#alight motion was on fucking life support

[alexsorsis]

I hate you alight motion.

[lila-lou]

✨Taking her in - Pt. 20✨

Summary: After Dean Winchester saves your life, he brings you into the safety of the bunker. As you grow older and stronger, Dean refuses to let you join the hunts, his overprotective behavior intensifying. But beneath his fierce protectiveness lies something darker—conflicted feelings he can’t face. As your 18th birthday approaches, Dean struggles to keep control, torn between his duty to protect you and emotions he’s buried for too long.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Angst, HUGE Age Gap, Immoral, Language

Word Count: 7423

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💜

That was all he needed. His lips crashed onto yours with a ferocity that left you breathless, his good hand sliding to the small of your back and pulling you flush against him. Every ounce of restraint he’d been holding onto for months seemed to shatter in that moment, replaced by a raw, unrelenting need that consumed him completely.

Dean’s lips left yours with a heated groan, his good hand already moving with purpose as he turned you around in one swift motion. You gasped softly as he pressed you forward, your chest meeting the cool silver countertop. The cold metal sent a shiver through your body, the sensation heightened by the fire roaring inside you.

“Stay still”, Dean growled, his voice low and rough with desire as his hand firmly pressed against the small of your back, keeping you in place. His good hand tugged up the hem of your (his) oversized AC/DC shirt, exposing the curve of your ass.

Dean groaned deeply, the sound resonating in the quiet kitchen as he tugged the shirt higher, exposing more of you to his heated gaze. His good hand gripped your hip tightly, grounding himself as his eyes roamed over you, drinking in the sight of your body bent over the counter for him. His green eyes darkening when he realized you weren’t wearing anything underneath. The sight of your bare skin, glistening and exposed, made his throat tighten, a low, guttural groan escaping his lips.

“Fuck”, he murmured, his voice rough and throaty as his hand tightened on your hip. His good hand slid down to brush over the curve of your ass, his fingers grazing your skin with a mixture of reverence and need. “You’ve been walking around like this?”, he growled, his tone laced with equal parts frustration and hunger. “No panties, just waiting for me to find out?”.

Your breath caught, your face heating as you clutched the edge of the counter. “Dean—”, you started, but your words were cut off by a sharp intake of breath as his fingers slid lower, teasing along the seam of your thighs.

“Don’t”, he rasped, his lips brushing against the back of your neck as he bent over you, his chest pressing into your back. “Don’t even try to explain, sweetheart. I can’t think straight right now”.

He spread his fingers over your hip, his touch firm but deliberate as he guided you to arch more for him, your bare skin flush against the cool surface of the counter.

His grip on your hip tightened slightly, grounding you as his other hand moved lower, sliding between your thighs. He didn’t rush, didn’t falter, letting the anticipation build as his fingers explored you with deliberate care.

When he slipped his middle finger inside you, your breath hitched sharply, your hands gripping the counter for support. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure coursing through you, your body instinctively pushing back against him as a soft whimper escaped your lips.

“Shit”, Dean murmured, his voice low and filled with awe as his finger pressed deeper, curling slightly. “You’re so damn wet, sweetheart. All this for me?”.

You could barely respond, your body trembling under his touch as he began to move his finger in a slow, deliberate rhythm. The weight of him against you, his voice, his touch—it was overwhelming in the best way, every nerve in your body alight with sensation.

Dean groaned deeply, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “You feel so good”, he rasped, his voice thick with desire.

Dean paused for just a moment, his breath heavy against the back of your neck as he pulled back slightly. Carefully, he braced his still injured arm beside your face on the counter, using it to balance as he reached down with his other hand. You heard the rustle of fabric as he hastily tugged his jeans and boxers down just enough to free himself.

Then, without waiting, he was pressing back against you, his movements deliberate as he aligned himself. You felt the tip of him at your entrance, and with a single, fluid motion, he pushed inside you. The edge of the counter pressed into your hipbones. Dean filled you completely, making you gasp and moan with a mixture of pain and pleasure.

“Shit Baby, you take me so well”, Dean groaned, his voice strained with the effort to remain at least kinda gentle.

Dean’s hips met yours with a soft thud, and the impact made you shiver, a strangled gasp slipping from your lips as the intensity of it overwhelmed you. The counter bit into your hips with every motion, but the sensation only heightened the overwhelming fullness, the heat building inside you like a slow-burning fire. “Shit”, you whispered, the word trembling on your lips as you adjusted to the relentless depth of him.

Behind you, Dean groaned low in his throat, the sound rough and strained. His injured arm braced against the counter near your face, and his good hand tightened on your hip, holding you steady as he moved again, this time slower, more controlled, but no less intense. “You’re so damn perfect”, he rasped, his breath hot against the back of your neck. “Feel so good, sweetheart… so tight”.

You whimpered, the intensity of his thrusts and the way he stretched you making it hard to form words. Your fingers gripped the edge of the counter as you pushed back against him, desperate to meet his movements, to match his rhythm.

Dean’s good hand slid from your hip to your lower back, urging you to arch more for him. The change in angle sent a wave of pleasure crashing through you, your head falling forward as you let out a soft, breathless moan. “That’s it”, he murmured, his voice low and commanding. “Take me, baby. Just like that”.

His hips picked up a steady rhythm, each thrust sending sparks of heat racing through your body.

“Dean”, you gasped, his name falling from your lips in a desperate plea. You weren’t sure what you were asking for—more, faster, softer—but the way he responded, his grip tightening and his pace deepening, told you he understood.

Dean’s movements grew more urgent, his control slipping as he gave in to the storm raging inside him. Weeks of frustration, shame, and self-doubt bled into his actions, each thrust carrying a raw intensity that he hadn’t allowed himself to unleash until now. It was as if he was reclaiming a part of himself, finding solace in the one place where he felt like the man he was supposed to be—in control.

His grip on your hip tightened, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulled you back against him with every thrust. The rhythm was rougher now, less measured, and the sound of skin meeting skin filled the room alongside his low, guttural groans.

You whimpered beneath him, the overwhelming sensation making it hard to catch your breath. The counter pressed harder into your hips with each movement, the cool metal a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from Dean’s body. Your knuckles whitened as you gripped the edge of the counter for support, your knees trembling from the intensity of his pace.

“Dean”, you gasped, your voice breathy and tinged with both pleasure and surprise at how rough he was being. He wasn’t like this usually—not with you. Dean had always been deliberate, careful, holding back just enough to make sure you weren’t overwhelmed. But now? Now, he seemed consumed by the need to feel in control, to prove to himself that he still had that strength, that dominance. You asked for this after all.

Dean’s rough, urgent pace pushed you to the edge faster than you could’ve anticipated. The way he gripped you, the way he claimed you—it did something to you, something overwhelming and impossible to resist.

Your breath hitched as the tension in your core built rapidly, your body trembling as you felt yourself nearing the peak. “Dean”, you gasped, your voice cracking with need, but he didn’t slow down. If anything, his grip tightened, his hips slamming into yours with even more fervor.

And then it hit. The wave of pleasure crashed over you with a force you’d never experienced before, your body clenching around him so tightly it drew a deep, guttural groan from his throat. Your cries of release were muffled as you bit down on your fist, trying desperately to keep yourself from being too loud, but the intensity of your orgasm left you shaking, gasping for air as your vision blurred.

Dean let out a low, guttural groan as he felt you tighten around him, the intensity of your release pushing him to the brink. His hips stuttered for only a moment before he resumed his pace, rougher and more deliberate now as he chased his own climax. His fingers digging into your skin as he drove himself deeper, each thrust more powerful than the last.

You whimpered, still trembling from the aftershocks of your own orgasm, the oversensitivity making every thrust almost too much to handle.

“Almost there”, he groaned, his voice strained as his good hand slid around to your lower stomach, pulling you back against him with each thrust. The feeling of his fingers splayed over your skin, the way his body pressed so firmly into yours, sent another shiver through you despite your body’s exhaustion.

Dean’s movements grew sharper, his breaths coming in harsh gasps as he buried himself even deeper. “Fuck, I’m gonna—”. His words broke off into a low, desperate moan as his hips snapped one last time, pressing you flush against him as he spilled into you. His entire body tensed, his head dropping to your shoulder as a deep groan escaped his lips.

For a moment, the only sounds in the kitchen were his ragged breaths and the faint hum of the fridge, your bodies still tangled together as he slowly came back to himself. His hands softened their grip on you, sliding gently over your skin as he steadied both of you, his forehead resting against the back of your neck.

Dean lingered against you for a moment, his chest rising and falling with his heavy breaths as he tried to steady himself. His grip on your waist softened, his calloused fingers brushing over the marks he’d left there. Slowly, carefully, he pulled back, his movements deliberate as if afraid he might hurt you further.

“Shit (Y/N)”, he murmured, his voice rough but laced with concern as he stood upright, his good hand steadying your hip. “Are you… you okay? Did I—”. He hesitated, the unspoken worry evident in his tone.

You pushed yourself up slightly, your arms trembling as you steadied yourself on the counter. Your legs felt like jelly, and every nerve in your body was still buzzing from the intensity of what had just happened. Despite the exhaustion weighing you down, a faint grin tugged at the corners of your lips.

Dean caught sight of it, his green eyes narrowing slightly as his concern gave way to a flicker of relief—and maybe a bit of disbelief. “You’re grinning”, he said, almost accusingly, though his lips twitched upward in response.

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, turning your head just enough to meet his gaze. “You didn’t hurt me, Dean”, you said quietly, your voice hoarse but full of reassurance. “I mean, I might not be able to walk for a while, but… I’m okay”.

Dean’s brows furrowed, his lips parting as if to say something, but he stopped short, his smirk finally breaking through. He scrubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head as he let out a low, relieved chuckle. “You’re something else, you know that?”, he murmured, his tone affectionate despite the teasing edge.

You leaned back slightly, wincing as your hips protested the movement, but the satisfied glow on your face remained. “You’re the one who just decided to remind me exactly how much of a man you are”, you shot back, your grin widening slightly.

Dean groaned, his head tilting back as he muttered, “You’re gonna kill me, woman”. But there was no mistaking the pride in his voice, the way his gaze softened as he looked at you. Still, his good hand reached out to touch your cheek, his thumb brushing over your flushed skin.

Dean’s thumb lingered on your cheek, his green eyes soft but filled with that ever-present worry as he studied you closely. “Are you really okay?”, he asked, his voice low and gentle, laced with genuine concern. “You’d tell me if I went too far, right?”.

You bit your lip, your cheeks heating under his intense gaze. It was moments like these that reminded you of just how much Dean cared, even when he tried to mask it with teasing or bravado. “I promise, I’m okay”, you said softly, your voice steady despite the blush creeping up your neck.

Dean’s jaw tightened slightly, his thumb brushing over your skin again as if to reassure himself. “You sure?”, he pressed, his voice dipping lower, his gaze flickering to your lips before returning to your eyes. “I mean, I know… well, I know me. And I know you’re still—”. He paused, swallowing hard as his free hand gestured vaguely. “You’re still getting used to… this. Us. And I’m not exactly… small”.

Your cheeks burned even brighter at his words, your heart thudding in your chest as you tried to find the right response. “Dean”, you murmured, your voice almost a whisper. “It was… kind of hot, actually”.

That caught him off guard. His brows lifted slightly, his lips parting as he stared down at you, clearly not expecting that answer. “Hot?”, he repeated, his tone incredulous but tinged with a flicker of amusement.

You nodded, the blush on your cheeks deepening as you looked up at him, your small frame still caged between him and the counter. “I mean, yeah”, you admitted, your voice growing steadier as you saw the flicker of pride in his expression. “The way you just… took control. How strong you are. It—it was hot”.

Dean’s smirk returned, slow and wicked as he leaned in closer, his good hand slipping to your waist to hold you in place. “Careful, sweetheart”, he drawled, his voice rough with satisfaction and a renewed spark of confidence. “You keep talking like that, and I’m not gonna let you out of this kitchen anytime soon”.

You couldn’t help but smile despite your blush, your heart fluttering as he tilted his head, his lips brushing over yours in a kiss that was surprisingly soft and full of affection. Dean pulled back just enough to meet your gaze again, his hand tightening slightly on your hip. “But seriously”, he murmured, his tone softening again. “If it ever is too much, you tell me. I mean it”.

You nodded, your fingers brushing against his chest as you whispered, “I will, Dean. I promise”.

His smirk returned, but this time it was gentler, filled with that unique blend of protectiveness and pride that only Dean Winchester could pull off. “Good”, he said, pressing another kiss to your temple before stepping back slightly, giving you space to breathe—though the way he looked at you made it clear he wasn’t going far. “Now, how about I get us some water before I pin you against something else?”.

A little while later, the two of you had settled in the library, a sense of quiet intimacy blanketing the room. You were perched comfortably on Dean’s lap, your small frame fitting perfectly against his. His broken arm was carefully draped around you. Both of you held bowls of cereal.

Dean leaned back in his chair, looking uncharacteristically relaxed as he took a bite of cereal. His green eyes flicked to you every so often, a faint smirk playing at his lips as you both ate in companionable silence.

Dean’s smirk grew wider as his green eyes flicked back to you, his gaze lingering for just a moment too long. You could feel the weight of it, the way it seemed to burn into your skin, and your cheeks flushed in response. You shifted slightly in his lap, suddenly hyperaware of how close you were to him.

“Stop staring at me”, you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper as you quickly took another spoonful of cereal, hoping to hide the growing blush on your cheeks.

Dean chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “Can’t help it”, he murmured, his voice teasing but genuine. “You’re cute when you’re flustered”.

You rolled your eyes, though the corners of your lips twitched upward despite yourself. “I’m not flustered”, you retorted, though your tone lacked conviction. The heat in your face betrayed you, and you knew Dean could see right through it.

“Sure, sweetheart”, he said, his smirk turning playful as he leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your temple. “Keep telling yourself that”.

Before you could respond, you felt his thumb from his broken arm brush gently over your bare thigh, the touch light but enough to send a shiver up your spine. Your breath hitched slightly, and you instinctively shifted again, your body reacting to the simple yet intimate gesture.

“Dean”, you said softly, glancing at him with a mix of embarrassment and affection.

“Hmm?”, he hummed, his tone feigning innocence as his thumb continued its slow, lazy path along your skin. His gaze dropped for a moment, following the movement of his hand, before meeting your eyes again. “Just making sure my girl’s comfortable. That a crime?”.

You bit your lip, your cheeks burning hotter as Dean’s thumb continued its gentle stroke along your thigh. His green eyes sparkled with amusement as he tilted his head, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips.

“I still can’t believe you liked that earlier”, he said softly, his voice low and teasing. His words sent a jolt of embarrassment and warmth through you, and you opened your mouth to respond, but he kept going. “I mean, sweetheart, sex is still so new to you, and then to go and—”.

“Why”, Sam’s voice cut through the room like a knife, stopping Dean mid-sentence, “does the kitchen smell weird?”.

Both you and Dean froze, your eyes snapping toward Sam as he shuffled into the library, a mug of coffee in hand. His hair was slightly messy, and the tired look on his face didn’t quite mask the hint of annoyance in his expression. But what really caught your attention was the faint blush creeping up his neck, as if he had an inkling of what might’ve caused the lingering scent.

“What do you mean?”, Dean asked casually, though the way he cleared his throat and straightened his posture betrayed him. His good hand moved to rest more innocently on your hip, as if that would erase any suspicion.

Sam raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “I mean, the kitchen smells like… I don’t even know, but it’s definitely not breakfast”.

You pressed your lips together, trying to stifle the giggle threatening to escape, but your red cheeks gave you away. Dean noticed, his smirk widening as he glanced back at you before looking at Sam.

Dean’s smirk grew even wider as he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear, “For some people, it is breakfast”.

You let out a sharp gasp, swatting his chest lightly, your face heating even more. “Dean!”, you whispered, your voice half-scolding, half-laughing.

Sam groaned audibly, his shoulders slumping as he made his way to the opposite side of the table and dropped heavily into a chair. “Really, Dean?”, he grumbled, his tone filled with both annoyance and exasperation. “In our kitchen? That’s just… wrong on so many levels”.

Dean leaned back slightly in his chair, the picture of mock innocence as he raised an eyebrow at Sam. “I don’t know what you’re talking about”, he said smoothly, his tone laced with fake sincerity. “Maybe you’re just imagining things, Sammy”.

Sam shot him a look, his jaw tightening as he shook his head. “Imagining things? The kitchen smells like someone went to town in there, and you’re seriously gonna deny it?”.

Dean shrugged, his smirk never faltering. “Hey, I can’t control your overactive imagination”, he replied, his good hand lazily brushing along your side as he winked at you.

You buried your face in your hands, trying to suppress the giggle threatening to bubble up. Sam groaned again, pinching the bridge of his nose as though he were trying to will the entire conversation away.

“For the love of—Dean, you’re unbelievable”, Sam muttered, shaking his head as he took a long sip of his coffee. He glared at his brother over the rim of his mug. “Just… clean the counter… or table.. or whatever… Please”.

Dean chuckled, clearly enjoying himself far too much. “Sure thing, Sammy. Anything for you”.

Sam rolled his eyes, muttering something about “never trusting Dean near food prep surfaces again” as he flipped open a lore book, determined to ignore the smug grin plastered on Dean’s face. You shook your head, a mix of amusement and mortification swirling in your chest, as Dean leaned closer to whisper in your ear.

“Totally worth it”, he murmured, his lips brushing your temple, his hand squeezing your hip gently.

After a while however, Sam grumbled, closing his lore book with a heavy thud as he set his coffee down on the table. He glanced at you and Dean, his expression a mix of frustration and reluctant amusement. “You know”, he said, shaking his head, “if I’d known this relationship would end up with… dirty stuff happening all over the bunker, I might’ve thought twice about approving it”. Still, there was a warmth in his expression that he couldn’t completely hide. Sure, he was grumbling about the antics, but deep down, seeing Dean like this—relaxed, happy, and clearly in love—did something to ease the constant worry he carried for his older brother.

Dean, for all his stubbornness and bravado, had carried so much weight on his shoulders for so long. Sam had seen him at his lowest, his most broken, and the rare moments when Dean let himself feel something good, something real, were few and far between. Watching the way Dean’s hand rested protectively on your hip, how his grin was softer and less guarded, it reminded Sam that maybe—just maybe—his brother could have something good for himself.

“I’m serious, though”, Sam muttered, though his tone was far less annoyed now, almost playful. “Keep it off the kitchen. Some of us actually eat there”.

Dean smirked, leaning back in his chair and giving Sam a mock salute. “Got it, Sammy. No counter fun. Scout’s honor”.

You chuckled softly, placing your empty bowl on the table before hiding your face in Dean’s chest, your cheeks burning from the playful teasing. Dean’s good arm instinctively came around you, holding you close as you tried to disappear into him. His shirt was warm against your skin, his chest rumbling with quiet laughter at your shy reaction.

Sam raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by the scene unfolding before him. “I didn’t peg you for something like that”, he teased, taking a sip of his coffee before gesturing toward you with a slight grin. “You were supposed to be the responsible one, remember?”.

You groaned, muffled against Dean’s chest, and muttered, “I am responsible… usually”.

Dean’s lips quirked into a crooked smirk as he looked down at you, his hand rubbing slow, lazy circles on your back. “Don’t listen to him, sweetheart”, he murmured, his voice low and full of warmth. “You’re perfect just the way you are”.

Sam rolled his eyes, but the affectionate smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. “You two are ridiculous”, he said with a sigh, turning his attention back to his book. “I’ll be in my room when you’re done… whatever this is”.

As Sam walked out, muttering something under his breath about needing noise-canceling headphones, Dean’s smirk turned into something darker, something primal. The way you hid against him, so soft and shy, sparked something deep within him that he couldn’t ignore. His thumb brushed over your hip, the touch firm but deliberate as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear.

“You know”, he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly tone that made your knees weak, “I like you like this”.

You tilted your head up, blinking at him with wide, questioning eyes. “Like what?”.

Dean’s gaze softened slightly, but the fire in his eyes didn’t dim. “All shy and sweet”, he said, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles on your hip.

Your heartbeat quickened, the familiar flutter in your chest spreading warmth through your body. By now, this reaction was as natural as breathing whenever Dean so much as glanced at you with that hungry, smoldering look. It didn’t take much—his teasing words, his rough, calloused hand skimming your skin, or the way his voice dropped just enough to send a shiver down your spine. Dean had this uncanny ability to set your nerves alight, and right now was no exception.

You squirmed slightly in his lap, your breath catching when his hand tightened on your hip, holding you still. “Careful, sweetheart”, he murmured, his voice a low warning that sent another wave of heat rushing through you. “Keep moving like that, and we’re gonna have a problem”.

Your cheeks burned as you avoided his gaze, your head ducking slightly to hide the embarrassed smile pulling at your lips. “Dean”, you mumbled, your voice barely audible, but he caught it.

He chuckled, the sound low and throaty as he tipped your chin up with his good hand, forcing you to look at him. His green eyes were dark with amusement and something much deeper, much more dangerous. “What is it, baby?”, he asked softly, his thumb brushing over your jaw. “Something on your mind?”.

You hesitated, your body betraying you as you shifted again, the tension in his lap unmistakable. His smirk widened as he noticed your reaction, his thumb moving to trace slow circles over your hip, his hand firm and grounding. “Thought so”, he murmured, leaning in so his lips were just a whisper away from yours.

“Dean”, you breathed again, your voice trembling as the air between you seemed to grow heavier.

He didn’t kiss you—not yet. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispered, “Tell me what you want, sweetheart. I’ll give you anything”.

Your breath hitched, your body arching slightly into him as his words sent a surge of heat straight through you. You didn’t have to say a word—your reaction was answer enough, and Dean’s soft groan told you he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“You make it so easy for me”, he muttered, his voice rough as he trailed kisses along your jawline, his good hand sliding higher up your thigh. “Always so responsive… always mine”.

Your heart raced as his words settled over you, the intensity of his gaze leaving no room for doubt. “Dean”, you whispered again, barely able to find your voice as he captured your lips in a slow, possessive kiss, one that left no question about how much he wanted you.

Twenty minutes later, the library table was in no better condition than the counter in the kitchen had been earlier. Books and papers had been hastily pushed aside, your efforts to stay quiet completely abandoned somewhere in the middle of Dean showing you just how much control he still had. By the time you’d both caught your breath, the air in the bunker was thick with satisfaction and the lingering scent of your shared intensity.

Dean leaned back in his chair, his green eyes heavy-lidded with smug satisfaction as he watched you.

You adjusted your shirt and smoothed your hair, your legs trembling slightly as you tried to maintain some semblance of composure. But the dull ache in your lower belly and the soreness radiating through your thighs made it nearly impossible to mask how thoroughly Dean had wrecked you.

You bit your lip, willing yourself to straighten up and not let on how much you were feeling it. Dean prided himself on being careful with you, on not pushing you too far, but this morning had been… intense. The last thing you wanted was for him to feel guilty or pull back because you couldn’t handle what he gave you.

“Sweetheart”, Dean mumbled. “You look like you can barely walk. You sure you’re good?”.

Your heart skipped a beat at his question, and you quickly nodded, plastering on a weak smile. “I’m fine”, you said, trying to sound nonchalant even though your body protested with every movement. “Just a little sore, that’s all”.

Dean’s smirk softened, his gaze narrowing slightly as he studied your face. “A little sore?”, he repeated, the teasing lilt in his tone replaced by something more cautious. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees as he reached out to gently touch your wrist. “You’re not lying to me, are you?”.

You swallowed hard, shaking your head quickly. “No, I swear. I’m fine”, you insisted, though your voice wavered just enough to betray you.

Dean’s brows furrowed, and he tilted his head, his concern breaking through the smug facade. “Baby”, he said softly, his tone gentler now,

Your chest tightened at the sincerity in his voice, and you felt a pang of guilt for not being completely honest. “Dean”, you began, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I’m okay. Really“.

You managed to hold it together as you walked toward the bathroom, Dean’s concerned gaze following you until you rounded the corner and disappeared from his view. The moment you were out of sight, the composure you’d so carefully maintained began to crumble. Your steps faltered, your legs trembling with each step as the ache in your lower belly sharpened with every movement.

“Damn it”, you whispered to yourself, your voice barely audible as you reached the bathroom door. You pushed it open, your hand gripping the edge of the sink to steady yourself as you closed the door behind you.

“Ugh… ouch, ouch, ouch”, you mumbled under your breath, the words almost rhythmic as you carefully removed your clothes, each motion feeling like a small battle. The soreness was a constant reminder of how rough Dean had been, and while part of you felt proud that you could take it, now the pain was undeniable.

You reached for a washcloth, wetting it with warm water before pressing it gently against your skin. The heat offered a small bit of relief, but the ache in your belly refused to subside. “Too deep… too much”, you muttered softly, biting your lip as you tried to clean yourself up without letting the tears spill over.

As you stood there, leaning heavily against the sink, you glanced at your reflection in the mirror. Your cheeks were flushed, your hair a mess, and there was a faint redness in your eyes from the tears you were holding back. You took a deep, shaky breath, trying to steady yourself.

But the cramps came again, sharp and unrelenting, and this time, you couldn’t hold back the soft whimper that escaped your lips. You pressed a hand to your lower belly, trying to soothe the ache as the weight of everything hit you. You were in pain, and while you didn’t want Dean to feel guilty, you knew you’d have to be honest with him if it didn’t ease up soon.

Still, you weren’t ready to face him yet. Not when you knew how much this would bother him. So, you focused on cleaning up, taking your time and trying to catch your breath as you leaned against the cool counter, whispering quiet reassurances to yourself. “It’s okay”, you murmured. “You’ll feel better soon. Just… take it slow”.

Little did you know, Dean hadn’t stopped worrying. The moment he noticed how long you’d been gone, he was already on his feet, heading toward the bathroom, his concern outweighing your attempts to keep this from him.

Dean stood outside the bathroom door, his jaw clenched as he listened closely. He hadn’t missed the way you faltered as you walked away, and it gnawed at him. You might’ve said you were fine, but he knew you better than that. He could hear the faint sounds of movement from the other side of the door, and his instincts told him something wasn’t right.

With a quiet knock, he called out, “Sweetheart, you okay in there?”.

“I’m fine, Dean”, you replied quickly, your voice slightly higher than usual. “Just running a bath”.

But Dean didn’t buy it. The slight shake in your tone, the fact that you’d been gone longer than usual—it all pointed to one thing: you were hiding something. He sighed heavily, his hand resting on the doorknob. “I don’t think you are”, he said softly, his voice firm but gentle. “I’m coming in”.

“Dean, don’t—”, you started, panic lacing your voice as you turned toward the door, but it was too late. He stepped inside, his green eyes immediately locking on you.

You stood by the bathtub, completely bare, your arms instinctively crossing over your chest as you stared at him, a mix of embarrassment and frustration on your face. Steam rose from the water you’d been running, the soothing heat your last-ditch effort to alleviate the sharp cramps in your lower belly. The look in your eyes—vulnerable, caught—hit Dean like a punch to the gut.

“(Y/N)”, he murmured, his tone softer now as he took in the scene. His good hand reached out instinctively, but you took a small step back, shaking your head.

“I told you I’m fine”, you said, your voice trembling as you tried to hold your ground. “I just… needed a bath”.

Dean’s green eyes softened as he closed the small distance between you, his expression a mix of concern and frustration. He stopped just short of touching you, giving you space but making it clear he wasn’t leaving until you were honest. “Wanna try again?”, he murmured, his voice low and steady. “This time, without lying to me?”.

You swallowed hard, your arms still crossed over your chest as you avoided his gaze. The weight of his words, the quiet insistence in his tone, made it impossible to keep up the facade. “Dean…”, you started, your voice trembling slightly. “I’m fine, I just—”.

“Don’t tell me you’re fine when I can see you’re not. I know you, sweetheart. I can tell when something’s wrong”.

Your heart clenched at the sincerity in his tone, the weight of his concern making it impossible to keep up the charade. You hesitated, your fingers gripping the edge of the sink for support as you looked away, your voice barely audible. “I didn’t want you to feel guilty”.

Dean let out a sharp breath, his good hand brushing the back of his neck as he took a step closer. “You think I wouldn’t feel worse knowing you’re hurting and trying to hide it from me?”. His words weren’t accusatory, but the hint of frustration in his voice was impossible to miss. “I need to know, sweetheart. I need to make sure you’re okay”.

You glanced up at him, your resolve crumbling under the warmth in his gaze. “I didn’t want you to think you’d done something wrong”, you admitted softly.

Dean sighed heavily, rubbing a hand down his face as he took another step closer. The concern etched into his features was impossible to miss, and it made your chest tighten with guilt. He studied you for a moment, his green eyes softening as his gaze dropped to your midsection.

“Your belly hurts?”, he asked gently, his voice low and quiet. He didn’t sound surprised—if anything, he sounded resigned, like he’d seen this happen before. But with you, the way he asked wasn’t casual or dismissive. It carried weight, genuine care woven into every syllable.

You hesitated, your fingers gripping the edge of the sink a little tighter. “Yeah”, you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Dean’s shoulders sagged as he processed your admission, his good hand rubbing the back of his neck in frustration. He’d been here before—not with you, but with others—women who couldn’t take him, who’d winced or faltered under his touch. But you weren’t like them. You were still so new to this, still learning what you liked, what you could handle. And the thought of pushing you too far, of hurting you in any way, twisted his stomach in knots.

“Damn it”, he muttered under his breath, his green eyes flicking back to yours. His expression was a mix of guilt and frustration, most of it directed at himself. “I should’ve known better. I should’ve been paying attention”.

“Dean”, you started, but he cut you off, his voice soft but insistent.

“No”, he said, his tone low and filled with regret. “You shouldn’t have to tell me when to slow down. I should’ve known you weren’t ready for… for that”. He exhaled sharply, his hand running down his face. “I got carried away, and that’s on me”.

You shook your head quickly, your voice soft but steady as you interrupted his spiral. “No, Dean”, you said, stepping closer to him. “I… I liked it. I wanted it”.

Dean froze, his green eyes narrowing slightly as he processed your words. “Sweetheart…”, he started, but you cut him off again, your cheeks flushing as you struggled to explain.

“I just… didn’t expect it to hurt so much afterward”, you admitted quietly, your hands fidgeting nervously at your sides. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t want it. I did, Dean. I wanted all of it”.

His gaze softened at your admission, but the guilt still lingered in his expression. “You shouldn’t have to feel like that”, he said, his voice rough as he stepped closer. His good hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “You shouldn’t be in pain after something that’s supposed to feel good”.

“It did feel good”, you said quickly, your voice firm as you met his eyes. “Dean, it felt amazing. I just… I wasn’t prepared for how intense it would be, I guess”.

Dean let out a shaky breath, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek as he searched your face. “You shouldn’t have to push yourself like that, though”, he murmured. “I should’ve known better. I should’ve—”.

“Stop”, you interrupted, placing your hand over his to still him.

You sighed softly, the sound filled with both frustration and vulnerability as you turned and switched off the water. The steam in the bathroom swirled lazily around you, the only sound now the faint drip of water from the faucet. “That’s exactly why I didn’t want to tell you”, you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

Dean’s eyes narrowed, his concern deepening as he stepped closer. “What do you mean?”, he asked, his tone gentle but probing.

You crossed your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling exposed under his intense gaze. “Because I knew you’d blame yourself”, you admitted, glancing at him briefly before looking away. “I knew you’d turn this into something you did wrong when it’s not”.

Dean frowned, his jaw tightening as he processed your words. “Sweetheart”, he began, his voice low and soothing as he reached out to gently touch your arm. “I’m not trying to blame myself. I just—”.

“You are”, you interrupted, turning to face him fully. “And I get it, Dean. I get that you want to take care of me, to make sure I’m okay. But sometimes things are going to happen, and they won’t be perfect, and it won’t be anyone’s fault”.

Dean’s hand tightened slightly on your arm, his thumb brushing over your skin in a calming motion. “It’s not about being perfect”, he said quietly. “It’s about making sure you’re not hurting because of me. That’s not something I can just brush off”.

You softened at his words, your heart aching at the sincerity in his eyes. “I know”, you whispered. “And I love you for that. But Dean, you don’t have to carry everything. You don’t have to fix everything. Sometimes I’m going to push myself too far because I want to, and I’m going to learn from it. Just like you’ve learned to let me in, to let me help you when you need it”.

His lips quirked into a faint smile, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “You’re pretty damn smart, you know that?”, he murmured, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

You smiled back, leaning into his touch. “Only because I have you to learn from”.

Dean sighed heavily, the weight of the moment easing as he tilted his head down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. His lips were warm against your skin, and the gesture was filled with affection and care. When he pulled back, his green eyes sparkled with a mixture of seriousness and teasing as he murmured, “No more sex for you, sweetheart”.

You blinked up at him, momentarily caught off guard by his words, before a playful grin spread across your face. “Oh, really?”, you asked, your tone laced with mock innocence. “You think you can go without, Winchester? Because if I recall, you were the one who couldn’t keep your hands off me earlier”.

Dean’s brows shot up, his smirk returning as he leaned back slightly, his good hand still resting on your hip. “Careful, sweetheart”, he drawled, his voice low and teasing. “You’re already on thin ice.”

You giggled, leaning closer to him, your hands resting on his chest as you whispered, “You say that, but we both know you’ll cave first”.

Dean let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head as he looked down at you with a mix of amusement and exasperation. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”, he said, his smirk softening into something warmer.

You grinned, standing on your tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his jaw. “And yet, you love me anyway”, you teased, stepping back toward the tub and gesturing to the water. “Now, are you going to let me take this bath in peace, or are you planning to supervise?”.

Dean smirked again, his arms crossing over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. “Depends. You need help scrubbing your back?”.

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you turned back to the bath. “Out, Dean”, you said, pointing toward the door.

He chuckled but didn’t argue, backing out of the bathroom with a grin on his face. “Fine, fine”, he said, raising his good hand in mock surrender. “But I’m holding you to that no-sex deal. See how long you last”.

You laughed again, shaking your head as he disappeared down the hall, already plotting how to prove him wrong.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

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Part 21

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Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @ladykitana90 @fullbelieverheart @chainsawsangel @zaratahir @rebecca-hvnstn @maackiimoo @mayafatimakhan @ladysparkles78 @lachelledavies-winchester @kamisobsessed @kr804573 @c1gs-coffee @fyegyall @lilbloggs @emily-

[billy-cockblock]

I’ve been watching resident evil lore summary videos and some gameplay clips all day and have been mulling over my re venom au for a few days, and am gonna make just a brain dump of thoughts.

According to one video I watched, shadows of Rose takes place in 2037 (if I remember correctly), quite a while after previous games. Resident evil 2 takes place in 1998, and let’s say Leon’s 20 in that game. That would make Leon 59 during the events of shadows of Rose. That is older than my parents, and I can’t imagine anyone their age doing backflips to dodge chainsaws or doing parkour or getting tossed around by a BOW and being able to stand back up. So, I’m gonna screw with the timeline a little bit. And by that I mean I’m throwing it out the window.

So! Plot ideas: Leon’s in his mid-40s and is starting to feel the combined effects of age and a life of being BOW’s chew toy. He’s getting tired of life as an agent, being surrounded by so much death and destruction with no end in sight other than dying on a mission. He starts to bring up the topic of retirement, and his friends are supportive of the idea. Even Chris, who Leon’s sure plans on working until he dies. He starts to go through the process of filing paperwork, getting assigned to find people to replace him, and trying to think of what to do once he’s no longer an agent.

The government isn’t as big a supporter of him planning retirement. He’s one of their best men, he knows a whole bunch of extremely classified information, and if he wasn’t working for them anymore, he’d just be out in the world and much harder to control. Some higher ups do their best to slow down his retirement process as much as possible, but he’s Leon fucking Kennedy, he never stops until a job’s done (even if that job is quitting your job). They’re assigning him extra work, claiming it’s backlog that they want him to finish before he goes, assign him on smaller, more frequent missions so he has less time to process his retirement, and try to find a solution to the risk he’d be once he left.

One such mission he gets sent on, is to check up on one of Chris’s assignments. A motion alarm had been tripped at a lab, and they just needed him to go make sure there weren’t any intruders hiding where security cameras couldn’t see.

He’s known what the higher up had been doing for a while, but he wasn’t fighting them on it too much because he was kinda lost on what he wanted to do after. Fighting biological threats was all he’d really done and all he’d had time for, he didn’t know what direction to go after retirement. That’s why he agreed to go check out the small, off the radar lab, even though it was under Chris’ jurisdiction. Just an easy surveillance sweep of a probably-empty building to kill some time and get some thought on his next steps.

He finally makes it to the lab space of the building, it having been much more well protected than he thought it’d be. A cursory glance tells him no one’s there, but then he hears glass breaking behind the shelves in the middle of the room. He quietly walks around, until he sees a broken-open containment flask full of some kind of goo. The glass is covered in dark, drying, and clearly dead material, but emerging from the cracked-open center was a shifting blob, pulsing a faint red.

He tried to swat it away when it leapt at his face, but it clung to him like glue. It sunk into his skin, and his nerves were set alight.

[mellowswriting]

Home

pairing || Marcus Pike x fem!Reader

summary || Welcome home, Baby Pike! Sneak peeks of Marcus Pike being the best father and husband in the world.

words || 3,985

warnings || pregnancy and labor (no graphic detail), allusions to sex, BABY DADDY MARCUS PIKE Y’ALL, a somewhat physical altercation (Between Marcus and a stranger), fluff, mentions of breastfeeding, referenced breeding kink

Main Masterlist  |  Join the taglist!

You never expect your life to change on a Tuesday at two o’clock in the afternoon. In fact, you expected it to change three days prior on your due date, but Baby Pike decided that they wanted to make their entrance into the world a total surprise to everyone. After a morning full of what you thought were Braxton Hicks contractions, your water broke right in the middle of the living room. A small surprised yelp came from you, one that had Marcus scrambling from the kitchen to your side in an instant.

“Honey, what is it? Are you okay?” He asked, his eyebrows pinched together in worry.

“Yeah.” You said breathily, chuckling slightly. “Yeah, my water just broke.”

“What?” Marcus whispered and you watched as the realization broke across his face. He immediately held you at your forearms and eased you back to sit on the couch, a smile slowly growing on his face as he knelt in front of you. “Okay.”

“Oh my god, Marcus.” You stared at him, eyes wide, hands rubbing your belly almost absentmindedly. “Marcus, we’re having a baby.”

“Holy shit, we’re having a baby!” Marcus cried out excitedly and you couldn’t help but pull him forward to give him a kiss, one he eagerly reciprocated before pulling back suddenly. “I have to call Dr. Weston!”

At first, you had been pretty worried about how Marcus was going to handle your labor - the man could barely handle it when you had a headache, for god’s sake. But to your surprise, he shouldered the role of birthing partner with a calm demeanor. Firm and steadfast, Marcus let you drape your arms over his shoulders to support yourself through some particularly rough contractions, his voice low and reassuring as he met each of your fears with steady encouragement.

It really shouldn’t have surprised you, in hindsight.

Marcus practically ran after Dr. Weston to scrub up with her, intent on helping catch his little one ever since she brought it up and you confirmed that it was okay over and over; he never wanted to overstep, especially during such a serious, life-changing moment. His excitement was a beacon through your pain and exhaustion and frustration.

The last few pushes were rough. You were exhausted, everything hurt, and you were just over it. You were over all of it, and you wanted that damn baby out and you wanted to fucking sleep. Marcus could tell, his eyebrows pulled together in worry, but the second he stood from between your legs to return to your side, you gritted out that if he didn’t stay right there and help bring his child into the world, you would kill him yourself.

Understandable, but not your proudest moment.

With a dozen more pushes and the encouragement of both Dr. Weston and your fiancé, a shrill cry pierced the room, followed immediately by your fiancé’s amazed whispers of “Oh my god, oh my god”. Your little one was lifted up to your chest by Marcus’s sure hands.

“He’s so perfect.” You whispered, your voice hoarse and barely audible over his wails, tears of pain and exhaustion and joy falling once more as you cradled the perfect little baby against your chest. You laughed wetly and looked up at Marcus, your tears mirrored on his face, and you couldn’t help but say, “I told you he was a boy!”

“You were right.” He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your hair before gazing back at his son and laying his gloved hand on his back. He didn’t bother trying to hold back the tears and neither did you. “You were so right. He’s so beautiful.”

After you and your son were both cleaned up and settled and one extremely personal visit from the hospital’s lactation consultant, you laid in the hospital bed with little Oliver held at your breast. The tiny baby was just as exhausted as you were it seemed, his eyes fluttering shut as he suckled. Marcus paced by the bedside, his phone cradled to his ear as he spoke to his parents.

“Yeah, she was amazing. You and Dad can come by once she gets some sleep, they’re both pretty tired.” Marcus kept his voice low even though he knew you weren’t asleep, trying to let you at least rest for a little bit. “Oh, he’s perfect. Seven pounds, eight ounces. Twenty inches long. He’s got a head full of hair, just like I did.”

The pride and happiness in his voice made you smile despite the exhaustion and soreness that radiated through your body. Marcus sat next to you once his call was over, resting his head on your arm as he gazed at you.

“Thank you.” Marcus whispered. His eyes were shining with more tears and an appreciation that took your breath away. “You have given me everything I’ve ever wanted and I just… thank you.”

“No, thank you.” You chuckled quietly. “I’m sorry I threatened to kill you.”

Marcus shrugged, an amused smile on his face. “I don’t blame you.”

You puckered your lips in a silent request for a kiss, something Marcus gave without hesitation. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” Marcus gave you another kiss before leaning back in his seat, content to sit and watch the miracle that was his life. “Get some sleep, my love.”

---------

The first weeks at home with your little boy only confirmed the suspicions you had since the moment you met Marcus Pike - he was an amazing father. Beyond that, he was an amazing partner. Despite your insistence that he didn't need to, Marcus took it upon himself to bring you a glass of water and anything else you could possibly need every time you nursed. A pillow to prop up your feet, a book to read, the remote to pick a show to watch. Only when he was sure there was nothing more he could do, Marcus would sit next to you, happy to just enjoy the moment together.

A lot of promises were made, way back in the beginning of your pregnancy, a few of which you didn't even remember at first. But Marcus did, and that man followed through. Each time a tiny wail would echo through your home past ten o’clock at night, Marcus tossed back the blankets and was out of bed before you could even sit up all the way. Sometimes he would deliver a little bundle of hungry baby to your arms and then whisk him away back to his bed once his belly was full. Other times you would hear Marcus over the baby monitor as he hummed and sang and whispered to his son as he changed his diaper and rocked him back to sleep.

“Thank you. You’ve given me so much, I… thank you.” He murmured into your shoulder as he settled into bed behind you one night, having just put Oliver into his bed. “I love you so much and I promise you, I will give you the entire damn world.”

“You already have.” You whispered as you turned to kiss him.

---------

Somehow time managed to drag and fly by at the same time, the days, weeks, and months morphing together. Oliver grew like a weed, sleeping well and eating more than you thought he could even hold in his little belly. Every milestone he hit made pride swell inside you both. Watching Marcus interact with Oliver took your breath away more often than not. The second you passed Oliver off into his father's capable hands, Marcus was cooing at him, lifting him up in the air to see that gummy smile and hear that high peal of giggles each time Marcus gently jostled him about.

Going out in public with Oliver had a tendency to be nerve wracking, especially those first few times. But your worries about germs and public diaper changes quickly gave way to the fear and frustration that came from complete and utter strangers. It was the last thing you expected to be a problem and maybe that was naive of you, but holy shit. How many people thought it was perfectly acceptable to just harass parents while they’re out with their babies?

Too fucking many.

Oliver, on the other hand, loved going to stores, although the rhythmic swaying as he snuggled into either you or Marcus in his ring sling almost always had him knocked out within the first fifteen minutes. One second, those big brown eyes were taking in the bright lights and the next, he was conked out with his little cheek squished in the most adorable way.

He was snoozing against your chest as you perused the ice cream aisle, Marcus trailing a couple feet behind you with the cart as you both tried to pick out some flavors. You were so focused on the billions of choices in the freezer in front of you that you didn’t even notice the way the other man in the aisle was eyeing you.

“How old?” He asked, motioning to Oliver.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. All of the questions, god were you over it, but you weren't trying to cause a scene in the middle of the ice cream aisle. “Uh, four months.”

“Congratulations!” The man said and before you could fully process what was happening in front of you, he was reaching a hand out seeming to… touch your baby, what the hell did this guy think he’s doing!? You twisted away on instinct as both of hands came up to cover Oliver protectively, but before you could find your voice from under your shock to give that man a piece of your mind, Marcus swiftly stepped between you and grasped the man’s wrist.

In all your years of knowing Marcus, you had never seen his face so stoney. The muscle in his jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth, his eyes alight with anger, and all you could do was stare, wide-eyed at this fierce and protective side of your fiancé you had never seen before. Marcus didn’t say anything - the punishing grip he had on his wrist was enough to have him murmuring an apology and backing off. His face didn’t soften until he looked at you, his hand settling over yours on Oliver’s back as if he had to reassure himself that his son was still cradled safely between you.

“Are you okay?” Marcus asked.

You still couldn’t find your voice, though this time it was stuck behind a lump of admiration and appreciation and desire because holy shit. Watching Marcus shift from his usual goofy, loving self to someone who would readily and easily break the wrist of a man who had the audacity to try to touch you or your child… it stoked something deep in your belly, some fundamental, basic urge that made you crave him.

“C’mon, we don’t need ice cream. We need to go home.” You said, grabbing him by his forearm and dragging him back to the cart.

“Wait, I’m sorry.” Marcus’s voice was full of worry. “I acted like a caveman and it was ridiculous, I shouldn’t have -”

You cut him off with a kiss, leaning up on your tiptoes to firmly press your lips against his with your hand at the side of his neck. It pulled a surprised sound from Marcus but he gladly reciprocated, his hand finding your hip by habit.

“We aren’t going home because I’m mad, Marcus.” You whispered almost conspiratorially before jokingly covering the side of Oliver’s head, as if to keep him from hearing you. “We’re going home because I need you to fuck me.”

Marcus’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but a playful grin followed immediately after and he immediately grabbed the cart in one hand and intertwined his fingers with yours in the other. The shopping trip was only half successful grocery-wise, but in the end it was worth it to be able to drag him into bed and show him just how much you appreciated that protective side of him.

---------

The last thing Marcus wanted to do was go back to work. Walking out the door and leaving you and Oliver at home had been damn near impossible, but he really didn’t have much of a choice. He had used every second of his paternity leave and if he tried to weasel out of going back into the office, he was pretty sure he would get fired.

That first day was the worst. Marcus knew better than to call or text you constantly, but he missed being able to just see you and Oliver whenever he wanted. So instead, he checked his phone constantly, glancing over and over again just in case he received a text from you. Every now and then his phone would chime and it made him grin with each and every picture or small update you sent him. The little reminders of what he had waiting for him are what got him through the day.

Each week that passed, the wait for the clock to chime five o’clock became easier. His passion for his job reignited once he was steadily working again and his life felt so much more full than he ever thought it could be. He had a job he loved with an amazing team and a family at home that he cherished. It choked him up if he thought about it all too much, how he endured heartache after heartache, all the while thinking he would never actually get the life he envisioned for himself.

It made coming home to you and his son that much sweeter. Each evening played out by the same pattern; Marcus would plant a kiss to your lips and then Oliver’s head as he scooped him up to snuggle him, inquiring about how your day was and intent on hearing every silly little detail of whatever you got up to that day. A satisfied little smile found his face as just how full and happy his life was.

Bedtime routine was something Marcus excelled at; if there was a competition for getting a baby settled into their bed, he would win first place every damn time. You were jealous, there were no two ways about it. Yes, you could get Oliver down for the night just fine, but there was just something about the calming air Marcus carried about him that had the little one’s eyes fluttering shut.

You claimed that he was magic, but Marcus was sure it was just his boring office stories that knocked his son out.

Weekends were something special to Marcus. He loved the lazy mornings where he didn’t have to heave himself out of bed and creep around to get ready for work without waking the baby. Being able to instead appreciate how pretty you looked lost in your dreams and wake you with soft kisses was a gift he appreciated even before your family had grown.

Except now he got the added pleasantry of scooping up Oliver when he woke and bringing him into the big bed for you to feed him before Marcus could make him laugh that adorable laugh by popping up from behind the sheet he held in front of his face. Those cozy moments were his happy place, the fuel that got him through long days and sleepless nights.

Since the weekend brought all three of you together for the entire day, Marcus had taken a liking to offering to gather up Oliver after he had a full belly so you could have some time for yourself. It left him in awe just how much you did for your family, how hard you worked to keep the fires burning at home, and he wanted you to keep your fire burning within as well. The soft sounds of music and the perfumey smells of your bath products coming from under the bathroom door always made him smile, little Oliver curled against his chest. It was a win-win all the way - you got to relax without the immediate responsibility of childcare hanging over your head and Marcus got to bond with his kiddo.

Afterwards, Marcus would always bring the three of you together for some quality family time. Whether it was a simple walk through the neighborhood to the park a few streets away or a simple picnic in the backyard, Marcus loved getting to see you and Oliver bathed in sunlight, both of you cracking up as you tickled him while he tried to wiggle from your grasp. Oliver always ended up asleep at the end of the entire ordeal, exhausted from all of the fun and action, and Marcus always volunteered to carry him home, even when he had the empty stroller in front of him.

---------

You woke up feeling beyond well-rested. The heaviness that often plagued your eyelids had eased completely, leaving your eyes opening easily to blink against the sunlight peeking through the window. The sheets next to you were rumpled and cold and you shot upright on instinct. When you fell asleep, both Marcus and Oliver had been curled up with you, your son safe between both of his parents as he snored lightly. He wasn’t feeling well, a small fever and a case of the sniffles making him more clingy than usual, and neither you or Marcus could deny the puppy-dog eyes he gave from the foot of your bed when he toddled into your bedroom from his own.

The sound of Sunday morning cartoons eased the worry that prickled down your spine. With a quick stretch and a low groan, you tossed back the blankets and quickly made your way into the living room, and the sight that met you brought a small smile to your face. Both of your boys were still in their pajamas, a colorful pile of crayons between them where they lay on the floor as they scribbled away in a shared coloring book, the cartoons on the television entirely forgotten as father and son created yet another masterpiece sure to end up on the refrigerator with the half a dozen others. It took a moment for you to catch Marcus’s eye and he smiled at you in greeting before leaning closer to Oliver to whisper, “Guess who’s awake?”

Oliver’s head immediately snapped up to look around and he scrambled to his feet the second he saw you standing in the doorway. “Mama, mama, mama!”

“Good morning, little man!” You greeted as you scooped him off of his feet, his arms wrapping around your neck and tightening with a dramatic groan. You settled him on your hip and brushed his wild hair from his face. “Feeling better?”

“Better!” Oliver exclaimed, nodding so fast it made even you dizzy.

“I’m glad, baby.” You ruffled his hair, chuckling at his dismayed response of ducking away from your hand and wiggling from your grasp. His little feet took off running the second they touched the carpet, but your arms weren’t empty for long. No, Marcus stepped right into them and wrapped you in a warm hug, planting a kiss to the top of your head.

“We decided to let you sleep in.” Marcus said, his chest rumbling against you as you relaxed into his embrace. “His fever is gone, has been since around 7:30.”

“Good, I was worried we’d have to take him to the pediatrician.” You murmured before leaning up to kiss him soft and slow, breaking away at the sound of a pan hitting the floor in the kitchen. “Sounds like someone’s trying to make breakfast again.”

“Better get in there before he spills flour all over the floor again.” Marcus chuckled, giving your ass a quick pat as he followed the sounds of destruction.

Once Oliver had gobbled down a bowl of cereal and you had a cup of coffee to sip on, all three of you settled on the floor to finish up the drawing that Oliver insisted he needed both of his parent’s help for. He was all too happy to slap it on the refrigerator under one of his letter magnets before scampering off to drag all of his toys out for the first of many times. Marcus plopped down on the couch next to you, situating himself so he could lay his head in your lap.

Those pretty brown eyes of his fluttered shut with a pleased hum as you began running your hands through his hair, the untamed curls fluffy and soft between your fingers. He winced slightly at the familiar sound of Oliver’s toy chest dumping over in his room and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“So, I was thinking…” Marcus murmured, sleepiness returning to his voice under the relaxation your talented hands brought him.

“Don’t hurt yourself in the process.” You teased.

A pout formed on Marcus’s face and you leaned down to kiss his put out lower lip so he would continue. “I was thinking we could talk about if you want to do all of this again.”

“All of what?” You asked, your brain still booting up from sleep. Your fingers paused in his hair when it clicked. “Do you mean another baby?”

“Yeah.” Marcus’s voice was soft, quiet, as if he was fearing rejection.

“That’s ironic, actually.” You said with a small laugh. “I was thinking about asking you if you wanted to have another baby.”

“What?” Marcus sat up to face you, hope and excitement bright in his eyes. “Really?”

“Of course,” You shrugged as you reached out for his hand, your thumb swiping back and forth over his knuckles. “Ollie is gonna be in preschool soon and I think three-ish years is a good gap for siblings. He really would make such a great big brother. Besides, I already told you I wanted a full house. Wait, we would definitely have to find a new house. Shit. I didn’t even think of that. Maybe we should just -”

Marcus’s lips crashed against yours, effectively cutting off the worried words that were about to spill from you in a rush. The kiss was messy and broken up by the huge smile Marcus wore. “We can start looking now. That way we’ll have a new house by the time I get you pregnant again.”

A shiver rocked down your spine at his words, at how excited he was at the prospect of having your belly swell with his baby again. Marcus pressed his forehead to yours, eyes closed, the both of you just breathing in the moment of electricity. “Are you really ready to do this?”

“Hell yes,” Marcus said with an eager laugh, his voice lowering as he continued. “And this time I’ll know exactly what I’m doing. I’ll know I’m filling you up, getting you nice and round with my baby again.”

“Fuck, Marcus.” You whimpered, that familiar heat pooling in your belly.

“Just you wait until tonight, sweetheart.” Mischief was plain on his face, his bottom lip momentarily captured between his teeth as he gripped your chin in a gentle, yet firm hold. “I can’t wait to get you pregnant again.”

With that lewd thought, Marcus gave you another firm kiss before leaving you there on the couch to make another cup of coffee, probably to give you both the space to cool off. With a loud sigh, you leaned heavily into the cushions unable to contain the grin you wore. How lucky were you? An amazing husband who doubled as an amazing father to your sweet, happy little boy. Two thriving careers. And even more plans for your family’s future. Soon your son hopped his way back into the living room, insisting you and Marcus come see the tower he made with his blocks. Hand in hand, the two of you listened as Oliver explained his creation, happiness and hope hovering in the air around you.

[002yb]

It’s a losing battle.  That’s his life though, isn’t it?  A series of fights–lost and losing.  It frustrates him.  It makes him feel pathetic.  Useless, hopeless, wasted.  Not good enough.  For all the strength that he has, he wonders what good it is when he can’t save anyone.  For all his potential (to grow, to be good, to live), what does it matter if he doesn’t see the value in saving himself?

He’s tired.

It’s dark.

The ground beneath him is cold and damp.  Its chill sinks through Fushiguro’s skin and settles in his bones.  He shivers, lungs rattling as he wheezes.  The curses listen for him; they scent his blood and sense his fear.  He needs to stand from where he’s been cast, but his body stays still.  Before him–all around him–it’s black as pitch.  It’s too dark.  There are no shadows here.

He’s alone.

Fushiguro pushes himself to his knees, to his feet; catches himself when he lists sideways.  There’s nothing for his eyes to focus on, so they shift helplessly towards sound.  He throws up his guard too late and lashes out at nothing, staggers back when he’s hit again and again and he’s knocked down completely.  The curses all cackle.  They’re playing with him.  Fushiguro grits his teeth and feels pathetic.

A curse has him on his back.  It cages him.  Some part of it pierces through Megumi’s hand and thigh.  It hurts, but he’s so numb from cold that he does little more than gasp at it, thick and wet and unpleasant.  It breathes on him, face too close.  Fushiguro hates it.  Hates everything about this.

But mostly, he hates himself.  Because regardless of if he wants to save himself or let himself die, his heart cries out because he’s fucking scared.

And no one listens for his soul quite like him.

There’s fire and what feels like ash falling down on him and panicked scuttling as the other curses retreat.  There’s warmth where someone stands beside his prone form and despite himself he curls towards it.  The brief flash of flames makes the darkness feel darker still.  He should be more scared than he was, but his body goes lax, at ease.

“Your heart is racing.”  It’s a familiar voice. “What has you so scared?”

“It’s dark.” Fushiguro says, even if it’s not that simple.

Sukuna laughs under his breath at Fushiguro’s bland honesty.

Fire again, and the curses are pushed back from where they’d been approaching them again.  They hiss in the darkness that follows, aggravated.  Their lives are forfeit at this point, but Sukuna doesn’t attack–content to ignore them while Fushiguro is there with him.

“For what I know of fear, darkness is nothing to be afraid of.”

Only what’s in it.

Fushiguro pushes himself off the ground, but he only gets to his knees before he falls sideways into Sukuna’s leg.  The curse stays there, an unwavering support until Fushiguro pulls himself away to rest at Sukuna’s heel.  Fingertips brush through his hair, pulling back wet and tacky.  It hurts to breathe between a bruised chest and crackling lungs and a touch that feels so much like concern and affection.

Fushiguro doubts Sukuna understands anything of fear (worry, fondness).

“Maybe not when the scariest thing in it is you.” Fushiguro says.

“Scariest thing here isn’t me.” Sukuna counters, a steady flame burning to life in his hand.  Shadows are cast between his fingers; Fushiguro feels familiarity from them, comfort.  He could hide in those shadows, if he wanted.  He could rest.  The light flickers, casting an orange glow across them.  Sukuna’s eyes are bright as they look down at him and Fushiguro feels warmth burn through his body.  

‘It’s you.’ Is the implication.

And it’s discomforting, the persistent and unwavering belief Sukuna has in him.  Fushiguro can't understand how anyone could be so keenly interested (in him).  Everything around them shifts to darkness as the flame falls away.  Fushiguro can hear the curses stalking them.

“You’re the only one who thinks that.” He says.

“You’ll know it one day, too.” Sukuna tells him, and it's almost gentle, almost soft.  He motions with a tilt of his head to the shadows, eyes alight with excitement, "Until then, show them."

Without warning, the curses lurch forward to attack and Fushiguro startles.  He falls back, but Sukuna catches him, shifting so that Fushiguro is supported by his leg again. An unseen force pushes the curses back–Sukuna.

"Don't be shy now," Sukuna tells him, bumping Fushiguro's back with his shin. "Go on.  Show me."

And this time, there's fire.  It bursts around them in arches. Fushiguro can feel the heat of them; is blinded by the brightness.  ‘Show me,’ Sukuna had said, so in the brief moments of firelight, shikigami pull from the shadows cast.  They drag the curses down into nothing; tear them apart and smother the sounds of their struggles.  Fushiguro doesn’t need to see; he can feel every shadow that comes into existence and is starkly aware when there’s nothing.  It all happens quickly, bursts of heat and glowing ember.

And the more he listens to the screeches of dying curses, the more he shakes.  It’s not enough, like this.  Fushiguro staggers unsteadily to his feet.  In the dark, he stands at Sukuna’s side.  In the next show of flames, he’s gone.

He takes advantage of Sukuna’s fire–lashes out with the viciousness of something terrible.  Everything still hurts, but it also feels good.  Fighting like this, without restraint or fear.  He’s not weak, like this.  He’s not helpless, or vulnerable.

(He doesn’t need to be saved, like this).

Remnants of curses dirty his hands. He's torn them apart to nothing. Bruised fists and split knuckles and ripped fingernails the cost for a silence without jeers. There's blood in his mouth and spilling from his wounds. His body hurts as it trembles.  When he turns and sees Sukuna's pride, Fushiguro feels his heart stutter.

There are small flames around Sukuna.  Even without their guidance, Fushiguro feels he could find Sukuna anyways; his soul is blinding and Fushiguro is drawn to the dark shadows it can cast.

With each limped step Fushiguro makes forward, the domain around them cracks. When it shatters, it falls piece by piece, burning in smouldering fire that tears it apart faster and gives Fushiguro that much more light and shadow and calm.

(But he's aware–with just a flame from this curse...Fushiguro can take apart the world).

When he stops in front of Sukuna, Fushiguro's vision comes in and out of focus. The worst of the pain stops when Sukuna closes the distance between them: a step, a hand at his neck. It's grounding.

"Still scared?"

There's a smile in Sukuna's voice; it draws a shiver up Fushiguro's spine.

He’s more scared now, he thinks:  Of himself. Of his potential. Of what he can be with Sukuna–of what they can be together.  How the part of him that’s still high off of being strong and untouchable wants more.

The warmth Sukuna puts off lulls Fushiguro's eyes closed.  He nods his head, a subtle downward tilt.  There’s a point of pressure along his jaw where Sukuna’s thumb presses into his skin.  A too soft brush over a dark bruise that Fushiguro might imagine, but turns into regardless–chasing tenderness.  There’s a pause, then Sukuna’s hand curves around to hold the back of his neck, pulling Fushiguro forward until their foreheads press together.

More.  Fushiguro wants more.

He breathes a sigh and when he flutters his lashes open... he's alone. Spirited away by his own shadow. A strategic retreat.

Something in his soul aches.

He knows he's fighting another losing battle.

[anonymous0writer]

you are in love | wonderland s.s

author: @anonymous0writer

wc: 2106

warnings: drinking (all characters are 18+)

a/n: this is the first of my wonderland series for s.s and i hope you like it

summary: for the last night of their senior year, the pack is determined to make senior night count and have no regrets. after a wave of bad news has delaney indulging in alcohol, prompting her to act on long held feelings for a dark-haired boy.

Sunken into the overstuffed fluff of a couch, Delaney Halstead threw her head back, swallowing the contents of the tiny bottle gripped in her lime-painted fingers in one determined swallow. The liquor burned down her throat, a rough but pleasant feeling; the girl always liked the hearty burn of vodka. Her chartreuse colored eyes fluttered closed, her mascara coated eyelashes resting against her pink flushed cheeks, relaxing into the feeling of the alcohol and the comfort of the couch enveloping her tall body. Her long, tan legs were tucked under her black, tight fitting dress clad body as her outrageously tall heels littered the hallway’s patterned carpet floor. Delaney nonchalantly wished for another small vial of vodka to be nestled in her tiny thrifted purse that she could finish off. There was not enough alcohol in her system for the girl’s liking; desperately wishing for the distraction of intoxication to forget the sting of Brett’s breakup speech. Delaney had known it would happen, the parting before she was off to DC and Brett stayed in Beacon Hills, but she didn’t anticipate the hurt when the cerulean eyed lacrosse player bid her goodbye. The girl also desperately wished for the bittersweet ache of having to say goodbye to Beacon Hill High School in the cavity of her chest to fade and let her graduate in peace, but it would not relent. The empire of honey-soaked memories and unforgettable experiences she built over the course of seven years flashed behind her closed green eyes. Graduation is a bitch, Delaney decided with a tipsy finger lift that in her half-drunk state, solidified her statement.

Scuffed, dirty white converse hit the patterned dark green carpet as they moved down the hallway, hesitant in their direction. Malia Tate stood in the darkened hallway leading away from the gymnasium where Senior Night was in full swing, her russet eyes searching for her tall, chartreuse eyed friend. Malia wandered down the long, barely lit hall, her thin fingers drumming against her side as she came across the beige, overstuffed couch and the girl hidden in its depths. She dropped next to her friend, her thin cobalt dress sliding up her tan legs as she settled next to a tipsy Delaney. At the feeling of the couch dipping under the weight of another person and the warmth radiating off them, Delaney cracked open her pale eyes in a suspicious glare. She groaned when she saw Malia’s familiar russet eyes and her soft smile that made her plump, pink glossed lips curve.

“Did you come with more vodka?” Delaney wonders, words low and dark brows raised in intoxicated expectation.

“Why are you hiding out on a couch?” Malia fired back, russet eyes calm and steady. Despite the comfort of Malia’s presence, Delaney could feel the rush of anguish over the fact she wouldn’t get to see the girl after the summer’s hot days ended.

“Answer my question.” Delaney demanded, brushing off Malia’s concern as she struggled to sit upright against the plush cushions.

“Answer mine first and you’ll get my vodka.”

“Fine.” Delaney heaved a sigh that rose her chest and brought Malia’s attention to her cleavage for the briefest second before latching back onto Delaney’s olive eyes. “Brett called it quits right before this stupid party.”

“Is that why you’re moping?”

Delaney gave her friend a glare and rolled her pale eyes, “No, I’m so very sad that I won’t get to spend every day of my sorry life with you.” Delaney’s heart gave a mournful tug at the truth in her sarcastic reply.

“Well, that too.” Malia mumbled before she stared hard at her dark-haired friend. “I’m sorry; about Brett.”

Delaney gave a rueful grin, her teeth shining in the dim light of the hallway as she reached forward and grabbed Malia’s hand and squeezed softly. “Thanks, Lia.”

“You can’t waste your Senior Night in the hallway, it’s our last night as a whole class.” A low and gravelly voice floated toward them, the owner stepping out of the pooled shadows of the hall and revealing himself.

“Leave it to Stiles to remind me of the horrible pain of graduation.” Delaney mumbled, her tone bitter as she checked out the boy for the first time that night. She’d arrived with Malia but as soon as she saw Brett and his pretty cerulean eyes, she shuffled away, claiming she needed the bathroom only to find the comfiest couch she’d ever laid in and drunk away the pain. Stiles was dressed casually, a tie loose around his neck and his hair slick with sweat and sticking straight up. A small, secretive smile tugged on Delaney’s lips before she could hide it. Stiles’s amber eyes met her own gaze and he gave her a small nod.

“There’s enough alcohol in the punch to knock you out,” He offered, his arms extended as his warm hands engulfed Delaney’s and helped lift her off the couch.

“Ah, my kind of party.” Delaney huffed, hands clutching Stiles’s upper arm for support as she teetered on her tall heels for a moment before righting herself, but she kept her arm linked with his.

“We still have the rest of the night to get through,” Malia wryly reminded her friend as the three moved back towards the gym’s entrance, ready to reenter the cavernous gym heavily decorated with streamers of maroon and silver and balloons lingering in the air like clouds. The lacquered gym floor was packed with dancing kids and the few idling near the tainted punch table. Delaney’s chartreuse eyes skipped over the crowd, spotting a tall, dark-haired Scott accompanied by an incredibly glamorous Lydia, her red curls pinned up and her fluttering dress spinning as she danced to the pulsing beat of the high-temp music blasting through the speakers.

Delaney grinned a wide, bright smile, and released Stiles to float away, walking backwards toward the mass of seniors dancing. Her laugh was silvery and melodic, making Stiles grin as the girl motioned for her friends to join her with a twitch of her lime-colored fingertips. Malia laughed and moved toward the dark-haired beauty before her, as if pulled by a magnetic force. Stiles supposed Delaney was the most magnetic person he’d met, and he was completely useless to stop her pull. Stiles’s shoes hit the ground as he joins Delaney and the rest of his friends, savoring the way Delaney’s freckled nose scrunches and her plump lips quirk into a sly grin as he joins her. Delaney tips her head back, eyes fluttering closed and the long column of her neck exposed as she releases a howl of excitement. She straightens and meets Stiles’s intense copper gaze, her eyes glazed with subtle intoxication and the freedom of losing yourself to a beat. At this moment, Delaney Halstead is the most invigorating and lovely person Stiles Stilinski has ever come across.

“Let’s party, shall we?”

Hours bled by, Delaney only familiar with the ground-shaking beat of the bass and the reedy tone of the singer’s voice and the mass of bodies moving with her in a strange unison like the beat of a heart. Her tall heels bounce against the lacquered gym floor as she moves with the music, her hips swaying and her expression one of uninterrupted joy. Delaney’s veins are alight with new alcohol and the high of knowing this is the last night with the people she’s grown up with. But exhaustion tugs at her hands, her feet barking as the sore ache creeps in and her body is slick with sweat.

Delaney pulls away from the heart of the dancing teens, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she regains her breath. Her throat begs for a drop of cold water, her feet throbbing in pain from hours of dancing on precarious heels. Despite the pain, Delaney supports a small smile and wanders lazily through the back doors of the gym, seeking the cool rush of night air. The night air soothes her skin, providing an instant rush of relief. Delaney gives a satisfied sigh, relaxing under the illuminated light of the moon hanging high in the waxen, deep black sky.

Other figures haunt the back of the gym, seeking solitude with the presence of another person or the cool air fluttering through the formerly boiling air. Delaney moves away from the exit, savoring the calm and stillness of the night and the peace from the strobing red and purple lights and the thrum of the music’s bass. A figure is shrouded in the pools of shadow from the towering school building behind them. Delaney moves closer, tentatively trying to pick out features and recognize the taller frame. Stiles’s sharp features blink back at her, his coffee colored eyes, sharp jaw and smooth complexion peppered with freckles.

“What are you doing out here, Stiles?”

The boy lifts a shoulder nonchalantly, dark eyes watching closely as Delaney moves closer, her shoulder brushing his as she settles next to him. Stiles observes his best friend as the moon light spills onto her skin, giving her an unearthly glow. Again, the dark-haired boy is struck by her beauty, finding himself admiring the silhouette of her delicately fierce features. A wry smirk fixates itself on Stiles’s thin lips, a soft huff of laughter falling from his mouth.

“I can’t hear my own thoughts in there.”

“Wow, have you ever gotten drunk?” Delaney teases, her tone light and breathless. “I bet you fucking hate that.”

Stiles gives a huff of laughter in response, allowing the night to blanket them. A beat of silence floats over the pair, both of the teens falling in comfortable silence as they search the night sky and savor the feeling of the cool breeze sliding over their sweaty skin. Delaney tilts her head up, tall, but not tall enough to reach Stiles’s gaze as she peers secretly up at him. The boy stares ahead, unaffected by the weight of her stare. Delaney, intoxication roiling in her gut, allows herself to finally appreciate the mahogany eyed boy standing next to her. The curve of his nose and the gentle plump of his lips enhanced by the pale glow of the waning moon. Delaney clears her throat softly, shaking the touch-starved thoughts creeping into her mind.

“I’m afraid,” Stiles says, voice hoarse but soft enough it doesn’t carry on the wind. Delaney waits for him to continue on, her pale eyes softly closing as she listens. “I don’t want to leave Beacon Hills. I don’t know anything else beyond California and that scares me. But I think missing this- all of it- scares me the most. You know? Like I’ve been waiting for graduation all my life and it couldn't come fast enough but now I’m just screaming for it to slow down.”

The words sink in, voicing the apprehensive thoughts Delaney’s been battling all night with the small bottles of vodka hidden in her purse. She gives a grand, reluctant sigh.

“I shouldn’t even be thinking about anything other than getting shit faced and being in the heat of the party. But I literally can’t stop thinking about how it’s gonna be when we’re gone. What gets me is that life will move on. And I’ll still be wishing I could go back.”

“Yeah. I’m scared of leaving this place and everyone. We fucking grew up together, all of us. And we're just leaving that?”

Delaney’s eyes flutter open and she watches Stiles talk, observing and admiring. Her lips part and she swallows the rising need to act on the feelings turning in her stomach.

“I’ll miss it. I don’t want to pack to break up. But I think-“

“Stiles.”

Delaney’s voice is a breathless whisper as she pulls the dark haired boy's attention to her and her wide, jade colored eyes that hypnotized him from the day they met. Stiles swallows thickly, eyes roaming over Delaney’s face as she moves closer. And then she’s tilting her face up toward him and Stiles is kissing her. Her taste fills his mouth, saccharine and tainted with alcohol. Delaney’s hands flattened against the plains of his dress shirt clad chest and his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, pulling her smaller frame flush against his. Delaney’s warm hands slide up his chest lazily, circling around his neck and threading through his short hair. They pull away, breathless and mouths agape. Stiles stares, transfixed by her taste still lining his lips and her raw, genuine smile and the gleam of her chartreuse eyes.

“Stiles,” Delaney breathes again, chest aching for breath and lips still inches above his. “I’ll miss you.”

[minichedders]

champagne bubbles

bodyguard!tom holland x reader

Your father was a very important figure within the London crime family, which is why you lived a life of luxury and want, although you liked to stay as down to earth as possible, you treated everyone with kindness, offering help and support to everyone in the house, whether they where worked with your father or where maids. You spent most of your days cooped up in the house, reading, baking, watching films and helping the maids clean, much to their protest. The most excitement you would experiment was an occasional dinner party with your father's snobby friends, or when your father needed you out the house and let you take his card on a shopping spree. Of course, you would always have company though; your bodyguard Tom Holland watched your every move.

It was convenient to be fair, because you liked the fact he watched you, and that you always had his full attention; the both of you had always flirted back and forth, making sure to be discreet in peoples company, but you treasured moments alone, when you felt normal, like you could almost have something serious with Tom.

"Common Tommy, I'm so bored!" You rushed, practically skipping down the stairs, challenging Tom in a race as you were much too eager to go outside. You had managed to convince Tom to take you to your favourite Garden Park Center, where you would no doubt buy a million more plants to fill the house. Tom slugged behind you, unwilling to spend the day looking at plants that all looked the same anyway, but seeing the pure happiness and joy on your face made his heart tinge, willing to do anything with you.

"Comming darling," Tom returned, reaching the bottom of the white spiral staircase, grabbing his assigned car keys and opening the large oak front doors for you. Tom watched as your figure walked past him, your eyes locking before you paced in front of him, allowing him to rake his eyes up and down your body, admiring the baby blue summer dress you wore, with a low square neck and a tight waist, adorning your curves.

Tom raced you to the car door, opening the passenger side of the sleek black Range Rover for you to hop in, almost groaning when he saw he exposed skin beneath your dress skirt. The Garden Center was only a few miles away from the city, so it wasn't a particularly long drive, but it was filled with your loud music and singing, finding inappropriate times to poke Tom in the sides whilst he drove. You took the time to check him out, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear stick, admiring how the veins in his arms almost popped out, his tanned skin holding tightly around his strong muscles, which bulged out his tight black and white striped shirt, matched with a pair of black dress pants and black loafers. You smiled to yourself, knowing that you had a big influence on Toms dress sense; before he used to wear the same black suit to work, mostly because he knew it annoyed you, but you brought him a couple of clothes, and whenever you would go shopping together, you always picked out something nice for him, like the black loafers he was wearing right now.

"Stop staring at me," Tom said, a cheeky smile playing on his lips as he briefly turned to look at you, before returning to the road ahead. You scoffed at him, rolling your eyes as you laughed.

"You are wearing the shoes i brought you," You mentioned, turning to look outside the window, watching the city life become more rural as you approached the garden centre.

"Of course i am," Tom replied, aking your smile grow, and silence befell you once more.

-

"I can't believe you brought 12 fucking plants," Tom snarled, juggling 10 in his hands whilst you carried 2, laughing at him behind you.

"12 is an amateur number darling," You replied, unlocking the door to your room. Because of the large palace, your dad had housed you in, your room was more like a small apartment, containing a small living area, bathroom, closet room and a bedroom. You had kept to the clean black and white theme of the house, with added pastel colours and plants scattered across the rooms, with colourful candles, light shades, and you mall fishtank beside your desk, holding two tiny fish within.

Tom placed the plants on the large table in the living area, sitting down on the white leather corner sofa huffing, watching you go around the room, moving things and reorganizing your space to fit all the plants within. A lazy smile fell on his lips, thinking about how this felt like a relationship; but the realisation of your life being in danger due to the constant threats other crime families made to get a rise out of your father, and how he was your protector. The two of you trained together, worked out together, and he taught you how to shoot and a little defence moves - which wasn't normal in a relationship.

As you were placing your new plant's friends in your bathroom, you began running one, sprinkling pink salts in and bubbles, with a few rose petals and lighting a few candles around the large room. You set up your wireless speaker in the bathroom and began playing your chillout playlist, the music echoing off the bathroom tiles and around your room. You were quietly humming along to the music, capturing the attention of Tom, as he walked into the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe, watching you move across the room, dancing and singing to yourself.

Once the bath was full and warm, you hung your robe above the door and dipped your tensed body in the warm water. You sent Tom a shit-eating grin, daring him to come over and join you; you watched as he walked over to the work surface, crabbing an unused bottle of champagne and two flute glasses, popping open the cork, making you jump slightly as he laughed at you. 

Tom walked over with the items, placing on the surface outline the jacuzzi styled bath. You grasped your glass, taking a sip of the rich, gold liquid before throwing at Toms' face. Toms' face was stunned, trying to process the fact that he now had a face full of champagne, thrown at him by the women he hadn't stopped thinking about all week. He opened his eyes to see your smile radiating off your beautiful skin, your hand over your chest as you laughed hard. Your body was covered in pink tinted bubbles, the low hum of the jets filling the room along with the chilling music coming from your speakers.

"Oh, you are in trouble now missy," Tom said, walking closer to the bathtub, before you turned and pointed a single finger at him, stopping his motions.

Tom slowly stripped off his shirt, throwing it with your discarded pile of clothes, and staring at you deeply as he unbuckled his belt, making you gulp and think unsavoury thoughts. Your eyes shamelessly scanned his toned figure, hard muscles raging and bulging, his arm veins contorting with his movements as he climbed at the end of the bathtub opposite you; your heart was beating rapidly, afraid that it might burst out your ribcage, and your face was heated, more so due to the hot steam, but the hot, nearly naked man in front of you definitely contributed. You tried to calm your nerves by pouring yourself another glass of champagne, now chugging the whole glass, staring back at Tom as you sat in silence.

moments passed before either of you moved or spoke, you spent the time staring intently at each other, watching as Toms orbs would change colour and size the more he studied you. " You are so fucking beautiful Y/N," Tom whispered. You hummed in response, not knowing what to do or say in this situation. You and Tom had never put yourselves in this situation before, apart from a slow dance at your father annual gala once, you hadn't been this close, with few clothes on before.

You where cursed with over thinking, normally you would spend the whole day thinking and evaluating one sentence that someone had said to you the previous day, and you would plan out your actions and words in your head when you joined in conversation; but when you and Tom where like this, you didnt think much, to distracted by how he looked at you, like he was in love. So, without thinking or second-guessing, you moved forward, turning so your back was resting against his muscular chest, and his arms wrapped around your bare waist, fighting the urge to touch anything intimate and just keep calm, your head fell back onto toms neck, allowing room for Tom to lean down and plant a small kiss to your exposed neck. The action was gentle, although his intentions and thought where seemingly dirty, he wanted to treasure you first, and ruin you later. You gently hummed to the music, allowing Tom to feel the vibrations on your skin as he continued placing light kisses to your skin.

Tom traced his hands around your skin, before grabbing your waist gently and turning your body, now straddling Toms body with yours, placing your hands on each side of his chest, holding yourself up; the water level still covered your breasts, but Tom could still see the top of the soft, subtle skin, almost making him drool. You leaned forward, taking the dive towards his lips, as your chest fell flush against him, groaning at the contact of your bare nipples against him, lips locking in a slow, intimate kiss. The taste of his lips made you moan, and the way he worked around you made your skin set alight, shivering at his fingertips grazing the skin of your back, eager to firmly grab your ass.

Tom's lips travelled down to your neck, sucking harshly at your skin, no doubt causing his own mark, making you moan a little, causing Toms hands to become a little more adventurous. Your hands held onto Toms' shoulder, then other cupping the nape of his neck, tugging at his har when his hands cupped your flush ass cheeks, playing with them as he continued his attack on your neck. Tom was obsessed with marking you, wanting to remember the moment for as long as possible, and call you his girl and spend the rest of his days with you.

"This is crazy, Tommy," You moaned, you lips falling to his shoulder, biting lightly.

"I know, but you drive me fucking crazy, I've been thinking about you ever since i saw you. I know its crazy but i would be more than willing to give you everything you need, everything you want, i don't care about your father, i care about you, only you," He said, carefully brushing through your hair, soothing you as you listened to his affectionate words. Never in your life had any man confessed feelings like that to you, and you were smitten. The idea of building a relationship with Tom and being happy filled you with joy; you were ready, ready to give everything, to take everything and to be with him.

"I want you, Tommy," You whimpered.

"I want all of you, angel," He growled.

[jacklynnfrost]

The Eighth Avenue Express (Part 4)

Fanfic by Jacklynnfrost for Smutember2019. 

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

She took off her leggings before slowly, carefully walking to the subway station so her tiny little dress doesn’t ride up and show off her round behind. If she raises her arms even an inch, the undercurve of her ass will peek out to say hello. She wore red underwear for the occasion but sadly she forgot her new favorite coat on the hook in her apartment this morning. Elizabeth has a note in her purse with her phone number and full name. ‘It’s so explosive between us as soon as we’re together everything else falls to the wayside until we are out of time.’ She thinks with a knowing, eager smirk.

There is a repeat, her body instinctively slickens as the railcar comes to a noisy stop, echoing in the underground terminal. People mill about, filing in and out and she enters the section of their subway on the Eighth Avenue Express. There are free seats but she knows where she wants to go and as she stands beside the bar, her grip on it low to accommodate her indecent dress, her eyes search the people.

A thrill shoots down her spine as she feels as if she is being watched. Her awareness heightens at the thought of him hunting her or wanting to surprise her. She wants to be his prey and she warmly remembers Meliodas' hoodie. A man is sitting a row up and she bends only slightly to not show her rear but the face under the hood is not her strangers. The subways begins to move and she rights herself with furrowed brows, moving in a slow rotation around the pole to try and find him.

It takes a few moments and thousands of her rapid heartbeats before her stomach drops. The last image of him she has is his resigned goodbye last time. He told her his name and Elizabeth fears that she ruined this somehow. She bites her lip, crossing her legs as she dislikes so much of her skin showing now that she knows he isn’t here to look and touch.

No more than five minutes pass before a hand grips the pole over hers and she spins, hopeful alarm spreads across her face. The touch is different though, the palm isn’t as rough, the grip over her own is trapping rather than embracing. “Hey.” The man’s voice is sprinkled with cockiness. He’s taller, dark brown hair and assessing eyes that matched. He smirks, very unlike Meliodas and Elizabeth tugs, having to tug a second time even harder to free herself of the place she had wanted to be so desperately moments before.

“Do I know you?” She asks, trying for politeness but her voice is high in fear and she winces at herself, eyeing a seat beside an older woman knitting out of a canvas sack bag. “Your boyfriend did not show up today.” The man’s eyebrows waggle suggestively and she’s instantly mortified. “I’d gladly stand in, you naughty voyeur.” He reaches for her dress hem, fingers stretching and Elizabeth slaps it away, glaring before she spins on her heels and takes a seat next to an older woman.

Vaguely she looks over to Elizabeth. “Wearing that, you’re basically asking for it.” The old crone coos condescendingly. 

“No, no one is entitled to my body and especially not for the fabric I chose to cover it in.” Elizabeth hisses her retort as she crosses her arms, absolutely livid and severely disappointed as this is not how she thought this day would go.

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 There are two more coffee runs left before her internship ends and Elizabeth remembers her coat this time, thinking of the dark-haired man that had obviously been watching them. She shivers, nervous about returning to the subway, but wanting another chance to give Meliodas her information.

This time, when the screeching comes her stomach drops and flops, her heart sputtering with soft hope and her eyes burn as they fill. She swallows thickly, enters the subway when it stops and nervously taps her way to the center pole. She doesn’t feel him, not even eyes on her and she leaks one, and then another tear, as she realizes he isn’t coming anymore. ‘Maybe being strangers was his kink and after I knew his name... I missed my chance with him.’

Elizabeth though, she has other things in her life and she focuses on her internship and studying for her finals. She interviews for a position and does well, in her opinion. Her life goes on but each night she thinks of her beautiful stranger, Meliodas, and wonders what might have been if she had used her words better or acted sooner.

Diane comes back from her coffee run, two tiers of cups still in her hands as she rushes to her desk. “We’re going for ice cream tonight!” She gushes. “I suggested going for coffee but, you know, since he works at the shop.” Diane devolves into giggles before beaming at Elizabeth while turning to pass out the office’s orders. Tomorrow is their last day, Elizabeth's final coffee run. There is a small little nugget of jealousy but the dominant feeling is happiness that her friend Diane got a happy ending.

The rest of her day and night goes by in a blur.

She dresses with him in mind, a skirt with a lower cut blouse but skips the coat, trying to tell herself she isn’t thinking about him. That her decisions, no matter how small, are not with him in mind. The time trickles by. The seconds like minutes and minutes like hours until it’s time for the coffee run. Elizabeth tells herself it’s the last one, that from here on out the chances of her being free to take their train, to that part of the city, at this particular time, is very slim.

Elizabeth sighs as she heads out, her heaviness not leaving as she steps down into the cool underground. She sees all the other people waiting for the subway, already pulled up and waiting and vaguely peers around. On autopilot she follows the crowd, one of the last to enter and with no hurry at all, she pushes and wiggles her way to the center pole.

The subway rocks into motion before she reaches her support bar and everyone shifts, her included. She catches her footing, solemnly looking to the pole. A hand is there and she zeros in on it. Her heart soars, her face alight in pure optimism. She nears, dipping around a stray elbow but the man isn’t Meliodas and she watches him release the pole to face the seats, switching hands for a better grip as Elizabeth’s shoulders drop. In the center of the subway car she wraps her fingers around the metal, her last hopes dashed.

Not a moment later a warm body presses to her back. She flinches, jabbing an elbow back quickly which makes solid contact with hard ribs but the soft, “Ow, fuck,” that follows her jab stops her heart and movements. She starts to turn but he presses them closer, the pole hitting her chest and she looks down and slightly back to see his dark hoodie ends dangling around her hips. “You can’t look at me.” Meliodas starts, “I mean, for my plans, if it’s okay.” His voice dips low and she can’t pin the tone but eagerly she nods, stopping herself from peeking at his face for a better clue.

She has so many questions and before she loses her senses she reaches into her bag, digging around to find her name and number pre-written down. Her fingers grip around the slip of paper but his hand gliding over her waist draws her attention. His knuckles slide over the silk of her blouse and what he has between his fingers gives her a start.

“Oh.” She breathes, looking at the square foil with wide eyes. Absently she pulls the paper from her bag as she answers his unasked question. “Yes.” She whispers, “Please.” Her eyes pinch as he leans forward, going to his tiptoes to kiss her at the back of her neck, just under her ear, in appreciation. She bends away from the caress to give him more access and he exhales hotly as she listens to the tear of the foil and feels his hand and cock pressed to her rear as he rolls it over himself.

The thought and shock of what they are about to do turns to liquid warmth as it pools in her lower tummy. She shifts her thighs in impatience and curses herself for wearing panties. He lifts the back of her skirt and feels his scoff on her nape. “Do you trust me?” He whispers and although she pauses for a moment, she tilts her head back enough to feel her cheek against the side of his face. Her nod is subtle and gentle. “Good, because I need your panties out of our way and I don’t want to scare you.” He replies and she can hear his smirk, can picture it in her mind.

All thoughts vanish as cold steel touches her rear and she clams up, knowing it’s a knife at her backside. She doesn’t have time to assess where she went wrong as it slides against her, looping into her panties before he twists it. The blade slices through her underwear and it, along with his knife, is pulled away. “Oh.” She breathes, her body now pulsing and adrenaline pools her cream along her slit as she thinks, ‘He just cut my panties off.’

It’s hot and aggressive and Elizabeth finds it thrilling that he cannot resist. She feels him adjust, snuggle up to her ass with his hoodie slipping wide, and he lines his hard dick to her bare entrance. She pushes her booty back, assisting and nonverbally giving him permission. In one solid thrust, he enters her. He’s thick, and although his length isn’t anything to sneeze at, it’s his girth that impresses.

Elizabeth arches back, her neck stretching until it rests on his shoulder behind her. In their position, clothed and hiding from the other passengers, he moves gently, rocking with the motion of the subway. His dick surges, her core gripping at him as she rotates her hips as best she can. His arms fold around her, embracing her in a protective bear hug. His lips trail up her neck as he nuzzles her, rocking into her subtly, but enough to drive her into mewling softly. She’s fuller than ever, his hardness slipping between her thighs and his rhythm has her quaking internally.

Her gasps are breathy, hot exhales and he soaks them in, his hands shaking as they roam up her belly over her shirt. Meliodas cups her breast, fondling her in the hopes that everyone is too busy to watch. She grinds back against him and his solid stance resists, pushing himself further inside her.

Meliodas groans, his teeth graze along her shoulder as his lips part in a mock bite and he rocks a bit harsher. He’s unable to resist her welcoming warmth, the embrace of her gripping pussy walls has him losing his mind. It’s taking all his concentration to keep his movements subtle as his instinct is to claim her, to mark her with sucking kisses, to ram into her until he’s the only thing on her mind. He doesn’t know she’s already taken with him, and as her soft breathing shallows and her pussy walls grip, he feels her closing in on her orgasm. His thighs tense, his balls tighten as feeling her around him is the best place he’s ever been. He is only able to hold off spilling right then with the thought that he’s never seeing her again- that he wants their only time together to be memorable to her in the best of ways. ‘She’s leaving me where she found me.’

Her lips separate, her face angles to the fluorescent lights on the ceiling and she can’t breathe as a cascade of electric pulses spread up from the spot his dick hits, just right, inside. She comes apart and at this moment he is all she can think about. The paper in her fingers slips from her slackening grip, unnoticed. She unravels, and feeling her squeezing around him, milking him, it coaxes his pleasure, demands it. His legs flex taut from calf to glute and he cums in seemingly endless spurts as he groans against her neck.

The subway car slows, people around them start to gather up their bags and shuffle around. She’s panting, regaining her bearings and Meliodas, still semi-hard, slips from her with a wide shift of his hips to tuck himself back into his slacks. He rights her skirt, sweetly attempting to unwrinkle her clothes as best he can, his hand pets over her rear when her beautiful face, flushed and satisfied, looks to him.

His eyes roam over her features but he can’t meet her eyes. The subway squeaks to a stop as her hands weave into his locks and her plump lips brush his, bittersweet, as he thinks it’s a goodbye kiss. In his mind, her kisses are just like her, perfectly soft but so fleeting as both of them leave him forever changed. She inhales him, finally at ease with him at her side once more and she smiles against his lips glad to be reunited.

She has so many questions, where he’s been these last few trips and wanting to know almost every bit of information a person should have about another before dating. They skipped quite a few steps but this works for her. Meliodas pulls away first, taking her hand and guiding her to follow the other passengers now exiting the subway. She’s still in a bit of a haze from the surprise sex and she doesn’t question it as he moves onto the platform with her, walking across the yellow caution line of the subway station floor.

“I wish we hadn’t met,” Meliodas tells her. He releases her hand as she flinches, her palm raising to cover her mouth as it slackens. “Nothing will taste as sweet, be as soft or make me feel so much, now that you’ve slipped through my fingers.” She’s lost, a vast sea opens inside her and she bobs in the center trying to make sense of how she got here and why it seems like this is a final goodbye.

Confused, she looks to her hand for the paper with her phone number and she fumbles with her bag as she hoped it is inside. But, in the moment it takes her to look away, Meliodas returns to the subway car. The doors shut as she speaks, “I don’t want this to be over-”, she starts but he’s not where she left him. Her eyes instinctively know where to look and he has no reaction as the subway starts it crawl-like pace, away.

“No.” Elizabeth starts, a bubble of panic bursting as she steps over the line, toward him. His eyes widen, fearful she’ll come closer to the moving metro, that perhaps she is still recovering from their torrid tryst. “My phone number!” She yells and his gaze grows impossibly wider, mishearing her from the motions and people around him. The rail car picks up its pace, moving along and she doesn’t stop, another step closer as she reaches forward as if to force them back together.

A man neither of them knows grabs her upper arm and hauls her back, a firm expression on his face as he does not release her until the subway has vanished down the tracks. Meliodas' words are more true to her, understood in a way that twists her heart, now that he’s slipped from her fingers as well. She wrenches her arm from the man, who holds his hands up as if she had a gun and walks away with a scowl. Elizabeth is left, lost and alone on the platform, feeling as if her heart has dropped a hundred feet and that there is no way to get it back.

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Her last final exam is complete, she’s officially between jobs and it’s been a week and a half since Meliodas gently took her on their train. She looks to her phone for the time and if she’s planned it right, from this part of town she can hit their Metro car just right, although she’ll have to ride for a while. It’s worth it to her as she makes her way.

Today, she wore overalls, ones that are hard to get out of so will be extra difficult to get into. Elizabeth wants her wits about her and his skin to hers scatter her thoughts. She still isn’t sure what happened to the paper with her phone number and that bothers her, deeply, as she feels it is her fault their goodbye seemed so final.

She catches the subway. Two stops from where she normally gets on. Lately, in her limited spare time from her internship and finishing college, she’s been googling and searching for Meliodas. ‘How is it so hard to find someone with such a unique name? I must be spelling it incorrectly.’

Elizabeth keeps her eye out, each boarding passenger gets a disappointed frown and each hooded man about his size gets a double-take. While she waits she scrolls through public people on social media and when the names go too far off, she guesses another spelling. ‘Unless that isn’t his real name?’ She fears internally as that question buzzes at her insecurities like flies on rotting fruit. Elizabeth is obsessing, she knows it, but she needs closure. His final expression paired with his parting words gives her the conclusion that he thought she was ending it. She knows it falls to her to find him, that he probably isn’t even looking or trying to see her again.

Her usually boarding station comes and she rides for even longer, past her usual stop to then get off at the next one. She knows so very little about Meliodas, but she remembers him mentioning going to work so early just to see her on the train. An idea sparks and she hits businesses on her smartphone, the first thing that pops up is a Bar, the owner is named Meliodas. She selects maps and with walking directions its two blocks from the subway. Her heart jumps as it lines up, he would take this subway to work!

With eager steps, she follows her phone’s GPS. It isn’t until she is on the street she needs that it dawns on her it’s not open. She’s so close that she decides to follow the sidewalk until a wooden side hanging over the cement comes into view that reads, “Boar’s Hat.” It’s in old fashioned letters, a pig shape under the words. The front windows are clean, the wooden plank siding is dark, faded and in front is a nice porch. There is a smaller one above, but the floor upstairs has a ladder with buckets. It’s a clear sign that work is being done.

There is no closed sign but the lights are off. It doesn’t stop her though as she is curious and invested in this outcome. She climbs the steps up the porch to knock. With her first tap, the wood shifts in the frame and with a harder push the door swings wide before she yells inside, “Hello?” The bar is backlit, rows of amber liquid are showcased with the light, stools under the bartop. Elizabeth doesn’t enter, feeling as if it is wrong with the place obviously being empty.

She turns just as a man’s voice calls out. “We open in two hours!” She stops to look as the side door beside the bar opens, light spills into the room from what she sees is a kitchen and a tall man with spiking white hair wearing a rather dirty apron with the pig logo on it, assesses her. “You lost?” He asks, his eyebrow quirking as he picks up the end of his apron to wipe his hands on it.

“I was... looking for someone, maybe you know him?” Elizabeth’s voice is tentative as she is unsure if she is in the right place so she does feel lost. The man’s head tilts to the side, it’s his only indication he heard and is waiting. “Meliodas?” She asks, standing up and stepping in, her hands fold together before her in a nervous habit as her thumbs move over one another.

“Yeah, he’s the bartender.” His eyes narrow. Elizabeth nods at his words, her heart racing and eyes widening alongside her smile as she hopes she’s found him. She thanks the tall man, before releasing her hands to reach for the door handle intent to pull it closed, but stops to make sure this Meliodas is her stranger. “Messy blonde hair and green eyes?” Elizabeth bites her lip as she didn’t think adding, ‘smells like heaven and sex’ would help this man confirm any identities.

The man stares, it feels like minutes before his head tips back and he laughs, touching his belly as if to hold it in place. “Come in.” He turns, flipping some switches that light up the rest of the open area showing off wooden tables, a dartboard in the far corner and two pool tables. He moves to behind the bar, picking up a towel to loop over his shoulder. She doesn’t follow, peering around wearily before he calls out, “Is this who you are looking for?”

He’s holding up his phone, from across the room she can only make out broad details but the picture is enough to draw her in. She lets the door glide shut as she bellies up to the bar, her eyes filling as she sees Meliodas' face smiling at her with a shot glass to his lips in the image on this guy's phone. “Yeah.” She hushes, her throat thick. He taps at his phone before pausing, inquiring softly, “Just to be sure, how did you meet?”

Instantly, her face softens. “On the Eighth Avenue Express.” She answers and her new friend grins, tapping his phone with finality before putting the device to his ear. Vaguely he motions behind him, “You want something while you wait?” Elizabeth peers over his shoulder but it’s all hard liquor and she isn’t fond of it. Still, she reaches for her wallet, asking softly, “A Washington Apple, please.” The man chuckles again, refusing her outstretched ten-dollar bill and telling her, “I’m Ban.” She is about to give her own name but Ban looks away, a lower buzz coming from his receiver and she sits taller as he makes her the drink with a heavy shot of Crown Apple.

“Well fuck you too, Captain.” Ban quips into his receiver. “Just thought you’d like to know a woman is here for ya.” Ice clinks, he eyes her over before chuckling. “Is your name Elizabeth?” He leans his head in toward her and she nods. Ban cups his hand over the receiver as if to block Meliodas from hearing. “He asked me if you have ‘to die for tits’, but it’s a question I can’t really answer. Ya’know?” Her face burns as he pushes her the glass cup with her drink and his phone speaker reaches its limit as Meliodas yells but she cannot make out what he says.

Ban laughs, his tongue poking out playfully and Elizabeth looks down at her cup, wrapping her shaking hand around it. “Her cheeks flush all pretty-pretty pink, I think I embarrassed her.” Ban says before laughing again, “It’s not like I can force her to stay, so again, it’s something I can’t really guarantee.” He confusedly looks at his phone but Meliodas' name flashes before going dark. It’s obvious he hung up as Ban tucks it in his pants with a shrug.

“How’s the drink?” He asks, trying to be polite but she hasn’t taken a sip yet and she feels cornered into trying it now. It’s good and she nods, the alcohol not helping the warmth of her face calm but the nerves in her belly ease. For a while, he makes small talk and Elizabeth relaxes as he explained that Meliodas is on the way. It’s not ten minutes later that they hear tires squeal out front. “Must be him.” Ban announces, picking up his towel, tapping his knuckles on the top of the bar before walking to the kitchen door, “It was nice meeting you, Elizabeth.” He says before disappearing through the doorway.

She’s alone for all of thirty seconds before she stands, anxiously on her own. No one comes in and she steps toward the front door, bending to peer out the window where they heard the tires squeal. Elizabeth sees a few people milling around, cars on the road and she spins in a circle while wringing her hands, unsure what to do. A door slams, Ban’s voice sounds in the kitchen and she angles that way as the kitchen door opens once more and there is her stranger, standing wide and panting with clothes in disarray.

The two look the other over, eyes lingering and they both smile to the other in the same moment as they step in tandem, closer. Behind Meliodas, the door swings shut and Ban’s laugh echoes as they meet in the middle. “Hi.” She whispers and he smirks around his reply of, “Yo.” And the same desperate feelings spark, only amped up from being apart for seemingly so long. The gap between them disappears as they urgently come together and hands grip, tugging at clothes to pull the other closer. Their lips crash together, no time spared before their tongues dance, intertwining with hot breaths and throaty groans.

Her body reacts being so near Meliodas and tasting him has set her into overdrive. She slickens, her hands shaking and his are rough as they tug her shirt up. Elizabeth understands his desire, her own fingers searching over his chest to find the buttons preventing him from being revealed to her. The thought of finally seeing him, truly, it sets her movements into top speed where her roughness surprises him, but is an utter delight.

He’s hard, her creamy soft skin driving him wild and as they break to breath his face slips down her jaw to her neck. “I’ve wanted to see you, to feel you like this- without the limitations, for so long.” His voice groans against her neck as she undoes his shirt, flipping it back and down his shoulders. He growls, reluctant to pull away but disdainfully doing so to rip his arms through the sleeves, baring his contoured chest to her while abandoning his shirt on the floor of the bar.

She takes him in, looking from his strong biceps, across his hard pecs and then over his abs. All of this has been hiding from her and she reaches, eager to finally get her hands on him. “You next.” His smirk makes his eyes crinkle, wasting no time to lift her shirt to reveal her black lace bra.

Elizabeth slips her purse down to her elbow as she angles to pull her top off but the door to the kitchen shakes and Meliodas takes her wrist, spinning her toward the back where the pool tables sit. Ban’s head pokes out, leaning into the bar and he laughs, catching a flash of her bra covered tits before they can move away quick enough to escape. “They are nice,” Ban mutters as the two disappear into Meliodas' back office. Elizabeth giggles softly as Meliodas ushers her in with a grin and Ban is glad to see his friends smiling again.

Meliodas' office barely has room for the desk and two people inside makes it feel even smaller. On the desk is papers, a laptop cord and a bundled up brown accordion file on the wood top. The walls are newly painted, the shelves behind his chair are arranged with various items and Elizabeth spots a swatch of white fabric with a little bow in the center. As soon as Meliodas shuts the door behind him he fumbles for her shirt once more cooing, “This is the first time we’ve been alone together." She tosses her purse to his spinning office chair, helping by undressing as quickly as she can, nodding with his assessment.

Elizabeth kicks off her pants and tosses down her shirt with her hair cascading down around her shoulders falling from the fabric. In a blink, she’s only in her panties and bra. She dives into him, it’s more forceful than she intends. Meliodas loses his step and his back slams into the door behind him as her hot mouth searches his. Her almost bare chest presses to his and there is a jolt of adrenaline from the contact of their belly’s meeting, hips seeking and pressing. Flesh to flesh in such a way, after restrained for so long, is consuming them.

“Tell me you have a condom.” Elizabeth hushes against the side of his lips as she forces the front of Meliodas' jeans to open. Her hands push and his join her struggle before he’s bobbing free, hard as ever and she steps back to look. Meliodas groans, leaving his pants behind as he refuses to allow any gap between them.

His hard cock rubs against her thigh and he grinds in, breath faltering as it feels like he’ll break apart if he isn’t buried in her. “Yeah.” He takes her hips, guiding her to move with him while pressing every available bit of himself to her. His hand slaps at his desk drawer from the short side, fumbling as she lines up to rub her lacey core to slip over him, gliding along his shaft with shuddering pressure. Meliodas inhales her, forgetting what he is doing and going for the hook of her bra behind her. Elizabeth’s smooth, tempting skin calls to him and eagerly he frees her breasts. He’s felt them bare once in his life and he finds this a great disservice.

A long, appreciative exhale escapes Meliodas as Elizabeth’s bra slips down her arms and she tosses it away. His hands find her waist to push her back half a step. Her grip finds his shoulders while Meliodas stares. He’s naked, standing before her and her gaze flicks around him in delight. The sight of him twirls the warmth in her tummy. His head shakes from side to side as if in disbelief before he bends, moving his grip to her thighs and lifting her.

She squeaks softly, legs wrapping around his torso while her hands find his neck. His face presses to her chest, his stubble along his jawline slipping across her nipples, first one then the other as he breathes hotly, pressing open mouth kisses on her giving, soft mounds. “I live here now.” He whispers, hands gliding to cup both of her ass cheeks on either side of her hips. She giggles, the sound tickling down his spine as his lungs inhale as if trying to take as much of her into himself as possible.

He steps, spinning in place while carrying her when his mouth finds her dusky peak and he loses brain function from the feeling. He sweeps her rear across the short side of his desktop. Things scatter, papers and his thick accordion file crash to the floor but the bud tightens on his tongue causing a deep guttural groan to fill the room. He couldn’t give a flying fuck the mess they make. Her hands on his shoulders trail up his neck to fist in his hair, arching back, her legs slipping over his hips delicately.

They line up, her panties the only defense as his cock points home, pressing into the fabric on pure instinct. “Meliodas.” She breaths, quietly, toes stretching behind him as he nips at her breast, his arms embracing her to glide his palms up her back. Her skin is like an addiction, everything about her calls to him like a thousand burning suns but the sound of his name leaving her lips breeches through the intoxication.

With a vicious growl he pulls away from her, the soft needy keen that escapes her throat doesn’t help matters but he wrenches his desk drawer open all the way so as not to waste time digging. “I know there is a string of condoms in here.” He is careless as he pushes pens aside, a box of paperclips falls to the ground and burst open in a spray of glinting metal but he’s triumphant when he pulls four condoms still connected from inside the disrupted mess.

Elizabeth takes the time to wiggles out of her panties, they slip down to her knees then glide down her calves to loop around her ankles. The sight freezes Meliodas, as this is the first time she’s been bare to him. He’s jealous of the bit of fabric that gets to cup her sex all day, that gets to abosorb her sweet scent and wrap around her hips. She reaches for him and he steps wide around the open drawer, unable to deny her, especially not when it’s him she wants.

Her panties drop to the floor.

Elizabeth’s soft fingertips are delicate as they leave tingles across his cheek bones. He rips the condom packaging while her soft lips gift his with her sweet little kisses. Each one is like a new spark lighting his fire, more fuel to the burning inside him. Her touch is leisurely, as if intent to feel every dip of his flesh. She trails over his collar bone, her hands tightening his own nipples when she feels over his pecs and her legs hook over his as she shimmies her ass to the edge of his desk. “If you take me in here, you’ll think of me when you’re working.” She whispers against his mouth while feeling over his ribs before gripping her fingers into his back to pull him closer.

“I think of you always, but just to be sure lets do this in every place imaginable so I can never escape thoughts of you.” He chuckles against her when he begins rolling on the condom and her laugh is more fulfilling than any sound he’s ever heard. “Okay,” she breathes, rocking against him before he’s even finished rolling to the base of his dick.

The tip of him slips against her slickness, pressing against her core and she rocks again. Her mouth parts to exhale hotly across his face. He’s falling quickly under her spell once more and in a blink, his hands smack to the wood on either side of her thighs to surge into her with a solid thrust that forces her legs apart farther. His legs spread to find the optimal stance. His calves grow taut, and as he rams home he works a chorus of noises to slip from between her plump, parted lips, he palms her ass to pull her into his rhythm.

Her hands grab at him, digging into his flesh as she rocks, her legs pressing against the back of his thighs. She’s full of him and tears sting her eyes as her palms smooth down his tensing back to grab at the swell of his ass around his hips to return the favor of pulling him into his thrusts. He swirls, stirring inside her. Her back stretches, her head tilting up to face the ceiling as a long moan slips forth. He’s everywhere. Meliodas' chest grows slick from sweat, his hair matting partially to his forehead and she feels him slide his entire body against hers as he dips his nose to her neck.

His lips part along her tendons there, his dick surging and stirring in the best repeating motion. Her toes curl and then spread. Her breathing quickens, her noises growing louder as he sucks at her throat, hands roaming as she’s meeting his every push with her own. “Meliodas.” She moans, fingers digger faster and hips pressing firmer. He’s on the edge of his own release but he wants her to come apart for him, desires her pleasure more than his own.

“Fuck.” He hisses, holding himself back by biting his own lip, adding pain to distract from the drowning sensations of the sheer euphoria she induces. He’s trapped in her whirlwind and he has zero desire to escape. Elizabeth arches, her orgasm sparking and she leans away as her spine stretches as if to accommodate the eruption of sensations that wash over her. She loses function of her legs as they tremble, her soft inner walls pulsing with her waves and he groans, low and guttural as he cannot endure resisting his own release a moment longer.

Not with him finally seeing her expression as she climaxes. Her bottom lip trembles, her eyes are half lidded, unseeing and she flushes unlike her shy blush or her embarrassed one. This one is special. The slope of her neck stretches and he drinks her in a second before his own ejaculation. She’s squeezing him for everything he has and with her legs quaking around him his touches morph from frenzied to endearing. Spurt after spurt leaves him and as she sags back over the desk he feels as if he’s been sucked dry, his balls empty.

“You’re beautiful,” he professes, loving her hair cascading over his desk and how her breasts look while she’s laying. They are still joined and he rocks slowly into her just to feel her spasm with leftover pleasure, her tummy rippling with her muscles twitching. “I missed you.” She replies, her relaxation after such a mind blowing orgasm is nothing to how she softens now, looking at him, before her eyes widen.

Elizabeth’s thoughts snap her into focus and she bends, catching her breath while twisting enough to reach into her purse sitting on the office chair to her left. She finds what she needs among the chaos of her bag and offers him her phone. He takes it, curious. “Now you can call me,” Elizabeth whispers, “to swap numbers and ask me out. For you, I’m a sure thing on the first date,” she jokes. Meliodas swallows, chuckling lowly before dialing his own number in. When it rings from his pants pockets on the floor his breathing comes easier and his face shifts to utter adoration as he gazes at her.

This time, he gets to keep her, and neither of them are keen to let the other go ever again.

[captainjetrocketboy]

I’m Tryna Understand These Days ~ 3

Also on Ao3.

Chapter 3: Am I One of Those People You Remember?

Seems the universe loves to mess around with Callum.

He wanted to see if he could catch Ben by himself and get an explanation for earlier. He had watched him sprint towards The Prince Albert, and with some deliberation with his inner self, he started to follow suit. 

But he didn’t make it very far before bumping into Jay. The fellow seemed a bit stressed, as his brows were furrowed and his hands were jittery. Callum curiously asked what got him so worked up, but Jay hastily apologized and asked if he could cover his shift for a few hours.

Being the nice person that he was, Callum agreed with only some hesitance. He was still concerned about Ben, but if he really was just playing some sort of game with Callum, then maybe it would be best to give the man some space. At least this way, he could have some time to mull over what the fuck happened not moments ago. 

Jay graciously thanked him, and said that he would explain later. As he strode away, the worry in the back of Callum’s head reared its ugly face. What if it had something to do with Ben? Judging by how fast Jay had come and gone, it was obviously important, whatever it was.

Callum shook his head, and made his way back to the funeral parlour. Getting worked up about it would do him no good. He knew that Callum and Ben were mates at the least, so surely if it were about him, Jay would have at least mentioned it was about Ben. Jay’s business might not even have to do with him. They may be brothers but their lives aren’t totally linked together.

In the same vein, Ben’s life didn’t revolve around Callum’s, no matter how much he wants it to. He had regrettably chosen to push the other man away, and he shouldn’t be sticking his big ears into whatever is going on.

But as he got dressed back into his suit, his mind would not stop wandering back to Ben. He couldn’t get him out of his thoughts even with Whitney, so he sure as hell wasn’t going to now. Especially with how strange their encounter was this morning.

The day was slow, with not a single soul entering into the building. So with nothing to do, Callum let himself think.

Had he mistaken the identity of the bloke? In the short time that Callum had known Ben, he had memorized every little, minute feature of his face. Not that he’d tell anyone. The way his styled chestnut hair waved about in the wind. Those ocean blue eyes that Callum wanted to get lost in. His ever-present stubble that dotted along his sharp jaw. It was all there and accounted for, so the person was definitely Ben.

So then why hadn’t he recognized Callum? He didn’t even acknowledge his floundered greeting, or his presence at that matter. It wasn’t until Ben just happened to look in his direction did he finally notice him. And the way that he spoke, it was like he was talking to a stranger, and not the man that he confessed his love to.

God, that there was probably the worst part of it all, Callum thought. Ben had stared straight into his eyes, and there was just… nothing. No want. No desire. No love.

Whenever they would argue before, behind the fire that was alight in those piercing eyes, Callum had always seen that compassion. Not even the act of fighting was enough to quell the feelings he had for him. 

This time, though? There wasn’t any feeling or passion that Callum saw as Ben looked at him. All of it somehow vanished, and made way for nothing. Absolutely nothing.

That’s what hurt Callum the most. And maybe that’s what Ben wanted. He knew he was unnecessarily harsh to the other man that night, and he’s never regretted something more in his life. He had expected for Ben to hurt him back, to make him suffer the way he most likely had. And he would take it. Whatever nasty words Ben would snap at him, or whatever punches he would throw. Callum would accept it, because in the end it would be worth it. Eventually getting the chance to be with Ben would be worth it. Just Ben himself was worth all that pain.

But he hadn’t expected this. For Ben to completely forget about him. For him to be another passing face in the crowd. 

This can’t be some trick. Ben wouldn’t do this to him. Callum knows Ben. He sees him, the real him. And the real Ben would never be this cruel to anyone.

With a surge of determination, Callum shot up from his chair and grabbed the nearest blank paper and pen. He wrote a simple message that the parlour’s employees were on break, and he taped it to the front door as he practically ran out. 

Something’s happened with Ben, and Callum’s going to find out what. Even if it means pushing for an answer out of Ben himself.

- - -

The afternoon sun was at its peak in the sky as Callum knocked on the door to the Beale house. He did the best he could with two cups of coffee in his hands. There was still worry gnawing at the back of his head, but hopefully Ben would be back by now. He’s not sure if he could handle any other member of his family, or explain why he was showing up at their doorstep so out of the blue.

But since the world is never so nice to Callum, the person who answers is not who he was expecting. He was greeted by Kathy Beale. Well, it could have been much worse, he thought.

“Hiya. Can I help you?”

“Um, good afternoon, Ms. Beale. I’m Callum Highway.” If his hands weren’t holding the coffees, he would have put his arm out for a handshake.

Kathy gave a small nod. “Well, pleasure to meet ya Callum. What brings you ‘round here?”

Callum’s fingers started to fidget with the cups’ cardboard sleeves. He’s not sure why he was getting nervous, but he didn’t let that stop his resolve. “Is, uh, Ben about? I got him some coffee. Thought we could… chat.”

“Oh, are you a friend of his?” Kathy questioned as she raised an eyebrow.

A friend. The word didn’t sit right with Callum, but what other way could he describe his relationship to Ben? He couldn’t exactly say they were boyfriends, no matter how much he wanted to.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Then I’m sorry to say, but he hasn’t come back yet. Said he was goin’ out to meet some lad.” Kathy stepped back and motioned for Callum to come in. “But you’re welcome to wait inside for him. Don’t know how long he’ll be out for, though. You know how he can get sometimes.”

Callum’s mouth started to form into a smile, and he nodded to the woman as he stepped into the house. 

He’s not entirely sure when he was here last. Ben had usually gone to Callum’s whenever Whitney was out. They were less likely to be found out there. But as he looked around the living room, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of comfort.

He set the cups down on the dining table, pulling back a chair and sitting down himself. Kathy had done the same right across from him.

“Think I could have one of these?” Kathy kindly asked. “Ben might not be here awhile, and I don’t want it to go to waste.”

“Yeah, sure. Go ahead,” Callum responded, hoping his anxiety wasn’t channeled through his voice.

Kathy gave him a smile as she took one of the coffees. She had a sip before speaking up again. “So what was it you wanted to chat to Ben about?”

Callum stiffened, his back straightening a bit. “Oh, uh, nothing in particular. Just wanted to catch up, is all. Haven’t seen him in a while, and I wanted to know if he was alright.”

Kathy let out a sigh, and set down the cup. “He’s been okay lately, considering the things he’s been through.”

Callum’s ears perked up at that. “What sort of things?”

“I’m guessing you haven’t heard? Ben got into an accident just a few weeks back. I think it was on the news, too.”

Callum could feel his heart drop right down into his stomach. He had been so busy dealing with the whole wedding fallout that he never got the chance to catch up on the local news. Maybe if he wasn’t, he could have helped Ben sooner.

“Accident? W-What kind of accident?” Callum’s voice started to waver a bit. He cleared his throat as he set his own cup back on the table.

“Car. He had driven off the road, before crossing the bridge, and fell near the River Thames.” Kathy seemed to quiver at remembering the thought. Callum felt guilty for bringing up bad memories, but he had to know more. “Thankfully, his car didn’t go too deep into the water. The first responders were able to get him out, but he had gotten badly hurt.”

Callum started to shake along with the woman in front of him. He hadn’t realized how serious the situation actually was, and he felt horrible for not being there for Ben and giving his support.

“I’m so sorry, Ms. Beale. If I had known, I wouldn’t have made you relive that.” Callum carefully reached a hand out to rest on top of hers.

Kathy sniffed and wiped at her eyes. “No, it’s… it’s okay. I was scared, but I’m just glad my baby got out of it alive.”

“He’s a fighter, that Ben.” Callum gave a tiny grin. It was just another aspect of that man that made Callum love him even more.

“He sure is…” Kathy went back to drinking the coffee. Callum felt it was safe to drink his as well. “But, there is something that keeps bothering me.”

“What’s that? If ya don’t mind me askin’.”

“Well, it’s just that… the investigators said there weren’t anythin’ wrong with the car. It might have been old, sure, but it was working fine.”

Callum’s not sure where she was going with this, but he’s willing to hear her out if its got something to do with Ben’s current state.

“And… they said they couldn’t find any skid marks along the road… They’re sayin’ that Ben didn’t swerve into the river, and that he didn’t try to correct himself...”

Callum didn’t think it was possible for his heart to sink further into the chasm it fell into. What Kathy was suggesting… couldn’t be true. There was no way that Ben would ever do such a thing. Right?

“Y-You’re not sayin’ that he…”

“I honestly don’t know. There wasn’t a whole lot of evidence to prove it, but there weren’t anythin’ to suggest otherwise, either.”

“When... did this accident happen?” Callum wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer. Something in his gut was telling him it wasn’t going to be good for him.

“About two weeks ago. Around the end of August, I think.”

And there was the bombshell that erupted Callum’s entire being. His coffee was long forgotten as his grip tightened on the cup. If this accident happened near the end of August, then that would put it at around the same time as—

“Y’know, come to think of it, Ben’s mentioned ya a couple times. I don’t know if you two were close, but would you have any idea on why he’d even try summat like that?”

Callum couldn’t answer. Any words he had were trapped in his throat. How could he tell Kathy, Ben’s own mother, that he could have been the reason that Ben tried to… tried to end it all? The guilt was eating away at him, and it was unbearable. It was Callum’s fault. It was always his fault. If he hadn’t been so fiendish, if he hadn’t rejected Ben’s love, then maybe he wouldn’t have gone over the edge. 

It hadn’t hit Callum until then, that Ben could have died. He would’ve gone from this world, and Callum wouldn’t have even known. He’d be too busy struggling to tell Whitney that he didn’t want to get married to her, all the while completely unaware of Ben’s tormented state. Why didn’t he do something about it sooner?

The loud sound of the front door slamming open shocked Callum before he could spiral further. He looked behind him and saw that Ben had sauntered his way in.

“You alright, love?” Kathy called out after she took a deep breath. Callum was going to need more than a couple deep breaths to calm down.

“I can’t believe this! He stood me up! Made me wait like an hour or two at The Prince Robert.” Ben huffed, crossing his arms.

“Albert.” Kathy corrected.

Ben started to make his way towards the stairs. “Right, sorry. Ugh, I was lookin’ forward to some mindless fun today.”

Out of the corner of Callum’s eye, he saw Kathy roll her eyes. “Ben, you really think that’s a good idea after just comin’ back from hospital? I mean, you haven’t fully recovered your—”

“I’m fine now, mum, alright?” Ben turned to face Kathy, and that must’ve been when he noticed that there was another person in the room. “Hey, you’re that bloke I saw earlier. You lookin’ for some action?”

“Ben! Is that how you treat all your mates?” Kathy berated.

“Mate? Is that what you are?” Ben shifted his eyes from his mother to Callum. 

Callum squirmed uncomfortably in the wooden chair. “Um, yeah. We’re… mates.”

Ben chuckled as a confused expression lined his face. “Didn’t think I’d make new friends since comin’ back. Oh well.”

Ben was about to go up to his room, but was stopped by Callum’s words.

“Do you, uh, want to get lunch, or summat? I mean, now that you have the day free?”

Ben’s face scrunched up as he pursed his lips. “Nah, I’m a bit knackered. My head’s killin’ me. But maybe tomorrow? You can tell me all about how terrible a friend I was.”

“Actually… you weren’t. Not to me, at least.”

Ben scoffed. “Yeah, alright.”

As Ben proceeded up the stairs, Callum was left hurt once again, but he was determined to find out the truth now more than ever. He might not remember him now, but hopefully, he’ll change that soon. He knows it’s not going to be easy, but when has that ever gotten in the way between Ben and Callum?

[baekhyuns-abs]

Slave To Darkness [4]

(gif not mine credit to xx) I knuckled down and finally produced this filth. Ya’ll know imma be drenching myself in holy water after this. I also imagined this while talking to my professor about dropping my degree so that’s something... I’ve missed my vampires  The first book//Slave to Darkness General masterlist I love hearing your thoughts/theories, please never hesitate to message me, I’m nice I promise xo Special shout out to @oh-beyond too for just being herself xoxo

Sexual content

“You should stay.” She smiled meekly over her shoulder at her vampire and continued lacing up her boots. “I have a job now.” Baekhyun resisted the urge to roll his red eyes and opted instead to roll onto his front. Little light streamed through the curtains and he squinted at her from the bed; if it wasn’t for the relvetty contrast of his eyes it could be mistaken for tiredness but she knew otherwise The blanket bunched down his naked thighs and she looked away a faint blush across her cheeks. She hadn’t counted how many times she had seen Baekhyun naked, it was more than any normal human being could keep track of but it still made her stomach feel funny. Seeing him in such a casual state, his vampirish nature under control and without a threat she thought he was cute; not that she would ever tell him. They had spent the night sleeping, him waking her up softly with nudges into her neck and taking her swiftly from behind. She groggily would accept, her back bending and croaky moans leaving her mouth as he would rile her up one last time before letting her fall back asleep again. She woke in the late morning once more to the same thing - the monster a distant memory. “You spend more time with him than me.” It was a gruff groan from his mouth. She eyed him out of the corner of her eyes as she stood from the bed. “He’s my boss I’m sorry.” She headed towards her full length mirror to check her dress; one of many that she had been spoiled with. She had never been one for dresses of such elegance, gorgeous reds, sapphires, emerald and of course, black but she had grown accustomed to the sleek expensive feel of them on her. It was a luxury, having never ever dreamed she could have a lush amount of them; let alone look good in them. She adjusted her necklace around her collarbones and as she did so two pale hands came to rest upon her shoulders.  The pads of his fingertips graced softly around her neck and her breath hitched. Baekhyun pressed his naked body against her back, she could feel his chill through her dress. She couldn’t stop him, had no way of defending herself as she was pressed into the mirror, her cheek against it. His mouth at her ear, his wet cold lips tantalising her skin.  “Do you have any idea…” She was sensitive, her clit was rubbed raw from last night’s endeavours and he knew that but if it didn’t stop him in the past it certainly wasn’t going to now. Baekhyun’s hands were rough, without remorse as they scraped down her bottom, past the hem of her dress and back up the bare expanse of her thighs till he found her heat wrapped up by a lacy garment. “How much I hate…” His voice lowered to a dangerous mind numbing level as he slipped his hand between her legs. “Your job.” She gasped breathlessly as he fingered her clit, his middle finger rubbing it in a torturously slow and firm pace her knees buckled. Her hands twitched on the glass on either side of her head and she knew better than to stop him as he sank his cold digits inside of her. His other hand palmed her ass possessively and as he brought it down he left a red mark in its wake. Her body jolted and a yelp fell from her mouth. She should be used to that, the wicked spanks but no matter how many times he ‘punished’ her with the motion she was always taken by surprise. “Men come in and out all day, look at you, talk to you with only one thing on their mind…” Baekhyun continued, his hands meeting at her core, one working inside of her, the other on her swollen bud of nerves. It wasn’t her fault, she wanted to argue but with the curling of his two fingers inside of her along with the hot burning rubbing on her clit it was everything she could do not to crumble to her knees. She panted, moaning pathetically and grinding down on his sinful appendages. “Human men...” Baekhyun snarled, his tongue lapping against the shell of her ear and a shiver shot through her spine. “I want them to know you are owned.” His canines grew and she felt them as he breathed down her shoulder. She heard the wetness between her legs as he continued his merciless play and how it dripped down her parted thighs. She braced herself for the momentary sting but all at once he left her. The weight of him on her back went and his hands between her legs moved to her hips. Baekhyun on his knees yanked her hips towards him and she followed, gripping the sides of the mirror for her life as his mouth dove into her heat without letting her breathe. Her mind blanked at the sudden sensation, the feeling of his lips on her hole, his tongue precisely hitting every nerve ending at his disposal. He licked her everywhere, deeply, intimately and so sinfully she was quaking with every precise flick of his tongue. Her fingers slipped further down the frame and Baekhyun held her in place, his hands spreading her cheeks as he practically licked her from the inside out. She felt the orgasm rip her body apart as her hips bucked above his sinful mouth but he didn’t let up and she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to. The lewd sound of him lapping up her juices filled the air accompanied by her yells of pleasure and she stared at herself in the mirror, the red red flush of her cheeks and the sweat that melted into her brows. It was too much, the wrecking pleasure that soared through her as he circled his tongue around her clit. Orgasms blending into each other as her legs began to weaken. “I can’t…” She panted, longing to reach down behind him and yank him by his hair. It could have been hours that Baekhyun had been on his knees, his tongue doing unspeakable things to her. Baekhyun hummed in disapproval at her and the vibrations only made her squirt. And that was when she felt it; the sting of vampire fangs. She could barely breathe as it was, he didn’t help it when he sank his teeth into the top most part of her thigh where her ass cheek met her leg. The flesh was sensitive, untouched and the sudden pain wrenched her from her pleasure momentarily rocketing her down to earth. He’d never bitten her there. As she felt her heart beat in her wound her body began to accept him, feel the pulsing of her blood as he stole it from her. The twinges of his sucks pulsated through to her already throbbing clit and she moaned, her eyes falling shut. Baekhyun smirked against her skin feeling her submission and acceptance even though he had that long ago. Her sweet hot blood filled his mouth still almost vibrating with her heartbeat and it mixed with the delectable taste of her sex and he felt like he was alive. She leant on the mirror for support as Baekhyun eased his hold on her and as she felt him lick his mess away her door slammed open. “Joonmyeon has called a mee--” Jongdae halted in the doorway opposite them and she met his shocked gaze in the mirror. Reflections of vampires were truly faint, it was mainly their eyes you could see, the red brilliance that gave their otherwise invisible forms away. But even so, she saw the look of regret and shock on his features as Baekhyun clicked his tongue. “Can’t you see I’m busy.” She didn’t have time to be embarrassed at the fact that her bottom was on show to the somewhat unfamiliar vampire. What embarrassed her more was Baekhyun’s returning mouth to the blood dripping down her legs. Baekhyun slurped exaggeratedly for his brother to hear, a hiss following his mouth like he was bloodthirsty and turned around to look at him. “If you don’t want me to carve your eyes out, fuck off.” The resounding click of the door being closed sounded and Baekhyun made one last swipe of his hardworking tongue across the gaping teeth marks, sealing them over. He pushed her underwear back into place, uncaring that it was sopping and furthermore uncomfortable. He pulled her dress back down her hips and thighs, again uncaring of the wetness leaking down her inner thighs. She took deep breaths as she supported herself on the mirror Baekhyun raising to stand at his full height, wiping his mouth and licking the corners of what remained. She turned around to face him, red faced and flushed. “H-how--how is that going to make other men see that I’m…” She could barely formulate words, her mind still reeling and her lungs still battling for air. “Oh that was just for me.” Baekhyun smiled mischievously, a new look of his but something she wasn’t opposed to. “This is how they’ll know.” She didn’t know where he got it from or how long he’d even been holding it but when she looked down at his finger there it was. A black leather and pink lace trimmed collar with a heart shaped chain link that dingled from the front. She eyed it with trepidation, she hadn’t worn a collar since… Baekhyun unlatched it and her heart leapt. He stepped forward and placed it around her neck securly. The chill of the leather on her skin arouse goosebumps and she held her breath as he tightened it snuggly around her throat. He leant back admiring it before linking his finger through the metal loop and pulling her up to his mouth. Her breath left her in a rush at the motion, her heart hammering. Their lips brushed and she felt her body alight with taboo excitement at the feeling budding in her stomach. She hadn’t realised she had missed this type of control. Baekhyun smirked smug at the tell tale look in her eyes before swooping in to kiss her. She melted into his kiss, as deep as it was, as lingering as it was and she moaned softly in the back of her throat at the sensuality of it. As quickly as he started it it was over. His finger still in the loop of her new collar he spoke. “Also don’t even think about changing these.” With his free hand, through her dress he fisted the front of her underwear, pulling them up till they slipped through with ease past her folds rubbing roughly against her clit. She gasped, stumbling on the tips of her toes as Baekhyun stared down at her with intent. “As a reminder to you, who your real, boss is.” He let her go all at once and he stepped away from her and it was then she noticed how he was still naked and just how hard he was - yet she was the one who felt vulnerable. He had that power. ~~~ “Where is everyone else?” Baekhyun scanned the room, meeting Jongdae’s awkward gaze for a second before taking a seat opposite a stoic Sehun. Jongin sat by the heavily UV tinted window, a slight squint to his eye as he stared across the gardens. In the room was himself, Chanyeol, Sehun, Jongdae, Jongin and the man who called the meeting himself, Joonmyeon. Joonmyeon sat himself on his desk casually looking at the five of them and crossing his arms. “I want to find the Blackswans.” He finally announced “They’re dead.” Baekhyun replied with a raise of his brow. “Slaughtered by vampire hunters centuries ago.” “Not all of them.” Sehun looked uneasy across from Baekhyun, his gaze on the floor. “What makes you say that?” Jongdae interjected. Joonmyeon looked to his youngest as did Baekhyun, suspiciously. “Sehun?” He looked up, unsure of what to do with hands now that all pairs of eyes were trained on him. “Yuna said that she spent time with blackswans when she was turned.” Baekhyun’s knuckles cracked in his grip at the mention of that name. His jaw tensed and Jongdae’s eyebrows rose at the proclamation - he was not expecting that. “What else did she say?” Baekhyun’s tone was patronising, full of disbelief. “She said the Blackswans had developed some sort of ritual to turn humans into vampires.” Sehun looked anywhere but Baekhyun as he spoke. “She said that they used Tao’s blood to do it.” “That’s so obviously a lie.” Baekhyun scoffed. “You’re so gullible.” Jongin spoke next. “Tao’s body was burnt, turned to ash before we buried him.” Sehun looked to Jongdae next, his tone almost pleading. “She didn’t have a maker, if she had a maker she wouldn’t have reflected on her human life. That’s what what we’re taught, we cannot go back. But she did, she remembered who she was what she did and because of that anger she felt as a human it manifested in her vampire life to attack us. If she had a maker they wouldn’t have let her do that.” “Not every vampire has a responsible maker, that’s why not every vampire does it.” Baekhyun drones. “Do you ever think?” He sneered. “If the blackswans were still out there, why haven’t they come back?” Chanyeol spoke finally - with sense. “Fear.” Sehun replied. “If there was some survivors you can’t blame them for hiding.” “If Yuna’s story is true, if they have a ritual that creates vampires then we need to know about it.” Joonmyeon interjected. “Regardless on what she’s telling the truth about it’s about time we go looking for them again. They never stop searching for us wherever we go it’s about time we repay the favour. You’re my best trackers that’s why you’re to work together.” “Who’s to say that the vampire hunters Yuna gathered didn’t repeat history again, hmmm?” Baekhyun posed. “If she can raise an army of the same race surely she can kill another all over again.” A small knowing smile appeared on Joonmyeon’s face as he tossed a newspaper at his head. “I had a feeling you would ask....” Baekhyun looked down at the newspaper with contempt reading the title; New mayor candidate reveals hunter heritage - promise to rid the town of the ‘abominable creatures of the devil’ once and for all! “Start questioning the hunters.” Joonmyeon announced. “Do what you must but I want our Blackswans back - safe.” He rounded his desk. “Now all of you get out.”

[dovechim]

so it goes 03 (m)

➾ alien!jimin x reader

➾ 9.4k, fluff, smut

➾ warnings: tentacles, tit fucking, light choking, double penetration, deep throating, lots of cum. also mentions of blood, violence and torture (unrelated to smut) 👾

➾ a/n: thank you for waiting so patiently for this last part!! without further ado, enjoy sinning :”)

➾ summary: Park Jimin knows a lot about humans. of course he does, he studies them for a living. he knows that they say hello by holding hands, and when they say goodbye, they put their arms around each other. but this particular human, he notes, is unlike the rest- stuck in a slump, going about your day praying for the Universe to stage an intervention in the form of an alien abduction. when he decides to finally fulfil your wishes, he finds that you have a little something to teach him about what it means to live life on Earth the way you do: ugly crying, underwear and all. in return, he shows you the possibilities that abound if you simply adopted their mantra: everything is beautiful, and nothing hurts.

➾ 01 | 02 | 03 final

You have no idea why Jimin wakes you up in what you deem to be the middle of the night, hastily wiping drool from your mouth when the blonde shakes you awake. Having been a heavy sleeper all your life, he practically has to drag you out of bed and halfway down the hallway before you’re awake.

“Wh-where are we going?”

Jimin doesn’t reply, only motions for you to keep it down as he slides his arm around your waist to support your weight. His warmth against your side feels nice, and still half asleep, you turn to bury your face into the crook of his neck, imagining that it’s your pillow instead. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips, you’re adorable in your drowsiness, but Jimin can’t risk getting caught. A thought occurs to him that it would have been so much easier to just teleport, but with your soft lips against his skin like this, igniting a breathlessness in his chest that burns at his lungs.

He deems it more efficient if he carries you, so with one arm around your waist and the other tucked beneath your legs, he presses you close into his chest as he exits the mansion successfully, feet bare against the cold dirt. With his heart pounding in his chest, he can only hope it doesn’t stir you awake as he skirts around the edges of the mansion to the hangar that sits behind it, thanking the heavens that Yoongi hadn’t thought to increase the security measures here yet.

Jimin authorises his entrance and slips inside covertly, breathing a sigh when the doors close behind him. Just for good measure, he inputs a security code to lock the hangar from the inside before he glances down at you, face tucked into his chest.

There is a strange fluttering in his stomach as he searches the fleet of spacecraft till he finds his own private one, tucked behind the larger, heavy duty aircrafts designed for warfare. Every alien has their own personal spacecraft, but they rarely ever use it, instead opting to deploy the standard issue ones built for military purposes.

It’s a little outdated and small, but it feels like home, a private space only he’s privy to. Although he’s never found a need for it until now.

Jimin sets you down gently on one of the passenger seats before taking the captain’s seat, flicking on the controls and warming up the spacecraft. The next time he glances over at you, you’re awake and watching him man the controls, eyes lingering on the toned muscles of his biceps.

“Are we going somewhere?” You tear your eyes away from him to observe the interior of the spaceship. It’s smaller, looks less impressive than the one you arrived in, and from what you observed as Jimin carried you in just now, there seems to be space for only the captain’s cabin, no extra cargo holds or passenger space. “Or are you taking me back to Earth?”

“Do you want to go back?” Jimin worries his bottom lip as he meets your gaze.

“No!” You answer a little too vehemently, taking a moment to calm yourself. “No, I don’t want to go back. I want to stay here.” With you.

“I’m afraid that might not be the best case scenario for you, Earthling.”

“W-why not?”

Jimin can’t help but grin over at you when you ask your favourite question. But his smile doesn’t reach all the way to his eyes, as worry pervades the situation at hand. “Earthling, it’s not safe here for you.”

“Because of how the Universe ends?”

“No, although partially yes,” his answer only confuses you, but Jimin reaches over to pull your seat closer to him so that your knees are touching. “Earthling, you need to stay hidden for the next couple of days. Soon, the colony of females will be sent over for mating season. Although they are not threatening in any way, I can’t predict what their reaction will be if they know of your existence. And I prefer it that nothing happens to you.”

“Oh,” you glance down at the way his knee brushes against your thigh. “Hoseok told me about this. Are you- are you going to be taking part in it too?”

Your expression is calm, betraying nothing as you wait for his reply, but Jimin knows better than to rely on your facial expressions. He picks up an undercurrent of unhappiness that tastes bitter on his tongue, but strangely enough, all he is more than relieved to know this.

“I’m sure he did, but maybe he left out some details. Unlike you Earthlings, we reproduce for the sake of propagating our species. The emotion called love is not involved at all, unlike how it is for you.”

“But are you participating in it too?” When he doesn’t answer your question right away, you shift to turn your seat away from him to put some distance in between you, fearful that he might pick up on the nervous fluttering in your stomach that threatens to swallow you whole.

“No, I’m not. Not this time.” But Jimin won’t let you pull away that easily, and he grabs the arm rest of your seat.

“And why not?”

“Because,” Jimin reaches over to pull you out of your seat, settling you snugly into his lap with his arms tight around your hips and your lips only inches away from his. You brace your arms on his shoulders, fully aware that you’re sitting on his lap in the most intimate way. “I’ve found that I’m already occupied with someone else.”

And then he pulls you down to meet his lips, craving the sweet taste of your essence once more, your soft moans gracing his ears as he tightens his hold around your waist, afraid that you’ll slip away if he lets go. He is unfamiliar with the techniques of kissing, but you quickly show him the ropes with your tongue gently swiping against his bottom lip, teasing and exploring his mouth in a way that drives him wild.

When he pulls away, his already plush lips are blossom pink and swollen, and no human male has ever looked more beautiful than Jimin does right now. His eyes are alight with the glow of a million galaxies lit up only for you, reverent gaze trained on your bitten lips, marks illuminated with a incandescent rosy hue that sings hymns of his devotion to you and you only. Park Jimin is ethereal, and he resembles an angel from heaven who plucked you out of the depths of hell. 

“You’re beautiful,” you gasp as his lips seek to explore the column of your neck, dipping past the neckline of your sleep shirt to dance kisses on your collarbone. 

“That’s my line,” he pushes your shirt up to reveal the plain pair of underwear you’d been provided with, and a smirk dances across his lips at the sight. “Nice underwear.” 

“Shut up,” you grin back, grinding your hips against him with a fluid motion that does indeed render him speechless. His fingers grip the flesh of your hips hard enough to bruise, but you relish the carnal way in which he gropes your ass, urging you to repeat that motion again.

And you’re not one to deny him, especially not when he starts suckling bruises that line your collarbone and dip down into your breasts, so you rotate your hips against him once more, and his answering groans are nothing less than cherubic. You can feel him start to grow under you, and the bulge in his pants feels absolutely delicious under your heated core.

“Wait, ____,” he murmurs into your ear, sliding a hand down your belly to dip into your underwear. “Want to touch you here.”

He’s met with a slick dampness that coats his fingers thoroughly as he slides between your folds, utterly amazed at how silky and warm they are. Jimin’s fingers are thick, but elegant as they locate your clit with ease, which makes your hips jerk in response.

“J-Jimin, wait, do you know how to-“

But he cuts you off with two fingers surrounding your clit, rubbing sinfully as he reaches with his other hand to slide your shirt up over your head. “I know more than you think I do, after all, I have been watching you for a while now.”

Your cheeks heat up at the mention of it, especially when his fingers swirl over your clit in a way that only you know, and his lips wrap around one of your nipples and suck hard. This is a surefire way to get you to cum in minutes, one that you resort to after a particularly stressful day, and Jimin makes sure to use this knowledge to his advantage as he drives you crazy with his fingers and tongue.

A particular twist of his fingers inside you, coupled with his palm against your clit in a tantalizingly sweet pressure has you coming undone around his fingers. The clenching of your walls around his fingers has him smirking. “I remember you particularly liked this.”

“Fucking pervert,” you whisper breathlessly into his neck.

“You love it, you’re dripping all over me and the seat,” Jimin grins in response, fingers sliding over to dip into your core teasingly. “Can I try something?”

When you nod in response, he motions to you to help him take his shirt off, and you oblige, hands running over his firm torso in appreciation as the garment drops to the floor. His abs tense under your fingers, and you dip your head to leave kisses on his bare chest, laving your tongue around his nipple to reciprocate.

And that’s when you notice it- two slits on either side of his body, just under his arms. And then two dark appendages make their appearance, seemingly sentient in the way they curve and arch toward your bare body, but pausing just before they make contact.

“Can I?” Jimin holds his breath tight as he glances up at you, the way you’re watching his curling limbs hover near your heaving chest, desperate to feel your silky skin, tease your nipples and mark your beautiful skin so that everyone knows you belong to him. “Can I touch you, angel?” 

The sight of it only shocks you a little, and you never thought you’d be turned on by how solid and thick they look, their rounded tips igniting a flare in your lower stomach as you can’t help but imagine how it would feel inside you. But more so than anything else is the sight of Jimin under you, eyes ablaze with carnal lust as he scents your dripping arousal, yet his fingers are soft and gentle against your waist, holding you as if you might fall apart without his touch.

“Please,” the word barely makes it out of your mouth as one of the appendages slides just under your breasts, feeling the weight of them as the other wraps around your waist tight, not enough to restrict your breath, but enough to make you feel small in Jimin’s grasp, enfolded and held like the most precious treasure.

“So pretty for me,” Jimin occupies himself with the neglected nipple as one of his limbs fondle the other. “Take these off? Want to see you, angel.”

Reaching for the sides of your underwear, you raise your hips above him to slide them off, the appendage around your waist helping to support your weight as Jimin discards the underwear to the floor. His eyes are immediately drawn to your damp core, and his fingers stroke your lips reverently.

Jimin stands abruptly, turning to place you on his seat and get down on his knees so he can better sample the nectar that drips from your core, calling for him to worship it with his lips and tongue. With tentative licks, he laps up your arousal, spreading your lips apart for better access, sliding your thighs over his shoulder. In the throes of his delight at tasting you, he discovers that you like indirect stimulation the best, and the warm wetness of his tongue just makes everything so messy, but he doesn’t mind at all.

 Above him, spread out for him in such an obscene position, you can’t help but blush. But any thoughts of embarrassment are chased away by the tentacles that caress your breasts, teasing your nipples with their damp tips that almost resembles the sensation of Jimin’s tongue. 

The simultaneous stimulation is too much, and as Jimin slides two fingers in deep to feel the tightness of your walls, you crash down around him, whining and sobbing as you buck against his hold. The resulting tremble of your thighs around his head and the way your pussy clenches hard around his fingers has his cock throbbing with need, and it’s all Jimin can do to hold himself back as he helps you ride out your orgasm, head thrown back into his seat, with his appendages caressing your bare breasts.

Jimin withdraws his fingers and places a kiss on your inner thigh as he glances up at your half lidded eyes.

“Good?”

His cocky smirk makes you roll your eyes at him, sitting up and trying to catch your breath as you close your legs. His tentacles withdraw their touch from your breasts, skimming down your side and soothing you with their gentle touches. But then you notice the bulge in his slacks, and reach for him, palming him greedily.

Jimin’s tentacles immediately stiffen in response as he groans, and you shift off the chair onto your knees as you work to rid him of his pants. The first glance of him assures you that he’s similar to most human males, except he might be one of the thickest you’ve ever had. What he lacks in length, he more than makes up for in girth, and you press a fluttering kiss to the underside of his head, glancing up at him through your lashes.

“I’ve always wanted to join the mile high club, but this isn’t how I envisioned it,” you comment with a wry grin as he steps out of his pants, only to be met with a puzzled frown. 

“Mile high club? Wh-“ Jimin questions, only to be cut off with a gasp as you enclose your hand around his dripping length.

“Might wanna sit down for this,” you shoot him a cocky grin of your own, and although Jimin can’t for the life of him imagine why, he obeys and positions himself on the floor, about to ask but-

A wet, warm sensation engulfs the head of his cock, and he bucks his hips immediately, groans pouring from his lips as you sink your mouth down on him. He is thick, and you can’t get more than the head past your lips, but the salty sweetness of him floods your mouth and you can’t get enough of it.

Jimin’s thighs are trembling, tentacles whipping through the air as you suckle around his head teasingly. Now he knows why you had him lie down for this.

“Come here, angel, want to see you,” he groans, reaching for your hips and prompting you to turn so that he can get a good handful of your ass as you continue to take more of him into your mouth. He spreads your cheeks obscenely, fingers running down your lips. “So wet, and so pretty for me.”

With his palms on your cheeks, you feel the brush of one of his appendages against your inner thigh, travelling higher until they brush against your soaked lips. You can only moan around a mouthful of his cock, arching your back and pushing your ass higher in the air as he keeps your cheeks spread with his hands, allowing him an unobstructed view of your clenching pussy and asshole. 

One of the appendages dips into your pussy first, gathering the wetness before sliding in a little deeper, its bulbous tip stretching your entrance. Combined with your wet suckles around his cock, Jimin pants heavily as he attempts to restrain himself, feeling your walls tighten around his limb as it surges into you further.

Tears are gathering in your eyes as you sink down on his cock further, relaxing your throat as you feel him twitch and his thighs tremble, running soothing, reverent fingers over this thighs and hips. Drawing away for a breath, you watch a trickle of precum slide down his length and lean down to lap it up, teasing your tongue with kitten licks as you approach his base. The other limb slides along your side, hesitant, and you reach a hand back to welcome it. It curls to meet your palm, but changes course to your breasts, nestling in between your flesh for a moment before you understand what it wants. With two hands you squeeze your soft flesh around his appendage, feeling it slide sinfully between the globes of your breasts as you lean over to take Jimin’s cock back in your mouth.

The burn in your pussy reminds you of his exploring tentacle as it slides deep into you, and you can feel the tip of it curling against itself as it spreads you, deeper than you’ve ever felt before until it hits your cervix, causing you to wince in slight discomfort. Jimin soothes you with fingers on your inner thighs, admiring the arch in your spine as your lips are spread wide for him, watching the way your pussy takes him so well.

“Fuck, wish you had this view, angel, your pussy looks so gorgeous when it’s filled up like this,” Jimin gropes your ass hard, feeling your lips curve around his cock.

You’re a little distracted with the appendage that stretches your aching walls, but you force yourself to take Jimin’s cock into your throat at least once, feeling his hot, pulsing head hit the back of your throat as you gag noisily around him. Spit and precum are running down your chin as you withdraw again, the tentacle probing your cervix gently before sliding out, dripping with your arousal. 

Jimin sits up then, hands around your hips as he presses kisses to your neck, turning you around to face him. “Can’t wait anymore, want to feel you, angel. Come here.”

He turns you around, appendages sliding around your body to caress your skin as he seals his lips to yours. You reach down to stroke his member, feeling precum spill over your hand as he moans into your mouth. You prop yourself up onto your knees to guide him to your entrance, feeling his thick head, thicker than his extra limbs, push against you as you struggle to fit him.

“So tight, my angel, relax for me, that’s it,” he soothes you with whispers in your ear as his hands situate themselves on your waist, guiding you down to take him inch by glorious inch, relishing as he spreads you apart slowly. “You feel so good, just like I knew you would, made just for me.”

You can only whimper his name as he urges you to take him all the way to his base, and once you’re fully seated, you feel one of his appendages glide around your neck, wrapping around it loosely as he begins to roll his hips up into you tentatively. You open your eyes once more to be greeted with the sight of his imploring eyes, marks glowing a light rose hue as he fucks up into you with his flexible hips.

“Is this okay?” He whispers into your skin as his tentacle tightens around your throat, hands possessively wrapped around your waist.

“Make me yours, Jimin.”

And with that, he finally stops holding himself back, flipping the both of you so that his hips are framed by your thighs as he drives his cock deep into your pussy with every single thrust. The drag of his thick member against your walls steals the breath from your lungs, as he pounds your pussy relentlessly. Jimin pushes one of your thighs up to your chest, groaning when you tighten around him in response. With his cock pounding into your pussy, a mix of his precum and your arousal drips down to your puckered hole, and his remaining tentacle approaches with intrigue, brushing against your asshole and spreading your juices copiously.

The first breach makes you gasp against his lips, you’re already so full from just his cock, but something inside you wants to be filled even more by this blonde angel, and you arch your hips into him, begging and pleading for him to take your ass. The tentacle pushes into the tight ring of muscle, aided by your arousal and its natural lubrication, and Jimin has to force himself to slow down his pace as he feels your muscles clench around him so tight that he nearly loses his load.

To distract himself, he lavishes kisses on your already bruised chest, marking it with his lips as you adjust to the intrusion. But as soon as you arch your hips toward his with a pretty moan of his name, he resumes his punishing pace once more, hands spreading your legs wide apart as his cock continues to ravish your tattered pussy, hitting your cervix with every thrust, and his tentacle enjoying the warmth of your insides as it mimics the rhythm of Jimin’s hips.

“Feel so good, angel, you’re so perfect, ahhh fuck,” Jimin’s breathing is growing laboured as he struggles to control himself, feeling himself swell inside your warm, velvety depths. “Are you going to come for me, my pretty angel?”

“Yes, fuck, please make me cum, Jimin- ahh- I can’t-“ your whines and moans are unintelligible in your desperation.

“Then cum all over me, ____.”

All it takes is your name leaving his lips to send you over the edge, your body convulsing as you clench hard around him, sobbing as white hot pleasure ignites every single nerve. The appendage around your neck presses down on your throat ever so slightly, restricting your airflow just enough to heighten the sensation of ecstasy that shoots down your spine and curls your toes. Your eyes are tightly clenched shut, nothing but supernovas of white light engulfing your senses as euphoria fills every single pore until you’re boneless, weak in his arms.

The sinful pressure of your tightening walls around him is too much for Jimin, sending his hips crashing into yours sloppily as he reaches for his high as well, cock swelling and his balls throbbing as he releases inside you, cum painting your walls white as he fills you up. The tentacle in your ass engorges with spurts of cum as well, although much less than his cock as Jimin continues to ride out his orgasm, cum dripping down onto the floor as he fills you beyond the brim. The limb currently fucking itself between your breasts spurts cum all over your flesh, making the glide so much more sticky, and you can feel him dripping all over you.

“Fuck, I haven’t come like that before,” Jimin pants in your ear, feeling his cock throb weakly inside you as the last few spurts of his cum are accompanied by gentle, lazy thrusts.

The feeling of his warm cum inside you leaves you strangely content as you cradle his body, legs wrapped around his waist. When he finally slips out of you, his appendages withdraw as well as he sits back on his knees, admiring his handiwork as he spreads your cum-stained thighs apart. Jimin runs his fingers through the thick substance that drips down your entrance, pushing it back inside you. When he deems it not enough, he grasps the base of his still hard cock to catch a glob of cum on your inner thigh, guiding it back to your core and pushing it deep with a thrust. His extra appendages also see it fit to help out, gathering the cum that resides on your thighs and swollen lips to push it back into your asshole, even as Jimin continues to thrust lazily inside your pussy, lips seeking yours in a needy whine.

But the hard floor is uncomfortable, and you let him know this with a playful nip to his lower lip. “You know, now would be a good time for you to put those teleportation powers to good use. I don’t know why you didn’t just teleport here actually.” 

Jimin presses his lips to yours just to shut your smart mouth up. “You’re lucky I love you so much, angel. If not I would have fed you to the Jabberwocky a long time ago.” 

“What’s that?” You try to grab on to him to stop him from leaving when he pulls away, reaching for some tissues to clean up the mess on his spacecraft that the both of you made.

“Just something we use to get rid of unwanted test subjects,” Jimin grins as your face pales. “Just kidding!”

He hands you your clothes, but you roll your eyes. “Why need to get dressed if you’re just going to teleport us straight into my room?”

Jimin pauses, a cute little frown decorating his forehead as he chews on his lower lip. “I guess you’re right, Earthling.”

He reaches for you, one arm under around your waist and the other under your thighs. But when he spots the mess that still lingers between your legs, he can’t help but swipe a finger through it and slide it into his mouth with a teasing smirk.

“Don’t forget what this means, angel. You’re mine now.”

*

You must have fallen asleep in Jimin’s arms as he was teleporting the both of you back to your room, because the next time you open your eyes, you’re buried in a mound of soft sheets that smell exactly like him.

There is a pounding in your head not unlike one of a hangover, and you close your eyes again. A small movement to your left tells you that Jimin is still sharing the bed with you, so you move in his general direction till your cheek hits the warm smooth expanse of what feels like his chest.

Maybe you can stay here on this planet forever, cocooned into safety in his arms like this until the Universe ends, and beyond that, into whatever comes next. That you might be able to call this place home because it lets you defy all the laws of time and space that threaten to outpace every single beat of your aching heart, tethering you to a dreary existence filled with uncertainty and fear. For a moment, it feels like everything might be alright again.

Jimin stirs insistently beside you, lips against your ear as he explores the delicate curve of it.

“You’re feeling something… what is this feeling? I don’t recognise it, it’s not nostalgia.”  Jimin murmurs inquisitively, his deep voice sending a surge of contentment within your chest.

You peel open your eyes only to catch a glimpse of his messy blonde hair strewn all over his eyes, marks glowing a gentle magnolia, lips swollen from your kisses and neck covered in ruby red and wine blossoms. You pick out his features all too easily amidst the dim lighting of your room.

“Describe it to me,” you mouth into the space between his collarbones, breath gentle against his heated skin.

“It’s like the warmth on the first day of spring after a long winter that warms you from the inside out, starting from here,” Jimin brings his hand up, settling his palm over your where your heart thrums contentedly in your chest. “Or when you find yourself enshrouded by darkness, but that tiny little candle that you lit with its flickering flame glows bravely, and you wield it against the unknown that lies ahead.”

You pull back slightly to glance at his curious eyes, brushing aside his hair so you can see the way his eyes are alight with the glow of a million suns, his smile igniting a fierce warmth deep in your bones.

“Hope, that feeling is hope.”

*

Jimin stirs you awake again, but this time, he is getting dressed, back turned away from you so you get an amazing view of his supple ass as he bends over to put on his pants. A hot curl of lust wraps around your core tight, which makes Jimin turn around with an affronted look on his face.

“Hey, I didn’t ask to be objectified like this.” He pulls the fabric up over his ass, concealing it from your view as he leans over to hover his lips above your forehead. He can feel the slight dampening of your spirits, but grins again when you chase his lips. “The ceremony for the female colony’s arrival is happening soon. I have to attend, keep up some semblance of normalcy amidst everything that’s going on. You should stay here.”

Jimin tucks the covers around you more securely.

“Are they here already?” You observe his marks turn into a shade of ominous grey. “Can’t you just stay here? Till it’s over?”

“I can’t, angel. They’ll suspect something is up, and I’m already taking too much of a risk by not participating in the breeding rituals this year. They can’t know about us.” Jimin reiterates with a brush of his fingers against your cheek. “Wait for me here? I’ll come back once it’s all over.”

You only nod in response as he steps away from the bed, but at the last moment, you reach out and grab his hand tightly, interlocking your fingers with his so he can’t go any further.

Jimin stops, surprised, but his features melt into a charming grin when he sees what you’ve done. “I know what this means. It means: ‘stay with me’, right?”

“So you were listening in!” You accuse him with a wry smile, and he matches it with an abashed chuckle as his eyes crinkle with amusement.

“And this,” he loosens your grip on his fingers until he can manipulate his pinky into the crook of your own, “means ‘I promise’. So I promise I won’t leave you.”

He squeezes your pinky hard, and for a moment you’re left breathless at the way he makes your heart skip a beat in pure exhilaration, but also how his smile could replace all the stars in the night sky. Jimin steps away, and your fingers slide out of his, dropping against the sheets with a thud. But before he lets himself out, he pauses for a second.

“Oh, and one more thing.”

You crane your neck over to look at him, expecting him to say something about how you should never leave this room, it’s for your safety, and all that nonsense, but it never comes. Instead, a voice reverberates inside your head from a place you never knew existed, a place you can’t even pinpoint. But the voice in itself is familiar, and that’s all that matters.

I love you.

And then he’s gone.

Your mind is whirling, struggling to keep up with the barrage of thoughts that are forcing themselves upon you. How did this telepathic connection suddenly appear, and why weren’t you aware of it?

Now that you think about it, the pounding in your head from earlier has settled down into a dull hum, but it isn’t a headache. It’s more like the presence of someone else residing in that tiny little corner, their consciousness existing alongside yours and occasionally brushing against the fringes of your awareness.

Can you hear me? You frantically reach out again, having no idea how this connection works and simply hoping that you’re doing it right.

Calm down, ____, his reply comes instantly, and you sag against the sheets. I can hear every single thing you’re thinking of, and it was that overwhelming that I nearly walked into a wall.

His voice is still the same, teasing you as if he’d spoken it aloud into your ear.

How did this happen?

After I brought us back to the room, I noticed another telepathic pathway that wasn’t there before, but I wasn’t sure till I tried it on you, Jimin muses. This has never happened before.

Does that mean you can keep contact all through the ceremony? You ask hopefully, letting out a shaky breath you didn’t even know you’d been holding.

No, I can’t risk my brothers discovering our connection, so I’ll have to shut it down in their presence. You can almost picture the look of regret he has now, humming a low apology in his throat. Yoongi is more astute than he lets on.

You say nothing for a moment, swallowing hard as you imagine the cold, stony faced alien and what he’d do to you, or worse, Jimin, if he ever found out about this. Okay. Come back soon?

As soon as I can, angel. Stay safe.

And those are his last words before he shuts off the connection, and then your mind feels empty without him, smaller too, like walls of your room that are slowly but surely closing in on you.

*

You don’t have a clock in your room, in fact, there’s no sign of any time keeping device on this entire planet whatsoever. So it feels like an eternity since Jimin has stepped out of the safety of your room. 

On a planet where time and space bend around non-existent rules, waiting is the most horrendous form of torture.

You consider just opening the door and peeking out into the hallway, but the thought that Yoongi might be lurking around outside keeps you buried under the covers in relative safety. You trust that Jimin has taken the necessary precautions to keep you safe, so you don’t even get up to try and test the lock on the door.

Until footsteps sound outside, and your door rattles against the force applied on it.

For a moment, your heart leaps in elation, thinking that it might be Jimin, but then you hear unfamiliar voices. The dark, empty recesses of your mind tells you that he still hasn’t opened the connection back up, which means that he’s still attending that ceremony, and that outside your door is-

“Get out of the fucking way. I’ll do it.”

The voice sends a shiver down your spine, because you recognise it to be Min Yoongi’s.

Your eyes dart around the room, searching for some sort of weapon that you can defend yourself with, but you come up empty. All you have in terms of personal belongings is your phone, and you don’t see yourself bludgeoning anyone to death with that any time soon.

You only have seconds till the door bursts open, so you shove it into your waistband hastily, glancing up to meet the cold, venomous gaze of Min Yoongi.

Standing behind him is Jeongguk, and an unfamiliar alien. The third alien looks vastly different from those that you’ve seen so far, its features are smaller, sharper and more delicate. It also has a smaller frame, though still possessing wiry muscles.

That’s when it hits you; it must be a member of the female colony.

Yoongi turns to Jeongguk. “Seize her.”

Panic rises in your throat as Jeongguk advances towards you, and you try to slip out of his grasp, but the raven haired alien is far too agile for you. His hands clamp down around your arm in a punishing grip, hauling you off the bed and to your feet. Your strength is no match for him as he captures your arms behind your back.

“This is the human specimen I was referring to.” Yoongi says, nodding towards you 

The female alien purrs low in her throat, silky black hair tossed over her shoulder as she inspects you closely. “I must say, it took you long enough to surrender her to us. You had me threatening to declare war on you before you finally relented… After all, considering her gender, don’t you think it is fitting that we have custody over her instead?”

Yoongi grins amicably, although there is a certain hardness to his jaw. “Forgive me, Seulgi, but I was facing some… obstacles.”

And with that he gestures to Jeongguk, and you’re shoved out the door with the two other aliens trailing behind you.

The empty void of your mind mocks you as you scream helplessly and soundlessly. Jimin can’t hear you.

“Say, Yoongi, would you happen to have a room I can borrow? I’ll need to conduct some… tests to make sure she can withstand the journey back home. No point bringing home a dead Earthling, right?” She chuckles with a strand of hair wrapped around her finger.

“Of course. Right this way.” Yoongi accedes to her request at once, and Jeongguk forces you to make a left turn before stopping you at a door you’ve never seen before. Unlike Jimin or Hoseok’s labs, this one is completely ordinary looking, but it looks reinforced with steel that renders it completely unbreachable.

Yoongi steps past you to enter a series of long, unintelligible security codes, before his appendages emerge from the slits on either side of his ribs to complete the authentication process. You watch in horror as the damp tips of his extra limbs press against the security pad, and it beeps to grant him access. 

“All yours.”

Jeongguk takes your arm and walks you into the brightly lit room that seems to resemble the interior of a hospital. There is a pristine looking single sized bed in the middle of the room, but the rest of it is non-descript. You are shoved towards it, Jeongguk taking you by the waist and lifting you onto the bed when you near it. Yoongi closes the door and latches it behind him.

Seulgi steps closer to you, pushing you down by the shoulders as Jeongguk straps your wrists and ankles to the bed. “Hi sweetheart.”

Her voice is overly sweet, menacing even, as she grins, exposing rows of sharp, pristine white teeth. The marks on her cheekbones glow a sinister obsidian as she nods her thanks to Jeongguk.

“We’re just running a couple of tests on you, alright?”

“Please, no, don’t do this,” your voice is barely a whimper at the back of your hoarse throat, watching as Jeongguk wheels over a machine with a mess of wires connected to a headpiece.

Jimin, please.

You thrash your head against the mattress when he tries to fit it over your head, but Seulgi places her hands on the sides of your head, her nails digging into your scalp as she holds you still with an inhuman strength. Tears are flowing freely down your cheeks as you sob uncontrollably, but she only laughs as she turns to the controls.

She flicks a switch, and your body automatically seizes up in an involuntary reaction against the perceived pain. But in reality, nothing happens, and Seulgi frowns as she flicks a couple of other switches before huffing in frustration.

“What kind of outdated instrument is this? We don’t have anything like this back home,” Seulgi turns to Yoongi, who’s still standing by the door watching the procedures.

“It’s the latest model of the electroencephalogram that detects brain waves and analyses emotions through electrocution,” Yoongi says with a slight sneer. “I’m not surprised you don’t know how to use it, it’s top secret technology that we only just developed.”

Seulgi crosses her arms over her chest in impatience. “Well? Then get the fuck over here and initiate it for me!”

Yoongi falters, the smirk falling off his face. But he doesn’t want to admit that he has no idea how to use it either. “Only our head of research knows how to operate it, he designed it,” he mutters under his breath. “Jeongguk, guard the door while I go get Hoseok from that ceremony.”

“Hurry the fuck up,” Seulgi hisses, turning to you with a malicious smirk painting her red lips. “In the meantime, I think I’ll have some fun with you, sweetheart.”

She takes out what looks like a gun from a holster somewhere, pressing a button that activates a stream of electricity to run between its conducting poles. When she presses it to the skin on your thigh, the smell of burnt flesh meets your nostrils, and all you can hear is the sound of your convoluted, blood curdling screams that fill the room as agony shoots through every single nerve in your consciousness.

Except it’s more than just electricity, because it cuts into your skin as she moves it along the flesh of your thigh.

When she’s done with that leg, she moves to the other, igniting your skin with raging, scorching flames that feel as if they are melting your flesh, reducing you to a pile of ashes, feeling slick blood drip down and soak the sheets beneath you. Your sobs are incoherent, guttural pleas for mercy that finally bid her to pull away her taser.

“What’s that darling? You want more?”

“Ji-Jimin,” you barely rasp out, closing your eyes tight as your breaths come in ragged pants.

“Whoever that is, he’s not going to be able to save you,” Seulgi presses the taser close to your skin again, and you flinch automatically, pleading for her to stop even as your arms pull against the restraints. “How about I mark up your pretty face, hmmm? You won’t be needing it anymore.”

Just as she presses the taser to your skin, getting ready to set your skin ablaze in torment, the door bursts open, and a familiar voice follows.

“Wait! Stop- you can’t… damage the subject further, or she will be useless to any experimentation,” the voice falters a little, but nevertheless, Seulgi withdraws her weapon.

Your muscles are trembling as you crane your neck to get a glimpse of the newcomer, but your vision is blurry with tears and you can’t identify him at all, although you vaguely remember that Yoongi had been leaving to retrieve Hoseok.

“H-Hoseok, please,” you beg, swallowing hard as you feel agony shoot through every single nerve ending. “Please help me, get Jimin…”

Hoseok places a hand on your forehead, seemingly to adjust the headpiece, but his fingers stroke over your sweaty skin in a minute movement that goes unnoticed by Seulgi.

“Get over here and activate this fucking machine,” Seulgi demands, and Hoseok reluctantly steps away from your bed towards her as she moves away, allowing him to fiddle with the controls.

A low moan leaves your throat as you close your eyes, boneless and just waiting for the pain to come.

But it never does.

There is a shout, and then a high pitched scream. When you open your eyes, Seulgi is on the floor, and Hoseok has her gun in his hands, aiming it toward Jeongguk who barrels towards him. But the smaller alien is swifter, and he presses the gun to the taller alien’s throat, activating it and eliciting a guttural moan as he too collapses onto the floor.

“Hoseok…” you shift weakly, and his hands are trembling as he undoes your restraints.

“Listen, you have to run. You have to get out of here, I don’t know how the fuck you’re going to do it, but just go.” Hoseok breathes right into your face, eyes wide and marks glowing a dark grey. “They know. Yoongi knows about you and Jimin.”

At the sound of his name, you jerk your muscles into action, feeling panic and adrenaline lacing your veins. “H-how? W-where is he right now?”

“Still at the ceremony,” Hoseok runs a hand through his hair. “When Yoongi came to get me, I knew at once it was something to do with you, and Jimin did too. But Yoongi wouldn’t let Jimin take a step out of that ceremonial hall, and my bets are he’s guarding Jimin till Seulgi gets her way with you.”

Hoseok uses the gun to strip apart the sheets on the bed till they’re only about an inch wide, wrapping them around your thighs to help staunch the bleeding. Your muscles are still trembling, breath shaky, so he helps you down from the bed, supporting your weight against him, but then a thought comes to your mind.

“Jimin’s spaceship!” You tug on his arm weakly. “We can escape using that, it’s in the hangar, but we need to get Jimin.”

Hoseok frowns grimly. “You’re too weak, I can’t help you and get Jimin at the same time-“

“Then go. Get Jimin for me. Please,” you beg with your hand on his cheek, leaving an imprint of your bloodstained palm, gripping the material of his shirt tightly. “Please, Hoseok.”

“No, I can’t leave you at the hands of these… monsters,” Hoseok casts a glance at the prone bodies of Seulgi and Jeongguk on the ground. “I won’t let them hurt you anymore.”

“Wh-why are you doing this, Hoseok?” You gasp as he helps you to the door. “Why did you betray your brothers for an Earthling like me?”

Hoseok is silent for a moment, his marks lightening to a brief rose hue before it settles back down into a dark pewter. “Because you made me feel something I never thought possible.”

You stop him with a hand on his waist, squeezing a little as you catch his marks changing colours briefly, and then it hits you, that day in his lab where he asked you what holding hands meant. It was the same rose hue on his cheeks then, and you’ve seen it countless of times on Jimin too, that night together in his spaceship, or the morning after tucked away in your bed.

“Then you’ll know how important Jimin is to me, Hoseok,” you whisper. “Please get him for me.”

His jaw tightens, and he nods imperceptibly, helping you to steady yourself on your feet and take a few test steps before he relinquishes his grasp on you. He slips a key card into your hand, “go to the hangar and wait. I’ll get Jimin out.”

He brushes his lips against your forehead in a parting kiss as he disappears down the hallway, and then you’re alone.

*

Your shaky footsteps make it hard to navigate the hallways with efficiency, but somehow you make it outside, and relying on pure memory alone, trace your steps back to the entrance of the hangar. You’ve had to stop a few times out of sheer dizziness, but the fear of getting caught by Yoongi spurs you on, and at last you make it to the hangar.

Weakly, you raise your arm to scan the key card, waiting for the authorisation, but then you hear a voice call out your name, and no, you must be hallucinating, because-

You turn to and see Jimin in the distance, only he didn’t shout your name out loud for fear of garnering attention. He sports a bloodied lip and a gash across his bicep, and his gait seems to be impaired slightly, but nothing compares to the relief that blooms in your chest as he engulfs you into his arms, pushing you inside the safety of the hangar as the shutters slam closed.

Your aching muscles grip him tight to you as he enfolds you within the safety of his arms once more. Tears are streaming down your cheeks once more as you sob into his neck, feeling his comforting murmurs reverberate through his chest that is pressed against yours as he strokes your back soothingly.

“H-Hoseok, where’s-“

“He didn’t make it,” Jimin says grimly, sliding an arm around your waist to support you as he navigates through the fleet of ships till he finds his own. “He fell back to cover me and give us some time to make it out of here. Was a fucking bloodbath, but he fought to get me out and we… we don’t have much time, they’re after us.”

His eyes drop to scan your bloodied lower half, and fury lights his eyes and marks aglow in a bright scarlet so fluid that it resembles lava, as he caresses them tenderly. “I should have known they were planning something, I’m so fucking sorry, my angel, you- it’s all my fault, and I-“

“I love you,” you cut him off, and the words come out in a rush of exhaled breath, of promises kept and regrets washed away, because every time you look at him, a burning flame sets itself alight in your chest, one that Jimin recognises as hope.

Tears are brimming in his eyes as well as he dissolves into a blubbering mess, thumb caressing your cheek.

“Jimin, I’m okay, it’s okay, you’re here now, and I’m okay, we’re going to be okay,” you repeat the words over and over, knowing full well you don’t make much sense, but the words seem to sink in as Jimin lowers his head to capture your lips.

The kiss is a sentimental one, full of regret and remorse. Despite his bloodied lip, you don’t taste the tangy saltiness of it as you get lost in his soothing touch, inhaling the scent that is uniquely Jimin.

As he pulls away, you’re breathless not because of the kiss itself, but the way his eyes light up like the stars that line the Milky Way, his gaze reverent and all consuming.

“We need to get out of here.” You’re reluctant to pull away and disrupt the moment, but he’s right.

Jimin locates his spacecraft easily through the fleet. There is an authorisation pad just beside the entrance of his ship, and you watch as Jimin’s appendages slide out to meet it. This time, the sight of his tentacles doesn’t fill you with abhorrence unlike Yoongi’s, because you remember and associate them with security and comfort. He helps you up the steps into the ship, closing the door after him, and seats himself.

“To Earth, then?” He grins, the crescent moons of his eyes reassuring you as you settle in the chair beside him, facing the switchboard of controls.

Although you’ve been wondering if you’ll ever return home for the duration of your time here, you’d never imagine that it would be like this. All alone in a spaceship with a certain blonde alien, fleeing from the pursuit of his brothers who would most definitely murder you in cold blood upon first sight.

It seems as if it’s been a million years since you were whisked off that stage, sucked up into a spacecraft and abducted by aliens. What would happen if you return now? Would time unfreeze the second you step foot inside that auditorium, leaving you back exactly where you were as if the Universe had merely pressed pause on your life like it was some kind of video game? Would you then, like the heroine in said videogame, be ambushed by a horde of villains upon unpausing?

More importantly, what happens after that? Where is Jimin’s place in your life on Earth?

There are so many unanswered questions that leave you feeling on edge as you shift your gaze to the futuristic mockup that displays Earth on the spacecraft’s screen controls.

“Hey.” Jimin gets your attention again, and his voice is a hushed whisper, concern spreading across his features as he places his hand over yours. You forget that on top of your feelings, he’s also privy to all your thoughts, as his consciousness merges with yours until you are one being, unsure of where you end and he begins. “It’s gonna be okay, you know.”

Your features relax as you turn your palm upwards to grab his hand tightly. “To Earth.”

“Alright then co-captain, prepare for takeoff.” Jimin answers with a grin as he grips your hand tightly in his, turning toward the controls and seeking out one button in particular.

Your eyes follow his gaze to a green button labelled ‘time travel’, and a gasp rips through your throat.

“Jimin, no, wait!” You lunge across to grab his wrist before he can push the button, wincing as your wounds are torn apart, and fresh crimson stains the white makeshift bandages, landing on his lap as you do so.

“What’s wrong?” Jimin immediately has his hands on your waist, supporting your weight as he’s careful not to aggravate your wounds. “Why did you stop me? You’re not going to make it to Earth alive if we don’t time travel. Do you not want to go back?”

“N-no, it’s just…” you glance at the button again, and then back at him.

Outside, the sounds of shouts and approaching footsteps can be heard in the distance.

“Angel, we really don’t have much time,” Jimin bites his lip tersely. “They’re already at the entrance, and with Yoongi’s authorisation-“

“Isn’t this how the Universe ends?” You blurt out, your own heart pounding against your chest, and you hear the shutters creak and groan as they open. “You told me yourself, a pilot who was experimenting with time travel on a spacecraft presses a button, and then the Universe disappears. What if this is it?”

Jimin’s marks are a calm hue of rose pink as he smiles at you, his gaze knowing. “It is. This is how the Universe ends.”

“Y-you’ve known it all this while? And yet you didn’t try to-“

“Like I said angel, this moment is destined to happen, and will happen no matter what,” Jimin grips your hand tightly in his, squeezing hard. “It is structured this way. There’s no use stopping it, and besides, we have no choice.”

He releases his hold, pulling his hand away and leaving only his pinky hooked around yours. “But no matter what happens, I’ll never leave you, I promised, remember?”

The sudden silence that envelops you feels suffocating, but trapped in his gaze like a fly preserved within amber, the fear of the unknown diminishes.

You can only nod, feeling your throat swallow hard as you force back tears. “W-what happens when the Universe ends? What happens to us?”

“Beats me, angel. But we’ll do it together.” Jimin turns back to the controls, and you drink in what might be your last glimpse of him. His side profile is breathtaking: messy golden hair resembling a halo on his head, the gentle slope of his nose, his plump lips as he purses them in concentration. “Ready?”

You nod, and he presses the button.

Then everything goes black.

* 

There is an ache in your neck, and the rest of your muscles are screaming in protest.

Slowly, the roaring silence in your ears gives way as sounds of muted chattering filter in, blending into a cacophony of noise that rips you from your unconsciousness.

You feel a hand on your arm shaking you insistently, uttering something into your ear that you cannot comprehend. Attempting to ignore it is impossible, as the force of that hand on you shakes your entire frame, and the voice only grows louder with every passing second.

Suddenly, you are wrenched back into the world of the living, and with the sudden consciousness come a clarity of mind, and a comprehension of the words that are being uttered to you. Your eyes dart open to take in your surroundings, only to find-

Namjoon, with his hair falling into his eyes as he peers at you in worry. “Wake up! Your presentation…”

The rest of his words fade away into the humdrum of the crowd.

*

*

*

EPILOGUE

“And now we’re just supposed to go back to our normal lives, because that’s what people do. They have these amazing experiences, see all those wonderful things and laugh so much until they cry and it hurts, and then they just go home and clean the bathroom or whatever.”

As you walk up on stage with a stiffness in your legs that could only be imagined, you feel a dart of panic shoot through you as you search for your phone with your script on it. But it’s located right in your back pocket where you last left it, and you pull it out with relief.

You’re ushered straight to the centre of the stage with a mic in hand, and the audience waits, ready for you to begin. Shooting a brief look at the ceiling of the auditorium, you wait a beat longer than necessary. But there’s nothing out of the ordinary in the beams of welded concrete that hold the structure up.

You unlock your phone to access your script, but in your anxiety, accidentally open the photos folder instead. You’re just about to click to exit the app, when the latest photo on your camera roll stops you, a violent fluttering in your stomach that overrides your nervousness.

Jimin is looking at you with the utmost reverence in his eyes, as you’re staring into the camera caught off guard, a gentle smile on his lips as his marks stand out from his skin in a bright vivid carnation pink.

After a moment, you turn to the audience again with a smile.

“So, all this happened… more or less.”

[waveridden]

FIC: too large for any moment

But it’s still there, in the back of Bacta’s mind. He knows what a good Kwoon fight is like. He knows what drift compatibility feels like, and even if he never does anything about this, he knows that he and Leenik could be compatible. (A Campaign/Pacific Rim AU, 1.9k, vaguely Bacta/Leenik)

AUcember || title lyric || more about the AU || read on ao3

#

“Bacta.” Leenik leans in, so close that Bacta has to pull back to keep looking at his face properly. “We should do the Kwoon room thing.”

“The Kwoon room thing,” Bacta repeats. He hasn’t been in a Kwoon room in years. He might’ve sworn to himself that he’d never do it again, but it’s hard to remember. It’s been years, and he’s drunk, and Leenik’s drunk, and he’s never seen Leenik this relaxed before. “Do you wanna… do the staff thing?”

Leenik nods, so emphatically that he collapses against the wall behind him, still nodding. “I think it’d be fun fighting you,” he says sincerely. “I wanna do the thing with the staffs and I wanna see what happens.”

“We should see what happens!” Bacta pushes himself to his feet, and he’s pleased to see that he’s steady enough to stand. Walking might be harder, and fighting to determine if he and Leenik are drift compatible will definitely be harder still, but if this is what Leenik wants, then damn it, Bacta is going to figure out how to do it for him. “Let’s do the staffs.”

“Staves.” Leenik frowns, but he takes Bacta’s hand and lets Bacta pull him upright. “Stavs?”

“Staves,” Bacta repeats, and tugs Leenik towards the door. “Let’s stave.”

There is no such thing as a night off in the Shatterdome, not really. But there are nights that are better to get drunk than others, and they’d decided that this is one of them. There are additional J-Tech staffers supporting them from other domes, and Bacta has been tired of… well, of being tired. He decided that he and Leenik, as heads of J-Tech, deserved a day off. So they’d gotten drunk, because they couldn’t leave the dome.

Bacta’s one of the newer people at this particular dome. He’d been transferred because his old marshal didn’t want to deal with him anymore - or because the dome needed more support in J-Tech, depending on which paperwork you look at - and it’s been a bumpy adjustment. He’s known Leenik for over a year now, and Leenik is still painfully reserved around him sometimes. Bacta had half expected him to say no when he’d suggested a drinking night. He hadn’t even been sure if Leenik drinks.

By the time they get to the Kwoon room, both of them still wearing pajamas and socks, they’re a little less stumble-drunk. Bacta’s pretty steady on his feet by the time he has a staff in his hand, looking at Leenik across the room. “You ever done this before?”

To his surprise, Leenik nods. “Been a while,” he says, and shifts his grip on the staff. “I used to be pretty good.”

“So did I,” Bacta says. Leenik cocks his head, looking curious, and Bacta shrugs. “I had a whole life before I ended up here.”

“Right.” Leenik grins. “New Zealand.”

Leenik also had a whole life before the Shatterdome that Bacta doesn’t know anything about. He’s never really asked, because Leenik is… cagey, to say the least. But he’s holding the staff like he knows what he’s doing with it, and he looks completely at home in the Kwoon room. Bacta wishes, with a sudden ferocity, that he knew Leenik, really knew him.

He lifts his staff to a ready position. “First to five?”

“First to five,” Leenik agrees. He steps back, and Bacta barely has time to anticipate his next move before Leenik charges at him and swings his staff for Bacta’s side.

Bacta side-steps it and jabs his staff behind him, towards Leenik, but Leenik is already sweeping around to Bacta’s other side, shifting his staff from hand to hand. Bacta wheels backwards and lifts his own staff.

Leenik sweeps his staff towards Bacta’s chest right as Bacta lowers his, stopping just an inch from Leenik’s head, and Leenik’s staff freezes just as the tip of it touches Bacta’s sternum. For a second, Bacta is too stunned to move or breathe. Judging from the look on Leenik’s face, he is too.

“Draw,” Bacta manages to say, after a few seconds of heavy breathing. “That-”

“Was really fucking good,” Leenik finishes, eyes wide.

Bacta’s face splits into a grin. “Thank Christ,” he mumbles, and Leenik only grins wider. “You think we can manage that again?”

Leenik pulls his staff back, miming the motion of sheathing a sword as he steps away. “We should find out,” he says. Every inch of him is buzzing with awareness, and Bacta feels drawn to him, like he can’t look away. He hasn’t felt this way in a long time.

Bacta copies the sheathing motion, old training taking over, and moves to an opposite corner of the room. He steps back, eyes scanning the room, and lands on the doorway for a second.

Marshal Luroon, standing in the door, arches an eyebrow at him. She looks like she was likely on her way somewhere else. Bacta considers asking why she’s stopping to watch, but then Leenik shifts his weight, and all of his attention is back on Leenik.

“Is a draw a point for each of us or no points?” Leenik asks, doing an idle figure-eight with his staff.

“Point for each,” Bacta suggests. “More fun that way.”

Leenik grins sharply. “Good,” he says, and lunges forward with his staff. Bacta thinks that he’s grinning back, just as face-splitting and raw, as he dodges.

#

They don’t do it again, is the thing. Not that Bacta particularly wants to - he hasn’t done a serious Kwoon fight in a few years, and he’s not sure he’s ready to do it again - but Leenik seems… worried about it. He’s a little cagey around Bacta the next day, and the day after that, and the day after, until Bacta makes a pointedly casual comment about not being interested in piloting again. After that, Leenik relaxes more than Bacta has ever seen him.

But it’s still there, in the back of Bacta’s mind. He knows what a good Kwoon fight is like. He knows what drift compatibility feels like, and even if he never does anything about this, he knows that he and Leenik could be compatible. It’s the kind of knowledge that comes without intent. He’s not even sure that Leenik realized how compatible they were, but he knows. He remembers.

The problem is that it turns out Marshal Luroon remembers, too.

It’s an emergency situation in every sense: all of their main pilots are on another continent for some ridiculous press junket. There are Jaegers flying in to support them, but all of the backup teams are deployed already and doing poorly.

Lyn must be getting desperate, because she turns and meets Bacta’s eyes across mission control.

He realizes what’s about to happen just before she opens her mouth. “Marshal-”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Lyn says, voice dangerously tight. She points at him, then at Leenik. “You two, get in a Jaeger.”

Leenik’s mouth drops open in shock before he regains himself. “I don’t think-”

“This isn’t-”

“This is life and death.” Lyn’s voice is deathly quiet. “Do you understand that? This is not about what either of you want. This is about damage control. This is about minimizing casualties. You are going to suit up, and we are going to calibrate you, and we are going to hope that it works. And either way we will deal with it, do you understand?”

Leenik looks away. Bacta has to unclench his jaw, with a monumental effort, but he grits out a terse “Yes, ma’am.”

There are lines in Lyn’s face that he doesn’t remember being there when he started at the Shatterdome. She turns around to say something to Tryst, who looks grimmer than Bacta has ever seen him.

Bacta sighs. He turns to Leenik, to say that they should get ready or ask if he’s okay, and is completely unsurprised to see that Leenik isn’t standing there anymore. He heaves out a sigh and leaves mission control.

Leenik is, as expected, in the J-Tech garage. He whirls around on Bacta as soon as he enters, with anger and betrayal and panic all flickering across his face in turns. “You told her?”

“She saw us.”

“She saw us and you didn’t say anything?”

“I didn’t think this would happen.” Bacta has to fight to keep his voice low and steady - and it’s barely steady, with a tremor rocketing through it. “Leenik, you have to believe me, I don’t want to do this.”

“But you said yes,” he says, verging on hysterical. “You said yes, and I- I can’t do this, I said I’d never-”

“We don’t have another choice.”

“We have a choice! That choice is staying here, and saying no, and dealing with the consequences, because it’s not worth it.”

“Isn’t it worth it to you to save those people’s lives?”

Leenik’s face contorts into something miserable. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“I know it’s not.” Bacta has to fight the urge to reach out to Leenik. He knows Leenik wouldn’t want it, would say he doesn’t need it, but his entire body is alight with the need to be… closer. He puts his hands behind his back and clasps them, gripping as tightly as he can manage. “The last person I was in a Jaeger with died.”

Leenik visibly takes a step back, stunned. “You used to be a pilot?”

“A long time ago.” Bacta twists his hands, trying to keep himself grounded. “We only went on a couple missions together before kaiju attacked our dome. She was so focused on the evacuation effort that she didn’t realize-” his throat tightens, and he forces himself to swallow down the tears. They don’t have time for him to relive this. “She died. I was ruled not fit for duty, so I joined up with J-Tech. I never wanted to pilot a Jaeger with anyone else.”

“Wanted,” Leenik says warily. “What do you want now?”

Bacta huffs out a laugh. “I want to stop more people from dying.”

“I-” Leenik pauses and gulps. “My brother-”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” Bacta says, and Leenik sags in relief. “If you really, really can’t do this, we’ll find an excuse. But I think we need to try.”

“I know we do,” Leenik sighs. “I just- I’m afraid.”

“Of being in a Jaeger again?”

“That you won’t like me after you really know who I am.”

“Leenik,” Bacta sighs, and he moves forward without thinking. Leenik stays in place, trembling as Bacta’s hands land on his shoulders. “You’re my friend. There is very, very little that could be in your head that will change that.”

Leenik stares up at Bacta, eyes wide and searching. At last, he nods slowly, and Bacta’s hands relax on his shoulders.

Bacta smooths his hands down Leenik’s arms and draws them back to his sides. “Okay,” he says, and Leenik takes a deep breath. “Let’s go suit up.”

“Let’s go suit up,” Leenik echoes. He looks tense, still, but he looks Bacta up and down and then relaxes. “We’re going to do this.”

“We’re going to do this,” Bacta agrees, like it’s a finality, a fact, and Leenik offers up a terse, nervous smile. It’s the best thing Bacta has ever seen.

[nicolehampton]

NICOLE AND ZEKE PARA 001.

TAGGED: @zekehq & @nicolehampton TRIGGERS: n/a

NIKKI.

looking down at her the time on her phone nicole could almost feel her rolling eyes meet the back of her head. dating wasn’t her thing anymore, she’d done the whole ‘meet the love of your life, fall in love, have a kid, get married (or almost get married... twice)’ thing, the rebound turned toxic - broke her down to almost nothing, and the guy who was too nice and she probably would’ve destroyed a year down the road. it just… didn’t work, over time nicole had accepted that. she sat there with half a mind to text jordyn something offensive about making her get out of bed, get dressed up, just to meet some random person who she wasn’t going to have any interest in but instead, she locked and tossed her phone back into her purse & polished off the wine in her glass. if she was dressed up, sitting at a table for two, she wasn’t gonna let zeus’ sitter go to waste. the blonde chose to wine & dine herself (more wine than dine), go back home, crawl into bed, & pretend this ever happened. stopping a waiter, the femme asked kindly to be brought the bottle she’d been sipping on and fought the urge to call someone to fill the seat. that would’ve been pointless because madi was at home with her newborn, as was olivia, and she couldn’t think of a friendly way to text her ex to save her because she got stood up. though fate itself seemed to have other plans. after the bottle of wine had been brought to the table, and nicole filled her glass just enough to get through another twenty minutes of acting like she willfully went out to dinner by herself, her green eyes flickered up towards the door, zeke immediately commanding full attention - until the gut wrenching idea of him being there on a date too struck some sort of cord. did that stop her from smiling like an idiot? absolutely not. she did however wait a minute or two to see if some undeserving, all too beautiful (for her own liking) creature walked in to join him. that felt like the longest 120 seconds of her life, but she lost no time in grabbing her phone and sending an almost all too obvious, “you look too good to be sitting at that bar alone” text message.

ZEKE.

after dropping hades off to hang out with kinsley and katia, even with the reluctance over who was in charge of things, zeke didn't waste time in making his way to moonshadows. grabbing drinks wasn't enough of a reason for the blond to go above and beyond with an outfit that tethered on the side of dressing to the nines, but looking exactly the royalty he viewed himself was was non-negotiable. there was an easy mood, and a reserved amount of relief over the reality that he was going to be drinking. perhaps it was a bad habit, how often and how thoroughly that isaac found himself with a drink in his hand but he couldn't admit to it being a problem. his kids came first always, and distorting the world for a couple of hours seemed reasonable. even more so with the added benefit of having his best friend to drink alongside him. he almost cocked his head back towards the door as he settled into a set at the bar, but the vibration of his phone in his pocket caught his attention before he could further wonder over the whereabouts of the femme who had setup the whole hangout. his features furrowing slightly as he slipped the phone from his pocket to lay it atop the bar, looking to the bartender and ordering a glass of whiskey for his first drink of the night as he scanned the one line text from nicole. just the realization that she could see him, brought isaac's attention to sift over the expanse of the bar he was seated at before he turned to get a full gaze of the place. when amber hues come into contact with the visual of the love of his life, a faint sting of the history that lay bare between them tugged at his being. if it wasn't enough that the king twin was often kicking himself mentally for his first fumble in their would-be love story, he was further given more ammunition on how idiotic he could be with the view before him. still, in true king fashion, a smirk lifted over his lips as he typed out his reply. "me? niks, have you gotten a good look at yourself? any day you're on fire. tonight is no exception." a bitter, unwanted idea festers up with a vengeance as he presses the send button, forcing himself to swallow the lump that followed his realization. the blond felt minimal relief when his drink was placed in front of him, barely pulling his gaze from niks to grasp the glass. he almost downs half of it, but watching nicole on a date? that wasn't something his sanity nor his impulse control could handle, so he disregarded the faint idea that he might not be allowed to take the glass away from the bar and made his way over to the table that nicole was seated at. a forced smile pushed as he took the free seat across from her, curious on it's empty state but not at all concerned over whether or not she was waiting on someone to return. "so, what's this? you, on a date?" subtle had slipped out the window at the first indication that she was on a date with someone new.

NIKKI.

she froze mid-motion with her wine glass in hand when he saw her. unless she wanted to ruin the dress she’d gotten, surrendering the glass in hand was her only option due to the torturous tick of a tremble. it felt like it had been months since the last time she’d had an excuse to see him, when in all reality it had only been days at most. still much too long to go without feasting her eyes on the only real object of desire she’d ever had. the only real sense of home she’d ever known and one person she’d come to understand she’d always belong to. it was somewhere between his wedding and that ending, that she came to terms with things had really finished between them. but that damn look he gave her, the way his gaze washed over her felt like a little piece of heaven and she’d find a way to make that enough. a little bit of zeke was better than nothing, a part of her knew she’d never be able to handle them crumbling to nothing. there was only one person who’d had any kind of true hold on nicole’s heart and that was isaac king. she’d tried to fight it - but it was pointless. he’d stolen the entirety of her, which was all the more reason dating was mundane. she had nothing left to give, the man who’d captured everything she was, her heart and soul, was sitting only feet away. the soft exhalation that left her lips the second his response popped back up on her phone felt almost like treachery. with a shake of her head she texted her two responses “hmm, briefly to do my make up.” nicole paused to extend a smirk in his direction, “charm truly never fails you? not that i’m surprised… gotta say still think you’ve got me beat tonight, king.” it wasn’t a lie, per usual, she’d caught sight of him and her heart did somersaults, pulse picked up in pace, the brief escape of getting to type out her reply gave her a moment to remind herself of their current situation and her need for composure. but control was in impossible when she looked up only to see zeke sitting at her table. his question stung slightly, knowing had she not ran away from him the last time she had, she probably could’ve been… with him, and they probably would’ve been happy. “more like i was ambushed into meeting up with someone, who according to jordyn i had to meet, but mr. perfect didn’t show.” her heart screamed ‘oh but he did! and he’s sitting right there, don’t fuck it up!’ the second she relaxed into her chair finally feeling at ease for the first time since leaving bed. she could almost feel her eyes light up and glimmer as a smile tipped her lips upwards, “how about you? who’s heart are you stealing tonight?” god the question damn near provoked a physical reaction, but cringing would’ve been rude, so she had to bring her own glass up to her lips to wash down the idea and ease the bitter aftertaste of the thought.

ZEKE.

catching the momentary halt in her movement only served to arch the blond's brow, but his features relax a millisecond later. resigning himself to the reality that he would always find some amount of difficulty in being wrapped up in even the brief company that was nicole hampton didn't make it remotely easier to absorb the physical reality of it. even with some distance between them, she took his breath away and the concept of her dating, a bitter memento to the fracturing of their relationship. it was bittersweet, to be surrounding by the person who owned him in ways many before had only wished to achieve and knowing that he couldn't have more than her friendship. in favor of the emptiness that surfaced in her absence, the blond was determined in all his obstinance that he would indulge in the pieces of friendship he was given. if anything, the femme was being generous and as much as his entirety abhorred the mere illusion of niks out on a date with someone else, he could begrudgingly suspend his own annoyance. the brief slip up in the back of his mind that seemed to surface of his drunken marriage, even with how quickly it had fallen apart, reinforced the idea that he could at least pretend to be supportive of her dating endeavors. still, even as the experienced actor he was, the blond couldn't seem to relinquish the idea that nicole was supposed to be his. letting that ideology slip was going to be a work in progress, worse than forcing himself to tolerate his sister and best friend's husbands. (and he hadn't yet mastered the tolerate part of that.) finally seated across from nicole, his features were alight with humor and arrogance as his gaze shifted across the screen of his phone that he placed atop the table now. his brow quirked up at her words, and it wasn't the first time he found himself disagreeing with nicole's compliments. "as flawless as you are with or without it, surprised you don't get caught up in your reflection more." he verbalized their text conversation. while anyone else could say or text him those exact words and zeke would agree, that he had them beat in the looks category, this was nicole. his ego was enormous in it's own right, but when it came to the femme across from him, he had never been disillusioned on the reality that she was the definition of stunning, ethereal in her existence even if she couldn't seem to agree. "i've been known to be charming, but i couldn't read a single bit of that last part cause your phone didn't send it right. all i can see is you looking immaculate, drinking wine and... alone? that's criminal." he decided, a small smile found it's way to his lips. his features fell flat as he awaited her answer to his question, a sinking emotion slipping to the pit of his stomach until he caught onto her words. specifically a singular name that wreaked with far too much familiarity, his thoughts trailing back to his own intended meet up with his best friend. "jordyn, huh?" he should've felt a twinge of betrayal, but as he was piecing it together he could only feel a bubble of amusement trickling in. a low chuckle resounding verbally as he cocked his head. "not sure i believe there was ever a mr. perfect intended to show up," he paused, offering a smirk as he winked. "besides me." he attempted to tease, a play of his usual superiority complex. her question brought another bought of amusement, a genuine smile slipping out at bother the realization and jordyn's attempt. "well, i was supposed to be meeting jordyn so we could do what we do best: get wasted." he offered, leaning back against the chair he was in and taking a sip of the whiskey in his glass before he placed it on the table, suddenly feeling less tense after piecing the small puzzle together in his head. "but i think we were set up."

NIKKI.

a better woman would’ve known after two failed attempts, it was time to move on. to keep the memories, the lessons, the good and the bad and get on with her life. a better woman would want the person they loved, truly, purely, almost tortuously too much to have the world and be happy. but looking at isaac, smiling & sitting across from her in his painfully gorgeous glory all she could think of was how he could see at her without comprehending that without faltering she’d give him everything she could. herself entirely, past, present, future, her world, her last breath, the entire world moon, sun, and stars included. they were bonded, their soul ties were undoubtedly indisputable. whatever happened in the past didn’t matter, because the love she held from the very beginning ran deeper than most people knew in a lifetime. yet they sat, only a table width apart and it felt like light years from where she wanted and needed to be. what she needed was to be thoroughly immersed by everything that was isaac king, brought back home, the reformation that she was his and he was hers. the awareness didn’t stop her from reveling in his proximity and presence soaking in the way he sat down and like some sort of divination everyone else in the room faded away. so rather than stare like he was the last thing she’d ever look at, nikki folded her arms on the table - green eyes rolling at his compliment, corrupted by the heat that rushed to her cheeks and the grin the accompanied it. “it’s the glow you get from a king sitting next to you, flawless is reaching but sweet. thank you. there are better things to look at, though.” in all reality as much as she enjoyed catching a good glimpse of herself, she’d lose hours getting lost in the perfection sitting across from her. even now with their history, she was sure she wasn’t transparent with stealing glances of him, smiling like an fool because together or not, home was wherever he was, getting lost in everything that made up isaac king. offering a small laugh the blonde tipped her head to the side, “well, when you put it like that… thank goodness you ended up coming along because that does sound criminal.” entertaining him while he pieced together everything she’d failed to until it was laid out in front of her, nodding slightly when jordyn’s name slipped from his lips, nikki caught her lower lip between her teeth to keep from beaming. “that’s even better cause i was gonna end up texting you to pick me up after i found a window to sneak out of later anyways.” sitting there in what seemed like a fever dream, she couldn’t deny that he was most certainly mr. perfect, mr. right, mr. one who got away especially when he relaxed into his seat forcing her to use every ounce of self-control to simply walk across and fold herself peacefully against him. “i’ve been set up with worse… and since we’re here, we might as well indulge your little hellspawn. i’ve got a sitter until 2 which means there’s time to kill. but unless you plan on keeping me tonight and keeping me outta trouble, i can’t get zeke and jordyn wasted. it’d be a sin in and of itself to let the table and jordyn’s effort go to waste though.”

ZEKE.

moving on was supposed to be a feasible, reachable option for most people in the world— but zeke king didn't have the option of retracting his heart from the beauty across from him. nobody in the world could scratch a hand at enticing the actor's attention, definitely not in a similar manner as to the way that the blonde across from him had managed to wrap him around her finger. if felt surreal to be seated across from the femme, and to know what it felt like to have all of her only to let her slip away from him. twice over. three times if his drunken mishap counted and the regret that surfaced was only another thing he found himself searching to drown out in the background noise. despite his own resolution on the fact that he was undeserving of the presence that she retained in his life ( a friend, not solely the mother of his child. ), it was impossible for the male to deny that he was solely for nicole. giving up on finding his way through strangers beds when he realized the emptiness would always linger with anyone who wasn't the blonde across from him, if she wanted him: isaac king was hers for the taking. the depth at which he felt connected to her was incomparable and there was a part of him that wished he could regret meeting her this early in his life, but he wouldn't ever find himself capable of regretting even a moment of his time spent with nicole. the male might dislike the feelings that circled in her absence, but everything about the femme brought a smile to his features. she entertained his ever wandering attention without much effort. nicole hampton was home, she was the one woman who zeke had soberly agreed to walk down the aisle with and the one woman he would risk everything for. it was a bittersweet fact, being completely and irrevocably in love with someone and not being able to have them. " trust me, i'm an expert at this and flawless is... the exactly right term. and it has zero to do with my presence, your glow is all yours. " he informed, leaving no room for debate in the words as his head very momentarily tipped to the right before he straightened up again. a rare moment of humility if only to showcase the blonde across from him and allow her to see his honest view of her. part of him wasn't certain she even believed the words he spoke when complimenting her, but they still shoved to the tip of his tongue as if he was obligated to speak them. he felt an easy smile, a relaxing sensation flood through him at the simple laugh coming from her. "that was exactly my thoughts. i really saved somebody's ass 'cause the punishment for not showing to a date with you?" he made a show of making a face and scoffing. "would hate to be that person on the universe's bad side." he added. as he came to the conclusion of the setup, jordyn's text about a surprise seemed to make sense and she had been nothing besides correct. the blond couldn't be even a little bit upset at the idea of jordyn setting him up to hangout with nicole. he didn't bother to hide the small laugh that came at her admittance. "well, considering i was the intended date, it's a good thing i didn't show up late and i didn't get on the universe's bad side by showing you up unintentionally."  zeke offered, features taking in the beauty across from him as effectively as he could manage. the description of mr. perfect replayed in the back of his mind and for once, he couldn't fit the title to himself in comparison. either way, he wouldn't look a gift horse in it's mouth. "ouch, a stinging review..." he playfully pouted before he nodded. "i've got no qualms about keeping you company, and if you think i've got qualms about adult-nicole-knapping you and keeping you tonight? now you're bein' extra silly. not sure i wanna get wasted as bad as i did before, but stealing your time and profitting from jordyn's efforts, i can do that."

NIKKI.

nicole had been so busy trying to figure out what was going on in his mind, trying to hide the sheer maybe too conspicuous giddiness that she’d almost made a mistake. reaching for her wine glass she’d gone too far, almost going in for his drink. not that something stronger wouldn’t have been appreciated, wine was definitely not going to cut it. she found herself in the middle of a messy game, one drink too many and she’d probably spill every damn word she’d been choking down since his wedding. all it’d take was one maybe two bottles of wine or one too many shots for her to ask why the hell he’d gotten married - why he decided to marry someone else when all he had to do was say the word. she would’ve come back, no questions asked, no hesitation. at worst, she’d probably drunkenly apologize for running when she finally had him back again, apologies for not just taking the leap because… as much as she valued him still being a vital and essential part of her life being as a friend it was annihilating her inside. zeke’s compliments forced her gaze downward, it suddenly seemed far more dangerous to look at him and that smile that made her even more grateful she was sitting. her heart was racing like a frightened rabbit fleeing a predator, but to her surprise… the last thing she wanted to do was flee. it was a new accomplishment - another thing to add to the list of personal development. the blonde arched a brow when he’d all but left her no chance to debate, smirking as she looked back up and met isaac’s gaze trained on her own. “well i can’t argue with an expert - i mean i could… but i surprisingly don’t feel like arguing so, thank you. it means a lot coming from the king of flawless, the demon himself.” senseless instinct took over and nicole’s hand reached over and brushed the fingers encasing his cup, the small gesture would be insignificant even obscure to some, but the jolt of electricity reverberated from head to toe from a touch that lasted just a second. nikki was playing with fire but if it came down to getting burned by zeke, she didn’t mind. all too quickly changed direction and grabbed the wine glass and took another swig, “zeke king, knight in shining armor, keeping the cosmic balance by eating dinner with me. very admirable. is there anything you can’t do?” for a moment she was struck speechless, nicole hampton, the queen of talking, speechless. it was a power only he possessed, the ability to make her lose senses and words. she pondered over the words that had filled the space between them created by the sanity of the table. her ‘intended date’ - friends didn’t do dates. friends also didn’t almost get married twice, have a son together, have a handful of moments, think about the taste they left from a kiss, and sleep with each other when one of them got engaged. suddenly, she wasn’t hungry - she was lightheaded by promise. in fact, the idea of getting adult-nicole-napped seemed dangerously promising. "i said i've had worse, not that i had better, so is it really a sting?" she inquired coyly, hiding her smile by finishing off the remainder of her drink and setting the empty glass on the table, sights locked on the blond across from her. “if you don’t feel like drinking, whatever will we do? if it’s promising enough, you might just have to keep me. for the universe’s sake and jordyn’s effort - we might just have to give the people what they want.”

ZEKE.

his thoughts weren't often a place the blond preferred to drown himself, least of all when in the presence of his current company. when his attention zoned back into the nicole, he barely caught sight of the misstep for her own drink. there wasn't a single part of him that minded if she took over on his drink, but he wasn't going for the wine. impulse control was a lost treasure, but keeping a lock on his feelings and everything in his heart was easy— except when he sat across from nicole, who looked every bit of flawless he remembered. a battle between pride and the missing impulse control somehow barely restraining him from telling her all that was on his mind. mainly, that she was supposed to be his. did he have the right to get lost in the woman who held his heart captive after he threw himself drunkenly into another marriage? probably not, but refraining from spilling everything on his mind was enough of a strain on his test of control. tongue sliding over his lower lip, an uncharacteristic bought of nervous energy suddenly brought to the male, he raised his glass to his mouth and took a deliberately slow gulp before he rested it back to the table. for someone who had just said he didn't want to be drunk, the stirring blend of emotions was serving to call him a liar. if he was drunk in nicole's presence, he might attempt to adult-nicole-nap her to a wedding or something else unreasonably impulsive. the primal part of isaac king could only see 'mine' when he looked over at nicole, feeling completely irked every time he was reminded that she had almost walked down the aisle to another. feeling like the space between them was frivolous when all he wanted was to hold her in his arms, every night. amber hues roaming her features the minute she looked down, the smile that found it's way to his lips faltering as curiosity of whether he'd said or done the wrong thing swelled. her gaze returning flipped the smile to another smirk. "you could, but i'd have to say, it wouldn't do anything to change my perception. please, don't thank me for a simply honest thought. " he shrugged, only to be momentarily struck with both surprise and a small jolt of electricity from her simple gesture. that one interaction made it marginally more difficult for the blond to keep himself in check, to refrain from closing the table's length of distance that lingered between them. behind the smirk, his teeth sank into the flesh of his lesser lip and gripped his glass just a little tighter as he reined himself back. "i refuse to lose the favor of the universe and not only would it be universally catastrophic, i'd  be personally offended. what can i say? the only thing i can't do is sing, so i hope that's no problem for you." he raised a brow. only a second later, he's second guessing the wording he'd used a moment ago, if only because it felt all too quiet. anyone else in the world could look at zeke with silence and he wouldn't feel half as awkward if he made the rest of the room uncomfortable, but the idea of verbally tripping up with nicole felt unnaturally embarrassing. though his words were true, considering it was clear that jordyn had intended him to be nicole's date, and attempted to go about that inconspicuously. his head cocked to the side at nicole's question, and he pretended to debate. "it was the lack of overwhelming excitement, so yes it stung." he offered dramatically as he playfully pointed towards his heart. "we could drink, if you'd prefer." he arched a brow once more, righting his head as he shrugged. "but as for what else we could do, anything you wanted to do. the possibilities are endless, and i'm a generous royal. it would be devastating if we didn't give the people what they wanted." his smirk widened. "besides, have to keep you? as if you think i'm not a willing participant."

NIKKI.

nicole watched zeke's thoughts stir behind his eyes with bated curiosity and intrigue. they were back to their unrelenting game of catch me, i’m here, i’m waiting, i’m yours. make your move. it had turned into a ritualistic heart wrenching game of cat and mouse. only if she caught him this time, letting go wasn’t an option. the way that his smile withered into that of a cocky smirk made her heart tighten a little bitterly. she knew too well that he’d always possessed more of her love and devotion than she wanted to allot for him. absently she wondered as her eyes wandered on their on accord driving in the very sight of him; how could her man - her man that had the gall to marry another woman when she was so clearly and hopelessly in love with him be even remotely, minutely, offended that she didn't greet him with the same excitement a child would have for meeting santa for the first time. if she granted him that, she’d melt… but that wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen. nodding her head, picking at a loose thread on the end of her dress, "sorry that i wasn't at the level of enthusiasm that you were hoping for. my sincerest apologies, demon. i forgot, you like reactive." she caught that her tone had an air of malice or maybe a taunt to bait him into something that she shouldn't have invoked. he’d far too recently gotten divorced. with a little force, she contorted her face into a warm smile, suppressing the smirk begging to twist the corners of her lips. she wanted this encounter to be pleasant, despite everything, this was a chance - a flicker of hope. "i don’t think i can remember the last time i let you get me drunk, king. which is unfair. we might just have to see if i can keep up with you yet? i'll just - pay attention because i may or may not be a cheap drunk?" she chuckled narrowing her eyes at him playfully before listening to his comment about what else they could do, she couldn't pick whether she wanted to laugh or roll her eyes at him. anything was a big word, but he wasn’t wrong on the possibilities being endless. though if he flashed another damn smirk in her direction, the red flags screaming: stop, he moved on. you said friends. would without a single doubt in her mind turn pink and open the door to another realm of endless possibilities. "a generous royal?" nikki queried tilting her head and a lift to the corner of her lips, obviously entertained. "i think it’s safe to say you’re just assuming i’m not excited?" the humor was evident in her tone. "i don't want to be the decision-maker tonight. i’m here for a date with mr. perfect… so mr. perfect, show me the time of my life. i'm curious as to what i've been missing." that was a lie she knew exactly what she was missing. and it was him. the femme crossed her arms under her chest to keep herself contained on her side of the table a safe distance away from doing what she wanted to do and toss herself at him. "why don't you g'head and surprise me, king. since you're so generous. be generous in your ideas." a waiter waltzed by, carrying an empty tray and she raised a perfectly manicured hand to get his attention. with ease, she pulled a card from her purse, sitting upright to slide it onto the tray. "my bottle and his drink. whenever you can please? there’s no rush." the waiter nodded and smiled at her, and she returned it out of kindness. somehow, nicole knew that her little gesture would somehow irk zeke and she subtly got off on that. maybe it’d coax the ‘what the fuck is this? your mine’ she needed to hear. when it was the two of them alone again, the blonde perked up, a coy smirk on her features. "and you can’t even be mad… i’m too cute. be faster next time.” nikki spoke, batting her lashes feeling the need to cover her bases for paying, keeping her wits together in case she was pushing the limit on their line of friends and the date they’d been set up on tonight. “so we going for illegal, morbid, or possibly even... risque?"

[sun-descending]

One after another...

@flaxinmalache @intoxication-wra

Jhulen had apparently moved into Flaxin's quarters for the time being, and at the moment he had made himself comfortable in a chair near the windows, a pipe in one hand and a sheaf of reports in the other, reading glasses balanced on his nose as he frowned over what scant details they had on the attacks on their operations.

Hopefully he didn't mind some interruption to his task, because it was about then that there was a sound in the outer chambers. The sound of the door sliding and of Flaxin's coat missing its mark yet again. He hadn't the time for that, however. The mage held, in his hand, a small arcane orb not unlike his own crystalline reports but clearly not his own. He held it within a fist of silk that shimmered with protective qualities, keeping it aloft as he went for the desk, pushing things aside to pull over a setting to place it in. "I would like for you to look at this with me." He hates to tell the priest this, but he must or he'll know soon enough. "I've become quite adept at making messes...I haven't viewed it yet but I suspect it has to do with our recently departed." Not the crew in the harbor. He wouldn't look so dour and dire if it were that.

Well. Unless something new had come to light in his examinations.

The priest glanced up a split second before Flaxin actually appeared, alerted to his arrival more by the ripple of unfamiliar magics than any actual sound from the mage. He blinked, watching the orb more than its holder until the younger elf actually spoke to him, and then blinked again. "...Light's tits, we're still not free of that?" The comment didn't seem to be aimed at anyone in particular as the priest pulled off his glasses and set them on the table, along with the papers. The pipe stayed in his hand, though, as he moved to join Flaxin at the desk. "I assume this has something to do with the noise upstairs just now?"

With his eye rolling upwards, the mage nods, lifting a hand to hesitantly rest upon the mystical cache. "Yes. The Magister seems to have surfaced again, insinuating that we should clean whatever this is for him." He scrunches his nose, "But it also seemed to have shaken him...It's worth a look I would say." He breathes in slowly with his eye upon its swirling depths as his ears flick just a bit. "Perhaps it's nothing."

Nothing doesn't sling itself halfway around the world for special delivery. Jhulen pulled a comforting arm around Flaxin's waist. "We're never that lucky," he drawled with a sigh as he eyed the orb. "...Alright, fire this thing up, then. We may as well get this over with."

At this point, Flax wasn't even sure luck was a thing that existed. Shit just zeroed in on them naturally and went right for the soft spots. Ah, such was the life. He manages a crooked, Malache smirk that was as dry as the sea was wet and steeled himself with a soft chuckle to match. "Right." The mage breathed out through his nose once more slowly and closed his eye to draw forth whatever unknown they dared to look upon now. The flare of the crystal came with ease and, once awakened to his touch, was quick to provide as well. Whether they liked it or not.

The priest's expression grew blacker and blacker the more the horrid vision played out for them, his grip on the bowl of his pipe tightening until his knuckles were white and the wood seemed like it must crack under the pressure. Sparks and shocks of holy energy crackled along his skin and created tiny lightning bolt-shaped cracks along the floor under his feet, as his magic threatened to explode in a dazzling display of fury.

"Rakarth..." The name was a low, vicious hiss, and that was all it took to know its owner was a dead man.

Well. Technically Rakarth very much was dead, but that wasn't the problem Flaxin was seeing here. That would probably be made more apparent in later moments, however. The scene they had just witnessed wasn't properly described as heinous and it sickened even this unrepentant soul. He'd come away from the sight in a backwards stumble, the weight of it all hitting him at once. To be honest, he hadn't yet had time to form any real opinion of it with his thoughts racing his pulse, his hands trembling, and his face. He slowly took the heat of the fever right before Jhulen's eyes as he turned away to try and pour himself a drink, but he went nowhere, planted to the spot and lost in his own quarters for just a moment's haze. He hadn't looked horrified, he'd just looked so very, very overwhelmed.

The scene began to replay itself, having received no input from its watchers, and Jhulen was quick to swipe his hand over it, ending the images before he just snatched the wretched thing up and hurled it at a wall. "...Isn't that death knight Xin's man?" he asked in that same low, dangerous voice; Shaihel hovered just beneath the surface. But Jhulen refused to give in to him or his own rage, instead staring at the arcane orb until he managed to center himself again, using his fury as an anchor point and hardening it to ice, rather than letting it burn out of control. One of them had to maintain. "Something caught him off guard. Did you see that?"

He turned to look at Flaxin, only to see him paralyzed, and swore quietly. "Flaxin. Flax! I need you here, love." Turning away from the orb, the priest moved to the liquor cabinet and poured a generous portion of something stiff, expensive, and potent into a tumbler that was then shoved in Flaxin's hand. "Drink," he ordered.

The mage heard him, because Jhulen could see his ear twitch to the sound of his voice but his moving lips made no sound and his eye didn't even blink. Not for a good while. He might've been holding his breath, but he doesn't look like he could have cared to notice either way. Oh...I see. I see. If anything was running through his head at all, it was lost to fog. He took the drink as if he hadn't even seen it. His whole body felt like it was both numbed and alight with electricity and his knees, well he shouldn't have tried to walk perhaps because his knee bends and he just goes right down with his head spinning. The glass slips free of his finger's of course and he blinks, struggling to focus as the air around him seems to just rush into his ears.

Reaching without thinking, Jhulen snatching the glass from the air with only a few drops lost, and even he would have been impressed with himself if he had been paying attention. The tumbler slid onto the side table as in one smooth motion the priest deposited it and grabbed Flaxin instead, supporting the smaller elf so he didn't end up on the floor. "Woah now-- Easy, starlight. Breathe. Look at me-- no, look at me." One hand gently fisted in the hair on the back of the mage's head so he would be forced to meet Jhulen's eyes. A song -- Flaxin's song -- wove through the air between them and into the mage's psyche, felt but not heard, trying to calm his nerves and chase off the fog.

Somehow, in all of this, Flax managed to catch hold of the man holding him up, though his legs felt like steamed asparagus and they functioned about as well for the purpose of holding him. He was there still, struggling with himself and the effort to remain conscious and aware, gaze not quite on point as he tried to dumbly follow the words' demands. They sounded so soft and...Funny, though. Like yelling down a tube. He mumbled something back but it was lost in the shuffle and the slur. The song would help, of course, but Jhulen was going to have to get him to a seat and give him some time.

Yes, this is bad news. It may or may not be a problem. Eventually he'll slow to his senses and realize that. Right now is not looking, to the priest, to be that time however. One can hope.

Immediately Jhulen began to compartmentalize. He they could deal with this new crisis-- Light's tits could they just stop coming for five fucking minutes?-- later, and so his emotions relative to it were shut away. He gathered Flaxin up in his arms bridal style and carried him over to the bed, where the priest could sit with the mage in his lap, holding and supporting him in the same motion while the latter worked through this. He continued to sing as long as was needed to bring the mage back around, letting that be the only sound in the room beyond the creak of wood and the wind.

[transformationstuck]

Everyone knew the Meteor’s transportalizers weren’t perfect. Sometimes people would come out with all their clothes on back-to-front, or half of someone’s grubloaf would be missing. So far, however, no troll or human had ever been affected by these glitches. So when Vriska stepped onto the transportalizer pad to head towards the kitchen, she didn’t think much of it. What was the worst that could happen?

As it turns out, the glitches weren’t limited to inanimate objects. When Vriska re-appeared on the exit pad, her entire torso was missing. She had no arms, no breasts – her head sat directly above her navel.

Naturally, she freaked out. She yelped and fell over, unused to her body’s new center of mass. She hit her head on the side of the pad, and groaned in pain. She was confused, trying to get her bearings. She repeatedly tried to push herself up, but without arms she couldn’t do any more than roll around on the floor. Eventually, she pusher her head up against a wall, and by gradually pushing herself closer she was able to right herself.

Okay. So she didn’t have arms or a torso anymore. That sucked.

She tentatively took a step forward, feeling out her balance, and almost fell over again. She leaned back against the wall, and tried again. And again. And again. She fell over many, many times, but eventually something clicked within her mind, and suddenly she could walk and run and jump without any issues. The troll think-pan was weird.

Vriska knew she was stuck like this. Throughout all the times the transportalizer had malfunctioned, it had never once created something new – only moved existing materials around or taken things away. She would have to live the rest of her life like this, which given that she was god tier, may well be unending. So she resolved not to wallow in self-pity and would-have-beans. Instead, she committed to learning how to live like this. It might take sweeps, but she would re-learn how to do everything.

So she stepped back onto the transportalizer, praying that it wouldn’t take more of her body away. Luckily it did not, and she quickly stepped back into her room, pulling the door closed behind her and sliding the lock over with her teeth. She wasn’t ready to let anyone else see her just yet.

Vriska set about trying to do some simple tasks in her new truncated form. She tried sitting down and standing up again, then lying down. She took off her jeans, unbuttoning them with her mouth and rubbing up against a wall to pull them down. She couldn’t manage to get her panties off using the same method, but she knew she could using some sort of hook.

She ran into problems, though, when she tried to put her jeans back on. They’d crumpled up on the floor, and while she could flatten them out and wriggle her feet into the waistband, she couldn’t shuffle herself into the legs very far.

It was around about this time that Vriska started feeling a heat in her loins. It started off small, just occasional flickers of warmth here and there, but over time it built up to an unbearable level. She’d never been this horny before. Was this her new body’s fault?

Her priorities quickly shifted from learning how to perform basic tasks to learning how to get herself off. She tried leaning her head over to see if her mouth could reach, but it quickly became apparent that that wasn’t going to happen. She tried rutting against the side of her recuperacoon, rubbing her nook against it through her panties, but it just wasn’t giving her the satisfaction she needed. She groaned, frustrated, moving faster, rutting harder, trying to catch her clit on something, but to no avail. The haze of arousal was consuming her mind, leaving her unable to think of anything but pleasuring herself.

Over time, it slowly became apparent to the lust-addled Vriska that she wasn’t going to be able to get herself off. But the haze was still all-pervading, and she couldn’t focus on anything through it. What remained of her higher mental faculties came to a conclusion: she needed to get fucked.

She went over to her end-table, grasping the handle between her teeth and walking backwards, pulling the draw further and further out until it fell to the floor, its contents scattering everywhere. She lay down and took a genetic material suppressor between her teeth before pushing up against her recuperacoon to stand back up. She unlocked the door by pushing on the sliding lock with one of her horns, and pushed the door open. She ran down the hallway, clad in naught but her panties, her hair fluttering behind her. It would have been a surreal sight to anybody watching. She reached the closest inhabited respiteblock to hers – Karkat’s – and pushed the door open.

Karkat had been sitting down talking to Dave over his crab communicator when he heard his door burst open. There was only one person on this meteor who barged through doors like that; and so, steeling himself for the arduous task ahead, he quickly informed Dave of the Serket storm that had come to his respiteblock before closing the connection and turning around.

What the fuck.

Standing in his doorway was Vriska, but it was not the Vriska he’d seen at breakfast this morning. Her entire upper body had simply vanished, leaving her as no more than a head atop a set of hips and legs. She was looking up at him, her eyes literally clouded over with lust, and she had a material suppressor clasped between her teeth. Once she’d noticed that she had his attention she sauntered towards him, rocking her ample ass side-to-side as she did so.

Karkat gulped. He knew damn well where this was going.

Vriska dropped the suppressor on the floor next to him, and said one simple sentence:

“Karkat, I need you to fuck me.”

...

“Ah, fuck it”, Karkat thought to himself; “why not? This is clearly a dreambubble hallucination. Might as well have some fun with it.” And so in response he kneeled down on the floor, aligning his face with hers, and kissed her. He held nothing back, and neither did she. Their lips rubbed against each other and their tongues explored each others mouths, touching tips and rubbing up against sharp fangs. When Karkat had had his fill he pulled back and reached down to pick up the material suppressor. He shimmied out of his pants and pulled down his boxers, exposing his erect, red-tipped bulge to the open air.

Almost immediately, Vriska wrapped her mouth around the tip and sucked him in. Her tongue danced across his tip, poking and prodding and licking interchangeably, as she stared to work it further into her wet maw.

Vriska was enraptured. She’d never imagined she’d ever give anyone a blowjob – Vriska Serket knelt for no troll – but here she was, Karkat’s bulge in her mouth, and she wondered why she’d ever thought herself above this; there was nothing to be above. It seemed so perfect to her aroused mind – the soft tip poking into her maw, her tongue working around it, learning what motions caused the troll above her to gasp out in pleasure. It felt good; it felt right; as if her mouth had been made to be wrapped around a bulge, licking and sucking upon it. But, after a minute, she pulled back. As good as it felt to give Karkat a blowjob, she had another hole that was demanding attention from that bulge.

When Vriska let go of his bulge, Karkat knew exactly what she wanted. He rolled the suppressor over his bulge, hooked a finger into Vriska’s panties and pulled them down, exposing her dripping cerulean nook to his gaze. The folds were parted ever-so-slightly, damp with fluids, and her clit was just poking out from behind its hood. It was a beautiful sight, and Karkat sat there for a moment drinking it in. He tentatively pushed a knuckle between her folds, careful to keep his claws well clear, and Vriska shuddered.

He wasted no more time. Double-checking that he had indeed applied the suppressor, he lay down on the floor, grasping Vriska’s ample behind and guiding her above his prick.

Vriska needed no further prompting. Spreading her legs a little, she thrust down and impaled herself full-length upon Karkat’s bulge. Pleasure jolted through her, arcing from one nerve to another, and very quickly her entire body was alight with pleasure. She moaned and sat there for a moment before Karkat’s hands once again found her ass and pulled her back up. She took over from there, thrusting up and down, up and down, moving Karkat’s bulge in and out of her nook. It was hard to keep her balance with no arms, and she almost fell over, but Karkat always caught her before she could slide off his member, helping her right herself and get back to fucking.

For Karkat, the experience was similarly blissful. He never could have imagined how nice it felt to be buried inside a nook. The walls grasped his prick at regular intervals, fluttering tension up and down in time with Vriska’s thrusts. He had his hands constantly cupping Vriska’s ass-cheeks now, not just to help support her, but also just because they felt nice to squeeze between his hands. They were soft and plush, and Vriska moaned whenever he squeezed – especially when his claws broke her skin and droplets of cerulean blood began dripping out.

After a while, he could feel himself nearing orgasm. Even though he knew this Vriska was nothing more than a creation of whatever bubble he was in, his instincts caused him to reach out to Vriska’s crotch and start rubbing lightly around her clit. Vriska moaned throatily, throwing her head back in pleasure, and as she came her nook walls clasped around his prick in a death-grip, and that extra friction was all he needed as well. He came, his bulge expelling red genetic material, all of which was absorbed by the suppressor around his prick. He wanted to lean in and kiss Vriska, wrap his arms around her and dip his tongue deep into her mouth; but her head only came up to his chest, so instead he settled for wrapping his arms around her head and holding her against him, skin-to-skin.

It felt genuine, sincere, real; as if at least a small part of him wanted this to be more than a one-off fuck before she faded away into the aether from whence she’d came.

As both of their orgasms winded down, Vriska pulled her head back slightly, removing her mouth and nose from Karkat’s skin so she could breathe once again.

That... that had been the best five minutes of her entire life. Masturbation had never felt that good; absolutely nothing could compare.

As Karkat yawned above her and he idly ran his fingers through her hair, Vriska rolled her head to the side and leaned into Karkat’s chest, closing her eyes and smiling in pure, unfiltered contentment.

If losing half her body was the price to pay for orgasms that good, then maybe - just maybe - it was worth it.

She fell asleep pressed against Karkat’s chest, cool cerulean blue against boiling mutant red; and for the first time in a sweep, she didn’t dream.

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

Image is an edit of this image by planetofjunk. Full-size edit is here. Search term on DA is “swb girl” if you want more like this.

I have no idea if this actually counts as TF enough to put here, but there’s only one way to find out.