finally, you were over the edge. You threw your head back with a guttural moan and he helped you through the orgasm that washed over you by continuing to guide your core along his thigh. “Didn’t know you were such a slut for my thighs. I’d’ve shown them off for you a long time ago.”

You were moaning into his neck as softly as you could while he continued sliding your core along his muscles and he smiled softly when he saw the shake of your legs from the aftershock.

“Nolan, please.”

“Please?”

“Please stop,” you sighed out. He chuckled darkly and released the grip he had on your waist to wrap his arms around you. He held you against his chest, placing kisses along your shoulder as the rise and fall of your chest slowed and you finally caught your breath. “Fuck.”

“That was hot,” he spoke. You leaned back, smile on your face. “I’m never skipping leg day ever again.”

“Please don’t,” you said, snatching the almost finished joint from his hand for one last pull. He watched you, eyes dark and trained on your lips. You placed it on a nearby ashtray and stood slowly, hoping your legs wouldn’t resemble that of a newborn giraffe. Thankfully, Nolan’s hand shot out to steady you in case.

“You sure you’re ready to go out there?”

“I think the real question is, are you?” you asked, directing your gaze at the bulge in his shorts. He stood, sliding a hand into his shorts to fix himself.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he answered, blush rising to his cheeks.

You stepped forward, dropping one hand over the front of his shorts, fingers curling over his member. He sucked in a breath, eyes blown wide, cheeks bright red.

“Maybe, if you’re lucky, I can take care of this later.”

[hangovercurse]

The Things We Can’t Tell Pete About iii

Colson takes you on your first date.

Colson x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, teeth-rotting fluff

Word Count: 2721

| i | ii | iv | v |

Friday couldn’t come soon enough, even though it was only 5 days after your encounter at Pete’s house. You had been texting each other all week, he would send you pictures of him in the studio and you would tell him of the various artists you were working with.

And you were both avoiding Pete like the plague.

You felt bad, you really did. You loved your older brother, a lot. But if you were around him you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from telling him about the date. You told him everything, and it was already hard enough not to tell him when you weren’t around him.

You were so nervous about hiding the date beforehand that you never stopped to consider what would happen afterwards. On one hand if it went really well, there would most likely be more, and if it went really bad, you’d have to explain to Pete why you didn’t want to be around the guy you’d gotten along so well with.

None of that crossed your mind. What did cross your mind, however, was that you had no idea where you were going. You had been asking Colson all week, trying to plan an outfit, but he wouldn’t tell you.

You’ll find out on Friday.

Okay but that still doesn’t help me

You’ll look amazing in whatever you wear

I will end you -_-

I would let you

You smiled a bit too wide when you read that, a blush coming to your cheeks.

Just wear something casual 😊

“JuSt WeAr SoMeThInG cAsUaL”

I mean you could just show up naked…

-_-

Just saying ;p

Watch yourself Kelly

I’d rather watch you

 Friday came along, and you were looking at the clock every 5 minutes. Lea, a new artist that you had been writing with for the past few months, took notice. “Someone’s got a big date tonight.”

You tilted your head and sent a joking glare to the girl. “I’m just saying, you’re looking at the clock like it’s gonna explode.” She smiled as you sighed.

“I haven’t been on a date in so fucking long, Lea.” You whined, throwing your head back, “I’m so excited.”

She chuckled, “who’s the lucky guy?” She shook her shoulders and you let out a giggle.

“I technically can’t tell you that.”

Her eyes went wide, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

You smiled widely, “technically speaking I’m not supposed to be going on a date with him. He’s kind of my brother’s best friend.”

Her jaw dropped, hands spreading on the table, “you’re joking!” You laughed loudly, shaking your head. “Y/N that’s against sibling law!”

“I know, I know. But it’s not my fault he’s the most attractive man I’ve ever seen and he’s into me. What was I supposed to do?” You frowned and she sighed.

“What does he look like?”

“I would show you a picture but then you would know who he is, but I can tell you he’s hot as fuck.”

Lia pouted, the wheels spinning in her head. “Wait, so he’s famous?” You bit your lip, giving her her answer. “Holy shit, Y/N! What if the press catches you guys out together? Pete’s definitely gonna see then.”

You groaned, throwing your head into your hands, “I know, but it’s just one date. And he promised it would be somewhere secluded.”

“Ohhh.” She dragged out the last sound, her voice getting higher. “Secluded, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, “you’re paying me to write songs for you, not tell you about my love life.” You giggled and she sighed.

“Fine, but if you don’t write a song about all this, I’m gonna be very upset.”

“Whatever you say, Lea.”

 I’m outside

Your heart skipped a beat when you got his text, checking yourself out in the mirror once more. “Fuck it, here goes nothing.” You mumbled to yourself before walking out of your apartment, locking the door behind you. You had told Colson to pick you up behind the building, so that if there were any paps on the street, they wouldn’t see you.

You walked out to find him leaning against his car, a smirk coming to your lips as you drank him in. He looked even hotter than that first night, and you knew you were in for trouble. When he saw you, he bit his bottom lip, a smile on his face as he checked you out.

“Hey.” You said once you got close to him. “I’m supposed to be going on this date tonight with this really hot Rockstar, have you seen him?” You tilted your head slightly.

He raised an eyebrow at you before deciding to follow along. “A hot Rockstar? Hm, no, I don’t think I have.”

“Bummer, I was really excited.” You let out a dramatic sigh.

He chuckled, “sounds like an asshole, if you ask me.”

“Oh, he totally was.” You giggle, scrunching your nose, “but the coolest asshole I’ve ever met.”

“I mean, I’m not hot asshole Rockstar but I do have a car. I could take you out instead?” You tilted your head, pretending to think about it.

“Hmmmm, I don’t know…” You trailed off, a smirk still on your lips.

He rolled his eyes, grabbing your hand and leading you to the passenger side seat as he spoke. “Oh my god just get in the car.”

You chuckled as you sat down, him joining you a few moments later. You looked over at him as he started the car, still half convinced you were dreaming. He caught you staring, sending you a glance before he pulled from where the car was. “What?”

“Nothing.” You smiled, not looking away from him.

“If you keep looking at me like that, I am going to crash this car.” He chuckled, a blush coming to his cheeks as he paid attention to the road in front of him, trying to ignore your gaze.

You giggled, turning to face forward. “I can’t help it,” you started, “you’re nice to look at.”

He rolled his eyes, “well I could’ve told you that.”

You leaned your head back, letting out a dry laugh. “And not conceited at all.”

He bit his tongue, both of you grinning like idiots as you drove down the streets of New York. You continued to bother him about where he was taking you, but he wouldn’t budge, telling you that you would find out when you got there.

He pulled into a small dirt parking lot next to an expanse of trees. There were only two other cars in the lot, and the forest seemed secluded. He turned the car off, getting out and walking over to open your door, helping you up. “This is cute.” You said, taking in the scenery around you. It wasn’t very often you got to be around nature without a lot of people crowding the wildlife.

Colson smiled as he opened the trunk, pulling out a literal picnic basket and blanket. “Yeah, well, you’re cute. So, I thought it would be fitting.” You blushed, reaching out to try and take the blanket from his hand but he moved it out of your reach.

You pouted, “well I was gonna try and hold your hand but both of your hands are full so I guess I’ll just have to suffer.”

Colson rolled his eyes, shifting so that the blanket rested on top of the basket all in one hand, grabbing yours with the other. You intertwined your fingers with his, the feeling very natural. You had never been this straight-forward with a guy, especially one you just met, but it just came so easily with Colson. “All you had to do was ask, princess.”

Your cheeks turned red at the nickname, so you turned your head away from him slightly. He chuckled at the movement and you pouted. Colson swung your arms as you walked onto a trail leading through the forest. “This is really cheesy, you know that, right?” You asked, looking up at him.

He nodded, meeting your eyes, “Yeah, I know.”

“Very un-Rockstar-like.” You commented. “If anyone found out you were a hopeless romantic your reputation would be ruined.”

“No one would believe you if you told anyone.” He laughed, “but you have to admit, this is gonna be the best first date you’ve ever been on.”

You were too distracted by his blue eyes to notice the scenery around you, the beautiful trees swaying with the slight breeze, the sound of water rushing in the distance. “I guess we’ll see.” You smirked; your tongue pressed against your bottom teeth.

“You are mean.” He muttered, shaking his head. You giggled, finally taking your eyes off his and finding the shoreline a few hundred feet in front of you. Your smile widened at the sight and you squeezed his hand.

“You really are a hopeless romantic.” You giggled as your feet hit the sand and Colson groaned at your words. “I like it!”

He grinned at you as you grabbed the blanket from his arm, spreading it out. “Well, we couldn’t exactly go out to the city without risking being seen and you deserve better than my house. So, you get a picnic on the beach.”

You rolled your eyes as he set the picnic basket down, sitting on the blanket and pulling you down next to him. “Just say you thought it would be romantic.”

“I never said I didn’t!” He opened the basket, pulling out various dishes and setting them onto the blanket in front of you. He then pulled out a bottle of red wine and two glasses.

You raised your eyebrow, “didn’t take you as a wine drinker.” You giggled

His eyes went wide, “just let me have this, woman.”

“I wasn’t complaining, I just think it’s kind of funny.” He rolled his eyes as you leaned into him, his arm wrapping around you. “Seriously, though, this is really sweet. No one has ever taken me on a picnic date.” You leaned your head against his shoulder, smile never leaving you.

“If you tell anyone I did this I’ll kill you.” He mumbled and you hid your laugh.

“I thought no one would believe me?” You looked up to his face, taking in his sharp jawline. You wanted to lean up and press your lips to it, but you resisted the temptation. You felt his chest move as he laughed silently, pulling you even closer to him.

The rest of the night passed just as easily, conversation flowing naturally between you and Colson. He told you all about his daughter, his friends, and the movie that he and Pete had wrapped. You talked about your music and the people you were writing for. It was easy to just exist around him, something that didn’t happen with very many people. Colson was real and open and made everything else seem to just disappear. You could understand why Pete had taken such a liking to him.

You two had stayed long after the food was gone and the sun had set. Colson brought out two candles and lit them, making you swoon even further. It was like a fairytale, and you never wanted to leave.

Throughout the night there were moments when you almost grabbed his face and kissed him, and you were sure he felt the same way. But you didn’t want to mess up what was going so well by moving too fast. And you still hadn’t discussed the not-so-small challenge of your relationship, Pete.

Eventually, when you had almost fallen asleep in his tattooed arms, Colson decided you guys had best be leaving. You packed up the food and candles, making jokes and basking in each other’s presence. Once Colson had placed everything back in the trunk, he made his way over to the passenger side door that you were leaning against.

He placed his hands against the car on either side of you, leaning down to be as level as possible with you. “I had a lot of fun tonight.” You said, softly.

His face was dangerously close to yours, the intimacy taking your breath away. “I did too.” His voice matched yours. His eyes wandered your face, occasionally drifting down to your lips before pulling away.

“I really like you, Colson.”

He smiled widely; his eyes gleaming. “I really like you too, Y/N.” He mimicked your phrasing. “What would you say if I said I wanted to take you out again?”

Your tongue peeked out between your lips slightly, “I guess you’ll have to ask and find out.”

He let out a sigh, “you are not gonna go easy on me, are you?” You shook your head, your smirk reaching your eyes. “Good.” He whispered, leaning in closer to you. You could move forward and close the gap between your lips, but you weren’t going to be the one to make the first move. “Will you go out with me again? Soon?”

You smiled at his eagerness, “I would love to. How soon?”

“Does Sunday make me sound too eager?”

You tilted your head, humming. “Nah, Sunday’s perfect.”

“Would it make this night better or worse if I kissed you right now?” His words made your heart flutter, your arms moving up his chest to rest lazily on his shoulders.

“I guess you’ll have to find out.” He chuckled at that, glancing up.

“What have I gotten myself into?” He whispered but the smile on his face screamed volumes.

You giggled softly, “are you gonna kiss me or not?”

His smile widened before he leaned in to meet your lips. His hands moved to your waist as you pulled him closer to you by his neck. This kiss was different from the first ones you shared, it was soft and sweet. You weren’t hungry for each other, dancing in the dark to hide from your brother and taking the few moments you could get, you were just two people kissing for the sake of it.

He pulled away slowly, his nose still touching your own. You both stood there for a while, enjoying the feeling of the other and the breeze that blew between you. Finally, he mumbled, “We should probably get going.” Despite his words, he didn’t move.

You nodded in agreement against him but also made no effort to get in the car. Instead, you leaned forward and captured his lips in yours again. It was small and quick, but just as sweet. “Fuck I’m already so far gone.” Colson mumbled before pushing himself off of you, his eyes locked on yours.

You blushed, leaning off the car and finding the handle. “You aren’t the only one.”

 Your hand was intertwined with his the entire way home, both of you grinning like idiots as music played quietly on the radio. “I don’t want to be the one to bring it up, but what are we gonna tell your brother?” He asked, his eyes on the road.

You sighed, looking out the window, “I don’t know yet. I don’t wanna hide anything from him but at the same time if we told him he’d freak out.”

“But why would it bother him that much?” Colson asked, and you frowned.

“I don’t know, I think he’s worried about what happens if we break up. He doesn’t have many close friends and he seems to really like you, so he doesn’t want to have to choose between us or feel awkward around us if things end badly.”

Colson nodded, thinking. “But he wouldn’t pick me over you, ever. I wouldn’t let him.”

“Yeah, and he knows that but it doesn’t make it any easier for him.” You sighed. “I don’t know, maybe I’ll try and bring up the idea and see how he reacts.”

“It’s your decision. And if you decide that you don’t wanna do this with me because of Pete, I’d completely understand.” You smiled at his words, your heart melting at his thoughtfulness.

You squeezed his hand, “You are so much sweeter than you let people think, you know that?” He nodded, a soft smile on his features. “I’m not giving up on this.” You whispered.

“I won’t either.” He glanced over at you, briefly taking in your angelic appearance before turning his eyes back to the road.

[alwaysachorusgirl]

Cat Moms Included

Pairing: Frederick Chilton x FemReader

Word Count: 1,862

For: @storiesofsvu 1 Year Anniversary Bingo

Square: Mother's/Father's Day

TW: none really, briefly implied smut, but mostly tooth-rotting fluff

A/N: Yes, I know I'm a bit late for Mother's Day, but hey, I got something done! Cat Daddy Frederick and Buttercup are back, and they brought a whole lot of fluff with them. As always, if anyone wants to be tagged in a future fic post, please let me know!

Tags: @madamsnape921; @itsjustmyfantasyroom; @prurientpuddlejumper; @thatesqcrush; @raulesparza4eva; @teamsladsandgents; @welcometothemxdhouse

Frederick was awoken by a gentle pressure on his chest and a small wet nose nuzzling his own. His eyes fluttered open to see Buttercup’s furry face gazing back at him. She rubbed her face against his chin.

“Mew?”

“Good morning to you, too, sweetheart,” he said softly to the growing kitten. “I suppose you want breakfast?”

“Mew.”

“Okay then,” Frederick chuckled, giving her a little scratch between her ears. “You’re going to have to move so I can get up and freshen up first.” Buttercup let out a huff, but reluctantly padded down to the end of the bed and sat down.

Now came the hard apart. Frederick cast his eyes to you. You were curled up next to him, still asleep, using him as your pillow with one arm draped across his torso. One of his arms was wrapped around you, making sure that you didn’t drift away from him during the night. And you were still both very naked from the previous night’s activities. Frederick brushed a wisp of hair out of your face with his free hand, and his heart swelled with love when you sighed contentedly in your sleep and a soft smile crept across your lips. The last thing he wanted to do was tear himself away from your side. But if he wanted to feed Buttercup and prepare the final part of your surprise, he was going to have to.

He slowly and carefully extracted himself from your limbs, thanking his lucky stars that you were a sound sleeper. All the while Buttercup was staring him down and flicking her tail impatiently. He moved to the dresser, pulling out a clean pair of briefs, pajama pants, and a t-shirt, and headed to the en-suite bathroom to dress and brush his teeth. When he was done freshening up and dressed, he stepped back out into the bedroom, and stopped dead in his tracks.

“Darling! I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“Hmm?” You looked up at him through dreamy half-lidded eyes, cuddling Buttercup. “Oh, no, my sweet girl just wanted to cuddle with her mommy, isn’t that right sweetie?” Buttercup just purred and rubbed her head against your cheek.

“Or she’s trying to coerce you into a second breakfast,” said Frederick with a sigh.

“Mew?” Buttercup whipped her head around at the sound of the word “Breakfast”.

“Yes, I’m still going to feed you. Now, come along and let your mother go back to sleep.” Buttercup swiftly stood and leapt from the bed down to the floor. Frederick looked back you lovingly. “I’ve got this, my love, you rest and stay right here. I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise? For me?” Your eyes went wide. “Frederick, you shouldn’t. You already spoil me far too much.”

Frederick walked to the edge of the bed and cupped your face in his hands. “You, my exquisite angel, deserve to be spoiled every day. And I fully intend to spend the rest of my life doing just that.” His lips found yours, melding perfectly with them, just like always. You moaned into the kiss and grabbed his t-shirt, trying to pull him closer. Frederick chuckled at this and gently pulled away, drawing a whine from you. “There will be plenty of time for that later, my love, but first, your surprise, and believe it or not, Buttercup helped.”

You giggled at that and glanced down at you fur baby. “Oh, did she now?”

“Mew.”

“She did indeed,” answered Frederick, “and I just need you to stay right here and don’t come downstairs, regardless of what you might hear or smell.”

“I’m extremely concerned, but I can do that.” You kissed him one more time. “You and Buttercup go do whatever it is you need to do; I need to use the bathroom.”

Buttercup jumped off the bed as Frederick took your hand helped you stand. He sucked in a breath at the sight of your still naked body, awestruck by your beauty. It didn’t go unnoticed by you, and you made a point of teasing your lover, making it impossible for him to not stare at your ass as you bent over to pick your green silk robe up off the floor.

“Like what you see, Frederick?” You slung the robe over your shoulder and swayed your hips as you sauntered toward the bathroom.

“You minx, you know perfectly well that I can never get enough.”

“Well, I guess you’d better hurry back then.” You gave him a suggestive look over your shoulder before disappearing into the bathroom.

Frederick released a breath and looked down at Buttercup. “Let’s get to work then, shall we?”

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

You took your time brushing your teeth and washing your face. You were incessantly curious as to what Frederick and Buttercup were up to. As far as you knew, it wasn’t a special occasion. Not that Frederick needed one as an excuse to spoil you. He did so every chance he got. You did your best to do the same for him. It just seemed odd. The both of you always slept in on Sunday mornings. Even if Buttercup woke you up demanding breakfast, you were usually the one to get up and feed her, always coming right back to the comfort of Frederick’s arms after she was settled. You brushed your hair out and exited the bathroom. You would know soon enough what your dear, sweet man had up his sleeve.

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

After putting down fresh food and water for Buttercup, Frederick washed his hands, started brewing a fresh pot of your favorite coffee, and got to work. He had gotten out the waffle iron (and its instruction manual) and set it up on the counter the night before. He began pulling additional items from the cabinets and refrigerator one-by-one: a mixing bowl, waffle mix, a whisk, measuring cups, vegetable oil, eggs, chocolate chips, fresh strawberries, whipped cream, butter, syrup, and non-stick cooking spray. He opened the waffle iron and made sure the heart shaped mold was still securely attached, then closed it, plugged it in, and pushed the button to pre-heat.

He then got to work with measuring and mixing. He followed the instructions on the box of waffle mix, doing everything in the same order that you always did. He even used your method for cracking eggs, counting to three before swiftly cracking the shell on the edge of the bowl. He had been practicing with you for months. You loved waffles, and he had wanted to be able to make them for you. It had started with him observing and taking notes, but you insisted that when it came to cooking, you had to learn by doing. And so, you had given him a task and provided him with plenty of encouragement and praise. And you never yelled or belittled him when he made mistakes. You would always reassure him and the two of you would figure out a way to fix it.

“Mew,” Buttercup interrupted his train of thought. He glanced down and smiled at her, then chuckled as he saw her crouch down, wiggle her backside, then leap from the floor to the countertop.

“You’re getting good at that,” he remarked, “a month ago you still needed a chair to help you get all the way up. You’re getting bigger and stronger every day.”

“Mew,” replied Buttercup. “Mew?”

“Yes, I’m cooking without supervision. It’s all part of our plan to surprise Mommy, remember?”

“Mew?”

“Yes, I know what I’m doing.” Frederick finished whisking the waffle batter and verified that the waffle iron was hot and ready to go. He opened it and carefully and sprayed it with the non-stick cooking spray, and then used a measuring cup to pour the batter into the mold. He then closed the device and flipped it over, activating the built-in timer. He moved to busy himself with slicing up the strawberries while waiting.

“Mew?”

“Yes, I signed your name on the card.”

“Mew?”

“Yes, your gift is all wrapped and hiding in the bedroom closet.”

“Mew, mew?”

“Yes, I know I left my cane upstairs. I’ll be okay without it. And yes, I can get the tray upstairs without dropping it. I practiced while Mommy was at the store yesterday.”

The waffle maker started beeping and Frederick flipped it over and opened it. A heart shaped, golden brown chocolate chip waffle sat in the center of it, and Frederick grinned, quite please with himself. He used a fork to lift it out of the machine and onto a plate. He looked over at Buttercup, who appeared to be rather impressed.

“Not bad for “unsupervised”, eh? What do you say we try another one?”

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

You were lounging in bed in the silk pajamas that Frederick had bought you for Christmas, a copy of Jane Austen’s “Northanger Abbey” in hand. Frederick and Buttercup had not yet returned, and your curiosity gnawed at you with every passing moment. Your stomach growled for the umpteenth time. If they didn’t return soon you going to march down into the kitchen and devour whatever you found in the fridge. But then you heard the sound of feet padding steadily up the stairs, and sound of Frederick’s voice telling Buttercup to go on ahead. You put down your book as you saw Buttercup come trotting into the room. She leapt up onto the bed and made herself comfortable in your open arms. You kissed the top of her head and she purred contentedly.

“There’s my sweet baby, did you have fun with Daddy?”

“I would say so, “said Frederick, entering the room with a try of food, coffee, and cranberry juice.

“Frederick, what’s all this?” You sat up as Frederick made his way over to the bed, carefully placing the tray across your lap. Your mouth watered at the sight of the waffles, topped with butter, syrup, strawberries, and whipped cream.

“It’s for you, my love, Happy Mother’s Day,” replied Frederick, kissing your cheek.

“Mother’s Day? But Frederick we don’t- “

“It’s been expanded to include pet moms, and that means you,” said Frederick matter-of-factly. “And Buttercup agrees with me, don’t you sweetheart?”

“Mew,” said Buttercup, nuzzling your cheek with her nose.

You felt yourself getting misty eyed, your heart swelling with emotions. “Oh Frederick, thank you, it’s perfect. Now, come here.” You patted the spot next to you and pulled Frederick in for a kiss as he sat down next to you. “I love you, Frederick.”

“I love you, too, darling. Now, dig in.” He indicated the waffles, and you quickly picked the knife and fork and did so.

“Mmm… Frederick these are amazing! You did wonderful job, my love.”

“Thank you, my darling, I had an expert teacher.”

“Mew?” You saw Buttercup eyeing the plate hungrily, licking her chops. You put a small dollop of whipped cream on your finger and held it out to her. She eagerly lapped it up. You giggled and placed another kiss on her head. “Such a silly girl.”

And with that, you settled in, content to enjoy your breakfast and spend the day relaxing with your beloved boyfriend and fur baby.

[bucketofcowboys]

I Don’t Mind

Just a short drabble I wrote at 3 am :)

It’s pretty short so I’ll be posting it on AO3 and tumblr

Relationship: Kazuma Kiryu/Goro Majima, Kazuma Kiryu & Haruka Sawamura, Goro Majima & Haruka Sawamura

Warning: NSFW but not complete NSFW-- turns into domestic fluff

Words: 1,748

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29952348

Summary: The only thing he could really think of in that moment was a stream of consecutive, desperate, 'no's. Don't get him wrong, he loved Haru-Chan. Haru-Chan is an absolute treasure to be around and every moment spent with her was a moment coated in diamonds and gold, but right now was not one of those moments. Not when he is so damn close to getting off.

(aka. Kiryu and Majima are getting it on but have to put it to a halt when Haruka has a nightmare)

----

Riding Kiryu was like riding a fucking bull. All hard muscles and sweat, squeezing his thighs just hard enough to not get bucked off, and feeling the sweet satisfaction of victory each minute he stayed on. Though, he was sure in actual bull riding the bull wouldn't be making noises like Kiryu did. He didn't even think bulls had the proper vocal chords to moan his name. Kiryu definitely did, and God, he found every way to roll around the name 'Majima' in his mouth until the name didn't even sound like a name anymore. Maybe a war cry or the last thing a man says when he takes his dying breath. 

Majima was close, and he wouldn't stop for anything. The only thing he wanted in that moment was to paint white across Kiryu's abdomen until they're both shaking, sputtering messes of human putty. He grabbed ahold of his own cock and stroked himself with a wet and fast pace. His back arched and he slammed down hard onto Kiryu's dick until he was whining like a kicked puppy. Kiryu looked so good like that, lips pink and puffy with kiss-abused bruises, parted beautifully in ecstacy, skin flushed cherry red from his cheeks all the way down to his ears, eyes half lidded and pupils dilated as he tried to watch the show Majima was giving him. He looked like a meal to be devoured and Majima was absolutely fucking famished. He could just eat him up. He wanted to eat him up.

"M'gonna cum baby, you gonna cum too? Wanna cum inside me baby? Fill my tight lil' hole, huh?" Majima blabbered out and Kiryu nodded enthusiastically. He smirked. "Ya so pretty. God, ya so pretty..." 

He leaned down and captured Kiryu's swollen lips in a kiss. He stole each noise that left Kiryu's mouth and swallowed it down like a man dying of dehydration. Their lips moved sporadically and Majima's teeth clacked against Kiryu's with every downwards movement. He ran his hands though that carefully slicked back hair and tugged until each strand of black stuck out at odd ends, ruining every last bit of collectiveness the other man had. He wanted to ravish him, destroy him, leave nothing but bone in his wake. 

He could feel himself getting closer and closer with each movement of his hips. He moved at different angles each time, trying his best to find the best way to hit his prostate and when he did, a throaty groan left him. He needed this. He needed this like he needed a pulse. He needed this like he needed food and water. He needed this like he needed to breathe. 

He felt that pressure building up quick inside of him, and he's just about to spill over like blood from a fresh stab wound when--

Knock knock

Two gentle hits on hardwood broke their near-orgasmic haze. Kiryu put his hands on Majima's hips and gripped hard to pull him down and stop his movements. Majima whined with frustration and Kiryu quickly shushed him. They sat in silence for a moment, Kiryu listening closely for any other noise like a dog listens for an intruder late in the night. Majima was almost convinced his ears were gonna perk up, and maybe he'd even start panting with his tongue out for show. 

"Ojisan?" A quiet voice muffled by the thick door of the bedroom finally rang out. Majima began to feel his whole world crashing down. 

The only thing he could really think of in that moment was a stream of consecutive, desperate, 'no's. Don't get him wrong, he loved Haru-Chan. Haru-Chan is an absolute treasure to be around and every moment spent with her was a moment coated in diamonds and gold, but right now was not one of those moments. Not when he is so damn close to getting off. 

"Get off, Majima..." Kiryu said softly, apologetic. Funny, cause that was exactly what he wanted.

"Maybe if we stay quiet, she'll go away." Majima didn't know if he was joking or not at this point. He was so desperate, clinging to any last scraps of being able to get off by the end of the night. Kiryu shot him a disapproving glare likened to that of a stern mother goose. He wouldn't even humor him. A damn shame. 

Majima sighed and begrudgingly sat up, shivering at the empty feeling and collapsing on the bed next to Kiryu. He couldn't even look up before Kiryu was up from the bed and fumbling to pull his clothes back on. Majima watched with a mournful stare as all of that beautiful tanned skin was covered in seconds. A depressing loss. He was so distracted by planning a funeral for Kiryu's naked ass that he didn't have time to react when something wacked him in the face.

"Hey--!" It took him a moment to realize that he had thrown his boxers at him.

"Get dressed." Kiryu grunted, standing there and crossing his arms as he waited for him to comply. Majima huffed, but he did as he was told, lazily pulling his boxers up his legs. It was like a snake slithering back into its shed skin-- unnatural and uncomfortable. Once he was done he rolled himself up in Kiryu's comforter and buried his face in the mattress like a moody toddler. He could almost feel Kiryu rolling his eyes.

Another gentle knock interrupted them, but this time it was followed by a few sniffles. Oh yeah, this was bad. 

Majima lifted his head until his good eye was poking up. Kiryu was already at the door, rushing to Haruka’s aid like the good parental figure he was.

"What's the matter?" His voice was soft as he spoke to her, the kind of soft that sent shivers down Majima's spine. Haruka was standing in the doorway in her pj's with tears staining her flushed cheeks. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and sniffled a few times to try and regain her composure. 

"I... I had a bad dream.” She finally fessed up. Her shoulders shuddered as she tried to hold back from becoming a sobbing mess. Kiryu kneeled down and gently gasped at her shoulders, one hand gently stroking the tears away from her cheek. So soft. So domestic. Majima could almost feel his heart melting into a puddle in his chest. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Haruka quickly shook her head, and he just nodded. 

“Can I come in?” She asked. Kiryu looked back at Majima with a look that was somehow apologetic and pleading at the same time. Haruka must have not noticed Majima’s presence, somehow, because she cocked her head up and startled when she saw him.

“Hi Majima-ojisan.” She said with a sniffle. Majima tried to offer her a genuine smile, mustering as much sunshine and rainbows he could in that moment and putting it all into a toothy grin, which looked much more frightening than Majima thought it did.

“Hey Haru-Chan.” Haruka wasn’t unfamiliar with Majima loitering around her and Kiryu's apartment, or at least not anymore. At this point he was over here more than he was at his own apartment. He patted a spot of the comforter next to him in a silent invitation. She quickly complied and crawled up onto the bed and plopped down next to him. 

She looked up at him and her eyes were filled with lingering tears that threatened to spill with every fan of her lashes. She was such a sad sight to see, he could almost hear his heart shattering into pieces. 

"Hey squirt, whatever's botherin' ya right now, forget about it." He placed a hand on her head and gently ruffled her hair, "Me and your pops are gonna protect ya from any monsters ya had in your nightmare, promise."

The bedroom light flickered off and soon the bed frame was squeaking in disapproval as Kiryu crawled onto the bed to join them. He shuffled up on the other side of Haruka and nodded into the conversation. 

"We're strong, we can take them." Kiryu added, laying on his side with a gentle smile on his lips. Haruka sniffled a bit, but she didn't seem like she was on the edge of bursting anymore. She rubbed her eyes, now raw from sobbing and a lack of sleep, and yawned.

"Can I sleep here? I don't want to go back to my room." She asked, but she was already curling up at Kiryu's side without an answer.

"Of course." Kiryu muttered, wrapping his arms around her and pressing a kiss to her head. He then looked up at Majima with a frown on his lips and eyes that read; 'I'm so sorry' over and over again like a news ticker. "You don't have to stay if you don't want to."

"I don't mind." And he didn't. Sure, he was a bit upset about the major cockblocking he just got, but he could deal. Haruka meant a lot to Kiryu, he wasn't just gonna get all pissy because he was being a good parent. 

Plus, it was all worth it, because Kiryu shot him a look that brought troves of butterflies to his stomach. A look that read so many emotions, none of which Majima felt comfortable naming. All he knew was that it felt nice to be looked at like that. Really fucking nice. Kiryu leaned as far forwards as he could with Haruka tucked beneath his chin and Majima met him halfway in a kiss. 

"I'll make it up to you." He insisted, and Majima flicked his cheek.

"Nah, shuddup. I already said I don't mind, now go to sleep." Kiryu gave a huff of his nostrils in protest, but didn't say anything else. He just pressed another peck to Majima's lips and pulled him closer until the three of them were squished together in a warm embrace.

This definitely wasn't the way he thought this night was going to end, but he had no qualms with it. The domesticality of it all was tooth rotting-ly sweet, and he hated to admit it but Kiryu looked cute as hell with Haruka sleeping in his arms, almost like a mama bear snuggling her cub close. Haruka slept sounder than she ever had that night with Majima and Kiryu there to protect her, and Majima fell asleep with a nice feeling of home settled in his chest.

[gendercraft]

Outlast: Revisited [Chapter Four: Waylon]

Read on ao3

Synopsis: I’m rewriting Outlast where the first game and Whistleblower are combined, Miles and Waylon are more connected, and also they kiss

Trigger warnings: Sexual assault plus everything already in the game; eye gore

Waylon hopped out of the vent into a tiny, mostly bare room. A Variant sat in the corner, hugging his legs with his face buried in his knees. A metal storage crate barricaded the door. 

“You mind if I move this?” Waylon asked quietly. 

The man shook his head. 

Waylon swallowed and braced himself against the crate. His weak muscles trembled and strained as he pushed. Holding back a groan, he squeezed his eyes shut. When it was finally out of the way he shook his hands out and sighed. 

Poking his head into the hall, he bit his lip. It was empty, the walls covered in plastic, emergency lights still blasting. The rest of the lights had gone out. There were several dead bodies littering the hall, blood smeared on the plastic. One body was completely ripped in half, torso from legs, guts spilling into the floor. 

He snuck into a security room and shut the door behind him. Through the window to a decontamination chamber, a man in scrubs pressed his hands to the glass. 

“Help me, please!” He cried. “I’m a doctor! I need to get home to my…” His eyes widened. He spluttered for a second, then said, “You’re not security. I was… I’m a patient,” he said carefully. 

Waylon stepped closer, brows furrowed. 

“I stole these clothes from a… dead body I found. You gotta let me out of here. Please. Just push the button, open the door. We can get out of here together!” 

Waylon hesitated. He wished he’d recognized the man—if it were really a doctor, he’d leave him to rot, but he couldn’t risk hurting a patient, could he? Fuck. He slammed his hand on the button. 

The doors slid open, and a Variant with a grimace and a red face stepped inside. The doctor/patient gasped and stepped back. 

“No, no!” 

“All of you,” the Variant snarled, grabbing the back of the doctor/patient’s head and slamming it into the glass. Waylon stepped backwards with wide eyes, “doctors and liars.” 

He slammed the man’s head into the glass, over and over and over and over again, thunk, thunk, crack, thunk, blood spurted everywhere. Slipping out of its socket, the eye was crushed against the glass. Blood dripped from his mouth and nose and eyes. Crack! Thin lines stained the glass like a halo. 

Waylon felt sick. Gagging, he backed up until he was pressed against the door. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

The Variant thanked him, then left. 

He’d never seen a man die before today. Never seen a dead body outside of a coffin. Dozens in the last few hours, murdered and worse. The look in the Variant’s eyes, the raw anger, as he crushed the man’s skull… There was no real difference between the doctors and patients now. They were all crazy, all sick. 

And what was Waylon? He watched a man die and only thought, it’s not me, thank God. 

He knew he’d die someday. He didn’t want to be murdered. 

Waylon stumbled out of the room and made his way to the airlock. It sprayed him with that awful-smelling green gas, then let him through. The corpse watched him as he left. He crept through to the closest exit he knew of, but it was jammed and blocked. Dead Variants littered the ground. 

A file caught his eye. He picked it up with shaking hands. 

 From: j.blaire@murkoffcorp.us.com

To: h.grant@murkoff.us.com

Subject: Resignation for Mental Health, CC 8208 

Ms. Grant, 

 You may receive requests for information from a Mrs. Lisa Park, of Leadville, CO, in the coming weeks concerning the resignation and hospitalization of her husband, Waylon. If so, please forward them to my personal attention. 

 Waylon’s stomach lurched. Lisa? Oh, God… 

 Waylon Park (former consulting contract 8208) resigned due to previously undiagnosed mental illness. I personally visited Mrs. Lisa Park and her sons and broke the news to them, with the “silver lining” that Murkoff Psychiatric would be graciously providing treatment. 

 Mrs. Park had some less than charitable things to say about myself and the Murkoff corporation. I assured her that with her power of attorney she could try to fight the doctors’ diagnoses of her husband’s illness. 

 However, if it were discovered that he resigned under false pretenses, his insurance would be cancelled and the family would be saddled with not insignificant healthcare debts. 

 The paper crunched in Waylon’s fist. 

 Hopefully she understood. 

But if she insists on making a nuisance of herself, or tries to get around me, please let me know. This is one I want to take care of personally. 

 Yours, 

Jeremy Blaire

 Waylon shoved the paper in his pocket. Please say she let it go. Please let her be okay. 

 Blaire’s voice echoed in his head. 

“Somehow not smart enough to realize that the last thing a fly ought to do in a spider’s web is wiggle.” The laptop cracked on the ground as Blaire dropped it. “Somehow dumb enough to think that a borrowed laptop, onion router, and firewall patch would be enough to fool the world’s leading supplier of biometric security.” He tapped his forehead. “Stupid, Mr. Park. More than stupid. In fact, that was crazy!” A sick grin spread across his face. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to have you committed. Mr. Park, will you willfully submit to forced confinement?” He glanced over his shoulder at the three armed security guards that followed him. “Did you hear that, agent?” 

Waylon’s heart slammed against his chest, his fingertips. The fear burned hot in his abdomen, sweat gathering on his brow. 

“He said ‘yes,’ Mr. Blaire.” 

“Great!” Blaire waved his finger. “Oh, and… did I just hear Mr. Waylon Park volunteer for the Morphogenic Engine program?” 

“That’s what I heard, Mr. Blaire.” 

“That was brave, indeed, Waylon. The Murkoff Corporation and the onward march of science both appreciate your bravery… and sacrifice. Maybe you should administer Mr. Park here a light anesthetic?” 

“Gladly.” The front guard stepped forward and wound his arm back. 

Waylon raised his hands. Blinding pain rippled across his face, and his eyes rolled back into his head. 

Waylon ground his teeth together so hard something cracked. He would get back to Lisa and the boys if he had to tear through the entire asylum. 

The next airlock was broken, so he climbed atop a stack of crates covered in a blue tarp and dragged himself on top. Army crawling across, he jumped to the ground. It was pitch black in the hall. He raised his camcorder and flicked on the nightvision. 

He found himself in the cafeteria. Body parts were strewn across like decorations. Someone hummed and mumbled nearby. Bodies hung from the freezer’s ceiling like cured pigs. Flesh teared in the cafeteria, munching. Hands shaking, he crept into the kitchen. 

Waylon gagged. Blood boiled on the stove like someone was making fucking spaghetti, an arm and a hand poking out of the bubbling warmth. He entered the dining area, and behind the glass of the bar, blood splattered across the copious amount already caked on. Around the corner, then he zoomed in to look through the glass at the naked, bearded man sawing into a corpse. 

Keeping his camera up, Waylon’s eyes watered. He stepped forward. 

POP!

The microwave beeped and the head inside exploded. 

“Oh, God,” Waylon choked out. 

“Don’t you look at us,” the man snapped. “I love him.” He pulled out an organ and dropped it into his mouth. 

He chewed with his lips open, blood spurting, tissue tearing. Waylon stumbled back and hurried out of the room. He doubled over and gagged, choked, trying to vomit but nothing coming up. 

Sitting on the ground, he set the camera down facing him. “Don’t ask to see my body, Lisa,” he choked out. “When I die, when you finish the lawsuits that let you pry this footage from Murkoff’s army of lawyers and corporate hitmen, don’t make them show you my body. Just bury it. Or burn it. Let my sons remember me whole.” He looked away and squeezed his eyes shut. “That man is eating human flesh,” he whispered. “He looks at me and I see anger. A little desire. But more than anything, hunger. Please don’t make them show you my body.” 

He grabbed the camera. He didn’t plan on dying, but he would not risk not warning Lisa. 

He passed through a locker room and into a hallway, towards a grated door. A corpse hung by the wrist to set of handcuffs, looped through the grate, holding it closed. He had to get through there to get to the prison, get to the radio. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, yanking at the handcuffs. He’d have to find the key. There had to be a security guard around here somewhere. 

Across from the grate was a boarded up door. The glass above it was broken. He climbed atop the desk resting there and pulled himself through the broken window, hissing as glass cut across his thighs. 

Keeping an eye out for the key, he crept down the hall. Bzzzz! 

Waylon dropped to the floor as the cook came into the hall. His eyes glowed in the infrared, slowly surveying every inch of the blackness. There was that desire in his eyes, that hunger. Waylon kept the camcorder up and swallowed, his skin crawling. Out of all the people in Mount Massive, he did not want to be in the hands of the cook. 

He thought about turning around and finding an alternate way to the prison, but it would take too much time. He’d just have to be careful, quiet. He crept forward. The hall went forward and then to the left, with a room to the right. As the cook disappeared into the room to the right, Waylon hurried forward, still low to the ground. His eyes were on the corner. If he could just get around the corner, maybe he wouldn’t be seen. 

His foot crinkled on a sheet of plastic hanging off the wall. He froze. 

“I can smell you!” 

Shuddering, Waylon crept further into the darkness. 

“Feed me! Feed me! FEED ME!” 

The saw buzzed, bzzz! 

Just keep moving, Waylon. 

He crawled forward in the hall and turned the corner. The man was still busy in the room to the right. In the turn of the hall, the walls were lined with wooden doors. He crept into the first one just long enough to catch his breath. It was bare with just a stack of mattresses on a metal bedframe, no key in sight. He stood up halfway and peeked open the door. 

The hall was empty. He swung the door open and snuck out. 

“MINE! You are mine!” 

The voice was right behind him. He broke into a sprint, just in time for the buzzsaw to catch the hairs on the back of his neck. 

“Fuck!” He gasped, skidding to a stop at the blocked end of the hall and slamming his fist into the door as he barged inside. 

He ran straight across the hall to the next door, barging through that one as well, leading him into a room full of storage shelves and crosses on the wall. A dead end. He looked around wildly, a place to hide, a place to escape. 

“Feed me! Feed me! FEED ME!” 

Waylon whipped around. The cook grinned, blood glinting on his teeth, white in the night vision. He swung the buzzsaw and Waylon leapt backwards. Tripping over his own feet, his back smacked against the ground. The saw came over the cook’s head, and Waylon rolled out of the way, only for burning pain to rip through his leg. 

“FUCK!” He staggered to his feet and felt frantically at the blood dripping down his calf. 

Another swing, Waylon brought his hand up, a slash down his palm. He whimpered and stumbled backwards. 

Then he saw it—an open vent sat above a desk. He ducked another blow and dashed for the vent. His collar caught and he choked, his eyes watering. The cook dragged him backwards and threw him into a shelf. His chest and knee and elbow slammed into the corners. Wheezing, he made another break for the vent. He shoved past the cook and leapt onto the desk as all the lights flicked on. 

The buzzsaw caught the bottom of his foot as he dragged himself into the vent. He curled into a ball and hissed through his teeth. His blood smelled of iron, it was all he could smell, all he could think. He sat up as best as he could, cramped in the little square space, and looked for a seam to rip with his teeth. The cook grunted and cursed as he tried to get into the vent, only to turn and leave the room. 

“I’ll find another way…”

Waylon found a seam in his pants and ripped off what fabric he could. It wasn’t even or clean, but it was long enough for him to wrap around his calf and tie tight enough to hurt. He ripped off another piece for his foot, and another for his hand. 

He was shaking when he dropped to the ground. His foot burning, he bit back a whimper. 

A Variant stood in the corner. He was dressed, thank God, but bandages wrapped around his eyes. 

Waylon held his hands up as the Variant stalked towards him. “Hey, hey… What’s going on, man?” 

“I have an itch.” 

He cringed. “I can’t help with that. Want me to get those bandages off?” 

The Variant shook his head. What could be behind the fabric? 

Waylon swallowed. “Your clothes… you come from upstairs?” He wasn’t wearing the standard jumpsuit the Morphogenic volunteers wore. His clothes came from the Male Ward. 

“Yes.” 

“So you can get around safely, you know how to not get caught?” 

The Variant hesitated, then continued forward. Waylon stepped back. “I can move around.” 

“I need you to find someone for me. Can you do that? I can switch out your bandage for something cleaner.” 

“...okay.”

“There should be an investigative journalist running around here somewhere—”

“Miles Upshur.” 

Waylon blinked. “Y… yeah. How’d you- how’d you know?” 

“He’s been… talking to everyone. Trying to. In the abandoned sections. Headed to the basement, last I saw. Why do you need him?” 

“Find him,” Waylon begged, “tell him Waylon Park, the whistleblower, is headed to the prison. I’m going to get help.”

He stopped walking. “You’re the whistleblower?” 

“Yes,” Waylon said uncertainly. 

“I’ll find him for you.” 

Waylon found a seam in his shirt sleeve and ripped it free. He carefully pulled the bandages away from the Variant’s face. In the sockets, the eyes were completely eviscerated, nothing but bloody pulp. Waylon felt like gouging his own eyes out with a spoon. He bit back a gag and pulled the new bandage around his eyes. 

“Get those clean,” he mumbled, then patted his shoulder. “I need to go.” 

Waylon was back towards the labs, plastic lining the glass walls and laptop carts clogging up the halls. He wasn’t sure if the handcuff key would be around here, but he was just grateful to be away from the cook. 

He looked around for a tense couple of minutes, stepping quietly and keeping an ear out for any buzzing, before he finally found a bathroom with a dead security guard. He snatched the key from the man’s belt and sighed in relief. 

All he had to do now was get back. 

He found his way back to the main hall and stuck his head out the door. The cook grumbled to himself, peeking inside a room, saw buzzing beside him. Waylon swallowed and crouched. He crept into the hall and around the corner. 

If he comes this way, I’m fucked. But the barred door he originally jumped over was in sight. The cook was not agile, couldn’t follow him. It was Waylon’s only strength here. 

He cursed himself, then broke into a sprint. 

“MINE!” 

His feet slapped the floor as the cook raced behind him. Vaulting over a turned over bed and leaping onto a desk, he scrambled up through the window again, the broken glass making more cuts across his thighs. 

Waylon stumbled to the ground. His vision blurred, his head hot. Panic? Blood loss? Both? Whatever. He got the key. 

Unlocking the handcuffs, the corpse’s arm slipped out and thunked to the ground. With shaking hands, Waylon pulled the handcuffs out of the lock and swung the grate open. 

It led into the crematorium. He headed down a short staircase and crept into the room. His heart was still racing, his legs still equipped to run. Something banged on the nearby door as he passed the ovens. He nearly jumped out of his skin. 

Backing up, he watched the door shake again, then stop. He hesitated. 

I have to go this way. 

He watched his steps, stepping over broken glass and litter. The second he passed the door slammed open. The cook grabbed him by the neck and threw him onto his back. Waylon wheezed and kicked, the wind knocked out of him. The cook hauled him onto a wooden slab and raised the buzzsaw. 

“This meat is mine,” he cackled. 

He brought the buzzsaw to his chest, slowly inching forward until red splattered. Waylon threw his head back and screamed. Then the cook pulled the saw away. 

Grabbing Waylon by the legs, he shoved him backwards. The heat of the oven burned the back of Waylon’s head. 

“You stay there,” he grinned, “and cook!” 

Then he threw Waylon into the oven, and slammed the door. 

@wasnt-hiding-in-cuba-for-7-years asked for waylon torture porn so here’s me delivering the best i can this early in the story. more whump later, hope you enjoyed lol 

[the-awkward-outlaw]

I was just playing the mission where they clear out beaver hallow and it made me want to request something where healthy! Arthur rescues a reader in the cave and the aftermath where they fall in love and what not 👀😬🥰 pretty please

Yay, I was so happy to write this one! So happy I went and wrote like 13 pages 🙄 Anyways, enjoy. 

Warnings: blood, gore, witnessed rape, but I make it up with a lot of fluff!

Masterlist

Read on AO3

Cold. That’s all you feel. Physically, mentally, emotionally. The entire world has grown cold. How can you believe in warmth and light and love or kindness in a place like this? You’re surrounded by constant darkness, only occasionally broken up by the firelight of torches, hidden somewhere around the bend of the giant pillar holding the ceiling of this massive cavern. If only you could leave, but you’re trapped in this steel cage, the door bound tightly shut by thick ropes. 

It’s impossible to say how long you’ve been here. There’s no way for you to tell between night and day, and therefore you haven’t been able to count. It feels like an eternity though. All the others you were with, your brother and his horrible wife and spoiled daughter, they’re all dead. Why you were spared by these murderers is a mystery. Maybe because you were the only grown woman who showed no signs of being spoilt by another man, maybe it was just a random choice. 

Not that the others in your caravan were killed immediately. Some of them were, sure, shot down by the rifles in the Murfree’s hands, like your brother for instance. He hadn’t even seen them coming before those men put a bullet in his skull. You, the other women and a few of the men were bound and dragged to their cavern while a few stayed behind to butcher the others. If only their screams were the only ones you heard. 

After being dragged into the cavern, the Murfrees took the three of the four men left alive and began to attack them, cutting off bits and pieces of them, gutting one and skinning the other. It was bad enough to hear and see what was happening, but then you watched, held down by a Murfrees boot, as your sister-in-law was stripped, raped and then cut into pieces. Her massacred torso was shoved onto a spike, a warning to travelers of what was waiting for them. She was an evil, horrible person, but she didn’t deserve that. 

You and your niece were two of the four left alive. Another woman and the last man were dragged inside. All the women, including your niece, were thrown into this cage while the man was taken somewhere else, apparently meant to be tortured slowly. There was no rhyme or reason to this savage attack, but as time passed and you picked up bits and pieces of the Murfrees talking, you gathered that they viewed this area as their territory and would defend it however they deemed fit, and that was through extreme violence and foul savagery. 

As the days passed, though you could not count them for lack of light, the Murfrees began to prey upon the other two women in the cage with you. They picked the oldest one first, dragging her out, shearing her hair off, raping her. Apparently she was too old for their taste and they killed her only a few hours later. 

Your niece, though spoiled rotten and one of the worst people you’ve ever known, you would never wish any of this on her. They picked her next. They dragged her from the cage, strapped her to a rack and left her naked. Every once in a while, some of them would gather around her, rape her, cut her, whip her. Her screams were the worst as she was little more than a child. YOu were glad she didn’t last long. But her death meant that it was your turn. 

However, the Murfrees haven’t done anything just yet. They’ve come up to the cage, rattled the bars, screamed all sorts of horrible things at you, stuck in their hands to try and grab you, but they haven’t done anything. It’s clear why. This waiting, the anticipation for the inevitable horrors lying ahead for you, is a form of torture. And torture it is. You wished they’d just kill you already. 

It’s impossible to say how many tears you’ve shed. Your throat is cracked, dry and painful from the lack of water and the hours you’ve spent screaming for help. Your captors haven’t bothered to offer you food or water, but that’s the last thing you’re worried about. You know they’re capable of far, far worse. 

Your niece must have died days ago. They still haven’t bothered to remove her corpse from the rack on the other side of the cavern from your cage. The smell of this place is choking. The stench of her decay, and the decay of other rotting bodies, overwhelms you. That mixed with urine and feces threatens to make you vomit what very little nourishment is left in your stomach. 

At one point, a Murfree walks past your cage. You look out with a tear-stained face. “Kill me, please!” you beg. 

He just chuckles, showing rotten teeth. “Oh not so fast there, little girl. Your friends died way too quickly. We plan on making you last a while.” 

You try to make him angry, to spur him to kill you, but he doesn’t fall for it. You try everything you can think of, but nothing comes of it. They’ve left you in nothing but your underclothes. If you weren’t already so terrified of them raping you and leaving your naked body on display, you’d strip yourself out of your chemise and hang yourself. As time goes on though, that idea becomes more and more appealing. How much longer can you last? 

Finally the cave falls silent. There hasn’t been any screams for some time, all their other victims must be dead or incapacitated. The Murfrees are quiet too. Maybe they’re sleeping, or out scouting for fresh blood. This gives you the opportunity to lay on the back wall of the cage that’s right against the pillar, meaning no one can grab you through the bars. Despite the fear and pain in your bruised body, you manage to fall into a light sleep. 

Suddenly someone screams out, jerking you awake. It isn’t the scream of someone getting tortured or murdered. There’s words in them. 

“Someone’s in the cave!” it says. 

You stand up, your heart in your throat. A gunshot echoes through the cavern making you jump out of your skin, and it’s followed by more screams. Murfrees begin to swarm towards the gunshots, screaming and calling out threats. They’re armed with machetes and guns of their own. 

After several minutes, the air finally falls silent. Then the face of a man comes into view. You’ve never seen him before. His intelligent eyes glitter from a dark face and he calls behind him. 

“There’s someone alive, she’s in a cage.” 

All you can think of is that they’re new captors, and that they’re just as bad or possibly worse than the Murfrees. A whimper escapes your lips as you try clinging to the back wall of the cage, looking for somewhere to hide. 

The man comes back into view, followed by another man. He wears a leather hat and he slings a gun to his back before approaching. 

“S-stay away from me!” you yell out, your voice surprisingly strong. 

“It’s okay, we’re here to help,” the white man says. He gets close to the door, despite you pleading for him to leave and then pulls out a knife. You begin screaming, your legs turning to jelly as you sink to the ground in the corner. This is it. You’re going to have a number of unspeakable things done to you and then you’re going to die. 

“Shhh, we ain’t gonna hurt ya,” says the man, quickly cutting through the rope that locks your door. He sheaths it immediately and holds his arms up. His voice is soft and gentle. 

“Easy, easy. We’re here to help.” 

“Please leave me alone,” you sob. Your hands are over your ears as tears sting your eyes. He’s getting closer, causing your heart to beat painfully. Your head drops to your knees so you don’t have to see him anymore, hoping he’ll go away. 

Something gently touches your shoulder, but you flinch as though stung. It touches you a little harder, but there’s no pain to it. When you uncover your eyes, you see it’s his hand. Blue eyes meet yours and he talks gently again. 

“It’s okay. I’m here to help ya. Gonna get you home.” He slowly gets closer, enveloping his arms around you. Despite your intense fear, you lean into him, burying your face into his chest. He smells good, but that’s in comparison to the foul stench of the cave. Heat emanates from him, allowing you to escape from the cold, and you shiver. 

“A’right, let’s get ya outta here.” The man stands up, but you cling to him, suddenly afraid of his absence. Contrary to what you believed a few moments ago, this man represents safety, light, warmth and hope. You cling to his hand, sticking close as he begins walking through the cavern, accompanied by the other man you first saw. 

“So, where you from?” your hero asks. 

“Valentine. But… but… I don’t…” You blanch as you see the fresh corpses of the Murfrees spread around. 

“It’s okay,” he says, squeezing your hand. “They’re all dead. You’re safe.” 

You swallow, your lower lip trembling, sticking closer to him as you both walk towards the mouth of the cave. Your feet scrape against the cold rock and small bones of animals that are strewn about. Light hits your eyes suddenly, harsh and painful, causing you to wince. After a moment, you adjust to it and look around the uncomfortably familiar clearing, littered with bodies and broken bits of wagons. You avoid looking at the pike holding what’s left of your sister-in-law. 

Your hero stands next to a horse and he looks back at you. “You okay to ride a little? I’ll take ya home.” 

You begin shivering and then break into tears, crumpling to the ground. “My family…. There’s…. There’s no one left.” 

The man walks over and gently picks you up so you’re standing. He offers himself as a support for you and you lean into him, wishing this was all nothing more than a horrible nightmare. 

“You sayin’ you ain’t got a family no more?” he asks softly. 

You nod into his shirt. “They’re gone. They’re gone.” 

“Well… ya can’t stay here. Let me take ya home, then you can figure out what ya wanna do.” 

Slowly, he lifts you onto his horse and then climbs on in front. You cling to him as though your very life depends on it, which it partially does. He bids his companion farewell and then kicks his horse into an easy gallop. 

“You okay, miss?” he asks after a few moments. 

“They’re… they’re animals!” you say with a harsh sob. 

“I know, but you’re safe now.” 

“I haven’t slept in days! My family, they killed them!” You bury your head into his back and cry, exhaustion ripping through you. The weight of the last few days is finally slamming into you. All you want to do is curl up and sleep, never to wake up again. Part of you wishes this man would take pity on you and just put a bullet in your head. It would be easier. But amidst your crying, you don’t have the strength to ask him. 

He rides on, giving you encouragement every once in a while. When he passes O’Creagh’s Run, you guide him to your cabin, which isn’t too much farther away. Once there, he helps you down from his horse and you stare at the cabin miserably. 

This cabin, you thought it had been hell before. After your parents died, you had nowhere to go but your brother’s, with his horrible wife and worse daughter, all of whom are now dead. If you’d had the money, you would’ve left a long time ago. Then, your brother got a job in Boston, which was why you were caravaning up to Annesburg, to board the train and go there. That is what led to you ending up in the Murfree’s clutches. 

The cabin lies cold and empty now. Your hero walks up to it with you and you open the door, finding the very little furniture that was left behind, including your rickety bed but it has no blankets. Only the lumpy mattress you slept on. The man looks around, clearly worried about your predicament. 

“You sure there ain’t no where else I can take ya, ma’am?” 

You shake your head. “I don’t h-have anyone else, mister.” 

He sighs and nods, then goes to his horse where he pulls off his bedroll. He hands it to you. “Here. I know it ain’t much, but sounds like you need something warm to sleep in. You gonna be okay?” 

Your lip is trembling again and more tears are swelling up, but you nod. He looks at you, his eyes saying he doesn’t believe you. 

“Here, why don’t you lay down, try gettin’ some rest. I’ll um, see if I can cook you somethin’ to eat.” 

You’re so tired and confused that you can do nothing else but obey him. He sprawls his bedroll on the old mattress and you climb into it. All you want to do is fall asleep now that you’re warm and protected by this stranger, but the memories and the screams come back to you, preventing you from doing so. Soon, the smell of cooking meat fills the cabin and you look up. 

“I got some venison cookin’ up for ya.”

The thought of eating any kind of meat, after the things you witnessed, makes you want to gag. He sees your green face. 

“Somethin’ wrong?” 

“I… I can’t eat that. Not…. not like this. Not now.” 

Realization dawns on his face. “That’s a’right, I’ll eat it later. Well here, I got some beans, canned fruit. Here, got this too.” 

He reaches into his satchel and pulls out a chocolate bar and hands it to you. Despite having not eaten in days, you’re really not hungry. You take the candy and just hold it, sniffing lightly. You hear him sigh and then he drags the one chair left in the house over to you, sitting down so he can look at you. 

“Ma’am, I know you seen some bad things back there. I know those bastards killed your family. I’m real sorry, about all that. But… well, you’d make me feel a lot better if you’d eat somethin’.” 

Tears streaming down your cheeks, you open the chocolate up and take a bite, though you don’t really taste it. He pats your knee, making you flinch. 

“What’s your name?” 

You tell him and he nods. “Arthur. Arthur Morgan. You, uh, you gonna be okay here?” 

You just shrug your shoulders. Although you’ve no appetite, you’re starting to feel better now that your stomach has something in it. When you’re finished eating, Arthur offers you some peaches but you deny them. You really don’t think you can handle any more food. Instead, you lay down to try and get some sleep. Arthur stands up and begins heading for the door. 

“Wait,” you say, your voice shaking. “Arthur, will… will you stay with me? At least until I… I’m not awake anymore?” 

He turns and looks at you. It’s obvious from his face he’s got something heavy weighing on his mind, but he nods and sits back down in the chair. “Sure. Guess I can do that.” 

You lay back down, your eyes unable to close for fear of seeing the horrors you witnessed. You can’t stand to watch your family get butchered again, hear their screams. Arthur pulls out an old journal from his satchel and begins scratching at a page with his pencil. The sound, and the exhaustion, finally lulls you to sleep. 

Contrary to your surety, you end up having no dreams. Perhaps your mind’s so tired it can’t muster up the energy to dream, or maybe it’s trying to block the memories out. You don’t care though, you’re just grateful. You wake up after a few hours. It’s dark outside your window. Arthur’s gone and you’re all alone. 

You feel like crying again, but you’re extremely thirsty. A result of having nothing to drink for God knows how long. You go out into the family room and kitchen of the cabin and find something lying on the cold stove. There’s several cans of food, a full waterskin,  a bundle of money and a letter. Reading it, you see it’s from Arthur and he begs you to take care of yourself as best you can and that he’ll try and check on you in a few days. The thought of him returning sends a jolt of hope through your chest. 

After drinking nearly half of the waterskin’s contents, you try going back to sleep, but you’re afraid. Afraid of the isolation, the darkness. You light a candle, but it does little to help. Shadows flicker along the walls, the silhouettes of the leaves outside play tricks on your eyes. 

You know that not all the Murfrees were in that cabin when Arthur saved you. There were still plenty out there, alive and probably angry. Would they hunt you down? Would they hunt Arthur down? You have more questions than answers. The fear that they will track you and find you here tears through your chest. Should you leave? If Arthur returns, should you ask to follow him? He must have a group of people he lives with, but the thought of living with strangers makes you afraid too. You’ll be lucky if you ever trust another person after this. How can anyone be good when you just witnessed such extreme brutality? 

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

A few days pass with no sight or word of another person, which is lucky for you. You talked yourself into going to the stream not far from the cabin and bathing, happy to strip the dirt and the blood from your skin. You rubbed yourself raw, as though convinced that by stripping your skin as much as you could, you could strip away the memories. 

You struggle to sleep, and when you do, it’s very light. The slightest sounds wake you. If only Arthur were here, you felt safe with him. However, you doubt he’ll return. Why would he? You don’t know each other, he owes you nothing and you’ve nothing to offer him in return for his services. Still, you count the days until you see him, happy that you can see the sunlight. 

The day after you came back, a young stag started to visit your house. Your home has always been frequented by deer, of course. But none of them ever stay long. The stag, though, seems to like this spot. You’ve caught him napping beneath your bedroom window a few times. He seems to have no fear of you, nor does he seem aggressive. In fact, he seems curious about you, liking to watch you pick through your sister-in-law’s garden, which is beginning to grow wild. The stag is a welcome companion. You know his senses are far more powerful than your own, and if he’s afraid, you should be too. He never gets worried though, until the fourth day. 

You’re out picking some ginseng from the garden when the stag looks up from his grazing and bolts off into the trees. Looking up, you see Arthur walking in on his horse. He waves to you in greeting. A sigh escapes your lips and your stomach unclenches. You’d been afraid it’d been one of the Murfrees coming down the path. 

“Hello, Y/N,” he says, dismounting. 

“H-hello, Arthur,” you say with a croaky voice. You haven’t spoken a word since you last saw him. 

“How are you?” he asks, stopping a few feet away. “Ya look tired.” 

You shrug again. “It’s… it’s been hard to sleep.” He just nods, not expecting you to go into detail as to why. You notice from his eyes that he seems tired himself. 

“I’d… Let me cook something up for you,” you say. “Afraid all I have is the food you left for me. Thank you for that, by the way.” 

“It’s not a problem, ma’am, and you don’t need to do that. By the way, do you know how to feed yourself out here?” 

It’s clear he means hunting, and you shake your head. “I don’t think I can do it. Maybe before all this I could’ve, but now…” 

He nods, understanding what you mean. “Give it time, Y/N. But I brought more food for you. Thought you might need it.” 

You invite him inside, stammering your thanks. Of course, there’s really not anywhere to sit, but you and Arthur do by sitting on the floor, eating out of the cans. You’re both quiet for a time, but then you ask Arthur what his life is like, desperate for a distraction from the hell that is your own life. 

He tells you that he’s an outlaw, that he’s running with a gang. They’ve run into the worst of times, which is what led to him and his friend Charles to Beaver Hollow where they found you. He finishes by saying they’re all holed up there now and they’ve cleaned it up. 

“You’re not afraid of the Murfrees coming back?” you ask, your eyes wide. 

He chuckles. “Trust me, they’d be damn stupid to do that. With how my gang is right now, they’re nastier than those Murfrees.” 

“I don’t believe that for a second, Mr. Morgan. You… you don’t kidnap and butcher people,” you say slowly, still getting used to talking again. 

“No, but we’re all turnin’ on each other like a pack of wild, starvin’ dogs. The gang leader, Dutch… he’s… gone crazy or somethin’. His girl came back, drunk and mad, sayin’ she betrayed us. Our matriarch, Susan, shot her dead. I wanted to spare Dutch’s girl, but they killed her anyways. I honestly have my doubts that she betrayed us. Think she was just heartbroken, woulda said anythin’ to hurt Dutch like he hurt her.”

You don’t really know anything about what he’s saying, but it sounds like his gang’s in trouble. You swear you recognize the name Dutch though. 

“What… what is Dutch’s last name?” you ask. 

“Van der Linde. Why?” 

Your eyes widen again and you stare at Arthur with a new sense of recognition. “You’re with Dutch’s boys? The gang of murderers, train robbers and bandits?” 

He sighs and just nods. 

“I read about the Blackwater heist, the Valentine massacre. Were… were you involved with those?” 

“Not the Blackwater heist. But I helped shoot up Valentine, Rhodes, Saint Denis. I’m afraid I ain’t the hero you believe I am.” 

Even though you know you should be appalled and disgusted with the man sitting beside you, you don’t. Instead, you put your hand on his knee. “You saved my life, Mr. Morgan. You killed those bad people, brought me home. Not only that, you’re here now to make sure I’m okay. You can’t be all bad.” 

“But I ain’t all good neither, Y/N. Trust me, I killed just as many folks as those bastards who put you in this situation.” 

You pause and withdraw your hand. “Did you like it? Killing those people?” 

He sighs. “No. I ain’t never liked it. But I had to with most of ‘em.” 

“Then you’re not as bad as those Murfree bastards. They… they liked it.” For the first time since you returned, you willingly delve into those memories, trying to get Arthur to see your point. “They said they’d do horrible things to me, Arthur. And I believed every single one of them because I watched them do those things to my family. My brother and his family weren’t good people, but they didn’t deserve what happened. Forgive me, but I don’t see you skinning a man and laughing as he screams. I can’t imagine you raping a girl as young as my niece. I can’t believe you’d mutilate a woman and put her body on a pike for display.” 

He swallows. “No. No I’d never do that.” 

“Then you ain’t a bad man, not like them. You… saved me and you don’t even know me.” 

He looks at you and pats you on the knee. “I’d save you again, miss. Listen, even though things are bad with my gang and I got a lotta work to do, I… I’m hopin’ you’ll be a’right if I stay here every few days?” 

You smile for the first time and squeeze his hand. “Nothing would make me happier, Mr. Morgan.” 

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

As Arthur promised, every few days he returns to your cabin and usually stays for a day or two. He sleeps out in his own tent during the night, resting in a new bedroll since you still have his old one. You offered it back but he told you to keep it. 

After his third visit, he brought tools he bought from Valentine and started making you furniture. You had no means to get it yourself, and you were incredibly embarrassed that he’d do such labors as that, but you were grateful. He made a table first and then a chair to go with the single one you had. 

Every time he comes, he brings food and often leaves you with some money. You ask him to keep it, of course, as you haven’t gotten the courage to go to town. However he ignores your pleas and does it anyways, stating you need it more than he does. 

Along with this, he decided to teach you how to shoot a gun, stating it’s useful knowledge in case the Murfrees do track you down. You don’t like it much at first as the bang always makes you jump. When you grow used to it, it gets easier. Arthur ends up leaving a carbine repeater with you so you can have some form of protection when he’s gone. 

When Arthur isn’t here, the young stag always returns. You find great comfort in the deer’s company, almost like he’s watching over you when Arthur can’t. He always leaves when Arthur visits, but within hours of his departure, the stag comes back every time. 

As the weeks go by, your memories slowly begin to grow less harsh and you start recalling them less. You still don’t trust strangers and any sight of one from the trail sends you running into your cabin. The threat of the Murfrees still hangs heavy over your head. The nightmares started some time ago and you still aren’t able to sleep very well. You notice you sleep best on the nights when Arthur’s visiting. 

You look out your kitchen window and see him coming down the trail now, making your heart lift. Opening the window, you call out to him and he waves, a big grin on his face. As he dismounts his horse, he looks over at you. 

“What you cookin’?” he asks. 

“Just some turkey. I shot one earlier.” 

“Did ya?” he says, pride in his voice. He tried getting you to eat some eat a couple weeks back but with no success. However, even you can’t deny how much weight you’ve lost since the cave. Even though you’re eating enough beans, vegetables and fruits, it’s obvious you need to eat some meat to keep going. 

He walks into the cabin, sniffing appreciatively. You can’t help but blush. The more you two have gotten to know each other, the more you’ve grown to like him. Not only that, you’re quickly developing a crush on him. You have an idea that he might like you too. After all, why else would he keep visiting you like this? 

Just as you’re setting dinner down on the table, the cabin is suddenly illuminated by and quickly followed by a huge bang, causing you to jump out of your skin. 

“Easy, easy,” Arthur says, his hand planting on the small of your back. “It’s just lightning and thunder.” 

You blush at his touch and nod. He goes over to the window and looks up at the sky. “Hmm. Looks like a pretty good storm.” 

You pause. You’ve no bed to offer him, but you don’t want him sleeping out in the rain either. 

“You can, um, take my bed if you want,” you offer. “You’re the guest, after all.” 

“No, miss, I’d never kick ya out of your own bed.” 

You think to offer him sleeping with you in the bed but you quickly dash away that thought. No way would he go for it and you doubt you’d be comfortable with that. 

However, as the night sets further in, the storm grows stronger. The lightning and thunder last for a long time, even to the point where you’re huddled in bed and shivering. You’ve never been a huge fan of thunder during the night, but after the Murfrees it’s even worse. 

After a while of heart-wrenching fear of the storm, you get out of bed and look out in the kitchen, where Arthur’s laid his bedroll out on the floor. 

“Arthur?” you whisper. 

He grunts over the howling wind, letting you know he’s awake. 

“Arthur, will… will you come be with me? I can’t sleep over this.” 

He sits up and nods. Before he stands, you go back to your bed and huddle against the wall, still cold. He comes in, his eyes glancing at the lit lantern on your bedside table. You never sleep without it anymore. Silently, he crawls into bed and lies down on his back. At first, you give him his space, but the lightning and thunder persist. This sends you to pack yourself against him, your head buried into his shirt. He doesn’t seem to mind though, in fact his arm wraps protectively around you. 

After this night, things noticeably change between the two of you. Arthur’s much more likely to touch you and he spends most nights in your bed. Despite everything you saw happen to your sister-in-law and niece in the cave, it doesn’t take long before you end up having sex with Arthur. It had been in the morning and he’d been spooning you. You’d shuffled your hips a little and felt his morning wood. Being already attracted to him, you couldn’t control yourself and one thing led to another. He was the first person you’d slept with too, but he was gentle and did his best to make sure you felt good. 

You were honestly surprised with yourself about sleeping with him. You hadn’t even kissed and yet there you were with him between your legs. However, you wouldn’t deny that it felt right. After the deed was done, the two of you talked for a while about what would happen between the two of you. Both of you admitted your feelings for one another. It was the best thing to have happened to you since Arthur saved your life. All the walls came tumbling down. He told you the details about his gang and how bad things had become. You told him about your past too, the abuses you suffered at the hands of your brother and his family, which explained why you weren’t devastated by their deaths, though disturbed by them. 

Since that morning, sex between the two of you has become a fairly regular thing. Arthur’s careful, not wanting another situation like Eliza and Isaac. Your feelings have quickly spiraled out of control. You wish he was around all the time but understand when he has to leave to try and help what remains of his gang. 

Arthur says he loves you, but it’s not until one night that he discovers he’s never loved anyone more. The two of you had just finished fooling around and he’d collapsed on top of you. Things had been so hard in the gang lately, he and Charles had aided Eagle Flies, the Wapiti chief’s son escape prison, and Dutch had found out. He’d been irate when he discovered Arthur was helping the Wapiti behind his back. Things had hit an all time low, so being with you was the greatest form of relief for him. However, as he settled on top of you, you held his head to your chest and stroked his hair. 

Never before had you lay with him like this. From the beginning, it was him who held you, him who brushed your hair, him who comforted you in the night. But here you were, with his head on your shoulder, whispering in his ear that things would be better. No woman in his past ever did this, and he knew he’d like nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with you. 

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

Arthur rides down towards your little cabin with the heaviest of hearts. The betrayal crushes down on him, and the pain of everything sags his shoulders down. When he sees you out in the garden, looking so beautiful as you sing to yourself with the sun glowing on your hair, he feels like crying, knowing you’ll accept him with open arms. 

When you spot him, you break out with your big smile. The one he loves so much. When he embraces you, burying his face into your hair, you know something real bad has happened. You ask and he tells you how the Wapiti attacked the oil fields in retaliation to all the horrible things the army and Cornwall have done to them. He tells you how Dutch used the Indians to get rich, how he himself had been knocked down and nearly killed. Dutch had a chance to save him but abandoned him. 

“He was like my father,” he sniffs into your hair. “Him and Hosea, they raised me. But now I see I’ve never been anything other than a means to an end for him. I’m expendable. All those goddamn years. Wasted.” 

“What will you do?” you ask softly when he composes himself. 

He leans up, his hands still on your waist. “I ain’t goin’ back. I’m done breakin’ my back for that fool. If… If you’ll have me, I’d like to stay here with you. Try for a… a new life.” 

You smile and brush his cheek with your hand. “Nothing would make me happier, Arthur.”

The kiss that follows is one you’ll never forget. 

[dyavania]

Hector x Forgemaster!Reader — Rescue

Request: “an imagine of Hector’s s/o rescuing him from Carmilla’s castle (before L*nore but her hands on him SHE HURT MY BABY UGH) and then wanting to protect him? I just need some shy fluffy hector cuz UGJ SOMEONE LOVE THAT BABY!!”

A/N: hard agree anon! I’m more than happy to give Hector some love, so here you go and I hope you’ll enjoy it!

Warnings: canon-typical violence, and Hector having been previously hurt, spoilers for season 2, and I think that’s it!

You ordered the charge on the castle towards the end of a sunny day. It wasn’t ideal, but it still meant that your night creatures could be out, while the vampires wouldn’t be able to. Mor than anything, it would create chaos. You had various creatures flying in from everywhere, piercing the walls to let the sun in, and the vampires were completely overwhelmed. In that situation, you managed to slip in, unnoticed, flanked by some of the strongest creatures you’d created.

Of course, you held on tightly to your scythe. In the village where you had been living, where Dracula had come to find you when he had decided to avenge his wife, people whispered about you being Death personified, and if anyone stood in your way, they were about to find out just what you could do with your scythe.

You ran through the corridors, pulse racing desperately. You had been shocked by Hector’s betrayal, but you couldn’t believe he had done it willingly. When you had left from Dracula’s castle, wherever it was, you only had one thought in mind: finding him again. You had lost precious time traveling and asking around. It had taken you a while to realize he had left with Carmilla, and you had even doubted him for a second, until you’d been told that the vampires dragged him behind them, enchained and bleeding.

You hadn’t let up since.

From what you’d been told Carmilla and her army had walked through the last village just a couple of days ago, and you prayed they hadn’t had time to hurt him any more.

Finding an isolated guard, you ordered at one of your creatures to grab him. He tried to fight it, and that was a stupid mistake. Sure, he’d probably received a training, but not to fight that. Well, too bad for him.

“A forgemaster was brought here. Where. Is. He?”

He seemed to hesitate, but you weren’t in the mood to play games.

“If you don’t answer me, she’ll rip out your arms and legs.”

“D-downstairs, in the cells, please, please—”

You gave a nod, and the creature ripped out his head. Less painful and faster than the arms and legs — you considered yourself merciful.

You started running again. It didn’t take you long to find the place he’d mentioned. You sent your creatures in to clear the room, then walked in without so much as glancing at the bodies of the vampires who had been in there.

Your breathing stopped when you saw Hector’s naked and trembling body, huddled up on the ground in one of the cells. You felt sick, and tears burnt in your eyes. You wiped them away with anger. Now wasn’t the moment.

“Hector?” you called, and you almost didn’t recognize your voice. It was so fearful, shaky, broken.

His head moved up slowly and you let out a small cry of relief. Thank God.

“(Y/N)?” he asked hesitantly, like he couldn’t quite believe it. He was squinting to look at you in the half-light, he had a black eye and he seemed much skinnier than last time you’d seen him, but at least he was alive.

“Yes,” you sobbed, and this time treacherous tears did fall down your cheeks. “Yes, Hector, it’s me, oh God, what did they do to you?”

You reached out for him through the bars, and he tried to push himself up, but yelped in pain as he did. You bit your lower lip harshly to stop it from trembling.

“Blow up the door. Don’t hurt him,” you ordered one of your creatures, moving away from it. “Don’t move,” you then told him, your voice much softer. “I’m going to get you out of here, my love. This will be over soon.”

You glanced away from the bright light as the door exploded, then rushed in, yelling at the creatures to find a blanket. There was nothing Hector could have covered himself with, but he didn’t seem hurt by the explosion — or rather, you couldn’t tell if he was any more hurt, with all the small cuts covering his body. You wanted blood, you wanted Carmilla’s head on a pike, but all of this would have to wait. First, you wanted to get Hector to safety.

You took his face in your hands gently, and he whimpered at your touch, pressing himself against you, for warmth, but also for your contact, for the comfort your presence brought him.

“Carmilla—” he said, voice dry, “I didn’t want to—”

“Shh,” you whispered, pulling him against you, your hands moving soothingly through his hair, the motion as much for him as for you, to try to convince yourself that he was here, after all this time looking for him. “I know. We can talk about it later, but first we need to get out.” You glanced at your creatures, and took the blanket one of them was holding. You draped it over him carefully, then moved back, and he whined when you moved. That sent a strong ache through your chest, but you doubted the creatures would be able to fly carrying two of you.

It didn’t take long before you were out under the sun, taken away by the flying night creatures. It seemed your army had been reduced by half, if not more, but that didn’t surprise you.  You weren’t equipped to take on a whole vampire army. You’d have to be more prepared next time. When you’d come back for Carmilla’s head.

You cupped your hands around your lips and let out a loud howling sound. In a matter of seconds, your night creatures were running away. Good. You didn’t want to lose them all.

“Find us a house,” you ordered at those that came to fly around you. “People are leaving the mountains for the winter, so there must be empty ones. When you get there, make a fire and heat some water up for a bath.” You glanced over at Hector’s still shaking body. You needed to warm him up quickly.

You started by rubbing hot water over his body so the temperature shock wouldn’t be too violent. He stood there, trembling, hands covering his crotch, mostly silent, unless you touched one of his many cuts, in which case he’d let out a whimper. You apologized every time. When you felt satisfied, you helped him step into the wooden container that was probably used by bath. He moaned when he got in, and you spent the next minutes washing and rubbing his back carefully, pouring water over his head to get his hair wet, and entangling his hair.

You loved touching his hair, and you knew he liked it when you massaged his scalp. For a while, there was nothing but silence and the sound of water in the room. You’d sent most of the creatures away, letting them know they could feed on wild animals.

Hector melted in your touch. It was like all of the horror, all of the pain of that past month was washing away. His muscles were sore and the cuts stung, but his shoulders started to relax a little. He had forgotten what this felt like. All of this. The bath, the gentle touches. Someone caring about him. He started to tremble again, remembering Carmilla, and your hands stilled. You moved to rest your cheek against his back, and he felt your hair against his skin. Your fingers started moving up and down his arm, and he closed his eyes.

“How are you feeling?” you asked, very softly.

“Like a complete fool,” he replied sincerely. “I fell for Carmilla’s lies, and if you hadn’t found me— If you hadn’t wanted to look for me—”

You got up quickly so you could face him.

“Hector,” you said, taking his face in your hands. “Hector, look at me, please, my love.”

He did, and his eyes were as breathtaking as they always were. But oh, how sad they were…

“I will always look for you. I don’t want you to think, even for an instant, that I could want you to rot in one of those cells. No matter what.”

“I betrayed Dracula,” he said, voice choking. “I betrayed him, and now he’s dead. I— Didn’t I deserve to be there?”

“No!” you protested, horrified. “No, no, Hector, I swear, you did not deserve that.”

He gritted his teeth.

“I… hope I’ll be able to believe that, too. In time.”

It broke your heart to hear him say that, to know that he felt like that, but all you could do was nod. You leaned in and brushed your lips against his, very gently. It was soft, your skin barely touching, but you felt him grab your hand and hold onto it tightly. When you pulled away, he pressed his forehead against yours and sighed.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

You smiled, and twirled a lock of his hair around your finger.

“You deserve the world and more, Hector. If I can, I will give them to you.”

He didn’t say anything, just gave your hand a squeeze.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here,” you said, standing up. “I saw some clothes in a chest, and then you probably need to rest.”

He did, indeed, and only half an hour later he was fast asleep in a bed that wasn’t quite perfect, but that did have a mattress, and sheets, and a thick duvet. You watched over him as you got ready to join him yourself.

Never again, you promised yourself as you laid by his side, watching his restful face. Never again would you let him be hurt like that. You would do everything that was in your power to protect him. You snuggled against him, and he wrapped his arm around you, like he used to. It had been so long since you had slept in the same bed as him…

Tomorrow, you’d start planning your next attack on Carmilla. Tomorrow, the two of you would probably talk a lot more, and make plans for the future. But for now, you were going to fall asleep in the arms of the man you loved, and in a world that had so much wrong with it, at least this felt right.

[billhaderlovebot]

beep beep (2) - richie tozier

okay, mentions of sex, weed, and as usual, language that would make my grandmother disown me. some horror-typical blood stuff. enjoy.

@the-star-above-you @ceruleanrainblues

had it not been for richie's incredible, rugged good looks and sex appeal, as he had so tactfully put it, you were sure you would have tried to fucking murder the guy at least once, because he was infuriating at the best of times.

you'd never actually made an attempt on his life, of course, but now, as he tried to peel away from you and get out of the bed that wasn't a single but not quite big enough for two people, you almost killed him, hissing at him to lay the fuck back down right now we might die today i haven't seen you for like half my life you asshole cuddle me right now, richard.

richie, of course, as he hadn't ever been able to say no to you, smirked and shifted to lay back down, resuming the earlier position in which your limbs had become not unlike that thing where your headphones get all knotted in your bag and you can't figure out how to separate them.

"that's what i thought." you huffed, leaning up to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

this was almost surreal. being back here, and with the same man you left behind. it was like, the whole time you'd been apart, you'd only been half a person. and now you were back and he was holding you and you were one whole, functioning person again because he was your other half.

"i was just thinking, yknow." richie voiced, pressing a kiss of his own to your temple. "about, uh, your husband."

"i fucking hope not. that's not good bedroom etiquette, tozier, bedding a girl and then fantasising about her husband."

"shut up," he laughed. "no, i mean, you're... married." he noticeably recoiled at the word, and you visualised the nose-scrunch, because he was definitely scrunching his nose right now. god, you loved him so much.

"i noticed."

"yeah, but, babe, this isn't a very married thing to be doing, is it?" richie gestured to the bedclothes, which you were both very naked underneath, and also his shirt, which had ended up hanging from the door handle. there was underwear strewn about the place, and you literally did not know where your pajamas had gone. oh well.

"rich, when i made the decision to come here, i made the decision to leave there." it was true. you may not have known it at the time, but the moment you left that house you were never to return.

your husband might have been calling, and you'd be lying if you said you hadn't thought about him. but any calls he made would have come through in a stream of bubbles and a faint gurgling sound, what with your phone still being back home in your bathtub. being back here just proved that this was where you were always supposed to be. with him. you slid off your wedding ring, pressing it into his palm, and it was as if a weight had been lifted.

"it's always been you, richie."

and that was enough for him.

---

bill raised his eyebrows at last night's dark purple and red hickeys that littered your throat, courtesy of a one richard tozier, before joining you where you sat in the common area. you hadn't thought to pack a turtleneck, or a scarf, at that, and so you'd have to avoid everyone's inquisitive looks and make do.

when richie emerged from the kitchen, a cup of coffee in his hand and a matching set of hickeys, bill sighed.

"th-thought so." he said.

"huh?"

"thin w-w-walls, guys."

"it's not her fault im the best she's ever had." remarked richie, winking at bill and falling onto the couch beside you. he slung an arm over your shoulders and pulled you into him, sipping his coffee.

you shrugged. "yeah, billy, and it's not his fault he hasn't had a good lay since i dumped his ass in derry."

"hey! you didn't mean to dump my ass."

"ah, but i did, nonetheless."

"fuck you." richie teased, setting his coffee down on the table so he could pretend to argue with you properly.

"no, fuck you." you shot back.

"fuck both of you." a voice, eddie's, whined from the kitchen where richie had come from and interrupted your pretend dispute. "i mean, you kept me up all fucking night, fucking each other absolutely senseless in the room next to mine, you inconsiderate assholes."

"they haven't changed, eddie." bill groaned, rolling his shoulders and leaning back on the couch.

"i know that," said eddie "but i don't think i can deal with it, they're all fucking over each other!"

you supposed eddie was right.

richie, now realising you were here and he was with you and you were both within kissing distance of each other again after over two decades, he took every opportunity to shove you against a wall or a door or a sink or on a bed and kiss you hard. a lot. a lot. seriously, he'd sprung at least four impromtu heavy makeout sessions (with tongue) on you so far and it was only your first day here.

it was like you were teenagers again.

god, if only.

"w-we need to put a plan together." bill said firmly, clasping his hands together. you had noticed his stutter had been worse since you'd left the restaurant. not as bad as when you were kids, but still there. "w-w-we need everyone here, t-together, which doesn't include you two s-sneaking off to suck face."

"but she's got such a nice face." richie whined.

"she won't if you don't get your shit together." you heard the voice of ben hanscom (or, handsome, as richie now referred to him.) as he trudged down the stairs and joined you all in the living room. "so shut up and listen in case IT decides to tear it off her."

now, that had really freaked richie out, so he shrugged in defeat and pulled you tighter to him, kissing your forehead and holding you to his chest.

"good morning to you too, ben." you yawned, circling an arm around richie's waist and allowing him to just hold you.

what? he was fucking warm, ok.

"are you guys gonna be like this the whole time?" ben queried, gratefully accepting the cup of coffee eddie had just brought out for him.

"i think it's sweet." beverly was the next to come in, ruffling the back of her hair and rubbing sleep out of her eyes.

"yeah guys, we all got hot or married, and richie got less and less familiar with his fucking shower. we should be impressed he got anywhere near her." eddie chided. a chorus of laughter arose, all of you sat around the coffee table on plush couches, and you could pretend, just for a moment, that this was all you were here for. a reunion. but you weren't.

"m-mike's meeting us later." bill explained. "we have.... stuff to do."

---

the clubhouse was almost exactly how you remembered it (save for the inch-thick layer of dust and the smell of rot and the slight water damage from what must have been 27 years of rain leaks). you'd damn near punched richie in the fucking face when he pulled that "you'll float too" bullshit. his impressions were always impeccable, but now was not the time. he'd rectified his mistake by kissing you soundly and offering one to everyone else, to which they all refused.

"reckon we could still fit?" richie echoed your own thoughts as you both stared in at the dusty old hammock you'd spent so many hours on as teenagers, nostalgia coming over you in waves.

"how much you betting, trash-mouth?" you grinned, your tongue poking out from between your teeth.

"five bucks says we can."

you looked over the stretch of fabric that ben had pinned up between the boards on the ceiling all those years ago. you could barely fit on it when you were teenagers, so there wasn't much change of it happening 20-or-so years on. "i say we can't, so, ten bucks."

"done." he said, with an air of finality, and stuck his hand out for you to shake.

"nah," you shook your head. extending your little finger instead."handshakes are for businessmen and drug dealers. pinky swear."

richie hooked his pinky around yours and flashed you his signature shit-eating grin. "get ready to cough up."

a great deal of struggling later, (richie almost bringing the fucking roof down) you were considerably warmer and ten dollars poorer. the rest of the losers stared on in disappointment because the two of you were still absolutely insane. but you had done it.

granted, you'd had to twist very close around each other to fit on, and your leg was sticking out at an odd angle, but neither of you were terribly bothered.

"ten bucks, babe."

"can't i just have sex with you?" you groaned. you hadn't brought much money with you in the first place, and you really needed a coffee and a therapeutic shop for stationary.

"how about you give me ten bucks and then i have sex with you." he suggested, wiggling his eyebrows.

"i think that consistutes prostitution, actually, babe." you pointed out, kissing his lips and reluctantly pressing two folded fives into his hand. "but i do expect something by way of a sexual favour later on, provided we don't die."

"guys? important stuff is going on. yknow, like, if-we-don't-do-this-we'll get-fucking-murdered stuff." you'd forgotten that the rest of them were there, and eddie had rather pulled you both out of the bubble you were existing in.

"lighten up, eds. i just got my girl back." for once, richie wasn't joking around, and the sincerity in his voice almost made you cry. eddie didn't say anything more.

but mike did. "we have to split up to find our artefacts." he chimed in, reminding you all exactly what you were there for. "we have stan's, and i have mine. you'll know what they are when you see them."

you couldn't help but feel sorry for mike. he knew so much and had everything so planned out, but at what cost? he had been waiting alone for years and years and years, knowing full well the rest of derry depended on him not giving up, even if they didn't know it themselves.

"w-we can't split." bill interjected. "it's t-too dangerous. what if one of us d-d-d-d..." he inhaled deeply, calming himself and allowing mike to put a hand on his shoulder. "what if something happens. i won't forgive myself."

"im not letting this one out of my fucking sight, mikey." richie concurred, absently drumming his fingers where they rested on your waist. "no fucking way."

"you have to do this alone. all of you." mike continued, and you knew he was right.

ben and beverly knew it, too, and had begun making their way out of the clubhouse, the maggot-eaten wood of the ladder groaning in protest underneath their feet.

"right. a-are you s-sure, mike? really?"

"positive. this is how it has to be."

------

"okay, so if you die, we can't fuck later, and i would rather like to, so, maybe don't die, please." richie was trying to make light of possibly the worst moment of his life, but it wasn't working so well, because his hands were shaking so hard that he could barely keep ahold of you.

"i'll be fine, rich." you assured him, leaning against his chest and inhaling the scent of home.

"you don't know that, y-y-you don't-- t-there's no way you can-- y-y-you're-"

you cut him off by firmly pressing your lips to his, and it did seem to calm him. the act of holding you close and feeling the rise and fall of your chest and knowing he could touch you and you were still here. you thread your fingers through the soft hair at the nape of his neck and allowed him to deepen the kiss, knowing he needed it.

he had always needed reassurance when you were kids, because he'd always been insecure or scared about something he couldn't remember. he always went to you first, because the whole vulnerable thing wasn't really his scene, and you were the only person who saw it. and his nightmares, god, the fucking nightmares. you hadn't seen him cry before until he woke up shaking in your bed, searching around for something to grab onto because he couldn't tell what was real or not. he cried for what seemed like hours in your arms and all you could do was hold him.

"you're stuttering worse than billy." you murmured, close enough so your lips just barely touched. "ill be fine."

his eyes searched yours desperately for any sort of truth, but he could tell that you weren't sure. that you were just as shit-scared as he was and you were holding it together for the both of you.

"fuck." was all he said.

"fuck." you agreed.

---

1994

---

"baby." richie's voice was practically ecstatic down the phone. you grinned and reached over to your shelf to turn your record player, and the cure, down.

"yes?"

"i have, like, the best idea ever."

"and what would that be?"

"so, yknow, i have like, a shit ton of pot."

"uh huh."

"and i haven't seen you in like, uh, like two days. which is, fuckin, two days too long, yknow."

"yeah, of course."

"so, what say you and me get really really stoned and wait for your grandmother to leave for bingo and have a lot, and i mean a lot, of high sex."

"trash-mouth tozier, i may just take you up on that." you smirked, twirling the bright red phone cord in between your fingers.

"oh, good, cause im already here."

richie's voice was now coming from your actual window.

you whirled round to see him perched on the fire escape like a fucking curly haired pigeon with a high libido.

"god, you do know how to make an entrance, rich, fuck me."

"ask, and ye shall receive." richie smirked, dropping his legs through your window. in two strides he was in front of you, pupils dilated and partly concealed by his dark curls. his glasses were almost falling off his nose.

the phone receiver dropped from your hand and clattered to the ground as you reached up to take them off, and-

oh, and then his tongue was inside your mouth, so the glasses fell and landed alongside the phone by your bare feet.

no matter how many times you kissed richie tozier, it never failed to surprise you just how fucking good he was at it. you found yourself rather at his mercy whenever his lips were on yours, his hands on your face or in your hair or your back trouser pockets. he'd always make a point of tugging your bottom lip between his teeth and oh my fucking god. wow.

"well i can't fucking see you now, can i?" he whined, pulling away and blinking hard in an attempt to adjust to you having taken his actual sight away.

you responded by reaching your hand around to his back pocket where you knew his silver zippo would be.

"and here i thought you loved me."

richie stuck his bottom lip out in mock sadness, but grinned about two seconds after, reaching into his other pocket and handing you a small zip-lock baggie.

"you know that i love you." you smiled, kissing his lips and edging round him to get to your bed.

"you do?" he asked.

"more than anything."

----

2016

----

the zippo lighter was much heavier than you remembered it, you thought, as you turned it over and over in your hands.

you flicked it open, but no flame arose. not as though you expected it to.

god, those years were the happiest of your life. after IT. when richie and yourself could be happy and in love and kids.

just two stupid kids in love.

and your heart ached now as you thought of all the lost years. all that time you could have spent with him, watching him grow, and growing alongside him.

but you were together again, and it was alright. it was alright, now.

"beep beep, richie's girl."

the voice that came from behind you caused your heart to plummet, and you swore it could have fallen out of your ass.

"oh, fuck no. you fuck right off, right fucking now." you steadied the shaking of your hands. you were not afraid. i mean, yes, you were, very much so. but you weren't letting It see you weak.

clenching your fists, you slowly turned to look at the space near the window from which the voice had come.

oh, fuck.

it was richie.

or it would have been, if it were normal for richie to have a huge slice across his throat and a considerable amount of his left arm missing.

blood poured like a fucking faucet from the slash, forming grotesque patterns where it fell across its shirt.

"help me, baby." it choked, hands coming up to the wound, trying desperately to hold it together. it fell to its knees before you and pleaded with you to fucking help me, please and then it was crying and in that moment it's eyes looked so fucking much like his that you almost threw up.

"no, fuck no." you were seriously, seriously about to vomit right now, but you weren't about to embarrass yourself in front of a supernatural evil entity.

"please." blood came spluttering from its mouth, and you had to commend it on its honest to god phenomenal acting. it wasn't a pretty sight, honestly, because richie in any form of pain was enough to make you want to tear out your eyes, even a fake richie. but this wasn't him.

"you got it wrong." you flipped the lighter open and closed absently, hoping to whatever god would listen that the shake in your voice wasn't noticeable.

the mock expression of fear disappeared from not-richie's face.

"m not fucking scared of you. you'll only hurt me if i let you, right?" you hoped to god that you were right, because it'd be pretty embarrassing if after all that, you were torn to shreds anyway.

and then it was gone. leaving behind, scrawled in fake richie's fake blood on the wall:

beep beep, richie's girl.

you had to admire the theatrics, really.

---

richie hadn't wanted to talk about his artefact, or where he had got it, and you knew better than to push him.

he looked so fucking tense, tears in his eyes, that you just wanted to hold him and never let go ever until the earth stopped spinning. but that wasn't an option, so:

"nap?" you suggested, reaching up to thread your fingers through his hair.

his eyes fluttered shut and he leaned into your touch.

"yeah. nap."

"rich?"

"yeah?"

"i love you."

"i love you more."

"fuck you."

"no, fuck you."

[50scentsofsoap]

Forever

Jung Hoseok has always been there for you, after all he has been your best friend for years. A lot can change during that time...

word count: 4.2k genre: smut tw: drinking, reckless behaviour

author’s note: I wrote this oneshot instead of writing my university application essays, just uploading all my old material before I move on to fresher ideas.

You’re pinned against the wall, both arms above you and locked tight as if you had handcuffs on your wrists. Your body being attacked at every inch your skin was showing. Face. Neck. Shoulders. You just closed your eyes and took in every sensation. The clenched hand holding your wrists. The sharp drop of oxygen from your lungs. The vibrations of his mouth against yours. The struggle against gravity to keep on standing, when your knees were ready to give way. 

He pulled away, leaving both of you to gasp for air.

“How come you never told me you liked me?” He asked with a puzzled look.

“How come you could never take a hint?” You reply with a cocky attitude.

He pushed his torso onto yours, locking your back onto the wall. “Oh, is that any way to talk to your best friend?”

✎ 10 years ago

“HI! Looks like we’re locker buddies! My name’s Hoseok, what’s yours?” he asked with a smile so bright, its brightness could illuminate any moonless night.

“Um… Y/N.” A blunt reply. You hoped he’d get the hint and wouldn’t talk to you any further.

“Nice to meet you Y/N! Want a cookie? My Mom always packs me two cookies for lunch. I think she puts in molasses instead of brown sugar...”

He continued to ramble on. You figured he wasn’t going to leave you alone anytime soon, so you learned to just ignore him or reply in short phrases. This went on for a couple of months, but your cold attitude didn’t bother him at all. Every morning, he would always find something new to talk about, and it was getting annoying.

Your birthday soon rolled around, and you invited everyone in your homeroom class to come to your 13th birthday party, including Hoseok. Everyone liked him… except you. He was just too happy, and it annoyed you how sickly giddy he could be. Still, he wasn’t a bad person so you had no reason to hate him.

“Hey, Hobi… come on it’s time for cak- Are you ok?” You stepped out of your kitchen to the patio. He was sitting there alone. His eyes glistening, shit the kid’s crying.

He quickly wiped his eyes as soon as he saw you. “Hey Y/N, need a hand with opening your presents?” His smile had returned. Like a light switch, he just… stopped being upset.

“No thanks, but it’s time for cake. You coming in?”

“Ooh cake, yes please!” With that he darted into the house.

From that day onwards, you kept an eye on him, and you knew his secret. No matter how hurt he was, he was always smiling.

✎ ✎

Hoseok picked you up, lips still locked in a deep kiss. You wrapped your legs around his waist and hands around his neck. He held your thighs as he carried you towards your bed. For that moment, it seemed as if there was no-one else in the world but you and him. It was as if this was a novel and you two were the main characters, with everyone else blurring into the background. He placed you on your duvet, your lips never breaking contact. He pulled away first, trying to catch his breath. You sat up, and looked at him with questioning eyes.

“You know,” he began. He leaned against your chest of drawers. “If we do this, we can’t go back to what we were.” He spoke cautiously, as if he were treading on eggshells.

“What do you mean?” You cock an eyebrow at him.

“I mean, if we do this, we can’t go back to being friends. We might be able to, but to me it will be as if we’re pretending to be friends for old time’s sake.”

You stand up, directly in front of him. You have to tilt you head quite high to meet his eyes. “Ok, what did you say half an hour ago?”

He gulped, “I’ve been in love with you since I can remember.”

“Good, and what did I say?” 

“Fuck off?” He grinned. There it was, that smile to hide anything he didn’t want to show.

“No.”

“You’ve loved me since we became best friends.”

“Exactly. Now…” You took off your sweatshirt and shirt at the same time, leaving you only in your lacy balcony bra, “we’ll always be best friends, nothing will change that.”

Hobi stared at your chest then at your gaze. You noticed a hungry look that you’d never seen before. His mouth parted just slightly, in awe, perhaps, of you taking off your clothes without hesitation. “You’ve seen me semi naked before,” you lifted his chin to look into his eyes, “what’s changed?”

He licked his lips. “Maybe the fact you’re taking your clothes off for me?”

“Hmm. I guess so, but that shouldn’t chang-”

He crashed his supple lips onto yours, taking you by surprise. “Are you sure about this?”

You look at him with your endearing eyes, a hand caresses his cheek as a coy smile spreads across your face. “Absolutely.”

✎ 7 years ago

“Hey, are you even listening? What’s the nucleus of an atom made out of?” You exclaimed with annoyance.

“Protons and neutrons. Look, I’m fine on chem, there’s no need to quiz me.” Hobi replied while styling his hair with his mother’s straighteners. 

“You got 95% in the last test, it’s obvious you have to study.” 

“Look Y/N,” he put down the straighteners and sat on his bed “you don’t have to get 100% in everything. It’s only the end of year exams that actually count towards your score.”

“I know that, but I’ve got a reputation to keep up. Plus, people think your scores are slipping because…” 

“Because…?”

You sigh. “Because we’re too busy ‘dating’. I mean, where do these rumours come from?”

“Well, you’re always in my house, that’s one thing”

“Fuck off, it’s only because both my parents are usually out and I want to save on our heating bills.”

“Oh, so you’re mooching off me for warmth?”

“That, and your Mom’s snacks. Since you moved next door, I’ve had her cookies everyday. Are you sure she doesn’t put weed in them?”

“What? No. They just taste really good. I’m surprised your teeth haven’t rotted yet. Come on, no more Chemistry. We have a party to go to.” He put on his jacket and threw you yours.

“I’m only going so I can keep an eye on you, and remember, chugging down a two litre bottle of coke with mentos is not a fun experience.” You slip on your coat and flick your hair out so it hangs over your neck.

“Don’t remind me.” 

Pretty much everyone was around 15 to 16 years old, there were 8 people in total. Pizza boxes stacked on top of the dining room table, fizzy drinks surrounding it. It was a gaming party and an intense game of monopoly was in session. Of course, you and Hobi were the winning team. Board games soon got boring, and so a round of spin the bottle took place. This was the age to pretend to be mature and try ‘adult’ games. Of course, no one wanted to kiss anyone in particular, so it became a hybrid version of truth or dare. 

You stare at the bottle intently as the first round lands on you. 

“Wooh! It’s Y/N’s go. Ok, truth or dare?” asked John. 

“Well I’m not good with dares, so truth.” 

“Are you and Hoseok actually dating?” 

“Have you two kissed?” Another party-goer chimed in. 

“What the fuck, no! We’re not dating.” You yelled in frustration. You could feel the blush creep up on your face, but prayed no one noticed because the bottle had already begun to spin again. Soon after, it landed on Hobi. 

“Truth for me!” He chirped. 

“I have one,” you note. “The day of my 13th birthday party, you looked upset. Why?” 

“What the heck Y/N, that was like 3 years ago no one remembers shit from that long ago!” John proclaimed. 

“No it’s ok,” Hobi continued, “That was the day my goldfish died.” You looked at him with a confused look. 

“Alright, good enough, let’s go.” The bottle landed on more people until is was nearly 10pm, the time to leave. John began to spin the bottle. “For the last round, we’re going to spin it twice. The two people it lands on, they have to kiss. Whether it’s boy-boy or girl-girl, you still have to kiss.”

The bottle spins and lands on you and… fuck… Hobi. You two just look at each other with an expression of concern, but then just go for it, to get it over and done with. It was an awkward lip-touch kiss, neither of you dared to use tongue. Soon enough 5 seconds were up, and it was the time to leave. Of course, everyone would be talking about your kiss with Hoseok at school for the next month, but you couldn’t care less. You had Chemistry on your mind.

“Hey Y/N,” Hobi starts as you two walk the familiar path home. “Sorry about the kiss.”

“It’s fine, fuck what people say, right?” 

“Yeah.” He let out a long sigh. “I lied. My goldfish didn’t die that day.” 

“So why were you sad?” 

“I was feeling lonely.” Your heart sank. “I’ve always been friendly with people, but I’ve never really had friends. I only realised it that day.” 

You stopped in your tracks and turned to him. He paused too. You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him into a tight hug. “Listen to me motherfucker, you’re my best friend. If you ever feel lonely, I’ll be right over with ice cream and Twilight. Also, if any bitch breaks your heart, tell me and I will wreck her.” You let him go and continued walking as if nothing had happened.

You felt protective of him, but as a friend right? You surely weren’t falling in love with him.

✎ ✎

You lay on your bed in only your bra and underwear. Hoseok was also stripped down to his boxers, with a little help from you. You saw both your clothes mingle into a messy pile in the corner of your small bedroom. You’d been living in this apartment in the city since you ran an up and coming company. It was tiny, but it was your own place. It was home. Hoseok lived close, his dance studio was next to your office. Everyday, you’d get a perfect view of the zumba ladies in the morning, the little kids learning hip hop in the afternoon and his dance crew in the evenings. After work, you two would usually get dinner together and walk home. Old habits from your high school days. 

Hoseok picked up his jacket and took out a condom from his inside pocket. He took the wrapper and put it down on the bedside table. “Now before all that, I have to make you wet.”

His head disappeared in front of your legs. He bent your knees and propped your hips up with a pillow, then he slid his fingers into your underwear and slowly took them off, past your thighs, knees, calves, until they were at your ankles. He took them off and added it to the pile of clothes. You took a deep breath, not knowing what to expect. That’s when he hit the spot. His tongue expertly slid along your folds. You let out a gasp, out of both shock and pleasure. He was now at your core, you were exposed to him. He slid his tongue into you as far as it would go, and back out. He continued this endless assault until you could contain it no longer and moaned his name. 

“Wow, it feels quite hot when you say my name like that.” He returned to his position. “How long has it been since you’ve been laid?” His hot breath hit your entrance like dragon smoke. You were getting wet with every second his tongue lay on your spot. 

“I think… around… 4 years?” You finally manage to get out.

“Wow since Uni? Have you just been touching yourself to satiate your urges?” He presses on.

“Of course. I’ve been busy, I didn’t have time to really screw anyone.”

Without warning, he slid a finger into you. You arched your back in response to the hormones coursing through your veins. “Your fingers have always been so slender, but I’m sure you’ve never felt like this when you did it by yourself.” 

He pumped his fingers in and out of you at a painfully slow pace. Your hips travelled forward, for more of him, but he wouldn’t let you. He curled his finger inside you, touching your delicate walls. You thought you would go crazy if you didn’t climax soon. The teasing was becoming too much for you. 

“Hoseok, if you make me come in the next 5 minutes,” you sat up and looked directly at his dark eyes. You seductively licked your lips and gave him a wink. “You know what I’ll do, now stop playing around.”

He slipped another finger inside you and started pumping at a steady rhythm. He put his thumb on your bundle of nerves and rubbed small circles into it. After ten circles, he would take his thumb off and suck on it for about two seconds. This torturous repetition continued until you felt a familiar presence in your lower abdomen. Soon enough, your mind, body and soul shattered. The high was nothing like you had experienced before, it was more carnal, almost animalistic in nature.

Hoseok removed the pillow from your hips. You were breathing heavily from your orgasm. He removed his boxers and began slowly pumping himself. “So, that took me four minutes and 12 seconds.” You looked up to see him palm his length. You wondered for a second if he would even fit inside you. “It’s time to keep up your end of the bargain.”

Hobi laid on the bed whilst you got onto all fours, still pretty shaken up from your first real orgasm in god knows how long. You had thought of the various positions and things you’d like to try with Hobi; against a wall, in the shower, blindfolded, the lot. You didn’t even know you wanted him in a way that’s more than a friend until you thought of him during one of your ‘relaxation’ sessions. The thought of him touching you everywhere just excited you, something which you’d never felt before. Now here he was, in front of you, naked. With the thought that you had been victorious in your mission in mind, you took his manhood into your mouth and began to move your head up and down.

✎ 4 years ago

“Why did you drive an hour and a half from your house to pick me up? I told you I was fine.” You exclaimed trying to keep your vision clear.

“Fine?! Bullshit Y/N. If I didn’t come when I did… Jesus, who knows what could have happened!” Hoseok was driving his car well above the speed limit, but he didn’t care about breaking the law. He did care about happened to you.

You had gone to a house party with a couple of other people from your University. While you were off pursuing higher education, Hoseok began apprenticing under dancers from ballet to popping, to become a choreographer. You two promised each other to talk everyday, and you did however you could. Calls, Facebook, Twitter and Skype,. He always informed you about his daily life, as did you. You thought this party would be like any other, some booze, weed and messy makeout sessions… but you overdid it on all three. 

You had drunk way past your limit and gotten so faded it was difficult to even stand up. The number of people you kissed whilst inebriated was well over the half century mark, both guys and girls. You were just about to get frisky with another boy when your phone rang. It was Hoseok. You declined the call and continued your with your antics. It was only after you had stripped your underwear and was about to lose your virginity in someone else’s bedroom, when Hobi came bursting through the door. He picked you up and carried you and your belongings to his car.

“I told you I was going to a party! Why did you have to cockblock me?! Gosh you’re such an asshole!” You scream at him.

“Excuse me for being a good friend! You were going to have unprotected sex… while drunk! And… wait are you high as well?! Fuck Y/N, this isn’t like you at all.” Hoseok replied sternly.

“Well what am I like? A straight-A student who’s got her whole life sorted out. Well guess what, I’m not who you think I am.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I’m saying is that I’m sick of everyone expecting me to be this perfect embodiment of success. I mean… maybe I do want to smoke weed Mum. Or even fail my classes Dad. Or maybe I do want to get an STD from unprotected sex Hobi!”

“I get that you’re pissed off at me, but you’ll thank me one day. You’re just going through a rebel phase, it’ll pass don’t worry.”

“Thank you?! I was going to lose my virginity to.., whatever his name was!” You throw your hands up in defeat and slump into the passenger seat. You can feel the tears well up in your eyes, “Hobi, is there something wrong with me?”

“What? No. Nothing at all.”

“Then why can’t I get a boyfriend? Don’t give me all the bullshit about not finding the right guy! I mean, I do have guys as friends but they never like me as more than friends.”

“Maybe because they’d rather value their friendship to you than a relationship? Look, if you’re so desperate to get laid, make the first move. Only while you’re sober, understand?”

Your emotions switched from lonely to hopeful, damn you were totally drunk. You looked at Hobi as if he cracked the code to an impenetrable safe. “You’re an actual genius, Hoseok,” with that you passed out.

 After that, you could only remember waking up to find yourself in Hoseok’s bed, with him next to you, accompanied by a killer hangover.

✎ ✎

Hobi grabbed your hair tight and pulled your mouth from his cock to his lips. The kiss was rough, needy, desperate. You could feel his tongue invade your mouth, trying to fight for dominance. Both of you had been warmed up sufficiently by all this foreplay, and now it was time for the real deal. Hobi slipped on the condom with ease. This is it, after all these years.

“Ok, I need you on all fours, but with your chest on the bed. Keep your hips up in the air, ok?” Hoseok guided you.

“Fine, but this feels like an awkward pose to start with.” You chimed, but doing as you were told. 

“I know what I’m doing. Just wait until I’m inside you babe.” You can feel Hobi smirk as he says it.

You can feel the tip of his cock at your entrance, painfully teasing you. Your cheeks are burning red, from the stimulation and the annoyance that he’s making you wait. You just wanted him in you already, and your patience was beginning to wear thin.

Suddenly, Hoseok grabbed both sides of your hips and put his whole length in, hilt-deep. The sensation of being filled so quickly made you draw out a deep guttural moan. A string of curse words soon followed, which made him chuckle.

“You’re so cute when you swear Y/N.”

You kneel upright so your back is flush against Hobi’s chiseled abdomen, and turn your head to plant a small kiss on his lips. “Shut up and make me feel good, sunshine.” You grind against him, while his dick is still deep in you. You didn’t recall sex feeling this good. You felt Hoseok’s small smile drop and he starts nibbling on your neck.

He puts a hand on your nape and pushes you down, so you’re back to the position you started in. He puts a pillow right in front of you and raises your hips higher with his hands. “You see, what I like about this position... “ You feel him kneel forward until he’s right by your ear, “is that I can... Fuck. You. Hard.” He pronounce every syllable in a harsh tone. “Hold on tight, babe. You’ll feel like you’ve never done before.”

You do as instructed and place your hands on your small headrest, mildly excited for Hoseok to get on with it. He pulls out slowly, until he’s only a few inches in, and pounds into you with enough force to jolt you forward.

✎ 1 hour ago

“Ok ok, I have a really juicy secret!” You shout out. “When I was 11 years old, I drew dicks in the girls’ loos and the teachers thought one of the boys would do it. Turns out, my desk partner was caught with going to the girls’ toilets and he got blamed for the dicks.”

There weren’t many people around on the streets at this time of night, but this didn’t faze you. You had pepper spray in your purse and a knife tucked in the hidden compartment of your coat. Usually Friday nights were when you two went to the small Vietnamese place that was quite far away. You had just missed the last bus and now had to walk the 2 miles home, in the freezing cold.

“Shit, that must have taken guts.” Hobi responded to your statement. “Ok, um… you know when I told you I was dating Jennifer Griggs?”

“Yeh?” You answer cautiously.

“Well, turns out she was a lesbian who was only dating me to convince her parents that she was straight.” 

“No way! That’s actually so sad, I feel bad for her. I called her a bitch once because she took my cookie by accident.” 

“Don’t you mean my cookie? You always stole my food.” 

“Not always, if you’re not looking, it doesn’t count as stealing, duh!” 

“You’re such a douche.” 

“Ooh I’ve got one. At Uni, I joined the BDSM society and pretty much attended orgies every week.” 

“Holy hell, seriously? Is this when you would tell me you’re off to go swimming?!” 

“Yes, I’ve never step foot inside the swimming pool there. Although I was actually a weird one, because I would only join in like once a month but I only became a watcher about a year in.” 

“How come?” 

“Because none of them were you.”

Shit. You should not have said that. 

“Ok it’s my turn.” Hoseok began after a long pause. He let out a deep sigh, “I’ve been in love with you since I first laid eyes on you.”

You stopped dead in your tracks and stood to face him. You stood on your tiptoes to reach his ear. “My place is closer.”

✎ ✎

You were so close to climaxing, you thought you would pass out if you didn’t reach your orgasm soon. Somehow, Hobi sensed that you were close and began thrusting into you at a faster and harder pace. His hips rolled into yours effortlessly, you expected nothing less of the fantastic dancer. Your heart felt as if it would tire from beating too fast, and your hands balled fistfuls of your bedding. Soon enough, one final body roll was all it took for you to reach your high at an altitude beyond the heavens. You felt as if you had left the astral plane and ascended beyond comprehension and bodily existence. Whilst descending, you realised that Hobi was still pounding into you, using your high to fuel his own when later he too reached his limits. He collapsed on top of your back, using his forearms to stop himself from crushing you underneath his weight. 

You wince at the feeling of him pulling out but you’re so exhausted, only sleep is on your mind. As Hobi goes to clean himself up, you curl up under your duvet, wearing your birthday suit. You’re sweaty and sticky from all the activities and wonder if you ought to shower now, but that thought soon leaves your head when Hobi slips in next to you. His arm snakes around your waist and brings it closer, so your hair tickles his chin. You slip a leg around him and hook your arm over the side of his chest.

“You know,” you begin as you lift your head to face him, “We’re merging with Google next week, I’ll get a raise and y’know… maybe you can live with me? I’ll get a bigger bed and maybe decent sheets and we can move closer to your studio, but I don’t think I can cook dinner every night because I can only boil pasta.” You rattle on faster than your speed of thought.

“Y/N…” Hobi begins with a bright smile. “Are you asking me to be your sugar baby?”

“Well, maybe. Unless you’re not down for that, which is totally cool with me.” You reply with exasperation.

“No, I’m fine to be whatever you need me to be. Sugar baby, husband, boyfriend, one night stand.” He listed.

“Well tonight… will you be my best friend?” You ask inquisitively.

“Forever.” He kisses your forehead as the two of you merge into each other, drifting off into a blissful slumber.

[cubeswhump]

WhumpmasinJuly Day 15: Storm

@whumpmasinjuly Here's my interpretation of Storm!

Warnings for captivity, torture, blood, tiny mention of vomit, graphic violence, gun violence, suicidal ideation, and character death.

This place was going to kill her. Her throat was a dry desert. Screams kept her up day and night. And her hands wouldn't stop shaking and her teeth wouldn't stop chattering since the angry redness streaked up from her cauterized flesh. The sloppy sutures on her stomach—what were those anyway?—had become puffy and raised. She was so cold but all they'd let her keep were the purple briefs she'd had on when she arrived.

When the green-tinged wound began oozing, the smell made her vomit. She hadn't been able to reach her bucket so she just avoided the splatter of sick.

"If you're gonna keep me alive," Blondie rasped, "I need fucking antibiotics."

"I'll let the boss know," replied the useless guard as he poured water in her trough.

Yes, a trough. They'd given her a fucking water trough and it often went dry. It looked heavily used but definitely not sanitized.

Blondie had to get out of here before she died a miserable death. She didn't want to give them the satisfaction of finding her rotting in the filth of this room.

It wasn't as if she had been keeping up with the news, but the born-Floridian knew a hurricane when she heard one; wind rattled the window and voices grew frantic.

"We need sandbags dor the doors."

"The windkws will blow out!"

"I say we just throw these cunts out to the elements."

"They say there could be flooding!'

"Good," Blondie whispered to herself, slumped againdt the wall. "I hope the roof comes out and we all fucking die."

She lay on the cold floor and closed her eyes when light stopped filtering in through the letterbox-sized window, but she knew she wouldn't sleep as long as that dreadful woman's screams and sobs continued. A plan took shape in her head. Was it crazy? Maybe, but she was running on little sleep and definitely running a fever.

Rain beat down hard. Thunder roared and wind battered the building. Blondie stared into the murky water in her trough, painfully swallowing the last of her hesitation. She carefully dragged the big piece of junk as close to the door as her ankle-cuff would allow.

Her mouth was so dry. She needed to drink. No, she needed this.

She pushed over the trough. Water spilled, the puddle spreading toward the door. She dragged the trough back toward the wall and camped out by the door. She took a deep breath.

"The roof!" she screamed. "There's water everywhere! I'm gonna fucking drown!"

Voices outside. "Shit, where's this water coming from?"

"HELP!" she shrieked.

"Jesus Christ. Make the pig stop squealing."

Balancing on both knees was agony. The red lines went up so high and her entire left leg was fiery pain. She tried to keep the stump from rubbing on the floor.

The guards were frantic and she knew it. The man came in alone and barely checked his surroundings, eyes flicking to the perfectly intact ceiling.

Blondie gripped his ankle and deagged him closer. His other foot knocked into her nose. There was a wet crunch and blood flowed down her throat, but she barely felt it. He fumbled with his stun gun but she was on him too fast, her hands encircling his neck. A thumb pressed to his jugular would cut blood flow and merely knock him unconscious.

"What the..." he uttered. Using what little strength she had, Blondie swung thhe heavy trough at him. With a choked cry, he was knocked over.

Electricity buzzed but she was numb to the shocks. Idiots didn't know she had taser training.

Finally, his eyes rolled back and his struggling seized.

She dug through his pockets. Gum. An iPhone. A capped pen. A handgun. No key?

She had limited time before the man woke up or a buddy checked to see what was taking so long. It was hard to be careful in her haste and she jerked the clip of the pen cap around in the cuff's lock. When the clip snapped off, she nearly screamed.

She struggled to remove the piece of plastic with brittle, overgrown fingernails and stuck the pen in her mouth. Plastic crunched between her teeth and she removed the long ink cartridge, snapping ir in half. She jiggled the two narrow halves in the lock.

Click. She was almost dizzy with relief as the metal cuff fell away. The skin underneath was red and raw.

She crawled out the door, gun thumping on the tiles every time the hand clasping it came down. The hallway spun and wavered. The woman's screaming, the nuisance that it had been for what felt like months, fueled her.

"Hey!"

There was a hole in the man's pelvis before he could draw a weapon. He collapsed. He struggled to lift his head.

"Shoot me," Blondie croaked. Blood poured down her lips and chin. Shadows and bruisesarked her eyes like makeup. Her light hair matted with old, brown blood. Her snarling mouth was missing teeth.

The man, pale and wide-eyed, put his head back down.

Not many guards were patrolling, so it was an even bigger shock when the Queen stood in her path, blood red lips stretched into a smile, gun trained on Blondie's head. Blondie held her hand as steady as she could, pointing her gun at the Queen. Who would shoot first?

"My, my," the aqueen chuckled, voice silky and rich like honey. "You're—"

Bang! Flesh blew away from her knee, a hole in her jeans displaying the gore, flapping skin and shattered bone exposed. Her shot missed Blondie as she fell over, screaming.

"Fuck off with your villain monologue," Blondie growled, straddling the brunette.

"If you shoot the villain, it's supposed to be a killing blow." The Queen probably didn't mean for the words to come out as a squeak. "Too soft to kill me?"

Blondie smacked the gun out of the woman's hand and tossed her own aside. "No, stupid. I want to enjoy this."

Her hands tightened around the Queen's thin neck. She squeezed tight and made sure she wasn't just pressing on the woman's jugular.

The Queen kicked and shoved but Blondie pressed harder. Redness blossomed in the whites of the Queen's eyes and drool trickled from her painted lips. Blondie wanted to see the light fade from those Hazel eyes.

Her struggles were growing weak. Blondie smelled urine and feces. She didn't stop squeezing even when the Queen's eyes fluttered shut and her struggling seized altogether. She continued until she didn't feel a pulse.

Blondie wouldn't be the one dying a humiliating death. The Queen was the one lying there in her own waste, tongue too swollen to fit in her mouth.

***

Rain beat down on her bare back like a million icy needles. The harsh wind had knocked her over twice now. The surging water was up to her elbows as she crawled through the empty streets.

Everyone was safe in their houses, behind metal shutters and hurricane glass. No one was around to see and help her.

Why didn't she take that Guard's phone? Stupid, stupid!

In a moment of weakness, Blondie took great gulps of the dirty flood water. It gave her strength and kept her going.

Lightning cracked and colored the grey sky. This was it. Electricity was going to surge through the water and fry Blondie.

Oh well. At least she'd ridden the world of one evil. She could die in peace.

Still, she kept onward through flooded streets. There were still no houses. How far was she from a city? Civilization?

At long last, she saw a solitary house, and then another. Cars in one driveway, tires submerged. Just down the long, long road.

Her limbs screamed. A gust of wind threatened to mnock her over again.

She couldn't go on further even when houses, humans were so, so close.

When she had finally stopped for good, she rolled over and lay kn her back in the water, making sure her face wasn't submerged. Drowning didn't sound pleasant.

***

"What's that? Is that a person?"

The sun was shining, though she was still wet all over and in inches of water. Voices buzzed like gnats.

"Oh my god, her foot is gone!"

"Sherri, call an ambulance!"

No more rain beating down on her face, chest, and stomach.

"Why is she naked?"

"Don't look, Mason!

"Call an ambulance!"

Blurry figures stood against the harsh light over her.

"What the fuck?"

"Can you hear me, ma'am?"

Blondie hummed a solitary, monotonous note and closed her eyes.

[hoodoo12]

Chapter 15/15 NSFW

Chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

@turtepated @anyamercury​ @beetlewise-and-pennyjuice​

She shrieked a little and flinched. He did too, truthfully, as he got to the invisible barrier that had repelled him before. But it was nothing now, and he passed over the sigils effortlessly before grabbing Lisette tightly.

“Baby, this is one of the best days of my life! Afterlife? Ah, fuck it--it’s just one of the best days!” he crowed, and kissed her solidly on the mouth so hard his teeth met hers.

From previous encounters with breathers--was he a breather now?! Oh christ, he didn’t know but it didn’t matter!--he expected her to fight him off. Whatever. She said they were “bound” and he didn’t know what exactly that meant either but he was so pumped full of energy nothing mattered except he was free! Fuck you, Netherworld!

But Lisette didn’t push back. At least not strongly, not in utter protest. She did try to wiggle her arms out from under his, but that seemed more like an effort to draw in a breath rather than get away. When her arms were liberated, she actually took his upper arms and held him close. 

She did break the kiss, however. 

“Oh,” she murmured. “I wondered if touching you was going to be as good as when our shoulders passed in the attic.”

She remembered that day? It felt good to her too? 

Beetlejuice smirked. “What? You think I can’t make it better, baby?”

And that flirty challenge had her shoving his ratty suit jacket off his shoulders, and him yanking her tank top completely out of shape and hurriedly, fumble-fingered undoing her bra to get to her tits. He squeezed them and her nipples became hard from the handling and the chill in his hands. He quickly shrugged out of his jacket, then returned to pinching her nipples.

Their kisses were still as wild and hard as the first he’d given her. And despite the fact that he was pretty sure there was a base note of rot in his mouth and hers tasted like old peanut butter, she surprised him by shoving her tongue between his teeth and licking his hard palate, which opened the door to their tongues exploring each other.

During the desperate lip-lock, she managed to pop the button on his fly and somehow maneuver his trousers and even rattier underwear down to his mid-thigh. She grasped and stroked his cock while her other hand cupped his balls, even though he was hobbled. Clothing was the worst! Beetlejuice growled his frustration at the time it was taking to get naked and would have simply wished it all away, but Lisette continued to push at both his and hers, and stopped kissing him as she bent over to shimmy out of her panties. 

It made her hand release the grip it had on him, which he hated, but to make up for it, while she was at his crotch, she grinned up at him and licked the underside of his cock.

Standing unsteadily on one foot to try and remove her panties completely, Beetlejuice held her shoulders to support her. Lisette didn’t take him fully into her mouth, just licked a wet, teasing circle around the head of his cock before trying to stand back up completely. He didn’t let her; he hooked a foot around one of her ankles and eased her onto her back, going to the floor on top of her, between her legs as he did.

He was still more dressed than not, with his pants at his knees and his shirt still on, unbuttoned. So was she. Her top was skewed, her bra was loose but still looped over her shoulders, her skirt was bunched at her waist, and she still hadn’t managed to kick her underwear off an ankle. It was perfect. Beetlejuice spit into his hand, lubricated his cock, and made to push into her. 

Her hand encircled his to guide him into place. 

As he rocked his hips forward, it was just as he’d imagined: her pussy was tight and so hot. He cried out. Lisette cried out too, for an opposite reason.

“Jesus that’s cold!” 

“Gimme a second, I’ll warm up, baby. Promise,” Beetlejuice grunted, and thrust shallowly, just to savor it. It felt so good, so good--

“Friction’ll help,” Lisette told him. 

He looked down at her, puzzled. She sighed and said more plainly, “Fuck me!”

The lady knows what she wants. It would be rude to deny her. 

The heat of her pussy never got any less. It felt divine to have his cock inside her, and even though it’d been too many years to count Beetlejuice quickly fell into a snappy rhythm that slammed the points of his hips against her. The wooden floor wasn’t doing his knees any favors, so he could only imagine how awful it was on her back, but Lisette clutched at his clad shoulders and moaned in time with each inward thrust, so he didn’t think she was too concerned about it. 

He dropped his face in her neck as he continued. This wasn’t going to be a marathon fuck; her pussy was too sweet to last long. His movements became choppier, less even, and he probably should have told her he was going to come but instead he latched onto her and cried out with a mouthful of skin between his teeth.

His hips juddered as his orgasm overwhelmed him, leaving him buried deep in her pussy as he came.

Lisette didn’t complain; she held him tightly and gasped too.

After a moment that seemed to last an eternity, Beetlejuice relaxed and put his entire weight on her. 

“Hey--are you going to sleep now?” Lisette demanded. “Not cool, Beetlejuice!”

That spurred him. He pushed himself up to stare down at her. “Watch the B word, baby.” 

Instead of being too angry about it, however, Beetlejuice rolled his hips and watched pleasure cross her face. 

“That’s nice,” she murmured, so he continued it until he lost his erection.

Eventually his cock slipped out of her and he moved to her side on the floor. 

They were the picture of debauchery: clothing half-on, hair mussed, a wet spot on the wooden floor, the smell of sex wafting around them. Some of the circle was gone now, smeared by her back and his movements. Lisette was coated in chalk dust.

She didn’t seem to care about that for the moment. She slipped a hand to her groin, then cupped his flaccid cock too.

“You did warm up,” she told him, as if surprised he’d told the truth. 

“Yeah.”

“Maybe you’ll be warmer in general because we’re bound together?”

“Maybe.” 

“I didn’t come, though.”

He raised his eyebrows. She waited expectantly, and finally he said, 

“I’ll do better next time, babe. You gotta remember, that was the first fuck I’d had in I don’t know how long. I gotta get back in practice.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Lisette told him, flicking his chest. “But right now I want to see if we can leave. I’m starving!”

Beetlejuice watched her get up and straighten her clothing. She wiped herself with her panties, but then didn’t put them back on; she just readjusted her skirt and let it fall down her legs. She rehooked her bra and pulled her shirt back into place. 

Then she held a hand out to him. “You coming along? If the doors open and you leave the house, that means I’ve managed to complete the job I was hired for.”

He grinned as he took her hand and she used her weight against his for leverage as he stood up. Beetlejuice didn’t know exactly what “being bound” to her was going to entail, or how long it was going to last, or anything. By saying his name three times, Lisette had given him at least some of his power back, and it was going to be fun finding out how much he could do. They’d deal with the “bound” thing as it came. 

She had to ask if he was coming along? His first opportunity in forever to leave this fucking house? Like he was going to decline?

Lisette seemed to understand, even if he didn’t articulate it. After he’d pulled his trousers back into position, she led him down the stairs and opened the inner front door, than the screen door with no problem. She held them open but didn’t go out first; she gave him a raised-eyebrow look that said, “Well?” without words. 

All the questions and the unknown future aside, he just wanted to leave and be on Earth, not fucking Saturn with its goddamn Sandworms. If he had to be shackled to her, it was a price he was willing to pay.

Hesitating only an additional second, Beetlejuice took a step over the threshold back into the world.

fin!

[hexlikesramennoodles]

15 or 27 on the 50 kisses list + harringrove please

15. A fierce kiss that ends with a bite on the lip, soothing it with a lick; 27. Kisses exchanged while one person sits on the other’s lap.

Author’s note: this takes place in the same universe as my fic This Jelly. I hope that’s okay with you, Anon.

“It’ll be something in the roof,” Billy announced. He ran his finger around the edge of the windowsill, over the places where rainwater had soaked through the plaster, browning the paint and flaking it away. “A loose tile, I’m willing to bet.”

“Huh,” Steve said. He was only loosely paying attention; Billy’s jeans hung low on his hips, and his chest was bare save for the chain from which his AA medallion swung. Steve had missed that medallion. He missed the sight of Billy’s naked chest even more. It had only been about four days since they’d last seen each other, but somehow the time felt much longer.

“I can go up there later, if you’ve got a ladder. Wouldn’t want you to fall and break your neck.” Billy stepped away from the window, trailing stray paint flakes from his fingers. “Sound good?”

“Huh?” Steve startled, blinking and wetting his lips. “Oh. Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good, man.”

Billy sidled closer, cocking his head. He had this weird obsession with being clean—meaning clean hair, clean nails, and clean-shaven skin whenever he saw Steve outside of work. He steam ironed his shirts, and wore cologne that made Steve’s eyes water with how strong it was. Steve knew it went deeper than Billy simply wanting to look nice for their dates—he also didn’t want to become his father. Neil Hargrove had let himself go long before he remarried. He smoked, ate badly, and didn’t brush his teeth. His breath had smelled like he was rotting inside. I don’t want that to be me, Billy had told Steve once. I’ll fuckin’ kill myself before I become what he ended up becoming.

Steve didn’t know how to tell him. After a long morning on the construction site, Billy smelled of sunshine and sweat—not dirty sweat, not how Steve’s gym socks used to smell after three nights of basketball practice, rank and in definite need of a good wash—no, this smell was somehow deeper, purer in its base notes. Animalistic. His skin had taken on this lovely, bronze sheen, mixed in with the chalky dust of crushed gravel, and Steve didn’t know what it was—black magic pheromones, body chemistry—whatever the fuck was seeping from Billy’s pores in place of his usual soap and cologne, it smelled downright fucking erotic. God, Steve had missed him.

“Anything else?” Billy said, his head still cocked.

“Uh.” Steve stared around his bedroom, his tongue feeling as large as a golf ball in his throat. He pointed to the wall socket next to the nightstand. “Yeah, uh, I think there’s something wrong with the electricity. My phone—it’s plugged in, but it’s not—”

Billy’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Well, it might help if you turned on the power first, pretty boy. Like this.” His knees creaked as he bent down, flipping the switch above the socket. Steve did not have the grace to feign shame; the new angle gave him a perfect view of Billy’s ass. “I’m still on the clock. Is there anything else you need before I—”

“My pipes,” he blurted wildly. “My pipes aren’t, uh, working.”

Billy’s eyebrows shot up. “Your pipes?”

He rose so quickly from where he was kneeling that Steve took a step back, his thighs hitting the edge of the bed. “Steve,” Billy said slowly. He closed the distance between them with an outstretching of his hand, flicking Steve gently between the eyes with his fingertip. “Did you remove the roof tile on purpose?”

“Wha—” Steve scoffed. “No—"

Billy’s finger flicked him again. “You know, if you wanted to see me that badly, you coulda just called me?”

“Calling isn’t the same as seeing.” He caught Billy’s hand in mid-air before it could chastise him a third time, turning it over and splaying his fingers across his palm. Most of Billy’s tattoos were, by his own admission, dumb—the product of a teenage boy’s poor impulse control and complete lack of regard for the self. Others were more personal. A grayscale portrait of his mother on his chest. His grandmother’s birthdate above his hip. A row of coordinates printed across the underside of his index finger, the skin around it still red and half-healed. Billy’s mom had been born in Central Valley, but she’d died in L.A. Those coordinates were her birthplace, the side of Billy’s family he’d never known.

Steve had wanted to be there for him. He’d assumed he would be there, as Billy’s boyfriend. It hurt, realizing that he hadn’t seen Billy for four days, hadn’t heard shit from him, and in that time frame Billy had gotten the tattoo without saying anything. It had made Steve feel stupid—humiliated.

He didn’t know how to tell Billy that, either. They’d only been together for three months. They hardly knew each other. If Billy had been Nancy, she would call Steve controlling. She would sit him down, and give him a long, sharp lecture about a woman’s right to choose.

“I miss you,” he said quietly. “I feel like I never see you. You don’t visit after work, you don’t come into the bar …”

Billy made a pained noise. “Baby, you know I can’t spend too much time in bars. You know I want to, but—”

“I know.” Steve’s throat was tight with an all too familiar dryness; he knew what it meant. “I’m sorry. I know. I just—”

“You’re just upset,” Billy spoke over him. “Because I work too much. And because I’ve been neglecting you. Haven’t I?”

Steve’s current streak was three months, the same amount of time they’d been exclusive.

It wasn’t without struggle. Instead of the closing shift, Steve was now bartending at the Hideaway during the day. Instead of staying out with Robin until the early hours of a Sunday morning drinking and smoking and talking absolute shit, he spent his Saturday nights at home, doing whatever he could to distract himself from the paranoia that came with going cold turkey, the tightness in his throat that made him want to peel his skin off. In the first month, Billy had been that distraction. He would wait for Steve to come home, they would fuck, and Steve would sleep the whole night through without needing a glass of wine to wash it down. He’d been too smitten to consider the logistics of the arrangement he’d stumbled into. He was still smitten, but as far as he could tell, Billy had gone cold.

He was a workaholic. They both were; idle hands, so to speak. Only now Steve was working three days a week instead of six, which meant he had a lot more time to miss Billy when he wasn’t there. A lot more time alone with the paranoia. Billy worked upwards of twelve hours a day, and more often than not he was too exhausted to do anything at Steve’s apartment aside from pass out on his bed. He didn’t feel like Steve’s boyfriend anymore. He felt like a roommate, sexless and distant. Steve fucking missed him.

Sobriety offered an unpleasant reality. In it, Steve was convenient. Little more than a motel that Billy could crash overnight when he was too tired to drive. Billy had liked the chase initially, the back and forth, but now that he had Steve, he was complacent. Bored. This new reality wasn’t entirely removed from the old one—Billy was pretty. He was surrounded by men all day, most of whom were married—but even the married ones had to have noticed how pretty he was. From a distance, it would be all too easy to mistake him for a girl. Steve hadn’t realized he had a type, until he met Billy. He hadn’t realized how little he knew about himself—his wants and his needs, his likes and his dislikes, his passions and his hates. That was just Billy. He walked into a room and smiled at everyone, looked into their eyes when he spoke to them. He made people feel special, even when he wasn’t trying. Even when he couldn’t care less.

“Steve,” Billy pressed. “Are you upset?”

He had that look in his eye. That look that made Steve feel particularly stupid, airless, like his throat had closed over and he couldn’t remember what he was going to say next. It occurred to him that he might be in love with Billy, and that without his former mechanisms of coping—talking shit with Robin, self-medicating with wine and cigarettes—there to bear the brunt of uncomfortable emotions, he was feeling them all at once, much too strongly. That look coupled with that voice Billy used when they were alone—low and breathy, coaxing Steve to c’mon, sweetheart, that’s it, be good for me—the look that plainly said, resistance is futile.

“What were you gonna do?” he said. He squeezed Steve’s hand, his mouth twisting like he was trying to hide a smile. “Flood your whole goddamn apartment?”

“I mean. It was enough to get your attention.”

“For future reference, I prefer flowers. Less, uh, mess.”

“I like flowers,” Steve said defensively. “Maybe you should think about getting me some, the next time you decide to disappear for, like, a week.” Slow down, he told himself, but the more he thought about it, the less he could hold the words in. “You know, sometimes I feel like we’re—we’re in a long-distance relationship? Even though you work right fucking next door?”

“You are upset,” Billy sighed, rubbing his jaw. His eyes stayed crinkled at the corners as he looked Steve up and down, his expression fondly irritated. “How long has it been since you last had a drink, huh?”

“Three months.”

“Three …” Billy stopped, then licked his lips. “The whole time?”

Steve set his jaw, and nodded. There was a long, loaded pause.

“You should’ve called me,” Billy said finally. “I didn’t know—Steve, why—?”

“Because I had to. You said it didn’t matter, but—but if I can’t see you because you can’t be where there’s alcohol, because you might relapse, then … what’s the point?” Steve flattened his palms over Billy’s chest, quelling the urge to squeeze his nipples until they hardened and turned red. “Haven’t you ever thought about how different our lifestyles are?”

Billy’s hand fell away from his face. He licked his lips, studying Steve’s palms with soft fascination. His voice was noticeably smaller, more unsure when he asked, “Cigarettes, too?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “So if it’s okay with you—yeah, I am upset that you’re working a lot. You’re never here, Billy. You’re not … present. And I didn’t sign up for that.”

“Flowers,” Billy said at once. “That’s what you signed up for. Flowers, and chocolates, and candlelit dinners. Fuck. Fuck.”

“That comes later. Ideally.”

Billy let out a high-pitched, slightly giddy laugh. His hands dropped to Steve’s hips, pulling their bodies flush. He walked Steve backwards, until Steve found himself sitting on the edge of the bed with Billy’s thighs planted on either side of his hips. “Tonight,” he suggested, his necklace tangling in Steve’s hair. “Six o’clock. Enzo’s. I’ll make sure I finish early. And …”

“And?”

“And when we get back, I can take a look a look at your, uh,” Billy paused, his eyes crinkling and his mouth turning into a real smile as he pressed a chaste kiss below Steve’s ear, “pipes.”

He nosed over Steve’s neck, kissing his way back across to his mouth. The effect was shamefully instantaneous; the anxiety that had been plugging Steve’s throat dissipated, and he found himself spreading his legs to allow Billy to settle more comfortably between them. Billy’s mouth was rough when it reached his lips, the way he knew Steve liked it; he pulled on Steve’s bottom lip with his teeth, then soothed the bite with a rasping lick of his tongue that had Steve shuddering and spreading his legs wider, not wide enough.

“Five minutes,” he said breathlessly. “Can you stay for five minutes?”

He’d thought what he had with Nancy was love. Nancy had never kissed him the way Billy was kissing him now, though. He rocked against Steve’s crotch, threaded his hand through his hair so that Steve was forced to lift his chin to look at him, could see the way his cheeks were flushed, his eyes dazed, dark circles. He kissed Steve’s mouth, kissed his eyelids and his nose and his temples, and said, “Make it ten.”